It’s time for end-of-month clearance. All impressions must go. There will be no refunds or exchanges. All puns are final.
Thumbs up: The constant efforts of Councilman Louie Trujillo (no relation) to beautify the city. Each time I see him I fully expect him to be carrying a bottle of Windex and a roll of paper towels.
Exactly during which decades did some people of my generation lose touch with reality? What cave did we inhabit that earned us the description of “in the dark,” “narrow-minded” and “square” and “mid-Victorian”?
For my eighth-grade graduation at what was then a brand new Immaculate Conception church, the venerable Msgr. Edwin Bradley delivered the address.
Thirty of us, standing, sitting and kneeling stiffly, listened as the archbishop’s No. 2 representative regaled us with the notion of leaving the past behind and reminded us that “commencement” is not the end, but the beginning.
This is war . . . or at least it’s competition.
Wednesday’s Optic contained a resolution/confession/regimen involving managing editor Dave Kavanaugh, who described the ordeal of trying to whip his body into shape overnight.
An Optic photo which sticks in my mind after several decades concerns a group of Highlands University football players who had taken a walk to Whorton’s Food Market in order to get weighed.
It was in the fifties, around the time the Cowboys began taking football seriously and recruiting across state lines was becoming the norm for intercollegiate athletics.
“The first shall be last and the last shall be first.”
One wonders whether that Biblical promise came about as consolation for those of us whose last names occur late in the alphabet.