Perforation Problems

When I was a baby, my mom used to hand me slices of Kraft American cheese to snack on in my high chair. Maybe that was the start of my love affair with cheese, a foundational piece (along with chicken nuggets) of my diet well through my twenties. Okay, let's not lie. Cheese is still a foundational piece of my diet, despite my newly-found acceptance of vegetables. I love cheese. Cheese fries, cheese dogs, Cheez-its, quesadillas, queso, nachos, cheese pizza, cheddar goldfish crackers, grilled cheese, mac n' cheese. Now that I'm slightly fancier, maybe I've upgraded a bit to cheese plates, camembert & apple sandwiches, four cheese ravioli, sausage and ricotta flatbread, etc, etc, but really if it's got cheese on it, I'll probably like it. There's no denying that cheese makes just about anything better. That doesn't mean all cheeses are equal—there can be bad cheese. Once my brother and I stopped at a gas station on the way to the lake because we ree...

I woke up motivated to be better. I do this every once in awhile—it usually results in me doing some push ups and deciding I'll just refrain from eating. The push ups peter out eventually and the starvation lasts about 4 hours, but the motivation is there, even if it's brief. Last night as I was trying to fall asleep, having spent the evening counting polybags and card sleeves and chipboard for Olive & Clyde's taxes, I decided I'd write a blog post today. I can't meet with Sarah because I have to be in Cincy for Losant's STEM girls workshop this weekend, but I'm determined to manage my own writing. The sensation the last couple months of needing to move forward keeps growing—I'm restless. One of the things I need to focus on is idea generation. I wrote a short story this week—just something silly, but I had an idea, I fleshed it out into a plot outline, and then I just wrote it. I need more practice at that so it becomes easier. None of this comi...

Calvin Fletcher's Coffee Company has a sort of run down, church basement, hipster DIY appeal—black sharpie letters on cardboard signs tell you where to put your dirty dishes, local art covers the walls (this week it's overly green landscapes—trees and lily pads and fields done in a bright, art-school-student style), bookshelves with gold stenciled triangles break the room into sitting nooks, advertisements for yoga and poetry readings and the League of Latte competition cover the sides of the counter, a magic marker sign details the drink of the moment (some white chocolate raspberry concoction with cinnamon-infused milk that sounds heavenly). The baristas, no matter who's working, immediately convey kindness and friendliness, and look exactly like you'd expect baristas in Indy's Fountain Square area to look: skinny jeans, flannel, cardigans, green hair, clothes either really too tight or really too loose for convention. It's easy to romanticize them as the kind...