I may be talking with The Blue Shivers, but this evening the Sitwell’s Coffeehouse room temperature = a sauna. “How much clothes can we take off before we get arrested?” drummer Dave Palermo asks. His wild hair shifts when he laughs. Like a fiery Muppet.   

Bitter cold. The air seemed to be made of sharp, solid metal, slicing through pants and shirtsleeves with tiny saw-like teeth that chewed at the skin. Hello goosebumps. Dressed in layers, I headed to Sharonville to teach my regular noon yoga class.  

Remember Billy Crystal's classic line from "When Harry Met Sally?" He said, "What I'm saying is — and this is not a come-on in any way, shape or form — is that men and women can't be friends because the sex part always gets in the way." For a while, I thought this was true.  

Lost in Holland, made up of Josh Hisle (U.S. Marine) and Michael Ronstadt (son of Linda) plays Baba Budan’s to support their albums Hearts and Minds and the unreleased The Last Great Loss. Recently, Young’s label, Vapor Records, announced that they’ll distribute Lost in Holland’s albums. The new one, The Last Great Loss, is in the recording stages. Attacking loss and trauma, last year’s Hearts and Minds is straight-shooting and natural. Calling for a peaceful return from aching lands, Hisle’s softer delivery meets hard-hitting lyrics, drilling his message to heart.  

Mention September 11, 2001, and rooms become quiet. A gaping quiet. Hit by a thought bullet, people freeze. Then eyes look down, around. We remember the moment we heard. Eyes look up. Up. That day, musician Josh Hisle signed up for the Marines, entering "The War on Terror."  

My first open mic: The Full Moon Cafe; a sketchy Virginia club where shots came by the glassful. My hands shook. The redhead host, Jane (Radar Rose), cheered me on. That night, I met my future bandmates. Two of us fell in love. Others fought, sure. Like a band would.  

Blackout On this eerie night, the Clifton shops and streets are dark. Think oil slicks. Tar. "I've had more vivid dreams in the past few days," Chris Haubner says as we cross the street. No "W-A-L-K" letters. Just a black box perched there. Uncle Smokin' Joe (Jim Pross) nods quietly.  

Excerpt from my memoir: When I was small, Mom rarely sat down. Ironing, cooking, cleaning, fixing her hair and makeup, she was always fiddling with something, never taking a break. So one afte  

BY C.A. MacConnell | Posted 07/23/2008 Molly Sullivan Molly Sullivan   

BY C.A. MacConnell | Posted 07/23/2008 Excerpt from my memoir: Dusk. When the days grew longer, when dark was not yet creeping up on the seven hills of Cincinnati, I escaped to the farmer's