Seems as if each time I sit down to write lately, my mind goes to a dark place. I feel sad, disconnected, unmoored. Like a boat adrift at sea. There’s a chill in the air, and not just because it’s late January and the coldest air mass since 1948 has blanketed the state of Florida. You may have heard the phrase, “The Revolution will not be televised.” I suspect the author of that line from his famous poem of the same name, American jazz poet Gil Scott-Heron, had no idea when he wrote it in 1971 that 55 years later the revolution would be “live” and in color on tens…
-
-
Blaming Good
Silly me. For my first blog post of 2026, I planned on lightening things up and writing about “Dry January,” where you abstain from drinking alcohol for the entire month to reset holiday habits and emerge feeling like a new person. Tanned, rested and ready to start the new year on a healthier note. Forget that idea. I blew it on Day 1 by having drinks with neighbors — for five hours. I could say I sipped on a double shot of Basil Hayden (neat, of course) for the duration, but I’d be fibbing. Nearly made it through the first weekend of the new year, though, but I blew it…
