Some seek novelty; others crave routine. Some go to their favorite restaurant to order their beloved dish; others perk up about the specials with anticipation of a surprise. It could be physiology; it could be habit. Are you the kind of person to eat your cherished chicken parm for the 100th time, or to scan the menu and order something different—searching for a new discovery?Continue reading
“What happens to a [Trumper’s] dream deferred?
Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?… Or does it explode?
–modified Langston Hughes
The 4 more years dream of the Trump coalition of red-hatted truckers, greasy bikers, tough guys, rough gals, stock traders, rich pricks and uninformed uncles all over America was squashed with Biden’s November victory. Yet, leave it to those puckered-up Trumpet minions to snag shame from the jaws of defeat by literally invading our Capitol. Faced with the prospect of the dread label of LOSER, Trump pushed all his slimeball chips to the center and effectively tweeted: “All in. Election was rigged. Support me or else YOU lose.” Trump claimed the election he WON was rigged, so of course the one he lost was, too. So afraid of losing, so afraid at the mocking chants of “Loooser, Loooser” he’d hear in his tortured nightmares coming from his dead father, Trump decided to burn it down.
To make a long story short, American culture is a mix of both European and African influences. The whites of Europe and blacks of Africa, coming to America in radically different scenarios, made their marks upon society. It’s hard to deny that the black influence makes America dynamic and distinctive. The disruptive, disgraceful history of slavery denied so many people a fair and free existence. Nevertheless, their home was that same place that refused to honor them. I was so shaken during the George Floyd protests when I heard former Celtics coach and now 76ers coach, Doc Rivers say, “It’s amazing why we keep loving this country, and this country does not love us back.”Continue reading
An old Frenchman named Montaigne once said, “Even upon the highest throne, man still sits upon his arse.” What goes unsaid is that which comes out of the aforementioned arse—caca poo poo. It’s the common problem of humans, i.e. being self-aware of our own bungholes. Some don’t have this problem. Defectors from Pyongyang brought with them the scoop that North Korean leader Jong-un Kim’s pappy Jong-il Kim never pooped. We like to think farts and toilet jokes are funny, but they’re not, our bowels are deadly serious and the source of much of our anxiety and dread. One character in The Sopranos died on the toilet from constipation and it is rumored that’s how Elvis shuffled off.Continue reading
Due to my crappy memory for anything besides Simpsons quotes and sports statistics, lots of my childhood memories come from parental second-hand stories. My dad tells embarrassing scatological stories of my first few years with an uncontrolled bladder and my mom mostly fills in details from questions about my elementary wanderings. One story that can be corroborated was around my 5th or 6th b-day. During the common “Happy Birthday” song, I burst into tears. On a grainy home video, I’m sitting at the head of the table in a darkened room with a little conical hat, fires burning atop my sweet cake, family illuminated in shadows performing that droning incantation and you can see it coming. My face drops and I lose it. Even as a tiny kid I didn’t like that song.Continue reading
One of my favorite activities during the Christmas season is re-watching Home Alone. I know every line, every scene and love it all. The family running around packing for France, the pizza, the bumbling robbers, the old man shoveling rock salt, the tarantula, the house lights, the paint cans, the background score, John Candy and the Kenosha Kickers being quite popular in Sheboygan; it’s 103 minutes of Christmas spirit for me. However, one character stands out among all the familial dysfunction: Uncle Frank.
Parasites have a pretty nasty connotation. Vermin such as: fleas, lice, ticks, worms—are tiny monosyllabic terrors. They’re selfish takers. They bite. They suck. They kill. Parasites target bodies and blood. In Bong Joon Ho’s Oscar-winning movie Parasite, the broke Kim family targeted the wealthy Park family. Through a series of unfortunate events, the four poor Kim’s come under the employ of an outrageously opulent family, who are living their idyllic life, shuttling in their chauffeured Benz between high-rise offices, classy supermarkets, garden parties and their ultra-luxe home. Continue reading
When I was in elementary school, I had a globe with raised mountains and sunken seas on the surface. The tactile senses elicited by slowly roaming my dirty little fingers over the nubs conveyed a palpable sense of something beyond me, beyond my little town, in the mysterious lands across the Atlantic ocean in which I’d swim every summer. That was my instant and distinct connection to the larger world. What was out there? Continue reading
It’s not time to talk about gun regulation when people use guns to kill for fun, politics or revenge. It’s not time to talk about human contributions to climate change when hurricanes sustain category five winds for 36 hours or dump five feet of rain in a few days. It’s not time to talk about health care when GOP politicians are rushing a vote on damaging legislation through secret meetings. It’s not time to talk about the antiquated electoral college despite two of the last five popular vote count winners losing the election. Continue reading
Ocean creatures nibble on your feet as the wide expanse of seawater pulses with waves for bodysurfing. Nude night swimming as a teenager felt like breaking rules that weren’t meant to be followed anyway. Sunday night swims at the Y.M.C.A, when we were still a family of four, with vending machine ice cream followed by the classic show by the formerly virtuous, presently vilified Bill Cosby.
Swimming was always a part of my life. Continue reading