A garage sale completes the ironic tableau.
Saul learns his class position in the art world.
Pondering good fortune open to few others.
Please don’t defend Roy Moore. At least not where I can hear it.
[CN: more or less the same as yesterday’s feature, to which this one relates. Relationships with a very large age gap, where one partner is a teenager. I was personally very upset by one sentence in here, but because of how very well it articulated something the author criticizes, a thing that my father also wanted and shouldn’t have wanted – a thing that another old man I know who is on trial right now also wanted and shouldn’t have wanted – not because of anything explicit. The essay was more than worth the resulting flashbacks, but I was grateful to have been warned before I read it. Can you have a trigger warning for insight? (Don’t get distracted into debating that in the comments, please.) — Maribou]
Tomatoes are daunting!!! DAUNTING!!!
Another trip to Qatar. Another handful of anecdotes.
Pretty Much What It Says On The Tin
It is mostly very easy to be the Consort of the Priestess of Bast. Sometimes it is very hard.
If you want a creature that repeats lines from a textbook, get a parrot.
In which a fourteen-pound cat causes sleep-deprived Burt Likko a week’s worth of trouble.
A fourth business trip to Qatar, this time with a visit to a medical clinic
“November 8, 2016, 4pm. My boss swings by my desk. She’s smiling, putting her coat on, talking of champagne with neighbors. She leaves, I check Facebook. Lots of selfies. One from Liv- white pantsuit, red ‘I voted’ sticker, red lipstick to match. It’s all planned. I close it. I flash back to 2004, downtown Hilton, DNC headquarters. A young democrat plays a hopeful melody on the lobby piano while we all get drunk in the ballroom bracing for victory, which never comes.”
Carrie Fisher was so much more than Princess Leia.
Where a father attempts to review the new Final Fantasy game.
Some experiences are best shared, because you really DON’T want to experience it for yourself.
Ten years is a long time.
Knowing that it’s time to say goodbye doesn’t make doing it any easier.
Wherein I dare to hope…
In which the author and a third grade teacher share mutual incomprehension.
The moment you know you have reached middle age, and are happy to do so.
Some musings on Modernity and Reformation
Tomorrow is moving day for Mon Tiki Largo, and Capt. David has some thoughts he can’t seem to write down.
We recently had reason to call the just-in-time tailored pet euthanasia people.
Which is a really, really weird thing to exist, now that I think about it.
“Crazy Man Michael,” heavy stuff about Maribou’s childhood, and some thoughts on terrifyingly violent people who manage to stay out of criminal trouble for a long time.
Find a way to spend more money on your outreach and less on your facilities.
An Uncomfortable Christian
Dad Bods are earned, not borned.
Where one generation has honored traditions, the generation at hand is whimsical, unorthodox, and living in a fantasy world that may be likened to a saloon, gaining the reputation of “anything goes” over the years. But anything does not go. It shan’t not go.
Confessions of a public scribbler
How we write stories mirrors the strange and uncanny ways we make sense of our lives.
Atomic geography would really like you to enjoy this song, unsatisfactory as this post may be…
Maribou tells a story. And looks forward to hearing about your weekend.
Mexico has many problems, but they shouldn’t stop you from visiting one of its jewels.
Seriously. How are we going to get out of here?
Right Hand, please confer with Left Hand
First and Second Friends.
Jay Flewelling on the joy of fake plane crashes and the agony of real firemen.