Dear PDV readers, I turned 40 this month! And for that I get a mammogram. In honor of getting to be a part of this wonderful rite of passage into awkward adulthood, I’m rerunning an oldie but a goodie (much like me) from my former blog Childhood Relived.
I have a question that’s been gnawing at me for nearly 25 years. It relates to something that really traumatized me as a kid. Continue reading
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.)
Because 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
Author’s note: Please enjoy this stock photo of a golden, statuesque lion. I refuse to re-post the photo of the douchebag dentist who shot and killed 13-year-old Cecil, a beloved lion who lived in a Namibian national park. Every time I encounter that photo of smug, paunchy white guys smirking atop a bloodied, majestic carcass, I want to puke, punch my computer screen, or invest in a bow and arrow and head to the Land of 10,000 Lakes in search of vigilante justice.
When I snuggled up with my laptop last night, I aimed to write a poetic essay about the slaughter of wild animals and our responsibility to the planet, with a little moral outrage and light politicking thrown in for good measure. But, I realized quickly, that essay was going to be a total drag to write and an even bigger drag to read.
Instead, I’ve decided to GIVE THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT! And by “the people,” I mean one super brave, courageous and macho dentist from Minnesota. That’s right, Walter James Palmer, this post’s for you! I can tell you’re a guy who likes a challenge. You’re a sportsman with a can-do attitude and a Cabela’s platinum card nestled in your crocodile skin wallet. A man like you needs to feel important. Powerful. And I’m here to help. It’s time we take the volume dial of your life and crank it to 11. Continue reading
Call her Mae. Not Madison.
I’ve been holding back for a while now and I must get this off my chest. I don’t like Caitlyn Jenner. Not one bit.
Caitlyn Jenner was not meant to be Caitlyn Jenner — and you know it, too.
Oh, I’m very much okay with Caitlyn Jenner the person. I’m very much okay with Caitlyn Jenner not being Bruce Jenner. And the switching out of pronouns. And that I get to be judgmental now about how well she plucks her brows. All of that.
What I’m not okay with is Caitlyn Jenner. The name “Caitlyn Jenner” is all wrong. Continue reading
It began innocently. Someone’s friend was selling Pampered Chef kitchen goods, and someone else told me that I couldn’t LIVE without the mini spatula, and despite the fact that I bake about as frequently as I compete in Ironman Triathlons, I nodded gamely and made the purchase.
(Confession: It’s a remarkably handy utensil that allows me to flip eggs like Al Pacino in Frankie and Johnny. I really don’t know how I lived without it… apparently I spent most of my twenties serving my house guests ragged brownies and dented pancakes. No buyer’s remorse here!)
Within a week, the emails began sneaking in, undeterred by my spam filter and piss-poor attitude. Continue reading
The 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