Acouple of months ago, I started to get bothered by the concept of time. You see, I am a late bloomer when it comes down to it.
Environment influences production. It's a simple formula, really. Artists are the obvi-ous example.
I have been in college too long. Or at least it feels that way. Whilst this might be a standard feeling that a number of you share with me, I am going to attempt to do something about it.
I have been living here in the U.S. for over seven months now and sometimes it feels like home. At times I can even imagine living here permanently -- it happened when I was in Athens, Ga.
On Tuesday I spent the afternoon visiting the hallowed grounds of Monticello with my parents. The sky was blue and stripped of any ominous clouds that might hamper our endeavor.
Peter Engel, a writer andproducer of televisionshows, has been involvedin television for over 30 years.
Of all the scenarios in the world, I never thought I would be broken whilst wear-ing a bright yellow helmet that closely resembled the receptacle end of a banana-flavored condom. I was standing on a dusty street in Mexico, holding a "small" scooter that seemed to weigh at least three times as much as me.
A favorite author of mine once wrote something along the lines of this: If a certain type of story has a moral to it, do not believe it. I had my column for this week written a month ago.
A favorite author of mine once wrote something along the lines of this: If a certain type of story has a moral to it, do not believe it. I had my column for this week written a month ago.
"Man, of course I can't get up like I used to. Wish I could. Ever since I was shot..." It was my third week in the United States, and I was playing basketball on the Dell in the very late afternoon, trying to impress a bunch of fellow young men by performing a two-handed dunk with a ball I had bought for $16.76 from Wal-Mart. The light coming onto the court was soft, absolutely perfect for running about and trying to catch passes hurled through the air at great speeds.
