Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of June 16, 2019
I would take the innocence and ignorance of youth over the guilt and wisdom of old age.
Long Train Running: A Chicago Marathon Story | Chapter 2 — The Cost of This
Bomb shelters, makeshift bunkers mean certain death. To survive, we must keep moving. Word of clean air has spread like gossip. It’s always just over that ridge or two clicks beyond that hill. And so we run. Speed, strength, and endurance are our only hope for survival. This is our marathon.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of June 9, 2019
If someone asks you to not yell at them and you respond by yelling, “I’M NOT YELLING AT YOU!” you’ve revealed your true intentions.
My Grandmother’s Death Presents a Journalistic Regret and a Literary Goldmine
When my grandmother, Joyce Himmel, died on May 11, it marked the end of a very long era. She was just two-and-a-half weeks shy of turning ninety-five. She wasn’t sick, really. A near perfect picture of health and resilience for the better part of a century, in the final minutes of the fourth quarter, her heart just wore out. It was quick and peaceful. Hard to complain about. She had a long and happy and thrilling life.
I could say more, so much more, but this isn’t about Nonny as much as its about her book club.
Long Train Running: A Chicago Marathon Story | Chapter 1 — Ready, Set, Ouch
What was I thinking?
I’m running the Bank of America Chicago Marathon. Why? Because I’m forty. Because I haven’t run a marathon before. Because I need an excuse to get off my writer’s ass and move so I can live long enough to not die. Because I believe in the mission of Gilda’s Club Chicago and fundraising by running seems to be a pretty great way to get money out of your friends and family. So I am running as a member of Team Gilda.
But my god, I’m behind the ball on this.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of June 2, 2019
Does Elmo go to school? Because I wouldn’t mind seeing that little red monster take a bullet in a school shooting.
The Family that Mood Swings Together Stays Together
At the time of this writing, my wife, Katie, is experiencing her period. My puppy, Molly, is also experiencing her period. They’ve both been pretty pissy. This morning, Harry, my one-year-old son collapsed to the floor and pounded his head on the hardwood in unbridled misery because I wouldn’t let him put the television remote control into the kitchen trashcan. All of my Apple devices are slowing down and I can’t wrap my head around navigating the storage on my hard drives and my cloud servers. It makes me want to pull my hair out and gag myself to death on it.
We’re not a happy home. We’re not an unhappy home either. We’re a moody home.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of May 26, 2019 — Birthday Edition
The best part about having a birthday as a married man is that for twenty-four hours, you’re 100 percent guaranteed that your wife won’t look at you like you’re a stupid idiot. It’s the best gift any happily married man can receive.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of May 19, 2019
Clocking in at 3 a.m. when the bit of work is the last thing on your day’s to-do list couples a sense of mania with the feeling of awesome productivity.
Then again, how effectively productive were you if you’re going to be wrapping your day up at 5 a.m.? Putz.
An Exercise in Exorcising
I don’t have time to be writing for free right now. That’s correct, Dear Reader (which sounds like how a Japanese person would say “Dear Leader” if they were kidnapped and brain washed by North Korea and taught only to speak English, and if I was being racist), I don’t get paid writing for Literate Ape. Or editing or publishing or hosting or podcasting or anything else related to The Ape. When it comes to this little project, I pay it in blood and guts and sweat and joy. And the hope or goal is that that soon enough, with enough skin in the game, Literate Ape will pay me. But for now, I have to make money doing work for other people. And I’m on a deadline. Several of them.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of May 12, 2019
It’s not just men who are ruining things for women. It’s also the women who agree with the men and support them. Selfish and mean behavior is as fluid as gender itself.
A Mother’s Day Ode to MILFs
Make no mistake, mothers,
you’re doing great.
You’re better than you think.
So try not to get yourself down
Because what you’re doing isn’t easy
but you’re the best person for the job.
And, um, that ass!
Those boobies!
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Adventures from the Bucktown-Wicker Park Library Edition
The man sitting in front of his computer loudly spoke into his phone. “Define debauchery.” I answered. “Yelling at your phone in a library instead of typing the word into your internet browser.”
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of April 28, 2019
Those who make their birthday a month-long celebration are greedy, self-centered, and obnoxious.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of April 21, 2019
Avoidance is also a great tool to use when constructing your happy life. Save your energy for your art and raising your children to be kind, but funny people.
Coming to Terms with Your Friend, The Sexual Assailant
I hate his behavior that night. I hate that my friend, Woman, experienced something like that, and I hate that it plagued her in so many ways for so many years. And I hate that this is about me. But it’s only because I want to be a good friend to Woman. So I have to ask what should I feel and do because I don’t know.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of April 14, 2019
• Two things I’ll never do:
1. See the Notre Dame Cathedral pre-fire
2. Have sex with a virgin
The Earth is Flat and Not Everyone Dies
Yes, lots of people have died. But we can’t say for certain that everyone dies because everyone hasn’t died. If someone lives long enough they could live forever.
People dying is just a tool of Big Death.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of April 7, 2019
Easter was canceled. They found the body.
Getting Paid to Type as a Writer
Not everything has to be gold. Not everything has to be a bestseller. Most things won’t be either. But it’s nice to work toward something like that. Spending your days trying to leave something that will survive you, something that will separate you from the herd, something that your wife and kid and parents and grandparents and friends can be proud of. Something you can be proud of. Something that means anything to anyone anywhere. Even for a moment. Because if you can do that, then you’ve got proof to show the gods you’ve done something of value while you were here breathing the free air. It wasn’t a life spent taking; it was one that gave back, too.
How do you want to be defined? By one action? By some opinion that could evolve? By a mistake, regrettable only with hindsight? Or by the sum of your parts? Okay, do that for other people. Start the trend.