This essay was recently (and kindly) published over at the Good Men Project. Click on that link to see it over there. Go on, they’re nice.

That’s her, that’s me. That’s us.

I’m in love with a dying person. It’s not easy, and I’m pretty clumsy at it. I’m selfish, I’m needy, I’m an engineer and I’m a writer. Which in sum means that I can imagine a series of events and adjustments by which our story improves in my favor. But her slow decline is ignoring my script.

“Are you mad at me?” she asks.

“No.”

“Are you disappointed in me?”

“No,” I answer again…


Thanks to Amazon for the image.

About five or six years ago, a good friend of mine gifted me a really decent, bright red T-shirt. It was emblazoned with the “Triumph” logo, the one from the British motorcycle company.

My friend worked at a local motorcycle repair-shop, and brand reps came through all of the time with various corporate swag. He saw the shirt, thought of me, and he handed it over the next time we played pool together at our neighborhood pub.

Again, that was about five or six years ago. About four years ago, I accidently wore it to work one morning. I was…


Prologue: I originally wrote about this back in March of 2017; since then, my in-laws sold their individual homes, moved in together, remodeled their new home, and — just this past weekend — remarried after 37 years. I’ve many, many thoughts about the whole situation, but in general I carry a world of admiration for how well Bonnie and Bob embody the reckless optimism of love. Because, what better thing to be recklessly optimistic about? Huzzah! And now to the text…

That’s them, on the wedding program from this past weekend.

My wife and I waited until our kids sat down to dinner before we broke the news to them…


I’ve told this story many times in the past couple of weeks, though I still can’t quite believe it happened. But every word is true.

It started with a fairly normal day at work. Now, my employer features prominently in this story, but what happened that night happened as much to them as it did to me. So they’re not the bad guy. Honestly, they’ve been fairly decent to me and my family over the years. …


London Heathrow welcome center

It was a one-day trip to London for an emergency customer meeting, a toothpaste-back-in-tube meeting, the usual sort of thing my company pays me to travel for. After work, back at the hotel near Heathrow, I begged off my colleagues’ plans to meet downstairs at the hotel bar. See, although I had some corporate obligations to my team in London, I had also never been to the ancient city before, and I wanted to see what she might show me about herself.

But as I was thinking about it, alone back in my hotel room, every adventure I could imagine…


Yum? (photo credit: Nicko’s Kitchen @ YouTube)

A few years back, I was briefly the singer in a rock band. And as part of that whole mess, I had the gold medal of a meatball experience.

I was working at a small tech company at the time, and like many small tech companies, the engineers with Fenders gathering dust at home eventually found out about the other engineers with Fenders gathering dust at home. We agreed to bring all our gear into work and the building facilities guys found us a reasonably sized, well lit, unused storage room on the ground floor that we could use. We…


Why we continue to live without decent gun-control laws.

Photo credits: The Atlantic & AP

A few days ago, a teenage gunman murdered seventeen people at Stoneman Douglas High School, partially because of bad grammar.

Of course, it’s more complicated than that. But it needs to be said: the Second Amendment of the U.S. Constitution is one goddamn confusing sentence. It reads this way:

“A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.”

The words form a Rorschach test of what Americans believe exists as legal basis for a national gun policy. While I principally see the…


I considered buying all of them.

Got into an argument with a friend at the pub last night. He’s confused, angry and frightened about how far the pendulum has swung regarding sexual harassment accusations. What used to be tolerated isn’t tolerated anymore; what women used to stay silent about, they’re now speaking openly about.

And he’s confused because he feels it’s impossible to know what the rules are now if what constitutes a hostile work environment is subjectively decided by each woman individually; he’s angry because he feels it’s unfair for all men to suffer because of what a small number of men do; and he’s…


Thank you NASA. Rock on.

I kicked on the kitchen radio the other day when I got home from work to discover that my wife had left it tuned to the local NPR station. So instead of the music I was hoping for, the first thing I heard was an interview with a woman who chases eclipses around the world; the one on Monday will be her tenth.

“The first time I saw one,” she said, “it changed my life. It was transcendental. I was like — wow! — this is better than an orgasm!”

Okay, I know what you’re thinking. Orgasms? On NPR? That’s…


This essay was recently (and kindly) published over at the Good Men Project. Click on that link to see it over there. Go on, they’re nice.

After my first fifty orbits, here’s a brief collection of affirmations that I’m pretty damn sure about.

Birthdays. Not screaming about it.

Birthdays are better with cake.

Wine is better with bubbles.

Morning is better with coffee.

Afternoons are better with naps.

Evenings are better with chocolate.

Driving is better with music.

TV is better with a pause button.

Cigarettes are better with whiskey.

Golf is better with beer.

Singing is better with feeling.

Climbing is better with trees.

Scott C. Best

Writer. Past the beginning, somewhere near the middle.

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