Frank L. Palmeri

One time, I took my son to a Boy Scouts camping weekend aboard the USS Massachusetts, a retired battleship docked in Fall River, Massachusetts.

There are certain places where men fear to tread, places where the very fiber of our being is threatened.

A couple of winters ago, we had so little snow that I never once started my snowblower. This year was obviously Mother Nature's payback.

Not long ago, we had a playoff of horrible things, with automated telephone answering systems beating out graffiti by a hair.

On the last Saturday before Christmas, I made my annual gift-shopping trip to the mall.

During the holidays, many homeowners drag out festive lights and decorations to create vivid landscapes bursting with color.

The last time I took the Red Cross Adult Learn to Swim program was 17 years ago when I was 38.

The other night, I went to the annual roast-beef dinner fundraiser at Bethany Reformed Church.

Now that we're in full winter sports mode, it won't be long before playoffs start. In that vein, I decided to have a playoff of horrible things.

There is a restaurant in downtown Albany called Justin's that my lovely wife and I try to go to at least once a year.


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