About

There's a stack of notebooks under my bed, a pair of very expensive sneakers by the door, and a pretty good chance I've left a half-finished soda somewhere I shouldn't have.

I'm a kid living in the '90s, writing things down before I forget them. This is my secret public journal. The secret part is going reasonably well. The public part depends on you.

Things worth writing down

Most days don't arrive with a story attached. You have to pay attention. Sometimes that means noticing what happens when you pump your shoes exactly seven and a half times. Sometimes it means following your friends into a deeply questionable soda-drinking competition. My mother would prefer that I develop an interest in something quieter.

I've also got a small grievance with the Macarena, which I've put in writing because the people responsible aren't returning my calls. Fame is a complicated thing, particularly when none of it belongs to you.

I write about sneakers, soda, dancing, and whatever else seems like the most important thing in the world that afternoon. I reserve the right to change my mind by dinner.

A little place of my own

I like the idea that these stories might end up somewhere beyond my bedroom. Maybe you're reading them years from now, on a computer that doesn't make a noise like a lawn mower when you turn it on. I hope the future has worked that out.

Mostly, I want a place to keep the details. The terrible ideas, the good afternoons, the things my friends said that I couldn't stop laughing about on the way home.

Thanks for finding your way here. Have a look through the writings, pick something you're into, and make yourself comfortable. Just watch where you sit. I still haven't found that soda.