The Shippster

      Well, let me tell you about that New Year’s Eve in the living room. You know how it goes. It starts out with high hopes and a few snacks that are probably older than I am. The TV’s blaring some countdown special, and the lights are dimmed just enough to make you feel cozy but not so dim that you can’t see the pile of dirty dishes in the corner.      I settle into my favorite recliner, the one that’s seen better days but feels like an old friend. The family is gathered around, chatting and laughing. I can’t help but think, “This is where the real party is. Forget Times Square. I’ve got my own little slice of heaven right here.” It is complete with a bowl of chips and a drink that’s more soda than anything resembling adult beverages.      But let’s be honest, by the time the clock strikes nine, I’m already fighting the urge to close my eyes for just a second. You see, New Year’s Eve is like a marathon, and I’m more of a sprinter. I keep t...

      As the calendar pages flip toward the end of December, I find myself reflecting on the year gone by. It’s a time when we all seem to be a little introspective. Like a dog that’s just been scolded, trying to figure out what it did wrong. But instead of dwelling on the year’s troubles, let’s take a moment to celebrate the quirks and joys that made it all worthwhile.      Look at our ever-evolving technology. I swear, every time I turn around, there’s a new gadget that promises to make my life easier. But honestly, half the time I can’t even get my phone to stop autocorrecting my texts into a language I don’t understand! It’s as if my phone is trying to communicate with me in Morse code. And let’s not even get started on the virtual assistants. I asked mine to play a little country music, and it started reciting Shakespeare. I think I’ll stick to singing in the shower, thank you very much!      Then there’s the joy of reconnecting with old...

      Well, here we are at the end of another year, and I can’t help but think about how much has changed and yet, how little has really changed. The world may be spinning faster than a chicken on a barbecue grill, but our family gatherings still revolve around the same old stories that get better (or worse) with each retelling.        As I sit here, sipping my sweet tea and contemplating the state of the world. I realize that while we may have smart devices in our pockets, it’s simple joys like a good laugh with family or a well-cooked biscuit that truly connects us. Here’s to another year of finding humor in the chaos and love in the little things.

      Well, let me tell you, 2024 was a year that could make even the most optimistic among us shake our heads in disbelief. It felt like we were all stuck in a never-ending episode of a bad sitcom—one where the punchlines just kept falling flat.       First off, let’s talk about the weather. I don’t know if Mother Nature had a midlife crisis or what, but she was throwing tantrums like a toddler denied dessert. From wildfires that turned the skies orange to floods that made it feel like we were living in an aquarium. It seemed like every time you stepped outside, you were either baking or swimming. And don’t get me started on the pollen count! It was like the trees decided to hold a sneezing contest, and we were all unwilling participants.      Then there was the political landscape, which felt like a circus where nobody could find the exit. Politicians bickered like children fighting over a toy, and just when you thought they’d come to an ag...

      Well, let me tell you about the last weekend of the year. It’s that magical time when folks start reflecting on the past twelve months, and whether they admit it or not, they’re thinking about all the things they didn’t get done. You know, those New Year’s resolutions that always seem to roll around like a stubborn old mule. Like promising to lose weight, quit smoking, or finally read that stack of books gathering dust.       You can feel the excitement in the air, mixed with a bit of melancholy. People are rushing around, trying to squeeze in one last trip to the store, stocking up on snacks for the big New Year’s Eve party. It’s a time when everyone puts on their best smile, even if they’re secretly dreading the thought of the family gathering that’s just around the corner. You know what I mean? The one where Aunt Edna corners you with her casserole and a thousand questions about your love life.        And then there’s the weathe...

      Well, here we are, the day after Christmas. The decorations are still twinkling, but they’re starting to look a little tired. Very much like the people who stayed up all night assembling toys that could have been built by NASA engineers. You know, the ones that come with a manual thicker than a phone book and instructions that might as well be written in hieroglyphics.      The house is a war zone of discarded wrapping paper and empty boxes. You could probably build a fort out of the boxes alone, but let’s be honest. Nobody’s interested in that right now. Everyone’s too busy trying to find the remote to the TV, buried somewhere beneath the avalanche of gifts. It’s a miracle we can even remember how to turn it on after all the holiday chaos.      Then there’s the food. Oh, the food! Leftover turkey that’s already starting to grow a personality of its own, ham that could last until next Christmas, and enough sweet potato casserole to feed...

      It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m bouncing on the couch like a caffeinated squirrel. Moms in the kitchen humming “Jingle Bells,” while Dad pretends to read the newspaper but is really just waiting for the cookies to come out. I swear, he’d trade his favorite fishing rod for a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies. Unless it’s for a new fishing hat.       My older sister, Polly, is already in her festive pajamas that look like something from a bad 1980s music video. She thinks if she goes to sleep early, Santa will bring her a brand-new Cabbage Patch Kid. I told her the only thing Santa delivers is a truckload of presents, and maybe a pair of socks that Dad will pretend to love.      Outside, it’s snowing like someone’s been shaking a giant snow globe. I’m practically vibrating with excitement. Last year, I tried to stay up to catch Santa. All I caught was a face full of pillows when Mom caught me peeking. This year, I’m lying still like a log,...

      Well, folks, here we are, just two days away from Christmas. At the time of year when we gather around the tree, baking pecan pie that will make you weak in the knees. Then we try to remember why we’re obligated to send Aunt Mildred a jar of her famous pickles every year.      Now, I don’t know about you, but Christmas has always been a mixed bag for me. On the one hand, you’ve got the lights, the laughter, and the joy of giving. On the other hand, you’ve got the stress of finding the perfect gift. Which usually ends with you standing in line at Walmart, wondering how you let it get to this point.      And speaking of gifts, I’ve reached a conclusion about what we all really want: a nap. That’s right! No more ties or socks! Just a quiet room, a comfy couch, and the sweet sound of silence. It’s the most precious gift we can give ourselves.      This year, as I look at my Christmas lights, which are about as tangled as my ...

      Well, folks, it’s December 22, 2024, and here we are again, knee-deep in holiday cheer and the annual debate over fruitcake. Now, I don’t mean to be rude, but whoever thought that mixing dried fruit with a brick of sugar and calling it dessert should be put on a watch list. If I wanted to taste something that dense, I’d just bite into a piece of lumber.      As I sit here sipping on some eggnog that’s probably more nog than egg at this point, I can’t help but think about how the world seems to spin a little faster each year. Just last week, I saw a commercial for a smart refrigerator that can order groceries for you. I can barely get my dog to fetch the newspaper, and now we expect our appliances to be smarter than we are. I half expect my fridge to start judging my midnight snack choices. "Oh, you again? Shouldn’t you be eating a salad?"      And let’s talk about New Year’s resolutions. Every year, I resolve to exercise more, eat healt...

      Well, let me tell you, the College Football Playoff Committee has had its share of head-scratchers, and this year's 12-team selection was no exception. If you thought the committee had a tough job before, well, they really stepped in it this time.      First off, let’s talk about Indiana. They strutted onto that field all proud and ready for a big showdown, only to be blown out like a birthday candle in a windstorm. I mean, it was a disaster! Indiana fans were probably wondering if they accidentally wandered into a different stadium. When you get your lunch money taken and then have to walk home with your head down, that’s what it felt like. A playoff spot should mean you’re ready to compete, not just happy to be there.      And don’t even get me started on SMU. Now, I understand the allure of a good Cinderella story, but watching that game was like waiting for the next season of a show that got canceled after one episode. Snooze fest d...

      Only four days until Christmas, and I’m already bracing myself for the family gathering. You know what that means, right? the inevitable debates over who makes the best cornbread and why Aunt Faye insists on bringing that awful fruitcake that’s been in the family since the dawn of time. Seriously, I think that fruitcake has its own zip code. If you threw it at someone, it might just bounce off and start a new neighborhood watch program.      I’ve got my game face on because I’m prepared to defend my position as the undisputed champion of sweet tea brewing. Folks, let me tell you, sweet tea isn’t just a drink. It’s a way of life down here. I once saw my cousin try to make it with unsweetened tea. You’d have thought he committed a crime against humanity. People were clutching their pearls like they were about to faint! If you can’t win the family cook-off, at least you can win the drink wars. And I plan to win with a gallon jug that could drown a smal...

      Well, folks, it’s that time again! The last weekend before Christmas is upon us, and experts are buzzing with excitement. They’re predicting it to be one of the busiest shopping weekends of the year. I can just picture it now. Shoppers flooding the stores like it’s the world’s biggest sale on pies at a county fair.       Now, back in my day, Christmas shopping was a simple affair. You’d grab a list, maybe a cup of coffee, and head out to find that perfect gift for Aunt Edna. But these days? It’s a full-blown Olympic event! People are out there sprinting through aisles, dodging shopping carts, and strategizing their routes like they’re planning a military operation.      Experts are saying that this weekend will see families hitting stores and online retailers in droves. Why? Because nothing says “I love you” quite like a last-minute scramble for gifts that might just be the wrong size or flavor. And let’s not forget the irresistibl...

      Well, folks, let’s gather 'round and have a little heart-to-heart about this whole government spending circus. Every time our elected officials run out of money, they wave their arms and shout, “If we don’t pass this Continuing Resolution, the government will shut down!” And I find myself thinking, “Shut it down? Well, let me grab my popcorn!”      Now, I’m no economist, but the way our government spends money is like a kid in a candy store with no adult supervision. They’re tossing cash around like its confetti at a wedding. Meanwhile we, the hardworking taxpayers, are left scratching our heads and wondering where our next dollar is going to come from.      They act like a government shutdown is the end of civilization as we know it. But honestly, what’s the worst thing that could happen? A little peace and quiet sounds delightful! Imagine those folks in Washington having to live like the rest of us for a change. No more endless meetin...

      You know you’re getting older when a trip to the doctor feels like a family reunion. I walked into the waiting room, and it was like I’d stumbled into a gathering of all the people I’d ever known who were sick. There was Old Man Jenkins, who looked like he’d just come from a wrestling match with a cactus. Then there was Miss Betty, who had more bandages on her than a mummy in a horror movie.      I sat down, flipping through a magazine that was three years out of date, and wondered why they always put the most uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room. I mean, if I’m feeling bad enough to need a doctor, the last thing I want is to be sitting on a chair that feels like it was designed by the Spanish Inquisition.      Finally, the nurse called my name. I walked into the examination room, trying to remember if I’d ever seen a doctor who didn’t look like they were about to launch into a lecture on the benefits of kale. I sat on the table, wh...

      Leisure time. Now there’s a concept that deserves a little Southern charm and a good dose of humor. You see, in this fast-paced world we live in folks are always rushing around like a chicken with its head cut off. Leisure time is a precious gem, often overlooked and underappreciated.      Growing up in the South, I learned early on that leisure wasn’t just a luxury, it was a way of life. We didn’t have fancy gadgets or the latest streaming services. No, sir! Our idea of relaxation was sitting on the front porch with a glass of sweet tea, watching the world go by. We would occasionally holler at the neighbor’s dog for stealing our lawn gnome.       Leisure, my friends, is about more than just kicking back. It’s an art form. Whether you’re fishing down at the creek, grilling up some ribs, or just enjoying a good book (preferably one that doesn’t make you think too hard), it’s all about savoring the moment. I once knew a man who spen...

      You know, folks, there’s something about commonalities that just tickles me. We live in a world that loves to divide us. You’ve got your Democrats and Republicans, your cat people and dog people, and even those who argue about whether it’s called soda or pop. But let me tell you, despite all our differences, we’ve got more in common than a cat has lives.       Take, for instance, the love of good food. Doesn’t matter if you’re from the hills of Appalachia or the concrete jungle of New York City neither, we all love a good meal. You can put a plate of fried chicken in front of a group of people, and suddenly they’re all family. We bond over biscuits and gravy like it’s a sacred rite. You could have a Harvard graduate and a guy who’s never seen the inside of a library sitting at the same table, and you know what? They’re both going to agree that the mashed potatoes are the best part of the meal.      Then there’s the weather. Everyone com...

      You know, folks, aging in the South is a bit like a peach pie. It’s sweet, a little sticky, and sometimes you just wish it hadn’t been left out in the sun too long. Down here, we have our own way of dealing with the passage of time, and let me tell you, it’s as colorful as Florida      First off, let’s talk about the wisdom we gain. You reach a certain age, and suddenly, everybody thinks you’re a sage. They come to you for advice on everything, from how to fry chicken to the best way to get a raccoon out of the attic. It’s flattering, really. But then you realize that your own kids think you’re just a relic from the Stone Age. “Dad, what’s a record player?” they ask. You can’t help but chuckle as you try to explain that back in your day, music didn’t come from a cloud, it came from a box on the shelf.      And don’t get me started on the body. In your youth, you could run a mile, jump a fence, and still have the energy to dance the nigh...

      You know, I’ve been thinking about this whole notion of pardons lately. It seems like we’ve turned the concept into a circus act, where innocent people are just as likely to find themselves in the spotlight as the guilty. Now, let’s be honest, innocent people don’t need pardons. They need justice!      I mean, when you really think about it, a pardon is like giving a dog a treat for not chewing on your favorite pair of shoes. The dog didn’t do anything wrong, it just didn’t get caught! Innocent folks wandering around, minding their own business, shouldn’t even be in conversations about pardons. They should be out there enjoying a sweet tea on the porch, not sitting in a courtroom wondering how they ended up in such a mess.      It’s like we live in a world where the guilty get all the attention, and the innocent are left standing in the shadows, shaking their heads. You hear about some high-profile case where someone gets a pardon, and ...

      Well, folks, here we are. Two weekends left before Christmas, and I can already hear the jingle bells ringing in the distance. It’s that magical time of year when we all become amateur decorators, hanging lights with the grace of a three-legged mule and wrapping presents like we’re trying to gift-wrap a live alligator.      Now, let’s talk about the Christmas tree. You ever notice how every year we pick out the biggest tree we can find, only to spend the next week apologizing to it for the number of ornaments we’ve crammed onto its branches? By the time we're done, it looks like a disco ball that just survived a tornado.      And then there’s the shopping. Oh, the shopping! It’s like a contact sport. You’ve got folks elbowing their way through aisles. And I swear, if you’re not careful, you’ll end up in the wrong line and be stuck behind someone trying to return a fruitcake from 2007.      But amidst the chaos, there’s so...

       Well, folks, let me tell you about driving in Citrus County, Florida. It’s a bit like a box of chocolates. If every chocolate was filled with a mix of confusion, impatience, and a sprinkle of danger. Here, we’ve got three main types of drivers. Those who are well past their prime and shouldn’t be behind the wheel, those who seem to have tossed their driver’s handbook into the nearest swamp, and then there are the folks who are just doing their best to navigate our chaotic roads.        First off, let’s discuss our esteemed elderly drivers. God bless ‘em! When you see someone going 10 miles per hour in a 45 zone, you might wonder if they’re on a leisurely stroll or mistakenly thought the gas pedal was the brake. We love our grandparents, but let’s face it, some treat driving like a game of bingo. They’re slow, cautious, and you can bet your sweet tea they’ve got a collection of “Honk If You Love Jesus” bumper stickers.      No...

      Well, let me tell you about my recent breakfast adventure at the Diner in Inverness, FL. Picture this: the early morning sun spilling through the windows, casting a golden glow on the checkered tablecloths. The truth was flowing like a group of deer hunters swapping stories around the campfire, each tale taller than the last, but all of them entertaining.      I ordered the Farmers Omelet, and let me tell you, it was plumb full of all the meats you’d find on a farm. Bacon, sausage, ham: each bite was like a celebration of everything that makes breakfast worth getting out of bed for. The kind of meal that makes you want to lean back in your chair and sigh contentedly, as if you’ve just solved all the world’s problems over a plate of perfectly cooked goodness.      The staff? Oh, they were as friendly as a dog at a barbecue. They greeted me with smiles that could warm the iciest of hearts and made sure my coffee cup was never empty. You c...

      Well, folks, gather ‘round because we have a mystery that’s more perplexing than trying to find a decent boiled peanut north of Atlanta. It seems our government, in all its wisdom and might, is struggling to figure out why drones are buzzing around our most protected airspace like a swarm of gnats at a summer picnic. If they can’t handle a few drones, what’s next? Are we going to see UFOs and Bigfoot making guest appearances at the White House?      Now, let’s get one thing straight. I’m not talking about those friendly little drones delivering your Amazon packages faster than a kid can say, “I want a new video game.” No sir, I’m talking about the mysterious drones that seem to have taken a liking to New Jersey and other high-security areas. You’d think with all the technology at our government’s disposal, they’d be able to figure out what’s causing this aerial ruckus faster than a hound dog can sniff out a squirrel.      But no, instea...

      Well, bless your heart! It’s been over a month  since the last election, and folks are still fussing  like cats in a sack. It’s time we put down our  pitchforks and remember what really matters:  unity. Whether you’re sporting a donkey or an  elephant—or just good ol’ overalls—we’re all in  this together!       Arguing about who’s right is as productive as  teaching a chicken to play the banjo. The real  superpower we have isn’t shouting louder; it’s  unity. Like spinach to Popeye, it lifts us up!  Division is Kryptonite to Superman—it weakens us  and leaves us exhausted.      Instead of going back and forth about the  election, let’s talk about how we can make our  communities stronger over a plate of biscuits and  gravy. Even the fiercest rivalries can be softened  with a slice of pecan pie.       So, here’s to unity! Let’s build bridges ins...

Well, bless my heart, here we go again! Citrus  County Commissioner Jeff Kinnard is back at it,  urging the county to buy Pirates Cove, that  infamous  f l ooded property that’s caused more  heartburn for l ocal businesses than a plate of bad  barbecue.       Now,  d on’t get me wrong; I love a good picnic as  much as the next person, but turning a   waterlogged mess into a park with picnic tables   and grills? That takes some g a ll, even for good ol’  Kinnard.      Let’s be honest—Pirates Cove isn’t exactly a  hidden g em; it’s more like a treasure chest that  sank. After a h urricane season so active, it felt  like Mother Nature w as auditioning for a reality show, I can only imagine  how many times that Property has been underwater.  Businesses that took a chance on the place and paid t he price. They closed their doors and left behind dreams and livelihoods....

      Now, folks, if there’s one thing that gets my goat, it’s when I see a bunch of bureaucrats acting like they need something to do. Take the Citrus County Board of County Commissioners, for example. They’ve decided that they need to fix the public comment times at their meetings. I mean, really? Are we out of pressing issues that we must fuss over how long folks can talk about the potholes in their roads?      Let’s break this down. You’ve got a county full of hardworking folks who just want to have their voices heard. They come to these meetings, and instead of getting the chance to air their grievances about rising taxes or the lack of streetlights, they find themselves caught in a bureaucratic tango over how long they can yak. It’s like going to a fancy restaurant and being told you can only order the breadsticks for 30 seconds. What’s the point?      I get it, structure is important. We can’t have every meeting turning into a free-for...