Confessions of a PBS Kid
We would secretly memorize Wild Kratt facts so we could regurgitate them to our parents at our next zoo visit, acting as if we’d always known that otters could be up to six feet long.
We would secretly memorize Wild Kratt facts so we could regurgitate them to our parents at our next zoo visit, acting as if we’d always known that otters could be up to six feet long.
Looking back, I wouldn’t call it the best day of my life.
For one post only, I’ll take a stab at getting the last word.
Bible passages, sermons, vows, unity candles, unity candle alternatives (beer-based)—I’ve got something to say about all of it.
Is there a show that starts with twenty-four-plus contestants that are whittled down to half by the end of the first night?
Sorry commenters, sometimes Vessel does sound like the emo kid who wrote poetry in high school.
But what this anecdote reveals to me upon reflection is not the gleeful victory of one consumer against the upcharging corporate hegemon nor a testament to my sleight of hand.
I see that conflict is most wholly resolved when we are moved by the pain reflected in the person before us.
“It’s sort of a parody of those angry, serious 20th writers and the people who revere them. ‘Am I a fan of that genre?’ No, can’t say that I am. But I think it’ll be funny?”
The word is a slur, certainly, but what word describing Queer folks isn’t?