This column is for off-the-cuff essays, stream-of-consciousness diary entries, impromptu musings, and all kinds of improvised writing. The only caveat for publication: the piece has to be an immediate joy to read – little to no editing.
It’s around 9 p.m. on my 25th birthday and I’m sitting on a curb
illuminated by a street light in my childhood neighborhood. I’m hunched over my
knees, fingers...
r for Tom Hooper’s film adaptation of the Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber musical “Cats” dropped in July, I screamed – partially in shock that the thing even existed, partially in terror at the digitally altered cat-human creatures that were on my screen....
“Just go with it, just feel it out,” Joey insisted. I tried, I really did, but I couldn’t keep up with the furied chords. The sound of my snare grew faint, the thud of my kick drum dulled. I looked up desperately for a saving gaze, but it was too late – my stiff arms and gnarled fingers said no more. I stopped playing. Now all eyes were on me. Flush-faced I whispered, “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.” My drum sticks clacked on the concrete garage floor.
Nowhere to hide, I cried silently in my friend Kaitlin’s musty Taurus. She was the keyboard player for this band, as well as the instigator of this whole ordeal. On the car ride home she looked over and gave me a pity pat, “It’s okay, you’ll get it next time.” But she was wrong, I didn’t get it next time or even the time after that. I actually didn’t get it for a really long time....
In Israel, on birthright, you are taken to places of the utmost historic and religious significance. They seem to lurk around every corner in that tiny country. We traveled by bus up and down, left and right, from border to border, the whole thing measuring about eight hours from top to bottom. In each place we stopped, we were told about the history, religious significance, and given opportunities to explore as we chose....
I forget whose house I told my mom I was spending the night at the first time I went to Porky’s. Someone whose family my mom trusted, I’m sure. I’m also sure that I did not sleep at said friend’s house. We all met and slept at Gabe’s house. Gabe, my friend who always smelled like patchouli and had better hair than any girl I knew. He had a nice home and a loving family who did not mind if loud and obnoxious teenagers came over to throw up in their backyard and pass out on their couch. Or so I think they didn’t mind. Then again, I never asked them.
...
The pizza at Michael’s Pizzeria is questionable. The crust is inconsistent—sometimes you get a Chicago style, other times it’s of the crunchy cracker variety. They have a dozen toppings to choose from, but really, plain cheese is the safe bet. After all, you wouldn’t want to pay more than $10.00 for cardboard. ...
