Here's me after surgery last November. The excess fat around my chin is from the anesthesia and not - I repeat, not - from eating Wendy's at every available opportunity over the previous eight months.
I'm not sure if this was my surgeon's attempt to provide me with affirmation by osmosis or his way of branding me with the name of his favorite prog rock band.
Izzie the Dog on the day we brought her home, before she was infected with the seed of Satan.
Fred Norton on January 3 in his car waiting in the eastbound lane of Roswell Rd. at the intersection with Johnson Ferry Road. He did not see Meghan and me waiting in the westbound lane, and luckily was not picking his nose.
My writer's room at NSAI on my first trip back to Nashville last winter.
Sunset behind River Street in late January, shot from Hutchinson Island in Savannah.
Izzie the Dog last February, napping with (and consequently not biting) her mom.
A calzone and a beer in front of me at the 'Shroom.
A photo of myself (times what, eight?) beneath the Cloud Gate sculpture, AKA "The Bean", in Chicago last spring.
An accidental encounter with Governor Mike Huckabee outside Fox News studios while walking from Radio City Music Hall back to Times Square.
From May, my nephew Landon's photograph of me some three minutes after my getting out of bed.
From about two weeks ago, this was the result of my nephew Carter's preference for meringue over banana pudding.
My dog's spelling isn't very good, but she is smart enough to be able to navigate the maze of paperwork necessary to start a small business in North Carolina. From our honeymoon.
