One figure I read was 524,000, as in jobs lost in December. Another report had it at 639,000. Either way, the Labor Department says that 2.6 million are out of work at this moment. But the only figure that matters is 1 if youre the one who lost his job.

Has anyone heard if the Earths orbit has slowed in the last couple of months? Is it just me, or has time slowed down to an excruciating crawl since Nov. 4? I’ve asked this question a thousand times in the last eight years, but this time it’s not rhetorical: Why is this guy still around?

I don't make a habit of doing a typical year-end wish/ prediction/resolution list. Somewhere along the way I must've realized how trite, contrived and formulaic they are. But, then again, they do serve a purpose, if only to look back the following year and see how far you missed it.

And quite a reference it was, albeit in a left-handed sort of way. Keech wondered aloud how I had managed to slip through security on the Iraq leg of the Bush Legacy Tour and hurl a pair of shoes at the object of my disaffection (whose name should be changed from Duh to Duck, except that that would be an affront to mallards everywhere).

Random thoughts the week before Christmas:-Despite the economic downturn, I can't help but feel a renewed sense of optimism lately. Perhaps it's irrational and perhaps it's because I haven't yet been directly affected by the sorry economy, but this.

First of all, thank you for taking the time to participate in the economic roundtable at Guilford Technical Community College last Friday, Dec. 5. I thought the assembled business leaders represented an accurate crosssection of the region and voiced their concerns with eloquence and passion.

As we transition from the dark days of Duh and cross the bridge to brightness, it's not hard to sense the resurgence of ideas, ideals and identity.

I have made a decision, and I want the Sizzling Seventeen to hold my feet to the fire on it. After today, I shall not write the words Sarah Palin again for at least two years.

About 8:30 last Tuesday morning the phone rang. As I peered at the caller ID noting an incoming California call, my natural response was to let it go. It was, after all, Election Day and the logical assumption was that it was yet another robocall from a desperate campaign looking for new depths to stoop to.

I tried to write this column as if it were after the fact, as in after Tuesday, Nov. 4 presuming that Obama had already won. Yet, as I sit, Halloween afternoon, I cant quite make that assumption, cant take that chance.

With the end of the interminable campaign finally in sight and their team hopelessly behind, the McCain-Palin camp is finally hauling out the heavy artillery. All their Hail Marys have been caught by the trombone player, all their scurrilous robocalls answered by Marlee Matlin, all their slime-slinging landing in joyless Mudville.

You can choose your own metaphor for life. You may view it as a holiday, as in a stroll down Primrose Lane, or it can be Forrest Gumps mothers box of chocolates. It can be a river, a struggle, a journey, a battle, a classroom, a rollercoaster, a kaleidoscope.

So its come to this. McCaint is forced to defend his opponent and gets booed for doing it. The chickens have come home to roost, and he has nobody to blame but himself. When he turned his campaign over to Roves top two hatchet men, Steven Schmidt and Rick Davis, we could see it coming a mile away.

Am I missing something here? Of the thousands of questions asked of the 15 or so candidates during this interminable presidential campaign, there is one that has not, to my knowledge, been asked. If I were one of the ones doing the asking, it would have been near the top of my list.

Anytime anyone has a grand idea, the first question asked is invariably, How much? And rightly so, provided its not just a way of being a contrarian who opposes, doubts and critiques everything that he didnt think of himself. There are such unfortunates, and some of them live in Greensboro.

While I would heartily endorse all those ideas, Im not sure that a fulltime farmers market, in and of itself, will be enough of a draw to make the ballpark the gathering place it needs to be. In fact, no single attraction will be enough, even if the downtown lines are redrawn all the way out to Yanceyville Street.

I never know from week to week which hat I’ll be wearing come column-writing time. It vacillates from pessimist to cynic to provocateur to realist to satirist to visionary to wiseass at the… well, drop of a hat. But one hat you’ll rarely see me wear is that of optimist.

Dear Sen. McCain: I am deeply honored that you would choose me above all the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of other Republicans who are more qualified than I to be your running mate. It is obviously the opportunity of a lifetime, a moment that I will cherish forever.

I may not have been a mile high after watching Sen. Barack Obama’s extraordinary speech last Thursday, but I swear there was a moment in there when I felt I was getting ready to levitate. I was among the hysterically happy throng at the former Mile High Stadium, if only vicariously.

Anybody who’s lived in the Triad more than a couple of days knows that High Point has an inferiority complex.