- Print Editions
- Home Delivery
- About Us
See the picture of the goofy-looking guy that accompanies this column? Well, that’s nothing. You should have seen his first Costco card. Now that photo… Continue reading
There’s enough inherent drama in next week’s presidential inauguration that you might think it wouldn’t be necessary for the TV news networks to hype it.… Continue reading
While out for a jog the other day (a jog that turned into a sprint when a German shepherd came after me), I noticed a “For Lease” sign sitting in the empty window of a failed restaurant. After the dog got distracted and ran after a bicyclist, I strolled back to the restaurant and peered in the window.
Season’s greetings to you! I mean the flu and cold season, of course. Unlike other seasons, we are advised not to celebrate this one, but to avoid it. That’s why I decided to get a flu shot the other day and skip the flu holidays altogether.
When I was a teenager, I remember watching TV at Dean Cartmill’s house. Dean was my best friend and one of the most even-tempered people around. Nothing seemed to make him angry. But on that particular occasion, Dean’s dad sauntered into the TV room and greeted us with “Hi, girls.” I didn’t think much of it. I figured he was just being funny.
The other day, I noticed that the laptop computer I use for writing this column was behaving differently. The words were repetitive and repetitive; the writing had occasional mizpelings — and many of the paragraphs ended in mid-senten.
Last week, a semi-trailer truck clipped a corner of the historic downtown Pioneer Square pergola in Seattle. Luckily, the pergola wasn’t badly damaged and only needed some paint touchups. It was a far luckier outcome than what happened back in 2001 when a semi-truck driver from Greensburg, Pa., also clipped the pergola and caused the entire structure to collapse in ruin in the wee hours of the morning.
I was sitting in the stands a couple of weeks ago when the Huskies football team saw a potential victory evaporate faster than spilled beer on a hot sidewalk – all because of a referee’s call. A fan sitting just behind me meant to shout, “This is an outrage!” But instead, the words came out, “This is bull___!”
My granduncle was the oldest man I had ever seen. His name was Father William Cashman, and I guessed his age at 500 or 600 years, but that was just a guess. He may have been older.
I suppose this is coming a bit late in the game, but I don’t have much going on right now - so I have decided to run for president.
You might have seen the news story last week: A couple of guys from Georgia told people that they had a found the body of a dead Bigfoot – and they were going to show it at a press conference, proving once and for all that such a creature really existed.
A friend of mine was driving past a cemetery with his 4-year-old daughter one day and noticed her looking closely at it. “Do you know what that place is?” the dad asked. “Oh sure,” she answered casually. “That’s where the dead guys live.”
The phone call came in during the early morning hours. “Cashman, it’s me,” said the voice on the other end. “I’ve got to cancel our lunch today.” It was my old friend D.W. Clark, whose name – for the purposes of maintaining his anonymity here – I will change to D.W. Flark.
A few years ago, I put my daughter on an airplane to Europe. I didn’t want her to fly, but train travel would have been difficult.