I swim. Regularly. I actually cheat-swim in that sometimes I use small swim flippers, which makes the difference of racing through the water in an 1,100-horsepower cigarette boat or dragging
¿Como esta, yuppies? Come on, you bunk huggers. Best you climb down from those condos, ranchettes and townhouses. We’ve a most interesting ride through the unspoiled vistas of the Santa
Right off the bat, here’s two competing concepts. Each day, each moment, is filled with uncountable blessings. We take in life-giving breaths without counting a single one. There is an
Misters and ma’ams, wishing you a boffo and top-tiered western pre-dawn to all y’all, dear saddlepals. C’mon. Hop into something that looks remotely cowboyish (valuable bonus points will be deducted
A relative years ago shared that “… the fundamental unit of humanity is insanity.” I find no chink in her argument. People are nuts. This is good for me because
Before we rein our ponies into the magical back trails of Santa Clarita’s yesteryear, I just have to shake my head in wonder. This 2024 so far? Hasn’t it been
I’m long past my tree-climbing days, but that doesn’t stop me from staring. From my office huge picture window, I often slouch, put my feet up and just watch a
I just might be the only galoot in town who notices that every year, we have just almost exactly 100 days of hot weather. It usually starts on July 4
I am a 21st-century man, unable to free myself from my computer. I write books and columns, edit videos and am in the midst of starting yet another hare-brained Amos ‘n’
It’s Fourth of July weekend and I was looking back at something I had written 20 years ago about spending Independence Day with my father: “I frequently have this conversation
Unfortunately, if you live long enough, life has a way of coming back full circle and biting you on your fetching little bottom. Clearly, I recall a loop. Barely 20
Katie bar the door, what in Heaven’s name are you dear saddlepals doing? Me? The ponies? We’re stretching our necks toward the east and if I’m not mistaken, there seems
I’ve been completely in the dark about this. Just recently, I discovered that, every year, until the end of American Civilization, Oct. 23 is National Slap Your Co-Worker Day. Mark
C’mon, dear saddlepals. Roll out of the bunks and hop into those jeans. Don’t make me say the obvious. You get double minus bonus points if we catch you in
It all started from one innocent story in The Mighty Signal. In the June 11 issue of America’s most resplendent periodical, an article was apparently riddled with errors. It was
That orange orb menacingly rising in the east? That’s what we old-timers call, “the sun.” Some of you saddlepals might be hiding under blanket or pillow. Some of you may
D-Day was last week. That would be the World War II turning-point invasion of Europe. Not the robust brassiere cup size. June 6, 1944, was six years before I was
A warm and Western howdy to you, dear saddlepals, as we start knocking on the door of summer. We’ve a most interesting trek ahead into the foothills and back canyons
Editor’s note: The following “Best of Boston” column was originally published Aug. 11, 2023. I am probably the absolute last person to write an essay on dressing up. Except for
You up yet? Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. And sorry again. I know. It’s the weekend and the sun isn’t up. Couldn’t we be civilized and just skip our Saturday horseback ride
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