You’ve made them already, those little promises to yourself that after all these years of being you, you’re going to be somebody else during 2013. But how are you actually going to keep those New Year’s resolutions?
“As also with y’all.” That’s the bumper sticker I saw on my morning commute Friday. One of the best I’ve seen, ever, and want for myself, along with “I Brake for Historical Markers.”
Democrats not allergic to arithmetic must know the cost of their "fiscal cliff" victory. When they flinched from allowing all of George W. Bush's tax rates, especially those on middle-class incomes, to expire, liberalism lost its nerve and began what will be a long slide into ludicrousness.
I always said I would never get any complicated, cutting-edge, intricate, high-flying new technological gimmick. And then I got a microwave.
Lucky number seven. That’s where I am in years spent at The Herald-Sun, typing away every weekday and some weekends. I’ve gotten to know Durham in a way that a lot people don’t, meeting people and going places I likely would not in a different profession. Most people operate in circles of work, home, faith, friends, food and shopping. A map of a reporter’s daily doings would show straight lines to and fro, making up a new dozen-pointed star each week. We cover a lot of ground. You could drop me anywhere in the city and I could find my way out by following my nose. Now, I couldn’t tell you which street to turn left on, then right on, then right again. But I could tell you which building (which used to be a different building) I take a left near.
Think you know 2012? Spent the whole year there? Or were you too busy posting twitterpics?
There’s a phrase college football fans tend to say when the season’s not going so well. “It’s a rebuilding year.” We say this so often with a smile, knowing that we’re just making an excuse, giving the team a pass because we’re all-weather fans.
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
not a creature was stirring, not even the cordless mouse.
The stockings were hung by the Kindle Fire place with care
in hopes our Blackberries wouldn’t need more repair.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of Androids danced in their heads.
I saw Saint Nicholas’ workshop last week. Elves dressed in green were busy sorting and arranging toys for girls and boys.
Dear former patient,
Our payment procedure in dealing with your recent procedure follows a certain prescribed procedure.
In the toy aisle among the holiday shoppers in Durham, I heard a little kid say something with a really nasty tone of voice. The kid’s phrasing also conveyed that this was something repeated from an adult, and not a happy one.
My fellow Americans, the only way this nation can avoid fiscal disaster is to stop using the word fiscal all the time.
Fa-la-la-la-la. I’ve been listening to “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” at least daily on the radio since Thanksgiving. I love everything about the holidays and fully immerse myself in it, trying to savor every moment before dreary January arrives. I’ve whipped myself up into such a festive frenzy that it has put me on the fritz.
After five months, three credit reports, two appraisals, six faxes, four secret handshakes, 18 emails, one organ transplant, 11 telephone calls and the covert transfer of 23 secret documents by drones, the refinancing is done.
Did you know there are people out there who have not eaten a Bojangles’ biscuit? I know, I know. Who could fathom such a thing.