Jonathan, what does one actually do with an MFA in Creative Writing?   That’s right, bitches!  In case you all didn’t hear, I finally graduated with an MFA, a master’s degree in the delicate art of making shit up. Of course, this is usually a wonderful topic at parties.  Once an MFAer is identified, everyone

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Dear Greg,

I appreciate your e-mail protesting the C you received on your midterm exam. I know it must have taken a lot of courage to write me. (Of course, it would have taken even more courage to confront me in person, but whatever. Not everyone has gumption.)

I never intended for this to be a two-parter–but my mind has been so affected by this, I may as well have witnessed a bloody crime scene. Only the blood has been replaced by creamy sandwich spread. Harkening back to my last column about how commercials have infected every nook and cranny of our live

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Through Windex streaks in her bedroom alcove, I spy boys on skateboards careening, screeching axels off the coping of the curb below the house; boys hurling themselves, inverted, with spaghetti-like arms, macaroni torsos, profanities ripping the autumn air like a flock of hawk-chased crows drunk on ornamental plumbs…

Hello.

Like you, I was once an avid viewer of television and film, but due to the addition of small, loud, highly dependent mini-humans in my household, my viewing habits have changed these last few years. I may not see as much adult-oriented television these days, but I have become something of an expert in the often underappreciated field of children’s entertainment. The recent recall of Baby Einstein products prompted me to sing out in defense of an unrecognized classic in the video entertainment industry, that being Baby Einstein: World Animals.