Making art is a three-way partnership: the artist, the work of art, and the viewer. Think about it. Until that object has been seen by someone other than the artist, it is not complete. The collector, of course, is that spectator with the added dimension of having acquired not one, but several objects, from a particular artist.
As I write this a few days before you’re reading it, I know my weekend will include helping my boy write all 21 names in his class on their “Paw Patrol” Valentines. Thankfully this is one activity that cannot become digitized. You don’t give first-graders e-Valentines. No social media Valentine’s Day wishes. It’s the print edition for Valentines at the elementary school level.
Someone recently asked me what do I do now that I am, technically, retired. I don’t play golf. I don’t trade stocks. I don’t complain (at least very much) about how my back hurts. So how do I spend my time? How do I fill my days? Why does retired sound like you are just getting tired again? Here’s my answer.
Breaking news: women like sports. I’m being sarcastic because women have liked sports forever, have played sports, have watched sports, sports, sports, sports, etc. But some advertising folks seem to think that the audience for televised sports is just men who, shall we say, are not intellectual. Or have mothers, wives or daughters. We know that’s not true. Televised sports are a cultural phenomenon that goes way beyond some guy sitting in a recliner with a beer.
Now, I’m not naming any names here —except, of course, for the repeated references to my wife, Carol — but there are certain people who just can’t seem to be on time.
Are anti-anxiety agents and sleeping pills making us stupid? That is a question that is giving some scientists nightmares.
Beginning in February, the once empty garage space attached to the CarQuest building on Mayo Street (between the Ford dealership and the Social Services offices) will serve as the foundation for support towards fitness and health when Cross Fit Broad Reach, opens in Hillsborough.
While Los Angeles stands alone in its transportation issues, here in the Triangle we can also go on forever about what’s the best route to get to points A, B, C and back. I never tire of traffic talk. A few years ago I wrote about those late mergers when the Durham Freeway merges onto Interstate 40, and got some of the more salty comments from readers who also do not like those who, ahem, cut in line at the last minute when the rest of us were waiting patiently.
This is a winter weather advisory for the surrounding region and all those who can’t remember that yes, you do turn in the direction of the skid even if it does seem counter-intuitive.
My fellow Americans, including most Red Sox fans, I am here today to once again report on the state of my union.
While growing up, I was deprived. I spent much of my youth without a dishwasher.
A year ago this month, Antonio Dixon was shot and killed in Durham. I covered a vigil for Dixon held in May at Spaulding and Linwood streets behind the Lincoln Community Health Center. Dixon was shot nearby on Jan. 14, 2014. Less than a year after Dixon’s death, a good friend who spoke at his vigil would also die, his life ended by an allegedly drunk driver.
It was a year to remember, and I wish I could. I know I put it somewhere. And I’m pretty sure I had it when I walked into the room, if I could just remember which room I walked into.
The holidays are almost done and the new year upon us, which means one thing: time to write those thank you notes.
’Twas the Monday before Christmas,
when all through the manse,
not a hashtag was stirring, no tweets had a chance.