Friday is Black Bird's 7th anniversary. I want to take this moment to say thank you for every minute of the last seven years that you have made Black Bird part of your life.
Gift shopping for a teen can often feel like you are just supporting a corporate coffee chain, a bubble tea franchise, or a questionable gaming interest rather than a lasting and meaningful loving act.
I am feeling those September giddy moments induced by extended exposure to blue skies and sunshine (which amounts to sunshine > 2 hours here in our fog-famous city).
I, like you, am exhausted by the media. The word choices skew just dramatic and doomsday enough to get your primal attention heightened and then... 'Weekend pants you don't have to take off on Monday'.Oh, what is that (click)? An escape hatch from (a dramatically exaggerated) reality through consuming.Yes, please!
As the granddaughter of the first microwave owners in a small town in Louisiana, I recently decided it was time to engage with this ChatGPT thing (despite my obvious luddite tendencies as a bookstore owner). I imagine most of you, like me, have read the film reviews in ‘Shakespearean style’ and love letters in ‘Dr. Seuss rhyme’ all written by this new author, ChatGPT, that are circulating in the fearosphere known as social media. With some asking the question, is this the beginning of the end of (human) writers?
I recently spent a late evening listening to ghost stories; the kind that make your skin crawl and the shadows morph into shapes around you. Being from New Orleans, it felt familiar and yet a new feeling came to me -- comfort.
