Red Wanting You

Today’s post is inspired by my favorite indie rock band, Red Wanting Blue. This print by Amanda Joy Calobrisi brings to mind all of the vintage kitsch that adorn RWB’s stage. From little bobbleheads to bumper stickers to a Lite Bright with the band’s name spelled out in lights, the nostalgia they bring is all part of what makes their show spectacular. With poetic lyrics and soul stirring beats, you’re guaranteed to fall in love. If you’re unfamiliar with the band, check out their latest single Audition here. Leave me a comment to let me know what you think and I’ll dish on all my favorite RWB songs so you can find them on iTunes. P.S. Stay tuned for their newest album in January. If the past is any prediction, it’s going to be rockin’. Continue reading

Seven Sentences for Sunday: The Catch-All Edition

1. We moved on Wednesday and it was as minimally chaotic as possible. And now we are tucked in our apartment with only a few boxes remaining.

2. Those few boxes along with some extraneous crap at the old house will be the bane of my existence for the next week as I try and figure out what to do with the piddly crap that accumulates in a functioning household.

3. My new apartment has a much bigger mirror in the bathroom than at my old house, which means I can no longer hide the fact that I have indeed become the girl who got pudgy post-divorce. Of course this realization comes just as the weather is turning, but do something about it I will.

4. Do you think this boy sees a red wall and wants to paint it black?

By Hani Zurob

5. You know that old black and white picture of a work crew sitting on a beam eating their lunches high above a NYC construction site? A modern day version would have them all checking their smartphones so they could snap a picture and share it on facebook.

By David Soukup

6. I hate this picture. Sorry, but I do. For reasons of jealousy, more than anything. Because the man who is viewing this woman from this angle loves the simple fact that she is leaning over and applying sunscreen and still looks beautiful.

By Russell Shoemaker

7. I find myself walking this precarious line of sharing too much in my writing versus keeping myself more closed than before; I’ve been leaning to the side of holding my cards. I’m not sure that the limits are doing me any favors as my old standby format of the personal essay has become, well, less personal. A new challenge for the week, perhaps.

I love you all, some more than others.

Catching Up, Part 2

By Jennifer Cronin

I told Mom and Dad that there was a monster under my bed, but they didn’t believe me. And this wasn’t just any old scary bedtime monster, I had a genuine scary-hairy-spider monster. And it stank too. Like the kind of stink that comes from when Dad takes both the sports section and the auto section of the paper in the bathroom with him. And I told them this monster could make itself really big or really small depending on where it needed to go, like when I saw it come in through a hole in the window sill or when it walked right through my bedroom door as if it were leading a parade of nighttime creepy creatures. It’s a sneaky one. I also tried to tell them that it had been threatening to steal me away for days if I didn’t keep feeding it goldfish crackers. Which is why I threw an extra long fit when Mom wouldn’t let me have a snack tonight before bed.

But did they believe me? Nope. Not even for a second. Which is why I didn’t feel the least bit bad when they had to chase that scary-hairy-spider monster down the drain cuz it had a hold of me. And they had to figure out if the yelling was from miniature me caught in the drain or the shrieks of the scary-hairy-spider monster as Mom and Dad tried to keep it from getting away. And it got all its scary-hairy-spider juice on Mom’s nightgown. And Dad nearly barfed because of that scary-hairy-spider smell. Nope, I didn’t feel bad at all. Not one single bit.


By Kyla Zoe Rafert

Today was my lucky day. I got the red handle on the parachute. I almost always get stuck with the yellow handle, but today in music class, when Mrs. Holden told us it was parachute time, I got to help her get it out, which meant I got the red handle before Ella Peters did. And everybody knows the red handle is best. I was so happy that when we whooshed our arms up and floated that parachute so high, I looked up at all those beautiful colors and fluttered my eyelashes like it was a rainbow waterfall about to come crashing down on me. And then, when we did our cave and tucked the edges under our bottoms, I even let Doug Masterson scooch in close to me so we could keep that parachute up so high with everyone giggling underneath it. But I did not let him hold my handle. No sharesies on that. Everyone knows that.

Catching Up Part 1

Since this week was spent packing up and moving our lives yet again, I was left with absolutely no time or energy to post regularly. I don’t want to write off the week as a waste, so I’m going to take the next two days to catch up–sort of. My partner-in-crime and wannabe writer (at 7 1/2) took the helm with these first two from September 12 and 13. Without further ado, Jolie brings you Tuesday and Wednesday’s Steptember editions.

Special thanks to Artist A Day

By Tom Robinson

Jolie: What if that woman was sad and stressed out and is just coming home from a long day at the office.

Destiny!: Why is she stressed out?

Jolie: Because she had a bunch of meetings all day.

Destiny!: Why is she sad then?

Jolie: Because her two daughters just moved away and all she has left is her boy at home because he’s not old enough to move away.

Destiny!: What do you think would make her happy?

Jolie: Another kid.


By Jesse P Thomas


This man is in a cabin reading a book. His friend (who owns the really fancy cabin) is on the phone. His friend is talking to his sister about when she’s going to be able to come. The man with the book wants her to come because his wife died and he might want to marry her.

A Matter of Viewpoint

Thanks to Artist A Day

A Life to be Envied/Emulated/Eschewed

First glance, timid smiles,

afternoon strolls, tender kisses,

soft caresses, exploring hands,

intertwined bodies, tangled sheets.

Morning coffee, candlelit dinners,

kneeling proposition, sparkling solitaire

From father to husband, I do’s,

intertwined bodies, tangled sheets.

Doctor’s checkups, pickles and ice cream,

ten tiny toes, her fathers eyes,

from husband to father, pride-filled tears.

First steps, college graduations

white weddings, grandchildren’s births,

second honeymoons, retirement parties,

arthritic bones, sleepless nights,

departing kisses, final smile.

Seven Sentences for Sunday: The Breakfast Edition

  1. Before last August, I was 7 the last time I ate a bowl of cereal. Since then I have discovered that Honey Nut Cheerios or Honey Rice Bitz are not only breakfasty delicious, but they are a fantastic substitute for dinner.
  2. The picture that inspired this SSFS reminded me of someone who ate breakfast with his wife then boarded one of the ill-fated planes. The horror of September 11 lingers.
  3. Instead of focusing on those who piss in our oatmeal, let’s remember those whose idea of a hot breakfast is powdered eggs in a MRE.
  4. I totally would’ve been Claire Standish in The Breakfast Club, though I bet I could be just as batshit nuts as Ally Sheedy if I wanted to. 🙂
  5. Chocolate zucchini bread and pumpkin bread are my favorite fall breakfast treats to make for the kids. I’m actually looking forward to fall baking this year–if you’re lucky and I love you lots, you might get a loaf in the mail.
  6. There’s a 40 minute break between dropping Jolie off and dropping Rhett off at school, which I am going to have to figure out how to fill. Somehow Cheerios in the back of the Soul while waiting for carpool seems to be in my future.
  7. My remaining two munchkins start school this week. Boy, summer break went fast.
By Nick Patten

I love you all, some more than others.

The Open Journey of the Romantic

Thanks to Artist a Day

Today’s post bears a back story. When I first saw the rendering above, I was immediately struck by the hats on the ladies and Dorothy Parker came to mind. Initially I was just going to post an irreverent quote by the immeasurable Ms. Parker, but I forced myself to up the ante a bit. After a bit of research, I took the meter from Parker’s poem, “A Fairly Sad Tale” and replicated it into my own poem. It took me a day and a half to think about it and seven and a half minutes to write it. Such is the way with my poetry–sometimes it turns out great, other times I just get practice–it is always a quick process of writing it and then I can fiddle with it for years. Without further ado…enjoy. Continue reading

A Lively Debate

Thanks to Artist A Day


“Peter, feed your fish. You’re father will be home any minute.” Peter Lively scooted back from his workstation where he was downloading his homework and stuck the electron tube into his fish tank, giving his robotic fish their biweekly energy boost. One of them had lost a cathode coil earlier in the week, so it had to be tossed in the noncombustible bin, but the rest were swimming around in their plasma as if they had gills full of charge. Continue reading

Five for the Fifth

Thanks to Artist A Day

  1. It was all fun and games until God found out what happened when Gabriel lit Michael’s fart on fire.
  2. Forget a goon, this is what happens to Little Bunny Foo Foo when the Great Fairy gets really pissed.
  3. The Browns sure were happy they decided to build outside of the flood plain.
  4. Perhaps The Hopped Henchmen should have rethought the debut of their pyrotechnics at the barn dance.
  5. A twister and a fireball all in one shot? Heidi Fleiss’s new S&M B&B was going down.