There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
Browsing category blogging
I really cant say enough about the super talented and oh-so easy on the eyes David Fonseca. I’ve listened to Superstars 1200 times this month. That’s an actual number folks. A certain fellow I know keeps threatening to do me bodily harm if I play it again. But I think I called his bluff this
I run into them a lot. On the bus. By the library. In the pub. You know the type. People with no internal dialogue. The ones full of a primal urge to be overheard – because why else would they be so bleedin loud. Yesterday it was a rather round brunette. She said she wanted
Writing Prompt: What would the title of your memoir be? Write the opening … I play theme songs when I work. Not on my iPod or anything like that. In my head. I drift off into an alternate universe where Eye of the Tiger and Freddie Mercury sit on repeat. Under Pressure – the song
I grew up in a family full of wayfarin strangers. Gnarled old men who I didn’t know but should have – because Pa said they were kin – sang the words with such strength of conviction that I always saw the story as their own. A cousin even adopted it as his anthem when we
On Romance: My instant messenger just popped up with a note that says ‘Add Me’. I don’t know what it means. But it sounds dirty. So he says “But you’ve (bungee) jumped with me before” and I say “Yeah, but I’m married to you now. I don’t have to do stupid things to impress you
What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery? The loss of loved ones. Where would you like to live? Everywhere. At least once. What is your idea of earthly happiness? To be whole. To what faults do you feel most indulgent? Idleness. Who are your favorite heroes of fiction? Sydney Carton. David Dunn.
Remember the four year old who knew the cabinet like she knew her ABCs? The one who who wanted to visit the savanna when she was five – when her mother agreed it would be nice to see the elephant and caribou she giggled and told her: “Caribou live in the polar region, mommy”. Well
The best advice I ever got came from my grandfather. A barefoot boy named Ramses who found God somewhere between the footwashers and the snake handlers and managed to keep Him in spite of it all. Pa once told me, with all the conviction of a man who knows, what he didn’t know. “I don’t
jet lag: also jet·lag (jÄ•t’lăg’) n. – A temporary disruption of bodily rhythms caused by high-speed travel across several time zones typically in a jet aircraft marked by fatigue, insomnia, and irritability. I don’t travel well with others. Especially when I can scream at them. I can scream at HIM. I try not to. And
I met this fellow the other week in a Chester graveyard. I was waiting on evening song at the cathedral and watching a bunch of teenage tourists when I wandered in and almost stepped on him. I’ve walked over a lot of Victorians in the past nine years but there’s just something about this one
