Tag: #Fiction

  • ODDS and ENDS: Ravenous Day, Cooking, and Don’t Be an Angry Old Dude

    ODDS and ENDS: Ravenous Day, Cooking, and Don’t Be an Angry Old Dude

    (Sweet Dionysus
    She never really liked us…)

    I was hungry all day yesterday. And I mean all day; morning to night, and then again this morning when I woke up. I remember that back in my twenties this would happen to me often enough to name this affliction – A Ravenous Day. On these days, no matter how much I ate, or how often I ate, I would never feel full or satiated. Yesterday was A Ravenous Day, and I did my best to handle this situation in the healthiest way possible, but fruits and veg wouldn’t cut it. I tried salty, but that wouldn’t end it. I tried sweet, but that seemed to make everything worse. I even tried cold pizza at 2am. Nothing worked. I stayed hydrated, and out of the heat, as if that had something do with it. I am bottomless pit.

    I really love cooking for my family. Even with the kid at camp, and it’s just me and the wife, I want to cook for her. I tried Thai fried rice and spring rolls the other night. I had never done it before, and I thought I should try. The rice turned out well, but my ability at rolling rolls was very much lacking. More practice is needed. It was fun for me to try something new, and in a sense, fail at it. I like the idea that the kid is going to come home from camp, and I will have this new meal for her, and it will be something that she will like. But that feeling, of knowing that I am going to make a food that she likes, that we haven’t made at home before, gives me a feeling of providing for, and taking care of her.

    I refuse to be an angry old dude. Anger will not be my driving emotion. I will not be bitter about how my life has gone. I will be a happy silly old man. I’ve met a few in my life, and I aim to be like them.

  • The Bored Days of Summer (Unedited)

    We got three days into Summer Vacation, and the kid announced that she was bored.

    “There’s nothing to do”

    “No one to talk to”

    “Nothing to watch”

    “Nothing to read”

    “Nothing to listen to”

    I think you get the idea.

    Not surprised to hear her say this. All kids get bored when they have too much time on their hands. When the get too much freedom, it becomes repressive. As I am the stay at home dad, I get the brunt of the kid’s complaints, and she looks to me to solve this problem of hers.

    My first reaction was to tell her that it’s not my job to eliminate her boredom.

    But as soon as I said that, it dawned on me that it really is my job to end her boredom. Look, if I don’t get involved then she will want to zombie out on the iPad, and that is the worst thing that could happen.

    I’m not saying that she won’t get on the iPad this Summer, but I want to limit that as much as possible.

    Now, I don’t want to create mindless things for her to do, such as dumping a bunch of chores on her. There is no joy or magical memories that come from that. No, what I want to do is encourage healthy habits while also spending time together. (She will help me paint the livingroom this Summer, so she does have one huge chore, but we’ve been talking about that for months now.) I want her to stay active, so we are going to go running, and work on her soccer skills. I also want to keep her reading up, so we need to set time aside for that. She’s brought up that she wants to go to a museum, so that will take care of the art side of things. And I want to encourage her to think about the food she wants to learn how to make, and then we can work on recipe testing.

    IN the end, what I know to be true is that you only get to have so many Summers as a kid. When the days are hot but not too hot, and the Summer feels like it stretches on forever. In two or three years, I really won’t see her over the Summer, as she’ll be involved in something, or will be hanging out with her friends. Until then, I want to make sure she has some memories of enjoying time with her dad. Doing stupid stuff while trying to avoid being bored.

  • ODDS and ENDS: Everything is Green, Son of a Clothes Horse, and Sick Kid on the Couch

    ODDS and ENDS: Everything is Green, Son of a Clothes Horse, and Sick Kid on the Couch

    (Who said that!? Not Me!)

    …And I hope you enjoy the weird AI image that was created for this post…

    Came out this morning to do the Alt Side Parking Dance, and discovered that our little car was covered in green. The wife had parked under a tree, and now there is a fuzzy haze of pollen all over the vehicle. Besides the fact that my allergies started weeping in despair as I felt my nose simultaneously running and clogging up, I also wondered how much pollen could this car collect? Could my car have so much pollen on it that if I drove around the City, even out in the country, it would act as a pollinator? I know the bees are dying off, but if push came to shove, couldn’t we just drive are cars around to, in a very basic rockbottom way, pollenate the world? Just an idea, cause there is a crap ton of tree pollen on my car.

    First of all, let me start by saying this very loaded statement; I love my wife very much. And as such, we tease each other often, as is our want. There are many things she makes fun of me over, but one of the most recurrent jokes of her’s is to call me a “clothes horse.” Going on twenty years, she’s called me this. Until I had met my wife, I had never heard this term before. A clothes horse is a folding frame used inside someone’s house to hang laundry on while it dries, or a fashionable person who thinks too much about their clothes. (I bet you can guess which definition my wife uses for me.) Most specifically, she will uses this term towards me on days when I have a sitting around the home outfit, a running errands in the neighborhood outfit, and then a third running around town outfit. Not that I do this all the time, but it does happen; I have been known to wear three different outfits in one day. So, I was home visiting my dad the other week, and I witnessed my father doing the same thing; over the course of the day, he had three different outfits he would put on. I had never noticed that, nor thought about it, as that’s just who my father is. Now, I clearly see the depths of the influence this man has had on my life, for I am the Son of a Clothes Horse.

    The kid was sick the other night. Like very sick, and throwing up. She was weak, and needed to be comforted, which I was more than happy to do. As she gets older, the opportunity for a snuggle starts to decrease, you know. But I noticed something as we were on the couch at 2am, hoping that she would be able to keep crackers down; That when she’s sick and on the couch in the daytime, I watch whatever she wants to watch – But at night, I make the kid watch what I want to watch. Nothing inappropriate, but it’s my choice. So, the other night, at 2am, I made my kid watch the MST3k episode “Cave Dwellers.” It’s one of my favorites, and to be honest, I wasn’t too concerned with what the kid thought, as she was nauseous and going in and out of sleep. The next morning, she was feeling better, still a little under the weather, but better. And to my surprise, she was making Cave Dweller jokes – like, “I fell on my eight sided dice,” “Gotta a Minute!” and “The tapes not queued up!” I couldn’t have be prouder to be her father!

  • Short Story Review: “Marseille” by Ayşegül Savaş

    (The short story “Marseille” by Ayşegül Savaş appeared in the April 7th, 2025 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by Virginie Morgand

    Old friends are the best friends you can have! There, I said it, and I am willing to die on this completely uncontroversial hill! See, I know that my old friends, some that I have known since grade school, have made my life better, funnier, and have given me perspective in immeasurable ways. Mainly because we have grown older together. Reading “Marseille” by Ayşegül Savaş reminded me of the virtues of having old friends.

    Here’s an Overly Simplistic Synopsis: Amina, who recently had a baby, goes out for a weekend in Marseille with two of her old university friends, Alba and Lisa.

    I try to keep an open mind, and not to jump to conclusions when I start reading a story, but by the time I made it to the third paragraph, and read that this was going to be a story about three old friends going away for a weekend, the cliché and trope sirens started going off in my head. And I can admit that I was totally wrong for doing that. Though, I feel that this “red herring” of a situation was part of Ayşegül Savaş’ plan all along, lulling us in to the story.

    The story’s opening paragraph describes how Amina and her husband have been trying to give each other space and time away from each other, in an attempt to reclaim their lives, “which had been on hold since the baby was born.” So, from the start, the premise of the work is reclaiming one’s self, even after change has occurred. And as we follow Amina and her friends around for these few days, that theme is repeated, in which change is coming, or has already occurred.

    And Ayşegül Savaş handles this theme very smartly. Again, so many times this story could have fallen into the land of middle-aged people tropes, but it never goes there. For one reason, our three characters aren’t that old, perhaps just entering into their thirties. The other way this theme is handled well is that Amina comes into contact with three women, two in the setting of the story and one as a memory, over the stretch of the piece; the first is a new mother on the train out to Marseille, the next is an older woman that explains that desire goes aware after giving birth but will return, the third is a young woman on the ferry ride. It’s as if Amina encounters her present self, her future self, and her past self – these interactions don’t represent warnings of the future, or regrets of the past, but are more like mile posts signaling the changes that happen in life. But what I appreciated most that this was a story about three friends who discover that they have changed by getting older, and still remain friends.

    In the end, “Marseille” is a story about that moment that we all know is coming – that moment when we get the first hint that we aren’t young anymore.

  • Short Story Review: “Hatagaya Lore” by Bryan Washington

    (The short story “Hatagaya Lore” by Bryan Washington appeared in the March 31st, 2025 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by Kotori Mamata

    When I moved to New York City, a place I always wanted to live in, it took years before it felt like my home. It took even longer for the guy who works at the bodega at the end of the block to acknowledge me at a regular in the neighborhood. (He now calls me “chief” instead of “you.”) But gradually, it started to feel like my home, and now it’s hard to think of it as anything but. Bryan Washington’s “Hatagaya Lore” examines how a place can become your community, and then your indispensable home.

    Here’s an overly simplified synopsis: The narrator and his husband move to Tokyo from Dallas. At first the narrator isn’t sure how to fit in, but soon finds his community, which leads to changes and growth.

    What I loved about Bryan Washington’s story is how he intersects community and intimacy, and the connections that are created from it. The narrator goes out and finds a community that he can connect to that sustains him as he journey in Japan. Yet, there is also a need in the narrator for more of an intimate connection with people, which isn’t always sexual, but is necessary to keep the narrator grounded, as the person he is growing into is beginning to flourish. Also, I liked Washington’s choice to have the narrator tells us, ever so briefly, about other relationships the he has had over the years in this story, but aren’t explained in detail, thus creating a feeling of trust and confidence between the narrator and us the reader; that we are only being told what is most important to the narrator, and nothing superfluous. It’s as if we are being added into the narrator’s community. Finally, I commend that the climax of this story is not the narrator “realizing” something profound, but is the narrator listening and observing.

    Bryan Washington’s writing skills are just phenomenal. He is one of my favorite “less is more” writers out there. Spartan is a fair description of how he describes most things in this story, but I am never left wanting for more, or feeling that details are missing. I appreciated how subtly the disillusion of the marriage was shown. In this story, a scene of their breakup isn’t needed, but showing that moment when the trust between the couple, that break in emotional intimacy, spoke volumes about the state of their relationship. And this story is peppered with moments like that, where there is a breath and space in this writing that allows weight to be infused in these situations.

    I’m a fan of Bryan Washington, and I can admit that I might not be the most objective person when it comes to evaluating this story, but eh… It’s a good story all around. I enjoyed being with these characters, seeing them interact, and watching them grow and find their place in the world. Some homes are made, while others are discovered.