I recently did a little bird-watching in Manteca. Not at Caswell Park or some country field, but right in the middle of town. The Chevron at the corner of Yosemite and Spreckels is my preferred watching habitat. It was 6 a.m. and the coffee lineup was full. That's when I spotted one. "Lots of bad stuff in the paper lately. Manteca sure isn't how it used to be."
I was watching football with friends recently when an old high school buddy's 7-year-old daughter let me know "I'm the fastest in my class - .even the boys!" I thought aloud, "Must be fun never getting caught at Tag." To which she responded, "We don't get to play Tag anymore." Talk about sucking the air out of the room. I should've just stayed focused on the Raiders taking another beating but I needed resolution, so I asked her why?
Looking at my mother you'd never guess she has a 35-year-old son. She does – but my brother Richie has nothing to do with me turning 42.
September has arrived, and for farmers across the San Joaquin Valley that means one thing – harvest time.
It seems that everywhere you turned this summer, somebody was filming part of a movie right here in Manteca. Whether occupying a local gymnasium, hospital or grocery store, Manteca was a destination spot for several filmmakers.
There is an immeasurable sense of brotherhood and fellowship that exists between people that have been football teammates. I'm talking about real football – not that game you play at the park with your older brothers, though that is a wonderful way to refine your skills. I'm talking two-a-days, mid-summer heat, sprints for five straight days, and haven't even seen a football on the field yet. Then you finally get your helmet and pads.
I've been preparing to write this football column for nearly three weeks and the only thing that has become clear is that I could legitimately write a column about football every single day for the next 25 years without having to repeat myself.
This was going to be my column about football and women; my male chauvinist view of how women are ruining my enjoyment of the sport. Not the ones that hate it, but the ones that feel the need to show us how much they love the sport. We get it: You like football, but you've begun to invade our space – and some of us don't like having to share our "Mary-Kay" party with you. But I'm going save it until next week. I figure the backlash will be severe enough that the Bulletin will be forced to ...
It's mayoral campaigning time around town. I'm on a comedy road trip to Seattle and noticed every town and city had their signage on full display. I began daydreaming about what it would be like to be the mayor of our town. I, of course, would take this on as a lifetime gig. The daydream soon turned into full sleep as I drifted away to distant future Manteca, a dreamland that incorporated both old and new Manteca.
Happy 26th column everyone! That may seem like an arbitrary number to celebrate, but it means I'm halfway through. No, this column hasn't been some court-mandated punishment handed down for years of bad behavior on the mean streets of Manteca. It means my goal of doing this for a year is halfway complete. I don't often set goals for myself, or as I call it "Life Pacing," but I'm finding there have been many ancillary benefits to striving for these things people call goals.
Monday morning I stopped by my mother's house while she was on vacation. She had asked that I'd water the lawn while she is gone. I remembered seeing a box of brown sugar cinnamon Pop Tarts there the week before – so I was more than happy to help out.
There is nothing I enjoy more than hearing from a friend or acquaintance that they want to give stand-up comedy a try. I usually recommend they walk outside in the morning to get the paper in their underwear; it's basically the same, especially if you decide to get the entire block's paper for them.
This weekend marks the 95th annual MRPS Hall Celebration of the Holy Ghost – better known as Festa. The Portuguese people have left an indelible mark on California as far back as 1542. That's when Portuguese explorer Joao Cabrilho became the first European to set foot in our great state when his ship landed in San Diego Bay.
The powers that be decided that it was no longer necessary to hold the San Joaquin County Fair this summer. That's when the real powers that be - parents, friends, families, and farmers of agriculture – stepped up and said "Sorry, not on our watch" and the 2014 San Joaquin AgFest was born. A free five-day celebration of youth agriculturalists in San Joaquin County, featuring traditional livestock competition and more is currently underway. It's the Fair, without all the fanfare, such as carnival rides and horse races but with its most important aspect, agriculture, intact. Make no bones about it ...
A new McDonald's is opening at the corner of Yosemite and Commerce. I made the mistake of asking people how they felt about this occurrence, and did I ever open a Pandora's Box of McQuestions with a side of anger.
The grass is green, (at least for now) and the kids are taking to the field. It's baseball time, folks, our national pastime. Is there anything more relaxing than taking in a day game? Watching a group of 5- to 6-year-olds bumble and stumble along? Turning a routine ground ball into a comedy of errors?
A strange new thing has been happening to me as of late. I run into various business owners, town officials, and people in positions of power in our town and realize that most are my former schoolmates – or people of my generation. When did I become an adult? Or more adequately, when did my peers – the people I grew up with in this town – take the reins and call them their own? It is both a proud and scary moment to realize that this is my generation's time. Our time to be parents and raise families. Our time to ...
If I can be so bold as to speak for the other Grammar Nazis around the world – call us what you will – but I will continue to goose step until you learn the difference between "there," "their" and "they're."
This last month I took on a challenge – one that most mortal humans these days would fear to try. Take six teenagers to a Taylor Swift concert? No, I'm not that crazy. Go to Wal-Mart on a Thursday night to buy shampoo? I'd prefer greasy hair. Take a date to watch 50 Shades of Grey? No. Obviously I went alone. These things all fail in comparison to the monumental task I achieved the month of February.
I come from a long line of people good at sneaking out of parties. My grandfather Jack Cunningham was considered by many to be the Michelangelo of the Party Sneak Out. I'm pretty sure I once witnessed my brother Richie completely vaporize from a hallway at my Aunt Carol's house – only to reappear on his couch at home to catch the start of the 11 p.m. SportsCenter.
Ash Wednesday has passed, and Lent has arrived. The religious custom of Lent for Christians, is one that involves a 40 day period of prayer, penance, repentance, and atonement, in preparation for Easter Sunday. As a good Catholic boy, I will try my best to observe this period by cutting several things out of my life but some things – things that should probably cut out, and not just during Lent – shall continue. Here is a quick list of these:
Valentine's Day is here once again, waving its finger in everyone's face. Commercial on top of commercial make one thing clear – here is what Love requires and here is where you can buy it.
Sunday is the Super Bowl. That means only one thing for this pigskin lover: The Year of 2015 can officially begin. I don't turn my calendar until sports' version of "The Big One" is complete.
Page 1 of 1