Saturday October 25, 2014
October 16th, 2014
Imagine the Three Stooges as waiters. Curly’s pouring hot soup in laps, Moe’s sneezing in the spaghetti, and Larry’s lighting a well-coiffed woman’s hair on fire with the bananas flambé.
When their boss finally gives them the boot, the customers cheer. And if the wiseguys were to ask for big goodbye bonuses, everyone in the joint would crack up.
The clergy gathered in the second-floor conference room at the First Baptist Church here were pondering whether this midterm election might be different from other midterm elections.
Florida used to be known for oranges. Now it's known for political theater, mostly of the tragic sort.
One afternoon two weeks ago, I did my best to calm a friend who'd become fearful that her son would contract Ebola in Syria. The young man had enlisted in the National Guard. She knew the U.S. was bombing ISIS terrorists there, and that people were talking about "boots on the ground." She thought she'd heard about a Syrian Ebola outbreak on TV.
A few months back, a friend of mine died of cancer. I’ll call her “Karen,” for her privacy. By the time we met, she was already terminally ill and had been for months.
A controlling school-board clique seeks to sanitize the teaching of American history — scrub away unsightly blemishes like racial oppression and women’s liberation. Should be a piece of cake, right?
Sure, except that the students find out about it and voice their outrage loudly.
By deciding not to decide, the Supreme Court may have decided: If history is a guide, same-sex marriage will soon be the law of the land.
I'm sure there are many technical explanations for the recent breakdowns in Secret Service protection that allowed an armed intruder to run right through the front door of the White House and an armed felon to ride on an elevator with President Barack Obama. But I'd also put some blame on the nation's political class.
I was hungry and between flights at Atlanta's airport, "the world's busiest." So I wandered the corridor looking for a clean place to sit and eat something not dripping in grease.
There was no such place in Terminal D. The "restaurants" were crowded bars with few seats, soiled tabletops and junk-food menus. I did, however, find a Wolfgang Puck kiosk, at which I bought a quinoa and baby kale salad.
Michelle Nunn, the Democratic Senate candidate, stated her case cogently in Columbus, Georgia, last week: If elected, she vowed to "change Washington in a collaborative way."