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...challenge now for Denmark is to help the rest of the world catch up. Beyond wind, the country (pop. 5.5 million) is a world leader in energy efficiency, getting more GDP per watt than any other member of the E.U. Carbon emissions are down 13.3% from 1990 levels and total energy consumption has barely moved, even as Denmark's economy continued to grow at a healthy clip. With Copenhagen set to host all-important U.N. climate change talks in December - where the world hopes for a successor to the expiring Kyoto Protocol - and the global recession beginning to hit environmental...
Since then, I have become thoroughly entrenched in Internet pop culture. (I'm pretty sure that half my workday is spent exchanging YouTube videos with co-workers, but don't tell anyone.) There was the Star Wars Kid (2002); Homestar Runner (which I saw in 2003-04); and Tom Cruise's Scientology video (2008). When a friend refused to stop singing "Peanut Butter Jelly Time," I didn't speak to her for three days because whenever I did she would sing it, and the song would get stuck in my head. But that was in 2002, and I haven...
...finally euthanized the show and filled the remaining airtime with a sports documentary on pistol shooting. Until Nixon's 18-1/2, Lewis's 20 were the minutes that lived in pop-culture infamy. Catastrophe would be one way to describe it. Another would be great live television - the spectacle of tuxedoed Hollywood pratfalling into humiliation, and handing the banana peel of blame to the one man who tried to keep the viewers entertained. But Jer must have done something right: it was the second-highest rated show in Oscar history...
...sounds too good to be true. Now, for a limited time - the year of St. Paul, to be specific, which ends in June - say a prayer, pop by a designated church and qualify for an indulgence that deducts time from your scorching sojourn in the cleansing fires of purgatory...
...pitcher of milk. It seems he’s too busy scowling to put any effort into his vengeance. The violent sounds of this tempestuous break up—glass shattering, shrieks of rage, car alarms—are drowned out by the tepid tune of a rather weak pop ballad. Everything happens in slow motion; the events taking place within the dim interior of Ciara and Enrique’s fictive home seem as though they were transpiring underwater. Objects don’t fall, they float through the air and shatter delicately against the floor. You begin...