There is a series of busy intersections near our house whose traffic lights SEEM like they were programmed by a group of juvenile barn mice who have fallen into the moonshine. I wish I could’ve been there when whatever counsel came up with the plan.
I, for one, am not very comfortable with our new digital assistant lifestyle simply because it doesn't enforce the common etiquette of manners observed in polite society. We, on our thrones of sentient thought, simply tell our digital underlings what to do.
We spend a lot of time these days at the local ballpark (Motto: “Well, THAT’s four hours of your life you’re never getting back”). During the course of many, many evenings and weekends spent at the fields, a large portion of it wandering around looking for a game that’s more interesting than the one I … Continue reading Baseball Phraseology: Let’s give it a ride!
When I was a kid, I wanted to grow up to become a professional baseball player. I wanted to make a living playing a game that I loved. . .
Like happens often this time of year, my kids’ school gave out “character” awards as a way of honoring the hard work and unique personalities of the children. In our case, these were based on desirable traits of Bible characters (e.g. The Noah Award for leadership). I love it. It did make me reflect, however, … Continue reading Less Desirable “Character” Awards
. . . the disappointment I’ve seen lately when it comes to earnings reports for certain companies is getting out of control. No one seems happy with what appear to me to be incredible numbers. . .
People are upset that Amazon employees are listening in on our private conversations through our Alexa devices. I say it won’t be a problem much longer...
The burritos at the gas station proudly claim to be “Hand-Rolled.” Yeah, that’s not really upping the appeal for me.
I don’t know what the rest of you did for Valentine’s Day, but my lovely lady and I spent an intimate evening . . .
I stood outside, bewildered and sad.
Now that my kids have learned to play the piano, often providing the soundtrack to our lives these days, it sometimes feels like we’re living in an Old West saloon.
Is there a gas pump left in America where we can just pay at the pump and be about our business? They are still at it:
I understand that you're not supposed to cry over spilled milk. But what about when you trudge out to the store in the early morning subzero wind chills to buy milk, and then trudge back home with milk, and then five minutes after you bring milk into the homestead . . .