When it comes to finding the man of your dreams, ladies, it's best to leave a little to the imagination.
The leftist indoctrination of our youth continues unchecked.
Ideas on how to make a French connection.
True leadership requires humility, a willingness to listen, to admit that others might know more about a given area or situation, to acknowledge that one might actually be wrong on occasion.
Nose hair is one. Constantly searching for a restroom is another.
My take on real-life questions.
Team has made marked improvement but needs to take the next step toward being great.
To be honest, the Christmas season doesn't always live up to its hype.
For one, don't make eye contact with kiosk attendants.
It's never too late to create a fascinating, informative letter or email portraying immediate family members in ways that are both flattering and largely fictional.
Here are a few of my better deeds from the past year.
There may actually be some good things about having an HOA.
I have mixed emotions about neighborhood homeowners' associations, or HOAs. I don't really want anybody telling me what I can and can't do with my own property. On the other hand, I definitely want someone telling my neighbors what they can and can't do.
They can work well, but are mostly for more mature, motivated students.
Think we take our sports seriously in Atlanta? I'm talking about professional sports, not your 8-year-old's rec-league game. I know you take that seriously. So do all the people who watched the YouTube video of you taking it seriously.
Sports talk in Boston will burn your ears.
Got manners? Probably not when it comes to talking on your cellphone.
Trip to New York City brings new view of Yankees.
Some parents hover a little too closely over their children.
The cost of a "free" education can be a bit high.
Teachers, please consider lightening the homework load.
It's always interesting to observe how extraordinary occurrences affect otherwise rational people. And no, I'm not talking about the Falcons being in the playoffs.
I read recently that the Dalai Lama is donating $50,000 to Emory University. Really? The Dalai Lama has $50,000? Didn't he have to take a vow of poverty or something?
I have an idea. You know those folks in Washington who ran the "Cash for Clunkers" program? The ones who kept running out of money and changing the rules about which cars were actual clunkers and which were just American made?
Take a furlough day (for me), add two days off from school (for the kids) and three weeks' worth of millennial flood-induced depression, and what do you get?
Is common courtesy on the decline, as many seem to think? Personally, I'm not so sure. I never thought it was all that common to begin with.
Let's be clear: Tim Tebow is the best college football player I've ever seen. He's the best player you've ever seen, too, even if you won't admit it.
I went into college teaching partly because I didn't want to deal with what I saw as the hassles of high school teaching: the helicopter parents, the immature students, the Jonas Brothers ring-tones.
If you're wondering who's been hogging all the Earth's resources, well ... that would be me.
In honor of this weekend's Decatur Book Festival (which is still going on) I'd like to recommend some of my favorite reads. Other than this fine newspaper, I mean.
For all its success over the past three years, the Decatur Book Festival has been guilty of ignoring one large but historically underserved demographic: book lovers who are also professional wrestling fans.
The first lesson of the new school year is delivered even before classes convene, when Mom and Dad download the kids' supply lists. Call it Socialism 101. If the course had a textbook, it would be Hillary Clinton's "It Takes a Village."
"Though I speak with the tongues of men and angels, and be not green, I am nothing" (Book of Gore, 32:15).
When it comes to objectification of the opposite sex, society definitely has a double standard.
If you like to spend your leisure hours prowling Facebook, as a startling number of grownups apparently do these days - and not just perverts, either - you're going to have to learn how to speak young adult.
Dear Shaquille O'Neal,
(Author's note: The following was found in the dustbin outside a certain British author's home, then smuggled into the U.S. by a pair of Wiccans disguised as University of Florida football fans.)
Whatever adventure you've had this summer - cruising the Caribbean, backpacking across Europe, trying to sell your home - I think I can top it. The first few weeks, I divided my time between London and a remote Scottish castle. Then I hiked several hundred miles to climb an active volcano. Lately, I've just gotten back from Mars. Of course I'm not talking about "real life" - why would I? It's depressing - but about books. Specifically, I'm talking about some of my favorite books, which I've been revisiting this summer. I say "revisiting" because that's the way the best stories always seem to me: places to visit, like Hogwarts or Middle Earth or Malacandra. In many ways, these places are just as real to me as some of my favorite non-fictional destinations, like New York City or the Lawrenceville-Suwanee Target. And it's not just the places I love. It's the people. I know this sounds weird, but some of my best friends are fictional characters. In fact, I'd probably rather hang out with Harry, Ron and Hermione, or with Frodo and Sam, than with most of the non-fictional people I know.
I've complained before about the short shrift fathers get in the popular media. I don't even know what a shrift is, but you can bet that if Hollywood is involved, fathers will get a short one.
When I was a teenager, I thought maybe when I grew up I'd start to understand women. Well, here I am, some 30 years later, and I still don't know anymore than I did back then. Or maybe I just never grew up.
If there's one thing I know - and there may, in fact, be only one thing - it's higher education. I've been teaching college students for 25 years, or long enough to retire if my 403b weren't worth less than a pick-up-bed full of GM stock.
A teenager's take on parents
I'm not exactly a yard guy. I know I've mentioned that before, but now, on the cusp of summer, seems like a good time to reiterate the point. OK, it's also a good time to aerate, but I'm not even going there.
A recent trip to the ball park reminded me of the years I spent as a Little League dad - 12 years, in fact, during which I served as a head coach, a hitting coach, a pitching coach, a base coach, a scorekeeper and an umpire, all without leaving the comfort of my folding chair behind the backstop.
If you're wondering where to invest your money in these dark economic times - assuming you have any to invest - you might want to consider drug companies that market anti-depressants. Unlike banking and automobile manufacturing, depression is a growth industry these days.
My youngest son's musical education - OK, indoctrination - seems to have hit a snag.
Contrary to what your mother told you, the most dangerous thing you can do during the holiday season is not venturing out on New Year's Eve, when the highways are full of drunk drivers, including some who aren't local politicians. Oh, no.
A lot of people have the wrong idea about Halloween: they seem to think it's mostly for kids. The truth is, it's as big a holiday for adults as Super Bowl Sunday or the "American Idol" finals.
As writing gigs go, penning the daily horoscopes has got to be one of the best. I mean, it's not hard to predict what's going to happen to people. They're going to fall in love, break up, get raises, lose jobs, find happiness, wallow in misery.
Don't let the label fool you.