Dave Molter

Like so many others who grew up in the 1950s, I’ve seen more than my share of science fiction films with extraterrestrials as their center point. Among my favorites is “The Thing,” with James Arness – later to gain fame as Marshal Matt Dillon on TV’s “Gunsmoke” – playing a rampaging ET who o…

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Dave Molter

Let’s talk about the international cabal that’s hiding the real derivation of “Spam.” No, not the hundreds of unsolicited email messages we receive every day. These take their name from a “Monty Python’s Flying Circus” sketch in which Hormel Spam – the canned meat popularized during World Wa…

Dave Molter

I think of my body as a house built in 1949: things creak; the foundation sags a bit. The plumbing leaks occasionally. Like any homeowner, I try to practice preventive maintenance. But you fix one problem, another crops up. Diabetic? Take a pill to lower your blood sugar levels. High blood p…

Dave Molter

It’s a well-known fact that you can spot American tourists worldwide by their shiny white tennis shoes. Or shorts. Or sweatsuits. While there’s nothing wrong with casual dress, everyone’s definition of “casual” is different. Dockers and polo shirts at the office on Fridays is fine. But weari…

Dave Molter

The Pirates’ home opener is today, and you can almost feel the air being sucked through the Liberty, Fort Pitt and Squirrel Hill tunnels by the collective sigh of fans as they give up all hope. Won’t matter to me who wins: I stopped caring about baseball when the Atlanta Braves’ Sid Bream sl…

Dave Molter

I was intrigued last week to learn that Chipotle, the struggling Mexican-style food chain, has hired former Taco Bell executive Brian Niccol as its CEO in an effort to spice up its menu. Critics, if you think “spice up” is a poor pun, let me point out that in commenting on the hiring, financ…

Dave Molter

In Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet,” Juliet bemoans the fact she is forbidden to wed Romeo Montague because his surname makes him an enemy of her family, the Capulets. “What’s in a name?” she muses. “That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet.”

Dave Molter

In a fine example of calling a spade an implement for digging, the Trump administration has instructed Centers for Disease Control officials to eliminate seven terms from documents being prepared for next year’s budget. The list: “vulnerable,” “entitlement,” “diversity,” “transgender,” “fetu…

Dave Molter

Need some whiskey to ease your carpal tunnel pain, but find it too agonizing to move your wrist to pour a shot? Then there’s good news from Kentucky: The Jim Beam distillery is selling an electronic bourbon decanter that will dispense a jiggerful on voice command.

Dave Molter

Everyone said Whitey threw harder, ran faster and hit better than any of us. It didn’t matter that we said it only because if we didn’t, Whitey would grab us, one by one, in a headlock and force our faces into the dirt. Like Lola in “Damn Yankees,” whatever Whitey wanted, Whitey got.

Dave Molter

I passed by a man and woman, clearly in their 80s, sitting on a bench outside Giant Eagle. “What I’m looking for,” the gentleman was explaining to his companion, “is a long-term relationship.”Alternative facts: The term “gauche” means “left” in French. We use the term to describe unsophistic…

Dave Molter

Submitted for your approval: On the Saturday following the Crucifixion of Jesus, a group of Jewish rabble-rousers who had witnessed Christ’s trial returned to Pontius Pilate and said, “That ‘crucify him’ thing? We were angry. We’re embarrassed. We’re sorry.”

Submitted for your approval: On the Saturday following the Crucifixion of Jesus, a group of Jewish rabble-rousers who had witnessed Christ’s trial returned to Pontius Pilate and said, “That ‘crucify him’ thing? We were angry. We’re embarrassed. We’re sorry.”

My mother read the Bible daily, attended church twice a week and taught me that “the N word” was never to be used, no matter how many times I heard it thrown at the five or six African-American kids I attended school with in our small town.

I was thinking of changing the mug shot that accompanies this column to something a little more interesting. My first instinct was to go with the picture I originally wanted when I started writing here in 1989. That is, a high-angle view of me passed out over a typewriter, an empty bottle of…

Years ago my niece, then 7, had chickenpox, and the family promised her she would pull through just fine. She wasn’t quite sure. Ever one to stir the pot, I slipped surreptitiously to the kitchen and took an egg from the refrigerator. Then I sat next to her on the couch and gently slid the e…

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