Originally published on Mon September 24, 2012 9:53 am
Let us say this first: As an actual determination of the utmost merit in television, the Emmy Awards are ridiculous and have been ridiculous for quite some time. Naming shows that the Emmys failed to take seriously is easy: The Wire, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, most of the run of Friday Night Lights and so forth. If you look to the Emmys to actually anoint the best show or the best performance, you will bawl your eyes out over and over, and also, anyone who watches very much television will make fun of you as a rube and a dupe. Is that blunt enough?
The first official presidential debate isn't until Oct. 3 in Denver. But as The New York Times writes, last night on CBS News' 60 Minutes there was something of a "shadow debate that offered a likely preview of the tone and substance" of what will happen on stage next week.
Originally published on Mon September 24, 2012 6:05 pm
Sunday's sad news about the death of a giant panda cub that was just less than a week old is being followed this morning with reports about how the staff at Washington's National Zoo tried hard to save it and have been hit hard by its death.
NPR's Frank Langfitt talks with Steve Inskeep on 'Morning Edition'
At one point overnight as many as 2,000 workers at a Foxconn plant in Taiyuan, China, were involved in a riot that drew 5,000 police officers to the site and has closed the facility that makes parts for Apple's iPhones and hardware for other companies including Microsoft and Hewlett-Packard.
Good morning. I'm David Greene. Sandy Crocker has gone more than 500 miles for love. The Canadian man was touring in Ireland when he met a freckled woman with reddish brown hair. They spoke for a couple minutes at a café, then she left. Back in Canada, he was heartbroken.
(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "I'M GONNA BE (500 MILES)")
THE PROCLAIMERS: (Singing) But I would walk 500 miles, and I would walk 500 more...
Elissa Schappell is the author of Blueprints for Building Better Girls.
I was never more confident in my knowledge of the world of men and women than the summer I was 13. I'd become an expert, certainly not through any hands-on experience with boys, but by reading the trashy romance novels my best friend, Michele, had pinched from her mother.
That summer I read books whose covers featured beautiful wild-haired maidens, heaving bosoms barely contained in torn blouses, on stallions, heads thrown back, submitting to or resisting the advances of some rogue.