Rick Horan has been a good sport, wait, maybe sport isn’t the right word. Rick has been ok with me filming his basketball exploits and posting his work on Facebook and YouTube. People always ask if he’s that bad. He is. (See the horror online by searching Two Bikes and a Ball).

Fortunately, there is no photographic evidence (thank god) but I believe a first-ever in the annals of basketball was achieved this past Saturday. Three men, each over 60 years old, suffering from a serious case of basketball jones, and dying for a sweat found an outdoor court with hoops still on the backboard.

In keeping with the social distance requirements of the day, the men plotted out some basketball drills and games, drawing upon memories of when kids

I don’t need much. There are few more satisfying things in my life than knowing no one else in the household likes some foods that I like. No one touches my Special K Protein cereal so I can count on it being there when I’m in the mood. Chocolate chip ice cream is another story. It’s like cat burglar food. You’d swear somebody broke into the house in the middle of the night to wolf down the half gallon that was there when you went to bed.

I hide stuff. If it doesn’t have to be refrigerated

There’s heated debate about what makes a furry. In short, it’s a subculture of sorts in which adults dress up as animal characters. Picture a person walking around as Tony The Tiger. Or a team mascot.  Some say it’s art; some say it’s just fun; and some say it’s depraved. Well, doesn’t matter what it was, it’s going mainstream. Furries have now been deemed essential.

While people are freaking out about the possibility that beaches will be closed this summer, there are emergency contingency

A long, long time ago, in 2020 B.C. (Before Corona), I was in Stop and Shop and in the mood for a snack and said to the store clerk, I guess a little too loudly—I’m looking for a blondie.

About twenty women spun around to look at me. I couldn’t tell one from the other.  Some of them looked a little offended. Sorry, sorry, I stammered. I’m not looking for a date. You all look great but I, I just want a blondie, you know like a brownie but, but, but…

I was embarrassed so I just hustled away

“I don’t want to live in a world where I can’t go to Rogers at 11 o’clock, have a few drinks and a good time and then go home at 1 o’clock. And then be home for a little while and decide I have still have energy, so I go back and close the place. And then get something to eat at Pickles and Pies and then go home for good. That’s the world I want back. I’m 67 years old or 68, whatever I am. I can’t be locked in anymore. This is nuts. No beach? This is nuts.” 

The speaker will remain anonymous

I picked the wrong week to stop sniffing glue.

None of us know what day it is, unless you get The Rockaway Times by email, then you know it’s Thursday but that doesn’t make a difference anyway. What’s a Thursday? Or any other day of the week. Every day kinda feels like Saturday but when Saturday comes, it doesn’t feel like Saturday.

I put the garbage at the curb every night and then wind up taking it back on five of the nights. At least it gives me something to do.

What can I say? My mind is

You know, it’s all downhill after kindergarten or as I like to say, look at the bright side —there is none.

Have you seen Tiger King on Netflix? You can check out The Lazer’s column in this week’s paper, page 30, for a funny overview. Everybody thinks that woman killed her husband. There really is only one other option, he’s hiding from her.

While I was watching Tiger King and learning to knit and make moonshine, I got a delivery from Peapod, which is now impossible to book. Word on the

More Articles ...

Sign up via our free email subscription service to receive notifications when new information is available.