michael priebe

Lately I’ve been attempting to expand my social media empire by plowing sword-first through the jungly territories of Facebook and Twitter. Writers nowadays are expected to be so much more than just heartbreaking wordsmiths with an affection for alcohol and melodrama. We are expected to be social media gurus and masters of self-promotion, even if our masterpieces are still in the oven. So, in the name of building a readership for myself in an age of duck-faced celebrity selfi

It usually doesn’t pay to be much more than a casual fan of football or politics. I've experimented with being a die-hard in both categories, and it's often an infuriating waste of time to stake your mood or your hopes for the future on the efforts of men (and women) who will probably never know your name. It doesn’t pay to throw your dreams or enthusiasm too strongly behind professional heroes. The professional heroes are just regular men (and women) after all, and they will

We weren’t supposed to be watching The Late Show Starring Joan Rivers, but technically the show was no longer starring the late-night Queen of Comedy: hosting duties had been taken over by Arsenio Hall. Plus, our activities were nestled safely away from the outside world (i.e., Mom and Dad), so the problem of censorship ceased to exist. In fact, when my brothers and I were tucked into the fantastical bubble of a blanket fort in the basement playroom, it seemed as if all probl

Ideas can be easy. Some people say that a person has to “flex” his or her idea muscle in order to prevent atrophy—in order to ensure access to great mental schemes—but if that’s true then I must be a freak of nature, because even when I’m not working out my idea muscle, it’s still bulging, twitching, and flexing—getting bigger even as I do little to encourage it. I have ideas even when I’m trying not to have ideas. I have ideas even when I’m trying to relax. I have ideas even