Hi-larious.

_

The word “hero” gets kicked around a lot.  We say it so often that we’ve rendered the word meaningless. 

Rose’s Final-Second Heroics Give Bulls the Win, says the headline in the sports section.  I’m gonna destroy this hero, says the hungry man using another term for a submarine sandwich.  Where are my heroes!?!  Wait, duh—they’re right here in my hand, says the guy having a mild stroke who meant to say “keys.”



None of these people is a hero, and I am not either.  I rode my bike seven miles in a snowstorm.  That’s all. 

I did not wrestle a tiger away from a group of toddlers.  I did not take the controls of a 747 after the pilot didn’t feel like landing.  I did not kill Osama bin Laden.   I repeat:  I did not kill bin Laden.  Stop asking.

Here is his most recent post on last night's South Carolina debate.  'Tis a fine place to start.

Here's the whole blog.

I also think his book, "How Markets Fail," is the bee's knees.

Excellent bit of writing here. 

_ The first time I ever heard someone utter this... command, I wanted to put the guy in one and bury it.  It was November of 1997.  I was a new employee at a large law firm that I won’t name, but between me and you:  it was Kirkland & Ellis here in Chicago.  I was a paralegal (uncertified and untrained; more like a paraparalegal).  My job was to staple things, put stickers on things, mail things, and photocopy things.  I saw a bill once.  They charged clients $115 an hour for my services.  I got thirteen of that.

During one of my first weeks on the job, an attorney told me he wanted a copy of every document I sent to an expert witness, starting with a large stack I had just put in the mail.  It was not clear why he wanted a copy because we possessed the originals.  The originals were, if you think about it, our “copy,” one we could read pretty much all the time, if we wanted.