Monthly Archives: February 2018
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.
If a Christian’s only way of loving their self is by loving someone else who loves them, Kanye’s just cutting out the middleman.
If you think this isn’t for you based on the off-putting title, get thee to a Netflix subscription—this show is definitely for you.
“Over the tea-cups and in the square the tongue has its desire;
Still waters run deep, my dear, there’s never smoke without fire.”
For a moment, I got lost in space and time. Sunday morning church was above me, and I had to look for the bookshelves and study carrels to remember that a library was around me.
Wood and silver,
Vessel of the divine
And of acceptance
A weird thing: when women donate their eggs, we say that their eggs are harvested. Is there a farming term more farming than harvest? No. No there is not.
The professor is droning on and on, and I am waiting with adrenaline, caffeine, and the brutal lyrics of Peter Dolving coursing through my veins.
I have been so in love that all the light around me seemed white-hot. I have spent days where I only remember the smell of sunlight and skin. I have said goodbye at train stations in Europe. I have been told to not look back.
Four tablespoons, give or take, of pure, undiluted mayonnaise.
The call for diversity in children’s literature is based on the idea of windows and mirrors.
Grace and peace to you from me, just me. I don’t feel comfortable dragging Jesus into my well-wishing just yet.
I was explaining this to a friend once when he informed me that cheering—or jeering—at a crowd was all about group community. “We rise and fall together, we yell and cry together.”
Local journalism can disappear without so much as a cry these days, and typically with only halfhearted protestation by the community.
In church, there is no need for consent, because the rules are very simple. Before marriage, the answer to any question must always be no; after marriage, yes, always yes.