I know that by the time I hit old age, there are a few things I'll hate to admit I need but most definitely will require — like bifocals, cholesterol-lowering tequila and a brain transplant. Oh, and probably hearing aids.
As you may know, Georgia Gov. Nathan Deal — who was supported in his 2014 bid for re-election by more than $600,000 in campaign ads by the National Rifle Association — last week signed the so-called Campus Carry Bill into law.
I’ve been to the state of Louisiana all of four times in my life, the latest being last week for a conference and to help some folks still dealing with flood damage suffered way back in August of last year.
As I’ve explained more than once, there are folks out there who believe I’m cheap. I prefer the terms “frugal” or “spending-challenged,” but the fact is I prefer to spend my money on experiences and memories more than stuff.
Every now and then, I discover some interesting new feature about my smartphone. Did you know that you can use it to call and talk to people? I know, right! That would come in so handy if I ever wanted to talk to another human being on the phone. You never know — that day could possibly come.
When I pictured myself at this old age of 46, there was a two-word term I never thought would still be in my vocabulary — “six-pack abs.” No, wait, that’s not it. Although, that two-word term definitely is not in play these days.
When I was 16, I got my first steady part-time job as a bag boy for the IGA grocery in Oglethorpe, Ga. I don’t like to brag, but they paid me $3.35 an hour. My boss thought that was about $3.34 an hour too much.
It was exactly 20 years ago today that I began working for the Columbus Ledger-Enquirer. Today, I’m no longer a full-time journalist, just another idiot with a newspaper column. Yet, I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud to have been associated with a field of service to the American public.
I just finished building a little 8-by-10 addition to a shed at my home. It sits atop the hill that slopes downward from my house. It’s fairly open with a tin roof and a bar overlooking the woods and creek below. As a huge Parrothead (that’s a Jimmy Buffett fan for you uncultured folks), naturally I refer to this place as Margaritahill.
In the corner of my office is a nook with a bunch of wooden crates stacked together to make shelves. A real writer might have such an area filled with classic literature like “A Tale of Two Cities,” “Madame Bovary” or “Justin Bieber: His World.” But not me.