My mom has always been creative. A long time ago-back when “Saturday Night Live” was funny-she’d decorate cakes to look like soccer fields, pyramids, women endowed with Hostess Sno-Balls.You lost your innocence early in my home.

Mom works for the bank-THE bank-so her creative urges surface through cracks in the sidewalk. She mostly takes it out on the holidays.

At Christmas her tree is so burdened with ornaments that it leans to one side like Joe Cocker and children place the star on top without even stretching. Read the rest of this article »

Someone suggested that I take a long walk on a short pier…

“You need to lighten up, man.”

That was Yahaira. She used to be my wife; now she’s my best friend (she got demoted after our divorce). Yahaira lives down the street, and we gossip through the night about our love lives.

“Let’s have an adventure,” she said.

And what made more sense than overnight camping for two people who don’t own a tent. We borrowed supplies from an over-trusting neighbor and arrived at the campground shortly after eleven … p.m.

“We got a little lost,” said Yahaira. Read the rest of this article »

It was a typical day—chop wood, carry water—when I got a pop-up from Symantec: “Your Norton virus definitions are about to expire. Renew now?”

I thought virus definitions went on forever like the giant tortoise or Dick Clark. Evidently, they have to be renewed any time Norton demands “payment.”

The Internet was such a good idea on paper. Now we tiptoe through the day afraid of spyware and macros and worms—oh, my. It’s enough to make you become a plumber.

What do hackers get out of the virus anyway? They’re not even around to enjoy their evil. It’s like ordering a pizza to someone else’s house:
“I’ll bet they’re opening the door right now … I’ll just bet …” Read the rest of this article »

Due to technical difficulty, I scheduled with Dr. Klope a sperm count. Talk about tedious jobs. Can you see that poor guy over the microscope?
“1,634… 1,635… wait, did I count that one?”

Dr. Klope had one opening, eight a.m., which is way too early for sperm. A man might wake up with driftwood on his beach, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to make a fire. It’s usually noon before I can swing a French kiss. Read the rest of this article »