Song of [not really] Myself Sunday Dinner

Folks, this has been a tough month. Not tough in the-consequences-are-going-to-kill-me-or-anyone-else way, but tough in the my-poops-aren’t-...

On Being a Better Gay, No. 1: Out

A few things have happened lately that have had me contemplating my big gay existence. First, I met my partner in prude , who has donated mo...

Poopgroup: epiphany!

I shock myself sometimes, too. I am not sure I can accurate calculate the amount of time I have spent actively thinking about poop (why are...

Skiing; Mom, 51; Beef Bourguignon

When the conditions are right, is there anything better than snow skiing? What a luxurious sport—I mean, you’re whisked up—gestured, really—...

Slouching towards Xanadu

I came to New York really not knowing anyone. I had put a continent between myself and any blood relatives, and the two acquaintances I had ...

PoopGroup: The Yoga Edition

I usually wake up in the morning feeling bloated or with some twisting-turning action happening in my stomach. Surprisingly, this does not o...

On Losing My Second Copy of Housekeeping

Marilynne Robinson’s Housekeeping is the most exquisite book I know of. I went back to it for a second or third read, this time really tak...