Downtown Orlando has started hopping again with activities.
In October of 2011, I flew from Orlando
to Rhode Island
, to spend a week visiting my father. I hadn’t seen him in several years, and felt it was time for us to reunite.
It was also a return to the city where I was born, and raised, and spent the first 38 years of my life. Fall River
is a remarkable beautiful city, old and historic, right along the Taunton River, with a rich ethnic heritage. There are neighborhoods that look like you’ve stepped back in time by several hundred years — something I badly miss in let’s-keep-building Orlando. Going from one neighborhood to the little, not much felt like it had changed. Everything was instantly recognizable.
But if there was one thing I did notice in the week, it was the radically different reactions I got as I visited local shops, ate at area restaurants, and meet old friends on the street. Continue reading
Jeff Guinn’s book “Manson: The Life and Times of Charles Manson” makes no effort to glamorize the notorious serial killer.
Driving through the busy streets of Orlando
on a recent afternoon, dressed in long-sleeve business attire, I could feel the August heat and humidity in all of its punishing oppression, and was reminded once again of just how slowly the air conditioning works when you first start up a boiling hot car. Alas, my mood was decidedly sour.
But as I navigated the urban streets, occasionally dealing with impatient and rude motorists, what really irritated me wasn’t the temperature, the slow pace of my a.c. system, or my fellow drivers. It was the sounds emanating from my car’s compact disc player.
I had known for some time that the story of mass murderer Charles Manson intricately involved music. Manson had believed that the Beatles spoke to him through their “White Album,” and that the songs on it – particularly “Helter Skelter” – were predicting a coming race war in America. Continue reading
As Freeline Media editor Mike Freeman glances out his window at night, he often wonders: is there a serial killer lurking out there?
My friend Brek and I have a running argument (friends tend to do that, you might have noticed, and on the positive side, it can taken as a sign that they care.)
Anyway, Brek is quite insistent that I’m afraid in life of the wrong things, and that there are far more compelling and immediate things I need to be fearful of then that which does send shivers up my spine and leave me feeling anxious in the pitch darkness of night.
Brek’s advice, quite simply, is that I should be afraid — very afraid — of cancer.
His logic is that we’re both at the age of 51, and not all of us age gracefully, so it’s wise and prudent to see a doctor regularly starting now, with regular checkups for things like cancer. It’s an issue Brek has taken seriously for years; he does in fact see his physician regularly, and has even had the standard now-that-you’re-over-50 colonoscopy.
He’s also peeved that I moved to Florida in 2002, and I haven’t been to see a doctor once. Well, that’s not entirely true. I did go to an outpatient clinic a few years ago to see if the local doctor could remove a batch of earwax that I couldn’t get out. That was it.
But regular physicians and physicals? Cough, turn your head, blink six times while singing “Ah Luetta,” all that jazz, no. Continue reading