Youn may shape breasts (and other body parts) by day, but here, he sculpts a beauty of a memoir. I spoke with Tony in mid-July and, in our almost hour-long phone conversation, we talked about his book, his family, his media experience and the challenges he faces as the author of “a doctor” book—and...
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I can’t stop looking at you. You look like you do on the cross; but there’s no cross. It’s just you. You’re floating, arms spread out, reaching for the walls. There are holes in your hands but you’re smiling.
“Matthew Sweeney,” Father Bill calls from the front of the church, where he sits beneath your...
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We always played before dinner, around 5 p.m. when it was not so hot and the black asphalt had cooled from the summer sun. Our feet could tolerate it and we went barefoot, calloused and dirty. We have the same feet, thick skinned under the heel and ball, similarity under the toes.
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...We have dubbed him “radio dictator” for his insistence on having the radio permanently tuned to the local Oldies station. Yet, the music, which should provide a bouncy soundtrack for our family vacation, pushes me into treacherous territory—the gap between what I once thought my romantic life would be and what it has become.
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What a pair. Double D’s. Poking up at me like twin peaks. Pam Anderson, eat your heart out.
Too bad they’re attached to a fourteen-year-old boy.
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It’s hard to believe we’re on our fourth issue! It’s been eight months since we launched our website and, soon, we’ll be a year old! Well, we won’t rush that. One issue at a time…
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I am amused by the chattering of my new classmates. The way they speak seems so precise, so different and so harsh. American English, I think, is weird. Chinese is so much better.
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I was fourteen, and the rose was perfect. I’d engineered an equally perfect plan for the major opportunity my freshman-year Sadie Hawkins dance presented: one of the most admired girls in class had asked me—me?— to go with her. Over MySpace, sure, and we hardly spoke
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