AUGUST, 2019

Greetings from the hallowed halls of HANDSOME FAMILY castle. Tell no one of the contents of this missive. Imagine you are reading an email pretending to come from your bank.  All your money has been transferred to a distant relative who happens to be stranded at the South Pole….  Be wary, but read on....

Weve been home in Albuquerque for a bunch of lovely, quiet months in which we have descended into the depths of artistic hell trying to finish some goddamn songs. 

It gets done when it gets done and then we’ll have a new record

… as long as we’re not stranded at the South Pole or caught in a shoot-out at the Fair 'n Square… 

Robert Scott's last diary entry was written in a windy tent near the South Pole. He was trekking back after a 2 year journey (having arrived at the pole 33 days after the Norwegian team planted their flag). 

Scott's last entry read,“We took risks, we knew we took them; things have come out against us, and therefore we have no cause for complaint, but bow to the will of Providence, determined still to do our best to the last
If only he had used sled dogs instead of ponies. If only Oates hadn’t wandered off in a blizzard. If only they hadn’t tried to beat Norwegians at frozen land travel— that’s like trying to beat Americans at shopping.

Actually this has nothing to do with meat. It’s a list of the top 3 most wonderful items for purchase on our website. This list is geared completely toward your individual genetic code. Take the quiz in the next column to find out which item is right for you.

4. There’s no quiz. 

Tonight the air vibrates with cicadas. The males sit on branches and sing while the females fly about listening for that one special song. They've all spent the last 3-5 years underground sipping root sap. Suddenly they have wings. They rise into the air and suddenly they know how to sing. 
May we all ascend into such unimagined wonders.

We’ve had a lot of flies in the house lately. Probably because we left the back door open all last week.
I bought the fanciest fly trap I could find. It had a white ‘modesty’ screen across the front to hide the killing field behind. From the front, the trap looked like it should be filled with patchouli and placed in a yoga studio.
Behind the white grill there was a piece of cardboard covered in sticky residue. One by one the flies flew behind the screen and never flew out. I imagined they were going to a tea party or a photo shoot. They were having a great time!
A week later we were fly-free, but I kept hearing this loud ZZZZ! Was my printer calling me? No. The motion-sensor light? My phone? No, it was the fly trap.
I’d like to say that I carefully performed micro-surgery on the enormous fly that was trapped and still alive in there (probably for days). I want to say I cried, “Bon voyage ZZZZ!” As he flew away into the trees. 
Truth is: I did take him outside. I carried ZZZZ! within his screened boudoir to the garbage bin.  
"He’ll see the world now, I thought. “He’ll take a garbage barge to the South Pole or wherever it is we're dumping garbage now.”
There are flies in the house again, but I can’t put out another glue trap and I held a fly swatter raised for half hour before deciding I couldn’t use it.
Today I found a line of sugar ants heading into a bathroom closet. They’d found a splash of cough syrup. 

Bon voyage little adventurers! 


... INCLUDING thoughts    
on parsley, wildebeests, pyramid magic and