I spent last year’s Winter Carnival in Conway, New Hampshire with Roger Landry. It would be difficult to say which we did more — have sex, drink or ski, but, if memory serves, I was naked most of the time. When we got back to Boston, he spent a few nights at my condo where we went at each other tirelessly. I’m usually not the type to rush into a relationship after knowing a man for a few weeks, but our body chemistry just clicked.

On Friday afternoon of that following week I was finishing up a staff meeting for February sales forecast when I felt what I might delicately describe as “embarrassing urgency.” I sprinted to the ladies room in time, plunked down on the seat with a promise never to have the meat lovers’ pizza from Ciro’s again. There was a momentary searing pain followed by a sickening plop. I stood up and looked into the bowl. There was my lily white, cellulite dimpled ass, like Ahab’s arch nemesis, floating in the bowl as innocuously as you please. I felt behind me — nothing. It had fallen off. I passed out.

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U Got Urself A Gun

Our godfather Jack was rolling on the ground like he was in the wild, wild west. Shooting his .357 at a leftover piling. And, oh, how he was proud of his shots. But we had no idea what we were watching. Meanwhile, Walter the dog was in the Land Cruiser and honking the horn, thoroughly confused by the car’s early 80s beeping horn: Meeep, Meeeep. So what does this have to do with Tuesday’s Literary Briefing? We’re coming at you guns blazing, horns blasting, that’s what. Get out of DSM’s way because we’re smashmouthing you, three yards and a cloud of dust. Did ya catch on yet? Henry Miller is getting us started. And Columbo is right behind, pistols primed. Hell yeah, Sofia Tolstoy was tough. But are you looking to talk, punk? Are you? If so you’ll want to hit up Dialogue: The Relationships of Design. And then visit Woody Allen. Ahh Woody, always a tough character…Hands up! – Andrew Geer

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