I’ll Make a Man Out of Me
This week, I decided to spend a day allowing society (a.k.a. the internet) to tell me exactly how I should be a man. For one day I would dress, drink, and spend my time how the cyber arbiters of masculinity determined.
This week, I decided to spend a day allowing society (a.k.a. the internet) to tell me exactly how I should be a man. For one day I would dress, drink, and spend my time how the cyber arbiters of masculinity determined.
Born in April of 1925, my dad turned ninety-two years old this year. My dad lived through The Great Depression and World War II.
The cheese cube relish, while very much not my thing, had a sort of melt-away pickle flavor that was not wholly unpleasant.
Some ground rules: I’ve committed to collecting every piece of trashable, recyclable, or compostable waste I generate for a full week.
In the US, wearing sweatpants to the grocery store is an act of conformity. In Germany as in many other countries on the continent, it’s an act of rebellion.
I come to a dead end and turn around in defeat. I have officially walked every visible path I can find in this park, and the T. rex is nowhere to be found. I begin walking back.
According to Google, there are twelve independent bookstores in upper Manhattan, the section of the city I call home.
As I start reading and cooking, I realize that I have no idea what “barefoot contessa” means.
Lucky for me, The Hot Room was offering a free event at a local park last week.
I am not sure how to accurately convey the unpleasantness of this experience. There was no part of my body that went gentle into that good night.