"Don't worry. They have everything at IKEA. They probably even have the IKEA birthing room. Look, you've already peed your pants in a liquor store. What have you got to lose?"
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Holding On, Letting Go by
robingoldsby-de10 (19 Stories)
/ Stories
"Don't worry. They have everything at IKEA. They probably even have the IKEA birthing room. Look, you've already peed your pants in a liquor store. What have you got to lose?"
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Home for the Holidays by
robingoldsby-de10 (19 Stories)
/ Stories
We gripe about the USA. We find fault, we convince ourselves we’re the lucky ones—we got out just in time, we say.
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The Girl Who Curtsied Twice by
robingoldsby-de10 (19 Stories)
/ Stories
Members of my family share a long and celebrated history of playing for royalty and heads of state. We are not exactly court jesters, but we come close. My Buckingham Palace event is one more gig on a long list of fancy-pants musical soirees.
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Nakey: The Concert by
robingoldsby-de10 (19 Stories)
/ Stories
"Keep your eyes closed, Mrs. Goldsby, and imagine your listeners dressed in gabardine and silk. Or at the very least, underpants."
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Don’t Eat Pie by
robingoldsby-de10 (19 Stories)
/ Stories
January, 1981: “Ladies! Listen up! It’s ‘Team Time with Deanna!’ Grab your buddy and head to the center of the floor where we’ll meet and greet, dance and prance, and burn away that winter blubber.” Deanna is a thirty-five year old exercise instructor and seasoned resident of Queens. I am a twenty-three year-old out-of-work actor/pianist…
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Playback 2011: The Summer of Love by
robingoldsby-de10 (19 Stories)
/ Stories
Pianist Robin Meloy Goldsby recalls a handful of unique, international weddings, as seen from the other side of the Steinway. Here comes the bride . . .
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Emma by
robingoldsby-de10 (19 Stories)
/ Stories
Never underestimate the fortitude of a passionate, teenage survivor carrying the weight of her brothers and sisters on her narrow shoulders.
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Circus, Circus by
robingoldsby-de10 (19 Stories)
/ Stories
I’m not scared, not at all. Of course I’ve never hiked through this particular corner of the city dressed like a hooker.
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Beach Song by
robingoldsby-de10 (19 Stories)
/ Stories
By the end of my first summer, the subtle pulse of the waves syncs with my own rhythm. I am hooked. The sand shark never gets me.
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The Notes That Got Away by
robingoldsby-de10 (19 Stories)
/ Stories
In just one trip to the Giant Eagle grocery store I hear about a drunken host with a mynah bird that spewed racial insults, a greedy nightclub owner with a drawer full of stolen watches, and a girl singer with balloon boobs who would always blank out when trying to remember the words to "Accentuate the Positive."
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TAPS by
robingoldsby-de10 (19 Stories)
/ Stories
Grace's bugle will shatter the silent spring with piercing streams of silver. Four notes will hold up the sky while they echo through the cemetery, layered like too many tears on a little girl’s cheek.
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Badass Randy and the Beauty Queens by
robingoldsby-de10 (19 Stories)
/ Stories
It is worth noting that my sister was born with coal black eyes and orange fuzz on her head. It is also worth noting that I have seen her bite a worm in half and that her favorite game is called "Let's Go Die."
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Still Life with Grape and Hotdog by
robingoldsby-de10 (19 Stories)
/ Stories
I glance up from the piano and listen to his James Taylor-inspired voice sing the lyric we have crafted and feel dizzy with love, maybe for him, maybe for me, maybe for art. We do not have a romance, but this must count for something.
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Varmint on the Roof: Not Exactly a Pet by
robingoldsby-de10 (19 Stories)
/ Stories
As if a career in music isn’t perilous enough, American musician Robin Goldsby and her bassist husband take on a few critters roaming the German countryside. Thwack. Or is it thwump? Skittle, scratch, scrape, thwop. It’s a quarter to three and there’s no one in the place except you and me—thonk—and Dumbo? Has a baby elephant…
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Blond Ambition 4.0 by
robingoldsby-de10 (19 Stories)
/ Stories
The huddled masses make it impossible for me to get anywhere near the hotel’s entrance. Middle-aged women and gay men stand alongside pierced and tattooed teens—necks craned, toes tipped, autograph pens at the ready.
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Song for Alice by
robingoldsby-de10 (19 Stories)
/ Stories
I hate November and I hate low-sodium lentil soup. And I wanted a goddamn drink. Is that so awful?
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A Broken Hallelujah by
robingoldsby-de10 (19 Stories)
/ Stories
Decades of slow progress towards gender and racial equality seem to screech to a halt, leaving ugly orange skid marks on the potholed highway to equality.
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Hold the Zucchini by
robingoldsby-de10 (19 Stories)
/ Stories
Hold the zucchini. Or any type of squash for that matter. I’m not technically allergic to squash, but it gives me the creeps.
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What to Wear: A Musician’s Wardrobe through the Decades by
robingoldsby-de10 (19 Stories)
/ Stories
I favored one dress—an electric-blue sateen-spandex thing—that was cut down to here and up to there. It threatened to expose my left breast every time I reached for the bass notes.
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