All in David Himmel

Getting Paid to Type as a Writer

Not everything has to be gold. Not everything has to be a bestseller. Most things won’t be either. But it’s nice to work toward something like that. Spending your days trying to leave something that will survive you, something that will separate you from the herd, something that your wife and kid and parents and grandparents and friends can be proud of. Something you can be proud of. Something that means anything to anyone anywhere. Even for a moment. Because if you can do that, then you’ve got proof to show the gods you’ve done something of value while you were here breathing the free air. It wasn’t a life spent taking; it was one that gave back, too.

Why I'm Becoming a Chicago Cop

I’ve passed all my tests including the background investigation, which is what I was most worried about. By this time next year, as long as I can get through the training, I will be Chicago Police Officer David Himmel. I’ll have a badge, a gun, a body cam, a bulletproof vest, keys to a police cruiser, and the ability to work with the citizens of my community to create a safer city for people like Jussie Smollett.

Dreaming of the Mueller Report

The following is a recounting of a dream had by Laura DuBois, age 36. It was documented at the American Dream Institute for Dreams (ADID) in Washington D.C. on Monday, March 25, 2019. Here, Ms. DuBois explains her dream to ADID researchers.

Just three days after the release of the Mueller Report, with impeachment proceedings occurring at an insanely rapid pace, Trump had a massive heart attack on Air Force One while flying to Mar-a-Lago. The next day, while in the ICU at some janky Florida hospital where abandoned pet boa constrictors were the orderlies, he had another massive heart attack and died. That means no more Tweets from Donald Trump!

Our Weekend with Michael Jackson and R. Kelly

Katie came with a record player. I had planned on buying one for myself just about the time we got serious, so when we moved in together, hers became mine, and I was Don Hall-excited about it. I could finally dust off my vinyl collection and give the old discs a spin. The first one I chose was my original pressing of Michael Jackson’s Thriller. At about the third track, the Paul McCartney duet “The Girl is Mine,” Katie asked, “Who is this?”

Who is this!?” I responded, astounded and slightly confused. “It’s Michael Jackson. It’s Thriller — the second best-selling album of all time.”

“Oh, I don’t like Michael Jackson.”

I immediately questioned our entire relationship and my taste in women. “What!? How can you not like Michael Jackson?

It’s Election Day in Chicago: A Deconstructed Love Story

It’s election day in Chicago, which means it’s the day citizens of this Third Coast Second City bring out their dead to partake in the American right to screw themselves at the polls.

Since its incorporation on March 4, 1837, Chicago has been the place for people who want to be punished. There are the winters, the Cubs and the Bears, the Daley Family, the pot holes, and, of course, the crime. And by crime, I mean the politicians and the police. Yes, the city has its positives, too. There’s the lake and its shoreline, the architecture, the Blackhawks, Stephanie Izard, the excitement of not knowing whether the improv show you’re about to see is going to be incredible or give you cause to wish for a swift and vicious cancer to eat you and every player on stage alive.

Chicago, we don’t deserve better — we’ve done this to ourselves for almost two hundred years — but we should want better. And if we’re as tough as we brag to be, we can have it.