Smartacus is headed back to the University of Trees. Now who'll mock my t-shirts. Now who'll spray my joints with WD-40 every day?
Category: White Fang
Coming Home
The recent rains have greened the lawns and plumped the soccer fields. By all accounts, it’s going to be an especially great fall.
White Fang Sings Sinatra
Honestly, you can’t chase an honest moment. Somehow, they just ambush you. And sometimes, as per this singing dog, we’re at the mercy of our quivering moods.
What are Those?
There’s this terrific new device for filling water balloons. Must’ve been invented by a dairy farmer inspired by multiple teats.
Kiss Me Like You Mean It
More and more, I tell friends, “Aren’t you glad you grew up when we did – the movies, the music, the cheap six-packs?”
Sunsets, Gin Bashes and Tommy Lasorda
In the museum of the mind: Tommy Lasorda trotting out to the mound to berate a pitcher. In the museum of the heart: Gibby’s home run lap.
The Summer Knows
I have a total fetish for brilliant little summer novels nobody else has read. “Summer of ’42” is one of them.
Irrational Obsessions
Penny Laine is a ginger retriever, which means she has a nicer personality and more character than many humans. She also adores good footwear.
What, Me Worry?
I love watching the kids so full of oats -- the young Marlon Brandos and the James Deans, the Harry Styleses (for lack of a better example), wandering the parking lots and leaning up against their cars, swaggering around aimlessly in May and June, just as they are escaping school for the summer … these insouciant young punctuation marks who have so much figured out, yet so much to learn.
A ’Gram from God
I mean, these poor screenwriters. As with baseball players, screenwriters strike every 10 years or so. And America weeps.