Being a Twenty-First Century Pilgrim
Lay your stone at the Cruz de Ferro next to the stone with someone’s Instagram handle.
In My Unhinged Era
From our post, we could see the full big screen and hear the entire concert. Were we standing in a tree and getting hit in the face with branches? Absolutely.
Witch, Please and the Affective Economies of Harry Potter
The same evils that produced Voldemort and the Death Eaters are not bugs in the magical world—they are systemic features
Seven Outfits for Sasquatch Legs
I pulled my legs into a criss-cross-applesauce position to us both exploding at the sight of each other’s knee beards.
The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom: Review Part One
It’s a bit less about you, and a bit more about everyone else—and that feels good.
It Really Feels Like Love On Tour
I do not, in life in general, scream—not on roller coasters, not in pain, not when Wet Leg encouraged the crowd to unleash bloodcurdling cries—but when Harry was on stage, I couldn’t hold back.
Where There’s Smoke
No wonder my eyes sting when I go outside; the air’s full of tiny demonic scorpions.
Marmalade Feminism
Somewhere along the way, I have become a jam-making fiend.
Aunt Beth’s Irises
Every spring, the flowers unrobed themselves from their long green stalks, like indigo flags declaring the end of the winter—and their own ability to survive it.
In Which I Pretend to Design
Maybe scrapbooking is my true calling.
