- Important: All passwords were reset on 06/15/11. Old passwords will no longer work. Click here to retrieve your password.
- Subscribe to Our Free Dewsletter
We are non-commercial, all volunteer and supported by our readers. Please help sustain the Dew by making a donation.
We have a Dew T-shirt winner
As required by the official LikeTheDew.com site survey contest rules, all valid entries were printed out and placed in grocery bag (better to reuse than recycle). Precisely at 5 PM yesterday (11/30/2009), the contents of the bag were shaken, tossed and shuffled vigorously. We had no drum roll – only the rustling sounds of the bag. A hush fell over the audience (both of us). The drama built. The blindfolded hand (easier to put a blindfold on a hand) reached into the bag and pulled a solitary winner now separated forever from all the others. We inspected the entry. A voice called out, “should we draw again or is Mike okay?”
Congratulations go to Mike Williams of Cocoa Beach, Florida who won the Dew T-Shirt (click here to order yours). Here’s what Mike wrote upon hearing the news:
Sorry it took me so long to reply. I thought it was another email from a barrister in Equatorial Guinea telling me I had won an international lottery worth $500,000,000 which I could claim as soon as I wired my mother’s maiden name, SS number, credit card account numbers and $10,000 in cash. I was digging through my files trying to find all that stuff before I realized it was really from you and I had instead won a Like the Dew T-Shirt. Boy, what a relief to not to have to worry about what to do with a half-billion in this unsettled economy.
But seriously. This is really cool. First thing I think I ever won, and I’ll be proud to wear it, even though I’ve been a laggard with the posts lately. Thanks, Mike
Worthy of Comment
Also on the Dew
More than a century ago the “forgotten man” of Mississippi and across the South — the farmer, the common worker — decided he’d had enough of “Wall Street speculators who gambled on his crop futures; the railroad owners who evaded his taxes, bought legislatures, and over-charged him with discriminate rates; the manufacturers, who taxed him with a high tariff; the trusts that fleeced him with high prices; the middleman, who stole his profit.” The forgotten man was so angry, historian C. Vann Woodward goes on to say, that he created a movement. It came as close to toppling our two-party system as any effort Read on →
I recently had the pleasure of roaming about the grounds of the Carter Center in Atlanta. It was an early Sunday morning before any of the buildings were open and I had the place pretty much to myself except for one lady who volunteers there and was fidgeting around in one of the small side gardens. I didn’t tromp over the entire thirty-five acres, but I covered enough to be impressed with the design and the number of large Oaks that provided much needed shade from the bright sunshine and heat. The visit took me back in time to when I w Read on →
This past weekend, my wife Jody and I attended a performance of Cyrano de Bergerac performed at the Blackfriar’s Theater in Staunton, Va. Just to hear the language was well worth the one-hundred forty mile round trip. Although I don’t have the skill to read it in the original French, Anthony Burgess’ translation which combines blank verse, prose, and rhyming couplets held our attention for the nearly three-hour performance. He created a contemporary sound for a play written in 1897 by Edmond Rostand based on an historical seventeenth-century troubadour, dramatist, poet, soldier, and sword-swinging duelist known for his razor-sharp wit and w Read on →
July 24, Thursday afternoon, 3:30. The July sun bears down with no mercy. The humidity’s high and the terrain rough and remote. To the northwest a cloudbank promises relief but relief never comes. We drive on in no need of windshield wipers. Robert Clark and I are miles from city life headed deep into the Francis Marion National Forest. To reach our destination, we turn off US Highway 17 onto State Highway 45. We drive for miles looking for Halfway Creek Road. Our directions, scribbled onto the back of an envelope by a naturalist friend, instruct us to “turn left onto Hal Read on →