Point of No Return
Well, here we are. The end of another year, and the start to a new one — filled with promises to ourselves to lose weight, stop smoking, learn a foreign language, save more money and visit more exciting places.
By Darin J. McCann
Merry Christmas, one and all.
This one almost pains me to write.
Ours is a time that the historians will look back on as complicated, to say the least.
’Tis the season, right?
The season of joy. The season of ugly sweaters and hot chocolate. The season of feel-good music, traditional holiday specials on the television and carolers coming to the door. The season of begging your credit card company for a higher limit and feeling like a worthless bag of dog poo because you can’t wrap a big red ribbon on a new luxury car in your driveway for your perfect wife while your perfect kids behave like little angels sharing the moment like a nauseating cadre of...
Thanksgiving, my friends, is the greatest holiday of all.
I’m a bit of a word nerd.
I say that not because I find myself getting wedgies at the water fountain while I’m conjugating verbs, but because I find myself getting a little excited every year when the major dictionaries announce the new words they will be including in their listings. English is a language that began as a conglomeration of others, and has constantly evolved over time to reflect the world in which we live.
Starbucks cups aside, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas already.
Monday, Nov. 9, marks one year of me being a father. In a related subject, it will also be my daughter’s first birthday.
Halloween is a bit of an odd holiday, right?
Well, we’re certainly deep into election season now, aren’t we?
We focus a lot on the negatives in life.
I’m not judging. I certainly do it myself far more than I should. Instead of taking a deep breath and appreciating all the good that envelops my life, I often focus on the bad, or the things I want to be in my life, but in fact, are not.
The game has changed. Considerably.
During a rare moment of breath-catching the other night, I slowly sat on the couch — my attention divided between watching my 10-month-old bundle of mayhem attempt to reach out and grab all that she should not grab and catching glimpses of the evening news on the television.
As much as I’ve attempted to swaddle myself in a blanket of denial, I am indeed getting older.
I just did a hashtag. Did you see that? All the people saying I’m a dinosaur newspaper man who can’t keep up with the changing times, take that. I am a man of the “now” generation and can make my point through the short-but-sweet tool of the hashtag.
Labor. Day. Weekend. Those are three words that carry significant weight in our little slice of heaven by the shore.
It’s still in there.
You want to know what’s a good time?
Yes, picking through a bunch of steamed crabs with your friends while enjoying some cold adult beverages is definitely a good time. And, sure, hanging out on the beach with your loved ones on a “Sunday Funday” is always a good time. And I suppose calling that number etched into the wall in the bathroom stall that promises a good time could do just that, but Tom Maglio doesn’t always answer his home phone, so there are no guarantees on that one.
On occassion, I have “filter” issues.
No, not the kind of filter one would find with an air conditioning unit, nor the kind that keeps coffee grounds out of your cup every morning. I’m talking about that metaphorical internal filter we’re all supposed to possess that provides us guidance in terms of what information we should share outwardly, and what we would best be served just keeping to ourselves.
It’s the one that has saved millions of marriages over the years when a husband is asked, “Do I look fat in this?” The one that kicks in to offer a breath of sanity when a guy built like a Mack truck on steroids looks directly into your eyes at a bar and asks, “You got something to say?”
Greetings from Roxana!
Well, technically I’m writing this from my comfy chair in the air-conditioned Coastal Point Worldwide Headquarters in Ocean View, but the majority of my time this week has been spent in Roxana, sitting on hard bleachers with my head turning a kaleidoscope of colors from an unrelenting sun, while an army of partially-digested hot dogs practiced marching drills in my belly.
And it has been awesome.
Tommy, Tommy, Tommy.
As journalists, we’re not supposed to root for things.
Somewhere after cursing out my fantasy baseball team and trying to learn how to juggle chicken tenders on YouTube during an Internet marathon the other night, I stumbled across an interesting series of blogs written by Janet Lindenmuth on the Widener University law library website.
There’s a lot to be said for that big puddle of water over to our east.
We are currently a nation that is, at best, divided.
Here’s a fun exercise...
Clear your mind of all the day-to-day stresses that are overtaking it at any given time. That’s it. Just close your eyes, pull back on a deep breath and let your subconscious wander off to a place of abject nothingness. You there? Good, let’s do this.
There are a few ways to easily get a rise out of people in this community.
Perhaps there’s no greater mystery regarding the human psyche than the concept of fear.
I’ve had people tell me that no matter how old my daughter gets, I will always picture her in my mind’s eye as being a little girl with pigtails and food smashed across her face.