A silent movie, shown in black-and-white, was judged the best film of 2012.
As an occasional cinema patron, I hope this does not mark the beginning of a trend.
I haven’t seen “The Artist.”
But I don’t need to see it to know that when I shell out the best part of a sawbuck for a couple hours of entertainment, I expect to be entertained in full rich color.
The world comes that way, after all, and I can go out and look at it for free.
By GREG WALDEN
If I told you that Congress came together during an election year to pass a bill that will help create hundreds of thousands of jobs, would you believe me?
Congress recently put the finishing touches on a bipartisan agreement to extend the “middle class tax cut” for 10 months, which knocks down your payroll tax from 6.2 percent to 4.2 percent. The plan also extended unemployment insurance with commonsense reforms, like giving states the option to screen for drug use.
Also included — and what you may not have heard about — is a framework I designed to free up vast swaths of wireless broadband (or “spectrum”) for innovation that would produce $15 billion in revenue for taxpayers and help create hundreds of thousands of jobs.
BY JAYSON JACOBY
I’d like to know what the first generation of cattle ranchers around here would make of the current debate over wolves.
I’m inclined to think our 19th century forebears might not be altogether sympathetic to their modern counterparts.
In that bygone era, after all, the government, having only recently managed to hold itself together, had neither the inclination nor, likely, the money to reimburse livestock owners whose animals became wolf entrees.
So Rush Limbaugh went on the radio and insulted someone.
That this qualifies as a major national story has got me to wondering how soon until I hear this teaser for the nightly news:
“Sun rose as predicted this morning! What was Stephen Hawking’s reaction? More at 11!”
Went for a hike on the Oregon Trail the other Sunday accompanied by a 4-year-old who delighted in the glutinous mud which coated the historic ruts.
“Gooey,” she called it.
Also “mucky” and “messy.”
All three words were accurate enough under the circumstances.
I was distracted, though, from Olivia’s adjectival acumen by worrying about what sort of mess her slime-encrusted shoes were apt to make back at the car.
The government's weather forecasters have added the well-being of newborn calves and lambs to their list of worries, which seems to me an intolerable burden.
The prognosticators have quite enough pressure just with figuring out whether it's going to rain tomorrow.
I came across this latest curiosity in the fashion typical of our times — I was prowling about online, hoping to kick up something interesting.
(It's usually a short prowl, requiring the gentlest of kicks.)
Wasn't so long ago that "hybrid" was used most often to describe either certain canines of a wolf-like nature, or fast-growing poplar trees.
Today, of course, when we see that word we think first of cars.
Many of these, including the ubiquitous Toyota Prius, are thrifty runabouts. They sport cute little carbon footprints and are festooned with badges and decals invariably rendered in green and incorporating, in some fashion, the prefix "eco."
Conspicuously absent, or understated, in the advertisements for these models is a measurement that used to be foremost in many customers' minds.
Automakers, ever conscious of their image, are increasingly reluctant even to acknowledge that their products produce, and therefore consume, power.
Particularly since the vast majority of automobiles built since Karl Benz was in the business rely on non-renewable sources of energy to get around.
Oregon's budget continues to suffer, but the boozers, bless their hearts (and livers), are doing their part to keep the state afloat.
I'm no teetotaler, mind you.
Although beer is my favorite tipple I don't begrudge people who prefer the harder stuff.
It is, as they say, a free country.
Yet I never fail to be amused by the semantic machinations which manifest when the government is, in effect, both bartender and surrogate AA counselor.
You’d think, on a TV show called “Finding Bigfoot,” that maybe just once in a while, if only to mollify the habitual channel-changers, the cast would actually find, well, a Bigfoot.
And I mean a real Bigfoot.
Not that CGI beast that roars before and after each commercial break.
The cast members from The Animal Planet program, which recently started its second season, frequently imply that they’re practically surrounded by unidentified, but apparently quite elusive, primates.
Michael Hendriks doesn’t mind admitting that he was about as scared as he’s ever been while driving.
Scared enough, at any rate, to stop by the Herald office and tell me his tale.
I’m glad he did.
Hendriks’ story belongs to that category of precautions which, as the cliche goes, can’t be repeated too often.