The Prophecy of Network
Satire has its own agenda, so I didn’t pick a moment. It picked me.
In fifth grade, Laura wrote an essay about Thanksgiving that her teacher thought was good. She also played Santa Claus in a school play and tried to make croissants from scratch. Not much has changed since she was ten. She still writes, and still shamelessly laps up approval. She loves theatre, especially plays about Christmas. She attempts projects that are way too ambitious for her skill sets, with imperfect, yet sometimes edible, results. Laura’s worked as a writer, performer, teacher and caterer, and lives in Michigan with her three kids and forgiving husband. You can keep up with Laura at her blog.
Satire has its own agenda, so I didn’t pick a moment. It picked me.
“Did you see that over there?” he said.
I don’t even think I looked. My mind was elsewhere. My mind is often elsewhere, undoing what’s been done, imagining what might happen. In my thoughts, it’s a quick trip between contact dermatitis and Armageddon.
Even as I admire Rivera’s fresco cycle, I wonder if we will ever get back to the garden.
The Williamston Theatre founders are big-pond tested Midwesterners who love the small-town way of life, and believe that art can be a thread in the greater fabric of a community.
I have been tempted by so-called fresh mozzarella before, in the specialty cheese case. This was nothing like that.
The Rosa Parks bus at the Henry Ford museum provocatively reminds us about freedom, and justice – for all.