It’s part of what makes us great and OK, sometimes arrogant, self-important, disrespectful: the fact we think we can go anywhere in the world, just show up, and do what we want or buy what we want, sometimes just by… Read More ›
travel
The moments we steal with cameras and pens
The hot tub smells not altogether good when it’s been left a while without its chemicals. I come home to find it gagging on a Barbie doll one of the kids put under the lid, legs sticking out, choking. Hair… Read More ›
‘The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys’
I leave work sick and catch a bus home. Catching a bus isn’t easy when you live in the suburbs, you have to catch different buses and string them together. Then, you don’t get right where you need to be…. Read More ›
The Airborne Toxic Event
To think we are nearing a precipice with regards to the media, Ebola, and public perception about the threat here in the States is mis-guided: the truth is, we are always on a precipice with the media, with panic down one… Read More ›
For anyone who cares what they look like when found dead, puts on make-up to jog, or combs their hair before bed
We go to Portland for the weekend, to get away. They’re so polite in Portland, their graffiti looks like this: LIFE CHECKLIST WORK HARD PLAY HARD LOVE YOURSELF All the boxes are checked. I look around and think, maybe it… Read More ›
Bad thoughts precede bad thoughts: flying, drinking, writing, landing
Flying, sipping brandy out of a cup, 5 in the morning. Leaning back in our blankets, in our seats, reclining. We raise our hands to the displays and tap the screens and look as dull and robotic as the figures… Read More ›
Still
The girls are in the bedroom with the sun washed over them, mouths slung open. The water here is either too hard or soft, it’s hard to make a lather. I’ve been up more than 24 hours flying, eating, drinking,… Read More ›
Cow dung in foreground
Lily and I drive up the Teanaway to get away, bond. We pull the Pilot over at mile marker 11, where the trail report says you should start: pass the gate that says No Motorized Vehicles, head up the private… Read More ›
Heads buried in books, Powell’s, Portland
We pass Powell’s bookstore in Portland, which says it’s the largest independent bookstore in the world and sure feels that way. Even though it’s a sunny afternoon in January all the seats are full of people not with tablets or… Read More ›
Winter’s Playground
Drinking good wine out of paper cups at the Howard Johnson’s in the mountains, the knocking through the wall could be the neighbors signaling Keep it down, or the neighbors knocking each other around, with the bed frame. We decide… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 