Liz Langley

        Listening to my friends talk about the COVID-19 test I thought it was going to feel like getting a lobotomy.      “They stick a swab so far up your nose, I felt like it was going into the back of my eye,” one said, but when free drive-through testing was offered in my little Florida beach town I went. I can pinch a penny until Lincoln starts crying and if something is free, I’m going to get one, even if it means being skewered like a corn dog.  The test was mildly irritating. You tilt your head back and they do, indeed, poke a swab up your snoot farther than you’d expect it to go. It felt like I’d been bike riding and got ladybug stuck up my nose, a sensation which lasted about 45 minutes after the actual sticking. It wasn’t as bad as I anticipated, but I’d anticipated getting my eyeballs yoinked out through my nostrils.  Anything else was emotional found money. What left a more lasting impression than the test was the joy of drive-through medical service. Si

I have nerves like a chihuahua and since my traditional election night  vodka-and-Pepto has become too strong a beverage for me I just want  to be with like-minded people supporting Hillary Clinton. I asked a friend if he wanted to  join  me at a watch party.    “Can I wear my Trump undies?” he texted back. “Can I burn them in effigy? Not while you’re wearing them, of course,” I replied.  I was joking but the conversation gave me what I call Drumpf scare which is like a “jump scare,” the horror movie trope where a viewer jumps out of their seat in terror after being lulled into a false sense of calm. A Drumpf scares is when you realize someone you thought you knew might be a Drumpf supporter as I worried about my friend. It’s that same feeling as when you realize “The calls are coming from the inside of the house!” My guess is that there are a lot of dark Drumpfers out there, people who support someone I think of as the Hitlerian Cheeto, but who don’t want to be met

"I love to watch the little waves wash over my big feet,” my mom once said as we stood on Cocoa Beach . It was true: she had feet like a couple of skateboards, but those natural flippers probably made her the strong and graceful swimmer that she was. She took us to the beach every chance she got and when I get older I took her.  Naturally we collected seashells, sometimes a few, sometimes enough that we needed a discarded Coke cup to carry them in. The best were the ones we left behind, watching them dig themselves back into the sand because an animal was still living inside them. (On a related note, wonderful science writer Jason Bittel recently wrote a great piece about the problems with harvesting 'aquarium fish,' " How About We Just Leave Dory Alone? ")  These shells are from the gorgeous collection at Clearwater Marine Aquarium   , which I got to visit recently when I was on a National Geographic story about sea turtles and which I’m putting u

"Would you like to go where you've always wanted to go and do one of your favorite things ever?" That's not how the press trip to Best Friends Animal Society sanctuary in Angel Canyon, Utah was put to me, but that's how I heard it. I've long wanted to see Utah and Best Friends held the promise of playing with dogs. And cats. And seeing horses, goats and probably a few other things that were on your See-and-Say: The Farmer Says. Animals never lose their magic.  This was one of the most magical trips I've ever been on (and I've been to the Playboy Mansion). I'm working on my story for Alternet right now; this is photo companion for pics of the things I talk about in that. I may post more on other aspects of the journey. Wait. I just got it. That's what was different. This wasn't a trip. It was a journey, one I hope as many people get to go on as possible.  Above: Pima learning about cameras from Melissa Miller in puppy social

As the thermometer in Florida begins to flirt with the 80-degree (26.6 c) mark in February the one thing making the impending sweat-lodge summer atmosphere bearable is that there are trips to northerly climes in my future. Knowing this I've been watching travel stories with greater interest and was horrified to realize that in alot's story on "10 Ways to Spot an American Abroad," story I've been undeniably guilty of six of them. Not that I mind being spotted as American (in most places) but the image of the American tourist is a vulgarian no one wants to be seen as. Traits of this character - the ones on the list I'm not guilty of - are loudness, not knowing the customs, trying to imitate accents or wearing a fanny pack, which I thought had been banned since 1993. And all the other things on the list I do at home, too, including drink too much, join in applause for any reason (a smooth landing, a good movie), talk to strangers (you are known as a non-Ne

It doesn’t matter if you're watching your diet because of ego, habit or because your doctor has taken to showing you pictures of tombstones with your name photoshopped onto them like the Ghost of Christmas Future. When your darling nieces make specialized Christmas cookies and say “Which one do you want?” you are a bad person if you don’t eat one made by each child. Turning them down will make your heart heavier than your butt could ever be. Not only did I eat these cookies, I photographed them and want you check out the star-shaped chocolate chip one artfully leaning against my coffee cup (left). I ate that. Then, the next day, I saw it at the bottom of a pet store aquarium (up top).  “Chocolate chip starfish,” read the placard and I was so spellbound by its stunning similarity to terrestrial baked goods that I ran right home and started looking up more of these animals in the interest of celebrating them in NatGeo’s Weird Animal Questions . I didn’t worry that th