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I Went to Weight Watchers and Refused to Do The Wave
When the tide is working its way towards the shore, it doesn’t just rush in, plop onto the sectional couch, and dig in to a plate of nachos. Rather, it flows in stirringly, breaches the sandy banks, and then recedes. As the water retreats centrifugally, giving in to gravity and the moon, regrouping for the…
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Girl, Discovered
Effortlessly, they became her best friends. In a year nearly free of peer interactions, she needed them. In a year of new and strange and awkward, she needed to feel less alone. And they were there. Amber and Mollie and Madison and Abby and Arriana and Madison and Alyssa and Dakota and Sareena and…
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Notes of a Memory
I was traveling a trip to Ireland when all I wanted to do was stay home with A Guy whom, it turned out, had no space for me yet it would take him some time to inform me of this fact At the time I hung My Everything on him In return, he flattened…
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I Thirsty
Bad lighting. Good intentions. [youtube]http://youtu.be/4lbOBJUhNSM[/youtube]
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Don’t Be That Guy
A few years ago, on a frigid winter’s day, I went out for a run on Duluth’s paved exercise trail, The Lakewalk. This trail is wide enough for foot and bike traffic to coexist–although it gets considerably narrower after months of snowfall, when snow-clearing machines have cut a line down its middle and packed rectangular…
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Himself Pleases This Mass
Much of this blog has been a love letter to Groom. Himself. Byron. I’ve felt lately, more than ever, that the blogging conceit of pseudonyms can be fairly tiring. Anyhow, so, yea. He’s Byron. Most of you knew that already. If not, here’s your pneumonic device. Byron. As in, Lord Byron. As in, Romantic Poet.…
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If These Old Walls Could Speak
It is easier to love humanity as a whole than to love one’s neighbor–Eric Hoffer For years, I watched her wandering the city, talking to herself, hugging her clutch of plastic bags to her chest defensively, avoiding eye contact, wearing dirty and mismatched clothes–her entire being an illustration of unchecked mental illness. I saw…
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Autumnal, Not a Summer’s, Eve
There’s a famous tale–if you’re a fan of fantasy or Tertullian, perhaps you’ve heard of it–concerning Eve and a feeling of being dirty. I refer not to the famous douching scene so histrionically dramatized by Bette Davis (with a notable assist from Anne Baxter) in All About Eve. What? You don’t remember that scene? Time…
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The Douchebag Counterargument
Sometimes, it alarms me that my job is to teach critical thinking to others, what with my own significant deficiencies as a critical thinker. I mean, I’m still shocked that Roseanne and Tom Arnold didn’t work out. And then there’s that whole much-too-recently-made connection between sunflower seeds and sunflowers. It seems one comes from the…
