How does it feel to be the most important person in America?
I recently got back from a vacation in Florida. I’m not trying to make you jealous. That’s just a side benefit.
When I went to do some shopping at The Walk earlier this month, (or rather to watch my wife and daughter shop,) I was happy to see that the new parking garage looked nearly ready to open. To me, the limited supply of public parking has always been the missing piece in an otherwise great idea.
If you’re not angry enough about the penitentiary-grade fence that now protects the Garden State Parkway bridge across Great Egg Harbor Bay from attack by sand crabs and terrapins, read on.
I made a mistake once.
If you live in Atlantic County, you probably feel as though you should be washing out your mailbox.
Journalism has some built-in drawbacks: long hours, tight deadlines and friends who are also journalists, which means they tend to write things about you when you can no longer defend yourself.
If you were picking a team of economic experts, I’d be the last one left standing against the wall. Junior high all over again.
Fortunately for us all, Hurricane Irene had some of the fight taken out of her before she got to New Jersey on Sunday. Thanks, North Carolina.
Some of you can remember when it used to rain without it being a “weather event” that got a special logo on the Philadelphia TV news.
I’m still shaking my head over the irresponsible behavior of Congress that left Federal Aviation Administration employees out of work for two weeks this summer.
Would you invite guests to stay at your place and then, after they’ve driven across the state to get there, leave them waiting on your doorstep for a half hour?
Earlier this month, as the New Jersey Legislature was considering revamping laws regulating the state’s wine industry, I was visiting a winery in Bloomington, Indiana.
In the media feeding frenzy over Gov. Chris Christie’s helicopter ride to see his son play baseball, it was easy to gloss over the reason he was in such a hurry that day.
I was struck by the potatoes. More specifically, the French fries.
I was up at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City recently, a great place to spend a rainy Saturday.
A friend of mine recently noted that the major roadways around here, the ones that are supposed to help you travel faster, seem to have become the slowest routes.
Back in the Paleolithic Era, when I attended college, I had a professor who confused me one day by taking exception to The Serenity Prayer.