Andrew Martin Dodson
Author, music snob, husband, parent, amateur neck cracker. A quintuple threat, if you will. This is a space for personal essays, life stories (and lessons learned), as well as unfinished/belongs-nowhere-else fiction. Enjoy!
The Mall That Made Me Shit My Pants
Once, ages ago... There was a time when malls mattered, believe it or not. A time before ecommerce and Amazon's manifest destiny over retail. It was a time of actual music and movie stores where you could buy CDs and DVDs. Suncoast Video, Sam Goody, The Wherehouse. And not Blu-rays, not 4k UHD, just regular DVDs -- the ones with the cardboard case and flimsy plastic lock that held it together.
I Was Once Heckled by a Vietnam Vet in High School
Let's start with the obvious... War is hell, I think we can all agree on that. Whether you support nation-on-nation violence or not, it's clear that war is not a fun thing. Well, maybe to some. And no, I have never, nor will I ever (hopefully) fight in a war. Psychological warfare, maybe, but that's neither here or there.
How to Stop Making Little Mistakes at Work (Or in Life)
INTRODUCTION Sometimes, we screw up. At work or at home. And sometimes those mistakes can leave us feeling, well, like this:
THE BIG RESET
December 22nd, 1954: $20,000. Christ almighty. When my Lloyd passed away, bless his soul, he kept his mouth shut tight. He already did not talk very much, always tired, but he kept things moving along. Work kept us afloat. We made love when we made love and it was always good. He was daring, he was quite daring… He never mentioned any life insurance because I think he never thought he had to. It’s a nice surprise, but who am I going to thank? Sorry. Why am I apologizing? He never wanted me to see a therapist but I started to see one recently. His idea to keep this journal.
The Befores: Part I: Chapter I
Anthony lied in bed and stared—blood-shot, sleepless—at the three large cracks that snaked out from the center of his ceiling fan.
What should I watch if I loved Mad Men?
"Do you have any idea what it's like to work close to the metal?" To be "close to the metal" is to work intimately with a machine. A coder creates code, she slaves for days in a dark basement, hunched over the keyboard, eyes blurring from the strain of the green light on the screen. Black Flag and Kate Bush blare on her speakers. She sweats, she has not showered in days, she's angry and focused. She is approaching innovation's horizon. The computer. A hulking mass of mid-80s innovation. Business shall be more efficient! Households shall become more entertaining!
The great melting expanse
Guitars like fighter jets in a giant vacuum blare in the empty caverns of her home. A ribcage with feet and a smile dance in a light pitter-patter behind the woman--an occasional scream, an off-beat clap. Wind puffs up the edge of bank papers on the cold, splintered floor. Empty cans of tuna, a miniature fridge with mayonnaise, a small jar and a computer remain. And the ribcage, she dances and laughs.