I just work here…lol. No, as a child I created my own world with my pen because we didn’t have much (but we had library cards 😉). Thanks so much for letting me share what goes on in this mind of mine lol.
Jaik-Jaik “Da Baby”
Jaik-Jaik “Da Baby” is a dog of his own reconnaissance. When he runs outside of the house, he simultaneously relieves himself on our flower box and keeps his eyes peeled for the huge German shepherd down the street. Once Jaik knows his archrival is nowhere in sight, and his bladder is almost empty, he waits for me to put his leash on so we can take our walk. Our walks vary and depend solely on whether Jaik wants to empty the rest of his bladder around the corner at the Corgi’s house OR further up the street where his girlfriend Luna the Husky lives. Finally, once he has made his decision between Corgi or Husky, he sits down and puts his paw up. This lets me know, the unaware human, that he is tired and would like to walk back home. It is clear this dog knows what he wants and is very aware of how to ascertain his daily rituals of comfort. Therefore, the fondest memory of Jaik-Jaik is one that falls in place with his character. It was the summer of 2020. I was not feeling well, and Jaik decided that he needed to walk me.
A Life for a Life...
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The flicker of the newly lit flame seemed to dance to an unknown beat that resonated through barren trees and damp grass. This unseen pulse stretched itself across lakes and around untouched mountain tops that looked down onto the neighboring villages. The sound would fall onto sleeping ears as many in town lay in their beds, unsuspecting and completely vulnerable. However, for Hans, the sound awakened him followed by a woman’s slight whisper,
- Runner-Up in Summer Camp Challenge
"Who Made the Potato Salad?!"Runner-Up in Summer Camp Challenge
Uncle Fred dressed in his fresh white linen pantsuit carries the scent of Issy Miyake and money as he walks across the backyard to talk to the young bouls' about the back-in-the days. Marvin Gaye plays along to a soul train line that spans generations of dance. The sound of kids chasing each other with water balloons and huge drinking cups filled to the brim are followed by someone asking what room the babies are sleeping in. Blood and play cousins set up teams for spades. Siblings take out the UNO cards and plot revenge for last week. Inside are the elders snapping green beans and sharing wise gossip around the kitchen table. Ribs. Chicken. Fried fish. Baked beans. Collard Greens. These are the smells and sounds of the summer. However, there is one quintessential dish that is always accompanied by a controversial question that can knock the world off its axis and turn any harmonious gathering into a James Cameron apocalyptic scene. Whoever dares to ask this question must understand the timing and inflection of the words that will part from their lips. And my cousin, dressed in Adidas from head to toe had no problem being the one to do it:
This Hotpot is the Spot
A couple years ago, my best friend (I'll call him Eric) and I linked up with our other best friend (I'll call her Sarah) in Toronto. Sarah was raving about a new hotpot restaurant that opened across the street from her apartment. I had never had hotpot and honestly did understand the fascination but after hounding us to go we decided to give it a try during our visit. The result? Eric and I were completely addicted. Why hadn't we tried this back home in Philly? What were we missing all our lives ? And that question my friends began our quest to find a local hotpot spot in the city of brotherly love.