Michele Catalano

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

i love you. i know.

I know this couple. They have been married long enough to have accumulated children and a complete set of china. They met in college, brought together by the politics and…

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…

Publications edited by Michele Catalano

thoughts as essay

one photo. one hundred words. one story.

Latest Story

shipping out

notes from the subway

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…

all apologies

I’m sorry.

That’s all I wanted to say. I’m sorry. But sorry is so much more than a word, isn’t it? There’s a history involved, a conflict, a potential resolution. It’s a word with its own baggage, a heavy word that needs to be carried and handed off carefully. So when I say I’m sorry, I’m saying a thousand words.

of statues and infidelity and 99 cents: a valentine story

I ventured to the 99 cent store yesterday. I’m sure you have one of those stores in your area — I’ve never driven through a town that didn’t have at least one. Some of the stores might mark up for inflation (Everything One Dollar!), but it’s the same idea.

George Thorogood and the 36 Year Grudge

I’m not the kind of person to hold grudges. In fact, I’ve only had two in my life and they are both long-held and still in effect. The first one is against Q*bert (It’s ugly. You don’t want to know. It involves a lot of cursing). The other is against George Thorogood. That one, I’ll tell you about.


Her name was Maureen and she was, for a time, the only kid in the school more hated than I was. I say this as a simple fact of life, that I was hated. It’s not meant to evoke sympathy or sad looks. It’s meant as a point of refrence.

There was nothing about Maureen that would set her apart from the others, make her seem any different. She didn’t dress weird, she wasn’t…


I was in Bed Bath & Beyond — a mistake on a Saturday afternoon — looking for a frame when I came upon a whole section of framed inspirational quotes. I’ll state right off that I hate inspirational quotes. They almost always make me cringe. But I read every one of these framed instances of pithiness, and I felt an irrational anger building up as I did. I imagined a house filled with…