Happy. . .
Oh, what were you doing, why weren’t you paying attention that piercingly blue day, not a cloud in the sky, when suddenly “choices” ceased to mean “infinite possibilities” and became…
Author: Laura
Down the River
There are a few things you can do in American literature. You can escape the provinces for New York City (and you may or may not be able to go…
welcome. . .
to anyone who may have stumbled over here by way of EFF (and, for that matter, to anyone who has stumbled over here at all). It seems that my last…
The Medium is Not the Message
Blog-a-thon tag: EFF15 In the first week of April 2000, I wasn’t thinking about my digital rights. I didn’t have a blog–it was a bit before their time–though I did…
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missing. . .
I’m missing New Ramblers Nos. 21-23. If you have any of them, could you please e-mail them to me? lauracrossett @ hailmail.net (don’t forget to remove the spaces). Thanks!
Gone Suburban No. 8
So it seems I am soon to be a tutor, for over-privileged suburban kids, to the tune of $30/hour (except, of course, at one local high school, where the going…
Gone Suburban No. 8
Tonight I feel like an ad for something: drinking my brand-name microbrewery beer (but not too micro, mind you–we want it to be recognizable to the American viewer), watching a…
Gone Suburban No. 8
The nice thing about doing the dishes is that it always works. This may not seem to have anything to do with the suburbs (other, of course, than those many…
Gone Suburban No. 7
Corporate coffee experience No. 2: While walking by Starbucks the other day (a different one from the aforementioned Star$$$$$), noted large group of junior high aged kids. Said one to…