âSuccess without honor is an unseasoned dishâŠit will satisfy your hunger, but it wonât taste good.â
--Joe Paterno (1973)
Joe Paterno spent the final days of a headline inspiring life battling cancer and his critics.
His rich life, without the aid and comfort of a Bucket List (he was a coach, plain and simpleâand for a lifetime), has of late become the grist for criticism and more than a little food for thought.
Yes, success without honor can be an unseasoned dishâŠnow where did I misplace that honor and good judgment?
I am #@&!
I realize that this is a community newspaper, so put this column down and go watch wholesome prime time television, kiddies, but I can think of no other phrase to voice my displeasure for having stepped in dog feces that some insensitive pet owner left in front of my gate AGAIN!
Go ahead, laugh. It was funny the first time. The fifth time has lost its charm.
True, the word I wanted to use here is an inaccurate figurative expression of the bodily function that actually occurred, but it is less volatile than other four-letter words we can all think of at the moment.
By Garnet Wilson & Dennis L. Clay
It happens every year at about this time. The old year continues the unavoidable countdown to a brand, spankinâ new year. It is a respectable exercise to spend a few moments to reflect on the past 52 weeks and the events that happened during the past year.
It is our tradition to begin each year with a column about giving back to the Great Outdoors. Many times people only think about taking from the outdoors, but there is much a person or family can accomplish that will benefit the outdoor areas we visit. Expect this column next week.
There are times in life where words fail us. A situation arises where we wish we really did have a Hollywood scriptwriter in our back pocket to save us from the ensuing social awkwardness or to offer a succinct token of encouragement or consolation to someone in need.
Picture a more manly (without the mascara and the effeminate affectation) Captain Jack Sparrow drawing up passing plays on the deck of the Good Ship Coug It.
Scurvy Husky Dogs! Air Raid Offense indeed. Stretch the field, sideline to sidelineâŠis that Black Beard or Henry Morgan?
âThere are no men around here.â
That is a complaint I hear from rural single ladies quite often. Itâs not that there has been a mass disappearance of men-folk via space aliens or something akin to a gender selective Roanoke Colony. Allow me to translate: If they are not already married, or barricaded in the closet, there are no single, desirable, disease free men to date in this area.â
I know that is what that statement means because I used to be of the same mindset. Ah, me of narrow vision.
Imagine, if when you signed on as an employee, you had a negotiation with your employer about wages. Not just incremental adjustments to what the employee is offering, but a blank slate, square-one discussion.
Not to sound like the philosophically waxing Grand High Poobah of 20/20 hindsight that I am, but the phrase, âpick your battlesâ is more applicable on a day-to-day basis than I like to acknowledge. I was forced to embrace this bit of counsel last week. Well, admittedly I didnât so much embrace it. More like it clamped me in a bear hug and held on until I stopped struggling and screaming like a toddler pitching a fit in a toy store.
âI think the newspaper should do an investigative report on the vague so-and-so, because they vaguely did such-and-such and itâs ruined my life. Iâm not signing this letter, as I am well known in this area and the so-and-so is out to get me for such-and-such and it itâs just, like, mean. Did I mention they ruined my life? Go get emâ!â
Talk about government intelligence. Yes, I am aware that is an oxymoron.
The U.S. government, with a serious shortage of cash, but no lack of chutzpah and the ability to make incredibly shortÂŹsighted, stupid decisions totally bereft of even an iota of percepÂŹtible common sense infused into the equation, is apparently thinking about building a northern border fence with Canada to go with the one on the southern border with No, I Wonât Go To Mexico.
What the Peso? They donât even play hockey in Mexico!