Like virtually all of you, I email with abandon, giving not a thought to what happens to all those 0’s and 1’s when I press “send” or click “delete.” For all I care, it is out of sight, out of mind.
Say one thing for the Romans, they loved to party — and partied to love. It’s believed by historians that Valentine’s Day began back in those crazy chariot days of about 300 B.C. A ritual in mid-February entailed sacrificing a dog or goat and using its skin to whip women, supposedly in an e…
Things have been getting a little squirrely lately. If you, like I, have been wondering what in the wide wide world of sports is-a goin’ on here, the answer might be, well, other-worldly.
If you flip over to the B side of Jimmy Buffett’s 1974 album A1A, the third song in is “Tryin’ to Reason with Hurricane Season.” It’s an innocuous tune that sounds as storm weary as the lyrics suggest.
Today, The Pilot begins its annual list of editorial endorsements for this year’s election cycle. If you look to your left, you’ll see the endorsement for State Senate District 25. Five more will follow in successive editions, concluding on Oct. 28.
There’s little virtue in virtual. Yet that’s how we’ve been living much of family life the past six months. When grocery shopping is about as “real” as it gets, you begin feeling like you’re little more than an icon in a game of SimCity.
Picture this: 3,845 photos, all those digital 0s and 1s that make up a picture as they exist on my phone. And yet, I suspect that total is on the low end of any average teenager, who snaps and shares with abandon.
I’ve tried to be a good soldier. I wear my mask when out in virtually any public situation, even though sometimes it smells — on my end — like I’ve accidentally put on one of my son’s old socks.
The coronavirus has changed our lives in ways both large and small, personally and professionally. And while we all have experienced loss on some level, we also have seen gain.
Rarely do you feel more fortune-kissed than when you slide into a pair of shorts or blue jeans and, feeling something in the pocket, pull out a crumpled $20 bill. Found money!
April, T. S. Eliot wrote in his dark, landmark poem “The Waste Land,” “is the cruellest month, breeding // Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing // Memory and desire, stirring // Dull roots with spring rain.”
I am not prepared for coronavirus, nor are you, I bet. I am making no judgement about your on-hand stock of sanitizer and cleaning wipes. This is not about what’s in the pantry, but rather about what we’re going to have in life and what we’ll be doing going forward.
We usually go to the movies to escape reality for a couple of hours. It’s a rare movie anymore that has me thinking on its message long after the lights have come up and everyone has moved on to worry over the latest coronavirus update.
No one needed to perform CPR on me when I had my heart attack four years ago. Other than a pain in my chest akin to bad heartburn, I was otherwise without symptoms.
Not too long ago, I had not one, but two, pickup trucks in the driveway. Both belonged to my former father-in-law, a man who never met a Ford he couldn’t love.
You are not imagining things: We are in another election season, the clearest evidence of which are all of the roadway signs that have popped up locally in the last couple of weeks.
I wasn’t awake when the college football championship ended Tuesday morning at 12:14 a.m. I was lucky to make it to halftime. I was dropping Z’s before confetti fell upon the LSU celebrants.
There’s no place like home for the holidays — unless you sell your home at the holidays, pack your life of 25 years and move five states away.
In the grand scheme of things, Grandma Domenick was probably hazardous to our health as children. She smoked harder than the steamer that brought her to America as a 4-year-old girl from Naples. Her colorful penchant for cursing in Italian earned nickels on her ocean passage as entertainment…
We know our children from that very first moment. Even before they are the size of a pea, we are talking to them, singing to them, cooing for them, performing for them. Who hasn’t read Dr. Seuss to a belly button?
The holiday season has this way of pulling my gaze to the rear-view mirror, where objects can be closer than they appear. Over the last few years in this space, I’ve used the month of December to offer a few reflections on seasons past and present.
There are no easy answers in life. That’s never more abundantly in your windshield than driving through the southeastern byways of North Carolina as you head “Down East.”
One of my favorite movies from the 1980s is “Moscow on the Hudson.” Robin Williams is a Russian musician playing saxophone in a traveling circus when he defects while in New York City.
The temperature may now reliably be less than 90 degrees, the longleaf pines are shedding their brown needles in fall’s breeze, and college football’s marquee matches are piling up. For me, that signals that election season is in full throttle.
College football kicked off in full force Saturday, and continues tonight and Monday night. But if you’re like me and the parent of a kid playing football, you know the past month has been replete with practices, jamborees and lots of sweaty laundry.
College move-in day ain’t what it used to be. History and past personal experiences have colored expectations greatly. I might need a new box of crayons after last week.
Over the past couple of weeks, I and Pilot Publisher David Woronoff have fielded questions from folks about the paper’s Letters to the Editor section of the Opinion page. We’ve been asked — in ways ranging from polite to incredulous — what our standards are for publishing letters we receive.
Here at The Pilot, we take great pride not just in being a leader for our community, but sometimes our industry as well. We had an opportunity earlier this month to do the latter.
- Column: Supreme Court Upholds Name As Final Stop for Legal Affairs
- Columnist: Trump May Be Gone, But His People, Causes Remain
- Column: Man Who Gave Us Plastic Just Wanted Uncomplicated Life
- Column: J. Edgar Hoover Was Right Man At Right Time
- Column: Insomnia Can Be Fatal, But Don’t Lose Sleep Over It
- Column: Coffee, A Sinker, Folded Newsprint Still A Great, Enjoyable Experience
- Column: 'Social Justice' Is a Matter Than Endangered Us as a Free People
- Column: Hearsay Evidence Can’t Be Used to Bring Down President Trump
- Column: Impeachment Best Understood When Considering Andrew Johnson
- Column: We’ve Grown Accustomed To the Welfare State’s Pampering
- Column: T's Final Farewell: An Exit, With Kicking and Screaming?
- Column: Enough, Already! Worn Down, Burned Out by Election Cycle
- Column: Advertising: Where Art Does Not Always Imitate Life As We Know
- Column: Heigh-Ho, Silver: The Masked Man Rides Again
- Column: Trump Won’t Call the Shots On Our Court
- Column: Too Long a Sacrifice Can Make a Stone of the Heart
- Column: Authoritarianism Challenges The Resilience of Our Democracy
- Column: America Needs Multi-Party System To Represent American Electorate
- Column: How a 14th Century Crisis Mirrors Our Own Situation Today
- Column: They Should Make Massive Changes Now To Improve Presidental Debate Performance
- Column: Where Are the Leaders? It’s Time to Step Up
- Column: Evangelicals Need to Recalibrate Their Expectations of the Truth
- Column: Legislature Has Important Work To Do in This Year’s Session
- Column: Public Health Critical for Health of Our Community
- Column: Be a Part of the Village's Study of Historic Integrity
- Column: Dec. 7, 1941 Has New Company as A Day of Infamy
- Column: Rename Fort Bragg After Our Army General: George Marshall
- Column: The Electoral College Comes Through for America
- Column: Unwillingness to Wear Mask Is Massive Reckless Endangement
- Column: Why More Than 200 Military Leaders Endorse Joe Biden