Grocery shopping in my household has taken a new turn, no doubt inspired by national circumstances.
Like all real Americans, I like to buy appliances that I can’t really afford.
My original intention was to offer some observations on the massage parlor prostitution bust that netted New England Patriots owner Robert Kraft on a solicitation charge in Florida.
I’ve been thinking about going off-the-grid, if only I could figure out where off-the-grid is.
It is with great respect that we mourn the passing of Dorcas Reilly, 92, whose creativity in the kitchens of Campbell Soup in the 1950s led to generations of young Americans to wonder, as they sat down at the table for their traditional evening meals, “What the hell is that?”
In perusing one of the daily papers recently, I found myself wondering how we came to believe, apparently, that we would live forever if modern medicine could just get its act together and fix whatever ails us.
Tell-all books and insider stories flourish, not because we need justification for liking or disliking the high-profile subjects they cover, but because what we really want to know is whether these people are as screwed up as we are.