I’ve witnessed childbirth three different ways. I’ve been to two baby showers. I’ve attended a blogging convention where I was one of four men. I thought I had seen women at their most womenish. But none of those experiences prepared me for the master class that was the DEMONSTRATION. Continue reading

RETROSPECTICUS: a looking back with fond whimsy at the year 2015

Gather round, my Hillians. Cup a cup of cocoa in both of your hands. No, both of them. Like I said. Make sure the marshmallows float lazily. Poke them if they don’t. Sit near a window. If there’s snow outside, gaze at in comfortable superiority. Get toasty. Get homey in the most First-World, Midwestern way possible. Because I’m about to squeeze out one of those annual holiday letters that recounts the year we just endured, replete with the past family tediums that no one asked to read about. Yeah, you know them–those narcissistic letters that are impossible to read because your eyes keep rolling. Those ones. They’re always written in the 3rd person even though you know exactly who wrote them. The one crazed person who desperately wants to project THE PERFECT LIFE, reflecting on the year in fraudulently positive ways as their personal demons close in and the wine glass empties.  These letters usually accompany a professionally shot family photo that would have been just fine all on its own. Jill never lets me send out these letters. GODDAMN I hate these letters. So here’s ours.

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I’ve been doing some soul-searching lately. I still haven’t found mine. I think I left it somewhere in Monticello, Indiana. And that has everything to do with this post.

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V Day

So it is done. It was everything all the guys told me it would be. It was nothing I expected. Continue reading

The V-Word

Apparently, the last functioning remnant of my masculinity has been deemed a threat and is now being slated for destruction. Continue reading


Our deck broke my sister-in-law’s ass. It also tried to have me arrested. Continue reading