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Roughing It
This was our first substantial vacation together. I’d just lost my job. It was late, I was hungry, I couldn’t read my emails, and the question, “Do you understand what we’re trying to do here?” suddenly had greater heft than he’d intended.
Read MoreIt Gets Blah-er Before It Gets Better
When I was a rising sophomore in high school, I had a lot of things going for me: a great pair of corduroy pants I wore year round, Pantene Pro-V extra volume mousse, and a spirit just a little less buoyant than my hair, which led me to believe that things would get better.
Read MoreThe Beginner’s Guide to Strangers
Space is running out, everywhere. And until we successfully colonize the moon, we’re going to have to get used to being crowded, rubbing elbows and sharing napkins with people we don’t know. We’re going to have to get over our fear of the unknown and the weird..
Read MoreHeard This Song Before? I’ve Played It a Few Times
People are tired of hearing that I don’t know. They’re not amused any longer. They’re being overwhelmed with stories of post-grad angst. They would rather hear whining from people who really have earned it. They’re more interested in the sexual problems of a middle-aged Meryl Streep and Tommy Lee Jones in Hope Springs…
Read MoreJust a Girl Standing In Front of a City, Asking It To Love Her
I went abroad, and I met a boy, and the post-college J-Dating Bay Area life plan no longer seemed in the cards. Instead, 4 months after graduation, I moved to London, a city 5,000 miles from home…
Read MoreMy Life In Plathitudes
Last weekend, I reached a new low. Maybe it was the fact that I was talking to...
Read MoreThe Terrible Twenties. Or: What Happens When I Don’t Get Enough Sleep
I, along with so many of my friends, find myself in the throes of the second most frustrating and temper-tantrum inducing time of my life: the terrible 20’s.
Read MoreWhat Makes Us Sad: A Phone Conversation
10:45 p.m.PST/1:45 a.m. EST Thursday night. Michaela: Hi, Lan. Lani: Ugh, hi....
Read MoreThoughts on Being a Post Grad Grocery Boy
A woman with the sniffles asked me what I did the other day. I had just lugged nearly $300 worth of groceries up two flights of steps to her apartment. Some of the answers I wish I could’ve given: the last cowboy, farmer/agrarian economist, string-theory-pro. What I really told her, while I unpacked the groceries…
Read MoreShoot for The Stars
You may be familiar with motivation posters. They are hung in the classrooms...
Read MoreI’m a Person, Not a Zip Car: Thoughts on Commitment
By fearing that you’re missing the something better, you’ll miss the something good that’s just right where you are! Or in the words of that committed polyamorous trio, Crosby, Stills, and Nash: Love the one(s) you’re with.
Read MoreOn Rejection, and Why It’s Important to Always Look Your Best When You Go To The Grocery Store
“You just aren’t what we’re looking for right now. And no, it’s not your bangs.”
Read MorePlaying “Chicken” With The Fridge
It’s like some higher power (God? Zach Morris?) is testing me, asking “How tough are you REALLY?” How many days can I carry on without going back to the grocery store for food and blowing my budget? How many days can I subsist off of only that weird stuff I found in the back of my cabinet and that one tomato I have left from last week’s purchases?
Read MoreFacebook For Losers
I’m talking of course about the punk rock social network called Facebook. Facebook — and its social media lessers — necessitates a lot of comparison. It’s too easy to look at your “Friends” drinking green smoothies and going for hikes and publishing movies on Kickstarter and see them as hopelessly cooler than you are.
Read MoreAn L.A. or New York or Minneapolis Story
I don’t like to admit it, but I’m a stranger in what should be my homeland. New York is my heritage. The bagels here taste like history; they are full of carbs and Lower East Side memories. The hot dogs and street food are salty and heavy, like the breath of my Great-Grandmother Ruth.
Read MoreCountry Music And The Jews, Or At Least This One
My parents’ greatest disappointment is that I’ll never be the next Tammy Wynette.
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Edna St. Vincent Millay has a great name, one of those fantastic, hardened, only-in-the-20th-Century (which we are still dealing with by the way; of course, when I say we, I really mean me) kind of names that was just made for publishing. I haven't read an ounce of her work so I can't really vouch for the quality/insight, but I can vouch that when she blogs, she wears two pearl necklaces, a satin slip and is half as productive because she's constantly telling her three pound Yorkie named Brian to come back into her apartment in East Los Angeles. And of course, when I say she, I really mean me. - Luke Kanter