Welcome to Riding to Hell in a Handbasket

Hi.  My name is Tom.  This is my blog.

This blog will not have anything to do with the following:

• Riding
• Hell
• Handbaskets

So why the title?

I was raised primarily by my grandmother Granny.  Granny was an odd bird: she was a Roosevelt Democrat and a born-again Christian, which is a species that was apparently more common in the pre-Reagan political era.  That was the way I was raised.  The result has been a liberal who’s ashamed of his sexuality.

This dichotomy has held me back.  On my 42nd birthday earlier this year, I reached a point where I was incredibly unhappy with the path my life had taken.  I decided I needed to do something about it.  The problem was Granny.  She is like Dickens’ Ghost of Christmas Future, silently pointing toward the gates of Hell every time I do something.

Everybody’s heard the phrase “going to Hell in a hand basket.”  It means that things are going poorly–that things are rapidly headed into chaos or disaster without much effort.  But I wanted something to give the idea that I was purposefully going to Hell; hence, “riding.”