Those of us who toil in journalism's toy department do so under orders never to breach The Firewall. As a sportswriter, we are told, you must never allow your politics to seep into your prose. Readers come to us seeking respite and escape; surcease from the cares of the world. So it simply won't do to cause them discomfort by bringing up the policies and peccadilloes, the wide stances and extramarital romances of our elected officials. Passages on politics, favoring either red or blue, will be deleted by pencils red and blue. Lions and Bears, yes. Donkeys and elephants, no.
Hunter S. Thompson would have found much to fear and loathe in Macau, the former Portuguese colony rebranding itself as a gambling paradise. The good doctor (rest his soul) would have been vexed to discover that Macau, surrounded by water and crowded immigration checkpoints, is best entered by ferry, not gas-guzzling Caddy. No doubt he'd have been dismayed to learn that since Macau's 1999 return to Chinese rule, hallucinogenic substances aren't easily procured. But then again, when you can gaze at the Grand Lisboa casino, the newly built neon orb that throbs and pulses at the edge of the Macau peninsula like the Technicolor egg of some gargantuan radioactive monster, who really needs peyote?
It may sound dangerous, but pyrotechnics is a part of everyday family life for Zambelli Fireworks Internationale, which is one of the oldest, family-run fireworks companies in the U.S. - and also one of the largest.
Houston embodies some sort of slightly retrospective vision of how the 21st century was supposed to be; a disarming urban landscape of soaring skyscrapers, underground tunnels and rumbling freeways. Once an old-style Texan town of just 45,000, the arrival of the oil derricks and the miracle of air-conditioning triggered a steroid-enhanced expansion, transforming it into the unashamed energy capital of the U.S. Awash with corporate money and lacking the cultural clout of New York or Los Angeles, Houston has long been an easy target for those looking for a symbol of the worst excesses of American power. Houston was the setting for the dystopic fantasy "Rollerball" in which the tentacular Energy Corporation ruled the planet. Following the demise of former corporate citizen Enron, the city has its very own real life corporate bad guy. The late Hunter S. Thompson described it as a "cruel and crazy town on a filthy river in East Texas with no zoning laws and a culture of sex, money and violence. It's a shabby s
Journalist and author Hunter S. Thompson, who unleashed the concept of "gonzo journalism" in books like "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," fatally shot himself in the head Sunday at his home near Aspen, Colorado, police and his family said.
John Kerry abruptly returns to his day job (the Senate, remember?) for politically-charged votes on vets' health care funding. President Bush flashes the trappings of incumbency, hanging in the Oval Office with the prime minister of Hungary.