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It’s only January, but if you’re like me you’re already sick of the election which is still more than nine months away. Our political system is in permanent campaign mode. But we’re not selecting a president, we’re selecting a celebrity. It’s not something we can afford to do this time around.
Droves of male students were flocking to a meeting on campus during my first year in seminary. I do not remember what it was called, but it had to do with why there aren’t more men in churches. I walked alongside one male friend who was all pumped up about the event; he was commenting about “effeminate” churches.
Bill Belichick will coach in his fifth Super Bowl, the coach and quarterback Tom Brady linked like Hall & Oates, Laurel & Hardy, like peanut butter and jelly. They both know the forty-second edition is a black mark upon what is a nearly unimpeachable legacy. Montana. Bradshaw. Brady.
Let us have a moment of silence for the Eastman Kodak Company. I’m serious. “The Great Yellow Father,” as it used to be called in the photography press (when there was a photography press), has filed for bankruptcy.
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