Not That Profound

Cheers to The Captain

The Captain I know passed away on Sunday morning at age 48 after battling pancreatic cancer. He fought valiantly, but let’s be real: cancer is a motherfucker, and pancreatic is one of the worst. The Captain was my first cousin Jaime’s husband and my good friend, and I already miss him. But I don’t want this to be sullen or maudlin. The Captain would kick me square in the Richard if he knew I made this sullen or maudlin. READ MORE

Not That Profound

A Taco Hell for introverts

On Thursday, May 5—a manufactured “Mexican” holiday that gives amateur drunks an excuse to get sloshed on watery margaritas and warm Coronas—I encountered said crowds in downtown Manchester during the city’s Taco Tour and I freaked out. My social anxiety swelled like a broken toe, then I had to go. READ MORE

Not That Profound

How to have an existential crisis like a middle-aged man with high cholesterol

It’s the day before your birthday so stop reading the news. Stop thinking about that megalomaniac waging war in the Ukraine as soon as the pandemic started to wane. Stop obsessing about gas prices, and inflation, and your daughter’s college tuition, and the fact that being a human being of modest middle-class means these days is absolutely untenable. After all, you’re a just speck of dust in the dust-coated chaos of an eternal abyss. READ MORE