Not really. Cheeseheads are forever. Nonetheless, I’m grateful to Milwaukee Magazine for letting me write this piece about how I’ve come to reconsider what it means to be from Wisconsin.
Remember: When bragging about how cold it was out by you, always let the other guy go first so you can sigh like a martyr and come in two degrees colder.
Sunday, 11:45 a.m., and YOU ARE IN WISCONSIN: Local volunteer ambulance just sirened past, driver is wearing Green Bay Packers jersey.
Great to see Max Garland’s fine work recognized–his poems are bridges built between boots and brains.