Burnt offerings to no one!

Like FDR, Twain hid his disfigurement.

Ya know, I really don't drool over any particular journalist's work—online or off. I do give Wolf Blitzer the Best Name in News award, and Helen Thomas gets the Grizzled Battle-Axe Matriarch Award for covering every President since J.F.K.

But really, I don't think great journalism lends itself to public fame. I don't know anyone, journalist or not, whose hands sweat cold in fantods during the unbearable wait between Anderson Cooper segments—or those of any other known journalist.

Though I don't worship at the pedestal of any newsmonger, I do like Garrison Keillor an awful lot. He's more a storyteller than a reporter, but he does have journalistic stripes. He's kind of like Mark Twain, another writer/journalist. Both report more on society and the human experience than on the particular events of the day.

And both say the darndest things.

But as far as an online idol, I'm partial to the musings of The Resident. The Resident is an Internet personality played by Lori Harfenist. She "investigates topics relevant in today's complicated world with a fresh viewpoint." Example, example, example.

Than again, as my sweating hands indicate, I do get the fantods every week, recently on Wednesday nights, when I drip anticipation for ehub's bloggers' provocative thoughts and grammatically whimsical sentences. Or are my sloshy hands just another symptom of constant insomnia and caffeine addiction?