“Hey dad, Lily hasn’t thrown up yet!” That came from a little voice in the back seat. There was a “Woohoo!” quality to it. Isn’t this great! Yeah, it’s great.
All hail the queen of scooter ballet
As a kid, I always wanted to be a skateboarder. I had a skateboard, but I was never a “skateboarder.” See, there’s a difference there. Having a chunk of shaped plywood with four worn-down wheels doesn’t make you something. It only makes you the OWNER of something. I wanted to glide and feel one with the board. To effortlessly fly about the streets, weaving in and out of cars, just missing their speeding fenders. I wanted to jump over drooling, carnivorous, child-eating dogs. I wanted to sail through the air, feeling as if I was carried by the winds — not four little spinning chunks of rubber.
Do-it-yourself projects? They’re for dummies
I’ve come to a grand conclusion — one so profound it shakes the very fabric of society. May I share it with you? It is this: do-it-yourself projects are for fools. Yes, fools! Dummies. Imbeciles. Ignoramuses. People afflicted with a deadly disease that I like to call “manure for brains.” Don’t be offended. No, no. Don’t get so upset. Listen, I’m the king of do-it-yourself. The “King of the Ignoramuses.” My manure is brought in by the truckload.
Searching for answers in a South Florida homeless shelter
It was a question that had to be asked. It screamed for an answer. Something to make sense of it. But first someone had to speak up. Had to ask the uncomfortable, the probing, the prying question that was on everyone’s mind. The young journalism student hesitated. Like she thought better of it. Like she thought maybe she shouldn’t go there. Then she dove in: “Why won’t your family help you?” she asked. There wasn’t a dramatic pause. There wasn’t any drawn out thinking about it. The woman quite simply — quite matter-of-factly — replied: “I won’t ask.”