The Most Epic St. Paddy's I've Ever Had
Everyone is Irish on St. Paddy’s, but I drank more like a Russian that night. We sat in a circle and took shots of vodka like it was the only liquid in the world that could sustain us. I lined up nine shots and put them away professionally. I was ready to enjoy my life and I knew booze would get me there. But sitting around with nine shots of petroleum disguised as vodka, I was disappointed in my lack of buzz and made my way downstairs for a smoke.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of March 10, 2019
• Being a white male without student loans is not Bad Privilege. Having your parents bribe your way onto a collegiate rowing team is Bad Privilege.
• Speaking of… Lori Loughlin surrendering to the FBI would make a great plot point of a Lori Loughlin Hallmark Channel made-for-TV movie.
My Mom Told Me Not to Get Naked on Television
I've been arrested twice in my life. Both times were for public nudity.
So, when one of the pieces of advice my mother gave me as I packed up my truck to move to...somewhere...after college was "Don't get naked on television. Keep your clothes on!" it made perfect sense.
American Shithole #51 | Venezuela and the White Paper
When I look at the photographs pouring in from Caracas — images of a society teetering on the edge of collapse — I can’t help but think “this is all of us, in ten years; and there’s not a fucking thing we can do about it.”
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?
The Minutes of Our Last Meeting | Harvard Alumni Relations Board Emergency Meeting
Even if someone did cheat, they still had to go to class and pay someone do the work.
Drowning in Sorrow but Doggy-paddling My Way Back to You
Apt metaphor
underwater
drowning in despair
movement difficult
slow motion from the get-go
tangled feet
depressed brain
muffled moans of pain
pawing at the tide
The Best Goddamn Salad You’ve Ever Eaten or Go Hungry
Gang, while a cliché, it is so true that life is relatively short. When, at fifty-three, I can see how fragile things are, how quickly the wakening up to the world is snuffed out on a continual basis, I comprehend a simple truth: if you can’t muster a white hot passion for the people and the world around you, that short life is a prison. I’m not a big fan of prison, so I prefer to Carpé that fucking Diem and eat the ass out of life.
I Believe… [90% of Republicans Approve of The Trump, We Might Want to Re-strategize This Deal]
…that if 90 percent of Republicans approve of Donald’s “work” as president in February 2019, we’re doing a piss-poor job persuading them otherwise.
Hung Up on a Guy; Mad at My Friends; Drinking in a Loud, Crowded Bar
big deal crazy
live or die
sick movement time
foot in front of foot
things miss things remember
Skip Taylor and The Devil Dog
Sometimes it was downright eerie looking at that dog. He was still Cyrus - all muscle and grin - but he was MORE than.
Book Club Made Me Read It: Carrie
Male writers please take note, you really do not need to describe the shape and relative perkiness of the breasts of every woman who appears in your book. In fact, in most cases you need to describe the breasts of none of the women who appear in your book. I have no recollection of what color hair most of these women were supposed to have, but I can tell you they’ve pretty much all got perky tits.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of March 3, 2019
Few things are funnier than a hysterical person. The R. Kelly interview on CBS This Morning was the best standup comedy I’ve seen since watching Nanette.
American Shithole #50 | Kirstjen Nielsen: Deadeyes Over Dead Kids
“They’ve come all this way, thousands of miles across hostile territory, and we’ve raped them, and murdered them,” I thought.
“And this fucking cunt came to congress to rustle some fucking papers, and fumble some fucking answers.” I seethed.
I am fucking livid — and thankfully I’m not the only one.
The Faux Power That Comes With a Video Camera in Your Pocket
If there is a Murphy’s Law sort of thing for new technologies, it probably goes something like “For every good a new technology can do, there will be five assholes who use it badly.”
The Minutes of The Minutes of Our Last Meeting Staff Meeting
Mercury is in retrograde. Does that affect brains?
Fall & Spring Semesters
My inbox was often empty.
No new messages.
I checked too frequently, never giving it a chance to fill up, never giving my family and friends a chance to think about me.
FAQs: Ethical Nonmonogamy (Part 2)
Don’t all nonmonogamous relationships end in fiery disaster?
No, but you’re probably asking this question because you’ve heard about at least one that did. Your cousin’s best friend’s brother opened his relationship and then his wife left him for her new girlfriend, right?
I Believe… [Give No Tantrum a Cookie]
…that when you reward petulance in order to avoid the conflict, the conflict will be ever-present. The tantrum-throwing child (or adult) should never be given the cookie to placate them.
A Little Trouble in Big Paradise
The official title must resemble something like “Concessions and Party Hostess.” Birthday parties on Mondays and shifts between 4.5 and 8 hours on a couple other days. Part-part time. Non-negotiable. If you’re already rolling your eyes at this nearly forty year old woman over here thinking for a minute that this was a good idea, you’re absolutely right. I guess I’ll shrug again and say “Hey, I’ll try just about anything once.”
Jake and Caroline’s first date was at The Whistler. They talked about Ronnie, how much they loved The Diplomat, and debated the better ride-share service, Uber or Lyft. She was Uber, he was Lyft. They got wasted on Sazeracs and had sex at her apartment. It was incredible for both of them. Caroline stopped taking sex advice from Ronnie.