Stupid nostalgia
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…
Yesterday’s bus stop goodbye
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…
Her possible rejection of the manicure might be her best decision yet.
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 Moth: The Cardboard Knight
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…
We bought an IKEA step stool. Thanks to the directions, we know not to look closely at it.
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…
The truth is sometimes truly better than fiction. This is just such a case.
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…
One of the greatest sources of disagreement in my marriage centers on Kevin Bacon and a questionable dance number.
My wife and I don’t fight, and we disagree on very few things. One of the sources of our greatest disagreements centers on a moment in the movie Footloose. My…
My daughter’s bus stop is completely ridiculous, and I so wish I could be there.
When I was a kid, my siblings and I stood beneath an enormous oak tree at the bottom of the driveway and waited for the bus. Our parents had long…
The Moth: No Santa
The following is a story that I told at a Moth StorySLAM at Housing Works in New York City in 2014. The theme of the night was Secrets. I told…
Not so internal dialogue
As I was buckling my daughter into her car seat, she began talking. I looked at her and realized that she wasn’t talking to me. She was just thinking aloud.…
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