“Thank you for putting together such a great package, Class,” my teacher said.

I had taken several cans of corn and green beans from our pantry to add to the adopt-a-family donation my high school class put together. Some family, right here in our own town, was going to have a brighter Christmas. The bell rang and I was officially on Winter Break. I left through the double doors and walked the half-block home.

I walked slowly, in no hurry to make it back to the house. It had undergone a horrifying transformation in the previous month. Like a beacon to spacemen, the house was lit up on all sides. Several mechanical reindeer bobbed their heads up and down in the snow. The crabapple tree boasted about a million twinkling lights. Santa, complete with motion detector, waited at the door to greet me with an ass-shaking rendition of a song telling me he was coming to town. I stood in the driveway amazed at the work my dad had done and amazed at how much I hated it.

I gave Santa the finger and he told me I’d better watch out. My mom had attached huge bells to the front door, so my attempt at a stealthy entrance was foiled. I wiped my feet on a poinsettia welcome mat and went to wipe myself with snowman toilet paper. I washed my hands with holiday spice soap and dried them with a candy-cane-striped towel.

I went to my room and shut the door, blocking out all the flashing lights. I lit some incense to kill the smell of cinnamon and cheer. I turned on my stereo to drown out Celine Dion wishing us all a merry little Christmas. I buried my nose in a book until I was forced to come out of hiding. Dinner was almost ready and I was to set the table.

Each plate was painted with an overflowing sleigh, the glasses were red and green and the serving spoons were etched with more poinsettias. I sat the table, averting my eyes from the blinding light of the tree. The needles of the fake tree were no longer visible. My mother had masterfully covered every square inch with ornaments. There were at least thirty wrapped boxes: some for me, some for my brothers, some for my parents, and a bunch for the dog.

“Blankets?” I heard my mother say, as she and my father walked in to the kitchen, “What the hell do I need blankets for?”

“Honey, that is just what they gave us, we can’t be picky.”

“And I already have everything I need for dinner! I don’t need any of those damned canned goods!”

“What are you guys yelling about?” My youngest brother asked, before I could beat him to it.

“You know that your dad doesn’t make a lot of money so we signed up for a program to try and get you kids some more presents.”

My dad brought a package out of their bedroom. The box was eerily similar to the one I had deposited corn and green beans in to that afternoon.

“Oh my god!” I said, scandalized. “Seriously? We’re the poor family?”

“We qualified for the program,” my mother said, defending herself, “I was thinking of you kids. I asked them for a Nintendo because I thought you kids would love it, but they just sent us food and stupid blankets and a twenty-five dollar gift card to Wal-Mart. We did it for you. We did it for all of you.”

I didn’t hear a word she said. I clicked the “Mute Mom” button on my brain remote.

The dog received his plate of pot roast with all the fixings and we all held hands while my dad said thank you for the blessings, yadda yadda, blah blah blah.

My other kid-brother, the infamous middle child, was right on cue.

“Hey, does anyone else think it is a little jacked up that we are doing this?” He said.

“Doing what?” My father asked.

“Well, last year there was no tree, no dancing Santa and no jingle bells. We didn’t sing carols, we sat around and talked about how everyone in the world was a materialistic Satan-worshiper.“

“The Church was wrong,” my mother said, “They have the right to change their doctrine...”

“It’s all insane,” I interrupted, “There is a freakin’ nativity scene on the piano!”

“Both of you will stop this instant!”

I continued, “And what the hell is up with the care package? You have plenty of money for all of this stupid crap,” I did my best Vanna, “But not enough presents, so you have to sign us up for the poor-adopt-a-family-program?!”

“Young lady, I bought all of this stuff at garage sales.”

She must have been referring to those garage sales where everything has a price tag, and you receive a free Macy’s or Kohl’s bag with purchase. She forgot I took out the trash from time to time.

“Whatever,” was all I said.

I kept to myself as much as I could until Christmas morning. I admit to feeling a bit chipper when we sat around drinking hot chocolate and opening presents. My brothers each got a new stereo, so I knew I was getting something big, too. My big present came in a little box.

I opened it to find a gold ring. There were three hearts on it. It was cute, not really my style, but a nice gesture. I was about to thank my parents when my mother began an explanation of the ring. She told me it was very special. She told me that one heart represented me, one represented my future husband, and one represented my commitment to remain a virgin until I married. I choked on a mini-marshmallow. I had been given a chastity ring.

“Uh, wow, Mom,” I said. “That’s really… nice.”

“You will wear it until the day you are no longer a virgin and then take it off. That is how I will know.”

Holy-sweet-mother-of-baby-Jesus, I thought. My boyfriend had given me a ring too, the day before, right before I fucked him. I was seventeen and had turned in my V-card over a year earlier. My mother watched, expectantly, as I put the ring on.

A short while later, I sat outside with a new steaming cup of hot chocolate in hand. The neighborhood was completely still. Snow fell in big, silent flakes. I sat on a bench beneath the crabapple tree, fiddling with the ring and staring in to nothing. I felt like the devil parading as a nun. We pretended to be poor. I pretended to be chaste. We pretended that every holiday prior to this we hadn’t judged and mocked people who celebrated Christmas, calling them sinners and condemning them to an eternity of burning in a lake of fire.

We sent out gaudy cards, joined the Black Friday chaos, and even put a little wreath on the front of the mini-van. It was the first time I felt completely fake and completely out of touch with my family. It was my first Christmas.

Wrapped in emotions
Colorful feelings
Tied with anxiety
High expectations

That beg not to be disappointed

Uncover with fervor
Feverishly tearing or
Neatly unfolding and
Saving the outer adornment

The inside is irrelevant

What counts is that it looks nice
My advice would be to...

Leave it as it is.

These past few
days have been
made of secondhand teeth and
three-year-old, full-flavored cigarettes

"they're harder to find,"
he says to me,
"so I smoke less of them."

We discuss the black spots
in my vitamins
and the drugs
in his tracking number, and
while planting forget-me-nots
in pinedirt
at midnight,
he says something
along the lines of
kissing my forehead

I chase strays
around the dumpster before
lacing his rough fingers
again
well, I've discovered
the expiration date on the
bottom of the bottle, it's
six
of oh, nine.

It had promised to be a time in heaven - unsurpassed.

It was blind. I didn't mind. It was a date, alas!

I was assured the guy was great. I couldn't wait at all.
Turns out, though, this charming Joe was with himself enthralled.
He talked and talked and talked. When he was done he talked some more.
Tales of scoring with the ladies was a captivating bore.

Well groomed he was. I'll give him that, but then he couldn't miss.
The mirror was his best friend, which I'm sure he often kissed.

When all is said and done the date was not a total waste.
I gained a bit of wisdom. Narcissism has a face.

Fifth Avenue:
Umbrellas bob
down the sidewalk
like drunken
Chinese lanterns
and a cool wind
has invaded in
from the north.

Summer's anger
still seethes
below street level
but today refused
to bare its teeth,
opting to stay dry
in the warm refuge
of the train tunnels.

A week ago,
I was a stick of butter
greasing 23rd Street
on my walk to work,
and this morning
I was treated to a
coming-attractions reel
for Fall of New York.

As the production date for the filming of the What Is A Saint video grows near, life at the Michelle Mangione camp has begun to heat up at an ever-increasing pace. A boost in the numbers of phone calls, meetings, interviews and rehearsals have forced their way into the already busy schedules and numerous summer gigs of Mangione and her band.

Recently Flask and Pen was invited to a walk through/production meeting at a very cool and very gritty second hand store located a few miles south of Los Angeles.

To say that the location of the shoot has character would be to grossly understate the timeless yet historic feel the store's presence will emote in the video. One step in and you’re taken back to what a second hand store truly is. This place isn’t some wanna be cool retro shop on Melrose with items hanging from shiny racks, worn once or twice but are now, so last year.

Not at all, this shop is full of rows and isles of beat up old racks loaded down with clothes that have some miles on them. Stacks of old ‘70’s electronic equipment, vinyl records, old furniture, appliances your grandmother owned, poor lighting, a bad intercom system and everything else that you’d expect to experience in places like this.

We watched as the production crew, Mangione and members of the band walked throughout the location and discuss angles lighting and marks. We were able to meet and get to know some of the players involved with this project. One of the people we got to know was Peter Chang, one of the Directors of Photography.

F&P: What is your job on the video?

Chang: I am the co-DP along with Daniele Colombera.

F&P: How long have you been involved with this type of work?

Chang: I've been working in various aspects of film and television production for about 8 years, but I mostly work as a production coordinator and editor. As far as shooting, I also own a side business as a photographer and videographer, so I've got some experience in the field.

F&P: Is this your first music video?

Chang: I did a couple in college, but that's hardly anything to write home about.

F&P: How did you become attached to the What Is A Saint Project?

Chang: Lori (Cerasoli) had called asking if I knew anyone who would be interested in helping out, and as she described the project to me, I rattled off a few ideas, and she said "wow, do YOU want to shoot this?" It was flattering, but I didn't think I was ready for such an undertaking, so I offered support as a DP.

F&P: Anything you want to add?

Chang: Visually, I think this project is going to be pretty cool. Being able to shoot this project in HD at a fraction of what it would've cost even 2-3 years ago is amazing.

Chang, as well as everyone else we met, is truly a professional and dedicated to the What Is A Saint Project. With filming scheduled to occur on Labor Day weekend all of the final pieces are beginning to fall into place and the excitement throughout the team is very apparent.

Momentum for the song and video received a huge boost recently when Mangione was invited to join co-writer Grace Slick for what was a wonderful interview on legendary rock and roll DJ, Los Angeles icon Jim Ladd's radio show. Mangione and Slick covered a myriad of issues, which included exposing their varied taste in music, the history of their friendship, and the writing of What Is A Saint.

We will continue keep you informed as to the progress of the What Is A Saint Production.

Flask and Pen will be following the progress of the What Is A Saint video throughout the process until completion.

How the fuck
do you tell when
a mango is ripe? and
why do I have to do this
 alone?

Unsure and fed up,
I cut it open
and decide that it
tastes something
like gumdrops.

Is this how things were
supposed to play out?!

Later, I listen to songs
about hot wind
in the western sky
and watch the cat
get stuck in the blinds.

Design - creative discovery. Uncovering ideas and forms that have been transplanted from the heart. Yours for the beating repetative pleading.

Anger has its own colors. Red is the most advertised hue of rage, but there are others, too. They don't fight as vehemently to be known. Blue and white are not always clean and serene. Beneath the face of peace and purity hides another side.

The alter ego of art wears a coat of many colors.

Tread lightly on the fragile branches of the tree of art. Much screams to be revealed.

The unknown begs to be known. The known wants to hide. The astute student of art sees it all. Taking a few steps back gives perspective and lacks dominance.

I look at paintings in a new light. Now I can see the darkness as well as the light. shadows can't escape my trained eye. The eye that was taught

by life.

There was a time when I could have been deceived. Sharpness has relieved my quandry. Sceptical I have become, abandonning dumbness and
 naivity.

Art calls to me often, but I don't answer right away. You call yourself art? Show me!

On a recent warm Sunday afternoon, the editors of Flask and Pen were invited to attend a pre-production meeting for the upcoming Michelle Mangione What Is A Saint video. We joined Mangione and crew at a coffeehouse in Santa Monica, California and listened as they began the initial stages of developing the video for the title cut of her recently released What Is A Saint CD.

While observing the process and listening to the discussion about the scripting of the video, the editors of F&P noted the realization of how important the lyrics of this beautiful song are as they relate to our world today.

Are you ready to be someone
To a stranger of less fortune
Would you offer up your smile just for the love of it
What is a saint to you?

But even more astounding to this writer is, this being the 40th anniversary of Woodstock and the ties this song has to that anniversary. We’ve all seen, read and heard many pundits reflecting on Woodstock and what importance it may have had on our society. The words and music of the time spoke of who we were as a nation. The events of our world and those who performed were our voices of change.

One of the prominent voices, performers and Woodstock Participants was Grace Slick.  Recently Slick has devoted most of her time to creating beautiful visual art, but she took some time away from her art to co-write What Is A Saint with Mangione. Together they’ve created a voice that speaks to all of us and how we view our world and those we encounter daily.

The song lends itself to the making of a powerful, yet entertaining video. Those involved seem to realize what a gem they have to work with and there seems to be a really good vibe associated with this group.

Quite a bit of pre-production necessities were locked in at this meeting. The shoot location was established. All positions such as Director and DP etc. were filled. Additional pre-production, rehearsal and shoot dates were set. The script is off to a good start and should incorporate some beautiful, yet subtle, random acts of kindness.

We will keep you informed as to the progress of what promises to be a very special video.

Flask and Pen will be following the progress of the What Is A Saint video throughout the process until completion.

I remember this
one time on vacation
when my PapaPaul had
said something that made
us all pair up and
leave him
standing by the rental car,

But then
his emphazema started
to bother him and
I remember the look
in his eyes when
he just
 couldn't

get enough air

Well, the other night
after all that
clear, clear liquor and
all those H2O tears,
I caught that look
gasping into the mirror,
and I'm still
not sure
what to make of it