I love beer. I love domestic beers and foreign beers and craft beers. I love beer from bottles and beer from cans and beer from taps. I love stouts and lagers and IPA’s and pilsners. I love regular beers and light beers. I love drinking beer and buying beer and thinking about buying and drinking beer. I love a beer in the shower and a beer after work and a beer before bed.
In the piece, I included an excerpt from my 2012 book, “Hangover Breakfasts.” Afterward, I received a couple of emails from readers telling me that they enjoyed the excerpt and wanted to know where they could find the book.
As we approach the Fourth of July this year, which commemorates the signing of the “Declaration of Independence” in 1776, it is hard to miss the irony.
This year, I introduced a new holiday that will now join Emma Nutt Day—the holiday on Sept. 1 that recognizes the first female telephone operator—and Festivus on our calendars.
While cargo shorts have gone in and out of style throughout my 30 years of loyal wear, the war against them escalated in 2016 with an article by Nicole Hong in The Wall Street Journal titled “Nice Cargo Shorts! You’re Sleeping on the Sofa,” which was about a guy who owned 15 pairs of cargo shorts, and his wife kept secretly disposing of them until he was down to a single pair.
On Friday, we officially usher in the summer of 2025, and I’m finding myself doing the things that older guys tend to do, such as reflecting on the summers of my youth with both nostalgia and disgust.
According to some people on the internet, between now and the time I finish this column, I might vanish. I’ll start to write a sentence and…
Poof. I’m gone.
I’m particularly fond of using the term “douchebag” when referring to someone deserving of contempt. I’ve been drawn to the word since I first watched the iconic SNL skit set in the Victorian-era with Lord and Lady Douchebag.
But what exactly is a douchebag? Where did the term originate? And, more importantly, how can we positively identify a douchebag?
For English teachers, the stack of essays that need to be graded at any given moment is notoriously referred to as “The Pile.” The Pile of student essays starts to grow early in the course and doesn’t relent until your final grades are submitted. The Pile is daunting. The Pile is a horrible, ubiquitous, nightmarish entity that always lurks in an English teacher’s periphery at all times.
I woke up on Sunday morning and noticed a tick on the one anatomical place no male wants to find a tick.