Believe it or not, a lot of people tell me they love reading my column. There's no accounting for taste, haha, but today I'm very sad because I just lost my number-one fan.
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One time, I took my son to a Boy Scouts camping weekend aboard the USS Massachusetts, a retired battleship docked in Fall River, Massachusetts.
There are certain places where men fear to tread, places where the very fiber of our being is threatened.
A couple of winters ago, we had so little snow that I never once started my snowblower. This year was obviously Mother Nature's payback.
Not long ago, we had a playoff of horrible things, with automated telephone answering systems beating out graffiti by a hair.
On the last Saturday before Christmas, I made my annual gift-shopping trip to the mall.
During the holidays, many homeowners drag out festive lights and decorations to create vivid landscapes bursting with color.
The last time I took the Red Cross Adult Learn to Swim program was 17 years ago when I was 38.
The other night, I went to the annual roast-beef dinner fundraiser at Bethany Reformed Church.
Now that we're in full winter sports mode, it won't be long before playoffs start. In that vein, I decided to have a playoff of horrible things.
