One of my favorite Carlin albums is “Jammin’ in New York.” I was pleased this week to read it was also one of Carlin’s favorites. The album is full gems such as the ”Bigger-Dick Foreign Policy Theory” and a biting critique of cemeteries. But my favorite track from the album — indeed, the track that endeared Carlin’s wit to me back in high school — is a hilarious sendup of airline announcements — perhaps too easy a target in this age, but it was edgy in his heyday.

This week, the AP released the 2008 edition of The Associated Press Stylebook, the so-called bible of journalism. This, no doubt, would have provided endless fodder for Carlin. Changes from the previous edition include mentally retarded being replaced with mentally disabled and several updates to race and ethnicity entries. It even includes a new entry on post-traumatic stress disorder. Carlin would have been proud, or repulsed. They’re just words, he probably would have reminded us.

But Carlin wasn’t oblivious to the power of words — something he shared with the best journalists. He knew how to deliver a message straight to the gut — no dillydallying, no pulled punches, no… well you get the idea. It’s his critique of the English language, as much the AP and a cadre of wonderful writing and reporting teachers I’ve had, that, I believe, helped me to be a stronger writer and editor.

George Carlin was 71 when he died. I had the pleasure of seeing him perform once at the Orpheum Theatre in Minneapolis. That must have been about two years ago. I know that because he made a joke about his age — 69 — being his favorite number. Classy, George.

His performance that day was a little odd. He read from a script because he said the material was all fresh, and he didn’t want to disappoint by screwing up. I wondered if he was just getting too old to remember his own material. Regardless, he delivered a wonderful performance.

George Carlin was acerbic and impudent. He could be crass, some might say repugnant. But he knew how to use words to their full potential, and, I imagine, one always knew where he stood with Carlin. He said what he meant, and he didn’t much care if it hurt your feelings. In a world full of euphemisms, pandering and outright lies, that directness will be missed.

George Carlin - Airline Announcements

NPR’s Scott Simon added his own list of words Carlin probably hated today.

When I told my friends I had found a way to transform myself into a morning person, they responded in one of two ways. The night people leaned in as if I were about to reveal the location of a stash of pirate gold. The morning people simply regarded me with pity and wonder. “I just don’t understand why it’s so hard,” said one friend, a Danish medical student. “I can get up anytime I want.”

To a dawn-deprived night crawler such as myself, waking up at 10 or later has long been a sure way to appear lazy in the eyes of the successful. My propensity for staying up and waking up late dates back to high school, and it has only intensified since then. It’s not uncommon for me to go to bed while the sun is rising.

Truth is, I like staying up late. I get work done, I send e-mail, I watch movies and I listen to music, all while the rest of America snoozes. And back when I worked on a copy desk, work fit right in to my late-night lifestyle.

But after reading about the marginal success (or outright failure, depending on how you look at it) of the Slate writer, I decided (within minutes or reading the article) that I had to try it too.

Why change if being a night owl works for me? Well, I never said being a night owl works for me. I said I like it. In fact, it very much doesn’t work for me. It makes me feel isolated from a world on a different schedule. I wake up, and half the day is over. And besides, someday (hopefully sooner than later) I’ll have a job that requires me to get up at 6 like the rest of the downtown drones.

So I did what the article said. I bought the melatonin. I limited my evening light exposure. I set my alarm. I took a morning walk. And it all felt great. The first day.

I chronicled it via Twitter.

• 6:18 p.m.: I decide to become a morning person with a magical article.
• 7:43 p.m.: I ponder one of life’s great questions.
• 7:50 p.m.: I buy the melatonin.
• 8:11 p.m.: I consider giving up the experiment because of all the great things on the Internet that await my discovery.
• 9:14 p.m.: I am a little drowsy. Just a little.
• 9:15 p.m.: I am passing time.
• 9:32 p.m.: I still passing time.
• 9:42 p.m.: I am watching Hulu.
• 10:09 p.m.: I am wide awake.
• 10:43 p.m.: I am being stubborn.
• 10:58 p.m.: I try to sleep.
• 6:02 a.m.: I am awake and agitated.
• 6:38 a.m.: I am walking. It’s beautiful outside.
• 7:35 a.m.: I am reading The New York Times.

That’s where the chronicle ends. That day turned out to be fairly normal for me. I sat in on a couple classes that I later decided not to take. I went to bed at a reasonable time.

And then I woke up around 11 the next day. And here I am writing about the whole experience at 2:40 a.m.

One such was 2003’s The Rise of the Creative Class, whose premise is so simple (We live in a knowledge economy? Who knew!), you might feel like a dolt for not having written it yourself. Well, Richard Florida is back with his third follow-up, Who’s Your City?, and the Web site has some intriguing maps.

A few of my favorites.

Minneapolis is apparently a part of Chi-Pitts. I’d love to know how they came up with these areas.

Why are all the single women in the East and men in the West? Can’t we do something about that? Some sort of singles exchange program.

Extroverted people in southern Wisconsin? I don’t buy it. neurotic people in New York? Yes.