A few days ago, I was watching an interview on TV, and I heard the phrase “slow food” go by. I’d never heard it before. Immediately, this meme was lodged firmly in a fertile part of my mind and it grew rapidly on its own, with no explanations needed from the speakers. Slow food. Produced
The other day I was in a conversation with an old friend, and some new acquaintances who I would most likely never see again. We were jawing away about rock and roll. Twice I tossed out bits of pertinent trivia, and twice I was quickly told by one of the acquaintances that I was wrong.
If life is a river, I don’t want to ride it on a jet ski. That’d be too noisy, and too fast. And I don’t want a big ship that needs little boats hanging from it in case something goes wrong. And I don’t want a sunless submarine to lurk around in. And I don’t
On June 19, I woke up in Ohio and I went to bed in California. Meanwhile, there were delays. My flight from Cleveland to Houston was a little late getting off the ground, which gave me only 20 minutes or so to walk from gate E14 to gate C32 at the Houston airport, a distance
