After a few decades of unblemished health, in recent years, I have become a copperhead-bitten, emergency-appendectomied, metal-hipped, celiac-diseased, breast cancer survivor. I’ve been hospitalized five times in the last seven years due to four different, unrelated ailments. You might say that bad luck and I are more than just passing acquaintances. Still, every once in a great while, I manage—somehow—to completely, utterly win at life. This blog began as the epic sagas of those grand Winning at Life occasions. But times and the world and the winds of favor have shifted, as they are wont to do, and so this blog shifted with it. You will now find here various tales of Losing at Life. And also, a bunch of collages I made the old-fashioned way, with Exacto knives and adhesive, old National Geographics and Ranger Ricks, sweat and tears (amazingly, not a single drop of blood, to date). What can I say, it’s hard to maintain razor-sharp focus when you’re a twisted dilettante.*

*credit to the amazing Elvis Costello for this phrase. As soon as I heard him sing it in the song “How to be Dumb,” I felt like he was looking deep into my scattered soul and calling it out by name.


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