Andyland, USA

It had been occurring over and over again for several days, a strange number that claimed to be from Virginia calling my cell phone constantly. Without fail the number would call once or twice a day, never leaving a message. Such phone calls I usually ignore, but after the tenth time, and in a fit of anger, I answered the phone. The caller claimed to be from an “auto processing center” and assumed I was such a rube that I could be taken in by their clams about my car—which is entirely paid for. I lost my cool, and I began to yell at the person on the other end of the phone. It was one of those big rant filled sessions, ending with “don't you ever dial this number again!” The downside of digital technology is that you hang up with the touch of a button, you no longer have the great satisfaction of slamming a receiver down on the phone so hard you make the bell ring. Pleased and satisfied, I went on with my day. As the day progressed, I found myself with babysitti...

When I can't think of a picture to use, I use  a picture of Audrey Hepburn. It was a hot evening, a very, VERY hot evening. The heat was the kind of heat that left you with little to do, outside of rocking on your front porch, sipping lemonade, and wondering aloud when General Beauregard would arrive from Richmond. Naturally, being a night when the heat had reached the heights of Atlanta before the war, it would make it a remarkably perfect evening for my air conditioning to cut out completely. At first, I hadn't noticed the increasing heat inside my home. I had spent most of that day in my basement lair, watching movies and playing records. My first indication that something was amiss with the air is when my cat ambled down the stairs, and looked at me with a look that said “Let's try that telepathic communication we've been working on, shall we?” I sat my iPad down, and looked intensely into my cat's eyes. “Human, the temperature in the roo...

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I have finally come to terms with the fact that I am something of a perfectionist. I have no idea what side of the family this comes from, it doesn't seem to be present in any member. It comes out in a big way during a party. Usually if I am fixing some meal and I want it to be extra perfect and wonderful. I can worry myself into a panic over minute details that nobody else will care about, but God help you if the turkey isn't at ninety degree angle on the platter! OK, that's an extreme example, the turkey can sit a little off sided, but if it's not the right shade of toasty doneness... One might assume that having a touch of perfectionism can also be an indication of a little bit of OCD. In this case, I'd say you're a little right. I'm pretty sure I have a very mild touch of OCD, but then again I think science has said we all have a little of it. I can be notoriously picky with bedsheets, to the point that it's almost ridiculous. I toss and tur...

On that hot Fourth of July I was thankful for two things. That indoor air condition exists, and that my iPad was fully charged. It's not that I plan on going to family functions wanting to be anti-social, it's that after Aunt Suzie has talked in depth about the latest inflammations on her body, you too would be begging of the sweet release of death. As I sat in one of the spare bedrooms, hiding away from everyone until there was food to be had, someone went looking for me. I was being summoned for food, not the eating aspect, but the cooking aspect. Something was wrong with the Uncle Reeve's “Char-Master 9000” and I was being called to duty. Uncle Reeve had long thought of himself as the “Grill King” of the family, he had an old “Kiss the Cook” apron that was so old, so worn, the material had become so thin that Victoria's Secret could be designing their upcoming Fall line around it. The “Char-Master 9000” was an old grill but Uncle Reeve had kept ...