#HusbandfromHell was trending on Twitter last week, which made me wonder if my wife had suddenly opened a Twitter account. She claims she hasn’t but the Twitterverse is awash in anonymity, allowing anyone to toss vitriolic comments at individuals without…
As someone who has waited over an hour for a restaurant table while later arriving patrons wink at the manager, and are promptly seated, I know the front door rarely works.
Fire up your Twitter or Instagram feeds, search "#cheesechallenge" and watch toddlers worldwide getting pelted with slices of cheddar, Muenster, havarti, pepper jack and the like.
I spent the better part of Feb. 27 listening to partisan backstabbing, snide interruptions and accusations of not playing by the rules. That’s a normal day in my house. I also watched the Michael Cohen hearing.
As a seasoned traveler, I enjoy stumbling on locales that seem immune from the consequences of time. It could be a town containing an actual drive-in movie venue. Or a sweets establishment that all the locals refer to as the…
Other sounds I’ve been privy to while playing, and which I hope Foresight avoids in its next software upgrade, include a golf ball hitting a
condominium roof, bouncing through a gravel parking lot and colliding with a low-flying bird. Thankfully for the bird population, I’ve only produced that sound once.
I do see myself using the newly approved skunk, garlic and onion emojis, as all three will come in handy when I am reminding my younger daughter, via text, to clean her room. I see no purpose for the auto rickshaw, seeing that Uber and Lyft drivers are usually hovering near me at all times and can provide transportation faster than a guy pedaling a bike strapped to a bench.
The buses in my high school daughter’s district rolled on the day before the mercury plummeted to levels not
seen since the second hour of "The Revenant" with Leonardo DiCaprio.
Nobody wants to hear about the two-hour delay to Austin, the de-icing truck malfunction in Milwaukee or the passenger with nonexistent hygiene aboard your flight to San Francisco that left you so traumatized, you DEMAND a refund. Or at least 50,000 frequent airline points that can be redeemed during blackout periods.
Only subzero temperatures and mountains of snow outside my garage could prompt me to shuffle through my on-screen programming guide, stumble across a show starring a Japanese millennial who dubs herself a “tidying expert” and think, “Hey, THIS looks interesting.”