Late people annoy me. There, I’ve said it.
A few of my former students, home from college, came by to visit me last week. I love seeing the kids I was able to torment in the name of education. Just kidding. Just kidding. But it really does make me feel good when the kids care enough to stop by.
I love Paris. I used to hate Paris. Then I went there. It is an incredibly beautiful city, especially at night. They don’t call it “The City of Lights” for no reason.
Every double-barreled slingshot in the western world should be flown — or would that be worn — at half-staff this week. Elly May Clampett is dead.
I was minding my own business, trying to watch a little college football on TV, when the house phone rang. How many of you still have house phones?
Wedding bells will be my theme song as not one, but two of my children will be tying the knot — 56 days apart.
This is the last column of 2014. I hope there will be many more to follow in the new year but the only things certain in life are death and taxes, so keep your fingers crossed.
As I get ready to take down my Christmas lights I have decided that I will leave one candle in my window throughout the new year. I will replace the clear soft white bulb, however, with a blue one. I support our nation’s police force. I’d hate to have to get along without them. Wouldn’t you?
A brand new year is upon us — or at least right around the corner — so I think I will do something I haven’t done in a while; I think I will publish a long list of bodacious resolutions — resolutions that I intend to keep, not just until the first threat of snow in January, but for the entire trip this rock takes around the sun.
It’s Christmas Eve — finally. We’ve been beset with advertising since Labor Day, blasted with Christmas music since Halloween and allowed ourselves to become stressed to the limit since Thanksgiving and now it is Christmas Eve.
It’s almost Christmas, which is so special for so many reasons. My first epistle for this newspaper was on Christmas Day.
So it is 2014 and I have yet another chapter to add to the story of the eternal battle between Christmas lights and yours truly — the North Georgia Piedmont’s own Clark Griswold.
I was in New York for my annual Christmas weekend. It is a magical place with all of the hustle and bustle and lights and energy.
I got together with some old teacher friends last week and we began waxing nostalgic about the good old days—back when teaching was more fun because we had more freedom in the classroom.
Did you ever see Elvis live? I did, in the Macon Coliseum, in 1973. I haven’t been impressed by anything since.
The photograph on the front page of this newspaper was stunning. A gorgeous, gigantic Christmas tree standing in the foyer of a home that is offering itself, or being offered by its owner, for an upcoming tour of homes, a custom long rooted in Southern splendor, particularly around the holidays.
Memory is strange commodity and so selective in its nuances. There are incidents in my life of which I have no recollection at all, and yet other happenstances are so indelibly imprinted on my mind that I could never forget them if I lived to be a thousand years old.
I will never forget the first foreign restaurant I frequented. I was 18 and Kevin Price and I went to Tybee Island for a couple of days with my parents. We walked into a pizza parlor across the street from our hotel and ordered what was to be my first pizza pie, and my last for quite some time.
Warren lived through his ordeal with as much courage and fortitude as anyone I have ever known. A devout Christian, he was at church every week, no matter how bad he might have felt.
So there I was — a week ago — heading south on Milledge Avenue, in Athens. It was a beautiful day and I was looking forward to stress-free weekend in Athenstown. A stress free weekend is one where I don’t have to worry about whether or not my team wins the game.
My favorite column of the year, and the easiest to write, is the one that you are reading right now. Each year as the season of Thanksgiving approaches I realize that my blessings grow exponentially in total disproportion to my years on earth.
Thursday night President Obama took a big step toward making that fundamental change that so many of us had feared since he first took office in 2009.
Well, get the rice ready to throw and let the wedding bells chime because Afton Elaine Burton — also known as Star — has found her beau, apparently a match made in heaven. At a yet to be determined time in the near future she will become — are you ready for this? — Mrs. Charles Manson.
I am officially rushing the season, y’all — for perhaps the first time in my life.
I don’t know how they do it. Yankees, I mean. I will admit that it is time to give the devil his due. I am speaking of the hearty folks from the frozen tundra of our northernmost states — the people in Cleveland and Buffalo and Green Bay, Wis., who go out in weather that is fit for neither man nor beast and sit and watch football.
Until I looked into my grandson’s sparkling blue eyes and saw that precious smile spread across his face when he recognized his Papa for the first time, I didn’t know how much joy one human being could bring to another human being.
Every year, when mid-November approaches, my heart starts beating to the rhythm of a basketball bouncing on a hardwood floor. A lot of folks raised in Newton County in the ’50s and ’60s probably have similar afflictions, but mine, I suspect, is more severe than most.
While scrolling through my Facebook wall I ran across this comment from someone that I don’t actually know: “My bank said they would be closed Tuesday. Is it some random holiday or something?”
Sundays were a big day for us because it was the only day of the week when the whole family got to be together.
I wonder how long politicians have been breaking campaign promises.
I have three longstanding rules. I don’t do book reviews. I don’t do any Christmas shopping until the last minute. I don’t sing Christmas carols until the Great Tree bursts into light on Thanksgiving night.
It’s Halloween. Trick or treat! Or should that be Trick or treat?
Who knew that a guy would have to pack more shoes to go on a trip than drawers. Well, not really — but it was close.
I am writing this column from 35,000 feet. When I was growing up in Porterdale I allowed myself to dream that one day I might write something that another person would want to read in a newspaper, but I never believed I would do it from 6 miles above the earth’s surface on a machine that could connect to a satellite and allow me to begin writing the column upon takeoff and file it before I touched down.
How much longer do we have until it is safe to leave the television on the channel you are watching during commercials? How long until it is safe to answer the telephone again? How long until the election is over and the votes are counted?
As I learned Thursday night, No Longer Bound is not a drug rehab facility. If you rehabilitate someone you simply return them to their original state. No Longer Bound is about rescuing addicts and helping them escape the enslavement of addiction.
Todd Gurley and the Ebola virus are the two topics most heavily trending today. I am nothing if I am not trendy, but I like to write light-hearted and whimsical columns when I can. It is hard to be whimsical about a killer virus that is threatening to explode in epidemic proportions.
With apologies to Art Linkletter, teachers do the darndest things.
How did we get this far up into October without me realizing it? It has always been one of my favorite months and it has almost disappeared without my realizing it.
Is it just me, or is the practice of tipping getting way out of hand?
Perhaps you think that you are far removed from the war that Muslim terrorists are waging on America — the war that was brought to our attention on 9/11 in 2001, even though it was being waged long before then. Perhaps you think that, but you are wrong. You are very, very wrong.
I hate to have to admit this, but I cannot watch play-off baseball anymore. Not a whole game. I just can’t.
I knew Bill Hoffman’s voice before I knew the man.
I woke up Tuesday morning in my own bed for the second day in a row. It was the first time in weeks that I had done so. Who knew that retirement could be so stressful and tiring! Or so much fun, for that matter!
OK. I haven’t given anyone a quiz in a long time. What do “Just the facts, ma’am,” “Sorry about that, Chief,” and “What you talking ‘bout, Willis?” have in common?
My buddy invited me to visit the county fair with him Friday night. I was sorry I couldn’t go. I haven’t been to a county fair in years.
San Francisco is quite a place and my lovely wife Lisa and I enjoyed a wonderful couple of days there this week — with a few dozen of our closest friends
Friday was a sad day for me. It was the day I had set aside to move my summer clothes to the closet in the attic. Yes, I have summer clothes — as well as year-round clothes, understand.
I wouldn’t say that my readers are old, but I realize that most of you at least remember having to dial a phone and actually walk across the room to change channels on the television set. So do I, by the way. And it is understandable that the age range of my readers is somewhere between early Geritol use and lap blankets for Christmas. I often wax nostalgic about the bygone days and most young people never seem to be interested in history until they get older and realize how much it has affected their lives.
So the big news on the legislative front in Georgia this winter will be whether or not to legalize marijuana — purely for medicinal purposes, understand. We have come a long way since “Reefer Madness” was filmed in an attempt to scare teenagers into avoiding weed no matter what.