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A friend said to me once that the ultimate proof of a family's ability to survive occurs when the dishwashing machine breaks down but someone still remembers how to wash and dry by hand.
This is not a good time in the House of Martinez.
It crawled through the city like part of a slow-motion scene from a science fiction movie, towering over the southern part of Los Angeles toward the open heart of our history.
My wife, the unbelievable Cinelli, is smart, really smart. She was a cum laude graduate of the University of California at Northridge, reads constantly, watches BBC World News on television and was told 63 years ago that she probably should not marry me. There was that one little glitch in her…
I was walking down the street the other day, whistling a little tune and minding my own business, when a middle-aged man in a blue serge suit rushed up, gave me a big hug and said it was wonderful having me among them. Then he went on his way.
Contrary to today's illustration, relying on martinis is probably not the best way to survive while one's wife is temporarily away on (1) business, (2) having surgery, (3) visiting relatives or (4) just getting out of town to be away from your carping, whiny presence. But I don't know that there is…
I overheard a man in pulmonary rehab boasting about the achievements of someone in his family. His monologue was so laced with superlatives that I stopped working the stationary bicycle I was pumping just to listen to him. Turned out he was talking about his 5-year-old son.
She's back.
Dr. Ben is floating around L.A. these days, so to speak, and reaching out via the Internet in a land-locked effort to win the hearts of America.
I've always been a walker, even though it is a funny kind of lopsided gait.