I started posting on Medium five years ago. I joined excited to be a part of what was then being heralded as an online publishing revolution; it was the Uber of Wordpresses! The Apple of Twitters! The Beyoncé of Bloggers!
And at first it was; the interface was so clean, it felt like you were creating a post inside a futuristic Stanley Kubrick set. And the reach seemed to be exactly as promised; they said if we brought the content, they would bring the eyeballs. …
Dear News Media,
For the last three and a half years, I’ve been amazed at how quickly most of you have been able to edit our President in real time, to wrangle his daily diatribes into coherent policy, to place meaning on the vague, nonsensical tweets and meandering press conferences. You’ve been like the parent of a toddler bumbling around at your feet, translating “BABA!” into a cogent thought: “Oh, he’s hungry. He would like his bottle.”
“BUILD A WALL AND CRIME WILL FALL” Trump scrawled into the world at 4:59 AM on January 23rd of last year, amidst the…
My boyfriend’s name is David. He was given that name in part because his dad didn’t want the world to have a reason to fear him. David, from the Bible. Perhaps those five letters could anoint him and somehow signal this new baby boy — who would grow up to be the most Christ-like man I’ve ever met — wasn’t scary, wasn’t a threat. David. Like you. Like your dad. See? He doesn’t fit the description, no matter what the five o’clock news says.
As he cries for each new death now, I cry next to him, but not with…
I recently found one gray hair in my beard; in the center of my mustache, to be precise.
At a quick glance, it looks like my nose is running. Or I sneezed and haven’t yet found a tissue. Or if the light hits it just right, I look like a coke head about to lose his white collar job, too stoned to remove the evidence from his upper lip after a “quick lunch.”
This isn’t the first sign of aging to sprout into view. I’ve looked my current age for the last decade and a half, at least.
The first time I remember meeting you was in the 7th grade when we were both auditioning to be Peter Pan. You were blond and athletic and I was new to school and friendless. You got the part and I got a best friend for the next six years.
First we rode bikes and then we drove cars, after convincing our parents that instead of taking drivers ed at school like everyone else, we should sign up for a fast-track program run out of a questionable strip mall basement you somehow found. They agreed, mostly because we wore them down…
Want to know more? Here’s some great pieces I read before making this:
Paedophile Net: Did Operation Ore change British Society? by Jon Kelly & Tom de Castella from BBC News
Inside Europe’s Biggest Sex Offenders’ Prison from BBC News
“I Hate My Desires — They Make Me Sick” by Bruno Schrep on Spiegel Online
A noose. Bleach. The MAGA war cry. By now the details have been widely shared, the hot takes served and retweeted and the Internet stands ready for its next fury fest, like a dog waiting to bark at the mailman. Why else does he leave? dogs are trained to believe. He came. I barked. He left. Mission accomplished. You’re welcome for protecting the home, Human Who Feeds Me.
I’m a white gay man in a relationship with a black gay man, both of us in the show biz hustle. Jussie’s story resonated because it had resonance; we believed him because…
There’s a light over our dining room table that turns itself off and then back on again without warning. Sometimes it just dims, helpfully setting the mood for me while I sit alone, eating a seven-layer dip I bought at the local Grocery Bargain Outlet store (“oh, you guys have a Groce-Out, too?” a friend said when she came to visit), and other times it’ll fade quickly before shooting right back to full-blast, signaling intermission has ended and it’s time to return to your seat for the second act.
David and I moved into this apartment last October, something we…
This is the last day of my 500 Words A Day challenge, and as promised here’s the rest of the things I learned:
16. When I sit down to write, stories of my my childhood come up. I’m not sure what that says about me, but posting here is much cheaper than going to therapy so let’s get to the bottom of it together, shall we?
17. I should probably go to therapy.
18. Everyone could use a little therapy.
19. My mom cries at most things I write.
20. My dad almost never cries, but I made him tear…
This being the penultimate day of this challenge, I wanted to use the word penultimate and also wanted to share with you some things I learned after writing and posting every day for almost thirty days. And because the internet likes lists, here’s the first half of one: