.P&P.: “Suburbs of Stepford” August 13, 2009

.authored by Something.of.Substance.

I forget fuchsia.  Something that screams “I’m trying too hard!”  Tacky plastic heel pink.  Barbie’s dream house condensed into one gendered message and reguritated over my fingernails.

A generic Friday night.  This color.

It’s a step above an impulse purchase like gum; seediness slightly better than truck-stop restroom condoms. A clear indication of intention.  The discarded matchstick on the sidewalk seconds after it’s served its purpose.  Spent.

Lit.  This color.

So like red, yet lacking in boldness.  A subversive statement. An advertisement of itself: $10 per ride as long as you bounce it on your knee and let it call you “daddy”!  Right next to righteous indignation, lust or the day before regret.

A siren song.  This color.

.in memorium.- taking up the reins February 15, 2009

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.contributed by Lo.

I work for a small company.  The principal managers have been working with an outside broker, Mary, for 30 years.  I met Mary a year ago, but immediately realized she was the type of person that always puts others before herself, which most people, including me, struggle to do.  A really good person.  I sent her the pictures taken at our company Christmas party in December, and she emailed back to say I looked radiant and asked what I used on my skin…we emailed back and forth about skin care and the importance of girl talk.  Two weeks later, I received an email that Mary had died of cancer.  I was really shocked, because she hadn’t told anyone she was ill.  I wasn’t even a close friend, but she touched so many lives in meaningful ways, I was deeply saddened by the news.