The disciplines we call the “hard sciences” such as chemistry and physics inhabit the cold, sterile world of laboratories, uncontaminated…
Who’s ready to play the percentage game? Since the left loves to use statistics, of course only the ones who…
Monday, I wrote about trucks and the New York Times reporters who are mystified about the Texans who own them….
Texans love trucks. I know, I’m a Texan, and I own a truck. It’s a 2002 Chevy Suburban with north…
If you kept your sanity through 2016, you either paid no attention to the presidential campaign or you were heavily…
Since I graduated from college in 1978, I’ve spent virtually my entire career in publishing. Naturally, I was interested when…
The obligatory annum-ending column that traffics in fresh nostalgia (the stalest kind) gets a double-dose of it in 2016, the…
By now you’ve probably heard that a hapless gang of brain-dead students at the University of Pennsylvania — an Ivy…
When was the last time Benedictine nuns rocked your world? Well, since 2012, the Benedictines of Mary, Queen of the…
It may seem out of place as we approach a holiday celebrating the birth of the Prince of Peace to be reviewing a book on boxing, which is a good deal less than a peaceful activity. But within living memory of many Americanos — myself included — boxing was a popular and respected sport with a large following here and abroad. I know that while Ike was snoozing in the White House, my dad and I would never miss Friday Night Fights on that new-fangled gadget called television. (“The Gillette Cavalcade of Sports is on the air — look sharp, feel sharp, be sharp.”)
