In the wake of the not-yet-week-old shootings in Arizona, more ink has been spilled now than blood, as journalists zoom in on, dissect, theorize and hyper-postulate about what caused a 22 year-old kid to take out six people and fell another fourteen, best known among them Representative Gabrielle Giffords. Many are saying that political vitriol is at least as culpable as the gunman himself. The yelling, smears, and finger pointing brought us to this point, they say. Because, you know, it’s all fun and games until somebody gets a brain put out. Most folks who live beyond the borders of Amish country in Pennsylvania have likely allowed fade the memory of October 2, 2006. That was the day Charles Carl Roberts IV holed up in a one-room schoolhouse and shot ten little girls— half of them died— before offing himself. I’ve been thinking about that event this past week, because it changed my life. It didn’t change my life on the grand scale that it changed that Amish community and permanently scarred the surviving victims. But I do remember one of my first thoughts upon hearing the news, a thought that was soon confirmed by the media. more ›

Last week, I was mentioning trying to change my shitty Christmas attitude. I’m happy to report that, like some holy miracle, though I haven’t gone overboard and starting liking all the nonsense, at least the December doldrums have remained at bay. Not only that, but I recalled two funny stories of Christmas past, both involving trees. And so, herewith, my gifts to you this season. O Tannenbaum Part I December 2000, was, as ever, a crappy time for me. But despite my Christmas allergy, when I got word that a couple of kids in the neighborhood were going to be going without a tree, my unstoppable urge to Take Action and Fix Things went into high gear. Never mind that I rarely got a tree for my own son, I couldn’t bear that his little friends would have to go without. more ›

Because I am so popular, it is not only my right but my duty to namedrop. And so I am happy to report that yesterday, as I strolled the aisles of Whole Paycheck in search of some homeopathic means to help tame my desire to rip people’s heads off during my monthly stigmata, I ran into none other than my pal, Kacy Crowley . more ›