67°F7:55 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
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
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
Fresh from the green goodness of Earth Day (which should really be every day if you ask this little eco-nut) this upcoming Sunday, April 22nd, here’s your chance to join worldwide forces in rapid succession for a cause just as worthy and healthy. This upcoming Monday, April 23rd, is World Book Night, a literary campaign making its debut in the United States after successes in Great Britain and Ireland. Plan to be out and about around the town? Look out! Reading might be on your horizon sooner than you think as Carmichaels’ World Book Night volunteers drop
So. Apparently there is some big hullabaloo concerning the river, a bridge, drunken citizens and bad music all culminating in some brightly-colored – and crazy loud like…“thunder” they say – lights. Apparently. Apparently it’s tomorrow. And while I – as I’m sure continuing readers can guess by now – do not really understand the appeal of hours spent milling around on a blanket sipping on lukewarm contraband bud-light, I can appreciate the gravity of standing up to this massive scheduled merriment and proclaiming
We talk about poetry a lot. And this is good. Good for the heart, mind, soul and cerebral cortex. Breathe in the sweet aroma of the sonnet. Quiver in the sinuous tension of terza rima. Let your inner hippie flow within the cascades of free verse. Bathe in the rich cords of the ballad. Let it RAIN purple prose! Poetry makes us (or, more than likely, just me) heady with some sort of cosmic (but not religious) chemical reaction. The metaphor, tone and timbre all mixing in a potion like those serotonin and dopamine cocktails that make our br
For a great many years, I was not a fan of amusement park rides – decidedly not amused. Those industrial machines painted in flashy, neon hues did little to mask my distrust of mechanical failure at a height from which the probability of death was favorable. In short: too fast, too high, too soulless, far-too-likely-to-perish-in-a-firey-demise-and-make-national-news. No. I was the patient friend holding the slightly-crunchy prize panda bear and waggling a demure cotton candy smile at my fool-hardy friends. It wasn’t until I became a rebellious
Although my biological ethnic heritage is – shall we say – “exotic” in its myriad of mixes: a dash of German, a pop of Spanish, some sprinklings of Eastern Europe, a nice solid slice of Cherokee for good measure, as well as some other miscellaneous genetic contributions, are all swirling in harmonious synergy through my veins, once a year I proudly celebrate my .04567% Irish birthright. This has much to do with the fact that on this upcoming annual demi-holiday, my first name is cried collectively into the night by many a lovable and happy Irish-American (and/o
I am an only child. I am also the mother of an only child. A solitary existence in the quiet, unused bedrooms of a decidedly soft, suburban house was a haven I knew well growing up. I was never lonely and deeply resented all insinuations that I suffered a great loss in my singular childhood – that I “missed out”. My feelings have not changed much in my transitions to adulthood, and I take a great joy in watching my little girl explore the furthest reaches of her own inner worlds without the threat of siblings to trip her up in her inevitable ri
With the end of the world only a mere 290 days away (ask any self-respecting Mayan), the idea of the “dystopian society” or “post-apocalyptic wasteland” is a topic that is perhaps bearing its first weight on the hearts and minds of the Earth’s citizens. Ahhh…sweet existentialism. We are all familiar with the classic dystopian novel – Brave New World and 1984 being at the forefront of this pack, but Fahrenheit 451 being the best of all three – and perhaps some of us have even dallied with more obscure (