The city where I live, an undistinguished place in Massachusetts, is getting ready to build a replica of the Vietnam Wall in Washington, D.C. It is a thing keenly desired by the population, most of whom make less that $30,000 a year, which is a hell of a lot less in Massachusetts than it is in Georgia.
Let’s start out by putting a floor under this column.
I was raised to believe that you did not wear the American flag as clothing.
I had a pickup truck. Her bloodline is not important, though I will say she was a 2001 and white in color.
Woody Guthrie, by God, that Commie Okie, the troubadour of the Dust Bowl.
The United States of America has always traded with Britain, though sometimes it was less of a formal trade, and more of a swap.
I’ve been Trumped, obstructed, Korea-ed, Iran-ed, Alabama-ed and Mueller-ed nearly to death in the last few months, just like any newspaper columnist whose weekly column isn’t titled “Gardening Tips From Rose” or “Church Doings.”
As near as I can understand Alabama’s abortion law, it arises from two things:
1. It’s in the Bible.
2. The school system in Alabama stinks.
If you add all the Americans who take Xanax to all the Americans who drink beer, and all the Americans who use cocaine, and all the Americans who smoke meth, and all the Americans who use heroin, and all the Americans who use prescription pain killers, it’s a wonder anything ever gets done around here.
I watched Notre Dame de Paris burn from my couch, located in my house, located one block from a 100-year-old Catholic church that is 80 percent empty on Sundays. In the back of the church is a redbrick Catholic school, abandoned for decades.
When I was very young, maybe 40 years ago, I worked with a number of unreconstructed workingmen.