Author: Keith Howard
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Brief Columbus Day Report from the Tiny White Box
Columbus Day in the Tiny White Box in New Hampshire’s Great North Woods, a few miles from Canada, is, to my mind, supposed to be cold, windy and clear, visibility increased because most of the leaves have been blown off. Not that more evidence was needed, but apparently my mind doesn’t work right. Today is…
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Inductive Archaeologists and Shaun of the Dead
Archaeology has to work with the stuff that gets found. For instance, much of what we know about Roman Britain isn’t based on written records left lying around for 1600 years, it’s conjecture drawn from types of pottery and crockery exhumed from the earth. It’s all a matter of inductive reasoning—drawing conclusions from isolated bits…
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Tiny White Box Profiled in Vagabond Monthly–Libel Suit to Follow
I’ve always wanted to be interviewed by Rolling Stone, the New Yorker or, even, Foreign Affairs Quarterly. (In this last, I’d hoped to outline my vision for a future Myanmar that would begin with changing its name to WeUsedtobeBurma.) Instead, the home I live in is now featured in another, less well-known magazine—Vagabond Monthly: The…
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Tonio K to Walker Percy to Ashes to Ashes to Dust to Dust
It’s a great big goofy world, and the internet can only multiply that. The other day, I wrote a column about my funeral (plans for, not reporting from), including a song I wanted to have played, “We Walk On” by Tonio K. On a whim, I posted a link to it on a Tonio K.…
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I Wasn’t an Alcoholic–I Just Drank to Stay Sane
Before I got sober, I’d only gone without alcohol for more than seven days three times since I was 13. The first two “extended dry times” led me to attempt suicide and end up in psychiatric hospitals—the third included talking mice, fireworks and long conversations with princesses. Let me explain. In March of 1978, I’d…
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The Vast Indifference of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame–Warren Zevon
Halls of fame are designed to honor the greatest folks in a particular area of expertise. As a kid, I could name two-thirds of the players in the Baseball Hall of Fame, and explain why they did (or didn’t—I’m looking at you Joe Tinkers, Johnny Evers, and Frank Chance, you recipients of Franklin P. Adams…
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No Harmonica Necessary
Sitting in a t-shirt beside a fire in early October, Sam (is a dog) curled up at my feet, Bettye LaVette singing an acoustic blues version of “Choices” by George Jones and the sky is full of stars. I’ve got Trader Joes chocolate-covered peanut-butter-filled pretzels and a diet Coke. Life is, to quote Mary Poppins,…
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In the Event of My Demise–Funeral Plans
At the beginning of the summer, I spent a couple weeks in England, Walking Hadrian’s Wall alone and dreaming dreams of Roman soldiers on the frontier, then travelling to London to meet up with two of my daughters and their mother. Because there had been a series of bombings and terrorist attacks, I wanted to…
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Art Fights Back: Chuck Palahniuk and Me
Life imitates art, but it’s not often art gets a chance to fight back. Here’s the true story of this picture. Chuck Palahniuk (pictured above in glasses) has written a number of books I (pictured above in terror) think are pretty great, including Fight Club (yes, THAT Fight Club), Choke and my personal favorite Survivor,…
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Thinking Outside the Rectangular Pine Box
A friend of mine is starting a new job tomorrow, and I wanted to offer her some help. That’s what friends do. Dear Sarah, Congratulations on your new job at Fading Twilight, an assisted-living, acute-care, awaiting-the-last-buzzer facility for the elderly! I must admit when you said you were going to be marketing for a…
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For Those of You Joining Us Now . . .
I write a daily blog called One Mind Snapping at tinywhitebox.com. Manchester InkLink is now publishing a weekly piece drawn from these, and I figured you might want to know a bit about me. If not, I won’t be crushed, although I will be surprised. Hurt, even. But not crushed. At the bottom are links…
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A Fairy-Tale Memoir
A memoir in sonnets would be a great thing. While I’ve written sonnets, both Petrarchan and Shakespearean (in form, not talent), 14 lines seems too short to explain a decision to leave a job I loved to live in a tiny white box, much less a marriage, its slow demise and its aftermath. Hell, I…
Tiny White Box--Thoughts on Life, Death, Recovery, and Other Mundane Topics 