I don’t realize that “Leader of the Pack” is a song about a jilted lover dying in a motorcycle crash. Should that lyric upset a bar full of bikers?

What is more painful: Gallstones, a root canal, or being the victim of phone video hijacking? Being forced to watch a video on someone’s phone is irritating, but I suppose it’s a matter of magnitude.

Good God, jump to recipe! How do recipes warrant so many words? I am an avid cook and an avid reader, but I don’t want to read a 3,000-word essay on chicken tandoori when I’m hungry.

Barefoot running has been an ice-breaker. It leads to discussions about injuries, cures, vitamins, therapies, wellness, and life in general. No one cares who you are when you run with shoes.

We writers have a lot going on in our heads. As necessary as animated ideas and feelings are, silence is essential. Hence, I’ve adopted the creed: If you can’t think something nice, don’t think anything at all.

I remember the running joke, “We’ll fix it in the mix,” from my recording studio days, which became “We’ll fix it in post” when I moved to TV.

A Dog’s Guide to Mindful Living. Sounds like a best seller, if not a social media post

Breathe… Be the star of your own show, not a human version of artificial intelligence.

What? 100 LinkedIn applicants have already responded? It was posted an hour ago! Oh no, I bet one of them has better skills than me. Who posted this job, Casper?

I’m sure you are a nice person but tempo is important. Wait a beat. The audience knows when it's wrong.

When I am screamed at that something is the best, I know it’s hyperbole, bordering on a lie.

You never know the stories within the story until you write it. I’m getting better all the time; but how much time will it take?

I can’t believe my eyes. It’s the ad for the job I’ve been waiting a lifetime for: SODA JERK WANTED.

Prime Suspects Identified in Global Oxygen Waste Crisis: Men in Department Stores

Back to soul. I like rhythm. Grammar checkers have guilty feet. They love commas more than rock stars love weed.

GEO is no knight in shining armor or backstage party, but I want in. It’s a different game, scoring with comportment versus mass.

There he is. The Goober. Every morning at nine he settles into his nest at the corner table of the library.

𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐡, 𝐈’𝐦 𝐌𝐂𝟏𝐑. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐆𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐚 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭?