I am rare among men. I actually clothes shop successfully for my wife, and I enjoy doing so. For most men, clothes shopping for themselves is a headache-inducing hassle, but doing so for their wife or girlfriend usually amounts to torture worthy of Amnesty International’s attention. I used to be such a guy. Not anymore
High school is the best and worst of times, that at once liberating and awkward period between youth and adulthood where everything can feel so right and yet go so wrong. When I think about my four years at Elder High School, I mostly feel pleased that I survived, and that I managed, despite myself, to get
I can pinpoint exactly when I concluded that poetry sucks. It was 1980 in a high school English class. I was three or so pages into Beowulf.
Despite such useful words-to-live-by as “Drunk, he slew no hearth companions...,” that dense classic was enough to convince this so-so stu
You can never have too many friends. It’s something my parents and grandparents used to tell me. Perhaps your own elders fed you the same advice. As true as that adage may have been back in the day, it’s patently false now, as anyone with a Facebook page knows. Facebook, for the unini
Poll my friends, family, and colleagues and they will overwhelmingly concur that I am a positive, hopeful, glass-half-full kind of guy. I’ve always been optimistic. I’ve always had to be. Without natural good looks, hand-eye coordination, or contagious charm, I’ve had to believe in a better tomorrow or I would have give