Amuse Bouche

These past months have been busier than I could have imagined. Errands upon errands. Work assignments piling up. And that toilet still hasn’t been fixed. Somewhere around the beginning of the year, I apparently turned 45.

To catch you up (and to relieve my irrational guilt for not writing), this is my abridged, Christmas-letter version of the past three months:

Learned that a valet ran my car into the side of a passing car

Met and had dinner with Cal Ripken, Jr.

Was accosted by the police, who came to my house, thinking I was a burglar

Had my jacket stolen, along with my keys, cash and new phone

Spent the past month underwater at work

Became surreptitiously addicted to American Idol

Learned the Korean alphabet (apparently, there’s a “k” and a “kk”)

There are hundreds of stories packed into the past few months. Stories about getting used to marriage, and about marriage getting used to me. Enough stories to make me understand how Bill Cosby can go on stage and perform a 3-hour monologue on the virtues and vices of marriage. I think I could do a stand-up routine right now.

With that said, I’m hoping to get on a more regular schedule of writing. And so I'd consider this an appetizer. Or actually, the chef’s pre-appetizer. You know, the tiny crouton topped with caviar and some sort of goat-cheese blend that the waiter brings out “compliments of the chef”. It’s the thing that’s so small, that you wonder why someone would go to all that trouble to make it.

Good things are coming. I guarantee it.