Southerners do make headlines, donít we? Sometimes we hear some piece of news and immediately know it happened south of the Mason-Dixon Line. We just KNOW, the same way we know itís going to rain if we wash the car.
The ďcorporal punishmentĒ debate blew up last month when Minnesota Vikings running back Adrian Peterson was indicted after allegedly beating his four-year-old ďwith a tree branch,Ē leaving welts and abrasions on the boyís body.
A story in the Sept. 29 issue of USA Today said that soda makers like Coke and Pepsi cared about the obese state of this country.
I wrote something a few weeks back about a new watch called simply SLOW. The manufacturers took off the longer minute hand and left you with the shorter, and more slowly moving hour hand.
My mind is all over the place lately. I blame it on hormone shifts but the less we talk about that, the better.
I found two cool shirts on the clearance rack at Wal-Mart.
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Remember when it was fun to fly the friendly skies? Back when flight attendants were called stewardesses, traveling by airplane was special. Meals were served and the cabin crew was glad to see you. Passengers dressed up, there was plenty of seat room and screaming babies were strapped to the wing. (Just checking to see if you were paying …
Iím always excited to see Clemson or USC athletes ascend to the NFL, but it was particularly thrilling to watch former Gamecock quarterback Connor Shaw play in the preseason Monday Night Football matchup between the Cleveland Browns and Washington Redskins.
Iíve been paying a lot of attention to advertising signs and billboards while on the road lately. I donít text and drive during my frequent travels, but I do take the occasional peek at the signs along the way.
Once youíre in the news business, youíre never really out of the news business. Which is why Iím still obsessed with the news business.
I was lamenting timeís passage the other day in a Facebook post, about how a person seems to have all the time in the world when he has nothing to look forward to, but the moment you find someone you really like and would love to spend all your time with, somebody upstairs hits the fast forward button and before you know it, your timeís up, sheís …
Isnít it funny how we obsess over the little things?
Iím clumsy. Awkward. A klutz. Always have been.
It is well documented that I am not a handyman.
I hate heat, so this is not my favorite season. Actually, in South Carolina we have only two seasons: Hot, and Christmas. Itís not Christmas.
We live in a pastoral little hamlet, Widdle Baby and I.
I have to stop watching HGTV. Itís giving me a complex.
Life as I know it has become manifested in the dim, blinking brake lights in the distance, having left me behind.
Sometimes you just need to buy the shoes.
Last year it was the Summer of Monopoly Ė a golf shirt the color of every street on a Monopoly board.
Thereís this stranger who yells at noisy kids, shakes his fists at speeders in the neighborhood, glares at youngsters who thump the subwoofers in their cars at sub-atomic testing, and has yet to understand most of the applications on his cellphone.
Remember the mean kids in high school? The ones who did mean stuff to impress their mean friends, then laughed about it, because they were mean?
Thereís never a dull moment at Crazy Acres.
In my defense, it looked cool and refreshing. Cool as in temperature-wise, not style, and refreshing, as in maybe a little aromatic relief from this ridiculous heat.
Thanks to Facebook, I know now which Brady Bunch kid Iíd be, what kind of dog I am and how long I would survive a zombie apocalypse. (Jan, beagle and foreverómy husband is handy with a shotgun, and I swing a mean cast iron skillet. I think weíd be OK. You thought I was going to say I donít believe in zombies, didnít you?)