Have you ever dreamed of cheering on the Detroit Lions? Standing alongside a sideline, screaming over the explots of Matthew Stafford? Eh, me neither. But this Detroit Pride member makes it sound awesome.
A couple of days ago Victor Ugloyn e-mailed me the above photograph. It’s a dragonfly that darted ahead of him into the pro shop at his local golf course. Before 12 years ago, I never thought much of dragonflies. Oh, we had tons of them on the mean streets of
We’re coming upon the 12th anniversary of September 11, 2001. Having lived in New York City at the time, I always struggle with this one. It’s a dark day, a dark time, a dark feeling. I can’t help but drift back toward that day. Seeing the hole in the building.
Walked into the local Starbucks today, determined not to drink anything but tea and/or water. Then, I saw this sign. Damn. I love the Pumpkin Spice Latte. Like, motherfucking love it. Yes, it tastes wonderful—that mixture of sweet pumpkin, cinnamon and coffee. But, really, that’s not where my obsession derives
Back when I was a senior at Mahopac High School, I wrote a letter to Joe Lombardi. At the time, Joe was sports editor of the Putnam Trader, our local weekly newspaper. I don’t recall my exact words, but they were something along the lines of … Dear Mr. Lombardi:
Twenty years ago this month, I began serving as the editor in chief of The Review, the University of Delaware’s twice-weekly student newspaper. It remains the most difficult gig of my life. Wait. Stop. Let me go back a bit. As a junior at Delaware, I served as the paper’s
It’s the second day of Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, and I’m celebrating by sitting in a Starbucks, working on a book proposal. Hey! The year is 57 … uh, something-something. I’m one of the nation’s 2 million reform Jews who doesn’t actually know what year we’re celebrating, which
In the modern era of nonsense sports television, where perky blondes with IQs of 23 roam the sidelines while winking and flipping back their hair, a true great of the profession steps forward and tells us how it’s really done.
Within the walls of our house, the wife and I have—for the most part—avoided talking with our children about the details of September 11, 2001. My daughter is 10. My son is 6. And while they have certainly heard about the World Trade Center and terrorism and tragedy, they haven’t
Tommy Morrison died today. To many, he was the so-so heavyweight fighter who bounced around for a decade; yet another white hope with OK skills. To many others, he was the guy who had HIV, then said he was cured of HIV. To me, he is Tommy Gunn. In case