Yesterday I received notice that a weird little autobiographical piece had been accepted by the South Loop Review. This was a surprise because (1) the review specializes in experimental forms of nonfiction and (2) I had written an experimental form of nonfiction.

Anyone who knows anything about my writing tastes also knows that I am devoted to serious, heartfelt, old-fashioned prose judiciously salted with slang and comic relief. But here I went and did this shocking thing and wrote something eclectic. (Oh, how I hate that word.) It's a memoir piece in the form of an unsolvable algebraic word problem. I was really bad at high school algebra, which makes the form even more eclectic.

In other news, the dog is barking and the dishwasher soap smells strange. And by the way, in her 1960 edition of Etiquette, Emily Post announces that drapes is an "inexcusable vulgarism" for curtains. Am I the only person who didn't know this? I feel so vulgar.