Monday Food Fun!

Hi guys! On the lighter side, here's me and my sister Beth at Moxie's, a cute little bar/restaurant in Windsor located in Devonshire Mall. Very fun drinks, very good food and you get to look at Detroit from a different angle which is always great. I have a lot of e-mail/blogs to read/ details to attend to, but I'll be back tomorrow with the hard-hitting commentary that you've come to expect. Ha!

Stonewall

One of my first childhood friends was gay. We both spent a lot of Saturday nights at our babysitter Betsy's house where her disturbed grandson Leland often exposed himself to us and locked us in closets until someone heard us crying and let us out. Besides the obvious downsides, these nights were pretty fun -- we watched "The Lawrence Welk Show" and "The Dukes of Hazzard" while waiting for our dinner of instant mashed potatoes and Hamburger Helper, followed by bowls of ice-milk sprinkled with Nestle Quik. We both adored Betsy, and I loved my friend whom I will call R, but I wasn't surprised when my dad took me aside and told me he wasn't like the other boys, that he would probably grow up and like boys instead of girls and that was fine, that there were a lot of people in the world like that, but that most people didn't understand and could be cruel. R was five at the time and already had a theatrical sense that could rival Liberace. My dad was a kind, sensitive man and thought R was great, especially when he told jokes or sang Hall and Oates' "Private Eyes" while floating around in the baby pool.

Today marks forty years since Stonewall, the riots at a bar in NYC that marked a beginning of sorts for gay rights. Other groups like the Mattachines had been around for a long time, but had taken a more secretive, conservative approach. Stonewall meant fighting back against police oppression (homosexuals were routinely rounded up in bars and arrested not so very long ago). So much has changed since then; when I began teaching, I had one extremely brave student who was "out" and read his paper about his sexuality in the heart of redneck Texas to a class composed of many football players while I hoped and prayed that nobody would say anything hurtful. By the time I'd been teaching for a decade, almost all of my classes had students that were out. Even so, I take this time as a call to people to show more love, more live and let live. The first time I went to San Francisco, I saw a poster about safe sex with two men kissing. You'd never see that in Texas, I thought. When I returned that night, someone had scrawled Faggots in blood red ink over the poster. Classy. What a great use of someone's time and energy. Or my personal favorite, the so-called religious protesters at funerals with compassionate signs that read -- God hates fags or Your son is burning in Hell. As a person of faith, I find this especially disgusting. I think back to those nights in front of the television with R, watching the goings on in Hazzard County, debating who was cuter, Luke or Bo Duke. For us, Daisy never even entered the picture.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Hatred, which could destroy so much, never failed to destroy the man who hated, and this was an immutable law." James Baldwin

Cocktail Hour
Working on a mojito video -- my favorite rum drink! It's very difficult to make, so if you guys have any tips, send them along.

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Sunday!

Dancing Machine

Hey everyone -- hope you're having a great weekend! Baby Grouchie is seen above, overloaded by the news this week and still listening to "Dancing Machine" nonstop in honor of MJ. Speaking of, there's a very good article on Time Magazine's website about him titled "The Death of Peter Pan." And for those in Detroit, there's a vigil all weekend at the Motown Museum, one of the great Detroit landmarks of all time. Will have news on Motor City Burning Press next week -- am working hard to pull it all together and start our Devil's Night contest. In answer to Will, Baby and Grouchie and I were in Windsor when that shot was taken. I'll be back later this afternoon with a restaurant suggestion. Thanks again for all the comments and e-mails starting on Father's Day and until now. You guys are the very best!

Neverland

When I was sick this Christmas, I listened to a lot of Jackson Five songs. They made me feel much better, especially ABC. I thought a lot about the young Michael for some reason, trapped and exhausted in Gary, Indiana, being put through grueling dance routines by his father, thought about his days at Motown where he became a star. When you tour the Motown Museum, you always hear at least one Michael story or see his famous glove -- once stolen, it had been returned intact. I watched the endless television biopic about the Jacksons in my recovery bed, looking at the cold sad sky of his youth turn into the overexposed brightness of LA. I cried a lot during the whole long show for reasons I couldn't understand -- perhaps it was the percocet, or not being able to forget how it felt to have a tube rammed down my throat, breathing for me, or feeling connected to the suffering of the world in a more real way by my new scar. But a lot of it was Michael, an adorable boy forced to perform in a slightly unwholesome sexualized way for other's entertainment, to support his family, to become a star.

A child of the eighties, I remember Michael at his best times during his solo career, before things took the turn. His childhood couldn't be tamped down anymore so he set about recreating it with Neverland, with animals, by changing his appearance, a severe form of self-vandalism. Even so, people still wanted him to win, to make a comeback, to write another Thriller. I could still see him in the cold, dark places he had started: Gary, Detroit. When his life had been hard, but he had not been broken yet. Before the bright light had started to eat at his soul. Like stars do, he burned out, becoming ash, because that's what stars do.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Because I think every child star suffers through this period because you're not the cute and charming child that you were. You start to grow, and they want to keep you little forever." Michael Jackson

Cocktail Hour
Drinking movie suggestion: Away We Go

Bendictions and Maledictions
Happy Friday! Rest in peace to Ed, Farrah, and Michael! Everyone stay healthy, okay?!

Joy In Arabic

I once was at a dinner party where a gay man named Michael claimed to have over ten thousand pictures of Farrah Fawcett. He had the iconic poster, of course, and every clipping imaginable, from Playboy to TV Guide. I loved Michael's veritable font of Farrah wisdom. Did I know she was from Texas? And an artist? After a few minutes of Farrah worship, he went on to discuss a cruise he was going to take (a hundred men on a ship, yay!) and his hangover avoidance formula (you line up all your vitamins and painkilers before you go out by your bed, start the night with two shots and then stick to beer or two screwdrivers for the rest of the night). I was utterly charmed given that the only other conversation at said dinner party was a convoluted retelling of the plot of Rocky IV.

Farrah died today, and I think of all the lore I have heard about her -- that the first time she met Ryan O'Neil, they kissed so much that their lips bled, that her first husband Lee Majors had told Ryan to "keep her out of trouble" while he was out of town (note to men, bad idea), that Ryan claims he won't know this world without her. Theirs was the epic love; stormy, crazy, deeply real. A beauty, a wild spirit, a mother, a painter, a woman who could inspire a gay man to collect thousands of pictures of her, more than her iconic part of an angel, her very name means joy in Arabic. That seems as fitting a tribute as any.


Michelle's Spell of the Day
"God gave women intuition and femininity. Used properly, the combination easily jumbles the brain of any man I've ever met." Farrah Fawcett

Cocktail Hour
Thanks for summer drink suggestions!

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Thursday!

Broadcast Yourself

Per everyone's brain trust-like predictions, Jon and Kate are divorcing. When the show went from a bunch of rambunctious children doing the darnedest things to a Cassavetes movie complete with dour looks, lonely images, and thinly-veiled barbs, we should have known. The body language between Jon and Kate speaks volumes; they never touch or say kind things about each other. They barely can look each other in the eye. Barbara Walters commented today that it should be illegal for people who have more than five kids to divorce. My question is how such a couple could possibly stay married. Just the noise alone would push me over the edge. And much has been made about whether or not the kids are being exploited. Probably. To have one's entire childhood documented can only lead to an adulthood of wondering why the hell people aren't following my every move with a camera. But given our culture, can this problem even be avoided?

We have many recording devices, we have cell phones, we can broadcast ourselves on youtube. We're more than happy when this works in our favor in bringing us money, fame, compliments. We aren't happy when this dark god turns on us. Sarah Palin can allow her daughter Bristol to become a showpiece for her campaign, but feel outraged when she becomes a target by David Letterman. I don't hate Sarah Palin the way a lot of people I know do; she's got valid points at times, she appeals to people. But she also chose a life in the spotlight. She chose to put her pregnant daughter on display as an unlikely symbol for an abstinence campaign. And weirdly, I agree with that -- who better than a very tired overwhelmed teenage mother to say, Don't have sex? Birth control enough for me, and I'm way past my teenage years. We love our image until we don't. Until someone says something cruel. My way of dealing with things I don't want to hear is to tune them out. After all, there's a lot of channels out there.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"There is no planning. On the night it is really great, it’s euphoria and if it is not so great there is always tomorrow night." Ed McMahon

Cocktail Hour
Reader survey: Favorite summer drink?

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Tuesday! Thanks for all the kind comments on the Father's Day post. As for Dave's comment, I have no interest in supporting the Communist Manifesto. I wouldn't last a day under such a regime. But I strongly feel that everyone should have their say, even the crazy white supremacists with their nutso websites on the evils of "race-mixing," and even Martha Stewart.

Lightening Up

One thing I rarely mention on this blog is children. I don't have one and have broken myself of the most irritating habit of all non-parents, making judgements about how they would handle a situation like a child having a tantrum in a store. If that were me, I'd keep my cool. Or I'd never let my child act that way. Really? Good luck. While we'd all like to believe our behavior would never waiver from a combination of brilliant Montessori kindergarten teacher coupled with energy gained only from benign substances like Red Bull and cocaine or a calm achieved with Ease Tea and Valium, most of us have no idea how in the hell we'd act.

Recently, I read a book on loving and loathing your inner housewife, a book about keeping house and child-rearing and having a nanny. I enjoyed it a lot for its honesty. But what shocked me was upon checking out the reviews after, the venom with which women attacked the author. Clearly the woman writing was married to a rich dude, attractive by all accounts if we are to believe the author photograph (trust me, these can be deceiving -- some writers appear to be embalmed in a strange fashion; I plan to go this route), and blessed with tons of help (nanny, maid, therapist, organizing consultant). Do I have anything in common with her? Probably not. But I liked that she told her reality in a way that made me laugh. I love healthy debate. But we all need to be a lot easier on each other, no matter what the situation. Do we really have any idea what anybody else goes through? There are many people I feel are true jackasses just because they offend my tastes (in the interest of time, I will refrain from mentioning them), but I wouldn't deny them their say or even give a rat's ass if they choose to shout it from the roofs or on the latest reality show. Flanagan says she prefers her husband and children to any publication success she's ever had and that women who work miss something by not staying home with their kids. Groovy. It's a point of view, not the Communist Manifesto. Which, come to think of it, is just another point of view.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"A friend will tell you she saw your old boyfriend - and he's a priest." Erma Bombeck

Cocktail Hour
Hey guys, working on some summer potions! Will share soon!

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Monday!

The Longest Day Of The Year

I miss my dad. Not in the intense way I imagined I would, being a daddy's girl, the kind that followed him around and hung on his every word. Mostly, I think it's because I don't believe he's dead. I know it, of course -- there's an urn of his ashes containing what was left of his body (not much according to the mortician -- teeth and a small bit of what is referred to as human remains) and it's been almost five years since his plane crash. That knowledge has settled like a body at the bottom of a lake, and I avoid the lake altogether. But bodies rise given the right temperature.

Father's Day has always been fraught for me or comic, given my propensity for dating older men. Have a fabulous Father's Day, one well-meaning waitress said to a then-boyfriend. Your daughter is beautiful! Or take another restaurant that was offering free chocolate cake to all dads and offered some to another beloved. When he declined, she asked if I wanted some of my dad's cake. I declined as well, having sampled "daddy's" cake for a while by that point. Moments like these spare me the deep sadness even an artificial holiday can evoke. Recently, my dad's last dog died. It suddenly hit me that he will never have another. She'd been sick for a few months and in her last days, she'd been hand-fed and lethargic. An avid bunny killer, she'd given up the chase and her old victims came within feet of her as if to say goodbye to their nemesis. She died in the yard, and my sister and I rolled her body into an old blanket and put her in the trunk of the car for that final trip to the vet, the term dead weight coming to mind. She weighed as much as I do. If Dad were alive, he would have taken care of her for the final time and as tender-hearted as he was, would have cried over her instead of sweating and cursing like I did. I once had a friend who delighted in upsetting people by giving them some theological explanation of how pets would not exist in Heaven. What Bible verse she used, I forget. I can't imagine what the next life will be, pets or no. Once someone sent me a postcard with a single question, asking what Heaven might be like. He was very ill at the time which lent a poignancy to the question otherwise best reserved for freshman year late-night dorm discussions. One of the last places I went with my dad was Graceland. We saw everything, even the planes. I refuse to ever return, despite the invitation of more than one person. It's reserved in my heart for my dad even if he would want me to go back. When I turned on my Ipod party shuffle today, Paul Simon's "Graceland" was the first song I heard. Of course, you could chalk this up to coincidence, but why would you want to? Unlike my friend who didn't believe pets could go to Heaven, I'm willing to entertain any notion and hope that my dad and his faithful companion are reunited and all the sadness of this earthly life seems as if a dream.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"No greater grief than to remember days of gladness when sorrow is at hand." Friedrich von Schiller

Cocktail Hour
Drinking memoir suggestion: To Hell With All That: Loving and Loathing Your Inner Housewife Caitlin Flanagan

Bendictions and Maledctions
Happy Father's Day!

Wedding Wishes!

Today I offer all my happiest wishes to Steph and Jim, pictured above, who are getting married today. Steph is a dear friend and a hell of a fighter (you guys might remember the earlier post about her toughness in face of a recent illness). As you faithful readers know, I'm not big on marriage in general, but when you find love like these two have, what else can you do? Best wishes from me and Baby Grouchie!

Whatever Works

At the gym, I watch a lot of television. I hate nature and even if I didn't, I refuse to run outside, enduring the hooting and hollering of people who have nothing better to do than yell, Hey baby, wanna go out? Or in worse cases, darker things are suggested. Does this approach ever work? At any rate, I don't want to further ruin my skin which has already been slathered with Crisco as a girl trying to get the perfect tan. I could care less about a tan now, embracing my inner goth girl to the max even before I knew the term.

This leaves a lot of garbage in my mind -- will John and Kate divorce? God let's hope so, given that she's a screaming harridan and he's a doormat. Or so the editing would give us to believe. Who in the hell would think it was a good idea to have eight kids? Why in the hell do millionaires need to go to Patti Stanger, the millionaire matchmaker, to get a date? If you have a million dollars, can't you pay for a date? I suppose that's what you're doing, but you don't want to look like it. Will the New Jersey Housewives ever have enough marble in their houses? Okay, maybe I'm going to have to start loving nature. We watch these larger than life "realities" to comfort ourselves. Our fights are usually not as dramatic, our problems not as dire, our resources nowhere as unlimited. Excess and crash and burn. It's a good thing I can't run for very long even inside.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"If you're not doing what you love, you're wasting your time." Billy Joel

Cocktail Hour
Drinking movie suggestion: Whatever Works

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Thursday!

A Brief History Of Voodoo

I hated summer as a kid -- no school, lots of sunshine. I did love to swim, but that hardly made up for the fact that I wouldn't be suffering under some delightful battle ax of a teacher (back in the days before teachers of young children started letting students call them by their first names and making them feel good about themselves) and collecting gold stars for every assignment done well. To make up for this loss, I would make up my own version of summer school. My first assignment that I have record of is from the first grade summer, a two-page report I titled, A Brief History of Voodoo. Even then, I knew it wouldn't be comprehensive as I only had access to a really dated version of encyclopedias and my great grandmother's stories from the island, New Caledonia, a place where people routinely feared the evil eye.

My brief history touches on sympathetic magic (or what is more commonly known as voodoo dolls), ideas of energy, the dark uses for power. I didn't make judgments one way or the other -- as a child, all religions seemed interesting to me. My great grandmother told of a woman who could curse you, another who could remove the curse. I put that in the paper as well. I wasn't writing for anyone in those days, just some imaginary mean teacher in the sky whom I adored. I suppose some things don't change that much.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Even a blind squirrel finds a nut every once in a while." Nurse Jackie

Cocktail Hour
Working on new videos!

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Tuesday!

Advice

Obviously, I've been in mourning over the Red Wings, but I'm going to try and be a big girl about the whole debacle and know that the Stanley will return to us next year. Check out all the cool new things at Motor City Burning Press -- I'm working on stationary and responding to submissions this week.

In other odds and ends, Charles of Razored Zen has had some great posts on writing advice. I used to be a writing book junkie but have laid off them in recent days, probably because I have read damn near every single one. So I give you this question on a lovely Sunday afternoon -- What is the best or worse piece of writing advice you have received? For me, the best is simple -- spend as much time in your writing space as possible. I mean this in literally as I find that it's much easier to slip into work if you're already there both physically and emotionally. Read as much as possible. And find someone you trust to read your work and give you feedback. The worst advice for me usually involves going to cafes to work (not suited for my particular work habits) or something kind of artificial, like making character sketches (can't do it as I don't think of people like that) or keeping a journal (not my thing either). I do write almost every single day as a way of keeping the momentum going (although this doesn't work for some people) and try to stay out of my own way with my every-changing feelings (this sucks, I'm a genius, this sucks, rinse, lather, repeat). What works or doesn't work for you guys?

And most importantly, a big happy birthday wish to the lovely Robin of R's Musings! Check out her beautiful pictures and poems. Much love to you, Miss R!

Phantom Pains

I once wrote a poem about a game where you put a rattlesnake in a box and tried to take a cookie off its head. I don't know why people played this game in my hometown, but they did. It didn't, as people often say of something gone awry, even seem like a good idea at the time. Boredom, I guess. Or desire for drama. Like the time in a storefront church I attended briefly when someone claimed a demonic squirrel had been looking, no spying, on them every Friday for a month. At the same time. Let's just say that the first time I read Flannery O'Connor, I did not think it was a strange world she had created. For me, she told it like it was.

I suppose my world is just as strange as all that now except it's reflected on television. We've even left the weirdness of Michael Jackson behind (at least he had talent as a child even if it meant giving up his childhood in service of being forced to do complicated dance routines and sing love songs to rats) and have a slew of depressing dating shows where contestants vie for the love of a good woman, man, cougar (whoever invented this term needs to be shot), etc. I never watched "The Cougar" but did see an ad where the host, a hopped up Vivica Fox tried to make it work, announcing the arrival of the lovely lady to her group of young lads barely weaned off the teet, much less X-Box. "The girl's got legs," Vivica says. So does everyone I know except those men who got them blown off during the war or amputated because of gangrene. One such man was one of my dad's friends. He'd take off his prosthetics at the end of the day, content that there was nowhere he needed to go and pour himself a glass of Jack and Coke. He'd use one of his fake legs as a cup holder and watch "All in the Family." No taking cookies off the heads of snakes for him! Those snakes could keep their cookies and he'd drink until he fell asleep, a medication for all the pain from something that wasn't there anymore.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"The hardest part of faith is the last hour." David Wilkerson

Cocktail Hour
Drinking scotch suggestion: Laphroaig

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Thursday!

Here's Hope

Been crazy busy the last couple of days so I'm going to work on something big for tomorrow. Hope you guys are having an excellent week and gearing up for the big Red Wings win!

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Here's hope." Side of building in downtown Detroit

Cocktail Hour
Working on some new videos!

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Wednesday!

Baker's Keyboard Lounge

Hi readers! It's Food Friday with Michelle (back after a couple of weeks -- I hope Mark and I inspired a lot of business at the Coney). It is the central meeting place for all important communications in Detroit. Pictured above, I'm at Baker's Keyboard Lounge, celebrating its 75th year. The food here is amazing -- I'm very partial to the fried chicken platter with collard greens and mashed potatoes. Beth enjoys the turkey and dressing platter, reminiscent of all good Thanksgiving meals. The drinks are knock-outs so watch yourself -- one night, I drank ONE vodka martini and ended up channeling the recently dead Jerry Falwell in a disturbing version of drunk dialing that I still can't remember. Although I doubt I expressed any of Jerry's sentiments, apparently my tone was quite passionate. Since then, I've stuck with milder concoctions. The music here is also terrific -- Detroit has a music scene that can compete with anywhere. Hope you're having a very happy Friday!

Tell All

Thanks for all the support of the new publishing venture, Motor City Burning Press! We'll have our Devil's Night contest up and running very soon. If you don't know what Devil's Night is, it's the only truly Detroit holiday, one I'm looking forward to as we enter summer, my least favorite season. Hope everyone is having a good week -- I'm working on a series of posts about the friendship/exes/etc. issue. But here's the question for today -- what's the most important quality in a friend? In a romantic interest? Same or different? Tell all, my dears!

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Most people call me Mercy. I like it." Mercedes McCambridge

Cocktail Hour
Drinking television suggestion: Saw Nurse Jackie on demand and LOVED it! Will write about it soon as to not spoil it for those who are waiting for the premiere.

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Monday! Check out the logo contest at Motor City Burning Press!

This Is Hockeytown!

Hi readers! Yes, that's a Hockeytown smile -- Go Wings! See you tomorrow. As for the how to say Moet, hell, here's to drinking it since we're winning!

The Girlfriend Experience

Thanks for all the great responses about the friend/ex issue. It's the kind of topic that generally brings out very strong responses. I think all the points raised here are very valid and plan on exploring the issues of jealousy, friendship, sexuality (thanks to beautiful Jodi for bringing this piece of baggage into the conversation and yes, I agree, it does make things more difficult), and repeat patterns (thanks to the lovely Miss R for this astute observation) for the next week or so.

I have a friend who admires people who can walk away from any relationship without guilt when he or she is through with it. He tells a story about Beethoven turning his back on someone without anger and saying, I got what I need to get. I have no idea if this is true or not, but my friend likes it, likes the idea of not having to go through the social niceties. I'm more like Larry David's self-titled character on his show when he explains that once you start a friendship, you can't end it no matter how miserable it is until the other person dies. In the course of my life, I have ended three friendships. Three. Out of many. I know that hokey poem about how some people are friends for a season, a reason, or a life. And the girl scout song about some friends being silver and gold, although it is unclear to me who is silver and who is gold and which is more valuable and if that gold will tarnish and turn green and ugly over time or the silver will flake and so on. Or if you'll get a rash from it. If you have a friend who gives you a rash, maybe it's time to end things.

Like writing, relationships are both difficult and incredibly easy. You start where you are and go from there. The more you reveal, the better it is. And yes, they can both be very lonely. Nobody understands us completely. Not even ourselves. God knows I've spent enough time with myself to be able to write a book. And did. What fun. But what is fun is spending time with friends whether they be gold, silver, or cubic zirconium. In my acknowledgments, I thank the people who believed in me when I struggled not to lose faith in myself. You know who you are. Usually when people say this, it's a bad thing. But not this time.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Things alter for the worse spontaneously, if they be not altered for the better designedly." Francis Bacon

Cocktail Hour
Drinking movie suggestion: The Girlfriend Experience

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Friday!

Friends With An Ex

I've often asked the age-old question in this forum and in many late night drinking games, the one about whether men and women can truly be friends. Sometimes this morphs into even trickier territory -- can you be friends with an ex? And then, should you be friends with an ex? A friend of mine told his beloved if she so much as had dinner with an ex-boyfriend that he would have her head on a platter. If this were the case in my life, I'd be a virtual John the Baptist centerpiece. I'm friends with all my exes. Usually, they were good friends, regardless of how the romance worked out. This usually doesn't go over so well with your current love. They're a little jealous. Like Medea.

So any opinions? Anecdotes about how well or poorly these friendships turn out? How would you feel about your current love being friends with an ex? I'd love to hear what you guys have to say and write about it all tomorrow.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"If you cannot be a poet, be the poem." David Carradine

Cocktail Hour
Drinking memoir suggestion: Only As Good As Your Word Susan Shapiro

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Thursday!

Keep Up Our Spirits

A friend of mine is undergoing surgery today for breast cancer. I called, thinking that the surgery was over, but it hadn't even begun which seems to be the typical protocol of all hospitals. Hurry up and get here at the crack of dawn so you can wait and wait and wait while your scheduled time comes and goes. But she had a great attitude and said she could sum it up like this, "I just want them to get this shit out of my tit." I had to laugh. We all hope that we could keep up our spirits, make jokes, and remain patient. But I fear I'd be in a panic and saying things like, "One valium couldn't hurt." Or that the nurses and doctors would be saying that after dealing with me for a little while.

I love how brave people can be in the face of danger. Prolonged misery seems to be my speciality, usually the self-inflicted kind. Cleaning out my office the other day, I found a photocopy that a friend had given me about positive thinking. It said something to the effect that we create every situation in our lives with our minds. To which I think bullshit. But I do know that we have some choice in our reactions. When I start decorating for my pity parties, I'm going to remember what my friend said. Good riddance to the bad, even if it hurts something fierce to get it out.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"The axe soon forgets, but the tree always remembers." Shona Saying

Cocktail Hour
Drinking upcoming show suggestion: Nurse Jackie

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Wednesday!

Ask A Detroiter

Thanks so much for all the interest in Motor City Burning Press! I'm in the process of responding to e-mails (and a big yes to Jim of JR Thumbprints for all offers of help) and starting to sort through submissions. If you have questions about Detroit, we will also be offering a column, Ask A Detroiter, much like a low-rent Dear Abby to attend to any and all curiosity about the Motor City.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"After Detroit, what more material do you need?" Jeffrey Eugenides

Cocktail Hour
Drinking suggestions: Working hard on a series of videos to appear soon!

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Monday!