spending several months cooped up inside, immobilized, recovering from a
back injury sustained during a car accident, Abby Artemisia had a
realization: “I realized how vital nature is to my life, how much I
missed it and how precious every moment is. … I realized I’d never be
happy working inside and had to do something that fulfilled me.”
My Facebook status on Jan. 8: "I drove home calmly and safely, keeping the RPMs low as I navigated the steep hills. I stepped into enormous silence, so brilliantly alone, with the snow moving, but seeming so still all around me. I opened my mouth to taste and to let out a deep laugh. A perfect moment: I am grateful for this solitude."
Opening on the Northern Kentucky University campus a few days after America’s 233rd birthday, I Love a Piano is a reminder of things good, right and foursquare. Irving Berlin wrote tuneful, good-hearted and, well, all-American music.
Julie: Breakups during this age of cell phones and text messages seem to be so challenging, trying to get away from "it." I'm usually one second away from getting this urge to send a text, avoiding painful conversations, just to make sure that the stupid one will at least think about me for a minute. And reconsider? Larry: Julie's young. I'm not.
Besides his numerous hit singles over the years, Kenny Rogers has given society a lot. He gave the world great roasted chicken. He made grey hair cool way before Anderson Cooper. And his more recent attempts to warn against the potential ill effects of plastic surgery have been incredibly noble.
The desire for love is a fundamental urge, but perhaps as basic is the drive to remake the object of your affection. That’s the funny and poignant premise of Joe DiPietro and Jimmy Roberts’ off-Broadway musical I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change. Cincinnati Playhouse staged it successfully in 2000; it’s back for a second run in the Shelterhouse through the holidays.
Fall is upon us, the time when you hear about even the most notorious workaholics and serial daters settling down, hooking up and/or falling in love. Perhaps it’s simply fear of the cold — what the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders describes as “cryophobia,” an aversion to snow and ice cubes that you don’t want to fight alone.