If I learned anything from Anthony Bourdain, it’s truth in story telling is everything. What you put out there in the world as your words, art, music, or food better be authentically you, or what’s the fucking point? Because he respected honesty in writing and personal character and frequently pontificated on his own idols like Iggy Pop and Paul Bocuse, I’d like to think he’d be ok with the following over the top nonsense written on the blog of an average white lady.

When my grandmother died, we discovered a drawer full of letters and cards received the last few years of her life. She never mentioned she did this, so it brought a twinge to my heart knowing I have always done the exact same thing. There is just something about the hand-written mark on paper that feels special and permanent in the way a Facebook comment or email never will. Old snail mail feels like a tangible time capsule to rediscover a fleeting emotion long forgotten. Maybe I learned that from her…