Slowly, since the mid-1950s when I became a Nutmegger, Connecticut has evolved into a food lover's paradise.

So they left, one dozen bareasses, all rosy red with indignation. Sunburned too — they forgot that North Rim is nearly eight thousand feet above sea level.

It's also notably different from defiantly politically incorrect humor, which revels in its flirting with racism and sexism in the name of free speech, but doesn't argue or imply that we live in a postracist or postsexist world.

I think that the operation of paper money, and the practice of privateering, have produced a gradual decay of morals; introduced pride, ambition, envy, lust of power; produced a decay of patriotism, and the love of commutative justice; and I am apprehensive these are the invariable concommitants of the luxury, in which we are unblessedly involved, almost to our total destruction.