This Can't Be Broccoli

I'm sorry I hate the beach. I know everybody else loves it.  The beach is like that guy that all of your friends love and invite everywhere and you just...hate. For really no reason at all, you just...hate him. Every summer, I dread the expectation everyone has that I should be at the beach whenever it's nice out.  "Why aren't you at the beach?" "Have you been to the beach yet?" "The beach was amazing today.  Just what I needed." "Don't you wish the beach was a person so you could make love to it on the beach?" Technically the problem isn't the beach--it's me. I hate relaxing. I don't see the point of driving somewhere, putting a towel down, and then just laying on it waiting for your skin to change color.  There's something really lizard-esque about the whole thing. And why do we need the beach when we have pools?  --Which are really just little private beaches without the crowds, over-priced parking...

I want to explain what happens when I try cooking something. Here's a sort-of timeline: Sometime Between Midnight and "Way Too Late to Start Cooking Something Now" I decide to start cooking something. Hmm, what do I have in the fridge?  This'll be like Chopped!  Except with nothing fun or exotic and without any skilled chef-ery whatsoever. I discover-- 1)  Pasta (Because I stockpile boxes of the stuff, because...it's pasta.  I don't understand the question.  Was there a question?) 2)  Mushrooms (That still look fresh.  A miracle in my kitchen.  I buy mushrooms because I'm always like "Yay! Mushrooms!" and then I avoid using them at all costs.  It's like that time I got a gym membership.) 3)  Butter (I mean, thank goodness.  I wouldn't have even bothered if there was no butter.  I would have just gone back to watching my 37th daily episode of The Good Wife .) 4)  Extra Virgin Olive Oil (Because it's really ...

A few years ago, I was hanging out on a rooftop. This seemed pretty cool. Actually, it was very cool. A rooftop in the city End of summer Staring out in the future, or past, or whatever It was very CW Like, an indie band was playing in my head And it was one of those moments you want to take a snapshot of Because you think--Yeah, this is my awesome tv moment There was, however, one thing missing Paper lanterns A rooftop is not complete without paper lanterns Mainly because Without them It's pitch black And you're liable to fall to your death Which almost happened...I think. Let me explain: I was walking from one end of the roof to the other And I didn't notice the giant gap in the middle of the roof That would send a person two stories down To either hideous injury Or just, you know, death I remember stepping forward And then back And when I stepped back The person I was on the roof with said 'Careful' And moved their flashlight...

There is nothing that terrifies me more than having an opinion about the Middle East. Unfortunately, there's a part of my brain that desperately wants to have opinions about everything, including issues that are considered inflammatory. I once read a twenty-seven page New Yorker article on fracking just so I could get mad about it in an intelligent way. (Sidenote: Why are ALL New Yorker articles twenty-seven pages long?  And they wonder why I have stacks of old New Yorkers sitting on my coffee table. Side-Sidenote:  I don't know who "they" would be--The people at the New Yorker?  I mean, I'm assuming they want me to read their work.  Me, specifically.  I believe I'm their target audience: Gay, liberal, and indignant.) For the most part, a quick skim of a Huntington Post article gives me all the ammunition I need to go sounding off on message boards-- --And by message boards, I mean, the comments section of any of my Conservative friends on Facebook...