post calvin direct

Get new posts from Julia LaPlaca delivered straight to your inbox.

The Tell-Tale Figment of My Imagination

The eternal shades of nightly gloom, which had so recently entwined my soul like a noose, loosened their chokehold and seemed to float away, ethereal bonds dissipating like specks of dust caught in a sunbeam.

Rising to the Occasion

Then we heard an all-too-familiar sound―a jolt and an internal groan as the bus gasped for breath. We all responded in cartoon-like unison.


While at home, I went on a walk, remembering how, after a long rain, the air would smell like cupcakes or Cheerios as the fumes from General Mills wafted over the trees and rooftops.


On Sunday, I came across a body, lying by the side of the road—an expanding pool of blood seeping from the head.

Dulce Domum

But to return to reality, the sweet normality of home becomes sweetest after absence. The familiar is defined by exposure to the foreign and new.

It’s About Time

Time isn’t food, money, a place, or a feeling, or an object or a person—it just is. Despite a wealth of idioms, it’s still hard to talk about time and harder still to savor it.


I always tried to do the independent thing first—I’ll call my own tow-truck, I’ll look for my own apartment, I’ll find a job, I’ll pick a grad program.


Nowhere else in this big wide world of ours can you find a life-size Michael Jackson and Princess Diana made entirely out of marzipan.