What we think of as Halloween is really the product of media barons, city mayors, and candy-makers. You know, before the 1920s, Halloween was really a terrible, terrible night.

Of all the priceless objects left behind, this is what we rescue. These artifacts. Memory cues. Useless souvenirs. Nothing you could auction. The scars left from happiness.

Parents are like God because you wanna know they're out there, and you want them to think well of you, but you really only call when you need something.

The money is in television. Books are not the dominant medium of our time, so fewer people will create them. In a sad way, books have become a form of "comfort food" we expect to lull us to sleep.

It's pathetic how we can't live with the things we can't understand. How we need everything labeled and explained and deconstructed.

I could imagine myself becoming one of Marla's stories.

You ever wonder if Adam and Eve were just the puppies God dumped because they wouldn't house-train?