The Dadball Era

As we’re all hunkered down during these crazy times, I’ve been trying to think of ways to promote local restaurants.

So what are we doing here in this isolated, board-game-storage closet of the site? I’m not sure, exactly.

The coronavirus is the ultimate independent voter.

The quest for Indy’s most DadBall chain restaurant.

Indiana high school basketball: Now it’s just an uninteresting, unoriginal Applebee’s along the Shadeland Avenue of American life.

Maybe some forgave on Saturday. Nobody forgot.

Hypothesis: Most parents will survive Science Fair Week, but none will prosper.

The rocketship is no more.

The question is this: when is the BEST time of the year for a birthday?

“Their disappearance is inevitable. And nobody is coming along to snap my money back into existence, either.”

“If you grew up on the north side of Indianapolis anytime after the mid-14th century, then you have most likely flop-sweated your way through its wood-paneled doors.”

Bless your little biscuit-clogged heart, Thanksgiving

On predictable outcomes in sports.

“Brogdon is the perfect mixture of stoic wisdom and offensive efficiency, like Abraham Lincoln with a solid VORP rating.”

“I’m tired of trekking out to the Speedway to see the lights, but not the same lights we saw at Newfields. Different lights. Different nights. Same idea.”