Essays from an american mutt

Goodbye to my dog

The funny thing is…I never wanted the dog. It was February 1999 and I was home sick from work in Jackson, Mississippi. My wife, then a producer at a television station, called me and...

How I spend my summer vacation

I was out and about this week enduring some last-minute errands. I had a quick photo-shoot thingy downtown. The photographer asked what I did for a living. The short answer I give is, “I’m...

June minutiae

So, what did I do in June? I worked, I traveled (Peru and St. John), and I relaxed. Nothing more. It wasn’t a very heady month, which is pretty much what I needed it...

A friend and his pen

Six or seven years ago, I stumbled into the circle of a guy named Pauly. You’ve seen me write a lot about him here. We’ve never lived in the same city, but over the...

World Cup tears

The boy’s lip trembled when it became clear that the USA was going to lose to Ghana. He fought the tears as long as he could and stumbled over his words as he asked...

St. John donkey

St. John: Wrong way, right time

“You’re driving on the left side of the road,” my wife said. We were headed toward Cinnamon Bay in a rented white Jeep Wrangler with no windows. We had planned to purchase a Jeep...

The St. John ache

We sat at the corner of a beachside bar in St. John. We were spent from a day of hiking, swimming in Solomon Bay, and traveling for several days in the most beautiful place...

The big disconnect

I bought my first laptop sometime in 2004. I have been constantly-connected ever since. In June 2005, my wife and I went on a trip for our fifth wedding anniversary. We went to Vegas,...

Police protection in Peru

Silenco. The sign in the median of Benavides Avenue is a standard red-slashed-circle with a picture of a horn in the middle of it. It’s meant to keep the teeming street in front of...

Otis and the Pisco Sour

The woman walked toward me with a plate of green balls. No story should begin that way. It’s the type of lead that conjures nightmares, or at the very least, pornographic guilt, you know...