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By Ashley Johnston |
June 1, 2010
A good roommate is like a diamond in the rough; all I ever seem to come up with are muddled and worthless shards, maybe cubic zirconia if I'm lucky. Living with roommates has paired me with one psychopath after another.
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Press this, push that. Modern life doesn't have the satisfying feel of the old gadgets from our past.
By Vance Lauderdale |
May 1, 2010
I apologize for starting this off with such a shameless plug, but bear with me while I make a point. "Ask Vance" is now a regular feature of the WKNO-TV series Southern Routes, and we reenact scenes from the "old days."
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Hard as it can be, rehabilitations yields some treasures.
By Marilyn Sadler |
April 1, 2010
My left ankle lies propped before me in its kelly-green cast — mute but vivid testimony to changes in my life. And not just to changes, but to decisions (for better or worse), to patience (or lack thereof), to the kindness of friends and strangers, of family and coworkers.
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Search as you will... a teammate is hard to come by.
By Frank Murtaugh |
March 1, 2010
There is nothing in the world like being a teammate. There are ways we try and replicate the connection teammates enjoy: at work, through volunteering, even marriage (if you're lucky and marry well).
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Consider how your words affect Memphis' future.
By Hannah Sayle |
February 1, 2010
Maybe you've heard: Memphis' biggest enemy is itself. I grew up here and as long as I can remember I've listened to talk of the obstacles Memphis faces, how it will never get out from under a pile so big, how unique, systemic, immovable, or irreversible the problems are.
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By Frank Murtaugh |
December 1, 2009
For historians, a decade is the temporal equivalent of a mosaic. Several — countless?
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College basketball can be saved. But not without seismic change.
By Frank Murtaugh |
November 2, 2009
The sport Wooden, the Wizard of Westwood, mastered so brilliantly at UCLA is dead. Sure, college kids — or, at the least, college-age kids — play basketball in arenas large and small, from coast to coast every winter.
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Instead of complaining about the worst, why don't we hope for the better?
By Bruce VanWyngarden |
October 1, 2009
As my buddy and I were cruising north on East Parkway, an ancient maroon Buick roared past us on the left, swerved into our lane, and made a quick bat-turn onto Sam Cooper, forcing me to slam on my brakes and utter a seriously obscene four-letter word. "Damn," my friend said.
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Friday, July 30, 2010
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