Almost everyone loves popcorn. Yet, unfortunately we have become a nation of microwavers. And that means less than stellar popcorn. Help a friend rediscover the little luxury of stove or fireplace-popped popcorn with a gift of Crown Jewel Gourmet Popcorn. Consider one of the sampler sets that include a one pound bag each of several of the nine varieties, such as Red Ruby (a rich,robust nut-like flavor); Baby Black Pearl (a no hulls, small kernel with a savory and tender taste); Blue Sapphire (pops up small and crunchy with a slightly sweet flavor); and White Diamond (pops up large and white with a classic popcorn flavor).
As an avid fan, I can attest that your recipient will enjoy--and be sure to get a sampler for yourself! Gift Samplers from $26 and 8 favorite varieties plus a sturdy classic stove popper for under $60.
Vince Guaraldi is best known by most as the creator of the Peanuts music for the various CBS specials. His trio's catalogue still sells well and his less-known music is fantastic. Consider two of Guaraldi's CDs to combine as a gift (all for under $25 via Amazon) for a full taste of Vince: A Charlie Brown Christmas and The Definitive Vince Guaraldi (a 2 disc set). The last time we threw a cocktail party at The Dog Pound the background music was all Vince, and he was a hit. It seems everyone loves his piano style but just never bought the CDs. These two provide 43 wonderful pieces of music with only one duplicate.
It's Saturday and just barely dusk. I'm on I-40 East just outside Durham on the way to the Sam's Club in Morrisville. To jump start Son Number One's Honda. He's been there working his pick up job, cooking Little Smokies and offering them to passersby. Nine bucks an hour.
Anyway, I'm in the 335i (it's filthy inside and out) tooling along in the far right lane at about 65 mph. Sixth gear. Steely Dan's only live album, Alive in America, is blaring. If you don't have that CD you should get it, if you like SD at all.
My baseball hat is low on the brow. I check my left mirror, because the Buick in front of me is holding me up. I'm ready to change lanes, pull in behind the old clapped out Volvo with the Vegan sticker that just blew by me on the left in the center lane. But... But in the mirror I see something low to the ground coming up fast. It's not that dark yet but in the mirror I can't make out the marque. It's something unique, though. I stay in my lane. Suddenly, the Volvo on my left pops on the breaks strong because of something goofy ahead. I hear the downshift of a throaty engine and suddenly there is this beautiful, shiny corsa rossa Ferrari pulling even with me to my left. As I turn my head toward the beauty the immediate sight is the Prancing Horse crest with the "SF" ( Scuderia Ferrari) script emblazoned just aft of the front wheel well.
Instinctively, I raised my sight line, trying to see into the cockpit. Don't you like to see who's driving that sort of exotica? He was what I would guess to be a 30-something fellow, with longish combed back black hair. His Romanesque but handsome nose gave insight to his heritage.
We were looking at each other. I threw a thumbs up his way--the modern symbol of hello and camaraderie among autophiles. In my old college days when I was driving an MG B and another sports car came into view we would flash the peace sign. He smiled, pointed toward me, quickly moving his hand back and forth horizontally as if to confirm the legitimacy of my BMW before returning the thumbs up.
The Volvo moved back into my lane, giving the 599 just enough room to accelerate past us both and then zip to the far left lane. Gone. I so wished I'd taken the BMW by the car wash.
Oh, what a beautiful automobile. I don't think I would want one even if I could afford the total bill, but it sure does brighten the day when you have a Ferrari Moment on the Interstate.
Road & Track Review
And the hair. Don't forget the hair. In this important case if no other in my life, I was an early adaptor. Perhaps I should say an early imitator. By the time The Beatles hit The Ed Sullivan Show I was already growing out my 'do. I had already ridden the bus downtown with a month's allowance to visit Gladstein's (Durham's "urban" fashion palace) to buy a pair of Chelsea boots. AKA Beatle Boots. I took those boots straight to the shoe repair shop for the installation of what I later came to realize were Cuban heels--a couple of inches higher than normal.
Although I am loathe to admit it, I even bought a Beatle wig at Thalheimer's Department Store. I was on the waiting list two weeks. I signed up for a "Paul Model". I wore that thing once, on the bus home from picking it up. Thankfully, it didn't take long for me to realize it was not cool.
I do not fault myself for the inglorious purchase of a Beatle wig. Many of my guy friends and I who frequented the YMCA during that time were stretched to the limit of our ability to remain relevant in the junior high scheme of things. You see, as if on cue, a Duke professor and his family (including twin boys slightly older than my crew) returned to Durham from a couple of years in Scotland. Of course those two boys had perfected "the look" during those two years. Awesome long Beatle-inspired hair, tight cords, real Chelsea boots, thick Scottish wool turtlenecks sweaters and they had even acquired a slight accent while overseas. How in the hell could we compete with that level of cool? They even knew the next part of the British invasion. They were so over Paul, Ringo, George and John.
" 'ave you heard o' the Rolling Stones?" they asked.
We had the Stones to look forward to, but for now, all we wanted was to see The Beatles on TV, compliments of Ed Sullivan. In color. That's where my Dad came in. In a very creative and cool way. The Beatles appeared three weeks in a row on Sullivan, beginning February 9, 1964. Either the second or third week (I don't remember which) was going to be in color! Now, my crowd was so entranced by the first appearance in black and white that the thought of seeing The Fab Four in living color was beyond our wildest dreams! And none of our families had a color TV. But my Dad had a whole showroom of them where he worked. And so the pilgrimage to Montgomery & Aldridge, Durham's preeminent appliance and tire emporium, was conceived by my Dad. So his son and his pals could see The Beatles in color.
It was a glorious occasion. Fifteen of my closest personal friends--both boys and girls--were transported to M&A on that Sunday night, and gathered together in front of the biggest RCA color television on the sales floor to watch the gods of current culture. Dad even scooted across the street with me and a couple of buddies to The Carolina Theatre and bought buttered popcorn, Coke and various candies for the whole gang. He was a hell of a host his whole life.
Finally, 8pm came and the show began. But not in color! You can imagine my Dad's chagrin, much less my own. We watched The Beatle's show-opening tunes in classic black and white, stunned that we had been robbed of living color. While I don't specifically remember the CBS excuse, it was something like "the color system was on the fritz".
Fathers have a way of making things right--at least as right as they can. My Dad was a chronic pleaser and by the time the boys from England hit the stage again, Dad had implemented the best fix he could. We were gathered around three color televisions; with one's color knob turned all the way to red, one to yellow and one to blue. We watched those last two songs in color, alright--CBS be damned. Dad was still mortified, scurried back to the concession stand of the theatre and everyone left with another large buttered popcorn. "It was the least I could do," he said on the way home.
I do not remember the songs the group did that night. I cannot recall all the names of those fifteen kids. I will, however, always fondly remember my Father trying his best to be a great Dad that night. And always. Most of the time he was a roaring success. To me, he was that night. And now, as the father of two almost-men, I can understand that when my Dad was not a roaring success, it usually was out of his control. For the times when it was in his control and he faltered, I have forgiven him. As I pray my sons will forgive me.
Dad's favorite Beatles tune was Love Me Do. Perfect for a chronic pleaser.
16. If death occurs in a cheap motel or a shotgun shack, it's a Blues death. Stabbed in the back by a jealous lover is another Blues way to die. So are the electric chair, substance abuse and dying lonely on a broken-down cot. You can't have a Blues death if you die during a tennis match or while getting liposuction.
17. Some Blues names for women: (a) Sadie (b) Big Mama; (c) Bessie; (d) Fat River Dumpling.
18. Some Blues names for men: (a) Joe (b) Willie (c) Little Willie; (d) Big Willie.
19. Persons with names like Michelle, Amber, Jennifer, Debbie, and Heather can't sing the Blues no matter how many men they shoot in Memphis .
20. Blues Name Starter Kit: (a) Name of physical infirmity (Blind, Cripple, Lame, etc.); (b) First name (see above) plus name of fruit (Lemon, Lime, Peach, etc.); (c) Last name of President (Jefferson, Johnson, Fillmore, etc.) For example: Blind Lemon Jefferson, Pegleg Lime Johnson or Cripple Peach Fillmore, etc.
21. I don't care how tragic your life is: if you own a computer, you cannot sing the blues, period. Sorry.
VETERANS DAY, 2009
BY THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Singer-songwriter Robert Earl Keen has a new album and that's all the reason I need to introduce you. The Rose Hotel became available just a day or two ago and is another great effort by this Texas Alt Country Legend.
Often called the Country Music Frat Boy, Robert Earl is an unassuming and laid back soul whose music is appreciated by a wide range of fans--from traditional county aficionados to the college crowd. He's the kind of fellow it would be easy to be best friends with. It's Texas music, often fun, frolicking and raucous, yet as often his songs are flavored with a heavy tinge of...well, read the Paste Magazine review of Rose Hotel and you'll see what I'm driving at.
Now, everything about this review is far less than fair to Keen's talent and place in Texas/folk/alt country music. And there is nothing perfunctory about the song Man Behind The Drums, a tribute to Levon Helms. But read the review anyway (and bookmark Paste Mag if you are into music even a tad).
Then, go to Amazon and listen to all the clips. And buy every damn CD from REK, put 'em on the iPod, slide on your coolest pair of sunglasses and stretch out on the couch listening to them all. Try your best to morph into that rare Texas state of mind that makes anything bearable.
He's written several songs that have become anthems, including The Road Goes On Forever (And The Party Never Ends) and Merry Christmas From The Family, the latter being a send up until after a few listens, when you come to realize just how serious and insightful the song just may be. And somehow close to home, whether that's Kerrville, Texas or the Upper West Side.
You can find the recipe at an interesting food blog I found recently called Food & Fire (where you'll find even more pictures of this bacon!). I'm drooling...
I'll be making a passel of this as soon as the Morton's Sugar Cure arrives in the mail--the Morton's web site tells me nobody stocks it around the Dogpound. Hopefully, you'll not have to wait and can start curin' right away!
It looks fun and simple and involves a pork butt, maple syrup, Morton's Sugar Cure, seven days of agony waiting for the butt to cure and several hours of good ol' smoking in the Webber. Then we fry it (or bake in the oven) and eat!
And put Food & Fire on the favorite blog list, while you're at it.
Happy Halloween, all you ghosties and goblins.
No doubt I will score both of those historic games and several of the Series games. Scoring a baseball game is a creative outlet for me, not to mention a great way to keep your head in the game. I came to scoring late in life but now I am a fanatic. I feel guilty watching a game without scoring...
I have a love affair with baseball. Like most boys born in the 50's, the passion started young. For me, it began playing catch with my Dad, matured through Little League and became unrequited in the Pony League, when my skills no longer matched my desire. But my love continued vicariously through Sandy Koufax, Don Drysdale, John Roseboro and the rest of Walter Alston's LA Dodgers.
Baseball was (and is) an art form, passed down from generation to generation back then. Now, that father/son bonding via The Greatest Game doesn't happen so much. It did (and still does) with my two boys. And luckily, Mrs. LD enjoys the game, too. Baseball has been a glue, one of the shared, ongoing experiences that defines our family. Something to all enjoy and share together.
That's why, no matter how bad the economy gets, I will not give up our Durham Bulls season tickets (four rows up the steps, section 200, with the fourth seat in dead behind home plate). That's why (well, one of the reasons) I bought that Chrysler convertible. I wanted us to drive home from the games with the top down, still talking together about the game with the cool rush of air around us. I wanted to create the future, when, with me long gone to the never ending season, one of they boys might say to the other something like: "Remember when we were little and Daddy had that convertible, and we'd ride home from the game with the top down? That was fun." Something to hold on to, now and later.
But now the season is close to ending. The only good thing about that is taking my battered copy of David James Duncan's novel The Brothers K off the shelf for the annual winter read. This is my favorite novel and not just because baseball and its binds is a significant part of the narrative.
Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov, hailed as one of the great works of literature, acts as Duncan's touchstone. Both novels portray a strong patriarch, four brothers (with similar characteristics in both works) and a family dealing with themes of religion and free will, morality and the faith (or lack thereof) that creates one's beliefs and guides one's actions. Duncan's title, other than as a short form tie to Dostoevsky, is ironic in that "K" is the symbol in scoring a baseball game for a strikeout.
The Russian philosopher Nikolai Fyodorov's view of Christianity had a strong effect on Dostoevsky (and no doubt Duncan) and that view plays out--in my mind at least--as the most significant theme in Duncan's work, if not both. It is a view of Christianity that allows redemption and "resurrection" as an earthly possibility, via sons who pay for the sins of their father through sacrifice, resulting in a more unified and universal world family. In this case, the father's sins are not those of "Papa Toe", the boys' father, but rather the sins of any of us responsible for this wicked world.
What else do we pass down to our children other than baseball? What else unifies us, for better or worse?
There is plenty of sacrifice in The Brothers K. Through the draft dodger, the conscientious objector who is sent to Viet Nam, the philosopher son and the narrator Kincaid, the reader will find himself, even if not a child of the sixties. This is, after all, a work that uses the inglorious sixties (and baseball) to explore universal and timeless themes.
There are two pristine first editions of The Brothers K on the bookshelf awaiting my sons. Soon they will be ready.
From the publisher:
David James Duncan's first novel, The River Why, met with such enthusiastic praise for its journey of self-discovery that it became a contemporary classic, with readers comparing Duncan to J. D. Salinger, Ken Kesey, and John Irving. Yet, as one reviewer noted, "His [style] is not merely a patchwork quilt....His is a genuinely new, genuinely original voice in American fiction, a voice which is not quite like any you've read before." (San Jose Mercury News)
In The Brothers K, Duncan amplifies the considerable accomplishment of his first book as he centers this tender and powerful story around a Pacific Northwest family in the early '60s. The Chance family is wild about baseball and cantankerous about religion. Papa is a gifted but luckless minor-league pitcher whose big-league hopes are fading. Mama is a devout Seventh Day Adventist, constantly in motion to save her wayward sons. When a mill accident crushes Papa's thumb, and Mama's inexplicable fanaticism threatens to shred what little the family has in common, parents and children find themselves embattled over the ideals represented by baseball and religion.
It is young Kincaid, the easygoing middle child, who chronicles the humor and spiritual beliefs that alternately sustain and confound this family in a small Washington mill town. And it is in his maturing voice, as his brothers leave town to enter one of the country's most bewildering decades, that we hear the inescapable tensions wrought from one American generation testing another's vulnerabilities. Through the Chances, David James Duncan asks sublime questions about life, self-sacrifice, and enduring love in an ever changing world.
Yet to me, My Town's most fascinating claim is as the birthplace, in 1930, of the more formal scientific, quantitative and statistical study of "parapsychology", begun by J.B. Rhine with and under the auspices of William McDougall, head of the Psychology Department at Duke University. Parapsychology--or extra-sensory perception (ESP)--is a still controversial offshoot of psychology (and more recently electrical engineering, due to the electrical nature of the brain) that studies (simply put) the possibility of human knowledge not derived from the five senses. ESP is "the sixth sense."
There had been much earlier research. The Society for Psychical Research was founded in London in 1882. In 1885 the American Society of Psychical Research was formed in New York. And in 1911 Stanford University began laboratory experiments, yet these groups were primarily engaged in qualitative psychical research more aligned with mediumship, spiritualism and the possibility of life after death. Through the Duke Parapsychology Laboratory's use of dice and specialized cards, a statistical model of research evolved and became the standard for other researchers.
Areas of research include(ed) Telepathy (transfer of information on thoughts or feelings between individuals by means other than the five classical senses); Precognition (perception of information about future places or events before they occur); Clairvoyance (obtaining information about places or events at remote locations, by means unknown to current science); and Psychokinesis (the ability of the mind to influence matter, time, space, or energy by means unknown to current science).
The investigation of things that go bump in the night would sometimes be undertaken, but for the trained scientist, in the context of the other areas. As an example, William Roll, a researcher at the Duke Lab for many years, investigates poltergeists but from the perspective that the paranormal activity may derive from the psychokinesis ability of someone associated with "the haunting" of a place rather than from the possibility of some ghostly or demonic activity.
Through the years, J.B. Rhine and Louisa, his wife and research collaborator, became the preeminent researchers in the field and the faces of parapsychology. Upon his retirement from Duke in the early 60s, Rhine founded the Foundation for Research on the Nature of Man (FRNM) in Durham. The study of Parapsychology at Duke--already on the rocks due to the university's concern over negative publicity generated by skeptics--ceased.
The 60s and 70s were active periods for parapsychology research, but research generally has waxed and waned in the US since. Yet there are still many groups and researchers dedicated to the field. The UK became and remains a strong foothold for study. In 1995 the FRNM was renamed the Rhine Research Center and is still active from its headquarters in Durham, having persevered through the years.
This Lucky Dog is honored to be associated with the RRC. I have fostered a curiosity and appreciation for the field since a science project in seventh grade found me calling upon the FRNM for help and information. I was assisted in my research by Dr. John Freeman who was a Baptist minister and researcher. He was studying ESP in children at the time and I was to become his "assistant" in rounding up kids from my school to volunteer for testing on Saturdays.
Within the last few years I have re-established a relationship with RRC and count Sally Rhine Feather (J.B.'s daughter and RRC Director) and others associated with The Rhine as personal friends. The Rhine and other groups such as Windbridge Institute, Institute of Noetic Sciences, Parapsychology Association and other organizations do important work in the field of human consciousness.
Interest in paranormal activity seems to be in vogue again. I'm wondering what has fueled the interest. Often, bad times move us closer to spirituality and we look inward to our consciousness for solace. We want to connect to some Higher Power, whether our God or the vast unknown of human potential. The last decade certainly has been a trying time for many. We search for something bigger and stronger than ourselves. Perhaps it's just a cyclical, generational lift. Baby Boomers and their children are, in my mind, decidedly more open than previous generations to the possibility of "human potential".
Certainly television is helping fuel interest in the paranormal. Cable channels are full of ghostly reality t.v. like Paranormal State on A&E. Dan Brown's new novel The Lost Symbol includes a "noetic scientist" character supposedly patterned after the Director of the Institute of Noetic Sciences. Their web site is experiencing significant hits since publication, I've heard.
And The Rhine is experiencing an uptick in layman membership and general interest in part due to the recent publication of the book Unbelievable, the story of J.B. Rhine and the Duke Parapsychology Lab, by Stacy Horn. There is a movie screenplay being prepared. Horn has a great active blog about the subject of parapsychology and the book (linked above).
By following this link you will be taken to the vimeo site where you can view various videos about The RRC and parapsychology, including a program with Stacy Horn and Dr. Sy Mauskopf, whose book on parapsychology and the Rhine Center, The Elusive Science, was published in 1980.
There is something about the pirate image that appeals to almost everyone, it seems. Not the thievery. Not the killing. It's more the independence and devil-may-care attitude; the individuality of, say a Keith Richards (whom Depp structured his Jack Sparrow around), of Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville life, Frank Sinatra doing it his way, Harley riders, Hemingway in Spain, and Florida Keys residents all, Agnelli, Christopher Walken. And more, hopefully including me, mostly happily marching, dancing, whirling and boogalooing to their own drummer.
One day, I will purchase these slippers and no doubt wear them somewhere out. I'm thinking with a black blazer, silky-soft light grey Super 120's wool trousers, a soft, unstarched white dobby shirt (if I'm really in the mood along with a deep burgundy silk short scarf tied loosely at the neck and tucked in) and a kickin' pair of Pantherella socks I own that are primarily white, with a black and grey design. Alas, this may be enough for M. Lane over at The Epic and ADG at Maxminimus to ever consider linking ALDL to their exceptional blogs. See sidebar for links.
My Father never wanted to talk about the war--World War II--and as he died when I was seventeen, I never had the opportunity to bring it up to him as an adult, man to man. At seventeen, memories of war were not on my radar. I was too busy trying to figure out how to stay out of Vietnam. I did not want any war memories of my own. But I would have gone if drafted.
I have pictures from Dad's Army days. He was a cook on or near the front lines during The Battle of the Bulge and was presented two Purple Hearts. I do not know any details.
Dad's favorite TV show when I was little was the TV comedy "Sergeant Bilko." It was his favorite because during his youth when he was in the Army he was quite the rounder, like Sarge. Quick-witted, likable, good at poker, pool and no doubt dice, along with the drinking skills that usually went with such endeavors, he could procure things hard to find during the war. He had that knack. And he always was able to "procure" all I needed growing up, and more.
There are bits and pieces of information I have about his time in the service. Most are snippets that I don't really remember how I know. I just know them, maybe from when the relatives used to get together and late at night reminisce about their youth. I would be semi-asleep on the floor, while the stories would flow into my brain for later understanding.
There is the story about him going AWOL because he wanted to see his younger brother, James. Dad was in Europe somewhere and James was in a tank in Africa. He made it there and back after a brief visit. And there's the one about Dad sending $300 home to Durham's mayor with the request that he "procure" gifts for my Mother's birthday. He was anxious for her to have silk stockings and French perfume, a big cake, along with extra gas and sugar rations for her family. That made the local newspaper, of course. I still have the clipping with the photo of my Mother holding the stockings and perfume.Just snippets. He kept getting busted down to buck private for his many small transgressions against authority. Via his gambling, he always had money to lend to his fellow soldiers, with usury, I'd guess. His Captain got him out of the brig one time because the Captain needed a loan. Later, his records were "lost" by that same Captain.
But as was the case with the fictional Bilko, and as so well put by the Museum of Broadcast Communications web site about the character, my Father, too, was a good man with a heart of gold. I can surely attest to that. And there were the soft mutterings about the jeep wreck. I never knew my Father to drive, either by choice or because of verdict. I have never known which. I do know that my Father would have be en the type of man to inflict his own personal penalty on himself. Somebody got killed and Dad was driving the jeep--that much is clear. Whether it was his fault or not remains unknown. It cannot matter now; I am content not to know.
He served till the end of the war and received an Honorable Discharge. That, too, I know. I discount the lost records.
I think of my Father most--now forty-some years after his death--on Memorial Day. I am not sure why. He did not die in service to his country. Perhaps I think of him today because I would like to have known him in his youth--and more about him generally, so I could appreciate him even more than I do.
Like so many soldiers, his youth was scarred by war. And for him and most WWII Veterans, by a Great Depression. All that he was the years I knew him was a product of that war he fought. I remember him as quiet, reserved and as someone who kept his cards close to his vest. I don't think his scars (even though I confess to not knowing what the scars entail) ever healed, nor have the physical and psychological scars of so many who have served our country.
From our nation's revolutionary formation through our country's current campaigns, our youth has constantly been steeled by war. By sacrifice. By accepting the call of duty. Even the rounders. I pray this country remains worthy of that sacrifice.
The gratitude the rest of us owe is virtually unspeakable.
'I have never been able to think of the day as one of mourning; I have never quite been able to feel that half-masted flags were appropriate on Decoration Day. I have rather felt that the flag should be at the peak, because those whose dying we commemorate rejoiced in seeing it where their valor placed it. We honor them in a joyous, thankful, triumphant commemoration of what they did. '
If you have never listened to Warren Zevon or think of him as a one hit wonder with the song Werewolves of London, I urge you to investigate the creativity and sensitivity of this rock artist. His is quite a story. From classical piano to touring with the Everly Brothers to critical (if not popular) acclaim. Dave Letterman's favorite rock artist and mine, too. He appeared on Letterman often before his asbestos-related lung cancer death in 2003, including a one -guest show with Dave near the end of his life. When asked what he would say to viewers about life's frailty, he simply said "enjoy every sandwich" which after his death became the title of a great tribute CD.
His last two CDs had a rather morose vibe, at least in title; Life'll Kill Ya and My Ride's Here. At the time, his diagnosis was not made--at least it was not public. I will always think he knew.
In December of 2002 Warren appeared at The Cat's Cradle in Carrboro, NC, unknown to me. But not my wife. Yet since the concert was the same night as her college supper club's Christmas party (husbands invited) she kept it to herself. I'm not sure I've forgiven her yet.
I always appreciated the song Werewolves of London, but came to truly embrace Warren's work later in his and my life. It started with the purchase on a whim of the CD Mutineer after hearing snippets on Amazon and due to fascination with the picture of Warren on the cover, depicting a pirate-esk down on his luck, Florida is the end of the line kind of fellow hiding behind a pair of huge Raybans. I sort of felt that same way during that time. It is a dark and haunting compilation and still my favorite CD. Call me melancholy.
For newcomers to Zevon, go with The Best of Warren Zevon and the afor-mentioned Mutineer. If you get hooked, you'll want all the CDs--buy the anthology I'll Sleep When I'm Dead next. Leave his last works and tributes until you've memorized all the "best of" lyrics, which if hooked, you will do. Great writing.
Read ex-wife Crystal Zevon's book I'll Sleep When I'm Dead: The Dirty Life and Times of Warren Zevon, once you become a full fledged Zevonista.
For the past month or so I've been subscribed (free) to a daily helping of sports news from Sporting News Today. It is a joy to find it in my inbox each day. Reccomended highly.
When you begin to receive it, watch the brief video that, among other things, shows you how to enlarge the page so it's readable. Well, nothing's perfect. http://www.sportingnewstoday.com/
The Weekly Standard story of Kemp's accomplishments can be found here http://www.weeklystandard.com/Utilities/printer_preview.asp?idArticle=16465&R=1619430E2D