The phone rings, and it’s my son, Joe, calling from the Naval Training Center. He’s got good news. His hard work and solid test scores have moved him up the food chain a bit and earned him additional privileges. We… Continue Reading
The cassette player in my 20-year-old Taurus has jammed, and I’ve been reduced to listening to nothing but local broadcasting. This is a mixed blessing. Now that my car radio’s five buttons are set to the top AM/FM oldie-stations, I… Continue Reading
To celebrate “April Fools,” Robb has released his latest book as a free download for two days only—Tuesday April 1st and Wednesday April 2nd. Visit Amazon.com and look for “Potholes On Memory Lane “or check this link. My brother JD… Continue Reading
Phil Fountain is a cartoonist, writer and occasional bed-wetter based in the far reaches of Northern Californey. A News Cafe, founded in Shasta County by Redding, CA journalist Doni Chamberlain, is the place for people craving local Northern California news,… Continue Reading Continue Reading
“How’d you like to go to the roller derby tonight?” Karin asked. I looked up from my computer screen to see if she was serious. “We have a roller derby in town?” I asked. “Yes,” she said, “Nicole just called,… Continue Reading
Phil Fountain is a cartoonist, writer and occasional bed-wetter based in the far reaches of Northern Californey. A News Cafe, founded in Shasta County by Redding, CA journalist Doni Chamberlain, is the place for people craving local Northern California news,… Continue Reading
Last week I was dumped. I came home, flipped on the switch, and everything was gone. All my photos, all my mail, all traces of my electronic existence … wiped clean off the screen. I was stunned. Why? I asked?… Continue Reading
The adage “opposites attract” never rings as true as when I’m on a design job that involves working with a couple. From my design viewpoint, I can appreciate each person’s design differences. The mix of tastes and preferences adds flair… Continue Reading
He was sitting on a bench by the glass door, his face buried in his hands, and he let out a sigh. I recognized him as one of my students. “Hello!” I said, and he jerked upright. “Oh. Hello, Mr.… Continue Reading
My daughter Amanda looked out the windshield, across a scarred, tumbleweed-studded landscape. Our car was traveling along the bluffs of Panorama Avenue, an ironic name for a street that offers a commanding view of industrial desolation—wastewater sumps, steam generators, and… Continue Reading
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