Monthly Archives: January 2015
A bigger problem is that these blockbuster heroes are not allowed to die, and they are never in any real danger of dying. We know they will always pull through and live.
FACT ALERT: Anything invisible that doesn’t seem to be trying to kill us is just one major breakthrough away from being found out as a villain.
What I wouldn’t give to walk the halls of Downton Abbey in the early 20th century, drink tea with Jane Austen, or ride a train down the coast of California with John Steinbeck.
“You might have heard that you should punch the shark in the nose. This is probably not a good idea…. In many situations in which large predators are attacking you, the advice is to ‘play dead.’ This doesn’t work against sharks. Also, it’s hard to do in the water...
We park up against the failing fence near the bathrooms. We get out of the car, feel our feet on ground, and keep talking. A lot has come before us here.
No life is a cliché. Ever. Because you are you and no one else—and the fact that it’s a cliché to say it doesn’t make it a cliché to live it.
I over-share. I talk way too much about exes and bodily functions. I don’t want a world of “Laurens,” because no one would be able to finish their dinners.
Thankfully, over the past five years, my attitude towards my illness has changed from constant worrying and embarrassment to sarcastic apathy about its ridiculousness.
Our conceptions of heaven are the result of accumulated literature and its interpretations. But what if one had to choose a single literary epigraph for this Great Story?
Life no longer is about filing papers or planning for the future or buying groceries; it’s about going on quests and drinking with travelers in taverns and trading stories around a fire.
“Student death” is an e-mail subject line a teacher never wants to read. Yet, this past Friday morning I opened my internet browser to find these words neatly bolded atop my inbox.
What am I doing here, I ask myself in a moment of vulnerability. (I made a deal with myself months ago that I would stop asking that question.)
She asked me on the first date. I wasn’t exactly smart enough to know it was a date. We had agreed to go swing dancing downtown with some of her friends.
Layers of irony form the crux of Dear White People’s satirical message: racism hounds us across generations, cultures, educational levels, socio-economic strata, and skin pigments.
His mental mapping is different. This is why he can tell you that October 26, 1955 was a Wednesday but he can’t tell you the name of his math teacher.
Whenever I was out by the family pool alone, which was often when I grew into the double-digits, I would perch at the end of the diving board, take a deep breath, and step off.
At the end of the day I’m lying in bed feeling poor and stressed because I somehow wasted all day not feeling correctly. I was too sad, or too lonely, or too indifferent.
For those of you who don’t know, Parks and Recreation is not just an office in your local city hall—it is also the best comedy currently on television.
I wouldn’t say I liked fantasy as a child. What I liked were stories that started out in real life, then took a turn for the magical. I liked the prospect of our world with improvements.
If I were a daughter of the 1200s like Mechtild of Madgeburg, I like to think that I, too, would have visions of and write poems about God.
No, unfortunately, adulthood doesn’t come with a standardized evaluation mechanism to tell you how you’re doing, but that’s not an excuse to do less.
I was in an honors history class during my junior year of high school. (Did he say…honors??? You bet I did, impressed reader, and I escaped with a C+.)
I call 2014 the rise of podcasts because I believe this is the year that people finally understood what that word meant and took notice.
In a world where we are not free to create and relax at will, we must discipline ourselves so that these dangerous and noble things can be a part of our lives.
“Homosexuals aren’t people. They’re just like bitches.” — #LightRailRapper
I like Eliot’s Magi, poetic license and all. I like that the poem is haunted and melancholy. It’s been almost two weeks since Advent ended—away with the feasting and jollity, already.
When I first bought rolled oats, I had them plain in hot water, but after cringing through the first several bites, I realized that eating plain oats is like eating your own depression.
Just when I’ve turned to head to the bar, one of the men grabs my arm and says, “Hey, you know who you look like? Like the girl from the Addams’ family!”
The epigraph is probably the grandparent to the murky boundaries between the content and not-quite-content sandwiched by a book’s front and back covers.