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Every time I interview Tony Kerasotes, he presents me
with the exact same problem: How do I ask a follow-up question when my chin
is on the floor?  
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I’ve got a belated Valentine. I’m a day
late, but everything’s relative: The love story I’m about to
tell you was delayed for nearly a d
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Do me a favor: Skip this column. If you’re a
regular reader, you already know the truth; if you’re not, you likely
won’t care. If you don%u0335
My first column of 2006 was about a New Year’s Eve wedding marred by a thief who filched a fistful of cards from the gift table at the happy couple’s reception. What made this petty thieve
I’d like to tell you a Christmas story. I’ve got a few of the main elements — a stable, some livestock, three wiseguys, and one devoutly religious couple, desperately seeking shelter
The knock on my hotel-room door came early in the morning, just a few minutes after my alarm went off. I opened it to find a male co-worker offering me a pair of his underwear.
There was nothing kink
The best compliment I ever got came from a stranger in a Chicagoland mall. We were trapped together in some sort of children’s play area, held hostage by our young sons, who were chasing each ot
Late as usual, I’ve got a ghost story for you. It’s about a dead poet, two local authors, and their brush with the supernatural. And I swear, I’m only exaggerating a little bit.
Inst
I’ve never thought of myself as particularly courageous. I don’t do bungee jumping or downhill skiing or drag racing or recreational drugs. I have to psych myself up to visit the dentist,
I work for a newspaper that has a circulation of 30,000. I have three co-workers on the editorial side, two so young, I could be their mother. Our “newsroom” is a basement. The “view