By the time you read this, the Olympics will have picked its victors and pickled the rest. Skateboards will have soared. Swimmers will have splashed. Basketballs will have bounced into history. But 6,700 miles from Tokyo, the sportiest of all B-girls are still making headlines.
Here’s a hill I’m willing to die on: the very best novels, movies, and miscellaneous media all fall into the genre called “coming of age.” Here’s a wrinkle: we’re all perpetually “coming of age.” Just ask Mishush.
Consetta is not a cat content to consent to others’ intent. She is, however, ready to confiscate my keyboard.
Heartbroken, necessary intro: When I wrote this post, seemingly a hundred years ago, and queued it up for this lovely random Monday in August, I had no idea it would turn into a “Forever Loved.” How I wish it were otherwise. But our treasured Heather left this world on Friday, 8/13. Love and grief are […]
It’s not all about you, it’s not all about me, and that’s a good thing. It is, in fact, about Ronnie, but he knows how to handle it.
In a world with too much anger, it’s a brave thing to just be scared. Sometimes the best way to let your little light shine is to let it publicly tremble — or flash, as the case may be.
I am generally of the opinion that it’s best to be the sea. But sometimes, you gotta be the creature.
It has come to my attention that certain individuals believe in the existence of excessive levity. None of these individuals happen to be cats.
Explosive events in the 20th century gave us the pop-culture notion of the nuclear option. That is to say that sometimes our old ways, our old ideas, our old just about everything needs to be blown to bits to make way for something new and, hopefully, better.