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Some Tabby’s Place residents scream for attention. Notably, one feisty little Lemon zinger in Suite C and a gregariously great Grecca in the Lobby shout to be heard and have us tune in to what they want. They sing out and clamor for attention — all of the attention, all of the time. These two […]
Don’t you dare shut up. Don’t shut up about how inglorious the new Space Jam is, nor how glorious the first was and is and forever shall be, amen. Don’t shut up about injustice. Don’t shut up about your favorite sandwich shop. Don’t shut up about the furious raging love beneath your bones. Don’t shut […]
By the time you read this, the Olympics will have picked its victors and pickled the rest. Skateboards will have soared. Swimmers will have splashed. Basketballs will have bounced into history. But 6,700 miles from Tokyo, the sportiest of all B-girls are still making headlines.
Sometimes, my brain goes on meandering side trips with, neither particular reason (sound or otherwise), nor rhyme (iambic pentameter or otherwise). Some vague thing will twinkle off at the edges of literal or figurative sight, and there I go…chasing butterflies, bumbleflies, flutterbys, dragonflies, and dragons, once again and all at once.
Here’s a hill I’m willing to die on: the very best novels, movies, and miscellaneous media all fall into the genre called “coming of age.” Here’s a wrinkle: we’re all perpetually “coming of age.” Just ask Mishush.
Anyone who is familiar with New Jersey may think of beaches and casinos and jughandles. You may have heard of the Jersey Devil or how nothing beats a ripe Jersey tomato (except maybe two Jersey tomatoes). You may think fondly of these things or wish they never existed; either way, they are there.
Consetta is not a cat content to consent to others’ intent. She is, however, ready to confiscate my keyboard.
Joshua is a warrior. The walls of Jericho have long since fallen, and the suite hallway is strictly off limits. But, as a fighter, Joshua just keeps on trying.
Heartbroken, necessary intro: When I wrote this post, seemingly a hundred years ago, and queued it up for this lovely random Monday in August, I had no idea it would turn into a “Forever Loved.” How I wish it were otherwise. But our treasured Heather left this world on Friday, 8/13. Love and grief are […]
It’s not all about you, it’s not all about me, and that’s a good thing. It is, in fact, about Ronnie, but he knows how to handle it.