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Another long weekend
Alert Dewsletter readers may have noticed their “Sunday Dews” arriving Saturday. Oops, my bad. Our automated email system failed overnight and a manual replacement version had to be created. As I hit the send button, I yelled out to my sleeping wife, “Your Sunday Dewsletter was just sent.” With her eyes still closed, she yelled back, “it’s Saturday.”
We have a bug in our email system that has caused subscribers to receive multiple Dewsletters the last two weekends. We thought we had it fixed. We’ll work it on it some more. No telling what’s going to happen on the real Sunday. Please bear with us.
Worthy of Comment
Also on the Dew
If you have noticed your TV smelling a little mildewy lately, or have found tendrils of Spanish moss clogging your TiVo, there is a perfectly good reason – the basic cable producers have discovered the Louisiana swamps; and like the Nazis who invaded Poland, they are not going to settle for just one kielbasa. Even though there is an old saying that if you’ve seen one alligator, you’ve seen them all, evidently Hollywood TV producers can tell the difference; granted, they are experts at dealing with thick-skinned carnivores after their experiences with the Kardashians, various cold-blooded housewives, and beady-eyed reptilian denizens of th Read on →
No one in his right damn mind pays “you’ve gotta be kiddin’ me” prices to see a movie -- even if it is an advance showing of a major motion picture. I’m willing today because this little excursion is part of my scheme to throw some serious ‘shade’ –- and some serious ‘cool’ --on a despicably hot summer day. I’ve come to the mall multiplex to match wits with Tom Cruise, to see if I can keep up with the on-screen goings-on in the latest installment of Mission Impossible. Just within the mall, but outside the cinema, the conditioned air smells of popcorn and pastry Read on →
Back during WWII, there was a manpower shortage in the east Alabama cotton mills, and my Grandfather, Jim Strickland, sold his backwoods Randolph County farm, and moved to the Chattahoochee Valley still seeking his fortune. Even at his advanced age, and with failing health, he easily found a job as an armed guard, watching the truck gate at Fairfax Mill. Whether the nation’s Intelligence Services had uncovered an Axis plot to destroy Alabama cotton mills, I couldn’t say. But Papa Strickland spent WWII making sure NAZI saboteurs or Kamikaze pilots didn’t sneak into Fairfax Mill through the truck gate. Suffice it to say, Read on →
We’ve been down to two cats now, Sophie and Dolly, for over two years. The last two lads, Tucker and Sneezer, took their leave a couple of summers ago, one otherwise healthy gentleman on the operating table to have his teeth cleaned and the other a poor devil who had suffered far too long from a debilitating disease. Now we have two aging dowagers who think they’re still debutantes. They barely tolerate one another, however, and share a porch space during the day as though they’re on opposite sides negotiating a treaty with Iran. Feline peace is not easy to maint Read on →