Ok, so this post isn't about music, but the choices I made below are like music to my ears, so we're going to run with that. Welcome to another intermittent submission for the fashion files. Wanted to share what I wore to the j-o-b today, particularly because it's a step outside my style comfort zone. Further …
play on.
Continuing with our music theme this week. My favorite quote from one of my favorite works by one of my favorite writers.
In the Lonely Hour.
I had an Amy Winehouse moment. A little history: several years ago, when Amy's indescribable Back to Black album was released, I had my usual listening party on the headphones. I was on an airplane, en route to visit the bestie in Alabama. And then Tears Dry on their Own came on and I shocked the guy next …
no surprise here…
Our girl is on the cover of Vogue. Marvel at the amazing Moroccan-themed photos, won't you? And continue to love her to pieces like I do? (All photos courtesy of USA Today.)
difficult names.
When I was a teenager, I lied about my name. True story. (Oh, irony.) My old friends once asked me what my middle initial, "O", stood for. I didn't tell them the truth. I didn't want anyone to know my very African middle name. I had visions of them balking and laughing and eyes widening …
Walden.
Everything about Henry David Thoreau has fascinated me since I was 14 years old. Everything.
I’d Like to Marry for Money, Please.
Got your attention, huh? When I was a teenager, I was like most young girls. I read Tiger Beat and BOP magazine and dreamed about Jonathan Brandis and New Kids on the Block and other movie/TV/music stars. Cute was everything. Whenever I imagined being married in the future--well, quite honestly, I didn't want a husband; I wanted to be Angela Bower, …
you can see me?
Being typically alone when I'm out and about and being of the mind that strangers who begin conversations with me must want to harvest my sweet kidneys, I am appreciative of scaring them off this way. Nothing like dissuading small talk by pretending you're cray. Happy Wednesday, party people...
3:30AM.
It's the thorn in my side. The Moby D to my Captain Ahab. The unholy half hour. Unfailingly, whether I'm distressed or experiencing the sporadic insomnia that enjoys visiting me or waking up from a rhymes with sightmare (I don't even utter the word, ya'll; my dreams are crucial), 3:30 is the time when it …
Storytelling and Nursery Rhymes.
In the end, I think it was inevitable that writing would become my passion. Starting from the beginning, my fascination with words and stories was engendered by the original, the best, and the most compelling storyteller of them all: my mother. I remember watching her when she would tell a story. Her voice would dip …
This Square Peg. 