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Paula Farrington

One of the many things I love about her is she's a Movie Credits Geek.

And not just for the Marvel® movies, where you already know there's going to be a bonus scene, so you stay 'til the very very end of the credits.

No. While everyone else is stampeding out of the theatre and the clean-up guys start sweeping pop corn up and down the rows, she watches the names momentarily flickering up in lights on the big screen—the names of sooo many people—the enormous energy that goes into making modern day moving pictures come alive.

She honors them. Letting her eyes rake over the monikers of the story makers. The writers, gaffers, riggers, cinematographers, set designers, costumers, drivers, location scouts, go-fers, bookkeepers, producers, and marketing mavens. She wonders about all those talents and collaborations and whose job is it to make sure all those zillions of names are spelled right in the opening and closing credits?! And when the graphics and music coming together on a well-themed credit roll are extra inventive with cool typography: zing! Stars in her eyes.

It's her own little behind-the-scenes La La Land.

"Here's to the ones who dream ... foolish as they may seem ... here's to the hearts that break ... here's to the mess they maaaake ...".

She can also quote movie lyrics and certain famous dialogue like nobody's business, but that's another story!

The End.

Produced by Technicolor Typewriter Paula

with the support of Magic Lantern Films
written on location in South Florida

No pets were harmed in the production of this Quirky Bio.


"Are you still here?? What are you doing?? It's over. Go home. GO."
-- Ferris Bueller


Oh dear. Our biggest fear, letting the third person do this and get all the credit and glory, but what about the rest of us? We don't matter? Like, we can't write, none of us? Well ok, some of us are not great writers like Ricky the first and some of us don't know write from right! So we, I mean third person are to write a short biography " using mundane details." This is so confusing since all of our lives are mundane! Ricky always brags about his Danish heritage and how his ancestors were Vikings ! Well, look where that got us! So, " mundane " must have something to do with Ricky's Danish relatives of past generations, some of whom seem to have come along for the ride to the present moment. It's a good thing Jill did not draw their number to write this because they only write and speak Danish, which we would not be able to understand! So, therefore, we here by conclude by the powers invested in us that " mun " in mundane must mean non Danish! On behalf of all of me's , thank you as selecting that word turned out to be just fine and none of us are afraid of the challenge. Oh, some inside information about all of me's, we all love fresh Danish from the bakery with fruit and cheese.

Linda C

Such a performance! In the early hours of the morning, Linda the Magnificent prepared for her most amazing act of daring to date. A protective paste was carefully laid on the delicate wand of bristles. Picking up the device by its fully charged handle, she braced herself against the sink and raised it to her face. The woman in the mirror gasped, as the vibrating appliance, buzzing with the fury of an enraged beehive, was plunged into the magician’s mouth. There, she wrestled with its electronic energy. Paste-filled fibers danced and twisted amongst teeth and tongue. On and on the competition raged between vibrating baton and bare-armed bravery. At last the battle was won! Exhausted, the vanquished implement lay, now quiet, on its side. Cool water refreshed the champion’s mouth, who turned to the crowd of on-looking cats. Victorious, Linda the Magnificent flashed her brightest smile.

Sanjida Shaheed

It's amazing how Sanjida seems to find a new problem right after she solves one in her creative path! The voice inside her never ceases to criticize her.

But what REALLY amazes me is that no matter how many times a new problem pops up, she is up and about with new ammunition. She has found the secret to staying afloat as a creative. It doesn't matter how many times she falls, she just has to rise up once more each time, and slay the enemy with renewed determination.


In restaurants all over town, couples are enjoying being together now over a fine dinner. At the same time, ricky finds himself alone, wishing that were him. Lonliness is mundane, right? I asked Ricky but he didn't know so he said it sounds like it would be. Ricky says don't let them bullshit you about the joy of being alone. Make it sound sensational and amazing? All Ricky said was "hell, there just ain't no way to do that!" He said he pushed away his plate of dinner he made and decided to withdraw as much as he could from the pain. There ain't no mundane in pain.

jill badonsky

She is running around with only flip-flops on because of the heat and because she lives with only cats, and by "only cats" I don't mean to diminish the importance of the felines, in fact, they are more important than most people in her life not that there is any blood relatives she's related to left, they might be important too if there was, it's just that the cats are always there, sitting on her purple blouse, lying in the sun, making the red curtains their little tent, fighting on the floor making cat fighting on the floor sounds, asking for dinner at 2 pm, and the like and they certainly don't care that she is running around in just flip flops because it's a sweltering day, they are particularly lethargic because of the heat so by "only cats" I mean they care even less and aren't actually acquainted with what it means to be human and naked. But she is.


in her
not smile
with the
first bloom,
and that
has saved
her life,
time and
time again...


She always believed in tomorrow which is why each night she prepared her coffee and set the timer so that it would automatically drip into the pot as she awoke. Every night she did that, every single time, tomorrow arrived as promised, was never even a single minute late, though sometimes she was if she hit the snooze button once too often.

Barbara Lyons

Bought me some mundane details at the market today. Nothing too fancy, some potatoes, lettuce and tomatoes. Then I popped into the bakery for some sweet details. I passed on the danish, recommended by Ricky, and chose some carob raspberry cheese swirls to accompany my afternoon coffee. When I got home, I found the front door open and an assortment of important details, like my bra and undies scattered all over the floor. What the hell? Who's been messing with my details? I set the bags down. Just then someone jumped me from behind and held a gun to my head. He says, ‘We know who you are and where you’ve been but we want the details or else you’re dead.’ I said, ‘Sure, no problem, take the bags, take my underwear. ‘Don’t get smart with us. You know what details we want.’ But honestly, for the life of me, I had no idea what details he could possibly want. So I asked him, ‘What details are you looking for?’ and that’s when I heard my alarm go off.

Christine Cosenza

If she tries to live without music, the very grist of her soul becomes mere smoke and ash. Every day she uses YouTube, Google Play, the car stereo, her old turntable or at least bolsters the reliance upon an endlessly looped tape in her own addled head for a variety of songs to match her moods. A single word from a complete stranger's mouth can trigger an entire song or instrumental from deep within the fathomless crevices of a multi-genre repertoire. And if she can't correlate a song to a chosen moment or momentous event, she'll create her own melody and affix lyrics that pour into the canyons of her corpus callosum from a spiritual mentor's cosmic chute in the outer reaches of an untitled constellation of shooting stars. (Of course, she'd prefer to think that said spiritual mentor is Jim Morrison. One may laugh uproariously at this notion, but who's to claim that she's wrong?)


Lucky indeed is any guest who garners an invitation to one of Ms Katarina’s incomparably spectatular dinner parties. Amazingly, she not only scours markets far and wide for the freshest and most delectable ingredients, but prepares all the intricate dishes herself, without assistance of chef or sous chef!

A tour of Ms Katarina’s kitchen reveals the veritable maze of the cutting-edge equipment used to create the sumptuous dishes for which she is so widely known, including such wonders as a device exclusively designed to open cans with the flick of a button, a large metal box that miraculously holds winter inside and magnets from around the world on the outside and – most amazing of all – a small box that merry-go-rounds frozen masses to steaming perfection in seconds.

The magically intricate palate-pleasing menu of a recent dinner left guests swooning. After opening with a delicate Salade d’un Sac, Ms Katarina surprised with an aromatic Chien Chaud snuggled alongside a covey of Porc et Haricots. The indisputable hit of the evening, however, was Ms Katarina’s most elegant creation of all time, Festive Cranberry Découpes.

Fortunately for our readers, yours truly successfully coaxed the recipe from Ms Katarina’s closest confidante (who understandably must remain anonymous) after plying her with several incomparably hopped bouteilles de bière. Athough the ingredients and techniques are far too rare and sophisticated to attempt in any home kitchen, readers well may, nonetheless, find simply reading the recipe to be an amusing afternoon diversion. Thus, without further ado, we present, translated for your perusing pleasure:


1 can cranberry jelly
2 cups loosely packed shredded lettuce (instructions following)

Remove top end from cranberry jelly can. Remove bottom end from cranberry jelly can. Carefully slide cranberry cylinder from can onto onto expensive cutting board. With sharp knife, slice jelly into exact 3/8 inch slices. Using favorite festive cookie cutters, or a selection of appropriate seasonal cutters, cut shapes from jelly slices. Carefully transfer cut-outs to crystal platter lined with shredded lettuce bed (instructions below).

To prepare Shredded Lettuce Bed:

Carefully open bag of romaine lettuce hearts using kitchen shears. Using chef knife, run blade through lettuce at 1/16- to 1/8-inch intervals, cutting at an exact 15 degree angle. Arrange lettuce evenly on crystal platter, creating a cozy inviting bed for Cranberry Cut-Outs.

Serve. Voilà!

Wanda Hatton

Wanda is a stickler for sweeping. She sweeps a few times a week. She finds it almost meditative. Her husband knows when he comes home from work in early afternoon and cannot find her in her office, she is most likely outside. Yep, he looks out the front door and there she is, sweeping away. Why does she do this, day after day?

That repetitive swing of the broom seems to be her mantra. Or she could be sweeping away the cobwebs in her brain before a writing sprint. Most likely, it is the simplest way she can clear out some things. She avoids sweeping out her clothes closet or office clutter, but its easier to just go outside and sweep. After all, it is a form of exercise when she gets that body movement twisting away. She gets down to the tiniest little stray leaf on the walkway. She even sweeps light snow in the winter! No one knows how to cure her of this obsession. Apparently, she took up the sport of sweeping after she returned from traveling to Mykonos in Greece. She was fascinated with the women who stepped out their front doors to a whitewashed street every day. They threw a bucket of water on the street in front of them and swept away dust from the prior day. It was a sight to behold. Wanda sat down at a little café table watching as women on the same street swept all morning. She was mesmerized. She caught the bug. When she returned home, she started sweeping fervently, inside and out. No matter the season, Wanda sweeps to her heart’s content.


At 7 am, every morning, by some internal clock, the cat meows her awake. If she's unresponsive the cat will jump up on her bed and stare at her. Even though her eyes are closed she can feel the authority. She hypnogogicly reaches over to press the feline snooze button but the cat jumps down and walks over to the bin of unshelled peanuts kept by the patio door. She gets up and follows her, pulling aside the drapes to an audience of up to five magpies and one crow. Sliding open the glass door, she throws two handfuls of peanuts onto the deck and slides the screen door shut, leaving bird-scent to waft in to the kitteh's nose, like cat coffee to get her day going. She goes and lays back down for a catnap.


Every night—even tired, stressed, drunk and/or sick—she snaps the minty thread like a purposeful strum of a guitar. Snap. She tightens the ends to her index fingers with several rolling wave spins and is ready to begin. A mix of the tedious work ahead and the anticipation of the clean results sets in as she works the fiber between each tooth, releasing the damage of the day. A world of flying bacteria is at play, some making its way to the mirror and the sink, but gratefully out of her mouth. Her reflection reveals the job has been expertly accomplished, once more. She unrolls the filament, tosses it into the garbage, rinses her mouth with cold water and takes a deep breath. [Applause]

Ann lockridge

Ann is a writer. she enjoys it. Not all who read it will understand it, nor be able to go with her on her litery quest. It does not matter to her. Ann writes for herself, to help ease her pain, to express her joy and to challenge herself. Her imagination has no boundaries. When she writes,she can go to worlds with bright colorful creatures or Places so dark and eerie others would not dare enter. Ann is fearful, yet brave putting herself in verse. Each day is new and full of wonder for her. Every day in the mundane world is a opportunity for a story.

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