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Well, I can’t remember the exact day or week it started, but it was sometime last September. Initially, it was a handful of unemployed college grads, parading down Wall Street carrying novel protest signs: “We’re the 99 percent,” “Can I get bailed out?” and “Do you feel it trickle down?”
When most Americans think of gambling in Nevada, they think of the tourist-oriented Strip in Las Vegas. With more than a dozen huge casino-resorts – some of the largest in the world – and their gaudy, colorful walls of neon, water ballets and spectacular streetside theater, there’s good reason for the Strip’s fame and popularity.
Well, class, it's time for a little anthropology, a subject that's always been close to my heart.
I had a great uncle, Sylvester Gaydeski, who died in 1970 at the age of 96. This, in and of itself, may not seem especially mind-boggling until you realize that when he was 10 or 11 years old, he migrated to this region via a covered wagon on the Oregon Trail.
So, I found myself sitting in the office of ophthalmologist Robert Tester, M.D., while he held a model of the human eye in his lap and clarified my rather foreboding situation. He said my vision was going to hell because I had cataracts.
Contrary to what you may suspect, some aspects of the Republican party used to appeal to me. On occasion, I even voted for Republican candidates, especially in state elections.
Well, just in case you haven’t heard, the world is coming to an end this year. It’s the Mayan calendar, you know. On the 21st of December – which the Mayans surely realized was the first day of winter because they were really into astronomy – their 2000-year-old calendar comes to an end. And various cults, religions and prophets of one type or another attach a great deal of significance to this.
Ten years ago, Aaron Brenner came to town and opened a bakery in the alley behind Vinnie’s Deli and the Village Shop. Today, both those businesses have folded, but the bakery is still going strong.
As any worthwhile linguist will tell you, our queen’s English is in a constant state of flux; that is, the meaning of words change, new words are invented and the spelling of words change.
Sunday evening, Hol-lywood once again salutes the movie industry and its accomplishments. Though the event isn’t quite as popular as it was a few years ago, we can safely predict it will still attract one of the largest audiences and highest Neilson ratings of 2012.
When I was a little kid the long, narrow building beside Suburban Soul and across Cole Street from the senior center used to be a garage and Goodrich tire shop that my uncle, Joe Semanski, owned and managed. I’ve discussed this business in previous columns and have no desire to describe it again. Suffice to say, it was the noisiest place I’d ever been in and the loud clang of sledgehammers against iron wheels actually hurt my young ears and may have caused nerve damage – a condition that, years later, was further aggravated by several rock concerts. (At this stage of my life, it’s a wonder I’m not stone deaf.) But mostly there was the irritating odor of burnt rubber. Indeed, that terrible smell is permanently etched into the deeper recesses of my reptilian mind.
The first time I met Les Stehr I thought he was a rather grumpy fellow and, at least on a superficial level, my first impressions were correct. (But, as bartender Tamara Dedmon points out, most of his gruffness was just show.)
World War II was the most awesome and heinous event in the whole of human history. Though it lasted only six years, the carnage slaughtered 50 to 60 million people, 20 million in Russia alone. It created and nursed atrocities so hideous it’s difficult to believe human beings were actually reduced to such vile depths.
Once upon a time, I had a cute, 2003 Pontiac Sunfire that was a fun little car that hauled me back and forth across America a couple of times and recently turned over 93,000 miles. (As you may have guessed, “had” is the critical word here.)
Last week I offered a capsule review of three generations of the Morris family in Black Diamond. The patriarch, Jack Morris, beget Evan Morris who, along with his other business enterprises, founded TRM Lumber with his nephew in 1969. Today, TRM is owned and operated by Evan’s son, John Morris.
During the first few days of a new year, it’s customary for newspaper financial and editorial columnists to make fiscal and political predictions for the coming months.
Throughout my childhood, I was very aware that adults celebrated New Year’s Eve, even though I never witnessed the actual parties because, by the time they occurred, I was in bed and asleep.
T’was three days before Christmas and o’er the Plateau, Everyone was quite busy, everyone on the go;
Well, ready or not, it’s time to buy a few gifts. Despite the screwed up economy, most of us can scrape a couple of nickels together to buy special somethings for those special someones – and let’s hope there’s enough left for a contribution to local churches and food banks.
Well, the tree is up, it’s decorated, and perhaps a few brightly-wrapped gifts are scattered beneath it. Friends have dropped by and you may have served an eggnog or two. Impatient 5-year-olds don’t think they can possibly contain their excitement for another two weeks, while awaiting the arrival of the jolly fellow.