Because bluebirds are so damned happy. Supposedly.
When I was young, my grandmother did not wish for me to learn how to cook. But it wasn’t merely a wish—it was her rule.
I love to photograph my friend Camille because elegance is her native state.
Some people look extraordinary in photographs. This friend is one of them. Who knew?
I love to drive through small towns to see how the other half lives.
The Good Luck Bonne Chance Raspa Stand is selling Cucumbers On a Stick tonight, covered in chili powder and lime. There’s World’s Best Corn in a Cup and Hot Fritos ‘n’ Xtra Cheese if you want them, and for a limited time only, you can get a Double Tiger’s Blood Raspa, Everybody’s Favorite Sno-Cone Treat.
Trick question: Is there anything easy about being a seventeen-year-old girl?
Happy Saint Patrick’s Daaa—. . . Oh, I just don’t have it in me.
Here are all the keys to my place, cleaning expert. I’m going to stay in a Motel 6 in Barbados until you call me, okay? Bye-byeeeeee!
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When was the last time you adjusted to a new technology? A year ago? This morning? Last week?
“My name is Weegee. I’m the world’s greatest photographer.”
Wherever it is I go in my dreams, the rest of me, that dogged corporeal self, attempts to follow.
Wait— you want me to make how much pho?!?
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Three words: Fiberglass pink gorilla.
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What’s the secret of writing, you say? Well here it is: Write anyway.
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