On Height and Hiding

Remembering what it was like to stand tall, but walk small.

Walking tall. At six feet five inches, I am an abnormally tall man. And therefore, I can expect the world to treat me pretty well.  If the numerous studies on the subject can be trusted, I am, by virtue of my dimensions, likely to ascend my career ladder rapidly and attain a senior leadership position. Women on dating websites will seek me out. The style pages of Details and Esquire will continue to feature fashion tips geared toward reshaping vertically challenged men in my image:. . . Read more
Cory Finley
Hurting Enough

A tattoo artist named Duck helps one Yalie confront his fear of needles.

I hate needles. Always have. The goriest shoot-’em-up movies and the grisliest burn-victim photos don’t faze me, but I shudder at the mere thought of any implement that pierces, pricks, rends, or tears. And the idea of people subjecting themselves to said implements willingly has always occupied a special place in the pantheon of Things That Freak Me Out. Back in fourth grade art class, documentary videos on African scarification sent me staggering to the restroom; self-injury presentations in high school filled my head with. . . Read more
Cory Finley