My name is Sally. I'm a suicide survivor-two times. I lost both my daughter Linda and my niece Stephanie to suicide. Linda killed herself by jumping from the seventh-floor balcony of her apartment. She was 45. Stephanie ingested a lethal combination of alcohol and prescription drugs. She was 32. Read story.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
I'm good at lying. Not perfect, but I've had a lot of practice so I'm awfully good. I'm most sincere when I lie and if anyone suspects, I always ask, "Would I lie to you?" Read story.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
I remember watching the first-ever episode of The Simpsons. Titled "Simpsons Roasting on an Open Fire," this Christmas-themed pilot aired December 17, 1989-at a time when I doubt my seven-year-old brain understood most of the jokes or could have expected how this bug-eyed, surreally yellow family would figure so largely into my life. I know, I know-it's The Simpsons, for god's sake, but here I am making a case for the value of this TV show. Read story.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
It used to be that I would simply lean back at bedtime and fall sweetly into sleep, watching bright cinematic dreams unfurl until daylight touched my face. Not anymore. "A good night's sleep" has become an elusive sort of fantasy. Read story.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
On a hot, lazy afternoon, teenagers sit smoking cigarettes in a fancy cafe, nibbling cakes and chatting about fashion. A few blocks away, children throw jacks and ride bicycles along a filthy cobblestone alley infested with cockroaches and raw sewage. This is daily life in San Salvador, the capital of El Salvador, and home to these disparate worlds of luxury and desperation. With a recent civil war and increasing gang violence, the country seems to have little hope for a sustained peace. Read story.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Indy intern - and Santa Barbara High junior - Amy Chong goes to the senior prom and lives to tell about it. Read story.
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
At 5 a.m. the next morning I was standing in my kitchen, a towel on my head, wondering vaguely how a teenage girl had materialized in my house before sunrise, and trying to remember whether teenagers drank coffee, or whether I should offer her tea instead. By the time Angie and I got behind the wheel of my car, the caffeine had begun to kick in, and we headed over to the Unitarian Society of Santa Barbara to meet up with the rest of the team: the five other 8th-grade members of the Coming of Age program, and my co-leader, Kir. Read story.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
There are those who believe an automobile should be groomed and cleaned and those who view dirty as its normal state of being. A tiny but unceasing tension exists when these two opposing types are married. My husband is of the washing persuasion. Crumbs on a seat depress him, objects not battened down are both hazards and annoyances, and a windshield should be utterly unblemished. Read story.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
It's moments before the first starting gun, and waves are rushing over the bow of our J-105, Rock'n & Groov'n. There are six of us onboard for the race, and we all have our duties in order to get the yacht to the start line on time; everyone must work hard to get the boat in proper trim. Even though I have done this many times before, thoughts still rush through my mind-"Do we know where we are going? How much more time do we have?" Read story.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
This is the story of several dozen strangers, who stood in line outside Q's on a Tuesday morning, all of them desperate to live in a house and have their lives taped-except for one reporter, who was freaked out by the experience. Read story.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
The dull thud Spot made as he failed to make it through the open window and bounced off the wall was a sound I had not heard before. Yet its source and significance struck me in a sickening instant as I awoke and sprang for the lamp. I had not seen the younger of my two cats for 36 hours. A look outside confirmed my relief that he was home and alive, as well as my fear that something was stupendously wrong. Read story.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
E-Bay was old news by the time I discovered it, but I was riveted; it was the great bazaar of the modern world, an endless procession of goods to browse and bid on. Cake carriers, comic books, costume jewelry, block print tablecloths, Italian espresso pots, Persian carpets-there was no product, it seemed, that couldn't be bought or sold on eBay. Read story.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
As early as age seven, I was told I had emotional problems. I didn't talk much and kids made fun of me. Something was wrong, but I had no idea what that something was. I didn't have close friends, I was self-conscious, and academically I was a failure. Read story.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Afew weeks back, haggard with a particularly brutal wave of Oktoberfest aftershocks, I awoke to the sound of Kenny Rogers. Everybody's favorite gambler was crooning out of my record player, his smoky voice a perfect complement to yet another brilliantly sun-soaked, hungover Santa Barbara morning. Read story.
Originally published 1:23 p.m., November 27, 2006
Updated 1:21 p.m., May 8, 2007
Recovering the Memory of Rape "If you want to find out why you have failed relationships, don't look to your father, look to your first love." I'm reading a book by Marion Woodman, twirling my hair around my finger, and reminiscing out loud. Read story.