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moose: a memoir… the soundtrack

July 27, 2009


Playing a big red Barolo of a song while writing about food always helps. I wanted to taste a wooden spoon in a song. Rosemary Clooney’s “Mambo Italiano” kept me company into the night. That’s the thing about good music: it sounds like a warm story you’re told by a stranger at a bar.

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the case of the hairy nutsack: a lecture

July 9, 2009


I was 15 and caught with smut at sleepaway camp for fat kids. I was then lectured by a man who asked me if I thought I knew a lot about boys. Fellatio, as far as I was concerned sounded like a flavor of gelato. You know, like stracciatella.

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pilots and airplanes

October 30, 2008


Image by buckofive via Flickr I’m at the airport on my way to Denver. Scheduling delays. I couldn’t sleep last night, worried about the pilot story for Straight Up and Dirty, struggling with whether or not it’s the right story to tell, wondering if it sets up the series and tone of the show the […]

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August 19, 2007


I’d food shop for her apartment spending too much time analyzing. What exactly would corn flakes say about her? Wholesome, with an appreciation for the simpler things. I walked amid the colorful rows of food products looking for other statements. The red and navy canister of Quaker Oats declared that she had patience. Microwave popcorn: […]

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the hate diet

March 29, 2007


I wanted to lose weight to spite them. An “I’ll show you,” and the more I hated them, the more they strengthened my resolve. I wasn’t motivated by positive images of people who’d successfully lost weight as much as by the people to which I wanted to prove something. Take that, you goddamn chowder-house. I’m […]

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May 5, 2005



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just notes

February 1, 2005


Physical Fitness tests. Some New York State standard. Flexibility, strength, endurance. Flex arm hang, sit & reach, crunches. The height we got to write down on the paper ourselves, even our resting heart rate. But when it came to weight, the gym teacher had to weigh us. Why would a school even have a scale—I […]

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January 12, 2005


Instead of stories, he remembers all the girls from high school based on the size of their breasts. But, even still, he doesn’t refer to them as breasts, only “boobs,” “rack,” and “busty.” He dated the fat twins—I thought for their boobs—but when I think about it, despite their rotund nature, their breasts were pancakes. […]

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