Category: Reflections

In Yellowstone

As far as I can tell it is impossible to be fewer than 6,000 feet above sea level when visiting Yellowstone National Park. The altitude yields legendarily bitter winters. Snowfall for much of the year is drastic and unrelenting; many of YNP’s larger resident mammals (those not asleep) migrate down and out of the park during winter’s most pitiless stretch in order to survive.

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Pointing Fingers

“My point that I’m not pointing starts with the Scopes Trial.”

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Premature Celebration

While sitting in my common room Sunday night, I checked my phone to see a missed call from a buddy of mine at the Naval Academy. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. Deciding that I would call him back the next day, I opened my laptop and saw the same friend had just posted a status. It was simple, but shocking: “Osama is DEAD!!!!!”

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Attachments

“Honey, you’re so talented with computers,” my mom smiles. “Can you please help me attach this file?”

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Polis Is This

I grew up in Newton, Massachusetts, a quiet settlement eight miles from Copley Square. The Marathon’s route follows Commonwealth Avenue through Newton into Boston. My house is a block from the Marathon’s 20-mile marker, in the middle of Heartbreak Hill, the most notorious of a series of four steep ascents that runners must endure as they pass through the city.

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Lessons in Stupidity

“My eyes darted between the two security cameras on the roof. Despite feeling cynical lately about the effectiveness of government, I had a feeling that these cameras were both working and monitored around the clock. I felt so patriotic.”

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Goldie’s Guilt

I learned my lesson long ago: there is no place for “Zahava” in Starbucks. For many years, in the overpriced land of hissing espresso machines and foamed upper lips and green-clad baristas, Zahava didn’t exist. Instead, for the ten minutes I spent each day ordering coffee, I was Zoe, or Sarah, or Lauren. It was easier that way. But I resolved recently to tell the truth about my name.

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Confessions VIII

Advice for young studs.

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60 Hours in Limbo

Twelve hours later, I AM IN AMERICA, thank Jesus and Mohammad and Buddha and all the minor religious figures I am forgetting.

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Sis Visit

On the night before Valentine’s Day, I ran to the Dinky in the frigid February air, wondering for the hundredth time how life would be different if my sister had gone to Princeton.

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Peaches and Penumbras

Independent life and the lesson of Ginsberg.

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On Imperfect Apples, Mosquito Bites, and the Consciousness of Worms

“I like to believe our small acts make a difference, or maybe I just want to be a savior.”

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