I’m Not A Bit
Lizzie danced around with a zombie, on the front lawn of the house where she, her sister Mika, and the two adults they were traveling with, Carol and Tyreese, had taken shelter. Carol was making tea in the kitchen, enjoying the luxury of clean water pumped out of a nearby well and a functioning gas stove.
Rookie of the Year: A Note From Your Newly-Minted Foursquare Mayor
The following is the latest in a series of journal entries chronicling the author’s descent into next-gen gaming degeneracy and assorted geekery – from getting his first television in years to trying to figure out why the @$@$&@@ you need two goddamn directional pads just to walk down an effing hallway.
Joy of a Toy
I was a clumsy kid. I was such a klutz – a total failure at sports, P.E. and general moving around the place – that my mother sought professional help for me. We lived in North Carolina at the time – it was around ‘82 – so I was 10. I remember driving to an unfamiliar part of Charlotte. A university campus? Or maybe some collection of government buildings? We went into a small medical office where I was subjected to a barrage of physical tests. My mother got a binder full of results. And I got a new after-school
