Just Call Me Marge
by Shawn MurphyYesterday as I sat supervising my 9th-hour study hall, I somehow became aware that my pants were too
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With spring comes baseball, flowers, and sniffles
by Stephanie Crowley, CHHP, CNHP Spring is finally here. But, cloaked in the beauty of colorful blooms and temperate breezes,
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Art Review: Trish Nixon’s boi blue, paintings, collage, manipulated photographs, and found objects
by Json MyersSt. Joseph, Mo. – The title piece, boi blue, is twice the size of most of the paintings
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Paradise Found
by Shannon Bond It was a conscious effort. I could either lay down and die or go above and beyond.
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Musician Spotlight: Q&A with Kristin Hamilton
Springtime is new music time at the Joe! We were excited to catch up with Kristin Hamilton to talk about
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“Shared Beginnings” at the Robidoux Resident Theatre brings past and present into focus for all ages, May 13/14
by Nancy Piercy The Robidoux Resident Theatre (RRT) provides a warm and welcoming environment for creative people of all ages.
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Letter from the Editor
Welcome to the new Regular Joe. We’re so glad you’re here. The pandemic did a number on many small publications,
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Good Bait from the Coltrane Station
I recently acquired a lot of new music, on vinyl and CD. My mother moved out of the house we’d lived
in since 1958, and gave me a lifetime’s collection. The vinyl included some iconic recordings from my
childhood. There are albums from Jonathan Winters, Frank Sinatra, and the Baja Marimba Band, not to
mention Beethoven and Bach.
Are Leggings Pants or just underwear with legs?
I myself have a tendency to think that if leggings were really pants they would call them pants, but there are so many people that wear them now, as pants, I have become confused (more so than usual). Has it become socially acceptable to wear, out in public, leg coverings that are really a just thick cousin of panty hose and call them pants? Perhaps…
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The Chiropractors of Ancient Greece
For years, I’ve asserted that a poem is not complete until it’s read aloud. I blame it on Aristotle. A poem can sit, in a book, on the shelf, unopened, gathering dust, and eventually die in the used-book bin. Or, it can leap boldly into action, sing and dance, and live forever. ..
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