My book, Observations at the Speed of Life has moved to a new publisher with a new marketing plan and some interesting twists, including a new subtitle 'Lessons in Every Moment.'

Over the holiday, I finished narrating an audio version of the book that I expect to be released in late January.

Additionally, the book has been accepted into the Kindle program and will also be published in Spanish, opening up additional markets.

You can visit the new webpage for the book here. It includes a couple of blogs written about the book and the genre and some other interesting stuff.

It's not too early to start thinking about getting the updated version for someone as a 2025 Christmas, Graduation or birthday gift. Happy to sign if possible.

Parental Warning: I cannot tell this story without swearing a little, so if you have sensitive ears or are offended by any off-color words related to someone’s butt, please exit now.

Several years ago in a Weblog entitled ‘Nobody’s Perfect’ I described the experience of waking up at 4:00 am after hearing thunder and immediately wondering if I had closed the sunroof on my car parked in the driveway. 

Here is a brief excerpt from that Weblog:

I went to bed about 11 PM and slept soundly until the thunder woke me up about 4:00 AM. When I rolled over, barely conscious, I could hear the rain pounding, I mean pounding, on the roof. The roof? When I shot up, half-awake, it occurred to me that I wasn’t sure whether or not I had closed the roof of the car after dinner.

Half awake, or half asleep depending on where you fall on the 'glass half full' spectrum, I bombed downstairs clad in gym shorts and a t-shirt, running out the front door in the driving rain in 40-degree weather, car keys in hand.

The shock of the cold driveway on my bare feet helped me concentrate, try it sometime. I reached for the top of the car hoping to touch glass. Now fairly wet and at least three-quarters awake, and may I add, remarkably refreshed by the driving rain, I realized that no, I did not close the sunroof and that water had been filling up the passenger space of the vehicle for about 20 minutes.

I did what you do at 4 AM in the driving rain in your driveway with the sun roof of your car wide open and not quite fully awake: I jumped in to turn the key and close the roof. I still remember the shock as my gym shorts and t-shirt hit the 40 degree puddle of water on the seat.

Now, fully awake, I closed the roof, got out of the car, and stood in the driving rain, in my driveway, in the dark, with very, very wet shorts and t-shirt and laughed.

The moral of that story was that No One is Perfect, and obviously, close the sunroof at night.

I have a follow up to the story of hopping into my car and being shocked by ice cold water. This new story is both similar and different at the same time.

Over the years I have made no secret of my preference for Dunkin Donuts and their coffee. Growing up about 5 miles from the original Dunkin and actually dunking a donut into a mug with coffee must have had an impact on my adult tastes.

However, something happened to me last month that will forever alter my perception, and maybe your perception of Dunkin. 

I had stopped at a local gas station with a Dunkin inside after a medical visit and decided to surprise my wife with a medium coffee (of course I got one for myself as well). It’s a little tradition in our family to bring back coffees when we are out in the morning.

As I went to put the coffees into the cupholders, something happened, but I am not sure what.

It might have been a loose lid, or I might have bumped my arm getting in the car, or I might have misjudged the distance to the cupholders, but in rapid succession, the lid flew off one of the cups and all 16 ounces of the 185-degree coffee with cream poured directly into the driver’s seat. 

What made this little accident more exciting was that my body had already committed to sitting in the driver’s seat, i couldn't stop myself, and couldn’t avoid putting my butt into that puddle of coffee with cream sitting there at 185 degrees. 

That’s right. I had done it once with ice cold rainwater and now had the experience of burning hot coffee to go with it. 

Stop laughing.

When I hit the pool of 180-degree coffee on the seat my ass was on fire. You have not experienced hot coffee until you've dipped your butt in it.

As I hopped out of the car there was still a pool of coffee in the seat. I guess my pants and underwear were not as absorbent as advertised?

I know the phrases you are thinking of right now.

• Burned my ass
• Hot cross buns
• Hot shit

And more

My son is sitting in the passenger seat, watching this whole thing unfurl. To his great credit, he did not laugh at the situation. Not sure if that is because he was in shock or he didn’t want to make it worse. 

I let my ass cool down a bit and fortunately I had a roll of paper towels in the back seat, that I didn’t know I would need when I left them there. I was able to sop most of the coffee up, but not all of it. The seat was still dripping wet, and may I add probably still over 140 degrees. 

How to get home with the one coffee I had left?

Fortunately, again, there was a spare cushion for my son’s wheelchair in the back and I placed it on top of the seat, hopped back in with my wet pants and drove the three miles home. With my butt definitely wet, but not sure if it was burned. 

When my wife asked where the other coffee was or why I didn’t get one for myself, I turned around and showed her my coffee-stained khaki pants. I guess at least I wore the right color that day.

She insisted that I take the coffee I offered to her. She felt I had earned it.

And in response to your question, no I did not seek medical treatment. Even if I needed it, it would be hard to explain in an emergency room.

Although, if I did, I would probably make their day.

Anyway, my wife didn’t laugh either. Right away.

Later in the day she passed by me with a friendly smirk and called me Mr. Coffee. I turned around and pulled my pants down and said: ‘here’s why,’ and made some other remarks I can't publish in spite of the disclaimer.

So, the next time you hear me say that someone or something burned my ass, or the equivalent, you’ll know I am talking from experience, because I've had real hot cross buns.