Once youíre in the news business, youíre never really out of the news business. Which is why Iím still obsessed with the news business.
Iíve been paying a lot of attention to advertising signs and billboards while on the road lately. I donít text and drive during my frequent travels, but I do take the occasional peek at the signs along the way.
Isnít it funny how we obsess over the little things?
I was lamenting timeís passage the other day in a Facebook post, about how a person seems to have all the time in the world when he has nothing to look forward to, but the moment you find someone you really like and would love to spend all your time with, somebody upstairs hits the fast forward button and before you know it, your timeís up, sheís …
Iím clumsy. Awkward. A klutz. Always have been.
It is well documented that I am not a handyman.
I hate heat, so this is not my favorite season. Actually, in South Carolina we have only two seasons: Hot, and Christmas. Itís not Christmas.
We live in a pastoral little hamlet, Widdle Baby and I.
The defiant cry of outrage, ďIím not going to take this lying down!Ē you all have heard before.
Life as I know it has become manifested in the dim, blinking brake lights in the distance, having left me behind.
I have to stop watching HGTV. Itís giving me a complex.
Never let it be said that Iím not a sentimental guy.
Last year it was the Summer of Monopoly Ė a golf shirt the color of every street on a Monopoly board.
Remember the mean kids in high school? The ones who did mean stuff to impress their mean friends, then laughed about it, because they were mean?
In my defense, it looked cool and refreshing. Cool as in temperature wise, not style, and refreshing, as in maybe a little aromatic relief from this ridiculous heat.
Thereís never a dull moment at Crazy Acres.
Thanks to Facebook, I know now which Brady Bunch kid Iíd be, what kind of dog I am and how long I would survive a zombie apocalypse. (Jan, beagle and foreverómy husband is handy with a shotgun, and I swing a mean cast iron skillet. I think weíd be OK. You thought I was going to say I donít believe in zombies, didnít you?)
I drive a lot between here and Atlanta, sometimes twice in a month.
This is an update on my very first Fanfare for the Common Man column titled ďAn Ode to Jeffrey.Ē
Iíd like to thank all who have written, called, visited, emailed and texted since my motherís death. Youíve soothed me and made me remember the good times. Some of you posed interesting questions. So, here are the answers ó and a few memories you might enjoy.
A look at some news ó recent and not so much ó that made me shake my headÖ
Itís a sad statement about a manís life when he has a Top Five List of Stupid Things Heís Done.
You might notice I no longer sit while covering sporting events.
My mother had a small head. I know that because Iím wearing her floppy sun hat. Iím wearing her floppy sun hat because she left it to me when she …
I got my hand stuck in my guitar.