We are a small creative studio, 26 people working in two cities in Oregon, one big, one small, both blue. We are women-led. We are tattooed, dyed, shorn, coiffed. We are moms, dads, people who dress their animals in clothes. We swap recipes back and forth for sweet potato curry…

We knew there would be masks and homeschooling and fervent hand washing. We were prepared to read apocalyptic headlines and go Kondo on our closets. But nobody warned us about the writing. So much writing. Social distancing has forced us to put our thoughts into writing more than we ever…

Why can’t we all just get along? According to cognitive psychologists, Harvard researchers and Liz Lemon, we can and we do — even when all evidence points to the contrary. — I miss “30 Rock.” I miss watching Liz Lemon — a woman happy eating night cheese and transitioning pajamas into day wear — run through the likes of Jon Hamm and Matt Damon and Astronaut Mike Dexter. I miss “America’s Kidz Got Singing” and “Ludachristmas.” …

In an era of airbrushed supermodels and McMansion subdivisions, we’re all too starved for interesting to crave perfection. — Let me start by saying it’s not that I don’t wish other people well. I do. It’s just that I don’t find their well-being all that interesting. I’ve seen enough life by now to know that behind every Facebook update of someone blissed-out on the beach is a two-hour drive…

Swimming pool filters. Mobile technology. All-terrain tires. These days, it appears no subject is too mundane to be the recipient of one’s passion. — Why is it a word once suggestive of open-mouth kissing and flinging panties is now screamed at us in boldface from every website, corporate mission statement and billboard from Olympia to Orlando? The word passion has become the frozen dinner of marketing, a tasteless hockey puck we toss in the…