These pretzels are making me thirsty

Welcome to my weird little world. I don’t like talking about myself. Unless I’m crafting a detailed, vulnerable creative nonfiction story from my life, where I’ll pour out my soul to you. Then it’s okay.

My name really is Christopher Robin. My mother tells me I was named after two uncles — Chris and Robin. But I was born in the late 70s, so who’s bullshitting who, Mom?

Most of my work has a soundtrack. There’s one in my brain all the time anyway, so I feel like sharing it. There’s a lyrical or…


Who gives a shit?

I’m struggling with something. Maybe someone out there can help. Probably not, because this is shit I’ve cooked up in my own head. But I’d put money on most writers experiencing this at one point or another. It is this: I don’t have anything important to say.

This is going to sound really depressing, but stick with me for a couple minutes.

Why do I say I don’t have anything important to say? Because I’m simply one of a bajillion people with nothing interesting to say. …


A strange evening of interest

A delightful, warm spring evening was upon us. It felt more like mid-July, with temperatures solidly in the 80s and the humidity on the rise. As pandemic restrictions eased, we began trying to get the kids back out to experience the world. Hopefully, they remember it’s bigger than our backyard and the schools.

We got tickets to take them to Jurassic Quest — a drive-through dinosaur safari kind of thing. Last year we went to the indoor version just a few weeks before the pandemic shut down everything. This year they adapted it to be outdoors. They produced a corresponding…


Our music’s warmer than blood

Say it’s here where our pieces fall in place
Any rain softly kisses us on the face
Anywhere means we’re running
We can sleep and see ’em coming
Where we drift and call it dreaming
We can weep and call it singing

Songstories is becoming an interesting place. It’s one of the only things I write for these days, but it’s not because I don’t like the other pubs, I just don’t have time to write anymore. Good thing nobody cares!

Maybe it’s my new job. Maybe it’s family. Maybe it’s because it’s beautiful…


Dave Matthews Band

At what point in life do you look back at your musical past and think, “Gee, music was never better than ‘X’ time in my life”? When do you become your parents? When do we say, “…but our music was so much better back then”?

That time is now. Except new music is still good. I haven’t closed myself off to it. My question is this: does your musical bucket get full, or is it infinitely deep? Can you continue to appreciate new stuff without losing appreciation and time for new stuff? Maybe Terry Barr can help…


Nothing But Thieves

Took a breath, let it go
Felt the moment settle so
I couldn’t wait to tell you why
I’m standin’ here with this awkward smile

Before today, I never dived to the heart of this song. Mostly because I’m lazy. And really, I’d rather be listening to it more than writing about it. It’s really that good. But, hold that thought.

In this case, we have a small reason to celebrate. Songstories just hit a quaint 101 followers (thanks to Kristina God) and I couldn’t be happier about it. …


The Paper Kites

The Paper Kites. The sultry sounds of the late 1980s transported into the future.

The future is now.

I didn’t know anything about them until some bloody algorithm led me to them. I’ve moaned and groaned about cold, calculating algorithms before, but they don’t always get it wrong. I was pleasantly surprised. I had background music playing and didn’t notice them for their subdued sound. Suddenly I was listening, wondering what 80s band I had not heard for a long time. When, what do you know, the album was just released in 2018.

They sound as if…


Stopping is only the beginning

CW: Alcohol

I traded my tomorrows to remain in yesterday, whiskey tears are falling now, each one cries another day.

I keep this bottle to remind me of the time I give up each time I drink.

The feel of the magical solution washing over the mind, sweeping it into a tequila-colored, blurry-eyed haze, pulling all life’s cares out into the riptide, beyond the reach of the active mind.

Alcohol has many nicknames that romanticize its usage. Sauce. Liquid bread. Giggle juice. Refreshing adult beverage. Nightcap. Liquid courage. Social lubricant.

I haven’t been sober for long, only a few months…


A journal entry

As we all know, 2020 was a shitshow. But not all that happened was bad.

In amongst the chaos, some good things happened. My kids were small enough that we were able to spend some quality time with them, and they were able to drive us bananas all at the same time.

Spring 2020 was terrible, but memorable nonetheless. With nowhere to go, people started hoarding outdoor supplies for the summer. Pools, bikes, toys, etc. In early April we saw the proverbial writing on the wall that summer was going to be weird. …


An Ornithological Story

I saw this guy from my living room window sitting behind the car in the driveway. I thought maybe he had fallen asleep. (Or she. I’m no ornithologist.)

I didn’t want to run him over, so I went out to shoo him away. Then as I drew closer, I realized he wasn’t moving. Had he had a stroke? Can that happen to birds? Jesus, maybe he’s died standing up. Maybe he’s got some kind of bird flu, and the next pandemic is nigh!

Maybe he’s got a fungus in his brain preparing to take control. He’s a zombie bird! He’s…

Christopher Robin

Yes, that's my real name. Yes, I’m in therapy. No, that's not why. Father, husband, writer. Finding beauty in the mundane. christopher.robin.scribe@gmail.com.

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