December food magazine covers usually feature artfully arranged cookies, guilting everyone into some type of baking production not seen during the remainder of the year.
Except in my mother’s kitchen, where the cookie production never ceases.

When my unnervingly intelligent roommate Ben and I decided to host a Solstice party, there were a few vexing questions: first, WWPE? (What Would Pagans Eat?) Second, what flowers were most appropriate? Third, how much mead had we in the pantry?

In October, I sent an email to my advanced modernist survey students asking them to select a few lines from one of the assigned Eavan Boland poems to explicate in class, with the further instructions that they were to choose lines that formed a coherent quotation they might conceivably post on an online profile. Towards [...]

It feels good to get lost in your spam folder every once in a while. Lately, my folder has been full of silly spambot memes, and I took today’s batch to make a poem called steganography.