The Curmudgeon's Quests, by Allan Wooley​

When I found out Mr. Parris died, I sat on my porch and wept — the mailman didn't know what to do when he saw me there, blocking the mailbox. 

What a heartbreaking loss for the whole world. 

Last week, I found out that yet another teacher who shaped my high school experience had died. Though sad, I took comfort in learning that he'd published three books in his retirement. 

I'm only on page 20 of Crumbs Cast Upon the Current: Some Stories, Poems, and Essays... but I already wish that all of my teachers would write a memoir before it's too late. 

Image: Eva Via Music

​My greatest regret of this whole pandemic is that I only had my travel guitar with me when the world shut down, rather than my Guild. Nevertheless, music has been a major source of comfort and entertainment during this unprecedented time. 
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Image: @TheHappyTalent on Instagram

Last night, like every night before it these last few weeks, was one of the most glorious of my life. It was midnight, and I was walking through the woods, alone. The trees blocked most of the moonlight and starlight, but above and below and all around me, I was surrounded by fireflies. 

All at once, I felt secluded in nature, and like I was scuba diving, and like I was riding Space Mountain, and like I was on some kind of drug that just makes you love everything around more than you thought possible. 

Image: @TheHappyTalent on Instagram

Last night, I debuted my first-ever original Christmas song -- and, a few mistakes notwithstanding, it went pretty well! 

Which is funny, because when I decided to write a Christmas song, I thought there was about a 1% chance I'd create something that wasn't embarrassingly awful and cheesy. 

​So how did I do it?

Simple. 

​I tied a hand behind my back.

So my buddy Nick and I have been talking about playing at an open mic... and we thought it would be fun to do a set of songs that is all G-Em-C-D. Because what a versatile chord progression, right?

Naturally, Wagon Wheel came to mind... But then Nick brought it to my attention that, according to mean (and potentially racist) people on the internet, no one should cover Wagon Wheel, ever -- not even Darius Rucker.

But, guys. Darius Rucker's version is way better than Old Crow Medicine Show's. 

From: Candytopia on Facebook

A "critic" who writes for the New York Times was recently paid to attend several (five?) ​Instagramable  museums, factories and mansions. In her own words, "They nearly broke me."

And that made my heart break a little... for her.

"I'm not a tourist, I'm a traveler!" I've heard this countless times during my travels. If I'm being honest, I've probably said it myself at some point.

But with age comes wisdom. I've changed my tune. I am perfectly happy to be a shameless tourist.

​Here's why.

Guys. While driving around Palo Alto this week, I saw FOURTEEN naked ladies!

It was glorious.

Last night, I made the biggest mistake of my life: I watched Open House, a Netflix original movie in which nothing happens for 80 minutes, and then in the last 10 minutes, everyone dies. You never find out who did it. It's literally just some random killer who is in no way connected to the characters or plot (except for when he kills them).

The movie was awful -- to the point that it is actually kind of offensive. But worse is the fact that I can never have that Monday night back. It's gone.

Ping pong and Katy Perry in Mandalay, Myanmar. What could be better?

​You know some of my favorite places to visit? The ones where, when people hear you speaking English, they don't rush over to sell​ you something -- they rush over to ask you if you're from California, if you've ever met George Bush, or if you own guns.