This week, I decided to spend a day allowing society (a.k.a. the internet) to tell me exactly how I should be a man. For one day I would dress, drink, and spend my time how the cyber arbiters of masculinity determined.
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Lorde made a name for herself taking down pop culture, but what would she do now that the world knew her name? Now that she was pop culture?
Sometimes, though, I wonder where my personality ends and my OCD begins. Or if they’re distinct at all.
Christmas is always the musk of dusty angel robes and glow of Christmas tree lights on the hardwood floor. Easter, however, is rarely the same twice.
SESAME STREET – Mayor Guy Smiley’s recent housing and business ban has been roundly rejected by the Yip Yip Court this morning on grounds that it unfairly discriminates against humans.
There’s nothing like bustling down the baking needs aisle with a week’s supply of Oreos yelling out for “Anthill!” to make you realize you’re not currently leading a traditional life.
This narrative of Melania as a sly badass emerged through a series of clickable Internet conspiracy theories.
“Just for the sake of the simulation. I need to enter an end point. How long do you plan on living?”
Never have I felt more American / than lying on my back in a middle Illinois / gas station, duct taping my car together
For this reason, merely believing in “something” is not half-hearted or vague, but both mind-blowing and earth-shattering.
That is exactly what It’s Always Sunny manages to do; it takes the depravity we all hold in common and, with a little creativity and a lot of imagination, makes it feel oddly magical.
Success, money, fame, and even romance feel laughably conceptualized when placed against the visceral reality of friends singing along the highway and filling the car with farts.
In the evening we venture out into the city that she has called “the armpit of California” and find a place to procure some burritos. As we eat, Aunt Ellen tells me about her world travels.
What I really want the smiling broadcasters to say is that there is no silver lining. This is not an opportunity or a warning call or a new beginning. It is an ending, and endings should be mourned.
It frustrates me to hear people complain that they feel like they’re choosing between two evils or that they’ll just stay home on Election Day or that they’ll pack up and move to Canada if things don’t go their way.
I think that we must search out new pastures for play—Scottish dancing, Settlers of Catan, scuba-diving. When we begin to lose springiness in one area, we must seek it in another.
With so many cynosural queens clawing to be the center of attention, watching Drag Race can feel like attempting to view fireworks through a kaleidoscope.
The wizarding world finds itself again divided on an issue as deep and recurring as blood: what to do about the Muggles.
There is something gladiatorial about watching two players march onto the court before a roaring, royalty-studded crowd and knowing that only one will prevail
Tina: Good evening, I’m Tina Fey…
Amy: …and I’m Amy Poehler.
Tina: Welcome everyone to the 26th annual Golden Gabe awards.
As I opened my mouth, I realized I was about to put words to a trend I’d been observing in my faith life but that until this point had dozed cozily in my subconscious: “I don’t care as much as I used to, and I’m kind of fine with it.”
What I do think I’m saying is that we all need time to wade into the scum of life, the crude wonder of being a breathing, embodied person. We need to strip down to just ourselves and swim out from there.
Deep down, I know that there’s no “getting it right.” The most tragic aspect of this segue from youth to adulthood is simply realizing you can’t choose everything.
There was, however, mingled comfort and horror in knowing that if I hadn’t packed it, a Speedo vending machine was available in the lobby.
There is security in thinking that I don’t own a gun or make prejudicial proclamations to my friends or have a backwoods-y bowl-cut. If I can see a villain, I can know I’m not one.
Immediately, I sprinted to the finish and found my athlete crumpled like a pop can, every iota of energy spent. I haven’t felt happy or proud like I did in that moment for years.
Five miles. I’m finally loosening up and integrating the constant blare of spectators into my normal state of existence. I stay calm and don’t mind people passing me.
So rather than lament them, let’s lean into our montage moments; let’s learn to appreciate routine and apply ourselves faithfully to our daily goings out and comings in.
One may wonder what sort of daily tasks are deemed worthy by someone with so much practice spending days. For Alfie, the answer is knitting sweaters for tiny injured penguins.