Christories

I escaped a year ago today–too nervous to tell my tale, too embarrassed. The prisons of Meteora are well known as hell on earth. The atrocities committed there over its fifty-year history are too numerous to count.

On a bubbly summer evening, atop a terraced building, out on the corner of Madison Street and Michigan Avenue, three women sip drinks, and gossip on about dear friends—old and new. The fading sun warmly casts skyscraper shadows over them and across Grant Park. The video screens of the Crown Fountain begin fluoresce in the early twilight while amused children contort their faces one last time in the reflective Cloud Gate sculpture.

MSNBC.com is reporting that a South African anthropologist wants permission to examine the body of William Shakespeare to find out if he smoked marijuana–and what’s his reason, to label him a Pothead?

In January of 2011, the California Supreme Court ruled that if you are arrested, police could search the contents of your phone. The fourth amendment was irrelevant citing US Supreme court precedents.

I have learned a few things today from the sober folks over at ebiblefellowship.com. One is that Mother Planet was born in 11013 BC.

ABILENE, Texas has its panties in an uproar over one of their neighbors erecting the statue of David in their front yard. I would be too if it was my neighborhood.

It seems like everyday someone is trying to get a word banned, reasoning that the word oppresses a people or causes harm. The good folks over at Orange UK reported on a Journal of Animal Ethics publication calling for us all to stop using the word “pets” for our pets because it is insulting

Chicken Little revealed to me the other day that our iPhones are recording our every move and storing the information indefinitely in a quaint little file.

By now, many of you have seen or heard about the atrocities in Darfur. Celebrities, like George Clooney, speak out and volunteer their time to help put an end to the violence. You see small protests on college campuses across the country.

Since it’s that time of year again, I thought I would get in the spirit and recount a touching story with you all.

It was a typical lunch line at Five Guys–straight out the door. I knew what I was getting into when I headed over there, so I didn’t mind the wait. I needed to check my email anyhow. My weekly newsletter to Guyliner.com was overdue.

My mother let go of me as I wobbled in the wind, trying to keep my balance. If I knew how to count I surely would have made it to seven.