I’ve never been the lucky type. I had exactly zero winning numbers in last week’s Powerball jackpot drawing. Instead of 8, 27, 34, 4, 19, 10 my ticket read L, O, S, E, R, !. And I’m okay with that. After a lifetime of calling tails only to have the coin come up heads, I harbor few allusions I’ll ever strike it rich on a 292 million to 1 shot. I haven’t been to Vegas in years. My March Madness brackets always bust. During last year’s Mets/Royals World Series I had $20 on Cleveland. However, after last week’s stock market plunge I’m seriously re-thinking my financial strategy. On Friday the markets dropped another
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Officially, the New Year began at the stroke of midnight on Dec. 31, although I suspect most of you pushed your New Year’s resolutions until Monday, Jan. 4. Nose to the grindstone, hit the gym, blah, blah, blah. Right? Sadly, this was not how my New Year started. I made a quick trip to Michigan to check on my father. Not a big deal; early flight out of LAX, switch planes in Minneapolis, three days in all. Along with a change of clothes and shaving gear I packed my...
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How did that happen?Last Monday marked the 30th anniversary of my California adventure. On the morning of Dec. 14, 1985, I drove the last stretch of I-10 in my 1966 Ford Galaxy having left my mother’s house on Long Island five days earlier. For the first few weeks I camped in Pasadena with Henry Stimson, a good friend of my brother’s, and the only person I knew in the Golden State. Eventually I settled into my own tiny place at the Oakwood Apartments on Barham Blvd., the...
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“It was a very good year” is not only the title of a big hit for Frank Sinatra back in 1965, it’s an apt summary of 2015. The centennial year of his birth has been very good indeed for Francis Albert Sinatra.Born 100 years ago on Dec. 12, 1915, in Hoboken, New Jersey, Sinatra’s rise from nothing to everything has been told and retold in books, movies, dance, documentaries and museum exhibits. His 100th birthday has spawned a cottage industry of new...
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“Disgusted.” “Sickened.” “Enraged.” “Heartbroken.” “Grief-stricken.” “Shocked.” “Appalled.” “Horrified.” “Despondent.” “Traumatized.” “Stupefied.” The roll call of post-mass killing adjectives has been taken. All the obligatory words are in attendance. Once again Americans have been murdered by maniacal killers, this time a husband...
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Phew, that was a close call.I survived Thanksgiving, and since you’re reading this, congratulations, you did, too.Given the caloric haul of the typical Thanksgiving dinner, around 4,500, it’s practically Russian roulette to tuck into a turkey.Living another day is no easy feat these days. Take a look at a random sample of recent headlines:“
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This Thanksgiving we have more to reflect upon than simple gratitude. We’re in the 14th consecutive year of war.After the epochal attacks on the 11th day of September 2001, the United States was forced to confront a painful truth: a portion of the Islamic world hates us. They don’t hate us like Dodgers fans hate Giants fans. They hate us in a foaming-at-the-mouth, maniacal, psychotic way. They hate us so much they aspire to murder and die while murdering.
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