The bizarre case of Michael Jackson's child molestation allegations keeps getting more bizarre.
When I realized the holidays were here, relentlessly slapping us in the face, it was already too late. I didn't quite grasp the magnitude of the end of the year. I didn't understand how fast it can all fall into your lap, look up crying and ask for more.
I was having Thanksgiving lunch with my friend Jay since neither of us could make it home for the holidays and I was bemoaning the fact that I had to come up with an idea for a column. I didn't want to write about politics and I figured everyone was tired of turkey stories.
Twenty years ago the inside of an average home was quite drab and very much in need of selective splashes of hip. No one had ceiling fans or futuristic wall sconces. Helpless masses sat on faded tan couches wondering how to escape the endless landscape of design-depraved dwellings.
The countdown clock stopped, and it was time to decide if the mission was a go or not.
Here are yet two more reasons to be thankful for living in America.
By Billy Corriher
Last week's news, as always, was a hodgepodge of various items but I couldn't help drawing a connection between two announcements.
The holiday season just isn't the holiday season until that magic moment?
December 4, 2003
By Ed Brock
NEWS DAILY - COMMUNITY LINKS
By Jeffery Armstrong
As we sat in the Iraqi restaurant (in Kentucky) I felt increasingly apprehensive. I was visiting with a friend and his girl. It wasn't them. And it wasn't the Iraqi proprietress, it was the other Americans. There was a large table of Americans sitting together enjoying dinner, or perhaps plotting. A Caucasian waitress comes to take our order and I become increasingly more frightened. Straight ahead of me there is a belly dancer in exotic clothing who is handed a sword by some long-haired yokel who takes a seat with the potentially dangerous conspirators.
Last Thursday night, driving back to Atlanta after spending the day with my family shoving deep-fried turkey in our mouths, I was flooded with fond memories of my childhood home.
By Ed Brock
A friend asked me to write a column discussing the keys to a happy marriage. She presumes there are secrets underlying the enduring harmony she acknowledges I share with Baby and that these might collectively serve as an exemplar for other, less fortunate couples.
By Ed Brock