COMPLAINING has become an industry in our country. Pundits make millions complaining about athletics, complaining about the government, even complaining about the red-carpet clothing choices of B-list stars. The rest of us take cues from these pop-culture critics, and then voice complaints of our own.
LAST WEEK, I wrote about the signs women should look for to determine whether they're dating a temp or a full-timer. The reactions varied.
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I HATE to blow the whistle on my fellow men, but I'm tired of seeing good women with guys who aren't up to snuff.
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THE PHILLIES' World Series run has taught me that people do strange things to help their teams win. Some fans refuse to change certain clothing items, which is fine if the sporting tournament lasts for a day. But in baseball, a sport whose playoffs can last for weeks, the refusal to wash or change some garments can pose a danger to oneself and others.
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I'M FROM Philadelphia, and I'm proud. It's not just because the Phillies are back in the World Series. Truth is, I've come to expect excellence from my hometown baseball team. It's not the cheesesteaks, either, although the grease orgy that passes for a Philly sandwich is a caloric delight that most cities are unworthy of serving.
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MY DAUGHTER, Eve, will be 8 tomorrow, and it seems like just yesterday that my wife told me she was pregnant. I'll never forget how she put it.
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PRESIDENT Obama received the Nobel Peace Prize yesterday, and the reactions were predictable. Those who support him were elated, while those who oppose him were not.
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ABOUT 18 YEARS ago, I spent a summer working as a telephone operator for a prominent communications company. As you might imagine, the workplace was overflowing with women, and I engaged in some fox-in-the-henhouse behavior. It was fun for a while, but just like trouble, fun doesn't last always.
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WHEN I HEARD that the Philadelphia Eagles had brought back retired linebacker Jeremiah Trotter for a workout, I thought they were desperate. Then I thought that Omar Gaither - the guy who's been playing middle linebacker since starter Stewart Bradley went down - must be terrible. Finally, I told myself that if Trotter can try to come back and play on bad knees, then I can make a comeback of my own.
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LAST WEEK, my 7-year-old daughter Eve caught a cold. Her temperature skyrocketed. Her breathing became shallow. She even stopped talking, and if you know anything at all about Eve, you know that she never stops talking.
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I WORRY about our city's boys. I worry because there are those who will judge them before they open their mouths, break their spirits with discouragement and innuendo and attack them with weapons as seemingly benign as low expectations.
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IN OUR LAST episode, I fantasized about writing a staycation movie titled, "I Know What I Didn't Do This Summer."
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