A wedding damps our cynicism, lights some inner circuit, the kind we had as kids and then lost.
Did you say “over?” ... Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no!
I will let Smartacus go the same way the New England Patriots released Cam Newton: reluctantly and with a heavy heart.
Never met a college campus I didn’t love – the ivy, the idealism, the aura, the opportunity.
Hey, do the Americans need a team humorist? A satirist? A silly Socrates? I’d put on a toga, I’d munch a Pringle, I’d tell a story.
My bar would be called “The Good Novel.” Debutantes would stumble in late, as would married women with money problems.
My late wife was barely 5 feet high and didn’t weigh a diddle. Yet she could elbow her way through almost any encounter, even marriage.
Here come the handsome groom and the Florida-bred bride. There might’ve been gold dust in her makeup. Had to be platinum in her hair.
This has turned into a summer of the patio, a renaissance faire of gin and finger foods and homemade bean pie.
This is how we ended up eating live sea urchin, in the place they call “The Bu.”