Revered by the music industry and loved by millions of fans, and despite the controversies over his lyrical styles that some found offensive, Prince was a revolutionary artist none the less.
A prolific singer and songwriter. An unbelievably talented musician, skilled at devising new sounds across a multitude of instruments, all of which he could play. His vocal range could drop to the bottom floor and float effortlessly through a falsetto, peaking at a shriek-like scream that didn’t need a trademark because nobody else could do it quite like Prince. (And all of us who grew up listening to his music have strained our voices numerous times behind the wheel of a car, purporting to sing along at the level of his unmatched prowess. Don’t deny it!)
Writing about zombies on Easter Sunday may be sacrilegious, but soul-less, reeking, walking dead things aren’t the point. Soul-hurting, desperate, walking living things are.
Daisy used to climb the high back chair in my office to lay across the top, that is, until the veterinarian declawed her. And that brings up another interesting point. Daisy was neutered that same day, which is why Daisy, you see, isn’t a she. She’s a he. And he’s a cat.
Chester. Tucker. Tyrone. Or stick with Daisy. These are a few names, among others, our family can’t decide on since my oldest son’s girlfriend enlightened us of Daisy’s genital make-up, though I’d known for a while something looked odd. And I apologize. That might sound sexist.
But as best as I can tell, Daisy doesn’t care about sexism.
The latest presidential candidate debates have me thinking a lot about onions. Many types of onions look good on the outside. They’re even quite colorful.
Some onions are red. Others are purple. We have the yellow variety. And white. And still others are green. Some experts even claim onions offer excellent health benefits, though others may disagree.
Don’t get me wrong. I do like onions.
But have you ever picked an onion purely because it looked good?
It held such a wonderful view from high above—until it crashed.
Out of hundreds of acres of surrounding farmland, the brand new and quite expensive drone of one of our family members bee-lined toward the only body of water on the property. The small aircraft had lost its ability to maneuver, and on Thanksgiving Day, 2014, it went down, plunging to the bottom of a one acre lake.
And there it spent the entire year of 2015, buried alive, in the mud.