How do I know spring has sprung? The son-of-a-bitch birds explode with an endless array of cheery chirps outside my window every God-forsaken morning. It’s like clockwork. An hour before my alarm goes off! And there’s one ballsy little fucker – a male cardinal, or as I like to call

When I say the words “water ice” outside the city limits of Philadelphia, people look at me like I’m some backwards hick who just crawled out of the Schuylkill River.  Better known as “wooder ice” to Philly residents, and Italian ice to the rest of the civilized world, this simple