dan oshinsky dot com: A blog about stories, the work... and my mother.

I haven’t been home to D.C. since I left for south Texas just over seven months ago. I keep up with some home friends via phone, and I caught up with a few earlier this month out in L.A. But for a good chunk of news and gossip from home, I rely on an email (…)

I want to take it back. I cannot un-know what I know. I cannot reverse time. I cannot deny what has happened. But I cannot imagine going on knowing that one day, fourteen years ago, I may have accidentally rooted for Kansas. ¶¶ My dad used to do a bit of work with the D.C.-area (…)

I am an idiot. I’m 22 years old and blissfully unaware of the world around me. Blissfully unaware, I’d venture, is one step closer to bliss than most people ever get. But it’s that bliss that, today, reminded me of how big an idiot I really am. I had to go to Target this afternoon (…)

Yesterday, in the process of writing about relativity, I went looking for a photo to lead off my blog post.  So I opened up Apture — the program that allows you to click on a link like this without leaving the page –  and searched the word “big” to see what came up. Here’s what (…)

A serious, actual warning: this blog post contains material that is mildly pornographic. If you are my parents or anyone who is seriously considering hiring me — with the exception of the fine editorial board over at the Adult Video News family of publications — I advise that you just click here to read my (…)

If you are like the majority of Americans — and I suspect that you are — you suffer from a severe condition that scientists typically refer to as “not being interesting.” I, myself, have more than two decades in the field, and after extensive research, I feel compelled to note that only a small percentage (…)

So I’m at D.C.’s Dulles Airport tonight, waiting for my late-night flight to St. Louis and looking for an airport bar to watch the first half of the U.S.-Mexico World Cup qualifier. The bar near my gate is full and showing CNN, so I keep moving, down Dulles’ interminable Terminal B, an inexplicably long tunnel (…)