An Antidote to Helplessness (I Hope)

This afternoon I took my sons swimming, eager to help them savor one of the last hot days of summer. They shot their cousins with water guns (thanks a lot mom, I’ve managed to keep them away from toy weapons for six years, and you walk past the clearance rack at Walgreens ONE TIME…) and, when we wearied of the pool, the boys picked fresh raspberries and gobbled them, juice dribbling down their chins. (No, I do not live in a Norman Rockwell painting; it was just one of those top-10 days.)

Raspberry-Picking-5Because I had this day, I want to share some information about Syrian refugees and how you and I can help. We all know we’re lucky, and this week’s gutwrenching photo of the drowned toddler brought that knowledge home to roost in a major way. Our village may be punch drunk, but it’s still a village, replete with creature comforts, security, friendship and compassion. So please, indulge me in this departure from pop culture and snark. Soon enough, we’ll return to our regularly scheduled programming. Continue reading

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6 Parents You Meet on the First Day of School

It happened. With all the ceremony of the onset of menses or a new season of The Good Wife streaming on Amazon Prime, so it was decreed that I must strap my firstborn into a too-big backpack and trundle him off to kindergarten, or as Mr. Dru likes to call it, “The beginning of institutionalization.”

leave-it-to-beaver-june-cleaver

Dru and son on the first day of kindergarten, 2015.

Unlike our overeager district, I realize most of the U.S. doesn’t begin the new academic year in what could reasonably be referred to as early-August. That’s good news for my fellow newbies, because in addition to logging a few more hours in the end-of-summer more-urine-than-water public swimming pool, there’s still time to prepare yourself for an important ritual: seeking out the A-List parents at school.

You need these people. They will host the best play dates and parties, sneak flasks into vocal music concerts and refer you to the brilliant illegal parking place that’s just a hop, skip and a jump from the school’s back door. We at Punch Drunk Village believe in giving back, and so for your quick reference, I’ve categorized the types of parents you’re likely to encounter on the first day of school. Remember: choose your friends carefully, and your frenemies extra carefully.   Continue reading

Licensed to “I Don’t Give a Shit”

Bette DavisI’m turning OLD this year. But I’m taking it all quite well, really. There are benefits to aging of course. Social benefits, for example. And one in particular I find quite tantalizing.

Since I’ve always been a tad socially-reckless — over-sharing, stirring the pot, making listeners squirm — what I’m most looking forward to with turning old is my newfound license to I-Don’t-Give-A-Shit (IDGAS). Surely you are already aware there is an entire fleet of IDGAS behaviors that growing old affords, whether it’s IDGAS driving, IDGAS dressing (or undressing), IDGAS civic involvement, IDGAS bodily functions and so forth. For now let’s focus on the latter, specifically the kind that derives from one’s mouth. Continue reading

Parties, Part I: What Do I Talk About?

Breakfast at Tiffany'sThe contributors at Punch Drunk Village unanimously agree that we need to have more parties. “We” being Society. And we (Punch Drunk Village) sure hope we (Society) will invite us.

Remember the good ol’ days when our parents used to always throw parties? Sure, the parties were boring as hell because they didn’t have iPhones to incessantly check or Facebook memes to thoughtfully discuss, but that’s beside the point. It was all about connectedness back then. Connectedness and “the pot.”

Let’s get back there — back to the days of parties! Today we unveil the first post of an ongoing series we will call:  Continue reading

I’m back to hating running…

…at least until the humidity drops below 75 percent.

Here’s a little something about running, motivation and energy that I wrote for TueNight. It was picked up by Huffington Post. The best part about appearing in HuffPost was the bizarre amalgam of ads and suggested stories that ran beneath my piece: 7 Ways to Find Her Clitoris (sponsored); 26 Hottest NFL Wives; Python Swallows Crocodile Whole.

Do they know my demographic, or what?