Sam has been my digital friend for many years and this essay about his recent brain surgery (and its profound intersections with identity) is a must-read.

I didn't have surgery, but I *did* have a traumatic brain injury with consequences that similarly impacted my sense of self. It's real. IYKYK.

I'm going to vote in an hour and then I feel like I'm going to have to celebrate with egg and cheese on a sesame bagel because THIS IS NEW YORK.

I'll get more into baseball next year, I swear.

The last two months of the year are so confusing because you are expected to have profound gratitude for how wonderful your life is while also making a list of all the things you deeply hate about yourself that you vow to change on January 1.

We decided to watch Good Boy for Halloween and it pains me to admit that even though Indy might, in fact, be the greatest dog actor of all time, this thing was half-cooked.

Now that I have adopted a four-year-old son, celebrating Halloween is a non-negotiable. Chucky scared him.

Inside of our living dystopia, this isn't even the most inconceivable thing to happen this week.

It is not my experience that I am taller than 77% of everyone I meet at all.

Some people knew, but I wouldn't say I was truly *out* until I was 23 or 24. I am 51 now. As a closeted young man, the future seemed destined to be lonely and dark. So making it this far, as it might for many gay men of my generation, feels like an achievement. Coming out gave me the gift of living.

Twenty-seven years later, "All this white bread makes me wonder" remains one of the best lyrics of all time.

finding out that the person who just died is the same age as you never stings less.

Clearly, my kink is deleting everything on my Bluesky profile and then trying to come back once a year until it sticks.

It’s only been a little over 24 hours and I would already die for him. Everybody, meet Biscuit.