It’s Sunday night, about 10. And since I have a few hours before I have to go out and start fighting crime, I’m on the Internet, where I’m reading about tomorrow, when Kerry Wood and Mark Prior are both scheduled to pitch in a real live, honest-to-gosh game of baseball.

Kari Cottom had no idea what to expect when her mother placed a gift in front of her this past February.

It’s a rarity to have the opportunity to express oneself in an uninterrupted, non-judgmental and totally receptive environment.

Time once again to renew my annual loud, obnoxious and ultimately futile call to reduce Wrigley Field to tiny, tiny pieces as soon as is humanly possible under the current rules and guidelines enforced by the various neighborhood associations and alderman (i.e., 34 years).

When it comes to technology, I’ve usually been behind the curve--way behind the curve.

Day six in a post-Anna Nicole world, and only now do I finally feel like things are starting to get back to a fragile sense of normalcy. For instance, this afternoon I turned on the TV, and they were talking about some dude with a beard named Mahmoud something or another. I didn’t catch the name. Long names make me sleepy. Anyway, he seemed angry.