Calvin Trillin, the food writer (among other things), once said to Johnny Carson that his mother had mastered the art of serving leftovers for dinner every night for 17 years.
My late brother, who was 15 months older than me, taught me the alphabet by using the spines of our World Book Encyclopedias as a teaching aid. I must’ve been 4.
As to Playboy …
The old man “read” that stellar publication back in the early- to mid-’60s. I’m confident my mom disapproved, to no...
Going on 30 years ago I bought secondhand the Compact Edition of the Oxford English Dictionary, the one with the two volumes and the magnifying glass, so a person can read that tiny type. I haven’t cracked either volume open in years.
I’ve mentioned before that I still have the Red Wing boots I bought new in 1974. I also have a pair of RW Iron Rangers (union made in the USA) I bought a couple years ago. It took a while to break ’em in, but I wear them frequently now.
For several years I took a meal most weekdays at a place on East Jefferson Street in Seattle called Debbie’s Cafe. There was a Debbie, who often ran the place singlehandedly. Breakfast and lunch only. Eggs and bacon and hamburgers. Heart attack on a plate.
Debbie shut the place down when...
I was washing dishes in a restaurant at age 13 — too young, by at least a couple years. Being compelled to take the job remains among my resentments of that character my mother married.
Any vintage neon aficionados in greater Denver may wish to visit the Englewood Library at 2:30 p.m. tomorrow, August 30, or the Filling Station (a tavern on South Acoma Street) at 6:30 p.m. for presentations on efforts to preserve the groovy old neon signage around here.
Breakfast and lunch only joints, the little eateries that opened at 6 a.m. or earlier and were buttoned up for the day by 2 p.m. They haven’t disappeared entirely, but they are getting to be rare birds.
I had mentioned earlier in this thread how the mention of "vintage" is likelier to conjure in most people's minds images of the 1950s or '60s or even the '70s than what we around here call "the Golden Era."
Yesterday was the closing day of the Denver Modernism Show, which was shortened by a...
Communicating pseudonymously, as most do around here, differs dramatically from “real world” exchanges. (Although the “real world” identities of several of us, myself included, are easy enough to uncover, seeing how in many cases those identities are hardly covered at all.)
But even for those...
^^^^^^
For the past decade or so I’ve been afflicted with what we laypeople call “seeds” on the balls of my feet. They’re little calluses, and it can hurt like hell with every step as they press against a nerve.
The treatment is easy enough. The podiatrist essentially whittles them away. That...
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