New piece up on Medium about, well, stuff.
You hold onto stuff from your exes, right? Serious exes, I mean. Girlfriends, boyfriends, relationships. But not serious stuff, necessarily. Not Valentine’s Day and Christmas and birthday presents. Those are the things you sort of have to keep. It’s in the social contract, I think.
I’m talking about the little things. I keep the little things. Movie stubs, silly notes, tchotchkes. Post-it doodles. Quarter toys in their gumball machine eggs. They mean something different — they aren’t attached to any holiday, or any obligation. They’re just, Hey, I was thinking about you.
Read “Stuff” on Medium
Photo from US National Archives by Flip Schulke / Flickr
Lovely story on the always lovely “The Morning News” today about the dangers of camping – specifically, the dangers of camping in Yellowstone as a teenager getting ready for college with a film canister full of pot.
“Bears up there,” the Ranger said, glancing at our backcountry travel permit before tipping his broad-billed hat and ushering us out of his cramped station.
He didn’t caution us, or quiz us, or check our gear, or show us a pictogram of a car-sized beast licking brains from a pulverized human skull—and I can’t guarantee that even those warnings would have kept us from our 10-day hiking trip through Yellowstone National Park during what I’ve only recently learned was the peak of grizzly bear season.
We were just out of high school. We were constantly stoned. We traveled in an ode to that particular brand of privileged American adventure, the cross-country drive, funded in equal parts by savings from crappy after-school jobs at a camping store and graduation money from loving parents. In the fall, we’d both start at fancy colleges: Tim to Stanford, on his way to a pair of dad jeans and the hedge fund life in Silicon Valley, and me, to Vassar and non-profits and Brooklyn and waxing sentimental about stuff I did 15 years ago.
“Hey, Bear” by Graham T. Beck