He said he was speaking for all of the Canarsie firehouse when he concluded his eulogy,

“We will never forget you. We all love you, Kleino.” But Vin Geary, friend and fellow firefighter of Tim Klein, could have been speaking for thousands of people. Thousands who came to St. Francis de Sales last Friday. Thousands who watched the livestream and thousands and thousands from across the city and country.

You didn’t have to personally know Tim Klein to love Klein-o. You love him for his bravery and service. And you love him because of what you learned, what others said about him. You love that he was born a fighter. He was diagnosed with a rare form of anemia at nine months and illness and hospital visits were common as a child. But he

In honor of recent conversations I’ve had, I’m here to miscommunicate. Man, English is so overrated.

I haven’t been tested, but I’m pretty sure I’m a Charlie Brown adult. When some people talk to me, I just hear wah-wah-wah-wah.

Starting with plumbers. Or electricians. And definitely doctors. Once they drop a little jargon or specialized language on me, it’s all wah-wah-wah for me.

I was chatting with a plumber the other day and I’m someone who can’t tell a house trap from a speed trap, a

Sometimes you write a column and you only learn how dumb you were after people read the thing. I mentioned last week that I took a ride with a stranger into Mexico and how the border patrol police ordered us out of the van while they inspected it. I failed to mention, my new friend, Philip, was wearing a parka. As my brother said, just what you need in Mexico, a parka. You didn’t think that was suspicious?

The guy was in his 70s, so I just figured he was always cold. I’m now thinking the van

Because alleged travel columnists Lazer Lou and Bob, (Travels with Bob) Nesoff, haven’t sent so much as a postcard from the road, I had to fill the void. Last column, I spent the whole time complaining about the cold I couldn’t escape. Well, when the cold turned to snow between Oklahoma City and Amarillo, I turned into a southerner who can’t drive with an inch of the white stuff on the ground. Nobody could!

Trucks, 18-wheelers, went skidding and sliding before toppling over. Traffic stopped

In my usual Jed Clampett attire, I loaded up the truck and moved towards Beverly – Road, that is. I told the GPS to avoid a massive storm and tornadoes beating the hell out of the Midwest and get me to Brooklyn or Queens where it’s a winter I recognize.

After a few weeks in Arizona, I had to get home and I really wanted to avoid the mayhem I tasted in Amarillo when ice and snow caused trucks to slide into gullies like falling bowling pins.

So, I headed towards Marfa, Texas. Oh, wait. My quick

You gotta be an explorer to find this place named for an explorer.

Columbus, New Mexico is out there/out there, three miles from the Mexico border, eighty miles west of the last human.

Fifty miles past El Paso, on the way to Columbus, you could be driving on Mars, but you can see the wall, the one built to stop people from illegal entry into the U.S. From here, it looks like you’d have to cross a mountain range and hundreds of miles of hilly desert to get to the wall, which is a black fence

I planned to spend my birthday in Paris. And brag about it. Pretty romantic, huh? But a cold front rolled through Texas and I headed to Oklahoma City instead, which was even colder.

From what I read, Paris, Texas is a place that has an Eifel tower with a cowboy hat and after that it’s got all the excitement of Fort Tilden on Tuesday night in January.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. I got on the road the second the temperature in Rockaway hit 16. I drove straight south. Which reminds me of

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