There’s a time in life when we all dream big. When I was a child, I wanted to be an oceanographer or veterinarian. Astronaut was up there too. Even writer. But then something happens. We turn twelve and magic starts to disappear from the world. There is no Santa Claus. Mommy and Daddy work all day to keep a roof over our heads. They’re not particularly happy with their jobs. We start to understand that there’s a reality that exists…
I wish I was more like the superstar guys I see in social media. I’m sure their beautiful wives drive Mercedes Benz SUVs on their way to mid-day yoga classes or tennis matches. And I’m sure these guys have big, roomy offices with lots of windows and black leather couches around shiny black tables. That they wear their dress shirts unbuttoned just enough to look like a pirate – but no one says shit to them about this because Pirate…
People are angry. Across the world, protests are being mobilized by members of middle and lower class society around the idea of economic inequity. Perhaps this uprising will change something. Or maybe it will fizzle in a pool of acidic lies and insincere negoatiations, as we skulk back into our places. “But it was pretty bad ass at the beginning.” we’ll say. “Until the Italians got violent.” Revolutions are beautiful, reckless things. Wrinkles in the fabric of time. I thought…
The last line makes this a great spot. Human. Perfect. *** Jim Mitchem
Yesterday I paid my barber a visit. After years as a SuperCuts guy, a few months ago I started visiting a local salon that was recommended by some gay friends who have really nice hair. My new stylist is friendly, Southern, and consistent. Because when it comes to my hair, consistency is key. I don’t need anything fancy. I get in I get out I move on with my day. Boom. Anyway, I’d always considered the barber-customer relationship particularly interesting. Almost…
Death. It’s pretty much the most important thing in life. It’s important because it’s always looming as the only thing that’s absolutely certain. Everything else is a total crapshoot. Indeed, death is as much a part of life as breathing. No breathing, know death. Yet, we somehow keep moving along in life despite this terrible thing at the end. And most of us move along pretty happily. Then someone dies and we’re reminded that we’re just borrowing time. That we’re…
