Finding the Colors
Life no longer is about filing papers or planning for the future or buying groceries; it’s about going on quests and drinking with travelers in taverns and trading stories around a fire.
Life no longer is about filing papers or planning for the future or buying groceries; it’s about going on quests and drinking with travelers in taverns and trading stories around a fire.
“Student death” is an e-mail subject line a teacher never wants to read. Yet, this past Friday morning I opened my internet browser to find these words neatly bolded atop my inbox.
What am I doing here, I ask myself in a moment of vulnerability. (I made a deal with myself months ago that I would stop asking that question.)
She asked me on the first date. I wasn’t exactly smart enough to know it was a date. We had agreed to go swing dancing downtown with some of her friends.
Layers of irony form the crux of Dear White People’s satirical message: racism hounds us across generations, cultures, educational levels, socio-economic strata, and skin pigments.
His mental mapping is different. This is why he can tell you that October 26, 1955 was a Wednesday but he can’t tell you the name of his math teacher.
Whenever I was out by the family pool alone, which was often when I grew into the double-digits, I would perch at the end of the diving board, take a deep breath, and step off.
At the end of the day I’m lying in bed feeling poor and stressed because I somehow wasted all day not feeling correctly. I was too sad, or too lonely, or too indifferent.
For those of you who don’t know, Parks and Recreation is not just an office in your local city hall—it is also the best comedy currently on television.
I wouldn’t say I liked fantasy as a child. What I liked were stories that started out in real life, then took a turn for the magical. I liked the prospect of our world with improvements.