I walk around the parking lot until I find a plastic shopping bag with the Two Guys Department Store name and logo printed on it. Two Guys sells discount clothes, fake wood furniture, and all sorts of crap – but most important to me, record albums. My dad bought me a compact stereo system as a graduation present ($149 wholesale from a family friend), but I owned no music. So I devised an ingenious plan: The Town of Tonawanda Two Guys Record Heist. It might be relevant to point out that I have plenty of money to buy, rather than steal, records. So why do I do it? Because it’s easy and exciting. And oh yeah, also because I’m an idiot.

At the tender age of six, Mother introduced me to her Poltergeist. I was confused when she described it as a dark energy, but then she said, “Think of it as an au pair!” and I understood that an invisible French caretaker (who probably wore a beret) had joined our little family.

2023 was the fortieth anniversary of my roles in the Bob and Doug McKenzie movie Strange Brew. These were two of the most difficult roles in motion picture history. It’s time the real story was told.

Heading into the course, I had expectations regarding how the next ten days would unfold, which was exactly what the website said not to do. A part of me envisioned robed figures wandering about barefoot with unkempt beards and various bracelets spanning the length of their forearms. Thus, I was surprised by how normal everyone looked. Most were dressed in loose-fitting tees with flowy bottoms cinched above the ankles with rubber bands creating makeshift capris. Being eighteen at the time placed me in the lower age bracket with fellow meditators being well into their forties and fifties. I struck up small talk with several only to realize they, too, had never attempted something as physically/mentally demanding. And I breathed a sigh of relief knowing we were just a group of folks trying to better ourselves at whatever capacity we could.

French toast, also known as pain perdu, or lost pain, is a time-honored staple of frugal French housewives and househusbands (maris de maison) everywhere. It consists of stale bread that even le chien refused, lovingly bathed in egg and milk and fried in something called a poêle. It is then dusted with cinnamon and hung on the wall as decoration.