Like mother, like martini…
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See, this is how it started. I was filling out one of those ridiculous questionnaires - you know the type that base a great deal of your personality on random, pointless questions that once they've summarized your responses you find that it is at once both complete fluff and somehow absolutely accurate - they've all but infected Facebook. Yeah, so that's what I was doing instead of working...or, as I like to say, it was my smoke break...but, since I don't smoke, I just take 10-15, or 40 minutes or whatever and browse through onion.com or cnn.com or engrish.com, etc.
The Mercy Blog: The Split Man Speaks
There's always some ledge I seem to be standing on. Some ledge of extreme human possibility or capacity.
At times, it’s a wonderful place to stand, when I’m thoroughly engrossed in a play, or a poem, and I’m truly making that effort to connect to the writing, to the theme, to the universality of it, and ultimately, myself, right?, but there are other times, when all it does is remind me of how terrified I am of heights: literal and those of accomplishment, or rather, the fear...
The Crawdad Convo Back Slap, and how to recognize it.
So, for some reason, lately, I really don't know why, I find myself seeking out these, elements of personality, shall we say, that I disapprove of in others. I have no reason to saddle this high horse; god knows, I irritate people...rarely, of course, but still, I'm sure I do. I guess it's just one of those things we can keep to ourselves (minus the blog) and morally hold over others in our private opinions? Except our best of best friends and anyone who sits too close to us at the bar...anyway, that part's not fun; who really cares why? Let's...
The Educator-Writer-Procrastinator Gives an Opinion
There’s a monologue, mostly in my mind since I’ve not put it to page yet, about this man who’s still young but held, gripped, by this fear that he’s losing language, losing words, and throughout the entire monologue he struggles with confessing this because he keeps forgetting what to say to express how he’s feeling. It’s a tragic little piece of prose; at least, in my mind. I keep procrastinating when it comes to writing it down. I procrastinate a lot, and I don’t know why; it’s obviously an illness as yet to be fully defined the APA. I like to...
Sometimes I hate having to wake up even to eat.
I was never a fan of naps. Not at first. I didn't take them because every time I took a nap, it meant I was getting sick. I'm older now, and so it should come as no surprise that Saturday, late afternoon, something unprecedented happened: I took one. I wanted to. I'd been embarrassingly at an Arts Festival all morning and early afternoon, tagged as an emcee, though shamefully not a good one at it, mostly because no one needed an emcee; at least, not at the performances at which I was posted. I'll tell that story another time, though - it...
I was framed in the third, or fourth, grade maybe.
Whether I like it or not, I am just not me without these frames.
It is no secret that I cannot see well. Now, there might be some other mystery about me that is less recognizable or understood (such as why I detest feet so), but sight? No mystery there. Starting in third, or fourth, grade, maybe, for some reason unknown to me, my eyes began to betray me, sometimes with less than desirable results. (I feel betrayed only when I forget to wear my...
Let's talk about snow cones a second…
Let me start by saying, that as far as I knew, from my own personal experiences, there was no one on the green, green planet that did not know how to properly eat a snow cone.
And then let me follow that by saying, I was wrong.
There is, at least, one person, whom I know personally and quite well, who does not (correction, did not) know how to properly...
I called her Margaret Alice and her awkward daughter Michelle.
Sometimes, I dog sit. It's just for a precious handful of close friends, as I've never been one to necessarily want the responsibility of caring for living things. Especially those that drool (which includes not only dogs, but also babies, and some elderly people).
I love better at an arm's length.
This morning, though, I was tending to K.P.'s dogs, she was away on business, and it's really a very simple set-up. I've done it several...
I don't actually sleep very well, without you, except sometimes.
Although I hate being sick, I will admit to loving the way my voice sounds when I get congested. It's deep, it's sexy, raspy, as if I've actually been a smoker for many years, and on a dare, decided to smoke an entire pack at one time, before quitting. I feel like I'm nasally the love child of Bea Arthur and James Colburn. At least, in my mind, that's how I sound. In reality, I'd told be the love child of Bea Arthur and Charles Nelson Reilly, everybody knows that.
He has nothing, but looks everything.
"The truth is rarely pure and never simple." - Algernon, The Importance of Being Earnest
I've played him before...more than once, and yet, each time I come back to those lines, those zingers, and I think I can't do this show another time, I find something fresh, not in Algy, per se, but in what he brings to me. I think I may been Oscar Wilde. Or maybe I am. Everybody gets one insane obsession, right? I think he will be mine. So much has changed over the last few months...I suppose that happens to everyone: you think...Advertise With Us
