Routines

Routines are a strange, powerful force. We do something over and over again and it becomes habit. Many people take solace in a binding sense of commitment to a routine. Other people treat them like they’re the scourge of all that’s creative, spontaneous and good. I am a routine person. I’ve always done well when

Your life is perfectly adequate.

I’m convinced the last six blog posts I’ve read are all trying to charge me with not living life to the fullest. Apparently, I need to cut the shit, like, right now. I’m approaching my mid-20’s and I’m constantly being cautioned against living by default; leading a life I think will be successful and fulfilling,

if you don’t know about tannins, you aren’t worth a damn…and other myths (pt. two)

I was determined to work there. The place was swank. I could smell the under-the-table cash I’d make through tips and the endless heat and comfort they’d buy me. No more turning the oven on and leaving the door open. No more drying clothes item by item and huddling by the vent. I could buy

if you don’t know about tannins, you’re not worth a damn…and other myths (pt. one)

I remember the first time I encountered wine snobbery. It was at Central Convenience, a Mom and Pop operation that functioned as the beating heart of a rural out-port where I was born and raised. It sold liquor (even on Sundays…which was strictly taboo because of the ultra religious people who made up a huge