The crowded subway pulled into Union Square station to absorb even more grumpy and impatient zombies.

On public transportation, people tend to cluster.

Last weekend, Deborah and I went to Cuddlebackville to watch some friends race at the Oakland Valley Race Park.

Tale of the Tripawed Charmer

If I didn’t have an astronomical phone bill hanging over my head from last month, I might have called Brian back. Instead, I waited.

Rory came into my life through the side door. He was part of a package deal when I met my wife, Deborah. At the time, I was living the free and easy life of a pet-less bachelor, and I didn't think much about cats. It's not that I didn't like them — I'd had cats before — but, at that point in my life, l just couldn't be bothered.

My friend Brian is a nomad — a citizen of the world. When he isn’t breathlessly bopping around the globe, you will likely find him sequestered in a Buddhist monastery in Myanmar, nestled in one of the quiet villages of northern Thailand, or relaxing in the house in Ireland he shares with his siblings.

Aside from my wife, with whom I've lived for over half the time I've been writing this blog, no one has appeared in more posts than my dear old friend Brian -- currently chasing the dragon of enlightenment in a far-flung Burmese Buddhist Monastery. I've been so busy that I can barely keep track of my schedule, so how far along is Brian into his scheduled 60-day retreat? Who knows?