Yeah, right. The IRS has a satellite office in Calcutta now.
Yeah, right. The IRS has a satellite office in Calcutta now.
Today’s weak-kneed newspaper execs are so terrified of lawsuits that a stern call from a two-bit lawyer in a rumpled suit sends them to their fainting couches.
Truthfully, even as a teenager I wasn’t what anyone would call photogenic. In fact, in high school I sat for three sets of senior portraits before I got one that wasn’t too heinous for the yearbook.
When the blog bosses demanded a new portrait, I agreed. On one condition: They wouldn't toss me to the newspaper's photo department.
"I wanna go to the mall," I wailed. "To one of those glitzy studios."
Look, this therapy-dog-comfort-animal wackiness has gone too far. Seeing-eye dogs are one thing. Emotional support peacocks are something else.
Pit bulls may not bite more than other breeds, but they’re responsible for most of the deaths and near-fatal maulings in this country.
The sad truth about Virginia Beach - and all of Tidewater - is that the months of January and February are dreary. Bleak beyond words. So are chunks of December and March. The sky and the water are the color of tin foil. The air is raw and damp. Sort of like Ireland, only chillier and without the warmth of the Irish to counteract the climate.
It was all I could do not to stand up and scream: “What are y’all trying to do? Kill each other?”
What does Cher think the press secretary ought to wear to her job in the West Wing? Sequins, pasties and a thong?
“The health benefits of swearing include increased circulation, elevated endorphins, and an overall sense of calm, control, and well-being.” Psychology Today.
When Hawaii pushed out a ballistic missile alert earlier this month, Gov. David Ige knew within two minutes it was a false alarm. But he couldn't hop on Twitter and tell everybody - because he didn't know his password.
For those of you who have never taught a teenager to drive, words cannot convey the icy sensation that envelops you as trees, cars and pedestrians appear in the road and all you can do is slam your foot uselessly into the floor mat. And scream.
Now that I’m unemployed, every day is Soft Clothes Day. Another benefit of my current condition.
I desperately want to speak another language. And I’d like it to be French. To that end, I subscribe to the “Talk in French” Twitter feed. Hey, who has time for a class?
I learned that women who worked full time in the food service industry were some of the most canny observers of human behavior I’d ever meet. They could spot a good tipper as soon as he entered the place, and it had nothing to do with quality of his clothes or accessories.
Happy hump day.
Instead of another rant, how about something different? Here’s a glimpse of Sawyer Grace - the Mississippi mudbug - talking about, well, watch it and see.
I don’t like to brag, but I earned my first FitBit Hiking Boots award while listening to that book: 35,000 steps in one day. Had blisters the size of biscuits on my feet to prove it, too.
Frankly, this couple’s family size is none of her damn business. Or anyone else’s. Especially when the parents are more than capable of supporting their offspring.
A bout of car problems in February introduced me to a must-have called “subway tile,” rectangular ceramic that is necessary to replace all those squares so common in the 1950s.
Does subway tile also come with buskers and beggars? Asking for a friend.