This year, we decided to let the writers speak for themselves.
This year, we decided to let the writers speak for themselves.
This year, we decided to let the writers speak for themselves.
The problem is not that progressive folks misidentify problems.
[Untitled] is cathartic—not because it offers any clear-cut wisdom but because it tells personal stories honestly, which might actually be real wisdom.
It wasn’t stated aloud, but the message between the lines was this: You’re the last Meekhof.
“I just need to know if it’s worth hoping,” we say. “Is this guy the One or not?”
On this aðfangadagskvöld, it’s my duty to tell you specifically about the final Yule Lad, who arrives tonight. His name is Kertasníkir, and if you know Icelandic, you’re clutching your candles.
Because of these human details within the Nativity story, the tiny family huddled in a barn in Bethlehem so long ago feel as close as our own memories.
The shine has yet to wear off and the subscription has been completely satisfying.
And Christmas is a holiday of obligation.
Live from the sugar-buzzed frontal lobe of Gabe Gunnink, welcome to the twenty-ninth annual Golden Gabe Awards! And now, your hosts for the evening, ladies and gentlemen, Trixie Mattel and Katya Zamolodchikova!
To have a place on my car, something would need to be meaningful enough that I find value in saying it, but still simple enough that I would stand behind any reasonable interpretation someone would have of it.
We call this tradition—because why wouldn’t we—our “Filling Out of the Carle Foundation Hospital’s Application for Financial Assistance Christmas Tradition,” or FOCFHAFACT, for short.
Here I’ve compiled a list of songs containing one of my favorite lyrical quirks: emphasizing the wrong syllable of a word, but making it work.
But I’ve found solo travel to be a rewarding experience. Here’s what I learned.
Thick, globby specks of white dotted the sky, like Impressionist brushstrokes viewed too close up.
One hit to the torso killed you dead. Three hits to the same limb chopped it off. Head shots were off-limits by parental decree, but if they happened on accident you better recover quick before Calvin jabbed you in belly with a two-handed sword.
For months, I have been waiting for news about my dream opportunity. I have held back from any long-term commitments for the sake of a possibility. I have been expectantly been waiting for news—any news.
“It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are,” Dumbledore says, “far more than our abilities.”
Enneagram 3, The Achiever: Adaptable, Excelling, Driven, and Image-Conscious.
Matt Cambridge, nice to meet you.
May you warm your body under thick blankets, your hands by radiators, your feet in old slippers.
I remind myself that no one is watching me, probably. Nobody is passing judgement on Christmas Eve.
I’ve made a list of twenty authors—twelve who wrote after 1900 and eight from the centuries before—whose work I’m going to limit myself to.
I recently tried to explain heartbreak to someone who has never had their heart broken. It didn’t go well.
Sadness is that way: temporal. Each encounter comes with a demand singular to the day of its arrival: here is a powerful feeling, attend to it, reconcile its nature with yours.
The word alderman has Anglo-Saxon origins: a noble (serving the king) as ruler of a local district. Quite literally it means “old man.”
In other words, despite my litany of previous posts to the contrary, Advent may yet find me sneaking into back-row pews and singing “O Come, O Come Emmanuel.”
Notice one morning that your orchid is starting to look strained. Pick up the fallen petals. Water it, but know that this, like a leprous spot, is a sign of the beginning of the end, and that from now on, water will merely prolong the inevitable.
This song has always felt so dumb to me even before its Extreme Makeover Bieber Edition. It’s historical fanfiction undercut by that insufferable “pah rum pah pum pum.”
