Everybody can agree on Thanksgiving. If we can’t agree on Thanksgiving, we’re probably not going to agree on much. It’s an uncomplicated holiday or at least for someone like me, whose contribution is subliminal, rather than honest labor in the kitchen.
I’d never gotten a double flat before. A double flat says, “I’ve arrived in the pantheon of car repairs.” A double flat also says, “It may be awhile before I arrive because I’m driving on metal rims.”
When David Torres knocked on the door of Room 113 last Friday morning, he looked around as if to check for enemy fire. Good — coast clear. At 8 a.m., local defense attorney had already accomplished his primary goal, regardless of whatever ambush faced him later in court: Beat H.A. Sala to a …
I wrote the first part of this column (see below, starting with “Looking back”) last week, before we moved from our downtown offices at 17th and Eye to our new digs on Pegasus Drive out in the puckerbrush. I was sad then but now I’m singing a new tune and loving the melody.
The downtown coyote is like the midterms: Everybody has an opinion. Some people are for it, others are against it and the undecideds are awaiting more information before making up their minds.
Check his blood pressure. While you’re at it, maybe his sanity, too. Ken Wonderly is not only restoring a house built in 1895, he’s enjoying it, unruffled by the clouds of flying dust, high-pitched whine of the electric saws and nail guns that sound like small automatic weapons.
I hadn’t seen her in 40 years. “Hadn’t” was discounting a quick visit and Christmas cards that, although regular and heartfelt, are no substitute for face-to-face. If it hadn’t been 40 years, it might as well have been.
Cancer has gotten personal. Not good personal, not "I’m happy to see you personal" but for Michelle Tarner, it’s more like "I’m not sitting backing on my haunches and not doing anything about it" personal.
The garage fridge finally died. It was in hospice for months and last week, we said goodbye. Services will be private and limited to me and the two dogs who mourn its passing because they knew the fridge as a repository of chicken scraps, spaghetti and meatball leftovers and rib bones.
Craig Buckey is more popular than usual Thursdays at 3 p.m. when he picks up 50 chocolate and vanilla milkshakes from Dewar’s and then passes them out to the BHS varsity football team in the parking lot in front of the locker and weight rooms. On Thursdays, Buckey could run for president.
After filling up at the station on the corner of 23rd and F across from McDonalds, I locked the Jeep and went inside the store to buy a water. A tank of gas, a bottle of ice-cold Smart Water, what else did I need?
Today, the Dodgers beat the Colorado Rockies 5-2 to clinch the division title. It took every bit of the 163 nail-chewing games, but they prevailed. Pop the champagne, don the victory caps and above all, give thanks to the baseball gods who do not always cooperate.
Is it murder if somebody deserves it and I thought about it on Machu Picchu? Rather than calling it murder, which can be prone to misunderstanding and hurt feelings, maybe we could consider it human sacrifice in the Incan tradition of purification.
For dinner, I chose one of my best black shirts. The short-sleeved kind, one size too small, the sort that delivers an impression of fitness. Black focuses the attention on the black shirt rather than on a white, lumpy face.
Recently, Sue found a shoebox full of letters. The box was buried under an avalanche of scrapbooks, children’s art and photo collages mounted on white poster paper celebrating important birthdays. The letters were postmarked between 1980 to 1982.
Recently, we went to Peru. Our seats from LAX to Lima were near the front. The flight was two-thirds full, which meant it could be open season for seat poaching.
Traveling can be a contact sport. This was especially true on a recent flight from Lima to Cusco that was marked by turbulence followed by a silent vow that if I were to survive the flight, I would become a better person.
What a difference a few degrees makes. Under 100 during the day, under 70 at night. Six degrees can be the difference between hope and despair. The difference between crisp and sloppy.
A friend showed up to coffee with a knife. I respected her before but gave her a wider berth than usual. There could be a reason somebody brings a knife to coffee but you want to make sure that reason isn’t you.
On the second to last day of vacation, I thought I saw a woman crossing the street with her left breast resting nonchalantly on the outside of her snow white blouse.
The only thing to do on a hot summer day is see “Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again.” The movie is touching, funny, entertaining and no doubt a lot of fancy people won’t like it.
To reach Rosedale Remedies, the cannabis shop on Rosedale Highway, you have to drive by Budget Bolts, Pittsburgh Paint, All Star Glass, Majestic Palms, Gentle Dental, The Bulk Yard, Highland Church of Christ, Lucky Liquors and Hungry Howie’s Pizza. When you see Country Boy Drive-in, you’re close.
His final set list started with “Smile.” Most people in the church were far from pulling that off but Dominick Pisano believed in the power of music to lift people’s spirits and he wasn’t going to waste an opportunity with a captive audience.
You want to take 16 people to Poland? All of whom who are related to you? Then you have to believe, have a plan or believe in your plan like Lucas and Anna Dobrzanski did.
Wimbledon is the one tournament a year when tennis looks fun. Doable. Something you might try even if the rest of the year you either don’t play tennis or think about tennis.
I ran into Jessica Pounds (owner of Moo Creamery) at the downtown July 4th parade. She talked about the column on the raw vegetable platters people serve at parties that everybody pretends to like, but no one really does.
I was at a party, recently. Sitting on the food table was the traditional raw vegetable platter that included baby carrots, broccoli florets, celery stalks chopped into bite-sized pieces, raw mushrooms and cauliflower. A tub of hummus sat in the middle of the vegetables.