Category Archives: photos

photo thursday: milton the melon & edgar the eggplant

This summer, my boyfriend and I planted a garden at his house. It has been producing like mad, and we’ve been enjoying countless tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, jalapeno peppers, bell peppers, tabasco peppers, fire-in-the-sky peppers … we like peppers, apparently. We’re sharing in nature’s bounty, bitches.

I picked this stuff last weekend.

I picked this stuff last weekend.

But we also planted an eggplant and a watermelon, and watching these things grow has been a new experience for me — and nothing short of magical.

Here’s young Edgar the Eggplant:

eggplant baby

And here’s the finished product. I loved Edgar, but I turned him into eggplant parmesan later that night.

eggplant grown

My devotion to Milton the Melon actually might make it hard to eat him. He started off no larger than a pea, but he grew quickly:


Now he’s a bit larger than a softball:

milton bigger

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Filed under photos, plants and gardening

day 23: snow day: a poem, inspired by shit they say on the local news

Just a few degrees warmer,
it would have been a downpour,
a gift to the parched earth.

But that snow just keeps coming down.

snow day hood fuck

Plow drivers work around the clock
to keep streets clear.

But that snow just keeps coming down.

snow day car fuck

A shirtless teenage boy makes a snow angel —
youth is wasted on the young.
A dog runs outside, loving it, loving it —
then decides “this isn’t for me,”
and scurries back inside to warmth.

snow day tree fuck

The mayor has declared a state of emergency.
Traffic on 435 is at a standstill.
A truck stops to pull a car
out of the ditch.
They both get stuck.

But that snow just keeps coming down.

snow day bubba snuggle

I’ve never seen anything like it.
It was a summertime thunderstorm
just pouring down snow.

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Filed under Kansas City, photos

day 15: photo thursday: the magic teapot

magic teapot

This is the magic teapot in the “Petite Cuisine” room for solo travelers at Deetjen’s Big Sur Inn. Deetjen’s is more than 100 years old and is a treasure in and of itself. It has no telephones, internet access, or televisions, and it uses woodburning stoves, so it always smells like campfire.

I stayed in the Petite Cuisine last December, and on my first night I went through the cabinets and found stacks of community journals dating back to the mid-90s. They were filled with the kind of raw honesty only solitude can bring.


People came to Big Sur to forget old lovers and rediscover themselves. They drank red wine and went hiking in the rain, placing their clothes to dry in front of the room’s tiny electric heater. One guest was an unusually wise teenage boy whose parents were staying down the hall. One was an old woman who had stayed in the exact same room nearly half a century earlier.

I felt an almost tangible connection with these other solitary travelers. I laughed and I cried. It was spiritual as fuck.

My cabin at Deetjen's.

My cabin at Deetjen’s.

When one entry said that I should “be sure to check the teapot,” I knew right away to reach for the tiny copper thing on the windowsill behind the bed.

I popped it open and found a collection of treasures: photographs, pieces of cloth, dried flowers, inspiring quotes written on napkins, chewing gum. I laughed and cried some more.


Before I left, I deposited a tiny pinecone from my last hike in the teapot. Multiple journal entries claimed the teapot held some sort of magic, and in a place like Big Sur, it’s easy to accept such statements as truth. A childlike part of me hoped that shoving some more crap inside the teapot would somehow bring me peace long after I returned to my cubicle in the Midwest.

But the magic faded when I got lost on the drive to the airport.

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Filed under photos, picture this, searching for a ghost, travel

day 4: photo friday


This is Partington Cove in Big Sur, California.

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Filed under photos, picture this, travel

three things about parmesan cheese

1. On March 10, when 176 Whole Foods Markets across the U.S. cracked open 300 fresh wheels of parmesan cheese simultaneously to break their own Guinness World Record, I discovered that this Italian pasta-topper is a big fucking deal, enough to necessitate pomp, circumstance, and official cheese-watching crowns. Male and female cashiers alike wore fake mustaches, for some reason, and a woman wearing a royal purple velvet cape passed out samples.

2. Cracking open a wheel of parmesan cheese is centuries-old art that requires legitimate skill. Many folks can bust open one of these 90-pound cheese wheels in less than a minute, and on this March afternoon, the fine gentleman splitting the wheel at Whole Foods on Metcalf in Overland Park, Kansas, took about that long, narrowly missing his own record. Check out this video of crackin’ in action, as well as photos from the event at Whole Foods.

3. I got my own official cheese-watcher crown. I am ridiculously proud of this fact.

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Filed under adventures in capitalism, photos, three things

limerick: bedazzled jeans

There once were ripped jeans from Express
whose tag made my mom quite distressed.
“One-hundred eighteen?
Why, that is obscene!
This must be some kind of sick test.”

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Filed under limericks, photos