There’s something going on at Utz and I mean to get to the bottom of it.
I'm Just Saying
Look, I know none of you turn to this column to read anything political, in fact several readers have emailed to tell me they search specifically for this column to get away from politics.
This whole ‘vocal rest’ thing I’m doing to heal my throat and, it is hoped, regain my voice once again in a few weeks, is getting decidedly old.
It’s often said that a song, like a scent, can whisk us away to a particular time or place, and I wouldn’t disagree.
Some couples have ‘their’ song while others wince at the memory of a mangled romance that was connected to ‘Every Breath You Take,’ or ‘Achy Breaky Heart.’
Personally, I’ve always winced at Achy Breaky Heart.
Another summer, another mangy fox.
I’d be willing to bet the conversation I had with a fill-in postmistress at our local post office a few weeks ago is exclusive to our small town.
Believe it or not, I have something in common with the international pop star, Adele.
A silo filled with grammys?’
An 18th century manor house in the West Sussex countryside of England?
Not unless I sell a lot more books.
Damaged vocal chords? You got it.
I went to church three times this past week.
As an Episcopalian, that’s pretty rare, considering two of them were neither funerals or weddings. And only once was I actually in the building.
When you live in an A-frame, or, ‘IHOP,’ as we like to call it (sans the orange roof), the one rather sad part is that birds tend to fly into the upper windows.
Sometimes it might be fun to be on the other side of the law, just to hear what name the mafia bestows upon you.