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Salon's article is amusing, but never gives credit where credit is due for the idea itself, which is a shame. If you haven't read the story, get a copy from the library (it's conveniently in a collection of short stories also titled The Man Who Sold The Moon), it's worth it. Or buy one, read it, and when you're done, send a copy to Salon. Maybe they'll get it right next time.
I apologize in advance for the disjointed nature of this week's column. There are a lot of odds and ends to cover, including tomorrow's primary picks, a cartoon, and the usual awards and talking points.
But the first of these ends is definitely odd: is it just my imagination, or did Charles Krauthammer (of all people) read my earlier column before writing his own? You be the judge.
Sorry for the short column today, but since New Hampshire is the center of the political universe today, nobody's really paying attention to anything else anyway. If you want something fun to do while watching the returns come in tonight, head over to the McClatchy news site, where they're having a cartoon caption contest.
By the shores of Gitchee Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, from "Song of Hiawatha"
[There's just no other way to start out an article about Lake Superior State University than with the immortal words of Longfellow, describing Lake Superior herself.]
OK, here we go with Part 2 of my annual McLaughlin Awards. Last week's column covered the first half of these awards.
Unfortunately (as of this writing) the transcript for last week's McLaughlin Group is not yet available on their website, so you'll have to check it later to compare how I did with the actual McLaughlin Group themselves.
Now, "the end of the year" is just as fluid a concept as any in the calendar business. Most civilizations which followed used the Egyptian concept of spring being the beginning of the year. Makes sense, since that's when everything is born anew. The Romans even used this system, which is also still kind of in use today. If you start your calendar in March, then count forward, you have July as the fifth month (which was originally called Quntillis), August as the sixth (originally Sextillis), and then a numerical run of September (seven), October (eight), November (nine) and December (ten). January and February didn't even originally have names, and seeing as how they're the worst months of the year, weather-wise, it's not surprising.
