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I was logging into Audible this morning to download a book that someone recommended to me and discovered, in a note on the front page, that David Eddings had passed away on Tuesday.

I was introduced to Mr. Eddings almost 20 years ago by a member of the staff at Oxford Books here in Atlanta, who almost negligently pulled the first few books of the Belgariad off the shelf and handed them to my ex-wife. We devoured those books, and went on the read the Mallorean as well. Later on I read the Elenium and the Tamuli, as well as his standalone novels set in the world of the Belgariad.

His most popular writings always touched on the time-worn themes of a “man of destiny”, engaged in a quest, struggling against the forces of evil to determine the fate of the world. The theme may have been common, but his rich characters and his ability to convey humor, tragedy, triumph and detail brought the books to life for me. I frequently re-read the Garion books, as well as the Sparhawk adventures, and I always feel like I’m revisiting stories told around the fire with old friends, and I’m often surprised when I read a passage and discover something that I had missed before. The books were amazing, and I’ve always found them much more accessible than Tolkien and other “masters” of the genre.

Eddings, always self-effacing, is reputed to have said in an interview once a reader was no longer challenged by his writings, they were free to then move onto "somebody important like Homer or Milton." I think he underestimated himself. I may visit other worlds, but I always come back to that busy kitchen on Faldor’s farm in central Sendaria.

I’ve never talked to anyone who has read any of his stories that didn’t feel the same. Such is the power and legacy of Mr. Edding’s work.

I find it particularly poignant that the book I’ve been listening to this week is “Domes of Fire” (Book 1 of the Tamuli). I’ve been waiting for it to come to audio book, and I was almost giddy when I found it finally. I’ll finish the series for the hundredth or so time soon, only this time, it will be with a tear in my eye and a profound gratitude to the man who shared this wonderful world with me.

Rest in peace, sir. You will be missed, and we are richer by far for your wonderful works.

NEW YORK (AP) — James T. Newman, a Vietnam War helicopter pilot whose rescues of downed airmen earned him the Distinguished Service Cross and other honors, has died. He was 73.

Newman’s son, Jay, said he died Sunday at the University of North Carolina medical center in Chapel Hill of complications associated with lung cancer.

Newman was twice nominated for the Medal of Honor, the highest military award for valor. While he did not receive that medal, he did get a Distinguished Service Cross, the nation’s second-highest award for combat valor, the Silver Star, four Distinguished Flying Crosses, the Bronze Star, Purple Heart and 23 Air Medals, among others.

In an interview years later, the Georgia native said he could "get the shakes" in recalling such incidents although at the time he had felt "no fear."

He first served in Vietnam in 1966, suffering a leg wound that nearly led to an amputation. Regaining flight status, he returned in 1970 as commander of C Troop, 2/17 Air Cavalry, 101st Airborne Division.

His first nomination for the Medal of Honor came in February 1971, when he rescued four U.S. crewmen from a crashed medevac helicopter on a mountaintop base in Laos where South Vietnamese Rangers were under heavy attack by North Vietnamese troops.

The same week, he rescued two other downed pilots by chopping down small trees with his main rotor blade, an act that astonished helicopter experts but earned Newman a Silver Star.

Five months later, Newman rescued two more pilots injured in a crash near the Laotian border, spotting a flash from their signal mirror and extracting the men with seconds to spare.

Richard Frazee, another former C Troop member, called Newman "a man of immeasurable courage who made us all feel invincible."

In 2000, Newman was inducted into the 101st Airborne Division’s Hall of Fame at Fort Campbell, Ky.
Burial will be in Arlington National Cemetery, the family said.

…like the moon and the stars and the sun."

28 years ago today, John Lennon was killed. I was nine years old.

My father is a HUGE Beatles fan, and consequently, I was raised listening to them. I remember being devastated and confused when I heard it on the radio. I couldn’t understand why someone would want to kill someone else. I cried a lot the next day, and I remember my teacher asking me why I was crying and being somewhat stunned that a child of nine would be that upset over a musician being killed.

Take a moment and remember the man behind the music.

Bill (you’ll know if you’re the Bill Stallings I’m talking to),

At the risk of sounding like a whiny little git, what did I do to you that pissed you off and caused you to break off all communications? You said "I’ll call you and let you know". That was several years ago. I’m still waiting. I’ve talked to mutual associates, I’ve left messages for your daughter…what the hell, man?

If I pissed you off, fine. So be it. I would think that you could at least call me and say "Hey…I’m not dead, you’re a schmuck and that’s that". If you got caught up in something and just never got around to calling, then fine. So be it.

I’d love to hear from you, even if it’s to tell me to piss off. Hit the contact button above and shoot me an email.

The tech community has been holding its breath for over a week now, praying for a man that most of us have never met. James Kim, his wife, and his three daughters disappeared without a trace after Thanksgiving while driving in a dangerous and remote part of Oregon. We allowed ourselves hope earlier this week when we found out that rescuers had located the car, and miraculously, the wife and children were alive and in reasonably good shape. Kati Kim kept her children alive against all hope through her bravery and ingenuity.

Today, we learned that James’ body had been found. He set out on foot on Saturday, nine days after becoming lost, to try and find help. It’s a hard blow to take, even though most of us couldn’t have picked James out of a line up. He was one of our own, and we were pulling for him.

The media (indeed, even the media in our own little world of technology) and those who think they know better will argue about the merits of going off into unknown conditions in the middle of winter in Oregon. Sure, on paper, it might look like a much better plan to hunker down and wait for the cavalry, but we’ll likely never know what drove James to leave the car and his family. After nine days, this man must have decided that the cavalry wasn’t coming, and he had to take matters into his own hands.

He must have known that it was a dicey proposition at best, and he still left the car to search for help. He staked his life against the chance of saving those he loved, and ultimately, he died while trying to save his wife and his daughters. His family meant more to him than his own safety.

James faced up to the ultimate measure of a man, and he was not found wanting. I only hope that if I am ever measured in this way, I will have the courage to say the same.

Rest in peace, James. We’re all proud of you.

*follow up thought – Someone pointed out to me today that the reason we all rallied around this story was its "closeness to home". Sure, we all hear about and sympathize with all the bad things happening in the world, but we can completely personalize the idea of making a wrong turn and getting lost.. I think that makes a lot of sense.

Ahhh, high school.

Remember the jocks? The kids that got to do and say whatever they wanted, because they were jocks?

Nothing has changed.

On April 23rd, professional football player Ricky Manning was sitting in a Denny’s with a bunch of his friends, when they noticed a guy sitting alone, eating dinner, working on a laptop. Manning and his gang proceeded to start picking on the guy, who eventually asked the management to have them removed.

So what happened next? Exactly what would have happened in high school. They beat the guy senseless, and fled the scene. He was sitting by himself, working on a laptop. They called him a nerd, and beat the crap out of him. Six thugs beat him senseless, because he was a geek.

Manning is currently charged with assault with a deadly weapon (his fists).

Odds are, He’ll get nothing more than a slap on the wrist, AGAIN. Why? Because this is America, and pro athletes are neither expected nor required to be men. We consider them role models for our children, simply because they can run faster, or throw farther. Because of a higher percentage of muscle tissue and better reflexes, we as a society allow them to be whatever kind of cowardly thugs they want to be, and then we reward them with multi-million dollar contracts. We do not hold them accountable for their actions.

Here’s the punch line:

Manning’s response after making bail, and finding out that he got signed?

"I was pretty down this morning because of the situation," Manning said."But when I found out I was a Chicago Bear, it kind of brought a little light to the day. … I can’t let something like this let me have a bad start to my football career in Chicago."

And the Chicago Bears organization?

A spokesman for the Chicago Bears says that the criminal charge will have no bearing on their $21 million, five year contract with Manning. In fact, the Bears scheduled a conference call Monday night to talk about their new player.

Update: Manning was suspended by the NFL for one game as a result of the incident, and eventually plead guilty to the charges in exchange for his second probation deal. He claimed that he “had words” with the man, but that his former teammates were the ones that committed assault. He also claims that the only reason he plead guilty was because he was “in season” and it might disrupt the team if he went to a jury trial. Disgusting.

I woke up this morning with a splitting headache.

More specifically, I had a splitting hangover. I NEVER get drunk, because to get drunk, one would have to drink. Since I drink about one beer a month, you can see where I’d be a little confused about how I came to be in this agony.

I went to a New Year’s Eve party at one of my Dad’s friend’s house out in lovely Conyers, Ga. My host is notorious for his parties, and I snagged an invite this year. It was really a stunning affair, and I’m damn happy to have gone.

Just so you can get a taste of the atmo at the party…

The buffet:

1. BBQ pork and brunswick stew – some of the best I’ve ever had, and I’ve eaten my share over the years.
2. Pastrami, corned beef, and roast beef – ordered from a deli in NY.
3. Escargot
4. About 20 lbs of lobster tails, swimming in garlic and butter.
5. Shrimp, with some of my Dad’s infamous cocktail sauce

The food was definatly first rate, but the alcohol was the real story. I was slamming back big glasses of $60 a bottle cabernet, apparently with no concern about the amount I was knocking back.

Around 11:30, my new buddy Ed reccomended to the host that the fellas should be drinking the good cognac. I’m not a huge brandy drinker, but I figured what the hell, we’ve been drinking $60 wine, smoking $20 stogies, and scarfing lobster by the pound – why not go all the way?

Next thing I know, I’m pouring from a THREE HUNDRED DOLLAR BOTTLE of 1970 Armanac. Holy crap, batman…that’s some high living. At one point, I think I double-fisted some champagne with the brandy. I can’t be certain.

I know that I was D-r-u-n-k, faithful readers. Drunk off my ass and desperatly trying to not make an ass of myself. Of course, 30 minutes later, I’m part of a crowd of people singing that David Allen Coe song (you know…the “I was drunk the day my mom got out of prison” song) at the top of my lungs.

I guess if 10 people do it, you can’t call jack-assery on them.

No resolutions – I’d just break them anyway.

I’m going to bed.

Capt. Peterson, Nurse Corps: [hostile tone of voice] What are you two HOODLUMS doing in this hospital?

Hawkeye Pierce: Ma’am, we are surgeons and we are here to operate. We just waiting for a starting time. That’s all.

Capt. Peterson, Nurse Corps: You can’t even go near a patient until Col. Merrill says its ok and he’s still out to lunch.

Trapper John: Look, mother, I want to go to work in one hour. We are the Pros from Dover and we figure to crack this kid’s chest and get out to golf course before it gets dark. So you go find the gas-passer and you have him pre-medicate this patient. Then bring me the latest pictures on him. The ones we saw must be 48 hours old by now. Then call the kitchen and have them rustle us up some lunch.
[turns to Hakweye]

Trapper John: Ham and eggs would be all right.
[turns back to Capt. Peterson]

Trapper John: Steak would be even better. And then give me at least ONE nurse who knows how to work in close without getting her tits in my way.

Note: This is a creative telling of the time I almost drove JStagg’s Celica into the Occonee river. This story is true. Friends, don’t let friends drive tired.

The Occonnee River Saga
(to the tune of The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald)

(Reprinted with kind permission from J. Stagg.)

The legend lives on from the Perimeter on down
To the big riv’r called the Occonnee.
A Celica so blue with a tired crew of two
Makin’ tracks for old towne Savannah.

The fog was so thick that Kris couldn’t see a lick
Particular the edge of the roadway.
Jim was asleep in the passenger seat
Unaware that fate was a knockin’.

At 4:00 am, Jim woke and said,
“Kris, what was that horrible thumping?”
Kris said “Not now. We have many miles to go.
Later, I’ll tell you ’bout the river.”

Jim said, “Okay,” and returned to his haze
Where he had been quietly sleeping.
At 4:01 am, it occurred to Jim
That something really bad had almost happen’d.

So he awoke and said “Tell me what broke
Or what did you do to my car?”
A cunning evader, Kris just mumbled “Later.”
And stared intently at th’ roadway.

Jim said “No way. Tell me, okay?”
I swear I won’t do you no damage.”
Kris said “it’s like this. We almost fell in the drink.
I had a small nap at the wheel.”

“I felt a bad rumbling, no, more of a jarring
And that awoke me from slumber.
As I opened my eyes, a terrible sight.
A sign saying ‘Occonnee River’.”

“I realized just then ‘We’re on the median’,
And swerved back just before the bridge start’d.
Disaster avert’d. ‘Holy shit,’ I blurted
And realized our close brush with heaven.”

Jim sat in his seat, quietly mused the feat
That had almost put them in the river.
He turned to Kris, said “I can’t be pissed.
At least you didn’t dent my car.”

An American icon is gone.

"When the Lord calls me home, whenever that may be, I will leave with the greatest love for this country of ours and eternal optimism for its future," Reagan wrote in a final address to the nation, "I know that for America there will always be a bright dawn ahead."