I have always loved Christmas and its traditions; even as I have grown older, I find that really deep in my heart I still believe in Santa Claus and the spirit of the whole season, and I just can't wait until I see the "Frosty the Snowman" and "Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer" re-runs at this time of year with the grandchildren.
This was written in a cave somewhere in Greater Bora Bora. The column was floated across the ocean in an RC Cola bottle to this newspaper. (I have no idea how the editors got it from bottle to print. I assumed that if editors can figure out where commas go, they ought to be able to figure out how to print a column in a bottle.)
Last month, the police commissioner of New York, Bill Bratton, was quizzed at a conference by Jeffrey Toobin, a writer for The New Yorker. Bratton had been the police chief in Boston and Los Angeles, as well as New York's once before, and he is a well-known champion of what is known as the "broken windows" school of policing. Toobin asked him what could account for the precipitous drop in crime in New York City. Bratton responded in a flash: The cops.
The ceiling fan and light in my bedroom turn on and off with a remote control. You have to leave the light switch permanently on, and then find the clicker (my household's name for a remote) to operate the controls.
When I think of the word enthusiasm, I am reminded of a scene out of the 1987 movie "The Untouchables" about gangster Al Capone. In the scene, Capone (played by Robert De Niro) is walking around a table that is surrounded by his men. As he walks, he talks.
Bill Raspberry wore his eminence well. In a city full of preening, self-centered journalistic royalty, he was a warm and generous prince who never deluded himself into thinking he knew all the answers. He is desperately missed.
Over the past few weeks, President Obama and his campaign team have launched a furious attack on Mitt Romney's record as head of Bain Capital, a highly successful venture capital firm.
A crinkled page dangles from a whiteboard in my home office, just beyond my peripheral vision as I work at my desk. The top corners are curled from nearly four years hanging by the same twine that secured it around my neck on the morning of November 5, 2008. While always in sight, this relic was out of mind for years. Lately, though, it haunts me. I hear scratching sounds that make me look up to see only an aging piece of paper fluttering ever so slightly against the blinds in my office window.
That sound you hear is silence - as millions of small business owners and entrepreneurs were left speechless this weekend from President Obama's latest insult.
If the governor and the state legislature had done their jobs, we the people wouldn't be deciding July 31 whether to raise the sales tax by one percent for the next 10 years to cover critically needed road projects throughout Georgia's 12 economic development regions. But the so-called "leaders" of the state couldn't bring themselves to do one of the jobs they were put there to do - namely, to provide adequate tax revenues to preserve and enhance transportation infrastructure now strained to the max. Even now, legislative leaders say if the T-SPLOST votes fail, they don't ...
I am not a very mystical man. As a Christian, I obviously believe in the supernatural, but mysticism isn't something I go looking for. Occasionally though, the Lord allows me to see something that is so far beyond the natural that it leaves my faith stronger and my sight in awe of God's mighty hand.
Ah, the good ol' Internet. You think it's just one big, anonymous playground. You can do anything. Well, it's a playground alright. And you can do almost anything online nowadays, but it's definitely not anonymous. Everyone needs to be mindful of what they write, post and share online. You don't know who's going to see it or what tiny detail in that Instagram photo or post on Facebook can give away your identity or location.
What comes to mind when you think of a beach vacation? Miles of white sand, a sparkling blue sea, a warm breeze ruffling your hair?
The 10-county, $7 billion metro Atlanta transportation referendum is set to be decided by voters on July 31.
When I first moved to Covington in 1970, to call someone on the telephone all you had to dial was the last four numbers of the seven-digit phone number.
Of course, calling Conyers or anywhere else besides Covington was long distance. It was a banner day when we could call Conyers and it was not long distance. But that improvement had its drawbacks. We now had to dial all seven digits of the phone number.
There are plenty of reasons that the economy is the most important issue of Election 2012.
Spare us any more hooey about "preventing fraud" and "protecting the integrity of the ballot box." The Republican-led crusade for voter ID laws is revealed as a cynical ploy to disenfranchise as many likely Democratic voters as possible, with poor people and minorities the main targets.
Nothing gets friends - or even strangers - more animated than talking about memorable moments long past that survive and even flourish with passing time.