When I was young New Year’s Eve was a big event, celebrated with gusto, daring stunts, mischievous capers and too much alcohol – and that was before I left the house.
Not now. I’ve circled the sun 67 times and each time I make the trip there is less drinking and partying, and I’m glad of it.
That’s because I’m old. My mind may want to Wang Chung tonight, but my body wants to go to bed tonight. The last time I saw 12 a.m. on New Year’s Day, phones had dials and cords.
Now, when the
Congratulations. You have survived another Christmas.
Now, your only holiday responsibility is to start shopping for next year’s presents.
As a kid, I enjoyed the day after, when I did important things:
1. Assemble, play with and become acquainted with all my neat presents.
2. Get one of my seven sibs to trade me one of their neat presents (two if they were an easy mark) for a sucky pair of white ring-top socks from Grandma, who gave me socks every year since my first C
I used to be a competent gift wrapper who created neatly wrapped gifts and bows. But as I aged, I lost patience and my wrapping skills took a bad rap.
Today, my gifts look like they were wrapped by vandals on crack.
I don’t understand why we invest so much time and effort to wrap a gift when it is going to be torn apart by the giftee.
It’s like making my bed each morning. Why do it if I’m just going to mess it up at night?
I’m trying to recapture the gift-wrapping spirit
Tis the season to praise the pine.
I love Christmas trees. We bring the outdoors indoors to fill a home with Christmas cheer and spirit. I love to come downstairs in the morning to the refreshing scent of pine.
The Christmas tree is the holiday icon, like the turkey at Thanksgiving, the Easter Bunny at Easter and the blown off fingers on July 4th.
I have a forest full of childhood memories of going out and cutting down our family
Christmas season is a time of unending parties, celebrations and social gatherings.
It’s a perfect time for me to try and do something I’ve wanted to do for most of my adult life.
Become a socialite.
It goes back to 2004, when I watched a no-talent, marginal-IQ Paris “Hotel” Hilton become mad wealthy and insanely famous by just standing around and looking good, toting a tiny yapping dog and over-using the phrase “that’s hot” to describe anything that’s cool (she actually copyright
Look at this photo of me, at 6- or 7-years old Protruding forehead. Widespread nose. Ears so big they looked like dish antennas sticking out of the sides of my head.
I looked like BoBo The Monkeyboy.
The doctor didn’t slap me when I was born. He gave me a banana.
My head was large it got stuck during birth. The doctor had never seen anything like it. He couldn’t believe my mom endured it without sedation. I can’t believe she still talks to me.
But she got her revenge. She cut
Here’s a great way to make dining out exciting, fun and aaah-inspiring: do it with year-old identical twin bonus grandsons.
My wife, Shelley, and I recently had a restaurant lunch with the twins, Remy and Leo, and their parents, Allie and Matt. (For the record, I still can’t tell the boys apart. The look identical to me, thus I will refer to them as Remy/Leo in both the singular and plural).
Everyone knows that it’s a common curtesy of civilized society, that anytime toddlers are out i
Here is a generational trivia question:
“What is the name of a sandwich made of peanut butter and marshmallow spread?
If you answered “Fluffernutter,” you are likely a Boomer reminiscing about your favorite childhood food. The Fluffernutter is a gooey, sweet marshmallow spread layered atop peanut butter between two slices of white bread to produce a “roof-of-the-mouth” sticking treat.
Fluffernutter is finally getting the recognition it deserves, as it was recently included in the
I see that Kanye West legally changed his name again, this time to “Ye,” with no middle or last name.
For real. He said he did it because Ye is the most common word in the Bible, as in “Yo Ye. Thou art a narcissist.”
Most rap and hip-hop entertainers change their birth names, like J-Z, Dr. Dre, 50 Cent, Eminem and my main man Snoop Dogg, whose many monikers helped him go from rap star to Martha Stewart to the pinnacle of stardom, TV beer commercials.
Snoop was born Calvin Broadus
Oh goodie! We now have another number to add to our long and growing list of numbers and passwords needed to survive in our electronically connected world.
As of October 24, when you make a local call in the 607-area code you must include the area code when dialing. The reason: officials don’t want people mistakenly dialing the newly created 988 national Suicide Prevention Lifeline.
I’m all for reducing suicides, but I can’t deal with adding another number to my swirling sea of digits,
“Rain, rain go away.”
“I don’t want to friggin’ mow my lawn again today!”
I’ve been uttering that ditty all summer and fall because of all the !@^%$! MOWING I’m doing because of all the !@^%$! RAIN. (Editor’s note: Upper case letters and exclamation points signify that the writer is really @^%$! PISSED OFF!!!!!)
My lawn has more mow lines then the outfield at Fenway, and they are deep enough to grow corn.
My life revolves around a series of repeated lawn aggravations: Mow. Wa
