Michele Catalano

Former music contributor at Forbes, freelance writer published in The Magazine, Maura Magazine and at Boing Boing http://www.michelecat.wordpress.com

The Lost Art of the Mixtape

There’s no passion involved in moving digital songs from one folder to another

Happiness I Can Not Feel: How Black Sabbath’s “Paranoid” changed the way I listen to music

I was eleven years old when I first heard “Paranoid.”

I don’t think anyone intended for me to hear it. A well-meaning cousin bought me a compilation album called Superstars of the 70s (how you put out an album with this title in 1973 is a lesson in a label’s self assured…

Be Excellent to Each Other. Except in Sports

It was some time in the early 80s when I took a trip to Boston Garden for a hockey game. That was the time I learned to never wear your team’s jersey into an opposing team’s arena. It seems in retrospect like a lesson I should not have learned first hand, like it’s something I should have known going in. But I was young and naive and thought…

Last Seat

I finished a good book this week. I loved everything about it — the plot, the characters, the flow of the prose. I was a bit sad when it ended and I had to say goodbye to all the characters and places within but I took solace in the fact that if I wanted, I could pick it up and read it again any time I wanted to. The book sits on my nightstand and I know sometimes I will open it up and…

Publications edited by Michele Catalano

thoughts as essay

one photo. one hundred words. one story.

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shipping out

notes from the subway

The Lost Art of the Mixtape

There’s no passion involved in moving digital songs from one folder to another

death and gatherings

[I wrote this three years ago after my aunt died. I’m going to another wake today, for another aunt and was going to write something about it but realized I already did, for the most part]

Someone dies. Someone close, someone loved. Someone who was ready to go.

How do you react? Tears? Sorrow? Immediate mourning? Relief?

stay gold

I don’t know how or why the rivalry started. I was born into it. By the time I was eleven or so, I knew that the kids from the next town were bad, bad children and I should never associate with them. I heard this not from my parents, who remained completely unaware of the rivalry, but from the older siblings of my peers, who regaled us with stories of a rivalry so intense that I often…

Not Now: writing on not being able to write

It’s 4am and I wake to gather the words.

The words are alive with the sound of unreasonableness. They are active little creatures and while I want them to be alive and active, I also need them to be cooperative. They are, however, tiny little children, hellions determined to do everything in their power to make my morning…

longer than

I stare out the window, watch the sunset behind the building across the street. I look at the clock. It’s 4:25. I still have an hour and a half of work left and evening is already…

High Anxiety

Breathe in, breathe out. That’s my mantra for today, as it is for so many other days. Breathe in, breathe out. It will be ok.

I’m going to a show tonight. Or maybe I’m not going to a show tonight. It all depends on whether or not I can talk myself down from the ledge I am perched on.

I suffer from Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Within that…

i thought i knew it all

Many years ago I wrote an essay containing advice on parenting. My kids were in grade school at the time and I was still navigating the increasingly convoluted maze of motherhood, yet I somehow thought I had it all figured out. I wrote about band-aids and seat belts, about healing hearts as well as cuts. I wrote about a lot of things, and I wrote as if all the advice…