The reality, for a surprising percentage of the U.S. population, is more like the 19th century. Nearly half of all full-time private sector workers in the U.S. get no paid sick days. None. If one of those workers woke up with excruciating pains in his or her chest and had to be rushed to a hospital -- well, no pay for that day.
For many of these workers, the cost of an illness could be the loss of their job. The situation is ridiculous for those in the lowest quarter of U.S. wage earners. Nearly 80 percent of those workers -- the very ones who can least afford to lose a day's pay -- get no paid sick days at all.
A tolerant man?
A loving man of God?
Or did Jerry Falwell preach hatred in the guise of love?
Was he a creator of hurt?
Did Falwell dedicate his life to punishing those he believed did not follow in God's light or did he welcome them in from the cold shadows?
Do men like the reverend Jerry Falwell find Heaven in the end? How do we know? Where is our proof beyond the faith of belief? Do all deeds matter in the defense of moral duty?
Are we better off with Jerry Falwell in the world of the dead or not?
What is Jerry Falwell's international human legacy and what warnings must we take from his life in his death?
There is no graceful way to perform such a trick except to try not to groan or cry when you finally come to a stop. The hardest part about stopping is the picking yourself up off the floor part.
After you land in slow motion -- first on your shoulder as your slam into the hallway corner, then your wrist, fist clasping house keys, and then your knees, each in turn -- you quickly realize how falls kill the elderly with malice.
I'm glad I was able to avoid slamming my head into the marble floor. If I were 20 years older I'm not sure I would have been strong enough to avoid head-meeting-floor.
The results were immediate. Bruised right shoulder. Both knees bloodied. Aching wrist. Two fingertips crushed between the metal keys they were holding in my fist and the hard floor. I'm typing this with my nose.
The day after is worse than the day of -- because everything has time to condense and expand and throb and wiggle and stiffen -- and so I sit here wondering if you have ever done something so stupid that you and only you are to blame for your own physical misfortune?
Please share your pain in all its gory detail -- my nose could use a break from typing...
Q: Well, what about the suggestion from your critics that while you won the war, the peace is being bungled? THE PRESIDENT: They're wrong. We're making great progress in Iraq. We've got a pretty steep hill to climb. After all, one, we're facing a bunch of terrorists who can't stand freedom. These thugs were in power for awhile, and now they're not going to be in power anymore, and they don't like it. And they're willing to kill innocent people. Their terrorist activities -- we'd rather fight them there than here.
youngster in the form of punches to my face from a crew-cut boy two years older than me -- but in my same fifth grade class.
His name was Alex. To escape the body To embolden the spirit To live anew again
Have you ever met someone who "over-laughs" at something that wasn't particularly funny?
easy to use, it integrates with my iGoogle start page really well, and it beats the pants off every other RSS reader I've tried and I've tried them all.
Which sites do you read every day? 
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