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This past summer I traveled to South Africa to lecture at a number of private and state universities. South Africa has 23 institutions of higher education, which offer a full range of majors and curricula. And while these schools offer their students a traditional classroom experience, each of these institutions also offers its students some distance learning options. Depending on college and the major requirements, a student is able to take all, a large portion or at least some of their core classes online.

The various methods of distance learning include the old fashioned “snail mail” correspondence school method: Students do a series of written assignments and mail them to an instructor, who corrects and grades them. There are also telecast lectures, interactive broadcasts that allow students to interrupt a lecture to ask a question or request more detailed information.

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Recently, I attended the funeral of a friend I had known for more than 50 years. I went to the funeral out of respect for my old comrade, but also out of respect for the concept of friendship itself.

I’m “old school.” Calling someone a friend is a big deal to me. In my mind, friendship doesn’t simply result from knowing someone. It isn’t based on growing up in the same neighborhood, attending the same church or even being college roommates, nor is it the byproduct of working together, singing in the same choir or being someone’s regular doubles-partner at the tennis club. You may do all of these activities with people you like. They may be people you sometimes casually refer to as friends, but they are, in fact, acquaintances, people you simply know.

To me, friendship is about intimacy, trust, mutual caring and responsibility. Calling someone a friend is analogous to telling someone you love them. Both pronouncements should be a mixture of reason, emotions, affection, empathy, simpatico and joy.

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You all have Thanksgiving memories—but none of your memories go back to 1895.

On Thanksgiving Day that year the country's first official auto race took place. It was a 55-mile round-trip journey between the South Side and Evanston. Competing were four gasoline-powered cars and two that ran on electricity. The winners were brothers Charles and Frank Duryea in their "buggynaut," a marvel that had three forward speeds. They won $2,000 (a lot of dough at the time) for covering the course in just under eight hours.

One of my memories is tied to North Avenue, near where I grew up in Old Town. There was for many years a live poultry place at North and Wells and that was where the alderman of the 43^rd ward, the infamous Mathias “Paddy” Bauler, got the turkeys and ducks that he would dole out to people the Tuesday before Thanksgiving.

There are still live poultry stores in the city, a dozen or so, and the owners will tell you more people are interested in fresh birds.

Call me squeamish, but walking into Chicago Live Poultry on Lawrence Avenue.

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David Petraeus has been a cadet, a second lieutenant, a captain, a major and a colonel; he's been a four star general, an army commander in a war zone and our chief of spies. Along the way Petraeus has been variously called ambitious, demanding and competitive; a military genius; a team player; a loner; a dedicated servant of the system; a publicity hound and careerist. But now there's a new lable to add to the list: adulterer.

The label may fit the crime, but I wonder if the potential punishment and fall from grace connected with this offence is a bit excessive. I don't condone his behavior in any way, but it is important to point out that David Petraeus is not the first American political or military power broker accused of playing fast and loose with his marital vows. Remember Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky?

Did Petraeus do something wrong? Yes. He is guilty of infidelity, from the Latin fidere “to trust,” “to have confidence in.” Petraeus was unfaithful and broke trust with his wife. Are there consequences for this kind of behavior? Yes! One remedy is divorce; the other, and often harder, road to follow, is forgiveness.

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He does not seem made of flesh and blood. It is a summer day some years ago and I am looking at his head. Look…it is the color and shape of a gigantic tomato, the sort that wins prizes and "wows" at a county fair. Look at his hair: It is like one of those sleek bicycle helmets. And look how he walks, with a limp so pronounced that it hurts to watch him, as if his legs were made of wood.

He is Mike Ditka and he stands for something. He's got character. He's an American. He's loyal. He's hard-working. He's paid his dues. And he's unafraid of being himself.

That's why everybody wants a piece of him, to be near him. It's enough for a lot of people just to be near a picture of Ditka. He is no longer a sports figure—he has become an American icon. 

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They are putting up the stands and the barricades today, making ready for the one million people, give or take, coming to watch tomorrow the Magnificent Mile Lights Festival parade make its way down Michigan Avenue.

Think back, way back and imagine the delight that must have been felt by the fur-clad gang huddled in some cave on the night that one of their buddies walked in holding a burning torch and said, more or less, "Hey, everybody, look at this! I call it light."

So it has been ever since—light as the answer to the ancient need to dispel the fears that lurk in darkness and bring hopefulness into the bleakness that is winter. For centuries, light was used by various cultures and religions in their rites and festivals. Then Americans and their Christmas celebrations came along.

Before Thomas Edison invented the filament lamp in 1879; light meant fire and fire meant danger: Those who decorated their trees with candles risked a very incendiary Christmas. Though lights in many styles were being manufactured by the 1880s, they were so expensive as to be out of the reach of all but the wealthy.

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Tig Notaro is in great demand in the comedy world. After doing stand up for more than 15 years, she’s finally made it to the big time. She’s got a new job with Comedy Central and a book deal; her debut album is high on the charts on iTunes, and lots of magazine editors want her in their pages. So, you may ask: “What is the secret to Notaro's sudden success?” Well, her answer is an unusual one — she’s got cancer!

Nataro was diagnosed with cancer earlier this year, and underwent a double mastectomy, chemo-therapy and radiation treatment. This was not long after she contracted a serious bacterial infection, lived through the sudden, unexpected death of her mother, and suffered a bitter break up with her girlfriend. What did she do with this bad luck and medical agony? She made fun of it, by turning it into a stand-up routine: "Good evening. Hello. I have cancer. How are you? Is everybody having a good time?"

Macabre? Indeed! Shocking? You bet! Cynical? Absolutely! Angry? A little? Funny? Well, yes! After you let it all sink in. Notaro is really not being irreverent.

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