Our weather friend from the south is expected to blow in, giving us autumn until December this year, J.P. Devine writes.
J.P. Devine
GOP cast makes for grand theater
J.P. Devine imagines what he’d do with the Republican presidential field if he were a casting director.
Do we gotta have gutters?
J.P. Devine’s mind is in the rain gutters, with some prompting from his L.A. daughter and her hubby.
He’ll sell you the shirt off his back
His nearly new collection of 45 shirts is a great way to lure people into buying his book, J.P. Devine writes.
The games of afterlife
Pondering reincarnation, J.P. Devine recalls when a visiting priest told him about Heaven and Hell, Purgatory and someplace called Limbo.
Putting a woman’s face on the bill
Amid talk of women for the $10 bill, J.P. Devine suggests a list that colors a bit outside the lines.
All hail the man in the seersucker suit
The garb of Atticus Finch, William F. Buckley and St. Louis working men who listened to the Cardinals on the radio, hot-weather fashion perfection is wasted on the young, JP Devine writes.
Good-bye Bob-In, you old saloon
The sale of Waterville’s notorious watering hole conjures some frightening visions of gentrification, J.P. Devine writes.
Chinese data breach sparks concerns about past
Chinese intelligence hackers might be looking to uncover youthful indiscretions they can use against me, J.P. Devine writes.
How I learned a trade
Learning to type kept J.P. Devine from becoming toothless and homeless, he writes.