i can't really sing, so

$1 to get in! // this gets you entry, PLUS one raffle ticket // the show is at apartment 507 Join us for a night of dancing, music and fun. We'll be selling raffle tickets and drinks, all proceeds go towards Gigantic! Raffle tickets are $1 each. You can bring your own drinks, but ours will be fancier. Come hear four amazing bands for whatever you can manage to donate to our cause: Print is Not Dead. Doors at 8; Music at 9. The earlier you get there, the more chances you have to win a prize from our raffle! And the longer you stay, the more fun you'll have-- guaranteed.

I remember the plane ride back. I remember him, a fellow fan who was in my History of Photography class, and an unfurled copy of the Philadelphia Inquirer. We sat there, in unity and silence, and read everything we had seen the night before, every devastating sentence, every word that acquiesced defeat. I remember the speechlessness we shared waiting for our plane to arrive, so that we could board, so that we could fly back to Boston. The plane ride always went so quickly, shot you from Philly to Boston in a good nap's worth of time. It was the transition, the bag check, security check, all that getting to the waiting and then the waiting itself, that was the worst. And Dave and I sat there, sharing that newspaper, shaking our heads, knowing that was all the other expected. In 2005, the Philadelphia Eagles lost the Superbowl to the New England Patriots. I had flown home to watch the game with my Dad at his local South Jersey bar. We went to Antoinetta’s around the corner from...

Dear Mr. Salinger, I assume you don't have the internet, though I am unsure why I am so near to certain that you would not. If I were to hermit myself away in New Hampshire for decades, I think I would still like to subscribe to the New York Times , The Believer and, well, the internet. But my seclusion habits and yours perhaps differ. You were born in a time before the internet, before The Believer. The New York Times has been around, though, since 1851, so. Perhaps I have already lost your attention, Mr. Salinger, talking about myself and technology. Allow me to continue. I first read all four of your published books when I was a senior in high school. I started with Franny & Zooey , after my friend Alex threw me a copy (literally) while digging through his parents old books from their college days, giving me his opinion on each of them. He had two copies of Franny & Zooey , chucked me a copy and said "read this." I don't take everyone's "read this...

Night comes faster. Especially if you sleep in. Winter this year, they say, is colder than it's been in recent years. In New York, it's been slushy and wet during the brief sunny hours, and slippery and cold at night. The weather is best when the wind is not blowing. Is it the poet in me that loves to talk about the weather? There is a country song from my childhood, well, part of the chorus of one, which I sing to myself sometimes "As long as old men sit and talk about the weather / as long as old women sit and talk about old men" (... the point of the song being that for as long as these things happen, the country singer will "love you forever and ever and ever and ever amen." Classic.) And I often think that the old men got the better part of the deal, here. Maybe if I watched television, I would talk about that. I'd rather sit out a good lightning storm, especially just prior to those in the summer when the heat is bursting and no amount of fanning c...

GIGANTiC MAGAZINE has opened its submission period for its second issue! submit your poetry, prose, essays etc. to us, now! Submission Guidelines: send work to giganticmagazine@gmail.com as an ms word document. if you don't have access to ms word, please copy and paste your work into the body of the email, but beware that your formatting may not transfer. all genres accepted and please specify what genre you're writing in. if you invented this genre, name it. if you are submitting the same piece to other magazines, we'll consider it but let us know if it gets accepted to the other magazine first. include your contact information: name, address, email address and phone number. 15 page maximum for each piece (double or 1.5 spaced) please only send up to five works per submission period. GIGANTiC will be available only in print. there is not yet a closing date set for this submission period. we will post later if we have one. meanwhile, send us your best writing you want t...

Third & One. To those only vaguely familiar with football terminology, third and one may make a musical sound. The words roll off the tongue like an upbeat waltz, the beat on the last syllable. But to a fan of the Philadelphia Eagles, especially after this week’s circus of a game, third and one is a plague. Third and one sounds more like the music played in films when something bad is about to happen as the unsuspecting victim ambles alone down a corridor. Third and one, some might argue, is at least better than fourth and one, especially when your team is down and the coach decides to go for it on fourth down, though the team is already in decent field goal range… When it’s third down, one yard to go, the play to choose most of the time would be to run the ball. Hand the ball to one of your running backs who you trust to gain a yard, maybe some more. The Eagles coach Andy Reid, however, on third and one, chose today more often that not to pass the ball. Though the Eagles play...

There is something to be said for beginnings that feel more like middles, similar to poems that write themselves from the third stanza on, cross out and delete the top two. You wonder, shall I offer some sort of explanation? Have I forgotten something essential? Does this even make any sense to anyone except me? The poet will choose to not worry about these things, and realize that his prologue is better off deleted, was a mere tool to get him started. My over-usage of commas, my immediate awareness of the awkwardness of internet blogging and the fact that I, despite self-knowledge of it, can never help but over-preface and avoid the point, often obscuring the idea that I even have a point—we can look forward to all of these things in more substantial clots of words to come. The murky definition of “point” here overwhelms me, bores others and, all in all, muddles this paragraph further. There is a Frenchman whose jaw is wired shut in my kitchen. I just used my cell phone to return a...