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Thank you Time Magazine.

The following was origionally published in the Dec. 19 edition of the Statesboro Herald.

(Note: This is the acceptance speech I would have given had I been asked after Time Magazine told me that "you" are the Person of the Year.)

Thank you all. I can't believe this is happening to me.
To be named Time magazine's "Person of the Year" comes as such a shock. You know, you go through life and you try to do good things and you wonder if anyone is noticing, but you never expect to win such an award.

There are so many people I need to thank. Yes Dear, of course, for always standing beside me, reassuring me that one of these years, Time would see how wonderful I am. (Granted, for the 27th consecutive year, I failed to capture the prize that has become my great whale — People Magazine's "Sexiest Man Alive." One of these days, oh yes, it will be mine. George Clooney can't live forever.)

Also, I'd like to thank my parental units for all they've done for me. They always told me I could be anything I wanted to be, but I'm sure they found it strange that at the age of five I set my goal on being Time's "Person of the Year."

Most kids want to be a fireman or an astronaut, but not me. I wanted the recognition that comes with a weekly periodical naming me their most important human on the earth, and now I've got that.

I can now stand beside other such men as Adolf Hiter and Joseph Stalin, though I'd rather not focus on the fact that they, too, have been honored by Time.

Of course, I'd be remiss if I didn't thank Morris Multimedia for taking a chance on a young reporter fresh out of college. I hope I've been able to prove my worth now that I've earned such an honor.

Obviously I can expect a big, fat pay raise after bringing such prestige and honor to the Statesboro Herald. It's not like every newspaper in the country has Time's "Person of the Year" on their staff.

(Note to self: Remember to update your resume to include this honor. It can go next to your ABC News Person of the Year in 2004 for being a blogger.)

Most importantly, however, is the committee of people who got together and decided to honor me. I don't know who these people are and the only thing I can say for certain about them is that they are exceedingly brilliant.

It takes a genius to see my genius, and so, to the committee, I thank you for this honor.

I have to admit, however, that I'm kind of hurt that no one has called to congratulate me. Not my family, not my friends. Even at work, no one has said anything to me about this.

Of course, there's always the chance that everyone is playing dumb in preparation of a special "Luke Martin Appreciation Day" in which there's a parade in my honor and I'm given the key to the city. (Come on Mayor Bill Hatcher, you know you've been looking for an excuse to honor me.)

(Note to organizers: Thursday afternoons are usually good for me, but please check with my boss before throwing a massive county-wide celebration for me. I'd hate to be out on assignment and miss the honoring of me.)

But by winning this, I feel somewhat empty inside. All my life has been spent working towards achieving this goal and now that I've won it, what now? I'm not even 28 and I've achieved everything I set out to accomplish in life.

Sure, I could actually set new goals and challenges to achieve, but that would only be setting myself up for disappointment. I think it's best to rest on my laurels.

Perhaps I could fly around the country on the speaking circuit, pulling down a cool $25,000 to $50,000 for an hour-long speech about whatever it is that I know about. But then, I hate to travel, so that may not be the best career choice for me.

I guess I could write a book about what it takes to be a "Person of the Year," but that might take away from my duties here at the Herald, and I would think my boss wouldn't be pleased with that idea.

So I'll probably just keep doing what I'm doing, trying not to get fired and writing columns on such in irregular basis that there's no rhyme or reason to it.

That did, after all, earn me "Person of the Year."

Were you the winner?

If you had November 22, 2006 in the "Luke loses his wedding ring" pool, please step forward to claim your prize.

That's right, after a little more than three years of marriage, my wedding ring is now lost, most likely never to be seen again.

My ring has always been a little big for my finger, so I could slide it off fairly easily (not that I did it often, but sometimes I'd be bored at work and flip it like a coin or something else to pass the time waiting for a phone call.)

But in the past month, I've noticed it would come off my finger really easily. It would catch my attention as it passed over the knuckle and I'd secure it where it belonged.

Yes Dear jokingly asked why I didn't care about the symbol of her love that she gave me on our wedding day. She's also joked (I think) that I'm single now.

Since I've lost it, I've had a lot of people ask me where I lost the ring, as though I'd know the answer. If I knew where I lost it, I'd be able to find it.

It's like people who say they found what they find what they lost "in the last place I looked." Of course it's the last place you looked. Once you find it, you're not going to keep looking.

Walking on Sunshine

Note: The following hopefully will run in the Herald soon.

Many Georgia Southern football fans are disappointed with the results of this year’s team. Coming off an 8-3 regular season and – well, there’s no good way to say this – a collapse in the second half of their playoff game against Texas State, many fans were looking forward to a championship run this year with much of last year’s team coming back.

Unfortunately, it was not to be as Georgia Southern fired coach Mike Sewak and his staff and brought in Brian VanGorder to lead the Eagles to the Promised Land. Much like Moses and the Israelites, it may take us a while to reach the promised land of a national championship.
Heck, at this point, I think a lot of fans would like to see the “Hey, remember the playoffs” land.
But all those Negative Nancy’s are overlooking the good that VanGorder and his 3-7 have brought us by failing to make the playoffs.

First of all, our student-athletes will be able to spend Thanksgiving with their families, something that’s only happened one other time since 1997. With all effort and dedication the players put in for the program, it was exceedingly kind of VanGorder to give the players a losing season so they could spend the holiday with their family.

Surely they wouldn’t want to spend that week preparing for another playoff run and possible national title when they could be playing in the back yard with their younger brother and sister.
We hear a lot about family values in this country, but VanGorder is practicing what he preaches and, for that, deserves a pat on the back.

Also, without the hassle of preparing for playoff games, the student-athletes will have more time to dedicate to their studies. And if they’re like most students, they’ll want all the time they can to study before their final exams. Fortunately, they won’t have that pesky practice for playoff games to get in the way of their academic pursuits.

Under Sewak, the school lost scholarships due to academic issues, but thanks to VanGorder’s losing season, our players will have time to study.

Obviously the student comes first in student-athlete with VanGorder.

And while the players may reap the benefits, lets not forget about the coaches, who will get an extra month to recruit players that we haven’t had in the past. Instead of breaking down film of our next opponent, they can break down film of high school payers and try to convince them to become an Eagle.
But enough about the players and coaches, what about the benefits to the fans? For years, we had to sacrifice our Saturdays during the end of November and December to support our team in their quest for another national title.

And while many of us didn’t mind doing such, it drastically cut down on the number of available shopping days we had before Christmas. Let’s face it, traveling to Boone, N.C. or San Marcos, Texas on a Saturday for a playoff game isn’t the best use of the valuable holiday shopping time.

This year, fortunately, we’ve got the full allotment of Saturdays to complete our holiday shopping needs. That likely wouldn’t have happened had VanGorder not been here.

So all you Debbie Downers out there complaining, “woe is me, my team didn’t make the playoffs and our team greatly underachieved,” need to take a step back and realize how much VanGorder has done for this team and for you as fans.

While others around town may be upset with you, Mr. VanGorder, I am quite pleased with how you’re looking out for both the students and the fans. Pay no attention to the nay-sayers and I look forward to many more years of your excellent leadership.

An open letter to the dog in my neighborhood

Dear Mr. or Ms. Dog (whichever the case may be),

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Luke and my wife and I live in your neighborhood. I moved in a few months ago and have done my best to be a good neighbor.

We're quiet people who rarely throw parties and they're never loud. We try to keep our yard fairly nice (though the sod we were given wasn't very good, so the yard doesn't look great, but we're trying) and we're polite to all our neighbors.

And we don't even have a fence so you're free to roam around our yard if the desire strikes you.

Even the first time we met, you seemed nice, even following Yes Dear and I as we walked though the neighborhood before we got concerned for you and walked back to your house to let your owners (those people who feed you, they think they own you, I didn't know if you knew that or not) take you inside.

So I can't, for the life of me, figure out why you feel the need to bark at me every time I pass by your house now.

At first I thought it was because I'd wear a Cubs hat or jacket and you had some deep hatred for a team represented by an animal that could end your existence on this planet rather quickly. (You may not be aware, but bears, even little Cubs, are godless killing machines.)

But then I figured you're a dog and likely weren't affected by the designs on jackets or hats, especially when it's just the letter "C" and really wouldn't give any indication to your imminent demise.

Then I thought that you were concerned that I was invading your territory and you were simply defending your home turf. This seemed reasonable as here I was, a stranger, coming near your territory and you, being the good, albeit small, dog that you are, wanted to protect your family.

That got me thinking what I could do to help fix that problem. A friend of mine gave me one idea, but I'd rather not risk having my name show up in the police blotter for indecent exposure and trespassing just so you don't bark at me, so I had to pass on that.

I guess I could do what I did at my apartment before we moved and just buy dog treats and give you one each time I walked by, but at two to three times a day at five days a week, that could get costly quickly.

Plus, I'd rather not bribe you to be my friend. That's one step away from saying "I'm getting a Playstation 3 and if you'll be my friend, I'll let you play." I prefer to make my friends the old fashioned way - catch someone in a compromising position, obtain photographic evidence, and then blackmail them to be nice to me or expose their shortcomings.

So where does that leave us, Mr. or Ms. Dog? We can continue along this path of you barking at me each time I walk by, thus annoying your neighbors (and surely your owners as well), but surely we can reach some sort of arrangement.

I promise to not walk on your yard, throw things at you or your house and generally do nothing that would upset you and the people you live with if, in return, you'll just stop barking at me. I just want to enjoy my walk.

Thank you for your time and I look forward to reaching a mutually satisfying conclusion to our issue.

And in the event you don't speak English, I've taken the time to talk to a friend of mine who has dogs and he translated this for you. In dogspeak, it reads: arf, arf, woof, woof, arf, bark, woof.
Sincerely,

Luke

Signs

Sign Sign everywhere a sign
Blocking out the scenery breaking my mind
Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign

The great poet Jim Morrison once wrote “people are strange.”

The more I go though life, the more I agree with him.

Today, I went to the bank to deposit my meager earnings with them as I do every other Friday. As I was driving up, I saw a lady with a sign and thought “great, who is protesting what now?”

But that’s where the story gets strange.

She wasn’t protesting the Iraq war or the city’s proposed ordinance regarding parking in front yards. She wasn’t urging us to free Tibet or to eat only free range chicken drink only free range coffee.

Nope. Instead, her sign read “have a great day” and she was shouting the same message to passing motorists.

My first thought was “oh, that’s nice of her,” but the more I thought about it, the more confused I got.

First off, why is she shouting at me. Perhaps her message would have had more of an impact if she told me the same thing in a more soothing tone. After all, more than 70 percent of all communication is non-verbal (a statistic I just made up, but admit it, it sounded good.) Shouting at me has never made me have a great day.

Secondly, how is this supposed to improve my day? Some random stranger holding a sign is supposed to make me forget I’m dropping more than $700 on car repairs. If she really wanted me to have a good day, she could offer to help pay for my car or buy me lunch. Heck, if she’d quit yelling at me, my day would improve.

Finally, doesn’t this woman have anything better to do with her time? If she really wanted people to have a good day, couldn’t she go volunteer at any of the numerous non-profit organizations throughout the area?

So now I’m perplexed. It reminds me of the Lewis Black situation where he heard “If it weren’t for my horse, I wouldn’t have spent that year in college.”

To steal a joke from Family Guy, I haven’t been this confused since the end of Waterworld.

Cut to scene of Chris Griffin walking out of the theater: “How does Kevin Costner keep getting work?”

Fantasy Update: The Fighting Squirrels are just three days away from claiming the championship in fantasy baseball, mostly due to the hiring of Catherine Zeta-Jones to serve as team mom/model. (She gives all the players juice boxes after the game, and as the patron saint of the Fantasy Update, it’s only fitting to pay her homage as we close in on a championship.)

In fantasy football news, the Fighting Squirrels are 1-2 in one league and 2-1 in the other, but we’re looking forward to improving after Zeta-Jones joining the teams after her duties with the baseball team are complete (Someone’s got to give the guys orange wedges at halftime.)

Neighborhood update: One of Yes Dear’s coworkers and her husband recently moved into the neighborhood. They’re nice and I really like them. Good times for us.

Work update: No work tonight, no work this weekend. That’s the last I want to think about it until Monday.

Hope everyone is doing well. Enjoy your weekend and thanks for reading.

The need for feed

Note: the following is a work in progress I'll be tinkering with it for a while. It’ll publish on the day the Herald’s redesigned website launches.

Also, coming Monday (hopefully), my super Fantasy recap to get you up to date on all the fantasy news of mine that you really didn't care about. Sorry I've been gone so long, but it's good to be back.

I have a confession to make.

I like to eat. I do it on a regular basis. In fact, there are times I eat two, three or four times a day.

Some may say I'm addicted, and I think they're right. I eat everyday. I can't help it.
Making matters worse is that I've surrounded myself with enablers. Yes Dear cooks delicous meals for me. My Parental Units invite us over to eat with them. Friends call and want to go out to eat.

Even my job enables my behavior by sending me to cover luncheons and other events where food is served.

So why bring this up?

Because my job is putting me in a position where I may finally have to break my food addiction cold turkey. (Yeah, I went for the obvious joke. I'd like to appologize for writing that. Hopefully the rest of this column gets better.)

Today, the Statesboro Herald is launching a redesigned website that will hopefully make it easier for everyone to navigate and find what they're looking for.

We're also adding blogs (web logs) for our reporters where we're free to write about pretty much anything we want.

This freightens me more than people dressed up in bunny costumes.

Putting a person in front of their company's website and telling them to put their thoughts on the screen is a recipie for disaster.

Heck, it's borderline entrapment. If I'm having a bad day and sit down to blog about it, I'm liable to post something that would get me fired.

And if I get fired, I can pretty much kiss my food habit good bye.

So with that in mind, my blog on our website is giong to be bland, to say the least.

Below are just a few of the light-hitting topics I plan on tackling with my blog:

‰ Statesboro Herald Editor Jim Healy: Great boss or greatest boss? (Yes, I stole that from Stephen Colbert, but it applies to my boss as well.)

‰ Statesboro Herald Publisher Randy Morton: Legend or diety?

‰ Cuter animal: Puppies or kittens?

‰ peanut butter or jelly: the world's greatest debate.

‰ Tulips or roses: which will make Yes Dear happier today?

‰ Where do I recommend going out to eat? (Ok, I'll give you a glimpse of my answer to this one. Go eat at any restaurant that advertises with us and boycott the rest until they start running ads in our paper. After all, I'm nothing if not a company man.)

Obviously the blog will be a work in progress and I'm sure there are innumerable topics to tackle.

The important thing is I don't say anything controversial. If it turns out more of you think puppies are cuter than kittens, then I'll agree with you, the customer. If you think Randy
Morton is a god among men, I'll sing in that choir.

After all, I've got make sure I can eat.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go ask our advertising manager where I should go to lunch.

(Note, feel free to suggest your own innocuous topics I could write about on my work blog.)