Author: Robin Conte

Robin’s Nest: Assembling the worst superhero team ever

As the superhero story goes, the X-Men are a group of people with various X-gene mutations that give them EX-tra powers, and (while battling an assorted bunch of X-rivals) they endeavor to use these powers for the good of humanity. I have noticed that a bit of X-gene activity seems to have occurred in my own family, but our genes have mutated to powers of questionable worth. We are a bunch of the worst X-Men, ever. My youngest is Massive Toe-Gap Boy. You could park a car in the space between his first two toes. He uses this Massive...

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Robin’s Nest: Wake up and smell the truth about a good cup of coffee

My high school social studies teacher once led a class on types of government and explained a theory posed by someone (Aristotle? Machiavelli? Elton John?) that the potentially most perfect form of government, when corrupted, could become the worst form. I’m fuzzy on the details, and I’m not getting political (step away from your keyboards!). I only want to say that this is exactly the way I feel about coffee. It’s the best of drinks and the worst of drinks. When it’s good, it’s very, very good, and when it’s bad, it’s awful. You get my drift. In the...

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Robin’s Nest: Celebrating the Super Bowl with a ‘Snackadium’

This is not about the game. I don’t have a favorite, and I’m not going to talk about it at all. This is only about the accompaniments to the game — that is, the props, the décor, and specifically, the food that complete the experience and make the recreational viewing of the game so enjoyable. This is about an architectural feat so grand that I must make mention of it in this column, even though I did not have a hand in its creation. This is about Snackadiums. And this is about my friend and neighbor, Cathy. Cathy was...

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Robin’s Nest: Learning to age politely

We all know that we should age gracefully. But here in the South, we age politely. Sometime between graduation and grandmother, a Southern woman becomes a “ma’am.” That’s when we know that we have become a “woman of a certain age.” I don’t remember what age I was when I morphed from “girl” to “ma’am,” but somewhere in the thick of ma’amhood, I became a “young lady” again. And I must say that being referred to as a “young lady” when you’re in your fifties is about as jarring as being called “ma’am” when you’re in your twenties. I...

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Robin’s Nest: Taking the greeting card challenge

If it’s Dec. 23 and I’m not sitting at my kitchen table behind a pile of unposted greeting cards, then it’s just not Christmas at my house. Suffice it to say that I have not mailed my cards yet. What’s more, I have not chosen the card theme, format, font or greeting, nor have I written my Annual Blurb. (I’ve been writing this column, instead.) What I have done is manage to corral all six of my family members together in the same spot long enough to take a group selfie, which will serve as the photo for my...

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