Village Life: 85 tubas and a corny sing-a-long one secret to holiday cheer
By Jan Worth-Nelson Let’s face it–you can’t not smile when singing “Jingle Bells” with 85 tubas as your back-up group. I love Tuba Christmas, in all its kitschy Baby Jesus/Virgin Mary/Hark the Heralds/Deck the Halls tradition, staged every mid-December in the atrium of the Flint Farmers’ Market. The gaudy brass of the sensually fat horns reflects all the other colors around it. The booming bass...
Village Life: Of elusive joy, lamentations and “wanton love”
By Jan Worth-Nelson Sometimes you have to fight for joy. At a recent East Village Magazine party at my house, wine flowed and four kinds of pasta from Flour and Eggs, comfort food extraordinaire, disappeared in thick hunks from trays on the big table, two extra leaves put in for the occasion. I’d put up some colored lights and we toasted to neighborliness and the power of words. It was a happy night. But as we jovially...
Village Life: Why I use medical cannabis
By Ted Nelson I thought I was losing my mind. Two sleepless nights in a row had left me exhausted, depressed, and mentally discombobulated. I was having dinner at my Los Angeles apartment with my youngest son, sharing my distress. A month earlier, I had been diagnosed with an enlarged prostate after complaining of regularly having to get up at night to pee. My doctor prescribed Flomax. Two weeks on Flomax and my nighttime runs to...
Village Life: Why I moved to Flint
By Ted Nelson My first experience of Flint was Bishop International Airport. I still wonder about the “International” part. Could it be that Flint itself is another country? Perhaps there are secret flights here in the dark of night — aliens sneaking in from all over the world to benefit from the city’s abundance of jobs, services, and amenities. Who knows? I, however, was on a mission of another kind. I was at Bishop...
Village Life: in Flint, there’s always more than one story; there’s always more to come
By Jan Worth-Nelson Some time in the middle of February – by far the longest, the damnedest, the cussedest month of the year in these parts–I got a severe attack of cabin fever. I’d been sick half the winter and between stink bugs, porn stars, scabs of snow everywhere, a terminally ill friend, threats of bottled water cutoffs, several bouts of existential dread in the middle of the night—well, let me just say that my tiny...
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