Carlson

By: John Carlson— Crocs. They’re not just for dorks anymore. Oh sure, some touchy folks out there might take offense at what they consider my gross generalization of their favorite footwear. “How dare you say that! What proof have you that Crocs wearers were ever, as you so disdainfully put it, dorks?” All the proof I need, fella! Irrefutable proof! Undeniable proof! The kind of proof so damning, only a moron would challenge it. To wit: I used to wear…

By: John Carlson— In the course of a relationship, there are certain familiar-sounding comments that loving partners typically address to each other. For example, there’s: “Love you loads, baby cakes!” which comes early. “You’ve made me the happiest individual in the whole U.S.A.!” which rings truest around one’s wedding day and early anniversaries. And as a married couple’s love matures, ripening into the fullness of each partner’s undying  commitment to the miracle that is holy matrimony, there’s, “For cripes sake!…

By: John Carlson— From our seats in Row BB at Emens Auditorium a couple weeks ago, Bob Dylan didn’t look like an American music icon. The familiar tousled hair and his slight build somehow seemed offset by the stiff movements of a man nearing 80 years of age, a man who didn’t exactly hop around the stage like Mick Jagger does, even back in his younger days. Plus, wouldn’t you figure an American music icon would take the opportunity to…

By: John Carlson— The other day I saw a Facebook ad for “Special Forces Pants,” also called “Tactical Pants.” Unlike regular pants, these pants had a zipper up front. Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Hey, my  pants have a zipper up front, too!” Yeah, but what’s located behind your zipper? Never mind, don’t answer that. The thing is, with Tactical Pants or Special Forces Pants, it may be a secret pocket hiding hand grenades or any number of other…

By: John Carlson— Lately I’ve enjoyed some happy little feelings, all over the planned reconnection between the late artist Bob Ross and the city where he rose to international fame. That’s Muncie, of course. The L.L. Ball House on Minnetrista Boulevard, where the iconic show “The Joy of Painting” was shot from 1983 to 1988, is getting a new exhibit honoring the painter, telling his story, and sharing some of the creative magic the man sparked. Granted, “The Bob Ross…

By: John Carlson— You want proof that life today is way too complicated? Here it is. Rakes. But let’s begin with drones. Drones are a big deal any more. It’s to the point where those remotely controlled flying machines are being used – or soon will be – to deliver packages shipped by corporations like Amazon and Walmart. Eventually, one presumes that even Pizza Hut’s pepperoni pushers will probably be prone to piloting pizza-delivery drones that plop down on your…

By: John Carlson— As the chunky, semi-professional food writer once known in these parts as the Chowhound, I was going to feature a hard-hitting investigative piece about two national sandwich phenomena as the topic of this week’s column. So, Nancy and I drove to Popeye’s on Anderson’s south side to try that eatery’s much-ballyhooed fried-chicken sandwich. This sandwich has been the darling of my fellow food writers of late. It’s even been lauded in no less august a publication than…

By: John Carlson— If you don’t think big-water fishing requires a strong stomach, you’ve never stared into a recycled potato-salad container full of chopped up squid parts, the whole mess topped by a doleful, accusatory squid eye resting like a cherry on a sundae. That’s a sight to make a non-angler like yours truly want to throw up, or at least throw up his hands and tell the squid, “Hey! Don’t look at me, fella! I didn’t do it!” My…

By: John Carlson— Hearing that Peter Fonda died recently made me think of the movie “Easy Rider,” which made me think of motorcycles, which made me think of the Harley-Davidson parked out in my garage. I can’t say it was “Easy Rider” that made me want to ride motorcycles. It was a mighty Honda 50 that made me want to do that. I’m being facetious, of course. The classic Honda 50 was about as wimpy as motorcycles come. Still, one…