O Mighty Crisis Stories

If the Guy Next to Me Had Been British, He Would Have Whispered, “Put Your Baps Away, Love” 24

If the Guy Next to Me Had Been British, He Would Have Whispered, “Put Your Baps Away, Love”

Possessing a highly refined gift for Dickin’ Around, I invariably run late. Naturally, as I attempt to ram my way out of the house, idiocy abounds. The other week, when I was trying to get to the gym to do a little cardio and then attend yoga class, I was...

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I Wish I Had Enough Money 19

I Wish I Had Enough Money

Raising my voice above the clamor, I called out, “Okay, you can start your ten minutes of freewriting NOW.” Even in my rowdy, chaotic, feral-children-come-to-college afternoon class, that command settled them down. Heads bent over notebooks, and fingers tapped away on keyboards. For the next ten minutes, the usual cacophony calmed...

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My Balls Are Not Schweddy 15

My Balls Are Not Schweddy

I’ll bet some of you are familiar with this classic Saturday Night Live skit: Schweddy Balls The earnest announcers speak with carefully modulated voices into their microphones, convinced that they are bringing a valuable educational experience to their listeners–and of course, hilarity grows out of their lack of external awareness. This is...

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No More Blue 11

No More Blue

Bringin’ it home with Part III. ———————————————- A few days after the God of the Parking Lot Attendant blessed me and washed my blackened heart clean, I exited the parking ramp again. Delightfully, it was David–not his gristly, plucked-chicken, Vikings-loving, puka-shell sporting compatriot–working the booth. It’s a real crapshoot, the...

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My Redeemer 17

My Redeemer

A continuation from the previous post. I believe such a thing is called Part II. ————————————— My stomach hurt all that day. It had absorbed the fallout of a couple people’s interpersonal cowardice, and I felt sad, sad, sad. It’s not for nothing that Byron and I joke about my...

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Yellow-Bellied Chicken Hearts 14

Yellow-Bellied Chicken Hearts

When I was sixteen, I made a difficult phone call. Having started ballet and modern dance lessons at age seven, I, as a teenager, was ready to be done. Once high school hit, I got a job at the mall, joined a variety of extracurricular activities, and craved All-Important and...

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All Is Not Lost 15

All Is Not Lost

It’s always easy to moan about “how it used to be” and “what’s been lost,” particularly because that attitude validates nostalgia as An Excellent Filter Through Which to Assess the World. Nostalgia’s whole modus operandi is one of superiority. Nostalgia, that sly vixen, slides into our psyches and whispers, “Aren’t...

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I Saw a James, a Simon, a Bunch of Andrews, Johns, Philips, Thomases, Matthews, Maybe a Bartholomew but Definitely Not a Labbaeus or a Judas 19

I Saw a James, a Simon, a Bunch of Andrews, Johns, Philips, Thomases, Matthews, Maybe a Bartholomew but Definitely Not a Labbaeus or a Judas

The Apostle Islands National Park is about an hour-and-a-half from Duluth. Every now and then, we have cause to drive that direction or swing over to the neighboring town of Bayfield. However, the other day, we aimed the car directly towards the park, on purpose. We decided to join the...

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Polarian 13

Polarian

February is known for leading with blah. Here in the Northwoods of the American Midwest, February can create a strangled scream in inhabitants who attempt perkiness. “Well now. We’ve had quite a winter this year, haven’t we, with a seriously snowy December, historic Polar Vortexian cold, and seven days of...

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Moist Beavers 27

Moist Beavers

There are a few things that my ears like: 1) The fffftzz sound of a beer cap being pried off; 2) When I go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, come back to the bed, and flip over my pillow, making the whole thing cool and soft...

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