Dance Is a Metaphor

Online Shenanigans
These calls came in back-to-back this evening at the library. Patron (on the phone): I have a business card here, and I want you to type what’s on it into your computer and see what comes up. Me: Okay. . . . Patron: H-T-T-P, double slash . . . [sic] Me (typing and correcting): “http://” Patron: W-W-W, period, E-B-A-Y, period, C-O-M. Me (typing): “www.ebay.com” (al

Enduring Homophobia
When I was fifteen, my older sister and I went to work for a couple weeks detasseling corn in a series of massive South Dakota seed-corn fields. The work was grueling—we got up long before dawn, received few breaks, and tramped up and down the rows in sweltering midwestern heat, continually slashed by sharp corn leaves that cut our hands to ribbons, finally finishing in the late afternoon—but the worst part was dealing with other workers. They were mostly thirteen- and fourteen-year-old mouthbreathers kids, and a few of them were wretched little monsters who thought nothing was funnier or more interesting than making fun of me. The taunts weren’t very inventi

“Contra Dance Weekend” Is the New “20-Mile Hike with Full Pack”
“Me at the contra dance camp, not looking quite so daisy fresh.” by Pizzo Calabro on Flickr. The weekend-long

Happy Hour
I answered all of these calls in one hour this afternoon at the library. They are all 100% true. Me: Salt Lake City Public Library, this is Sean. Patron: Hello, I’d like to have a book come in. Me: . . . you mean you’d like to place a book on hold? Patron: No, I’d like to have a book come in. Me (completely baffled): I . . . I don’t know what that means. Patron (sarcastically): That’s FINE. THANKS. *click* Me: