Point of No Return
There are a few words, images and symbols that have caused me anxiety over my lifetime.
It just seems that there are less and less things being made in America these days.
I love my iPhone.
I haven’t been at my best this week.
Delaware got a serious shot in the arm in regards to its national identity when Joe Biden got voted in to serve as vice president of the United States. Oh, he gets picked on a bit by the pundits for his propensity to talk a little more than the next guy, but he’s carried himself well and has been a good reflection on the state in general.
There has been no shortage of news over the past few years regarding local fire companies and their, well, shortage of funds.
The English language is a living, breathing organism.
I’m easily distracted.
When Brett Favre and his balky ankle take the field Thursday night with his Minnesota Vikings to take on Drew Brees and his defending champion New Orleans Saints, it will mark the official beginning of the 2010 NFL season.
Grandpa Joe turned 90 this week.
I woke up the other night staring straight into the face of a pug.
When word starting circulating on Tuesday that NFL quarterback Brett Favre was on an airplane heading from Mississippi to Minnesota, there was a collective groan from sports writers across these fruited plains.
There are so many things to enjoy over at the Senior League Softball World Series in Roxana this week.
And with that short but sweet command, girls from around the world will set forth on a shared quest to claim the title of “world champion.”
As a child, there were a few objects that all I had to do was see them and I would get excited.
I confess. I’m one of those people who gets easily frustrated in the summer.
It ain’t easy being an invertebrate these days.
So, anyway, it’s been hot.
There’s just something magical about the word “Independence.”
A history professor at my beloved Temple University once told me that the best thing about history is that it never gets old, because it’s being made every day.
Father’s Day is, obviously enough, a day to celebrate fathers. We thank them for the sacrifices they’ve made, and generally make an effort to express our thanks to the men who reared us. We do it through cards, or brunch or a new hunting rifle, or whatever the most appropriate display of acknowledgement might be for each individual relationship.
We all have our own kryptonites.
NFL owners voted on Tuesday to hold the 2014 Super Bowl in the new $1.6 billion Meadowlands Stadium that will regularly play host to the New York Giants and Jets. The vote has created a fairly large amount of controversy, as this will be the first time the league’s biggest event will be played in a cold-weather site that does not have a dome.
A conversation came up the other night that seemed harmless enough at the time, but has been bouncing around my brain quite a bit ever since.
I’m an admitted people-watcher.
My mom is cooler than yours.
Do you remember those sleepless nights as a youth? The calendar would flip to November, and you just knew Christmas was right around the corner. You would begin formulating the perfect list in your mind, going over it again and again until you felt like you hit the perfect balance — enough items to make it a holiday to remember forever, but not so much as to look greedy and run the risk of irritating Santa.
It’s been said by many who know me that I sometimes talk out of my backside. Normally, I get that comment during poker games, when the common perception amongst those who play with me often is that if I’m giving away anything about my hand, it’s no doubt false.
According to various reports, the U.S. Army will court-martial a military doctor because he refused to deploy to Afghanistan. Conscientious observer? Nope. Dying kid at home? Wrong again.