Last week, I spent an hour and nineteen minutes with an onion. Inspired by Robert Capon’s twenty-two-page chapter on the theological implications of mindful onion contemplation, I came prepared for a reflective and mystical experience.
I want the noble purpose of an educator without having to put in the hours. I want to retain a teacher’s saintly glow without having to fight for the daily miracles.
No algorithm is going to teach mandated reporters that white families are just as dangerous as other families.
Turning out in droves despite rain and wind and snow, we marched and chanted and beat on bucket-drums and blew on whistles and papered the campus with fliers. We disrupted classes. We shut down buildings.
If you ever hear me screaming “What if there’s more? What if there’s more?” I’m just singing along.
Coming off a slow, ugly but eventually conclusive first-round victory over Montana, the Wolverines are riding a wave of 10-straight wins. May the streak run longer than their inseams.
November 19, 2014
I blew strawberry gelatin mix out of my nose today.
I don’t want to talk about it.
Locusts. They were good enough for John the Baptist; they are good enough for your toddler.
I still talk to myself. Big conversations I’ve rehearsed of late include a breakup, a car insurance claim, and a defense of “inappropriate” literature I’ve chosen for a class.
I didn’t swerve around the pothole because I didn’t see it. In many ways, I’ve forgotten how to look outside myself and outside my culture.
