I did something I’d never done before: I started screaming for help.
The reason I think about Samson often is that he was a legend, but he seems just as human as the rest of us. He was selfish, deceptive, and disobedient, and yet, we remember him as a hero.
On Sunday, I came across a body, lying by the side of the road—an expanding pool of blood seeping from the head.
There are seventeen weeks until summer—take the time to thank a local grower, and spend some quality time with an onion. Warm weather will be here soon.
Which is why it is so wonderful to see Adam Rippon glorified for his femininity. And which is why it’s so wonderful to see that he does not carry the queer Olympic torch alone.
And we waited. I would leave for work, preparing myself for the possibility that it was the last time I would see her alive.
I do not want to strike. No one wants a strike. But if it comes to it, Jes and I will be on the picket line February 26, bright and early, because at that point we will have no other choice.
He’s deathly afraid of my guitar because one time—one time—he knocked it over and the sound it made upon landing scared the bejesus out of him.
I’ve only lived through three Karnevals, so I’d like to leave you with three thoughts on a holiday I’ve come to know, but not yet understand.
Gas stations are where lives intersect, ever so briefly, before going back out into the world.