Say it isn't so!

It’s official. The issue of climate of climate change can be ignored no longer. Why? Because hell has frozen over, that’s why.

It was bad enough that The Academy saw fit to give him an Oscar, but now Al Gore, the patron saint of Global Warming and the Democrat whiners everywhere, is a Nobel Laureate (along with the UN's Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change).

Then again, this is only to be expected, considering the committee has given the award to Jimmy “Kill the Wabbit!” Carter and Yasser Arafat. That kind of company does tend to take the sheen off any honor. Do we really want to hold these people up next to the likes of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Doctors Without Borders, The Dalai Lama, Elie Wiesel or Mother Teresa? To quote a Canadian newspaper: "Aung Suu Kyi, who won the peace prize in 1991, is under house arrest in Myanmar (Burma) for daring to ask for democracy in a murderous military state; and now she finds herself in the company of a possible, maybe, potential looming politician who flies around in a jet making presentations to ready-made audiences, then films it and goes to the Academy Awards and hangs out with movie stars."
What about the nominees who actually worked toward peace on this earth? What about the Vietnamese monk, Thich Quang Do? He has spent a lifetime fighting for peace and freedom in Vietnam. He is currently under house arrest for protesting human rights abuses, and has been jailed previously for helping his country’s poor. What about Lida Yusupova,who has devoted her life to human rights? Her work in Chechnya has shed light on human rights abuses committed by both Russian armed forces and Chechen rebels. What about Irena Sendler? She rescued babies during the Holocaust. Screw them and their petty, self-serving little projects, Gore and his movie are obvious choice.

Still, I can deal with Gore being honored. I’m an adult and I will readily admit when the “other guy” wins (something Gore isn’t capable of... you don't see Ms. Sendler or Mr. Do demanding recounts). What really bothers me is that the former VP is being honored for promoting global warming, NOT peace! There is no such thing as the Nobel Global Warming Prize! I’d like to think I would be able to make this obvious distinction, even if I was a fan of Al. Even his mother should be able to admit that it doesn’t make a lick of sense. Call it "an inconvenient truth" if you want, but it's still truth. For the record, the five other awards went something like this:

Medicine: To Mario Capecchi, Martin Evans and Oliver Smithies for producing genetic alterations in mice.

Chemistry: To Gerhard Ertl for opening up the hidden world of surface chemistry to investigation.

Physics: To Albert Fert and Peter Grunberg for discovering the effect underlying data storage on most hard disks.

Literature: To Doris Lessing, whose prolific writing extends from the realistic to the fabulous.

Economics: To Leonid Hurwicz, Eric Maskin and Roger Myerson for extending the range of tools for economic analysis.

You might notice a pattern here. All of these scholars' accomplishments somehow relate to their award! To quote Alfred Nobel on the Peace Prize bearing his name, the award should go to "the person who shall have done the most or the best work for fraternity between the nations, for the abolition or reduction of standing armies and for the holding and promotion of peace and for the holding and promotion of peace congresses." Re-read this paragraph and tell me Al Gore's victory makes any sense whatsover. I dare you.

If you read the linked article above (or right here), it features “man on the street” reaction quotes. Even of those who are pleased Gore won say nothing of any efforts to promote peace. In fact, one could argue that he has promoted discord by shoving his questionable documentary down the throats of school children across America and the world. (Heck, even the Brits have declared it a political film with significant errors and is "distinctly alarmist. This is what the BRITS are saying!"

Cheers!

The 1:30 chime Saturday morning found me in an unusual place: McGurk's Beer Garten in downtown St. Louis. I was in town to help celebrate the 25th birthday of my best friend, Luis. I was the only one in our group who didn't drink, which was convenient because by last call they were in dire need of a designated driver. Despite my dislike of the overwhelming smell of beer and my personal desire* to abstain from alcohol and the 2.5 hour drive home facing me, I actually had a good time.

Some thoughts:

• A good friend (not party to the birthday shenanigans) tells me that you are your true self when you are drunk. My friends are pretty fun drunks and to a person all slurringly professed their love for me (think, "I love you, man" from the old commercials). I guess in a weird way watching them down Jägerbombs was affirming.
• Before the evening festivities, I watched Luis and his law school intramural softball team play a double header in Forrest Park. Leave it to ingenious law students to turn softball into a drinking game (every time someone throws a ball, catches a ball and/or hits a ball, take a drink). Watching semi-drunk people trying to be athletic is a hoot.
• Don't have your wedding reception at a bar. Even though McGurk's is a comparatively classy joint, just don't do. There's way too high a chance one of your bridesmaids will throw up on your wedding dress.
• I was pleasantly surprised at how seriously most people there took drunk driving. It was obviously that about every fifth or so person was sober and A) was either looking to hook up with an uninhibited blonde or B) was that night's designated driver. I guess I just assume most people left the bar drunk, started up the car and just got lucky when they ended up at home without a death count. That's not to say the four or five cops circling the block didn't have any thing to do early that morning.
• I had a very interesting theological debate on church polity with one of those sober drivers who was also there to shuttle people celebrating with Luis (if you want to get specific, he is the boyfriend of Luis' girlfriend's roommate... which makes us absolutely nothing). He is the son of a pastor at a very large Assembly of God church in Springfield so we had plenty in common as we each avoided the obvious embarrassment that we had met each other in a bar.
• I can see how beer goggles would be a problem. In the low light, I had a very hard time determining hotness and I was wide awake and sober.

* I do not believe consuming alcohol is a sin, as is the perception of many of my denomination. That said, I don't see how it can lead to any good** so I avoid consuming it (that, and it's pricey). However, I do believe there is very strong biblical condemnation of getting drunk. I of course realize that by being complicit in my friends' behavior, I am exposing myself as a hypocrite. I assuage my guilty conscience by telling myself it's better than a group of inebriated law students getting first hand experience on how to deal with DUIs.

** OK, so there is SOME good that comes from alcohol.

Best.Holiday.Ever.

God bless the Electric Company.

In case you weren't aware, today is National Punctuation Day!

How are we, the "Punctuation Faithful," supposed to properly observe NPD? Here is a list of suggestions by NPD founder Jeff Rubin:

• Read a newspaper and circle all the punctuation errors you find (or think you find but aren't sure) with a red pen.
• Take a leisurely stroll, playing close attention to store signs with incorrectly punctuated words.
• Stop in those stores to [politely] correct the owners.
• If the owners are not there, leave [properly punctuated] notes.
• Visit a bookstore and purchase a copy of Strunk & White’s The Elements of Style.
• Congratulate yourself on becoming a better written communicator.
• Write an error-free letter to a friend.
• Take a nap. It has been a long day.

I've celebrated NDP so far by using six different marks in this post. Oops, it looks like I'm up to seven; I almost forgot the apostrophe. Dang it, eight. Wait... do parentheses count as one or two? I'll say one. The same goes for brackets thus bringing my total to 10 – no wait, 12 – counting that ellipsis. Sigh. the M-dash makes 13. How will you celebrate? If you're stumped, you might try the Punctuation Rap (you can listen to the rap by clicking on the link on the right side of the page). But only if you're desperate. You have been warned.

Here we go _______! Here we go!

I've decided Midwestern needs a mascot. Never mind the fact that we don't have any teams to compete under said mascot's name and in its image.

It's shame Wake Forrest already claimed Demon Deacons because that's an awesome mascot. And Southern already has dibs on Crazy Calvinists.

Here's my first round of solutions:

1. The Dippers


2. The Johns (as in John the Baptist, not toilets or men who hire prostitutes)


3. The Spires (after the distictive spire on campus.)


4. The Saints


5. The Boll Weevils

Hmmph. I actually think I like The Spires.

Headfake

Take an hour and watch this: http://wms.andrew.cmu.edu/001/pausch.wmv

You'll be glad you did.

Take a Letter

Earlier this week I went upstairs to interview a man on the 6th floor for a story. As I got to his open door, I could see he was busy so I politely waved and stood around the corner, waiting until he finished his business. (I tend to give people in "The Building" the upper hand when it comes to prioritzing their time. The way I see it, their ministry is probably way more important than my story and I can proably afford to wait a few minutes.)

As I "listened" (OK, eavesdropped), I was surprised to hear him dictating a letter to his "ministry assistant" (OK, secretary). Are we still doing this? In late 200 7? Is writing a letter really that far beneath you?

Personally, I would find it hard to "speak" a letter. One of the great benefits of typing a letter is that the composer of said letter is able to view the document as a whole even as it evolves, thus ensuring the proper tone, clarity, uniformity and the letter's effectiveness in communicating the desired message (and supposedly, who knows this better than the person sending it?).

The only way I will give this man a pass is that he is the oldest person on staff and may not be able to type a mind-blowing 15 wpm like me. But still, even if he was relegated to mere hunt and peckery, at least it would stave off arthritis.

WHY THE HECK WON'T BLOGGER LET ME SPACE MY PARAGRAPHS PROPERLY?

Feliz Cumpleanos a Mi

Well-done, Please turns one year old today.

Two thoughts:

1) In 364 days, I've written 55 posts, just over one a week (1.008 per week to be exact). That's a little pathetic, considering the pros can bang out 10 or 12 a day.

2) To my knowledge, only five people know this blog exists (including me) and as far as I know I'm the only regular reader. Good. That's pretty much how I wanted it.

I found it!

A little less than a year ago, I referenced the Muppet version of Jim Croce's classic, Time in a Bottle. Well, hold on your pants, folks, because thanks to the magic of YouTube, I've found that very song. Be sure you have your hankies ready.

God bless the Muppets.

He Came on Down! (And I didn't get the memo!)

Bob Barker and I were a mere three blocks from each other yesterday and I wasn't even aware of it!

Ah, Fate. You are a cruel mistress.

A few thoughts on Sept. 11

I'm not even going to try to write a heart-felt, "memorial" column. Instead, I'm taking the easy route and just jotting down a few thoughts as they come to me.

No Day for Tennis

Sept. 11, 2001 is certainly the "Where were you?" Moment of my generation. I remember most of that day very vividly, just two weeks into my freshman year at OBU.

I woke up in room 442 of Agee Residence center to the sound of my friend Kyle banging on my door like a mad man. Bleary-eyed, I rolled out of bed and open the door ready glare at him to express my annoyance that he had woken me up this early just so he could beg to copy my notes from class.

I only managed to grumble "WHAT?!?!" before he grabbed me and pulled me across the hall where we could watch his TV. "Somebody has attacked New York!" he said. He was pretty sure it was the Russians or maybe the Chinese (who knows why).

The first person I called was my buddy Luis in St. Louis. In retrospect, it's odd I didn't think to call my parents. Anyway, I woke him up and told him to find a TV, that someone had attacked New York. He, like I had just done, asked "Who?" He didn't think the Russians or Chinese a likely culprit.

I remember seeing the second plane hit the second tower. I couldn't believe it. It's one the only moments in my life I can honestly call surreal.

I remember seeing the first tower fall, and thinking how many thousands of lives must have been lost. It's beyond a miracle that after it was all said an done, only 2,974 souls lost their lives.

I quickly got dressed and only tore myself from the TV to go to class. My first of the day was intro tennis with Coach Tolin. He told us to get back to our rooms to watch TV, that this was no day for tennis. "No Day for Tennis," may never supplant "Day of Terror" in our minds as the label of Sept. 11, but it works in a way. Before I left, we saw the second tower fall on the TV in his office. I remember thinking it was just a replay of the first tower falling.

Dra. Litherland made us stay in class (I'll never forgive her for that, or a multitude of other things) and discuss terrorism... in Spanish. What were we supposed to say? "No me gusta terrorismo?"

Dr. Barbe cancelled speech so we could watch TV later in the day. I'll always remember that Sept. 11, 2001 was on a Tuesday because of my "TR" classes.

I'm not sure at what point I learned that the Pentagon had been attacked and that another flight had crashed in Pennsylvania, but I do remember thinking, "Holy **** they're organized!"

I can hear you! The rest of the world hears you!

I wasn't around to hear the rhetoric of Lincoln, nor was I alive to hear Churchill coin the phase "Iron Curtain." Likewise, I don't remember Reagan shouting "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!"

The closest thing to those immortal quotes that I heard came from a "bumbling" "hayseed" "hick of a president" as he responded to a wounded nation brought to its knees, desperately needing some smaller glimmer of hope.

If you read the transcript of what President George W. Bush tells the crowd of rescue and recovery workers (and I encourage you to do so), it's clear he started out reciting a planned speech. It was exactly the kind of canned sentimentality we didn't need (or want) to hear. We needed something genuine, no prepared, slick or political. It was only after someone interrupted him and yelled that they couldn't hear that he suddenly became real and gave one of the most inspiring and heartfelt speeches I have ever heard or can imagine. It was short, sweet and most of all, genuine. It didn't have fancy rhetoric and probably wouldn't have earned him an A in speech class. But it was, and is perfect.

The video is perhaps even more stirring.

USA! USA! USA!

I love New York but don't give a flip about DC

It's interesting and sad that we all associated the terror and tragedy of Sept. 11 with New York City (and rightly so) but fail to extend those feelings to Washington, D.C. and Pennsylvania where Flight 93 crashed.

While it certainly is true that many more people lost their lives in NY, I imagine the fear was just as palpable or worse in DC. There simply isn't a place full of more high profile targets than DC and "they" had just successfully flown a place into one of the most secure buildings on the planet, who knows what else was on tap?

Somewhat macabre side note: ever since Sept. 11, I've been on close to 100 flights and I'm always "amazed" that the terrorists were able to find the Pentagon from the air and successfully fly into it. I have a hard enough time trying to figure out of it that big brown thing is a field or a lake. This summer as I flew into DC, however, I saw just how big the Pentagon is. There's no mistaking it. Even from several miles out, it's clear THAT is the Pentagon. It's also clear that in order to crash into it, you really don't need that much skill.

Ground Zero

My appreciation for the gravity of Sept. 11 grew exponentially when in 2005 I stopped over in New York for a day on my way to Russia (coincidentally, this was the exact day we declared war on Iraq).

My travel companion and I made our way to Ground Zero and were awestruck from the moment we stepped onto street level from the subway station. It's impossible to describe how huge the mere footprint of these buildings was, let alone how tall they were.

A Day that will live in Infamy

On my way to work this morning, I heard a snippet of Rush Limbaugh's morning update.

His main point was that 60 years later, we still recall the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor and how despicable it was. And yet only six years after Sept. 11, we are forgetting the fear and tragedy of that day of infamy. Moreover, we as a nation have seemed to lost all outrage and determination to bring those responsible to justice. I don't always agree with Mr. Limbaugh, but on this one I'm going to have to. We hide the graphic images of that day when they should be on display... lest we ever forget.

AP Style

I can't claim to be a world class journalist (heck half the time I'm not sure I can call myself a journalist or not), but I do have an excellent working knowledge of AP Style. Thus, it really bothers me that we as a journalism community have yet to settle on a style for that day six years ago. Sept. 11, is my choice, but it's continually seen in print at 9/11, 911, September the 11th or even spelled out Nine Eleven.

His Truth is Marching On

Today, in a special Tuesday Chapel, we took time out to remember Sept. 11, those who lost their lives and their families, as well as all our troops at home and abroad.

We sang, among other songs, the Battle Hymn of the Republic. The song usually brings tears to my eyes. Especially when it's sung very slowly. This recording was done on Sept. 14, the same day as Bush's speech.

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord

He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored

He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword

His truth is marching on!

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!

His truth is marching on!