Journal of the Plague Year, Day Two Hundred Sixty Three: Only you could take a wonderful season like Christmas and turn it into a problem.

A word, here, about complicated puzzles. I am in a bit of a bind as regards my Christmas tree. Getting the tree early was no problem. I sort of like spending my birthday putting up the tree. I can definitely keep doing that. The trouble is that I have had, in the past, a number […]

Journal of the Plague Year, Day One Hundred Thirty Five: They’re not funny. They’re art.

A word, here, about overcomplicating things. I have spoken in the past – perhaps not here – about my curious relationship with art. Mostly over the years I have maintained that I am not an “art” guy, but that mostly pertains to quote-unquote fine art. Paintings and shit whatnot. When it comes to that, as […]

Journal of the Plague Year, Day One Hundred Seventeen: I’m not an agent, I just write books for the CIA.

A word, here, about hard decisions. In the face of an imminent move, or at least nearly imminent, imminent in geological time, I’m starting to accelerate my decisions to reduce the number of things I own. This process started four years ago when I helped Nick and Reg move. Bear I mind, I have no […]

Journal of the Plague Year, Day Sixty Three: You can’t start a fire sitting around crying over a broken heart.

The Bundesliga, and by extension sports in general, came back today. I was sitting here playing Arena this morning when the game came on, and I turned it on in the background but didn’t ever look at the screen more than once, when somebody from Dortmund scored. At halftime I just turned the TV off, […]

Journal of the Plague Year, Day Twenty Six: You’re never alone but you’re always on your own.

A word, here, about making choices. With apologies in advance for my vaguebooking, there is a topic I would very much like to write about. But writing about it has two main problems: I am legitimately torn about how much I want to use this space in this time for at least attempting to entertain […]