Every time I go to stand up or lift something and I feel all creaky and broken, I think back to all this, and remember how much I prefer groany creaks and leftover breaks to stitches and recovery and PT:

I keep these handy/on my phone, so that I won’t get lured into a pickup game of ball, or a hackysack circle—What can go wrong, right?—and so I won’t lift furniture or jump off this ledge beca…

13th Night centers around a colorful cast of college-aged characters visiting the First Folio on its tour to the University of Colorado Boulder. They get swept up into a mysterious and magical force that is wreaking havoc on the order, purpose, and sense of Shakespeare’s work. With their own lives in various degrees of peril, the youthful entourage calls on their knowledge of the Bard to set things right and preserve the First Folio so all may continue to enjoy it. Em…

Living and dying by Magnum PI growing up, I of course fell head over heels for this color scheme:

However, helicopters being far from any reality I knew, and trucks being ALL of my reality, I of course, then, wanted a truck with that color scheme, as Ford was doing in the late seventies:

Is that not baddest truck? Well, except for this one, which I think is a modified version of that—different wheels and tires, the color scheme kind of made louder:

Anyway, yes, I still do dream abou…

Hey, this tweet got enough hearts that, were it Link, he’d now be functionally immortal. But I guess this is A link, anyway:

Anyway, yes, I subscribe to that philosophy. It’s a big reason I have so many scars, so many injuries, why I’m on so many daily pills in these my creaky years. Doesn’t stop me from collecting more scars and injuries, tho…

Tom Paris, saying aloud the creed I live by, pretty much. And? This is my only persistent problem with intergalactic humans in stories: they always come out of warp at some Mos Eisley of a truckstop and just eat whatever’s being served. I can’t help but think that would be instant death. Not just of the soul, but the gut, since no way can we have the proper enzymes to digest some vending machine egg-salad fossil from another solar system.

Also, while I’m postin…

Wending my way through my school’s book-ordering stuff, and I thought, Wait, wonder if I’m in here. Turns out I am. Or, I was, eight years ago. I remember that year, too. I was wondering if I’d ever have another book out. Never really thought I’d have fifteen or sixteen out. Cool. Here’s to eight more crazy and unlikely years.

is the author of 22 or 23 books, ~300 stories, and all this stuff here. He lives in Boulder, Colorado, and has a few broken-down old trucks, one PhD, and way too many boots

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