Hamburgers are us. They’ve written songs and poems about burgers. They’re part of every occasion in our lives — barbecues, weddings, even funerals.

If J.P. Devine’s special shoebox ever goes up in flames, so do his political fortunes.

The Cold War is back and readers are asking: what to do when the bombs start falling? Here’s some advice on stock-piling.

J.P. Devine is making a list and checking it twice, just in case that call from Pope Francis comes true.

The prospect of group time at the doctor’s office has J.P. Devine wondering which casual acquaintance will know his most intimate secrets.

J.P. Devine has decided he needs a new best friend to talk about guy things with.

That little yellow box on the side of J.P. Devine’s house is trouble brewing— for someone else.

When it comes to learning how to drive in southern California, the watchword is “vamonos.”

Before the name of the royal tyke was known, J.P. Devine took time out to speculate.

“The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” — William Faulkner.