Reporter Notes for the Artisanal Vendor of the Year Contest 8:08 Just arrived at Portland Expo Center. Inaugural “Artisanal Vendor of the Year” contest starting in less than an hour. Looks like I’m the only journo here. 8:16 Trouble early on. Bouncer [upper body attire: WWII spitfire pilot; lower body attire: psychedelic troubadour] charged at […]
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Epiphany [not in the sense manifestation of Christ to Gentiles as represented by Magi (Matthew 2:1-12)] Despite Jewish law’s at least soft prohibition as a physician plus human I’ve been all-in about end of life thoughtful autonomy for those of us who are considered to have terminal ills. But since around block witness to state-certified
all the tiny mouths There must have been hundreds of them, maybe thousands, but only on the one wall. They fit their small, black bodies closely together by pointing their wings upward, displaying the light tangerine colour beneath. In this way, they painted the wall a warm triptych that made her think of fall and
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Citrus My friend often stops by at lunch to talk about our kids–how hard it is and how lovely. It usually happens, because I love them, that I’m eating an orange, or a mandarin, Sumo, blood orange, temple–one of that whole bodacious family of juicy mamas, and I separate a section or two bursting with
And The Oscar Goes to… 1994 – Cher Dorothy Chandler Pavilion Bathroom Attendant 3 strands black/curly/synthetic The hairs flash like a beacon on the bathroom’s white marble tiles. I wrap them in a square of toilet paper and slide them into my uniform pocket. While the who’s who celebrate at their glitzy after-parties, I limp
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A Real Stand-Up Guy Reading time: about 15 minutes The green room at LMAO is not really a room at all. It’s a 10 x 20 foot space sectioned off from backstage by musty drapery that often overlaps, making entry or escape a difficult endeavor. Yet, in either witty taste or cheapskate irony, the curtains
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In Technicolor Content advisory (highlight to see): sexual assault My cup— Runneth over, Psalm 23:5. But no, not in a bar. —sweats fat droplets of condensation onto the bartop. I run a fingernail along a scar in the wood, adjusting the cardboard coaster. A bear peers up through the amber liquid. I should google bears.
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Liquid Courage Rhonda finds the perfect purple ball on the rack that fits her slim fingers snugly, hefts it skyward with one hand, gel-lacquered nails disappearing into the drilled holes. “Remember this color,” she says. “I want my eyes to be this color.” I nod, pulling out the little wire-bound notebook I keep in my
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bird brains Anthea Jones Anthea Jones lives in Brisbane, Australia and writes quirky fiction and screenplays. This is much easier now she has annexed the kids’ cubby house and banished the spiders and geckoes. She is the recipient of a Fishbowl Residency from the Queensland Writers’ Centre and a scholarship to Stowe Story Labs at
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If We Were In Another Life If we were three-spined sticklebacks, you would light up crimson to warn off other males and I would be honoured and not annoyed, safe instead of smothered, because I’d know you could protect our patch in the stream, and I would follow your proud zig-zag dance through the water
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