(First published Sep. 23, 2010) Sunday mornings are made for comfy sweats, long brunches and thick newspapers. I don’t have the right book at hand, so I quote loosely: “For six days thou shall bust thy back, but on the seventh day thou shall kick back and not do any work” – or words to…
– The snow’s so deep! Why don’t you pick up the poor dog and carry it? – It’s a Saint Bernard, ma’am.
– Keeping up appearances!
– Hey! You’re breaking my stride, man! – Sorry! … Trying for … 1st Ave! … Parking meter’s expired!
The alarm goes off at four-thirty AM. Plenty of resourceful people despise mornings, but four-thirty hurts less than one might expect; numbing, in a merciful way. Maybe most of the nervous system is still asleep. The hours are arguable not even within the morning concept. Some start the day at this ungodly hour to squeeze…
Yes. Size matters.
– Look at that one over there! She’s a natural with’em balls! – You’ve seen her play? – Nah …
Sunday mornings are made for comfy sweats, long brunches and thick newspapers. I don’t have the right book at hand, so I quote loosely: “For six days thou shall bust thy back, but on the seventh day thou shall kick back and not do any work” – or words to that effect. The background being…
What I know about tennis can be written on a Metro card. Yes, I know those are not only small, but also plastic and that one can’t really write anything on them at all. Which proves my point. Nonetheless, for the time being I reside only blocks away from the New York stadium where US…
4th of July … O, Say Can You See?
Blog of Trifles 