survival is not about manning up

It turns out wilderness survival is mostly about managing male egos. Being the first one to take a sip of water so that it’s not emasculating to be thirsty. I was afraid that I’d need to skill up, learn a ton of knots, be really strong, and practice complicated maneuvers to be anywhere near useful in a crisis. But of course it’s more about foresight, planning, and humility. Because, does it really matter how much you practiced with a crossbow if you don’t end up having one on a day hike where you take a tumble and break your leg?

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Mid-Humanoid Culture: Chapter 3 — Animal Consumption

Back in the early second millennia, consumption of animal proteins surged to an all-time high, despite the inefficiencies in production. Environmentalist factions gained traction with about 10% of the population, despite the platforms being identical to the predominating political views today, proterra. The mechanism seemed purely irrational at the time. It wasn’t until Nobel prize winner (posthumously awarded) Dr. Lange discovered a toxic behavioral manipulator in animal proteins that caused a paradigm shift in human acceptance of meat as a viable food source. Unfortunately, it took several centuries for cultures to shift away from animal meat and towards safer aliments.

how to say hello to a giant sequoia

The young witch yawned, relighting the lamp with a flick of her pinky. It was late. They say magic changes your neural pathways in wondrous ways, but she never predicted it would be so exhausting. She read on:

Each being has its own preferred greeting, just as we humans have in our different “languages.” Hello, Nǐ hǎo, Merhaba, Hola, etc. But this is still one means for one species. What about a giant sequoia — its canopy, its trunk, a pine needle, its root network. Do any of our hello’s fully acknowledge and respect their being in the appropriate ways?

gossip on the block

Looking out the window, her gaze traces the road up and over the hill, between neat terraces of groomed trees. Her eyes stop at the blue house on the left. The one with a large blooming magnolia tree out front and a not-so white fence that has since fallen into disrepair. All to be expected since the foreclosure and the unspeakable tragedy that everyone wouldn’t stop whispering about when they assumed privacy on their own stretch of sidewalk. But what was that? It was covered in flowers from the recent storm, but it was unmistakably there. A newly erected mailbox.

yellow

What’s your favorite color?
Yellow.
Why?
It reminds me of the sun, which is sad.
The sun is sad or the fact that yellow reminds you of the sun is sad?
The former.
Like the sun feels sad or the concept of the sun makes you sad?
Both. The sun gives life and meaning to everything but is inherently alone, burning so intensely that nothing can ever get close. It’s tragic.
So why is it your favorite color?
I guess it’s beautiful? Both aesthetically and representationally speaking. It’s a sadness that is vibrant in its simplicity and relatability. That’s yellow.

In line for a concert in 2025

“I’m so stoked.”
“Me, too. It’s been awhile.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah, I had to isolate for a bit.”
“That’s a bummer. I had to do that a few weeks back, too.”
“I saw that on your profile. I think it’s cool that you’re so transparent about it.”

Bouncer: “Here are your kits. Please step into the tent.”
“Ugh. I like the way they do it at Whole Foods a lot better.”
“Yeah, but at least here some of our insurance dollars go to the venue.”
“Should we just go into the tent…together? No pressure.”
“It’s our third date… Why not.”

a few new words

Podimania: The creepiness of seeing too many of something when only a one or a few is usually tolerable, even desirable (e.g. ladybugs).

Embrick: When two or more people go in for mismatched physical greetings (e.g. handshake and hug).

Symtocks: When your pet licks their butt and you feel a tickle in your butt.

Cafulaggio: A savory sunset.

Paraductive: Putting off work by unnecessarily organizing the way you plan you will do work.

Flashmom: A mom that loves flashmobs.

Mispagatic: When two or more people believe they reach a point of understanding but a third party can see they haven’t.

A pup’s horoscope

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It’s November and Mercury is retrograde. You might assume that this month brings you willpower, independence, and self-worth. That when life throws the ball and it disappears from your field of vision, you will not chase the ghost of that neon yellow orb. Instead you will spit in your master’s face. But you know as well as the stars that willpower doesn’t exist in rebellion, but rather in finding joy in your own decisions. Fetch that ball, but don’t do it for the orb. Do it for the journey. Find meaning in each step you take because you’re choosing to.

nothing is feminist

You wake up and decide to say, fuck it, I’m not going to wear make up. On the subway, no heads turn as you walk by (though do they ever?) and you wonder why you care or notice, but with each indifferent man, you score another point for feminism. As you walked into the office, your bff coworker says, you look sort of tired today, everything okay? And you look at her a little shocked because what happened to solidarity from women. The male gaze has infiltrated sisterhood. You run to the bathroom and burst into tears. What a cliché.

my lucid dreams could be bigger, but they’re still pleasant

This time it happened to be a music festival on a sunny day. Green grass, big stages with impressive displays, and miscellaneous colorful art pieces. I immediately manifested the perfect group of people, but had to socialize with no more than three at a time. We were also all wearing overalls and able to go to the very front of the stage. The music was no louder than was safe for our ears and no quieter than was fun for our limbs. Abundant space to dance. No elbows, no shoving, no tall people. And clean bathrooms accessible a moment away.

natsukashii no kogarashi

There’s a word in Japanese for the wind that welcomes the winter (kogarashi) and another one that means nostalgia but in a broader sense of the word (natsukashii), And I find myself these days in a complicated déjà vu of the start of this season. The first time I expected winter, my apprehension was so gradually coated by the darkness. The days got shorter, just a few minutes each day – such plausible deniability for any extreme. And it wasn’t until the frost broke the following May that the coat lifted off and my shoulders felt surprisingly light. Winter is coming.

job description

[insert company name] is on the cutting edge of [insert industry that needs disruption]. Be part of the revolution!

Job title: Pick one of each — [senior / junior / lame] [strategy / product / typing] [manager / analyst / meatsack]

Responsibilities:

• Disrupt! Do anything to disrupt stuff. Innovate. Interrupt meetings. [insert color] post its!
• Work cross-functionally with teams to [action verb] the next big thing.
• Get shit done. Easier to use that acronym than SIO (spell it out). Explaining is time and time is losing.
• It would be cool if you picked up lunch.

 

how i am a slob

Folding laundry but not putting it away
Using the dishwasher at less than maximum capacity
Wearing the same sweatpants two days in a row
Making the bed but not tucking in the sheet
Reading articles that “could” be seen as advancing my knowledge
Putting the rest of my hot cheetos in the fridge for future me
Leaving a greasy pan on the stovetop for the next fried egg excursion
Reusing the same tea bag five times
Hanging my jeans on the radiator
Googling athleisure instead of going to yoga class
Rewatching episodes of The Office at 1am on a weeknight

manifest destiny

the sun heats up the left side of your body as you drive down that stretch of 280 where the views get particularly breathtaking you know the one it’s right before the sawyer camp trail starts next to the reservoir and the forest across stands familiar though you’ve never explored it despite having gazed at its many trees almost every day of your life from age six to twenty six and its this feeling of endless expansiveness in one view that beckons you back forward in time to move your body through space that is both home and perpetually unknown

too many noodles

each strand creating another dependency that make the combinatorics of possible decisions too unwieldy to pick up with a single fork which is what I need to do if I’m going to have a fighting chance of eating this bowl of nonsense well not nonsense when separated and untangled but together yes complete nonsense coiled and knotted yet somehow they each still manage to evade my grasp, they are so slick with oily sauce that I sometimes just wish I could stab the core of a single length but my tines aren’t fine enough, blunt instruments and too many noodles.

Daylight Savings

She wakes from a terribly unproductive nap at 4:30 and it is already dark. Daylight savings is so arbitrary, she thinks to herself. But that awareness doesn’t change its stubborn impact on her mood. She grabs a pack of granola bites from the lounge and slips a dollar into the tissue box. They really cost two dollars but she doesn’t have anymore change, so she guesses this is where her ethical integrity breaks in favor of small human needs. As she walks to her lab, she takes one more look outside. She won’t see light again for two more days.

Please Accept My Eel

On Tuesday, she gave birth to an eel weighing just over six pounds. Despite the good news that it was remarkably easy labor, everyone held their breaths as the newborn was placed into its mother’s arms. Exhausted physically and mentally, she couldn’t stem the doubts flooding in as her surrounding loved ones and doctors waited on tip toe for her reaction. She looked at her husband with eyes that had no more tears to give, and words that seemed stuck somewhere between her heart and her throat: please, accept my eel. He nodded and said, I will also love it.

Potential

“A real renaissance man,” the local paper wrote when highlighting him as the valedictorian of his graduating high school class. On the eve of his fiftieth birthday, he peered at that very paper that his parents had frame. He went to a top university, got a job at a prestigious firm that he loved. The whiskey in his glass right now was a rare 1932 Glenfidditch. He had a loving husband, four bright kids, and two dogs. He did yoga, swam in the ocean twice a week, and took painting classes.  Then why am I so goddamn bored, he thought.

mirror

How much have you had to drink?[swig]

Four and a half glasses. [swig]

Whoa. [eyeroll]

[swig] The fuck you care?

[swig] Nothing really. But I bet she’d care. [points with lips]

[glance over the shoulder] She knows already.

[swig] She still thinks you’re drinking grape juice.

No one [swig] is under that illusion. Not even her.

[glass down] Hey, Mom.

[chug] [whispers] Fuck you, Jo.

[Mom looks over] What?

Oh never mind. I thought I lost my phone charger. Found it.

[Mom furrows brow] Okay.

Thanks. [swig]

You really gotta get clean.

[looks in mirror] Only when you do. [smile]

Modern warfare

Target. Click. Zip. Flames.

Another threat eliminated. Another shot of congratulatory whiskey. Another dose of valium. Another night out. Another bet on red. Another win. Another hand around another waist. Another drink. Another drink. Another. Drink.

Home. Not alone. But alone.

Anger again. Left alone with only the rising blood pressure to warm the bed.

The clock again.

Morning again.

Uniform again. What do the stars mean.

Look in the mirror. Punch the mirror. Take it down.

Wrap knuckles. Ice and salt.

Coffee. And whiskey. And valium.

Target. Click. Zip. Flames.

Someone’s father. Someone’s mother. Someone’s child. Alone. Alone. Alone.

Charming on application day, A Con on move-in day

Britt slammed the gate. Maybe she got ripped off with this place. Charming on application day, a con on move-in day.
The diner across the street looked just fine for a late breakfast. She looked at her watch. 11:51 A.M. 24 hours since she took off that wedding dress. And the ring.
Diners are all the same. She ordered two eggs sunny side up and a piece of sausage.
“What kinda sausage you want, guy?” Despite the gray skies and rolling fog, this waiter was golden brown just like the poster children of sunny California.
“Um, pork?”
“You got it.

Explaining what a lemon looks like to a blind man

It’s round, which means that you can cup it in your hand and the shape will sit in your palm nicely. But it’s roundness tapers at two ends, and you’ll find stubby points as if the ends are puckered — the very position your lips might make when you sip from a straw. The surface has lots pores, you can feel them with your finger like you might brush over an older person’s nose after a facial (or before). But the surface has a sheen to it, or rather a slipperiness from oil that you can extract with a fingernail.

The guest list

It’s eleven o’clock on Thanksgiving morning. You’ve already been up for four hours prepping. Your sister texted saying she’ll be on time for dinner, she promises. Your uncle called asking if he can bring his new girlfriend. She’s an actress and has a little dog that’s on prozac so will need to be away from people. Your two teenage boys asked if they could have some pie, like, right now. Your husband is running errands dutifully, braving the holiday supermarket scene, all to avoid having to tell you that he met someone and won’t be here for Christmas. Happy Thanksgiving.

Stock up and good luck

She arrived at the airport two hours early. She breezed through security, and started her routine. Fill up water bottle, pee, find coffee, sit somewhere with a power outlet.

As she neared the water fountain, she found a crowd building around it. That’s when she noticed that everyone was somehow rushing or fighting their way somewhere.

Starbucks was overrun — baristas panicking and trying to hold their stations. One of the news stand shops was furiously trying to close up.

She checked her phone.

New York Times Alert: Impending plague threatens all natural water resources. Stock up and good luck.

Inner Champion

She strikes the perfect balance of empathetic, logical, inquisitive, and goofy. She’s timeless in the sense that she’s the best person to party until 4am with, but goes to bed at 9pm on the regular. If she were to interact with my inner critic, she would probably listen to all the mean things, and then she would say, “I respectfully disagree, and you can go to hell.” And she’d just walk away because she would determine he was not actually that cool or worth her time. And then she would nod to me and say, “you’re fine. you’ve got this.”

My inner critic

If my inner critic were a film character, he would be charismatic, witty, and laconic. I imagine him as someone who drapes himself on chairs or leans on walls really casually. Probably wearing jeans and white t-shirt. He’s effortlessly cool — someone you wouldn’t question because they seem to know how the world works. He’s probably eating an apple or smoking a cigarette, some benign activity that signals that he’s not putting effort or thought into what he’s saying because it’s just so obvious. He seems neither friendly or unfriendly, which is why his messages are that much more insidious.

A Story Our Colombian Tour Guide Once Told Us

A white woman is speaking with a black man. She tells him, I only date white guys. I don’t go out with colored dudes.

The black man laughs at her.

What are you talking about? You people are the most colored folks out there. When white people are born, you’re pink. When you go to the beach, you turn red like a lobster. When you get sick, you turn green. And when you are dying, you turn blue.

She does not laugh.

We are on an air-conditioned bus listening to our Colombian Tour Guide as we drive around Medellin.

Hopes for Thanksgiving Day

I hope that…

The smell of roasting turkey pervades the house for as long as possible

People come over early (so we can get some real talk in while we cook together)

No one suggest we “go for a run”

Someone else will join me in drinking before 12

Mom feels like a gracious and capable host

Dad likes the apple pie

The dog doesn’t get overwhelmed by the number of people

People enjoy who they end up sitting next to at dinner

Someone else carves the turkey

There’s intergenerational conversation

I get to take the leftover mashed potatoes home

a long awaited letter

She had sat down to write this letter many times before, and each time given up before putting pen to paper. This time, she decided to write before she could think.

The feelings flooded out effortlessly. Anger, sadness, pride, and relief. She was on her thirds page when she realized she was crying.

Three tears fell in big fat drops successively on the words “like family,” distorting the hastily scribbled letters into watery tendrils. Though her hand starting aching, she continued on.

Finally, she signed her name, put the letter in an envelope, and threw it in the recycling bin.

my feet at the edge of the path

my feet at the edge of the path
toes scraping the soles of my shoes
on the edge of the start
but not firmly planted still

many others beckon to me
but ultimately walk on
leaving a vague impression
of confusion and resolve

but when I peer behind (twisting my head,
still not moving my feet)
there’s more path to see
do I remember walking it?

my gaze returns forward
the path bends into the horizon
I cannot see the steps I would take
and the others’ footsteps have disappeared

my arches ache
we haven’t moved in years
they say

diagnosis

Doctor who identifies as a woman: We got your test results back.

Patient who identifies as a man: [pause] Alright, tell me.

Doctor who identifies as a woman: It’s misogyny.

Patient who identifies as a man: What? Oh my god. Is it treatable?

Doctor who identifies as a woman: It’s hard to say right now. There’s a couple of things we can try–

Patient who identifies as a man: Wait! What’s going on? I just came in to get a flu shot! Can I see a different doctor?

Doctor who identifies as a woman: I’ll get the electroshock therapy ready.

the only acceptable way to use the word chick in 2018 is for a young bird

Man 1: Hey man, how are you?
Man 2: I’m good. You know, pretty busy.
Man 1: [sighs] Same. Recruiting?
Man 2: You know it.
Man 1 and Man 2: It’s exhausting.
Man 1: [chuckles] Tell me about it. Last week, I went to a consulting interview and this chick shows up—
Man 2: Wait, wait, what? An actual chick?
Man 1: Yeah. It was super weird. Feathers and everything. Really threw me off.
Man 2: I mean, yeah of course it would. That’s bizarre. Since when are chicks allowed to do business?
Man 1: [shrugs] I guess it’s 2018.

concerts

Trish loves to dance. Anywhere, anytime.

But unfortunately, there’s one major thing that impedes that lovely proclivity in public settings. And that’s when other people are taking up so much space that she can’t really move.

Trish knows about psychology. It’s not because they’re bad people, it’s because of their circumstances and environment. #fundamentalattributionerror

The concert is just that popular and crowded.  If you want to see the musician, you have to accept your decision to exist in this sea of bodies.

But Trish is also human. Goddamn #personalspace am I right?

She looks around. If they elbow, I’ll elbow.

お土産

Omiage means souvenir and she knew she couldn’t return without one.

She had been living in Tokyo for three months, all the while ignoring the inevitable departure. But today was her last day.

She wandered around the mall, looking for objects that could encapsulate the experiences she had made over the last three months. Would a ceramic sake set communicate that well? What about a handmade hanten? Some cute stickers?

She sighed in frustration. You could get all of these things back in the states.  The only difference would be the story, and none of them quite had that.

dinner menu brainstorm

brown butter and sage gnocchi, marinated kale salad with pecorino and almonds, lemon tart

cold peanut sesame noodles with scallions and soft tofu, pickled cucumbers and radishes, pineapple cake

coconut milk eggplant adobo and garlic rice, broccolini with fried shallots, dark chocolate bars and roasted hazelnuts

whole roasted cauliflower with capers and lemon, roasted beet and orange salad with goat cheese, olive oil ice cream sundaes with pistachios

tomato and white bean stew with chive garlic oil and parmesan croutons, lemon and radicchio salad, pear frangipane tart

chawanmushi, salmon with fresh shiitakes and ginger, spinach with sesame sauce, ginger cookies

Roots

At 4:32am, lightning struck the tree.

It wasn’t a particularly remarkable tree. It was tall enough and leafy enough, but it was by no means the type of tree you could take a nap under or pick delicious fruit from. This tree was planted in 1865 by a farmer’s son. The boy had found a sapling shriveled and dying at the edge of his family’s land. He dug it up with his hands and carried it to his play shed by the barn.

Many decades later, the land was taken over by an industrial soybean company, but the tree remained.

Options for how to support a friend going through a tough time (some good, some bad)

Listening.
Assuring them it will be alright.
Telling them about the silver lining.
Suggesting solutions.
Distracting them with humor.
Distracting yourself with humor.
Hugging them for longer than normal.
Putting your hand on their hand.
Asking them about how they are feeling.
Listening to sad music.
Listening to happy music.
Cleaning their apartment.
Reading a book aloud.
Laughing together.
Watching a movie.
Going to counseling.
Psychoanalyzing.
Villifying the cause of the badness.
Smashing things.
Being there.
Bringing food.
Drinking.
Offering to sleep over.
Texting them about random facts.
Connecting them with someone going through something similar.
Talking a lot.
Dancing.

Thanksgiving Alignment

Lawful Good: Green beans with bacon bits
The bacon elevates the humble bean to a competitive level amidst the feast

Neutral Good: Brussel Sprouts
They smell bad, but we’d miss em if they weren’t there.

Chaotic Good: Gravy
Meat juices. Butter. Wine.

Lawful Neutral: Apple Pie
The crowdpleaser you can count on.

Neutral Neutral: The Turkey
It’s iconic, yet benign.

Chaotic Neutral: Roasted duckfat potatoes
Mom has been reading the blogs.

Lawful Evil: Marshmallow-Topped Sweet potatoes
Just the worst. Everyone knows it.

Neutral Evil: Cranberry sauce
From stove to trash.

Chaotic Evil: Shrimp Chow Mein
There’s always that one person.

shameless product brainstorm (pls vote)

a candle where, when it melts, it reveals a fun object (like a cat)
a candle holder that has a funnel built in to remold the melted wax into a new candle
a candle holder that has a funnel to build a fun shape out of the melted wax
wine-scented candles
candles that smell like your hometown
candles that have different words with each later of wax melting off
a candle holder that shines an image or pattern on the wall when lit
a candle in the form of someone you hate and when the wax melts, it deforms them

Irish Twins

“I’ll go if you go.”

This was how it was between Marley and her sister. In order for either of them to overcome the slightest inertia, one needed the validation of the other.  Even when they were babies, Marley wouldn’t feed unless her sister was hungry, too.

But this time, she felt the need to resist.

“I don’t want you to go with me.”

The words felt like marbles, each syllable toppling over the other in a slippery cascade. She immediately sought her sister’s eyes, begging for approval – a reflex that couldn’t be helped even in the face of conflict.

A Sunday in Santa Monica

Smoky fog clinging to my skin
as it mists off the ocean surface
I lick the salt off of the freshly
roasted pumpkin seeds

Perching, cross-legged
over a terracotta balcony, I see
a man walking shirtless
two others trading sunglasses

The street signs have a certain flatness
static amidst the palm trees
I can only make out their silhouette
rendered monochrome in the haze

And not too much later, it starts to clear
the water still blending into the sky
but the boardwalk comes into view
and all this time, people have been there

such places exist without me watching

VC Pitch

Millions of Americans every day drive their vehicles. While some think we’re trending to an electric future, the reality is, when it comes to the real world, oil is still and will always be king. Combine this with the millennial trends in awareness of production and distribution of consumables. We present: snake oil.

Small batch, organic, hyperlocal oil, sourced and drilled from your neighbor in Ojai, California. All natural, all American.

We expect to establish our first base of customers in areas that have the perfect overlap of pick up truck drivers, pet project picklers, and mason jar coffee drinkers.

Ants

After checking his inbox for the fifth time that hour, he had to admit to himself that he probably didn’t get in. He expected to feel deflated and empty, like there would be a definite hole where reward, validation, and excitement should be. But instead, he felt mostly numb except for a tingling feeling. Like little ants of defeat were crawling all over his arms, face, and torso. Annoying in the moment, harmless in the long run. Well maybe.

“Anything?” his roommate said, standing by the coffeemaker.

“Nope.”

His roommate nodded. And somehow, that was helpful. The ants went away.

Grocery Lists

Jean, the responsible one:
Dishwasher detergent
Tomatoes
All purpose flour
Packing tape
Milk from cows
Milk from soybeans

Prerna, the crafty one:
Macaroni
Chili
Twine
Colored pencils

Alex, the social one:
White wine
Red wine
Ginger beer
Hummus (everyone loves hummus)

Fabio, the one with feelings:
Mint chocolate chip ice cream
Raspberry sorbet
Hot cheetos
A large bottle of sparkling water

Parker, the healthy one:
Kale
Turmeric
Kombucha
Organic Soil

Lee, the one with a plan:
Pizza dough
Tomato sauce
Mozzarella cheese
Loose leaf basil
A triple washed bag of greens

Helena, the neurotic one:
Peanuts
A pack of forks

Fried Rice

It doesn’t matter what kind of rice you use, as long as it’s a day old. You can get away with two, but never more than that. Chop some garlic and fry it in some fat. Pretty much everything flies except for olive oil maybe, the flavor is too strong. This morning, I ran out of oil, so I used chicken fat. Yes, I have chicken fat. Once the garlic is cooked and smelling fragrant, add the rice and simmer until done. Serve with a fried egg. There’s something weird about leftovers being more delicious than the prepared meal itself.

Happy Valentine’s Day

A few cliches, after all it’s Valentine’s day
but first a review:

Past dates have included
sneaking into movies,
picnics by the beach,
winding trips to wine country.

Today was adventurous in its own right
A lovely morning
late, by design

with a more causal exchange of vows
(not pictured here)
and an equally casual
review of momentous occasions

The eighth or the first
we don’t care for semantics
only for moments
and this one rose to the occasion

Now on to some tea and toast
and I’m now imagining
how we’ll be doing this
every morning
like we promised

Some ideas for getting out of bed in the morning, in no particular order

Some ideas for getting out of bed in the morning, in no particular order
1) Timed bacon fryer
2) Timed coffee maker
3) An alarm clock you have to chase around the room to turn off
4) A bucket of water hanging above your bed that splashes you if you don’t get up within ten seconds of your alarm
5) Going to sleep at 6PM
6) Your boss’s voice yelling at you about what’s due today
7) A new item delivered to your doorstep but expires after 5 minutes
8) Your bed flips over and deposits you onto the floor

Waiting at a bar

I’m sitting at the bar waiting for my friends to arrive, which is a predicament I often find myself in — sometimes up to 45 minutes early for a meet up. I’m always a little anxious as a single woman alone at a bar. I’m not looking to get hit on, but I also don’t want to be a nerdy loser looking at email on my phone. I settle for something in between, open for conversation, usually with bartender, but phone on table just in case. The man to my left is playing solitaire on his iPad. I order a beer.

Welcome back

Your brain has been on vacation for approximately thirty-seven days. Welcome back to the real world, sir. Can’t say we’ve missed you. We miss no one, and sources tell me no one misses us, either (those that would never actually leave). You’ll have a seven day grace period, after which, it will no longer be acceptable to walk around with the facial expression equivalent of a satiated squirrel. Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as it sounds. On average, it takes seventeen days for your brain to return to normal levels. If you experience a delay, we’ll let you know.

Thank you, GI System

I’m not religious, so I’m definitely not one for a mealtime prayer, but I in light of recent events, I have decided to say thank you to my steadfast digestive system, the organ that has taken whatever I’ve decided to stuff down it without complaint or really even a gurgle. Fried food, pints upon pints of beer, shots of whisky, spicy concoctions made in a dingy food cart at 2am. I salute you, GI tract, for bearing with me this long. It doesn’t mean I’ll stop eating those things, but in saying thank you, I might at least think twice.