As summer turns to fall, Brett Buckner's attention turns to the Star’s third annual HorrorFest, a buckets-of-blood marathon during which he will watch 31 horror movies in 31 days.

The blood was still churning in the water and the bikini-clad, blonde damsel had just barely escaped the jaws of the man-eating (or, in this case, woman-eating) great white shark when my 8-year-old daughter used a handful of buttered popcorn to steal my attention away from the movie screen.

My first concert was Alabama and Juice Newton. Not a lot of cool points in that statement, but I was maybe 8 years old — same age as my daughter.

Alabama just passed a law requiring that cursive handwriting be taught in public schools. Otherwise, how will kids be able to read our nation’s founding documents? Or notes from their grandmothers? Or signatures?

I was sitting at the kitchen table a couple of weeks ago when I idly wondered, "Did I remember to get the air-conditioner serviced this spring?"

Musicians love to write songs about their mamas — from Ozzy Osbourne to Kanye West (yes, he has a mother) to the mighty George Jones, who wrote more songs about mama than all the rest combined. Some personal favorites: