When the phrase “Memorable Meals” is bandied about, it conjures visions of epicurean delights, chow so scrumptious it makes one moan. Sometimes, you don’t even remember the food because of
Decades later, I’m still embroiled in the argument. It was the summer of 1968. My best pal Phil Lanier, future country/western singer Joey Canyon and I went to the beach.
We add a new and dear friend this week, riding up front. Pat Arman magically became history. We’ve been friends for more than half a century and I shall continue to enjoy hearing his wonderful stories,
Every week since forever, I write a second column. The Time Ranger tracks our Santa Clarita Valley’s illustrious history. Best as humanly possible, I attempt to quote scripture and verse
Slowly but surely, we are sneaking out of this dry summer toward fall. While thermometer scientists are predicting a third-straight La Niña and its stinginess in the Heavenly Water Department, at least with upcoming fall, it won’t be
I’ve read a lot of spiritual texts in my time. Biblical passages. Zen koans. Wisdom from the Torah. The readings of saints, seers, holy men, poets and, of course, Calvin
We’ve added a permanent trail rider to this weekend’s posse. Let’s all tip our Stetsons to a dear pal, Adele “More Than Swell” Macpherson. She made her transition this week. Adele had
During the dinosaur days of my youth, I had a friend. He wasn’t a best pal, just a member of our gang of annoying, shoulder-socking 8th-grade boys in plaid shirts
Here we are, smack dab in the midst of the dog days. I can think of no better way to escape the Planet Mercury-like temperatures than a leisurely mosey through
So I’m not remotely supposed to be composing shameless plugs for businesses. It’s tres Hunter Biden. But, there’s this wonderful new law firm in town, W.D.D.&S. Spelled out, that’s —
Nice to see you, dear saddlepals and saddlepal-ettes. Have to admit. You’re all looking quite fetching and Western, this first trail ride in August. As usual, we’ve got some pretty entertaining vistas ahead
The office insurance is coming up for the World Corporate Headquarters of Scared o’ Bears Ranch & Publishing. When I moved into my expansive new digs a couple of years
A happy weekend morning to you, dear saddlepals. Hope those of you who aren’t in the saddle much are walking more like humans than cowboys after last week’s trail ride. Stretch. Walk. Hydrate. Do The Backstroke in the Second
Don’t be alarmed. It’s me. I was just holding this aluminum foil reflecting screen under my chin to catch a little sun where extraterrestrial bodies nary shine. Summer, you know.
I bumped into a stranger the other day. We were in the locker room. (Men’s.) Two rows over, I could overhear him. His self-mumblings rose and fell. Gym bag hoisted
OK. OK. Hold it. I know the demographics point to the fact that most Santa Claritanites are newcomers. But that doesn’t mean you get to bounce about on a horse in your
It’s the year 2121. Despite a national referendum unanimously against, we went metric acres ago. We just had our first election in a century and Joe Biden was re-elected president.
A warm — no. Make that more appropriately a HOT & Western welcome to you dear SClaritiatonians. Hope all’s well and you’re stocked up on at least a few 55-gallon drums of
I was a tummyless mop of hair, acne, Adam’s apple, terror and trepidation, awkward and unbalanced in size 11 shoes. It’s an awkward age, no longer child, not quite teenager.
Like Mad Magazine’s iconic Alfred E. Neuman, I’ve got flies. They showed up at my office last week, unannounced, without an appointment, and just made themselves at home. These aren’t