Recently I was asked to pitch an essay about writing and money, and I decided, instead, to write about that here. I’m calling it “Garbage Person.” I first started to think I was a piece of shit after college: age 23, working at a newspaper, beginning on a forever-trajectory of t…
There’s a red porta-potty in Southeast Portland that, for a long time, had a message spray-painted across its hard-plastic surface: “Marry Me Baby.” Ev…
Have I told you about the time I tried to quit journalism? It’s true, I did. Between 2006 and 2009, I gave up on it. It was too hard. Looking back on i…
Shout out to all you paid subscribers out there: hi! How are you? Just a quick dispatch from me. I’m enjoying the experiment this Substack newsletter p…
I have been late to everything for as long as I can remember, and for one year, I have been late to nothing. It’s an odd thing, to feel gratitude that …
It was the fall of 2001. I was frustrated and on the verge of starting my own newspaper. I was 20 years old… which I guess means I was the same person …
Mt. Adams, last summer For the past few days I’ve been trying to master the long stare, which can be hard to do when you’re cooped up inside four walls…
A short, two-part note from me today: First: an honest-to-goodness, hand-on-my-heart thank you to everyone who has subscribed to this newsletter since …
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The Truth Does Not Change According to Our Ability to Stomach It