Aloha A-bomb! A Postcard from the Edge of Armageddon
News Comment: Nuclear Scare in Hawaii
A seasoned reporter faces the End on holiday in Kauai as locals either shrug off alerts or hide behind palm trees
By Rod Mickleburgh
KAUAI, Hawaii -- It’s a while since I’ve been caught up in a world-wide news event, especially one where I MIGHT HAVE DIED. But there we were, after a five a.m. wake-up call by Kauai’s ubiquitous red roosters, on the first day of our holiday, groggily sipping our coffee in the Saturday morning sunshine. All of a sudden, the island quiet was pierced by an urgent loud buzz on our cellphone. It sounded like an Amber Alert on steroids. “What the heck was that?” I said out loud to other breakfasters gathered on the patio of our inn. No one looked up from their buttered toast. Thinking it was just some sort of glitch, we didn’t investigate further. Then, my companion reported back from the office. The woman behind the front desk had said something about a missile threat, as she busied herself with the ...
Bob Dylan don’t need Nobel, or stinking badge
Comment: On Bob Dylan, Nobel laureate
Looking back on a close encounter of the Dylan kind reveals a slightly rumpled honouree who has a hard time accepting praise, let alone the Nobel Prize
*Caution: This article contains a top-100 list of Bob Dylan songs.
By Rod Mickleburgh
In the winter of 1990, I waited with a handful of reporters and photographers in a grand salon of the Palais-Royal in Paris for Bob Dylan. More than 25 years ahead of the Nobel Prize people, the French had decided that Dylan’s lyrical prowess was worthy of the country’s highest cultural honour, Commandeur dans l’ Ordre des Arts et des Lettres. T.S. Eliot was one of the first to receive the award in 1960. Borges followed in 1962. And now, following in the footsteps of Sean Connery (1987), it was Bob’s turn.
Finally, the gilded, ceiling-high white doors opened, and there he was, ambling into the opulent room, followed by France’s flamboyant minister of culture at the time, Jack Lang. He was ...
Journalist takes Labour Day weekend literally
The Daddy Diary: Labour with help from Jack Bauer
An expecting first-time father channels the spirit of a super agent as he faces the unknown, an earful of Portuguese expletives and the beautiful face of a brand new baby girl
By Chris Lackner
A gentle voice. "Wake up, babe. My water just broke. She's coming."
Two minutes of unintelligible, groggy mumbling, and then: "Are you sure it isn't one of those fake things? You know, Higgs boson... or whatever its called?"
Sigh. "Higgs boson is a particle (my wife is a scientist). Braxton Hicks are fake contractions... (again gently) there's no such thing as fake water breaking."
"Oh." The panic sets in, and I immediately forget everything I learned in our prenatal class. I silently (for fear of being slapped) ask myself one thing: "How would Jack Bauer handle this?"
We're desperately gathering everything on our hospital checklist at the front door. From clothes to food, and Gatorade to diapers. The baby is two ...