I’d like to introduce you to the word “hingent.”
tweet thisFiled under: End of the World, Everyday, food, language, life, writing
I have a confession to make. I wasn't all that "sold on" what I wrote yesterday. It didn't, how shall I say this without hurting my feelings, make a whole lot of sense. I've spent most of this morning trying to be OK with it because every day can't be a diamond. Indeed, most of them are just broken pieces of coal. But, but...that, that's OK. The whole point of starting a blog was to give myself room to make writer's mistakes with the option of accountability, depending on how many read the blog and felt the need to comment. I'd fallen into a rut, as a playwright and...
I’m curious by nature, curiouser by Pinot Grigio.
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, food, health, language, life, writing
I keep a little file folder on my desktop labeled "Better Jobs Than This." I like to read it when my current job drives me to the brink of pulling out my hair and anyone else's who's unfortunate enough to be standing next to me. My stress relief is to routinely surf the web looking for employment. When I find a job that appeals to me, for whatever reason, I either copy and paste the announcement, or I copy the entire link. I open my little file folder and I deposit it there for a rainy day. Or a sunny day. I hold...
Mistakes make you feel bad. Like Peter Scolari or Mario van Peebles.
Filed under: faith, food, language, life, theatre, writing
I've made a mistake. I know I've made, like, at least two mistakes, previously, in my whole life and this would make three, and that's like, a holy number, so maybe I've come full circle, now. God, I hope. And though I don't make many mistakes, I know quite well what it feels like; the three I've made already have hurt like the Dickens. You know what the Dickens feels like, don't you? It feels like a headache plus a backache plus a neckache plus a stomachache, and your stomach is connected to your knee bone and your knee bone's connected to your jaw bone, something...
If you were to ask me, and I'm pretending that you are…
Filed under: Deep South, education, faith, family, language, writing
I have a friend, back in Indiana, who once accused someone of living of life marred by a ridiculous philosophy: that of the Bumper Sticker. I'm not entirely sure, but I feel that the credit for this sentiment really belongs to Carrie Fisher. But since I don't know Carrie Fisher, not really, I'm going to give it to Christian. He's close enough to count. I'm sure there are plenty of us who actually live a similar life, myself included, even if we're not overly aware of it, along the trench lines of the Bumper Sticker philosophy. I mean, who doesn't love a well-placed pun? I...
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