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Red Ferrari
It was a day threatening to rain more than the dabbles on our deck. It was also the day prior to a haircut… So I selected my orange fedora, blonde wisps peeking askew when I placed it atop my head. I got in my Mini Cooper to drive the freeway on errands. Zippety-do-dah is my car’s name, Zip for short.
Blonde
“I’m blonde; what’s your excuse?” says my license plate frame.
A Talent for Refuting Reality
I am ardent, authentic, and undeniably out-going, a perennially chipper sort, a habit that astonishes people who lastingly know me.
After all, reality bites, doesn’t it? What is my source of unending perkiness?
Responsibility
What ever happened to earned self-respect and responsibility for one’s presence on the Internet and Elsewhere USA?
Mother’s Magic Wand
There were few things that Larry and I retrieved when the sibling group cleaned-and-cleared out our parents home after my dad’s death. After all, I had wanted parents, not remnants of life and love lost.
Coachella is not a handbag brand
At raucous provocation rock-and-roll music excels, bested only by rap for how it can build you up or beat you down IMHO.
Some bands begin with their name, but talent is what truly makes the name:
Beck, Tool, Rage Against the Machine, Jane’s Addiction, The Chemical Brothers, Bjork…the beat goes on.
The trouble with…
The trouble with… Fiction in 50 words for the Gargoyle
64-color Crayola Box
What do you recall from the first day of school? What rite of passage pleased you most: your novelty lunchbox, new clothes, a fresh hair cut? What trinket transcended the mundane, moving you beyond the end of summer’s opportunities for mayhem?
The Flu Flew
I was cuddled in blankets up to my chin just a few hours earlier, my chest heaving after each volcanic cough. The Flu Siege had snared me, synced with Spring’s weather change, despite my near-hermit ways. The churlish cherry of Luden’s had replaced my favorite Beaujolais. With crumpled Kleenexes as coasters.
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