After several months of commuting weekly from New York City to the Book of Odds office in Boston, I'm looking forward to continuing my editorial work here at the website…from home.
My high school has an annual violence against women awareness day. One year the student group that organizes the event covered the walls with homemade posters of pictures of Barbie dolls smeared in ketchup-like fake blood.
Recently, many residents of Euclid, Ohio, reported seeing a UFO night after night, hovering over the western horizon.
I have a friend who would best be described as borderline paranoid. No, he doesn’t wear a tin foil hat to fend off alien attacks, but he is very afraid of having his house broken into. See, a few years ago, he saw the movie Hostel, and suffice it to say, he did not enjoy the experience.
A few weeks after my mother died a horrible death from an inoperable brain tumor, I got a phone call late at night from my friend Timmy who lived in San Francisco. I could tell he’d had a few drinks—which wasn’t unusual for him—but instead of being in his usual jovial mood, he was distraught.
When my mother died in 2005, neither my siblings nor I thought my dad would last for long. To our surprise, he slowly reorganized his daily habits and moved forward with a steady, slow-paced life.
If the past can predict, Miss Massachusetts doesn’t stand a chance of being crowned Miss America this Saturday night. The historical odds she will take home the crown are precisely 0. In fact, except for the 1933 win by 15-year-old Marian Bergeron of West Haven, Connecticut (the pageant likes to point out she was 15 ½), you can write off the entire New England region. Ditto for Alaska.