Best Of

Occasionally, my brain will spit something out, and I’ll read it afterward and think, “Hey, this isn’t terrible.” If I’m in a particularly optimistic mood (usually achieved by listening to too much Springsteen and eating baked goods), I’ll start to think that what I’ve written is sort of brilliant. And if the baked goods are really wonderful, and “Born to Run” is playing, then I’ll get totally deluded and start whispering “I am a literary genius” up until the song is over, at which point I realize that there’s frosting on my shirt.

I believe that Socrates called this “The Creative Process.”

Here are some posts that I’ve written that I thought were pretty damn good. At least, I thought so during the four minutes and 32 seconds in which I was serenaded by The Boss. If you are new to the blog, this is where to start. And if you think these posts are utter crap, well … they might be. Or maybe you just need a better soundtrack. And a cupcake.

• I Have A Brain Tumor. I’ve Named It Steve. My post about my brain tumor, written the day before my surgery.
• Driving the Amalfi Coast Highway. A rental car, one of the most dangerous roads in the world, and the seemingly inevitable.
• Pitch Me Baby, One More Time. I respond to spammy email requests that I should probably just ignore.
• Pranzo in Italy. I take my husband to my grandfather’s village for the first time.
• Evening Nature Drives, Bushman’s Kloof, South Africa. I go halfway around the world to see that rare iteration of my husband. Him, relaxed.
• 7 Badass Bavarian Foods You Must Try. From schnitzel to spaetzel, an ode to the cuisine of southern Germany.
• The History of The Troubles in Ireland. I try my hand at Irish history. There was so much to cover, it spanned two posts.
• A Letter to My Husband, Regarding the Milk He Left Out All Night. Why I dyed a gallon of organic 1% milk bright pink, and was totally justified in doing so.
•  The Louvre Museum – Party Like It’s 1999. I visit Paris and find that its most revered museum is a lawless place.
• The Horror of Hotel Bathroom Magnifying Mirrors. And why sometimes, it’s best to just run screaming out of your room.