Michael Vick is the single worst person to have ever lived, somehow combining all the negative qualities of all the evil people in all the world of all time.
Some people will no doubt agree with that sentence, while others will grasp the concept of sarcasm. In the past few days, the media has been buzzing more and more about Vick and how he’s a monster for his crimes against humanity and, I guess, caninity.
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Today, I race as though my life depends on it.
Maybe not my “life,” per se, but more like my “professional dignity.”
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None of us were sure of the rules.
I’m pretty sure none of the 59,997 others around did either.
Near the end of our second day of our first Lollapalooza experience in 2006, Cory, Rachel and I stood in Chicago’s Grant Park, ready to see Kanye West take the stage. We’d been hyped for this particular performance for months, but despite all of our preparations, we still had one question that remained unanswered:
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So ... there I was 