#SmallTales: Cake

With the weight of the world–or a garish wig–upon her shoulders, she followed the discussion.

“The famine’s becoming rather terrible… Too bad they won’t work for bread…”

Her schooling focused on etiquette, never touching government stances on food provision, but she listened persistently.

“If we don’t do something, soon they’ll stop asking for food… And start taking heads…”

Contemplative, her eyes settled on the tray overflowing with desserts. Surely, there’s enough to share.

Demurely, she cleared her throat, quieting the room: “If they lack bread, let them eat cake.”

The conversation resumed.

“… And that’s why women shouldn’t be in politics…”


Ben Rector at Messiah College

First a disclaimer: theatre is my forte, not concerts. However, I went to a concert and it was splendid, so my thoughts shall be documented nonetheless.

Before tonight, I knew Ben Rector as a common voice on my favorite Pandora station (based off of Jose Gonzalez, in case you are curious), and not much more. After tonight, he shall be a much more prominent feature in my musical listening (more than worthy of his own Pandora station).

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Welcome to Night Vale Live Show

Last night, I made the irresponsible decision to venture 2 hours away to the Welcome to Night Vale live show in Philadelphia (or more accurately, small suburb outside of Philadelphia).

Even though it severely cut into my sleep, and even though I still had to be at school this morning at 7:30 am, and even though the car ride was cramped and uncomfortable, I would repeat every moment without question.

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#SmallTales: Bud

“Get that finance report to me by the end of the day, bud.”

At the office working my adult five-to-nine job, wearing uncomfortable adult clothes, and, suddenly, I was seven again.

I was seven again. In my room, wearing my favorite Spider-Man pajamas, pulling the rocket-ship blankets up to my face, and the lightening was crashing outside, and I swear, I swear, the shadows on the walls cackled as the trees shook in the wind, and just as a scream started to form in my throat—the hallway light and the door and a reassuring question: “You okay, bud?”

Books: Shakespeare on Toast by Ben Crystal

This little gem has been on my To-Read list for far too long, but the good news is that today I get to check it off, and it was well worth the wait.

I’ve studied Shakespeare as Literature, and I’ve watched loads of performances (I was even in one myself), but I must honestly admit that studying Shakespeare as a performance text has not been my strong point. For all the experience I have with the Bard, and all the love I bear towards him, I still find him quite daunting and difficult.

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#SmallTales: Squint

Her: I forgot my freaking sunglasses. I won’t even be able to enjoy the match without squinting the entire time. I told Cal I didn’t need to go out. Oh great, small talk. Just breathe, smile, and survive the date.  Oh, it’s a great game! Such fun!

Him: I can’t believe I let Cal talk me into this. I don’t even like soccer. She is gorgeous and intelligent and out of my league. Alright, try some conversation: Having a good time? Eye contact—good. Smile—good. Her eyes! They squinted! Genuine smile! Maybe not so impossible after all.  

Women Playing Hamlet

This weekend’s dosage of theatre came in the form of a satirical romp at the Bard’s expense.

Gamut Theatre in Harrisburg was one of three theatres across the country working with the National New Play Network to promote William Missouri Downs’ new play, Women Playing Hamlet in what they call “a rolling world premiere“.

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#SmallTales: Caldera

Hiking was a bad idea, his calves screamed. When he said he liked adventures, he meant cyberspace ones, or at least ones that didn’t require rising before the sun.

She wasn’t even panting.

He would have relished the view of her petite frame climbing ahead of him, but survival preoccupied his mind.

At the top, the view stopped his breath: the newly risen sun bathed the valley orange, highlighting her blue eyes.

“Worth it?”

“Absolutely. It’s a volcano, right?”

“Not quite—caldera’s the technical term.”

Of course, she’s a know it all too, and the sun slipped behind the clouds.

#SmallTales: Based on True Events (Breakfast)

An unfamiliar crunch–sharper than the toast–stopped my chew. A gentle prodding with my tongue found the culprit.

On the tip of my finger, between the bread bits and pulverized berries, stood a bit of curved red, speckled with black: a lady bug wing, in the jam, on my toast.

How sad that this strawberry, meant to be his home, caused his death and became his tomb.

I brushed off my fingers and finished my toast, making a mental note to avoid that brand of jam in the future. The breakfast table shouldn’t be interrupted with such morbid musings.