The dark is coming.
My two year-old son has become fond of looking off into the distance and saying, “Uh oh. The dark is coming.” I worried that I’m living in a Stephen King…
My two year-old son has become fond of looking off into the distance and saying, “Uh oh. The dark is coming.” I worried that I’m living in a Stephen King…
It’s subtitled. It stars two women in their late seventies. It’s about something that thousands of people do everyday. And yet it’s compelling and sweet and revelatory and brilliant. You…
My two year-old son was wearing monkey pajamas. My wife asked, “What do monkey’s eat?” “Apples,” he said confidently. “No…” “Blueberries?” No,” Elysha said. “I’ll give you a hint. It’s…
I haven’t received a copy yet, but a reader in the Czech Republic sent me a photograph of my Czech edition of Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend. It’s the twenty-first…
Call my mom? It’s 1993. Do you want me to use your landline, since there are no mobile phones? Besides, your pretentiously nostalgic coffee shop is also littered with dirty…
My daughter’s start to kindergarten has made her brother a little sad. He misses his big sister throughout the day and occasionally shouts, “Charlie kindergarten!” But their daily goodbyes are…
Clara enjoyed her very first manicure last weekend as a part of her friend’s birthday party. Only I’m not sure if she actually enjoyed it. When she arrived home, she…
The following is a story that I told at a Moth GrandSLAM at The Music Hall at Williamsburg in 2014. The theme of the night was In Your Face. I…
The rules are simple (at least according to the slip of paper found in the box): Don’t place the stepstool’s legs atop a pile of books. Don’t place one of…
Sometimes the letters that Slate’s Dear Prudence receives are better than any fiction I’ve read all week long. This is an example of just such a letter: “While cleaning out…