An archive of all of the personal essays we’ve published at Hippocampus Magazine over the years.
He was a record rep for the area promoting new releases to local music shops, handing out review copies to the press, and coordinating with venues before, during, and after shows. We became friends when I was a review junkie…
The Dark Side of the Moon. Brilliant. Psychedelic. Mad genius. My brother and I would sit on the floor, fixated on the iconic graphic on the cover: A prism with a spectrum of colors emerging.
“You have got to be kidding me.” We’re standing in Mom’s bathroom, my brother David and I, tugging on opposite ends of a toothbrush. Until two days ago, we called this Dad’s bathroom, even years after he died.
Heat and flies. Flies landing on my head, my arm, my plate, my food. Flies I have to constantly flick away while I eat.
..Devin was the only person I knew with an actual job. Granted, he stocked children’s rollerblades and cans of tennis balls in the sports department of some Walmart … Still, it was enough for him to be a swaggering minimum-wage retail sugar daddy …
My son runs into the living room. He wears the tuxedo he received last Christmas, the cuffs now high above his wrists. It’s New Year’s Eve, and I keep an eye on the clock.
My friend Dan texted me to ask if I remembered Sid. I replied, “Of course I remembered Sid. Why?”
My father gave me my first real job. I was happy to accept the grace of nepotism.
I worked at the Dakota Watch Company because Stacy was cute.
I know the deadline for applications for Ballgirl positions for the 2012 season has long since passed…
