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Cat 4 catastrophe.

And Ida was, and remains, historically horrific, too.  Hurricane as metaphor.

Here comes the Sun. But it’s not all right.  The lights are out everywhere, not just in Louisiana.  We’re gonna need a bigger flashlight.

We’re trapped in a pitch-black theater, forced to watch an endless noir of dark freezeframes. Leveled buildings. Overtopped levees. The Mississippi River re-directed.

Flag-draped caskets. “Dignified transfers” of the remains of 13 of our heroes.

But that will not in any way be a “dignified transfer” of power tomorrow in Afghanistan.

Then, there’s the “H Word.”  Hostages? As I write, there are still about 250 Americans who want to get out of Kabul, but cannot.

People lie, but math doesn’t. By December 1, we’re almost certain to unnecessarily lose another 100,000 American lives to a ubiquitous but microscopic virus that nevertheless has displayed a larger IQ than we have. The virus wants to kill us almost as much as we want to commit suicide, and take our children with us. “Cause of death” on the certificates will say, “complications from COVID-19 infection.”  But the real COD in almost every case will be societal ignorance, arrogance, selfishness, hubris and narcissism.

In the words of an actual expert, “This was all entirely predictable, but entirely preventable.” “F” stands for Fools, not Fauci.

That’s Jim Jones stuff.

It’s dark. It’s a moonless night.

All I can suggest is that we all try to BOOF.  “Be Our Own Flashlight.”

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Paul's Bio

I clearly have the attention span of your median fruit fly.Look! Airplane!

Sorry. I’m back.

It’s both a curse and a blessing. I’ve never bought this stuff about, “He who dies with the most toys wins.” But I do think that a wide range of life experiences helps us grow as people, and helps us better relate to other people. I’ve been fortunate. And I am beyond grateful.

I show up on time. I go like hell. I’m a good listener. I hold myself accountable. I own my mistakes. And I have a natural and an insatiable curiosity. I’m never afraid to say, “I don’t know,” when I don’t. But then I try to find out.

The flip side is I’m a lousy ballroom dancer and my clothes sometimes fit me funny.

Stuff matters to me. I care. But while I take that stuff seriously, I try hard to never take myself seriously. As a result, I have sometimes been told, “Paul, it’s hard to tell when you’re serious and when you’re just having some fun. Which is it? Serious or fun?”

My answer is “yes.” But I think that is a legitimate criticism. I promise I’m going to work on that.

This has been the quickest and strangest half-century I’ve ever experienced. During that period, I’ve been afforded amazing opportunities in news and sports journalism across all platforms. I have taught wonderful students at the high school and collegiate level. Always, I learned more from them than they did from me. I’ve been a high school administrator. I spent ten seasons as a high school varsity football coach. I’ve been an advertising executive. I’ve hosted nationally syndicated television entertainment shows. In maybe the biggest honor I ever received, I was selected by NASA to be “Chet The Astronaut” for the “Land The Shuttle” simulator at Space Center Houston. (All I can say there, is “Do as I say, not as I do.” I put that thing in the Everglades more often than not.) Most recently, I just wrapped up a decade as a television news director, during which time our teams distinguished themselves in holding the powerful accountable, achieving both critical and ratings success.

What does all that mean? It means I am profoundly grateful. It also means I’m ready for “next.” So here we are. Radically Rational. It’s an idea I woke up with in 2017. I scribbled “Radically Rational” on a piece of notebook paper and used a magnet to stick it on our refrigerator. I saw it every day, and it just would not leave me alone.

I am second in charge at Radically Rational, LLC. My wife, Jo (also known as BB), is the president. Clearly, I have failed in my attempt to sleep my way to the top of this organization.

I hope you will learn that I’m loyal as a Labrador. But I will admit that this doggie can bite every now and then. My promise to you? I will show up on time. I will go like hell. I will listen to you earnestly and attentively. I will hold myself accountable. I will never be the least bit hesitant to say, “I don’t know,” when I don’t.

But then I’ll try to find out. Let’s do it.