Sometimes I forget that I’m colored. This may be a shock my tens of thousands* of readers, but it’s true. It may seem like I rag on white people in every other post, at least. Like here. And here. Or here. You get the idea.

* Only suckers trust site statistics provided by The Man. Independent audits place readership somewhere between 6 and 78,342.

It is truer to say that I usually don’t think about my ethnicity and skin tone until: 1) I see the police, 2) I see a colored baby and want to make one of my own, or 3) black or white people remind me that I’m neither. [ . . . ] Continue »

I think I contracted my irrational fear much like an STD. I must have picked it up sometime in college and, for the life of me, I don’t know who gave it to me. One moment I was a very “present” Birkenstocked 18-year-old, and the next thing I know I’m a 25-year-old with anxiety over a nest egg. I’ve always been precocious, but a mid-life crisis before the age of 30 strikes me as excessive.

It seems these days most pre-weds* have cultivated some sort of irrational fear.

* Pre-weds: shortening of Pre-Wedding; the 20 and 30-somethings who used to be “yuppies”—young professionals—though they may not be particularly “young,” and in this economy, many of them are no longer “professionals.” [ . . . ] Continue »

This is not what I expected it to look like. Did you think it would look like this? If we are in the midst of the worst financial crisis since the Great Depression, where are the trashcan fires on street corners? The bricks hurled through plate-glass windows of failed banks? Where is the girl selling pencils and mealy apples between passenger-less taxicabs?

It’s not that I want to see our neighbors evicted (except maybe the Asian chick who orgasms like a whining puppy), but I wouldn’t mind some small, tangible, fatalistic indicator that the end of the coke-high economic boom is here. [ . . . ] Continue »

Grab a stiff drink and a yoga mat. On the Indalian path to wellbeing, in these times of economic uncertainty and upheaval, the line between inebriation and enlightenment is . . . fuzzy.

International financial markets meltdown. Take that, prosperity in the era of globalization!

Global warming expected to raise hurricane intensity. You’re too late, Al Gore! Look, The Cliffs of Insanity! [ . . . ] Continue »

We realized that something was very wrong when, following Sarah Palin’s keynote speech Wednesday night, I stood in our kitchen screaming and sobbing while repeatedly beating the oven door with a dish towel. Holy media-induced mental break, Batman!

About a half an hour into this preposterous, wholly unproductive behavior, my tongue felt thick, my head swirled, and a knot of sadness and shame settled into the pit of my stomach. [ . . . ] Continue »