The Sims is an escapist vehicle for people who want to escape to where they already are, which is why I thought this game was made precisely for me.

What is going to happen in the course of my day that will be an improvement over lying on something very soft, underneath something very warm, wearing only underwear, doing absolutely nothing, all by myself?

The falling flakes were random and without purpose; the snow was drunker than she was.

Somewhere, at some point, somehow, somebody decided that death equals credibility.

At a magazine, everything you do is edited by a bunch of people, by committee, and a lot of them are, were, or think of themselves as writers. Part of that is because magazines worry about their voice.

Being interesting has been replaced by being identifiable.

We’re all tourists, sort of. Life is tourism, sort of. As far as I’m concerned, the dinosaurs still hold the lease on this godforsaken rock.