I'm convinced that Sam's Club is really a front for the Death Star and the grocery section is the hub for their tractor beam.
Being a dog owner has its perks: the unconditional love, comedic relief and the ability to act as foot warmers on a cold winter night.
My girlfriend recently got a job working evenings at a bar, so sometimes I tag along after I leave the newspaper.
Bars are an odd environment, but I like them. Sure, I like beer just as much as any other guy, but they're neat little sociological experiments too, full of people trying to impress people for any number of reasons. People come, go and meet up. It's great to be a fly on the wall.
Things rarely happen as planned for me, and I hear that's just life.
I awoke bit early and in an unusually cheery mood one day last week. I started my coffee, turned on the TV and was mentally preparing a great breakfast, when my good-day train made an unscheduled stop at the corner of dog doo and living room carpet.
I've noticed the term "public housing" being thrown around quite a bit when it comes to the Kemper Village debate, and it's sort of unfair. Pruitt-Igoe was public housing — 2,870 apartments worth. Kemper is low-income housing, catering to much fewer folks who need some help here in our community.
My car needed a good cleaning, and when it was 60 degrees on a January day, who was I to say no?
The car wash place was a full-service automatic type. I couldn't get out and wash my own car if I wanted to, which I kind of did. But I got in line with other 423,987,429 vehicles (OK, so I exaggerate) awaiting their turn.
Like many men, I'm not really one for shopping.
If I need a new shirt or pants, I go to the store, grab one and get home. I don't fiddle around much, I just find one I like and get out.
I heard a news blip on the radio a few mornings back that has stuck with me ever since.
It mentioned something about how artistic T-shirts of Barack Obama were the number-one selling item from shirt stands in larger cities in recent years.
Around 11:30 a.m. on Tuesday, I got a call in my office.
"Hi, Drew. This is Senator Blunt's office."
Decorations, lights and the sounds of Christmas movies filled our tiny apartment. Each saucer was in its proper place, vegetables were stacked neatly on a tray and even the dog's hair bow was clipped in the exact center of her head. It looked as though I had planned a perfect Christmas.
From Mamtek to Indeeco, this year wasn't plain
and some somber faces around Boonville remain
The lights shine downtown (we have Ameren to thank),
but many right here don't have much in the bank.
I couldn't have made his Christmas shopping experience any easier.
As if the emails upon emails of high resolution photographs, website links and price comparisons weren't enough of a hint, I had even verified the payment and delivery methods of several locations, also included in the emails.
"How would you even wear something like that," The Man asked, scratching his head.
The fog was slowly lifting. The soft glow of our newly installed Christmas tree twinkled through the room.
Thanksgiving was in full swing and while I was still trying to regroup from the food coma I had so happily put myself under, someone else in my house was fully awake and beginning to bounce off the walls.
I was ill, which is no unordinary occurrence; sinus infections are hereditary in my family. (Thanks Mom.)
I was planted firmly in the center of our couch and wasn't moving. It wasn't that I didn't want to move, I couldn't.I was planted firmly in the center of our couch and wasn't moving. It wasn't that I didn't want to move, I couldn't.
It was pretty good flying weather this past week. The welcome rain was gentle, with only a little convective activity attached. The main deterrent to taking to the skies was the wind. A strong low-pressure area to our west and then north brought the winds right across the runway, exceeding the crosswind limit for most pilots.
Watching my male counterpart wrangle, and all but hog tie, our 90-pound pooch into submission prior to administering several drops of medicated ear treatment, I began to feel a bit horrified for any children we may (or may not) someday have.
“Don’t worry, I got this,” I said with that sense of confidence that only comes after watching an amateur how-to video on YouTube.
As I write to tell readers my plans to exit the Boonville Daily News, I do so with misgivings creeping through my head and more sadness than I fathomed when I somewhat reluctantly took the job. It will be an odd morning the first day I wake up, put on a tie and then remember I don’t have a 40-minute drive down the highway ahead of me.
