Gener(aliz)ations
Much changed (say, musically,) between the release of The Who’s smart and catchy “My Generation” in 1965, when my parents were in college, and Limp Bizkit’s unlistenable song of the same title in 2000, when I was in high school.
Love It or Hate It
First of all, opinions of cities should not be based on luck or the weather, I admit. I should really give some of them a second chance. Second, I see the shades of gray in places I’ve stayed for a few weeks or more. In these cities, I know not only the good and the bad, but also the mediocre.
Winner
This past Saturday, I was humbled. I did what I think was my fourteenth triathlon. I won the overall female award by quite a margin—would have beat all the men, too, if I hadn’t brought my boyfriend, Matt, along. But there was a much more impressive performance at this race.
Community Spaces and Social Graces
The internet has none of this. There is no way, on the internet, to look into the face of your fellow conversation participant and be forced to acknowledge his or her humanity.
Practice Time
My husband and I bought a piano recently. I’ve played for twenty years now (few things make me start feeling old like I do when I can say that), and now that we have a house for it to live in, it’s time for me to get my fingers back to the dexterity they once had. I...
Joe Pilates
Now, you might be thinking, here’s another fitness nut gearing up to write glib posts about the joys of physical exercise. I am not that nut.
Looking Beyond Bavaria
Rudi is a Catholic priest. He looks like Bavaria, if Bavaria were a person. What I mean by that is this: if the self-proclaimed Free State of Bavaria could pick a person, any person, to act as its mascot and all-purpose representative, it would be Rudi.
Newlyweds
With marriage has come the inevitable marriage-y questions, which—don’t get me wrong—are fun to answer because it means I get to talk about myself. But I do feel like my answers are underwhelming.
Talking to the Fairies
It’s a rather pithy thing to say these days — “living intentionally” — devoid of overt meaning and explanation. But I try to remind myself of this anyways, truly trying to grasp what it would mean to live intentionally in this very moment.
Musings of a SunTran Patriot
“Excuse me…” I was waiting in the shade of a mesquite tree, squinting past the short cars on the busy street in hopes of seeing the tall, flat face of the SunTran bus behind them. I turned to see who had spoken; a middle-aged Hispanic man was approaching me from...
