The owner of my favorite coffee shop buys his mugs at yard sales. I never know which one he’ll give me. It might be the one with a caffeine molecule (C8H10N4O2), or the one with Mother is another word for love in purple cursive across a heart.
To read my first McSweeney's piece in its original glory, click here. MAY 12, 2017 36 HOURS AT MY PARENTS’ HOUSE by JEREMY RESNICK There’s no place like home! Inconveniently located a twenty-five-minute drive from anywhere, this Bel-Air neocolonial is popular with nostalgia lovers and masochists alike. Whether gazing at walls lined with awkward childhood photos … Continue reading Link: 36 HOURS AT MY PARENTS’ HOUSE
from The Nervous Breakdown October 15, 2009 My mother has a photography addiction. She just has to take pictures of her family, or, if we’re unavailable, other people’s families. It’s been going on all our lives. She says she takes so many pictures of us because she loves us so much that she just has to capture … Continue reading Mamarazza!
from The Nervous Breakdown July 20, 2009 One summer when I was in my mid-twenties, I visited my friend Jeff in New Mexico. We were going to do some hiking, but all the trails were closed due to extreme fire hazard, so we spent my visit on his couch, playing the video game Grand Theft Auto. … Continue reading On Violence
from The Texas Review 39 (1 & 2) Spring/Summer 2018 * Melissa always said she was terribly allergic to mustard. She claimed she’d go into anaphylactic shock if she swallowed even a single seed. She always carried an EpiPen, and at every restaurant she’d ask the server to check with the kitchen to make certain … Continue reading Et tu, Body?