Writing Boots

On communication, professional and otherwise.

You can pull your ads, but you can’t suspend a campaign

by // 4 Comments

As we all chatter about the significance of McCain's so-called campaign suspension, I'm reminded of the greatest parenting advice I ever got.

"There is no such thing as parenting," Chicago paramedic friend Ed Reardon told me before Scout was born. "You know what your kids get? They get you, for 18 years. If you're good, that's good. If you're bad, that's bad."

I don't know who we're going to vote for, but especially thanks to the financial crisis happening in the middle of this campaign, I'm pretty sure we're by November, going to have a pretty good idea of what it is we're going to get.

“Sheer Exhaustion,” Lake Magazine

by // 7 Comments

The Sail La Vie was heeled over so far to port that I was standing upright on the side of the boat, grasping the big steering wheel as much to stay aboard the thrusting 31-footer as to hold it, with most of my might, at due north. It was a few minutes after midnight on Tuesday, July 22, the third night of the Race to Mackinac. • It was also the 100th running of the race – my first time in any sailing race, and only my second stint on a sailing crew of any kind. • As the rain began to pelt down, and the wind, unbelievably, continued to increase, death didn’t cross my mind, but only because death was an answer, and I only had time for one question: “How did I get here?”

Click here for full article (and photos by the marvelous Bruce Bever).

The Ryder Cup runneth over with easily earned tears

by // 3 Comments

I love golf, and I love America, so I should love the Ryder Cup above all things.

Then why does it strike me as alternately scary (do we need to be accentuating the "USA vs. the world" notion?) … sentimental (these guys are either pumping their fists in a victorious rage or crying their eyes out) … and pointless (our country club brats have more character than your country club brats).

No, I don't like the Ryder Cup. I think it's a platform for otherwise selfish, self-seeking professional golfers to feel they're doing something important for their "country."

Sorry, boys. I don't buy it.