Bourbon Cowboy

The adventures of an urbane bar-hopping transplant to New York.

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Location: New York, New York, United States

I'm a storyteller in the New York area who is a regular on NPR's "This American Life" and at shows around the city. Moved to New York in 2006 and am working on selling a memoir of my years as a greeting card writer, and (as a personal, noncommercial obsession) a nonfiction book called "How to Love God Without Being a Jerk." My agent is Adam Chromy at Artists and Artisans. If you came here after hearing about my book on "This American Life" and Googling my name, the "How to Love God" book itself isn't in print yet, and may not even see print in its current form (I'm focusing on humorous memoir), but here's a sample I've posted in case you're curious anyway: Sample How To Love God Introduction, Pt. 1 of 3. Or just look through the archives for September 18, 2007.) The book you should be expecting is the greeting card book, about which more information is pending. Keep checking back!

Friday, September 01, 2006

Insector Cowboy Mystery Solved!

The "Match Wits With Inspector Cowboy" posting was unusually popular, and led to a lot of personal emails filled with all kinds of guesses. I've placed the answer to the mystery in the comments here.

However, with her permission, I'd also like to share the funniest answer, which came from my dear friend Rose Jensen of Chicago (soon to be "of New York"). Enjoy!:

I have only to guess from her desperation that Blanche is guilty of
locking the bathroom door. But she did not take the key. No, the key
was taken, taken from the rusty nail it hung on near the stall. I
deduce that Inspector Cowboy is familiar with the culprit, so familiar,
in fact, that his impatience with Blanche almost gave him away.

Desperate to pry loose the cap of his whisky flask, which during office
hours holds a refreshing few swigs of diet coke—giddy up, Inspector
Cowboy (aka, Clepto Clem) grabbed for the nearest shiny object, a
single key reflecting florescent office light like a xerox machine with
the lid up and a 10lb finger on the copy key. In the ensuing struggle
between man and
certain-street-cred-ow-i-need-a-bandaid, he slipped the key into his

If Shilo, his trusty horse, hadn't been working Central Park that
afternoon, he'd have surely gone back to the ranch and restored order,
sooner. As things are, he stands to gain hero status tomorrow.

Your secret's safe with me, Clem.

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Blogger Cowboy Dave Dickerson said...

The actual prosaic answer: The cleaning people took care of it. We were all so upset at the prospect of having our lavatory convenience slashed for a week, we neglected to consider the obvious. I went home amused at how impossible such a simple problem was, and then came in the next morning and found it solved, and figured out how. It felt like a classic Father Brown type mystery, so I had to share.

9/01/2006 7:01 AM  

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