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.
Never leave the house, or try anything out of your comfort zone.
I’m a fan of Oprah’s Book Club and anything that gets more people reading more books…but in the late ‘90s, there was a subtle shift in this kind of year-end best-of list toward “women’s fiction,” i.e. Chick Lit.
When an album drop is reported on CNN the next morning, there isn’t a whole hell of a lot of mystery anymore.
“And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.” -F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby We have arrived at that point in the Baseball season in Minnesota…
Re-published to commemorate the anniversary of Chris Cornell’s death