Loved the Tonys. except Catherine Zeta Jones and  her swivel headed singing. More proof that awards have a tendency to totally miss the mark when it comes to honoring the best and brightest and I hope the Tony voters are not being seduced by the movie stars headed over to the broadway what with their movie star fans and bucks . . . I mean, I loved ( Read more... )

 . . . and I'm grading papers, which are not that bad, and which show at least a nugget of things I taught them this semester ( Read more... )

Post a single sentence from each WIP you have (or as many as you want to pick).  No context, no explanations.  No more than one sentence!

And I know I cheated about the sentences . . . sue me. Or take these babies off my hands . . . whatever!
( Because in these hard economic times . . . )

So Laura's beautiful pictures of her grandparents, coupled with my Sunday visit with my own grandma (85) and my great aunt (81) who fight like sisters and whose mantle is lined with pictures of my grandpa who died 2 years ago and whose memory still sends my grandma to bed for "weeping spells" and then I think of my other grandma (95) who is dainty ( Read more... )

I wanna play ( Read more... )

So I have become increasingly disgruntled at my place of livelihood - a misnomer if there ever was one. And the disgruntlement does not stem from the usual job-related sturm und drang - because I love my boss, enjoy my co-workers, believe in the "product" and can write crack and fic most days . . .

It all comes down to personal worth and how many ( Read more... )

on my friend's show where he had people come on and tell a story about a song that 
was significant in their lives and then he played the song. It was really great. 
Some of the songs were Carole King and Joni Mitchell and Evelyn Champagne King. 
And Tchaikovsky . . . and mine of course was David Soul . . .

So my nearest and dearest told me to post it ( Read more... )

So a couple of years ago I was riding on a train through a beautiful Welsh valley, on my way to Tenby and the coast of Wales for a holiday, and I looked up and saw the regular pastoral: rolling green hills, sheep dotting everything, a small house, a small cemetary. I sighed, lost in the travel brochure-ness of it all. The cemetary had odd ( Read more... )