In this time of perpetual disarray and imminent cataclysm, news of any variety has a tendency to inundate me in a Scanners-esque, brutali...

When I was deeply immersed in some Marie Kondo therapy the other night—you know, where you touch yourself to see how much joy you can spa...

There is a disturbing amount I can recall with impeccable and alarming exactness from the day I took my SATs (and I only took them once, ...

The holidays are an especially sensitive and perhaps even fractious time for everyone. Staunchly anti-holiday folks find themselves relen...

As a child and (more embarrassingly) as a teenager, I harbored a plethora of haphazardly constructed plans and lavish fantasies that cons...

I have a certain unsolicited, unwarranted and ultimately unwanted pity for this youngest generation of saplings coming of age in the now ...

The summer of 2004 was a uniquely cataclsysmic time. Tim McGraw wanted us to live like we were dying, which seemed like a particularly gl...

There are some facets of my personality and my desires that if I invest too much energy in pondering why they exist, my psyche begins to ...

There are some very vivid sensorial associations I have with being a child in the 90s. The jarring slap of wallet chains against Paco jea...

The American High School Pep Rally is an atavistic site in working memory. Barbarism masked as “dance” routines to celebrate the 80th-in-...

Okay, look. I have some business to address before I can do due diligence to the Mariska Hargitay elephant in the room. Because I will ge...

There were striking similarities between the box that the collected seasons of Queer as Folk were packaged in and myself. It was awkwardl...