dailyprompt
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Yeah, I know, in retrospect, the red and white ’77 Cadillac Eldorado was a classic pimp-mobile. But what can I say? I was fifteen—a tasteless teen who had yet to develop any sense of sophistication. I grew up in inner-city Philadelphia in a neighborhood whose curbsides were littered primarily with Chevrolets. But my around-the-corner neighbor
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Often, inspiration can hide in plain sight. Our minds take in thousands of images per day, and our ears pick up clusters of words, whole thoughts, and fragments. Amid such a mishmash, it’s difficult to determine our true influences: that which stands at the forefront of our minds or what lurks in the depths of
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Tap or click below to watch this Roadrunner/Wile Coyote short:
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If you think the poor bastard above choking his steering wheel is having a rough day, imagine a day in the life of the cave dude below: You might come away with a whole new perspective of the term Door Dash. It took the entirety of the Pliocene Epoch and a portion of the Pleistocene
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I don’t have three pet peeves. I have one overarching vexation that I turned into a mantra for my life, and it goes like this: My Time Isn’t Yours to Waste. Those who always arrive tardy, flustered, bedraggled, and armed to the teeth with excuses, have one common trait: there’re a pain in the ass.
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Imagine riding from Braintree, Massachusetts to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania… on a horse! Then imagine embarking on such a journey in the dead of winter, during a snowstorm. Who would do such a thing, and why? The “who” was John Adams. The “why” was because that’s how vital Adams’ presence was to the Continental Congress. Adams, Jefferson,
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Many years ago, alone, I drove from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, to meet my wife, who had flown there days earlier. In Delaware, I merged from I95 onto 495 (Veteran’s Highway), a spur that subtracts several miles from the trip. It was a Saturday night at twilight. I had churned up many
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Kathryn: “Rocky, Daddy forgot to take the trash to the curb this morning, and we missed the collection. Now the garage is gonna stink all week. Bad Daddy!” Michael: “Rocky, Mom forgot to pick up the dry cleaning, and now Daddy has to pull a pair of pants from the dirty clothes. Mom has really
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Some people haunt bookstores. Others haunt coffee cafes. I am incapable of walking past a bicycle shop. It was the autumn of 2019. I strolled into Manayunk Bikes in Philadelphia, my wife, Kathyn, by my side. For years, I pedaled a Cannondale Caad 8—a race-red road bike trimmed in black and gray. Kathryn told me,
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For years, I used to recite the quip, “My dentist recommended that I stop reading The Philadelphia Inquirer because it was causing me to grind my teeth.” Once upon a decade, the media used to be a sense-making apparatus that did its best to call balls and strikes. Then the primetime cable news shows burst
Michael's Corner 