Hi, I'm Ken. I like cats and frozen blueberries.


My Dad has been digitizing some of our old family albums and uploading them to Flickr, making feature videos, being one of those creative types. When I came across this photo I exclaimed to SML, “This seems important!” I think it might be how brilliantly white my hair is, or the fact that my ribbed t-shirt is so colorful, but either way all I can think when I see this photo is, “BEHOLD: THE BEGINNING OF MY EXCELLENT STYLE.”

How didn’t I become the next Andy Warhol?

But since we’'re looking back, why don’t we talk about that move to Boston? Last summer? When SML was going to go back to school, something along the lines of a Ph.D?

It never happened.

INTERNET: It was a confusing period of time because I don’t think either of us really knew what we wanted to do, where to live, or who to be. It’s not our fault; these things happen. Long story short, SML accepted a job with a publishing company and I went to work for a technology incubator, works.

It feels good to get that off my chest. This blog may now continue!

From Central Park

SML and I took a brief trip to New York City this weekend in an attempt to salvage what's left of our New York Attitude. Visiting the Guggenheim was likely not the best way to preserve any of my New York anger. If I had been feeling more masochistic I would have plastered myself against the expensive store windows of Prada, wondering if my stomach would look any less like cottage cheese in a $500 shirt.

I would certainly feel special in a $500 shirt...but I honestly think I would prefer to buy 500 bagels, toasted, with plain cream cheese than fork over a fortune for a shirt that would force me to learn how to iron.

Say what now?

Remember when I moved to Boston? There was like a tornado blowing in behind me? And then I suddenly lost all contact with the world?

That was pretty funny.

Leaving The Empire

I left New York on this past Wednesday, an adventure I’ll not soon forget as I keep having nightmares of rogue Realtors and landlords who keep changing their story. When I moved into Manhattan I was expecting a lot of scary things, things like cockroaches, rats and the occasional Statue of Liberty impersonator. Moving back to Boston I was expecting fresh, crisp air and friendly people interested in the common good. And lots of cream pie.

Instead of roses, sunshine and blessings, I was quickly brought back to the realities of Boston a month before the move when I had the fortune of explaining how long it should take to sign a lease and return a phone call to a rental agent. Unfortunately this also brought out the realities of my chemical imbalance, an imbalance that generally only manifests itself during extreme stress and shows itself as a roaring growl and the occasional and sometimes frequent profanity.

Subsequent to that conversation, SML and I began the long process of finding a new place to live followed by five Realtors and I can’t count the number of bus trips. Things quickly got worse as the rental market dried up, got good again for a moment and then suddenly got even worse after we lost a bidding war until finally, finally, we found a place worthy of two cats and an important green chair.

A lightning storm and a rather large tornado greeted us on our move back into Massachusetts, an omen that we should probably heed and likely won’t. We’ve shed blood, angry words and letters and threw money at our problems; and if we’ve come this far, I don’t see why a little wind and rain, or even a tornado should stop us now.

I took the above picture from the Highline Park in Chelsea just before we left New York. It was a seemingly perfect day, besides a light drizzle, and it reminds me of just how much I’ll miss that city; if not for the people, but for the view.

Eternal Happiness

During the past couple of days SML and I have been stalking this theatre trying to win lottery tickets to the Book of Mormon musical. I’ve been writing things like, “Pick Me!” and “Possum!” on the back of my entry tickets to give me an edge, but so far the results of this exercise have been dismal. I stopped breathing for a moment when they called out “Kenneth!....” and then sank my head when they followed up with a “CLARK”. What kind of name is Kenneth Clark anyway.

I listened to about half of this soundtrack on NPR when it was available a week or so ago. By far my most favorite song was “Sal Tlay Ka Siti” - a Ugandan convert dreaming of a Utopian city in faraway Ooh-tah. I think a lyric actually states, “Where all the people there are open minded...” I joke, of course, because I actually miss Salt Lake City. And not just because they have vitamin injections by the case.