File this under "be careful what you wish for."Last week, Monica Lewinsky took her act to London. She went hawking her new book, her new makeover, her new staff of publicists and managers and, she hoped, her newly swelling pocketbook, which stands to grow by millions if she is a success.She longs for that, of course. Success. Even more, she longs to be a successful victim. It beats working for a living, which, at last glance, Monica was having a hard time doing. When the president can't help you get a job, you know your marketability is low.
In the lower bunk slept a 3-year-old boy. He wore pajamas. He kept his miniature cars nearby. This was his room, and he had a toy chest and a closet for his baby clothes. In the upper bed slept his roommate. A grown man.A guy named Tom Izzo.
There are days when I wouldn't wish my job on anybody. Getting a bucket of ice water dumped on your head, for example. Or interviewing naked linemen in a losers' locker room. Not fun. Trust me.But there are some days when this job is a delight. And there are days when, no matter how delicately I craft my words, I still can't fully convey the experience.
MIAMI-- I was awakened Super Bowl morning by a phone call from a radio program that wanted to know if I was shocked.No. The only thing that shocks me is that a radio program, a TV network, a newspaper reporter or anyone in this tangential business of covering sports thinks they really know what "kind of guy" a player is.
Mitch Albom writes about running an orphanage in impoverished Port-au-Prince, Haiti, his kids, their hardships, laughs and challenges, and the life lessons he’s learned there every day.
