Sometimes I like novelty shirts and it’s hard to find a top with cats eating pizza in space in the adult sections of most stores.
It’s no longer a vibrant shade of red; now, 18 years later, it’s maroon. The shirt itself is made from a little bit softer of cotton, and seems to be a little more flattering in its cut, and the design itself appears to be a little smaller, or at least, a little more reserved in its appearance. But there it is—a ‘White Pony’ Deftones t-shirt.
Vance’s fascinating memoir, Hillbilly Elegy, is a mix of admiration and love for his Appalachian forebears, and anguish at the toll those hill-country values have taken on family life, not only his own but his community’s. Far from boring, it’s also bleakly frank, paying homage to his culture’s many strengths while decrying the self-inflicted mindset that keeps them down.
Long before spending more money than I should on overpriced t-shirts, limited edition vinyl reissues, or expensive coffee, between the ages of roughly four to fourteen, a bulk of my money—mostly my allowance—went toward my comic book collection.
I am literally allergic to nature.
It was on this trip to the liquor store that I saw the towering display of limited edition Zima. I let out an audible “HA!,” having no idea that it had been resurrected from the dead. “It tastes like zhit!” the clerk bellows over at me from across the store.
Nobody is going to teach you how to grow old. It’s something that you eventually figure out on your own.
Americans have taken steps to ensure that the jobless, the retired, and the hungry have at least marginal safety nets, but housing needs are significantly under-addressed in America, and we’ve barely noticed.
They want fine. They want okay.
Things are fine. Things are okay.
But nobody is fine. And nobody is okay.
There are no actual guidelines for the rest of life after school is completed; where we’re all set free to go survive somewhere and hopefully do something productive.