A friend sent me a dozen photos of various fake Santas tolerating a raft of screaming, squirming, terrified children reaching piteously for their parents. Why do kids cry at the sight of that man in red? When I was little I didn't want to find out: I clung to my dad's...
My Christmas shopping felt different this year, hectic but detached. It's nothing like that year where moms were beating each other up to get a Cabbage Patch doll, or the Great Crush of 2000 when everyone battled to get a Playstation, fighting as if it was over an...
One thing I do to get in the mood for Christmas is to visit my friend's import store in the Old Market of Omaha, a district full of restored old warehouses, originally built for customers who bought flour by the sack and nails by the barrel as they prepared for their...
I just got off the phone with my internet provider's technician. She troubleshooted (troubleshot?) with me for twenty minutes, and although it was never proven, she decided I needed a new modem because mine was—holy cow!—five years old. She said it as if I were trying...