I’ve been to a few shows, but it always feels like I’m a curator at the dinosaur exhibit.
My obsession can be traced to a single day, when I learned that football had more to offer me than I ever imagined. It all started with a game of horse.
At that point the family had rattled off a Joe DiMaggio-like streak of male children. Baseball cards and skinned knees and fist fights were regular, and somewhat welcomed, entities in our households. But you could tell a change was in the wind.
We spent much of the day casting out spinner baits and then reeling in huge clumps of green algae. We’d peel it off after a few minutes work, toss it on the bank, and then cast out for another try. By the time the sun was at it highest and hottest point, we were getting … Continue reading The Little Zoologist
I used to smoke cigarettes specifically because my smoke breaks counted as legitimate excuses from the dance floor.
She reached in the trunk and pulled out the customary brown shopping bag she always brought. In it, no doubt, were a few bottles of ginger ale, a couple trays of pecan swirls, and a half gallon of skim milk.
It’s like, one day she found herself alone in a room full of noisy Sicilians. And she boldly dared to tame them with their most sacred entity: food.
It’s rather amusing to think she had a girlhood crush on a guy who basically looks like a caricature of himself.
I’ve always been fascinated by Benjamin Franklin—a man who was basically the Swiss Army Knife of our founding fathers. Instead of tiny, foldable wrenches and miniature scissors, Ben was spring-loaded with piss and vinegar and political savvy and freaking electricity.
Here's a blast from the past that appeared in Philadelphia Stories a few years ago, but since it's baseball season and I miss the voice of Harry Kalas I figured I'd share it again. Enjoy, and viva la beisbol!!