Skip to main content

So what's the prize?

I'm speechless. I've never had such an honor bestowed upon me. The most praise I've ever received for anything was a second-place award in a state journalism contest for deadline reporting. I'm not at all sure how to handle this astounding recognition.

After all, I'm joining the ranks of such historymakers as:
Charles Lindburgh
Martin Luther King Jr.
Mahatma Gandhi
Franklin Roosevelt
Charles De Gaulle
The Pope

I have been chosen Time's Person of the Year. I'm overwhelmed. I'm touched. Truly touched.

Or at least I was until I read the fine print. Person of the Year is an annual issue of U.S. newsmagazine Time that features a profile on the man, woman, couple, group, idea, place, or machine that "for better or worse, has most influenced events in the preceding year."

Then I found out that past winners also included the notorious, nefarious and nutball: Adolf Hitler. Joseph Stalin -- TWICE. Newt Gingrich. And our not-so-illustrious president George W. Bush -- who also has been on TWICE (that would be the "for worse" choice in the "for better or worse" influence, I'd hope). And with the serious lack of women on the list, I'll bet the competition was, for years, called simply "Man of the Year."

The magazine cover says "YOU" are Person of the Year -- for Internet-based content creation. I don't blog for awards. I blog because I like to blab. Other people share bad music on MySpace. Still others take video of Britney Spears' pantiless crotch and put it on YouTube for the world to enjoy.

There's serious stuff going on the world. Murders. Wars. Espionnage. Scientific breakthroughs. Invention creation.

But they honor me.

Idiots.

Comments

Jenni said…
Wow, congratulations. Does that mean they honor me, too? 'cause 2006 was pretty crappy here, too. Duh. They are idiots. Obviously someone couldn't find a person. I mean we know that W is an idiot.

Popular posts from this blog

Ho, Ho, Ho, How Many Times Can I Use "I'm too busy" as an Excuse?

I haven't had time to write. Work, swim meet volunteering, holiday decorating and shopping. But truthfully, I've not been in much of a mood to write anything anyway. Last night we put up the tree and Santa chachkies, and I drank my first egg nog of the season, so perhaps I'll be in a cheerier mood. Also, I have spent some time writing the annual Schoon holiday newsletter. If you happen to get a copy, treat it like a drinking game. Every time I make you roll your eyes, take a drink. Nog, wassail, Everclear. Whatever gets you through. One sure way to assist with merriment motivation is listening to Christmas carols. I'm not going to get into a debate over what truly constitutes a carol. You can "Jesus is the reason for the season" yourself until you turn blue; I generally lean toward the secular end of the holiday tune spectrum. And if you just gasped at my use of holiday instead of Christmas, go suck on a candy cane. It's my blog and my opinions. Deal. ...

IHATE IHOP Update

Tim went a few rounds, verbally, with the IHOP manager on Sunday and ended up getting our meal for half price. He still had to pay, though. I do not think that these people understand the severity of their incompetence. Or perhaps they just do not care. Someone commented to us that perhaps we should tell the IHOP folks what happened to the last restaurant that did us wrong. Recall the lactating masses who came out in support of us when we were booted from Hoover House restaurant in West Branch because I refused to breastfeed my baby in the bathroom? Remember the stories that ran in every newspaper and on every TV news show in the state -- and beyond? I'd like to point out that the Hoover House (which interestingly enough doubled as a venue for wet T-shirt contests on weekends) went out of business after our little incident. And for those of you who were befuddled and wondering how the police got involved on Sunday...someone from IHOP took the time to run out and write down our lice...

In memoriam...

I remember the first time I heard the name "Les Anderson." A bunch of Wichita State University communication majors were sitting around on campus, talking about classes they planned to take. Several people warned me: watch out for Les Anderson. He was tough. He had a murderous grading scale. It was nearly impossible to get an A. They weren't kidding. But he wasn't tough just to be a tyrant. From his teaching sprang a fleet of incredible, successful journalists, writers, editors, broadcasters, public relations experts, advertisers, non-profit professionals...I could go on and on. Most importantly, he created a legion of people who wanted to make a difference in the world. The greatest gift Les gave to them all? He believed in them, cared about them for their own personal stories as well as the stories they told for class assignments or in the pages of his hometown newspaper. Les was my teacher. My boss. My mentor. My conscience. My champion. My friend. When I started c...