Bob Seger

Superstitious is generally not a word used to describe my father. Not by me, anyway. But I have observed, from time to time, things that betray some reverence in him toward what I imagine to be vaguely spiritual or supernatural forces. Behavior that may ultimately stem from some quasi-religious doctrine that he, for the most part, keeps to himself.

On those rare occasions when you do catch him in the act, it's hard not to be struck by his resolve. Though he may not be a man who abides by a great many formal beliefs, those he does abide by are abided by devoutly.

Which is why Bob Seger was never permitted airtime on the family car radio. Having once had a dream in which he died in a fiery wreck while listening to Bob, my father felt it unwise to tempt fate. And happening upon Bob on the FM dial, he would maybe giggle a bit, then promptly change the station.

So the other day, waiting for my sausage, egg and cheese breakfast wrap, it was no surprise that hearing Against the Wind pipe through the neighborhood diner triggered memories of my father's secret existential struggle with Bob—or, rather, with mysterious powers intent on using Bob toward some mysterious end.

It's a shame, really. The guy's got some pretty cool songs.

"Tawny"

I've never used that word in a sentence. Never uttered it aloud, heard anyone employ it in casual conversation or, truth be told, been bothered by the fact that I can't remember what it means. I willfully ignore it in books, having never encountered an author whose general meaning hinged upon it. And if it quietly went extinct, I doubt I'd one day be at a loss for just the right word and fail to get some spectacularly insightful point across... I'd probably go on describing things just fine.

But, because I once misspelled it in a regional spelling bee, it just kind of stays with me. Or, to put it more accurately, a hazily spelled version of it stays with me, definitely starting with a "t" and most times ending in a "y." It's like having an acquaintance you don't particularly care for in your mind. I guess you could say I'm haunted.

In Fifth Grade, When Metal Was God

Mr. Pokrob didn't know much about heavy metal. This was never more apparent than the night four of us dressed up as Kiss (post-makeup) with every intention of earning a coveted spot in the Stanley T. Williams Middle School annual talent show by lip syncing "Heaven's On Fire." Because on that night, audition night, when we bumped into him on our way to the gymnasium, he proudly exclaimed, maybe attempting to garner our respect, maybe just trying to be friendly, "So, this is the Motley Crue!"

It was an awkward moment for everyone.

Amy & Eugene

New York City and I haven't always seen eye-to-eye on everything. We've had moments when I needed to feel less small and squashable while it insisted on looming a little too menacingly. Nights I wanted quiet when it honked and swore like crazy. And, to be perfectly honest, times I would've preferred to feel a little more hip and cultured when it saw fit to remind me how awkwardly out of touch I really am.

But we've come a long way. And though our differences result in a bit of unease from time to time, we seem to have found a reasonable amount of common ground.

We now agree, for example, that I should have access to foie gras at 3 in the morning (this is key)... That I should still occasionally stay up way too late and drink way too much... And that there should be a uniquely exciting backdrop against which I can enjoy the superb company of Amy and Eugene, my two favorite things about New York City.

Attack!

One or two particularly unpleasant episodes aside, I wouldn't be any kind of authority on the subject of panic. However, I can say with something mildly resembling confidence that the spookiest thing about it is that given the right circumstances (none of them awesome), just wondering or worrying about it can be enough to trigger an attack (extra not awesome).

It goes something like: Hmm, I wonder if... that's funny, I feel kind of... why am I on the floor?

Nothing else can just be willed into existence like that. Like, you can think about kittens as much as you want without one suddenly appearing in your lap.

I can think of a couple parties that would have gone a lot differently were this not true.