Carlson

The Star Follies included some beautiful young dancers. Photo by: Robert Dirden

John Carlson: It’s a fact! Burlesque is back!

By: John Carlson— One recent Saturday night, Nancy and I and a couple hundred other people attended the Star Follies burlesque show. I am pretty sure the production made a nice haul for Muncie Civic Theatre, and in doing so fulfilled a worthwhile goal. Was it fun? Sure. Was it…


Cross-country skiing is very good for you, supposedly. By: graphicstock

John Carlson: Skiing to Heck And Back

By: John Carlson— The other day I was nursing a beer at The Fickle  Peach while watching a preliminary Winter Olympics qualifying event for the biathlon. You know the biathlon, right? It’s the event that combines cross-country skiing with shooting. The contestants scoot long distances over the snow with rifles…


Nobody ever said that giving up cigarettes would be easy. Photo by: Nancy Carlson

Carlson: Addiction? No Butts About It

By: John Carlson— Opioid addiction is far more horrific, I know, but I’m always amazed by the addictive power of cigarettes, and what big business fighting that addiction has become. Kicking cigarettes was the hardest thing I ever did. I have a creeping feeling this was because I had my…


Nothing’s prettier than a plump, tasty chicken gizzard. Photo by: Nancy Carlson

John Carlson: In Praise of Chicken Gizzards

By: John Carlson— Every now and then I get an overpowering urge to eat a food so deliciously down-home and wholesome, I just have to go out and chomp some. By that, of course, I mean chicken gizzards. No, no. Not livers. Can’t say I’ve ever been much of a…


Renewing the pleasure of pimiento cheese spread brings a smile. Photo by: Nancy Carlson

John Carlson: For The Love of Groceries

By: John Carlson— Once I heard a story about a Russian visitor to the United States back in the Cold War days, a woman who was sure tales of our country’s abundance were merely government propaganda. Even while casually strolling through an American supermarket, she staunchly maintained her righteous sense…


Squawkers in your ears meant the party was a good one. Photo by: Nancy Carlson

John Carlson: Old Folks Sleep In The New Year

By: John Carlson— Come Sunday, like millions of other American geezers, Nancy and I will be celebrating a traditional New Year’s Eve for Oldsters. Yeah, I know. We’re pathetic. It wasn’t that long ago we would gather with our wild and crazy friends to ring in the New Year with…


Al Holdren is pictured in his office standing beside hundreds of photos of thousands of volunteers who participate in "Secret Families." Photo by: Mike Rhodes

John Carlson: Muncie Has Christmas Angels

By: John Carlson— With Christmas rapidly approaching, I feel compelled to offer a belated but heartfelt “thank you” to Al Holdren and the scores of Secret Families volunteers, folks who selflessly give of their time and money to make this holiday a great one for others. The breadth of their…


An Australian racing barstool rests, nearly obscured, in Lear Unlimited. Photo by: John Carlson

John Carlson: Little Racer Packed a Punch

By: John Carlson— If you are under the misguided notion that playing football is the optimum way to suffer a brain-rattling concussion, you’ve probably never driven an Australian racing barstool. I, on the other hand, have. This was due to the largesse of the folks at Lear Unlimited over in…


Properly employed, ugly sweat pants work like a calorie counter. Photo by: Nancy Carlson

John Carlson: A New Cool Food Tool

By: John Carlson— If you’re like me, engaged in that never-ending fight against flab, you know how handy it can be to keep track of caloric intake by simply jotting down notes recording your food consumption. Feeling a little bloated, but can’t imagine why? Consulting your notes may remind you…


If you could read my screech, love, what a tale the notes would tell...Photo by: Nancy Carlson

John Carlson: Too Late To Be A Troubadour

By: John Carlson— The other day I heard a terrible screeching, kind of like a cat in heat, that made my proverbial skin crawl. Then I realized it was me, singing. This amazed me, because there was a time when my voice was pretty good. Back in high school, for…


Swedish meatballs on rice with some lingonberry jam. Photo by: Nancy Carlson

John Carlson: Having A (Meat) Ball

By: John Carlson— Not long ago, my wife met my daughter down at Indy’s new IKEA store for some female bonding while shopping. Unfortunately, I was unable to join them there amongst the frantic bustling of the excited shopping hordes, mostly because I’d have rather been dead. I must say,…


Pie Face! Racks up yet another innocent victim. Photos by: Jimmy Hayes

John Carlson: Kids Games Not The Same

By: John Carlson— When I was a kid, I spent a fair number of rainy day hours playing jacks and pick-up sticks. Remember them? My Mom’s old pick-up sticks were stored in a cylindrical cardboard container at my grandfolks’ house, the skinny sticks being about a foot long and pointed…


A veteran's grave at Beech Grove cemetery. Photo by: Mike Rhodes

John Carlson: A Day to Thank Veterans

By: John Carlson— Do you believe in ghosts? I do, to a point. Maybe not the malevolent kind who supposedly haunt your house or your life, though I believe the occasional good scare is beneficial to one’s constitution. But there’s another kind of ghost, a far more positive kind ……


These two frogs remind us to “eat them first.” Photo by: Nancy Carlson

John Carlson: Froggy Life Lessons

By: John Carlson— Not long ago, my wife gave me a gold frog. Well, a gold-colored frog. It’s actually made of rubber, so when you press down on its back and its body gives way, it feels disturbingly like a real frog would, I guess. This frog is mounted on…


(L-R) Steve Reese, Caroline Todd and Charles Todd prepare for flight. Photo by: John Carlson

Mother, Son Novelists Take to Sky

By: John Carlson— Without stretching one’s imagination, it was possible to believe the yellow and blue biplane crossing the runway threshold at Reese Airport was a Sopwith Camel or Bristol Fighter, with British roundels marking its olive drab fuselage. That’s why, on this blustery autumn day, Caroline and Charles Todd…