Kiesha Poiro has a new piece on Tuppenceworth.
It is an open letter to Michael Stipe, who has sorted out all her life’s problems in a single song. And assisted her in buying a pretzel.
Please don’t misunderstand, Mr. Stipe. I’m not going home to play your record backwards or look for clues in the album art. This is simply a message of thanks. And thanks to you, Mike (Can I call you Mike?), the clouds of confusion have slid apart, beaming light at my forehead. It was in the Jamba Juice, surrounded by angelic singing and a fat lady in stirrup pants, that enlightenment washed over me.