Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of July 5, 2026
It’s hard not to think that Swifties are secretly rooting for a divorce within seven years. Think of how incredibly mediocre that album will be.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of June 28, 2026
Earn the nap; don’t just take it.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of June 21, 2026
Nothing will humble a confident runner like multiple steep hills.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of June 14, 2026
It’s not about getting over things; it’s about getting through them.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of May 24, 2026
The legacy of Michael Jackson is complicated. But his music simplifies it.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of May 17, 2026
Mastering disappointment is more productive than villainizing it.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of May 3, 2026
It’s easy to misconstrue something you hear or read. Do better by doing the harder work. Pay attention, take your time. And trust that the hard work really isn’t that hard.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of April 26, 2026
We must strive to make what happens to us good for us. That’s how we master disappointment. That’s how we evolve and persevere.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of April 19, 2026
If you ever want the Ellis Island experience circa 1907, swing into the Chicago City Clerk’s office in Portage Park. The number of different accents is loads of fun and reminds you of the shared American Experience, which is that city bureaucracy is no fun for any of us.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of April 12, 2026
Whining children is the leading cause of stomach fat.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of April 6, 2026
Just curious… Is Baron Trump registered for the draft? If not, it looks like he will be. I just hope he doesn’t develop bone spurs and can become the war hero his father views himself as.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of March 29, 2026
Our society is becoming so reliant on systems that we’re inadvertently making ourselves less capable, less self-sufficient. Dumber. Hell, I don’t even wipe my ass anymore. I have a bidet do it.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of March 15, 2026
Listening to Kenny Loggins’ brand of Rock ‘n’ Roll is like watching a high school kid play an elderly person in the Spring Play. We all know I’s not real, but we go along with it because it’s cute.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of March 8, 2026
If you must suffer fools, do so with a vengeance.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of March 1, 2026
I’ve come to believe that the brand statement of Global Consumerism is “Fuck you, Consumer.”
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of February 15, 2026
If the Royal Family has enough sense in their inbred brains to support the arrest and subsequent punishment of the Andrew Formerly Known as Prince, then American leaders ought to have equal sense to investigate and punish the other Epstein-related offenders. Or, at the very least, admit that American Power is too insulated for true justice to ever have a chance at prevailing and own up to being a criminal enterprise. Something far worse than being inbred. (Though, probably not as bad as being married to Meghan Markle.)
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of February 8, 2026
People who post personal or political opinions on LinkedIn are the same people who walk into crowded elevators and fart. “I’m living my truth and everywhere is appropriate for me to do whatever I want.”
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of February 1, 2026
“Stop, look, and listen” is great advice for crossing the street, but it also applies to entering a new job, a new relationship, a new… well, anything. Best to learn the lay of the land before you go reaping and sowing, lest your efforts be met with extreme distrust and petulant resistance.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of January 18, 2026
Chicagoans are tough. How tough? We can survive a double-digit sub-zero winter day with our kids at home when schools close due to the freeze. That’s how tough.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of January 11, 2025
If you ever need a pick-me-up, come over and let my 3-year-old serenade you with a song about poop and trucks.
Andy disassembled his weapon with lighting speed. He packed it away in the black backpack made specifically for a weapon of this sort. He bolted to the roof access door as fast as his little, chubby legs would carry him. He made his way through the condo/office building stairwell without being noticed just as he had done on his way up. Andy was good at his job. And for a nine-month-old baby, he was really good at it.