It never fails to infuriate me that the ratio of services to the perceived luxury of a hotel is an inverse one. I can go to any two-star Drury Inn on the planet, get free (fast) wireless, a hot breakfast with bacon, eggs, sausage, do-it-yourself waffle bar and free parking AND a complimentary USA Today all for $67. But once you’re forced to stay in a “classy” place in a major city, you end up paying $22 a day for parking, there is no Internet available and “breakfast” consists of a banana and an old bagel. Seriously, people, come on. Serenity now!

OK, my heart rate is coming back down.

As I checked in last night I saw a drunk dude passed out on one of the hotel’s sofas in the lobby. He was still there as of 8:49 this morning.

Today my only assignment is to write a few grafs on the third preacher of the morning during the annual meeting of the Council of Southern Baptist Evangelists (COSBE… Cosby… get it? HA! Cosby!). You know you’re hard-core if you attend the SBC Annual Meeting. You’re a step up if you attend both the SBC and the pastor’s conference the day before. You’re among an “elite” few indeed if you’re up for the COSBE meetings the Saturday and Sunday before that! There’s maybe 800 people here this morning, compared with the 9K expected for the SBC annual meeting. I’m not saying the COSBE guys think they’re better than the rest of us or that anyone is in any way Pharisaical, I’m just pointing out that you must have tons of free time and a LONG attention span if you make it to all three.

I’ve set up camp outside the ballroom, and it’s a good thing too, because I just missed/escaped the obligatory “turn around and rub your neighbor’s shoulders” moment. Darn.

On a slightly more serious note, I do have a great respect for these men and women who have answered God’s call to be vocational evangelist. Sometimes these folks get a bad rap because we tend to associate them with people like Oral Roberts, Benny Hinn and Joel Osteen. Being an evangelistic isn’t a bad thing (usually... see the man pictured above). Ephesians 4:11 more or less says that God appointed some to be teachers, some to be pastors, some to be prophets, some to be apostles and some to be evangelists. That’s a good thing, because that’s not my gift.

Back to the petty stuff: I hate it when people tell jokes and then say, “you’ll get that one later.” No, I “got” it now, it’s just not funny.

Probably the worst thing about being a Christian (you don’t get to start many sentences that way) is that there’s a good chance you might some day be associated with lame Christian t-shirts. I just saw an example on an 11-year-old kid:


The ONLY way this shirt MIGHT be acceptable would be if you’re a 15-year-old Christian who plays tennis, likes Shakespeare but can’t spell. If you don’t meet ALL that criteria, you need to go back home and change into an orange shirt that says Jesus but looks like the Reese’s logo.

Today’s drive was relatively uneventful. I left around 12:30 this afternoon and headed east.

I had a Chicken Bacon Swiss from Arby’s at Kingdom City and it was delicious, even though I forgot to have them hold the honey mustard. This became even more of a problem when a six-inch long and honey mustard-soaked strip of bacon fell out and plummeted through space toward my white shirt. It was then, at 1:12 p.m. at mile marker 151, that God Almighty reached down from His throne on high and carefully guided said strip of bacon to rest lightly along the length of my seat belt. I was able to pick up the strip and wipe down the seat belt without incident. Just one more reason why you should always buckle up.

I mostly listened to Harry Potter XII on CD, but also sprinkled in some talk radio and a Robin Williams comedy album. Robin, dude, seriously, lay off the cocaine. Seriously.

About halfway through Illinois, I saw a sign saying I-70 (the interstate that conveniently runs from Indianapolis to pretty much my front door) was closed due to massive flash flooding. This meant I had to take a detour 62 miles north to I-74, then from there I came into Indy from the north. It added 107 miles to my trip. Oh well… more mileage for me!

When I finally made it into Indy, I was swept into one hoppin’ down town. Wow. Indy knows how to party! I made my way to my hotel, fought my way into a parking spot on the street and went inside to check in. Once inside, I found out the good folks at the Indianapolis Crowne Plaza had oversold their hotel so there was literally no room in the inn. No problem, I’m flexible. They were very apologetic (they should be), and offered to put me up in hotel down the street at their expense for the night. So, now I’m living it up with two king-sized beds, kitchen, living room and plasma screen TVs in Suite 406 at the Indy Hilton.

I just realized I lost an hour due to crossing into the Eastern time zone. Dang it. Tomorrow is going to come early.

SNL was a re-run, but it turns out it was the one LeBron James which means it had the I Ran Digital Short. HI-LAR-I-OUS. I don’t automatically laugh at everything Andy Samberg does, but this one is pure genius.


Tomorrow, my only assignment is to cover a preacher at 9:45 a.m. and then I’ll have the rest of the day off. Here’s hoping!

After nearly six months of sugar-free sobriety, I fell prey to the siren song of regular, non-diet, Dr Pepper and bought a 12-pack. And it was soooooooooooooooooooooooooooo worth it! That first sip sent literal shivers down my spine as those 23 distinct flavors threw the party to end all parties in my mouth.

Actually dealing with Diet DP hasn't been that bad, but wow what a difference you notice when you get just the smallest taste of the REAL stuff. This is what imagine good crack to be like, only much less expensive and not so crack-like. Sure, crack gives you buzz (or so I hear), but I can't imagine anything topping the kick I get from pure, bubbly goodness that is Waco Gold (sugar included).

It's so good, in fact, that I would do anything for non-Diet DP (or love for that matter)... including that.

1) Whoa!
2) What is that?
3) I'll call you with an estimate.

Postal Service Honors ‘American Journalists’

Postmaster General Dedicates Stamps, Celebrates National Press Club Centennial

WASHINGTON, DC — They broke barriers, influenced nations, changed American history and played their lives on an international stage.

Five ground-breaking, distinguished reporters were honored today, their work and legacy commemorated by the U.S. Postal Service, as Postmaster General John Potter dedicated the “American Journalists” stamps:

• Ruben Salazar, the first Mexican-American journalist to have a major voice in mainstream media, whose work chronicled the evolution of Mexican-American politics.
• Martha Gellhorn, a ground-breaking war correspondent who covered the Spanish Civil War, World War II, and the Vietnam War.
• John Hersey, whose most famous work documented the story of Hiroshima; the book was named the top work of journalism of the 20th century by New York University.
• George Polk, a CBS radio correspondent who filed hard-hitting reports on the civil strife in Greece in the aftermath of World War II.
• Eric Sevareid, broadcast journalist, commentator and writer, whose work influenced a generation of reporters.

“These stamps recognize the contributions of American journalists to the betterment of American society, who exposed and explored the people, processes, challenges and accomplishments of a country, its people and its role in the world,” Potter said.

Working in radio, television or print, they reported, often at great personal sacrifice, some of the most important stories of the 20th century. They were drawn to hot spots, and their description of conflicts and issues helped people respond more intelligently to events.

Potter was joined by esteemed journalists who spoke on behalf of the reporters commemorated on the stamps: Eleanor Clift, contributing editor at Newsweek and a panelist on “The McLaughlin Group”; Frank Sotomayor, Pulitzer Prize winner and associate director of USC’s Annenberg Institute for Justice and Journalism; Daniel Zwerding, Peabody Award recipient for NPR; Jeff Price, foreign correspondent and cousin of George Polk; and Bob Schieffer, anchor of “Face the Nation with Bob Schieffer” and CBS News chief Washington correspondent.

The stamps were dedicated at the National Press Club in recognition of the club’s Centennial Celebration. Donna Leinwand, National Press Club vice president, acknowledged the sacrifices made by journalists, many of who lost their lives covering conflicts around the world and in cities across America.

“The distinguished journalists honored on these stamps deserve this place in American history for having shown great courage in the pursuit of truth,” Leinwand said.

The stamps feature a photo of each journalist and a few lines of types that are meant to suggest newspaper print headlines of articles by or about each reporter. Art director Howard Paine worked with designer Fred Otnes of West Redding, CT, to create the stamp art. The abstract backgrounds were meant to imply the “wordliness” of the subjects, without referring to specific events.

The Postal Service previously has issued stamps honoring other journalists, including Edward R. Murrow, Ernie Pyle, Walter Lippman, Henry Luce, Nellie Bly, Ida May Tarbell, Ethel L. Payne, Marguerite Higgins and publishers Adolph S. Ochs, Henry Luce and Joseph Pulitzer.

Saturday I was in Hannibal for work and witnessed Hannibal-LaGrange College’s May commencement. It was a beautiful ceremony and I’m not ashamed to say I teared up a little.

I’m a sucker for pomp and circumstance (throw a bagpiper in there and I’m a goner), but 90 percent of the emotions came from remembering my graduation three years ago. It made me infinitely proud to be sitting in Raley Chapel, to hear my father pray on stage in full academic regalia, to shake hands with the university president as I received my sheepskin and to sing the hymn to my now true alma mater. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about OBU in one way or another, usually in the context of using a principle, lesson or mantra that Mr. Todd so lovingly drilled into my head.

With the mushy stuff out of the way, here are some petty reasons OBU is better than HLG:

OBU is way better at sports.
I graduated in a beautiful chapel. They graduated in a field house.
Ka-Rip. ‘Nuff said.
The Bison is a well thought out, historically and culturally appropriate mascot. What the heck do Trojans have to do with a small Baptist School in Mark Twain’s hometown?
For better or worse, OBU has a journalism program. Eat that, HLG.
OBU is more expensive.
OBU has waaaaaay more fun during their chapel services.
OBU’s alumni includes two astronauts.
HLG students never know the joy that is wearing beanies.
OBU is in Oklahoma while HLG is in Missouri and is less than five miles from (GASP!) Illinois!
Green and Gold are infinitely superior to Blue and Red.
OBU shares it's hometown with Brad Pitt. So there.
They did have a bagpiper (why, nobody knows) to lead their version of The Walk, but that's nothing compared to OBU's, where you finish your academic career surrounded by your faculty friends and mentors.
My hymn to the alma mater rocks (click to listen). Theirs? Not so much (it isn't even posted online).