My friend had been having a bad day, starting with absent-mindedly putting a tin of Altoids mints in his pocket before going through the metal detector at the airport. That had set the infernal machine screaming, which led to suspicion, which led to officers confiscating the little round silver flask he had in his carry-on bag.
The students over at the University of South Carolina are raising cain because they don't like the graduation speaker who's been chosen to deliver the commencement address later this month.
Random thoughts on a spring afternoon:
Camden native Ford Graham, who's going to live in Germany as head of South Carolina's European industrial recruitment efforts, says he's going to convert natives of that country to boiled peanuts.
Let's talk about dogs.
Back in the days before binding caucuses and every-other-day primaries, political conventions were fascinating.
Regarding our time together today, I'm reminded of two old maxims:
My, my, isn't Rush Limbaugh getting contrite now that his advertisers are abandoning him?
The Academy Awards show has come and gone.
Geez, we have become the most easily offended, quick-to-demand-an-apology, can't-take-a-joke society, maybe in the history of the world, even including Marco Polo, Julius Caesar, Richard Nixon and Steve Spurrier.
On the coast of Maine, a couple of hours down from Acadia National Park, there's a village with the wonderfully euphonious name of Wiscasset, and on its outskirts sits the Sea Basket.
On the Maine island where Wife Nancy and I spend time, I come in contact with lots of tourists -- over the course of a season, thousands of them who visit Acadia National Park.
Through a set of circumstances that comes up about this time each year, I've been cooking for myself lately.
Matt Dillon's dead, and the bad guys in the hereafter had better be watching their backs.
Years ago, Holiday Inn had a slogan: "The best surprise is no surprise at all."
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