Let’s prepare for several months of lasting daylight, a time for enjoyment. Even at my age, I plan to find out how far I can knock a ball.

I’ve been practicing with our foreign exchange students, Phaedra Wouters and Ana Granado, now members of the West Las Vegas softball team. And though it’s fun, chasing fly balls that sail over my head gets a bit exhausting.

But back to Daylight Saving Time. It’s been with us for decades, and I wonder whether I’m the only person on the planet who welcomes it. But don’t get me wrong: I’m just as happy when New Mexico returns to Mountain Standard Time. That too has its advantages.

For about six weeks, I’ll be hearing my wife’s diurnal question: “What time is it?” I’ll say something like, “It’s 7:30, My Delight.” “No, I mean ‘What time is it really?’” And that leaves me the option of giving her the time it was before 2 a.m. Sunday and the time it is now. Continue reading →

It looks like an antique. By some people’s definition, an antique needs to be more than 100 years old.

What I’m looking at is a vintage photo from the New York Times that shows the newsroom of a metropolitan daily newspaper, possibly the Times newsroom itself.

There are a number of manual Royal typewriters, reams of paper, wadded up sheets on the floor, wastebaskets every five feet apart, massive filing cabinets, a generous number of ashtrays, a radio-like object that’s probably a police-and-fire department scanner, and a battery of Teletype machines.

There are no people in this crowded newsroom — possibly everyone’s on a break, but more likely the photo was taken on a day the paper didn’t publish.

At all the newspapers I worked for, the copy paper we typed on was not the precisely cut 8-1/2-by-11 sheets but actual newsprint, left over from a roll of paper and cut in the back shop to resemble what gets fed into the typewriter. Continue reading →

On a ride back from Santa Fe, I chatted with my granddaughter Celina. The conversation began right after some dude whizzed past us. It was clear he hadn’t had an oil change in years — if ever.

We pulled over to let the A.J. Foyt of the Rockies get way ahead of, as we didn’t wish to inhale the noxious fumes his car spewed. That prompted my second-oldest granddaughter to ask, “Was it worse when you were my age?”

Well yes it was, Celina, but we didn’t think of it as worse then; it’s relative. And we wondered what the air we breathe would be like when Celina, now 12, has her own grandkids.

Nowadays, it seems that everyone, not just every family, owns a cell phone. Your car breaks down and you dial (dial?) your cell phone for help. Except for the inconsiderate driver who overloads his pickup and lets newly chopped logs spill out, we don’t see many objects on the road, at least not to the extent we did in the olden days. Continue reading →

It would be great if I could turn today’s column into a feel-good story in which everybody lives happily ever after.

Yes, it would be great, but not in this case. I refer to Ethan Couch, a Texas teen whose carelessness (he and his buddies stole cases of beer from a Wal-Mart), and Ethan, with driver’s permit in hand (but no real license), drove at speeds of 70 mph before plowing into a group of people who had stopped to assist another driver.

Four people who had stopped to help change the tire of the stranded motorist died. They’re not coming back.

And what about Ethan? Well, a judge (who has chosen not to seek re-election) fell for the testimony of a hot-shot specialist who blamed it all on “affluenza.” You probably heard the term for the first time back in 2013, when the accident (why do they call actions caused by carelessness and stupidity “accidents”?) took place. A psychologist, G. Dick Miller, representing the Couch family, explained that Ethan’s extremely wealthy family created a lifestyle for the youth that made it impossible for Ethan to accept responsibility for his actions. Continue reading →

The number is 732 and counting. That’s how many installments of Work of Art have appeared in the Optic since 2003. I plan to make it to 1,000. And I’ve never missed a week, even when traveling with family to far-off places like Denmark, Austria, Germany, Sweden, Norway, Spain, Portugal, Hungary and Tecolote.

“Don’t you ever run out of ideas?” some people ask. Well, yes, and many a Monday night and early Tuesday morning I’ve paced the floor, trying to conjure up a topic. It usually works.

In the ‘70s, I was doing work on a master’s degree in journalism at the University of Missouri-Columbia. My thesis adviser told about how that central-Missouri city just had to have been the most covered small town in America. A writer for a non-university publication once wrote a brilliant extended piece on the Missourian’s motto that “If it moves, interview it; and even if it doesn’t move, interview it anyway.

The opening illustration of the magazine article shows a battery of college reporters, camerapersons and news photographers crowded around a boy sitting under a tree, seated at a table that contained a pitcher of lemonade and paper cups. The kid had decided to raise the price of a glass of lemonade from 10 cents to 15, and student journalists were ready to engage in fisticuffs to get the big scoop. Continue reading →

My son, a resident of Copenhagen, Denmark, for several years, often finds time to skim American-English newspapers, excerpts of which he forwards to me and to Facebook friends on this side of the Atlantic.

Has Adam picked up an affliction from his dad? I thought I was the only one in the family to sit mesmerized after observing something that’s strangely worded.

One of the most common misuses of the language — and the one Adam chose to comment on — deals with the misuse of the words “literally” and “figuratively.” The two are often confused. As are many people.

My son has — literally — picked up some of his dad’s hyper-attentiveness to the language and its misuses. In a post this week, Stan forwarded a mug shot of some movie star with a caption that reads, “Top 10 actresses that will literally take your breath away.” Continue reading →

American pop culture apparently redounds throughout the world. And just when I begin to feel sorry for some non-Americans, as they seem to struggle with American English, I get a surprise.

In our travels across the Atlantic, we’ve observed how remarkably similar things really are. At a McDonalds restaurant in Basel, Switzerland, we sat near crowds of teens swallowing Big Macs while texting and listening to popular American music. The only difference seemed to be that the default additive to a Swiss order of fries is mayo instead of catsup.

We had a brief conversation with the Swiss youngsters, whose answers were tinged with accents we’re not accustomed to. They answered clearly, even if the natives injected “like” and “ya know” into several sentences the way we Americans do.

These mannerisms convinced us that American pop culture must be everywhere. All of these experiences came to mind this weekend as we hosted a foreign exchange student, Rama Safitri, from Indonesia, who joined our European exchange students and our granddaughters for fun and games. Continue reading →

Here’s hoping my auto insurance provider doesn’t read this column, lest the Trujillo family graduate to a higher rate bracket.

Let me explain:

Unlike some whose names appear often in the Optic’s jail log, I have been issued only four traffic tickets in my long life. One was for rolling a stop sign on Mills, way back in 1955, when making my morning delivery of the Denver Post. My mom and I delivered that massive newspaper every morning to homes and a sprinkling of businesses

For the Sunday Post, we found that by removing the back seat of our car, things fit well. Anyway, I rolled a stop sign and got ticketed. Fine: $5.

I received two tickets — a week apart — when I worked in Gallup in the early ‘60s. I rolled a stop sign, got ticketed, and the SAME THING happened a week later: different cop, same location, same $10 fine, in the days when a ten-spot equaled a day’s wages.

Ticket No. 4 came the same day I had new tires installed, a bit bigger but longer lasting, they said. I argued, politely and acted somewhat victimized, that the larger circumference of the tires made the car go faster without affecting the speedometer. Didn’t matter. Continue reading →

He may not remember it, but to me the event is quite clear. Well maybe not THAT clear, perhaps a bit fuzzy, as clarity and fuzziness are what inspired this topic.

Back in the olden days, bicycles were rare, almost as rare as they are now, but for different reasons. A bike today seems affordable to most, but apparently so are cars, which is why we don’t see bikes too often. And it makes me feel good, if a bit guilty when I see an elderly man riding around town. He usually pedals his bike along North Grand; he’ll sometimes stop for a cold drink at Burger King, and then go home, which is close to the East Las Vegas Schools Administration Building. Anyone know his name?

But back to the point: One autumn afternoon I was riding a single bike with my classmate Chris Martinez along University Avenue. We had one bike between us. We called the arrangement “double hoss power.” With one of us in front and the other on the carrier or fender, we both could pedal, providing more “horses” to power the bike.

On one of our rides, Chris asked me if I planned to vote for Jan Black for homecoming queen at Highlands. At Highlands? We’d just begun our freshman year at Immaculate Conception. Who’s Jan Black anyway? How can we vote for anyone at Highlands? Continue reading →

It’s interesting how quickly and easily an item on Facebook can make its way into the pages of a newspaper such as the Optic.

Feeling ornery last week, I posted a note on the Internet disclaiming any love for mayonnaise.

Yes, I enjoy some of the jokes about that creamy, tasteless stuff that some people call food. I like the one about how the largest shipment of Hellman’s mayonnaise was loaded on to Titanic, back in 1912. It was headed for Mexico, where its residents love that squishy stuff.

But the super ship, on its maiden voyage, hit an iceberg, sinking and killing many, including Leonardo DiCaprio. It was in early May. The Mexican people were disconsolate and soon declared a National Day of Mourning, which has for years been called Sinko de Mayo. Continue reading →