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My Mom’s Daughter

My mom was a person before she met me. She lived in Paris and consumed nothing but Orangina, cigarettes, and Tracy Chapman songs for six months straight. She moved back to New York and befriended the prostitutes on her street corner on her way home from picking up Chinese food. My mom hustled to…

How to Run a Marathon

This is a marathon, not a sprint. It’s hard to remember that as we’re losing count of the horrible things Trump has said and done, or as we find out about yet another organization that can use donations, or as there’s another issue worth calling reps over, or…

Pop of Holiday Cheer

Welcome to a special holiday edition of Pop Warrior! One of my favorite ideas about these winter holidays is that they all center around light. Whether you’re lighting up a Christmas tree or a menorah or a kinara or simply a fireplace, you’re bringing light and warmth into the darkest…

Stars Hollow in Trump’s America

Stars Hollow doesn’t change much. Patty’s is always filled with ballerinas. Taylor is always griping about traffic lights, or something similarly banal. Sure, that old hardware store on the corner became a diner at some point, but it still looks pretty much the same as it…

Still Nasty

I was so ready to write you a letter of celebration today. To exhale a great big collective sigh of relief. To leave the trauma of this election season behind us as we look toward a brighter future. On Monday, I jotted down some notes in a draft of this letter: “We’ve been through hell, but now we rise.”

your computer warned you

your computer warned you

but you didn’t listen

and so the computer crashed

with 28 tabs open

and an endless