I remember, when I was a kid, watching my mother jam herself into her girdle - a piece of equipment so rigid it could stand up on its own - and I remember her coming home from fancy parties and racing upstairs to extricate herself from its cruel iron grip.

In the course of transferring all my CDs to my iPod, I have found myself wandering the musical hallways of my past and reacquainting myself with music I haven't listened to in years.

I might have missed my calling as an editor. In the spring, the sight of my empty garden beds gives me the horticultural equivalent of writers' block: So much space! So many plants to choose among, and yet none of them seem quite right!

To my great surprise, Twitter is not housed in a silver pod that orbits Earth at supersonic speeds, vacuuming up and then dispersing digital bits of worldwide chitchat; it's in a big, bland office building in downtown San Francisco, near a bowling alley and an Old Navy.

I try to enjoy the moment, I like to play football, and every time I go on the pitch, I try my best.

Fatherhood is not a matter of station or wealth. It is a matter of desire, diligence and determination to see one's family exalted in the celestial kingdom. If that prize is lost, nothing else really matters.

If you're talking about English football very few teams play 4-4-2 now: it's either 4-4-1-1, 4-3-3 or 4-2-3-1, they are the three major systems played throughout the Premier League.

You could go out with a camcorder tomorrow and make a movie with virtually no money, but promoting a tiny low-budget movie costs $20 million. And the money they spend on the big movies is astronomical.