67°F7:25 AM Human beings are curious creatures. We stride the planet on two legs; we have thumbs; we wear pants. We defy nature with displays of ever-increasing stupidity developed by the same big brains that discovered fire, wrote Ulysses and navigated the moon. We are an unusual quirk of evolution, something perhaps even more evident in our strange customs than in our upright posture. The human has a great propensity for creating not only absurd
The perfect sashay. The steady fierce gaze of a tall, young glamazon striding the catwalk before the raised brows of the fashion elite. Many a stylista (or stylisto, gentlemen) feel a deep, primordial hunger for the marriage of art and function (but mostly just art) that is the high fashion industry. Summer suns beckon for this year’s favored trends – raffia fedoras, peek-a-boo cutouts and bold color combinations. Wardrobes and wallets are primed for indulgence. But are you close enough to the edge of fashion to rock a Regency frock? Trav
We’ve spoken before on the subject of talent – the genetic predisposition to be inherently imbued with a certain prowess regarded by our fellows as laudable or enviable – versus the sculpted success imparted from teaching. Are artistic geniuses made or born? This is the kind of topic my husband and I could spend many a late night hour picking apart in ridiculous detail (and inevitably end the discussion on a completely unrelated – possibly morally ambiguous – subject); but, regardless of the philosophy, Louisville will very soon play host to a
In the world of the idyllic and quintessential American Small Town, the congenial façade of sweet tea and rocking chairs make all kinds of family friendly promises about life in the quiet parts of the country. The culture of wholesome, Midwestern living has empowered many a commercial with the means to sell everything from scented candles to fried chicken; depictions of The Simple Life are like a good tummy rub for the busy, American psyche. But for those of us who have erstwhile called a small Anywhere, USA our home, the dark side beyond the popular façade of kitsch and pi
Many moons have passed since the fairer sex was granted admittance into intelligentsia circles. Once relegated solely to the realms of household drudgery, craft and the timeless art of arm candy, women today have shown themselves to be a force of words and wit within the literary world. And while I concede (and thus, likewise, cringe) that we females are indeed responsible for some of the most saccharine paperbacks known to publishing, the woman writer also has a great capability to add a level of depth to her work that echoes in fathoms unexplored by the male psyche.
That heady fragrance of nostalgia still lingers in the atmosphere – or perhaps it only the splendiferous balm of a dewy bouquet making its yearly cheer on the mantle. But even with hearts still warm and gooey from the sentimental orgy of Mother’s Day (which was yesterday, friends), it only takes a handful of days – perhaps hours for some among us – for the recognition of maternal contribution to make it’s dusty march back into keepsake boxes and memory chests. Our electric and latte-fueled lives rush us back to our own busy bubbles of work and
While there are perhaps few people who will openly admit it, everyone does love a good intrigue. The human animal has a certain natural propensity for mischief-making and an even healthier appetite for the juiciest morsels of scandal. Have you seen the news recently? A high definition smorgasbord of gossiping tidbits gussied up as journalism makes a nice parade on the American television circuit – and we love it. And such proclivities towards tittle-tattle, danger and scheme span generations – even, yes, in the sweet and sunny past of Louisville&rsqu
The stanza is a fickle creature. Standing alone on a page – an innocent column or small, tumbling paragraph – silences the inherent voice of the words. It is stark. It is quiet. And while a lone internalization of a poem has its own merits, the experience of the stanza changes completely when married to the human voice. Spoken words breed intimacy with the writer in a way that a solitary reader may not sense. The poem now has eyes and breath and motivation outside of its meter and couplings; it is now a living organism. Looking for
Motherhood is a complicated subject. Often riddled with sitcom stereotypes or empowered with empty platitudes, the Great Mystery of Life gets gift-wrapped this weekend for 24 hours of bite-sized Hallmark bliss. And while I will admittedly accept with gratitude a token of Mother’s Day thanks, my thoughts on the concept of parenthood run deeper than any greeting card could print – and use more expletives than would be acceptable for mass consumption. While words may never fully capture the dual nature of Motherhood’s overwhelming love and pain relation
Wild Things everywhere should raise a mournful howl. Following complications from a recent stroke, Maurice Sendak, author and illustrator of many a classic children’s tale, died today – Tuesday, May 8th – at the age of 83. The author of a collective childhood favorite for generations, 1963's Where the Wild Things Are, Maurice Sendak brought whimsy and a sense of dark humor to his work, writing stories of ferocious beasts and precocious children. First published in 1947, Sendak went on to create dozens of creatures, characters and s