Snobbin: Beautiful Trash in the Pop Culture Gutter

The creek is high, appearing more like a pond each year. Past it there is a dark patch of woods. Birch and Spruce mingle with Slender Ash. Big Rock looks inviting amidst stalwart pines. 

The cold rain is threatening to put out the fire. Fortunately, the weather won't stop us from breathing. When the sun comes out, I'm going in the river.

The river runs through here, doncha know. I can't hear it over the sound of the space heater. This summer is a cold one. 

Cabin Day One: Ask the Turtle Walking through Yarrow and daisies in the ditch as cars fly by I  spy a dead Snapping Turtle next to an anthill And a Subway cup tossed carelessly from a passing car. The ferns are tall and verdant next to scarred popple trees,  the sky blue with scattered, wispy cirrus clouds,  and the air fragrant. Wisconsin summer, colder than some yet still beautiful.  I raise you your harsh, snowy winters  and ask for more temperance. Ask the turtle who hides under ice and hollow log what she wants.  More summer or a buttercup. Something to eat and the sun on her shell. Give me more days like this one, content in my carapace,  walking through green, even as I shield myself  from speeding cars on County Road W that never slow down.

I have been moving into our new house for what seems like days. First, we had to paint each room and remove the carpet, and then we have slowly been moving our stuff over the past week. Whenever I move, I think about getting rid of some of my records or books because of the effort of moving them. Of course, this never happens, and I find myself moving more each time, constantly swearing and cursing at myself for my collection.  I generally move them by myself so that no one else will have to suffer. I take the records off my shelf, put them in plastic storage containers, and then lug them to my car only to lug them out again. When I am done, my arms are black and blue from bruises. These deep bruises will turn yellow and take weeks to heal. When I move books in town, I have switched to smaller boxes and more trips to make it easier, but I have not found a better way to move vinyl. I started using large milk crates, but they beat my arms up as much and took more time. I ended up set...

Late Night with Conan O'Brien first aired on September 13, 1993. I'm not sure when I first tuned in, but it must have been shortly after that, and it hooked me immediately. It appealed to me in ways David Letterman and Jay Leno did not. The dynamic between Andy Richter, Max Weinberg, and Conan, along with the strange skits that felt more like the odd, hallucinatory sketches from The Kids in the Hall than those of his late-night rivals, sucked me in. I raved about it to my friends who were much more interested in David Letterman. Leno was not cool to many of us because his jokes never felt like they were for us. Letterman was hipper because of his biting satire and relatability, while the newcomer Conan was tentative and unsure of himself as a host. His self-deprecating jabs and vulnerability gave him a different type of comedic edge that appealed to the underdog and the also-ran. I started taping my favorite skits and showing them to friends. I have hours of VHS tape of Conan...

Since I moved to Arkansas a few years ago, I have realized how much the pollen affects me and how ubiquitous it can be. I have always gotten sick every year when the trees start blooming, but in Arkansas, it is so much worse. The pine trees and many other plants start blooming, and I find myself a sick mess. My ears are plugged, my head is stuffy, and my body aches. When I first encountered these symptoms a couple of years ago, I thought I had the flu, but friends informed me that it was just the pollen. The trees are beautiful, with their needles appearing ever greener through the haze, but yellow pollen covers the roads, vehicles, and pretty much anywhere else it can land. A blanket of yellow clogs the air, and it is even visible in the water that pools in drains and puddles along the muddy ground. When I return to Wisconsin, other blooming polliniferous plants will hit me again, so my head will remain a mess.  Of course, this haze cuts down my productivity, and I struggle to cat...