When my neighbor Trudy Canowitz died at ninety-three, I was heartbroken. Of course I was going to miss her kindness and warmth—but I was also going to miss her driveway. Especially her driveway.

I’ve decided not to mind that I’m losing my hair. Not that it’s really a choice. And I very much do mind. So maybe what I’m trying to explain is why I’m not going to do anything about it. Although I wish I could.

Middle of January be damned, we were three 17-year-old girls preparing for our first Dracula’s Ball, and there was no way we were going to take any chances that could result in social suicide. Granted, Dracula’s Ball was held four times a year, but who wanted to go to a vampire-themed party all sweaty in the middle of summer? Attending in the dead of winter made perfect sense on all levels. And did goth parties have coat checks? I didn’t know. I’d never seen a goth in a puffer coat, especially not one with a big fuzzy hood. I assumed all goths mastered the art of layering, or maybe they’d just learned to defy the weather.

Advice from a Seasoned Professional My first time living in Japan—properly living, not touristing—was in a small town called Nakatsu, Oita Prefecture, where I worked as a middle school English teacher. Every city and region in Japan has one or more local claims-to-fame, and in Nakatsu’s case those specialties were fried chicken, eel, getting shit-faced

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A few times a year, I meet up with some of my college friends ($80k annual tuition) from a seminar called Poverty and Inequality. We bonded over a group project where we had to create a PowerPoint about where we think that the Poverty Line should be drawn. (Are you living in poverty if you don’t have WiFi? What if you’re just off the grid?)

After a few $21 martinis, the same conversation always comes up. The perennial riddle: is there a such thing as ethical consumption under capitalism?