I've been back from Vietnam for seven years. I spent the first three in a drunken New Orleans haze. The next four, I drove for Hoffa's Teamsters.
For those who are living in a cave and are unaware, the final Harry Potter film debuts in U.S. theaters Friday.
On Monday, we recognized a day of legendary bravery in an onerous battle for life, liberty and happiness. We put aside our political persuasions and forgot our delusions of enmity. For a brief moment, we all had long hair, figuratively sang "Imagine" by John Lennon and did indeed "live as one."
My Thai friend Sith starts a lot of sentences with "Maybe America have, maybe America no have."
I love America, and so should you.
It's 6 p.m., and I'm on my way to the gym on a typical weeknight (I had tanned and done laundry earlier). I know there is nothing too peculiar about this, but there is one minor detail I should mention: My car had been on its reserve gasoline for a bit. By "a bit," I mean two days. Forgive me, but I hadn't time to stop for gas. Such is the life of a college student. And - I swear to you - the fuel gauge wasn't that low.
We pretended nothing happened. Five of us shared whiskey and a joint and just stared at the fire.
I hate "Jersey Shore."
I'm about to begin a journey into a jungle. This isn't your typical jungle. Here, habitats range from indeterminate bars to packed apartments. Sustenance is in the form of ethanol. The male animals are characterized by Polos, reversed hats and the use of the word "bro."
You think he would have learned from his countless role models.
In 1946, George Orwell said that political language "is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind."
"Sith, get one of your boys to cross the Mekong. Bring back a couple of shopping bags full of pot."
"I am become Death, destroyer of worlds."
Recently I was watching an interview of Dave Chappelle, who has faded from the public consciousness after fleeing the burdens of being an American cultural icon.
Impending doom arrived May 21, 2011.
I gulp a frosty mug of Pabst, wink at Gerry and ask, "Hey Hank, when are you going to start serving blacks in here?"
Since assuming office in January, Gov. Rick Scott has taken every step possible to pander to corporate interests at the expense of Florida's working class.
"Wait ‘til you try this. You won't believe it."
Do you ever wake up in the morning, look in the mirror and declare to the world how remarkably awesome you are?
As I was placing my weekly necessities on the conveyor belt at Sweetbay one morning, I glanced at the magazines begging for my attention in front of me. Of course, I noticed the emaciated, indeterminate women on the covers and was forced to wonder, "Are these people even real?" Actually, with today's photo manipulation, they often are not.
Solutions by The State News
