You’ve probably heard of the Nextflix series The Goop Lab by now and its mainstreaming of "alternative" medicine. Obviously, alternative treatments have been around for a while—it’s nothing new—rejection of mainstream medicine is as old as the hills. Anti-vax, crystal healing, the Portland Gluten Free Expo, ACV to cure everything, spirit guides, juice cleanses, and now, jade eggs for our vaginas. I was pondering this and wondering if we, in our hubris and modernization, may have overlooked some other viable or useful alternative therapies from the bygone era. In my studies, I discovered a wealth of almost certainly revolutionary treatments, which I firmly advocate we bring back into use. I’ve compiled a list, which I plan on sending to Gwyneth Paltrow’s crack team of open-minded researchers to try—but first, I humbly submit it to you, dear reader...
The obvious isn’t always obvious, especially when realizing that the obvious will shatter your entire worldview. A couple months ago, an article titled "The Dangerous Rise Of Men Who Won’t Date ‘Woke’ Women" (filed under "news") appeared in Refinery 29. In it, presumably "woke" woman, Vicky Spratt (whose work includes "My Little Sister Got Engaged & People Keep Asking If I’m Okay," "Feeling Hopeless After The Election? Here Are 5 Things You Can Do Today" and "’SelfPartnered’ Really Isn’t The Term Single Women Need") takes great issue with the fact that one particularly successful, famous man with money (some guy from a show—I don’t care, neither should she) made a comment about not wanting to court "woke women," i.e. bitter, angry bloggers who feel that guys in his position, with a shred of taste, are "dangerous"...
We’re all at least reasonably familiar with the ins-and-outs of St. Patrick’s Day. People wear green, pinch kids, pretend to be Irish and get drunk before the sun sets. However, there are a whole score of traditions—historical and recent—which many people do not know about and I feel it’s my duty as a sorta-journalist to inform you, the reader who picked this magazine up at the strip club and is reading it, while waiting for the girls to cycle back on stage...
Continued from last month, here is the second in my two-part guide to adopting the title of Dance Commander For The Clothing Impaired. None of these rules are in any particular order and you should not take anything I say seriously, ever, for any reason. With that said, enjoy...
So, I’ve been traveling around the world for nearly the past five years as a nomad. I clearly have a passion for travel, living abroad and learning about other cultures. How come I cannot meet another woman from the U.S., with similar interests and
passions?
I’ve gone on dates with like-minded women from the U.S., who, on paper, look like we’d be a perfect match. Yet, there’s never any interest from the other side—I just don’t get it.
I was recently in Europe for three months and I couldn’t get a single girl on a date, let alone get laid. But when I go to Asia, the Middle East or Africa, I get a ton of interest. Do you know how it makes me feel, when only struggling women in developing countries like me? Really shitty and bitter. It makes me feel like I’m a walking ATM machine or a chance at a better life, and that’s all.
I’ve met other digital nomad types on the road and they seem to have absolutely no interest in me. All these years, I’ve always wanted to find a
like-minded woman to date and see the world together. Now that I’m in my mid-thirties, I really want to find someone to get married to. Instead, all I find are women with no ability to leave their countries or wanting me to pay for their travels. Maybe I’m just a horrible person who is just attracting their equal?
March is St. Paddy’s Day month, which means that everyone gets a pass to be a drunk piece of shit. But, this year, it will be 4/20 for an entire month—April is gonna kick March’s ass, when it comes to substance wars. So, to prepare for four-point-two-zero weeks of cannabis consumption, I’ve put together a few tips to help rationalize swapping out one substance for another, instead of just growing up and living like a sober adult. In the past, I’ve used this column to demonstrate why booze sucks and blunts rock, but I failed to mention some of the lesser-discussed aspects of choosing smoke over sauce. Here are some of those aspects...
The age of moderation is over—we are now in the age of minimalism! This movement is permeating our culture, be it our food, our spending habits, our living situation, our music, our movies, our literature or our stuff. Lifestyle gurus, like Marie Kondo, are spearheading the new normal of not acquiring and owning a bunch of inanimate objects, just to appease the ever-growing, Akira-esque monster that is capitalism— specifically, the American brand that seems to think we’ll never, EVER run out of literal, physical space (or breathable air, for that matter)...
When I got the call, I looked at the incoming number and thought about the way jail bunks straighten out my back. I thought about bidding on spades and the ketchup on fried bologna Wonder bread, with a Jell-O chaser. I thought about not picking up the call at all. Then, I thought about how broke I was and hit answer.
"Crawford?"
"Yes?"
"You’re the last goddamned person I’d ring, but I’m out of life lines. Need a job?"
I said "Okay."
After the Captain hung up, I stepped outside for a smoke. The way the still 1am air held my exhale reminded me to quit smoking— again. A slow train let itself be known with a lonely drawl some ways away, while the echo of a chained-up dog seemed to run with the desperate need it felt for freedom. Down the streets forever. And then, I went back to bed, dreaming of trains taking people far, far away...
