Shuffling down Main street in her fuzzy slippers and battered London Fog trench coat Clara took no notice of the looks on the faces of the townsfolk at her approach.

"Oh, they know", she thought. She continued her steady shuffle and as she got close enough to be heard she raised her chin and held forth in a mighty voice.

"Hear the word"! she proclaimed. "Jeebus loves you all"!

She stopped and looked about. A few ducked into shops, but she was undeterred.

"He can save you"!

She twisted as she heard footsteps. They could not harm her. No, indeed, she was protected by the grace of Jeebus.

"Now Clara, you know you mustn't shout." Officer Flannery kept his voice even and tried to smile encouragingly. "How are you doing today"?

Clara eyed him warily and sniffed.

"How am I doing. Well, you just don't need to be worrying about that, Mike. I'm surrounded by the cleansing love of Jeebus". She cocked her good eye at him defiantly. Officer Flannery permitted himself a small sigh.

"Yes Clara, I know. You have some business in town today"?

It was more a pointed comment than a question, and Clara knew full well. She thrust her hands in the pockets of her trenchcoat and planted her feet.

"My business", she said squarely, "is my appointed mission. I bring the message to the good people of this town. They need to open their hearts to the love of ..."

Officer Flannery glanced at his partner sitting in the patrol car, grinning for all she was worth. Across the street at the Get Your Buns In Here bakery the staff had come out on the street for the theatrics they secretly hoped would ensue. Others in the cafe a few doors down put aside their reading and gave up their conversations to take in the scene.

"Yes, Clara, I know, open their hearts to the eternal love of Jeebus." He turned to the patrol car and rolled his eyes.

"Look, Clara, you can't go around shouting all the time. You know this. You don't want to have to go to the station again. Who would take care of..."

Clara turned bright red and set her mouth in a scowl.

"Don't you threaten me, Mike. Jeebus wouldn't like that"!

Mike's partner stepped out of the car and approached the pair. She put on her best smile and beamed at Clara.

"Hi Clara. You know, i'll bet it's time you should be getting back home. Do you know what time it is"?

Clara looked about, a little confused and then glanced at the setting sun.

"I have to go now", she declared. "It's time for me to go to him. Jeebus needs me"!

Officer Flannery heaved a sigh of relief and gave his partner a look of gratitude. They watched Clara shuffle away.

"She's been like this ever since her husband died", he said. His partner nodded her head. She hadn't been around but a couple of years, but she had heard the stories of the crazy old lady since day one. It was not the first time she'd had to sort this out.

"She's alright", she said. "She just needs understanding."

Mike nodded his head and they got back in the patrol car and continued their rounds.

Clara climbed the stairs to her ramshackle A-frame and went to the kitchen and got out a can opener and a bowl.

"You know Jeebus, I try my best. I really do. They just don't know you yet, but they will. I promise you, i'll make them understand. All of them"!

She placed the bowl on the floor and the surly Siamese sunning himself on the window sill jumped down and sniffed at his food. He meowed in gratitude and began to eat.

I was reminded today of my all time favorite comedian, Jeff Dunham. Those messages that pop up on the side of Face Book pages that tell you you have a friend who's a fan of a particular person let me know that one of my friends was a fan of Jeff.

Of course I just had to go and view a few of the many videos that are on his website. I highly recommend that if you've never had the pleasure, or even if you have, you go and live the magic. Here's the address:

http://sitehoppin.com/Jeffdunham.com/

I had the "pleasure" of being at the front table at a small comedy club in San Francisco when he played there, and one his characters, Peanut, lit into me big time. It was great. Being the good sport that I am I played along and even gave as good as I got, prompting Peanut at one point to tell me, "listen dude, i'm doing the comedy here".

I won't bother naming all the characters he has, you either know or you are in for a real treat. They are, I should add, ventriloquist puppets, and Jeff Dunham is the puppet master.

A truly amazing ventriloqist he is, too. I once saw him have one of his puppets sing while he, Jeff, drank a glass of water. No mean feat.

That's Achmed the Dead Terrorist in the animated gif above, by the way, with his most famous line. If you only have time to watch one short video of Jeff at work, I highly recommend part one of Achmed.

Jeff tours frequently, so you might want to check his calendar and see where he's going to be in the near future. We share the same hometown, Dallas, Texas, and apparently it's a place we're both glad to be from rather than in. Jeff is also one of only four comedians to have ever been on the Johnny Carson show, a real honor.

If you're at all interested in comedy, do yourself a favor and check him out.

Paulie stood outside the seedy hotel and looked up. Pulling the collar of his ratty black leather jacket up against the chill wind he glanced over his shoulder. The Carlton Hotel. It had seen better days. He entered, thinking a room on the second floor would do nicely. He paid and took the stairs up to the second floor room facing out onto the street.

Dragging a chair over to the window, he sat down, pushing the tattered, nicotine stained lace curtain aside and settling in...

Brett paced nervously, waiting for the call, annoying Bruno . "Hey, knock it off, will ya? You're makin' me crazy here"! Brett went and sat down at the bar and growled, "why haven't they called yet"?

Bruno rolled his eyes and took another sip of beer. "You wuss. Just wait for it, that's all".

"Look, this is the day, man, I just know it. I'm gonna be a made guy"!

Bruno shrugged and stared straight ahead. "Yeah, whatever".

"I sure hope that moron did exactly what I told him to do. He better have made the reservations and got a limo for me or i'm gonna give it to him good". Bruno looked over. "You ride him too hard, Brett, why don't you lighten up on him, he's your kid brother for christ's sake".

"Don't tell me how to deal with my family, Bruno"! Brett flexed his neck and glanced over at the phone. It rang as if on cue. He was off the seat in a flash. A minute later he was back at the bar with a spring in his step.

"See, I told you just to wait. Good news, huh"?

"You bet", Brett smiled. This was going to be the best day of his life. He decided he'd better call his brother and make sure that dimwit had everything on track for him.

"Hey chucklehead, how you doin"? Brett smiled. "You got me all lined up sweet"?

Paulie rubbed his jaw where it was still sore from the last meeting with his brother. "Yeah, Brett, it's all good. The restaurant is reserved for eight and the limo will be around the corner in that little alley, you know the one. Hey, I got it on the cheap for some reason, the guy..."

"Yeah, yeah, great. I'll take care of you later numbnuts. Thanks". Brett hung up and went back to the bar.

Bruno gave him a look. "What"?

"You should treat him better, that's all, I done told you."

"Look, he's a schmuck, i'm doin' him a favor lettin' him run errands for me. You know he's kinda slow and all. What would he do without me"?

Bruno had an answer but he was too smart to push it.

"Anyway, I gotta get ready for tonight. I'm gonna be a made man! Wish me luck".

Brett donned his sharpest suit and shined his shoes. He had been waiting for this meeting to be called for months. When he offered to take them to dinner and they said sure he knew this was it. They wouldn't have agreed to all that if he wasn't in. Don Genarro himself would be there. This was gonna be sweet!

He arrived at the restaurant and waited outside. When they arrived he led them in and they said down to the finest meal Brett could arrange. The Osso Bucco was the best anyone had ever had and the Don told some great stories about wise guy stuff. As they left Don Genarro's phone rang. He walked a few steps away and took the call.

When he came back he wasn't smiling and Brett had an uneasy feeling. But he was doing everything right, he told himself. Nothing was said and he led them down to the corner. That limo had better be right around it like Paulie said it would be.

Paulie sat forward and proped his chin on his interlocked fingers. He gazed out the window as a smile slowly spread over his face and he relaxed his shoulders. It hadn't been easy getting the Don's private number, but Paulie wasn't as dumb as everyone thought. No sir. He heard the faint pop of the silencer and looked again and thought to himself, man oh man, Brett's brains sure don't look pretty splattered all over that nice pink stretch limo. But then again, not much would.

Do I have your attention? Good. Surely if the title of today's screed didn't grab you, the picture to the left has. More on that in a bit.

The word spermology has two meanings, only one of which is common, well, actually, uncommon usage. The proper meaning of the word is the study of trivia.

It came from the Greek word, sperma, which means seeds, thus it is a study of seeds in the literal sense. However, trivial facts can be metaphorically referred to as seeds, bits of knowledge that if put about will result in a tree of knowledge by sparking curiosity that then spreads to other lines of inquiry. Hence, spermology.

What sparked all this is a trivia question in a quiz we took on a cruise once. It's one of my favorite pastimes onboard a cruise ship. There are usually two trivia quizzes a day, sometimes three. I wracked my brain for the possible definition of the word, convinced that the obvious one wasn't going to be right, and i've never forgotten the answer since.

I have always been a trivia buff. Nerd? Who you callin' a nerd?

Anyway, as to the above picture, yes, it's what it appears to be. A penis. Specifically a killer whale penis. In answer to your question, it measures about eight feet in length when, um, in use. The reason I chose it, other than the obvious bid for lowbrow titillation (I can't believe I just used that word) is that it's germane to the first bit of trivia that i'm offering up here for your edification.

Interesting trivia:

A whale penis is known as a dork. More specifically it is the cartilage that runs the length of it. (And to think we had no idea of that back in junior high school...)

A duck's quack does not echo, and no one knows why.

In days of yore (I wonder when that was exactly...) when clans wanted to get rid of an undesirable member they burned that person's house down. Thus the expression "to get fired".

An Ostrich's eye is larger than it's brain. (I think I know some people like that too...)

The first toilet ever seen on television was on Leave It To Beaver. (There's a cheap joke there that I will refrain from.)

Reno, Nevada is West of Los Angeles, California.

The only mammal that can't jump is the Elephant.

The word Samba means to rub navels together. (Oh yes.)

A jiffy is an actual unit of time. it's 1/100th of a second.

More people are killed annually by donkeys than by airline crashes.

The name Wendy was made up for the play Peter Pan.

And to end this on the theme of the day:

The condom brand Ramses was named after the great Pharoh Ramses II, who fathered more than 160 children.

Kalani awoke before dawn and went out to the edge of the treeline and looked out to sea. He thought hard about his dream and then sat down heavily in the sand to think.

When he heard the others stirring in the village he made his decision and rose to return. He watched the women prepare the morning meal and then went to the chief's quarters to tell him what must be done.

The chief looked at him for a long time before speaking. "And you say this...thing will come to pass soon, but you don't know when."

"Yes" he said. "We must start preparing today. I feel there is little time." He bore the weight of his gift without regret, but this was an especially hard thing.

The chief continued to look and then with a sigh his shoulders slumped. "How am I to tell our people of this without knowing why"?

Kalani rubbed his temples. "I know in my heart of hearts that we must go. That is all I know".

The chief raised his chin and made to speak and then stopped. He sat down and gazed at the floor. "The oracle", he said. "It is not that I don't believe you, but if the oracle says so, then..." he trailed off and then got up to retrieve the box with the bones in it. He lifted the finely carved lid and scooped up the ancient sacred oracle.

The people listened gravely as the chief spoke, turning to Kalani from time to time, only to see him nodding his head. "And so it is that we must do this thing. Kalani has dreamed it. The oracle has told it true." He finished and then sat down and waited. Several of the elders conferred amongst themselves.

One stood up and said "Then we shall begin". As one the rest of the tribe rose and began the arduous process of uprooting their lives and moving everything into the canoes. Beautifully woven flax ceremonial dress was packed side by side with the children's coconut shell figures with their little carved shields. The women enlisting their help to keep their minds occupied.

The process took the better part of two days, and Kalani tried hard to dampen his growing sense of unease, hoping it didn't show. He made sure everything went smoothly, glad that there had been no real dissent. Some felt that the journey should begin the next day, but Kalani won them over to the urgency of leaving right away.

The leaving ceremony was perfunctory but necessary. At last they moved into the canoes and the lead helmsman blew a mighty blast on the conch shell and they moved as one out onto the calm sea.

They rowed through the night. The gods favored them with light winds and a following sea and so they made good progress. Their former home was only dimly within sight as the sun rose the following morning and Kalani stood and turned suddenly as an overwhelming vision came to him. He pointed back toward the smaller island right next to where they had lived, the one where the great mountain Lahainamaia, the home of the fire god sat, just as a mighty roar reached their ears and lava was thrown high into the sky, raining down devestation on their former home, the treeline bursting into angry red flames in a matter of seconds.

They all sat in shocked silence and then turned to gaze upon Kalani as he stared at the bright orange sky that had begun to fill with smoke, a great sadness in his eyes.

I have been punched in the face 37 times, attacked 203 times and killed 3 times.

Welcome the world of Mob Wars! All of the above have happened over the space of a week, and i'm loving every minute of it.

What amazes me is that 90% of these events were visited on me by ONE person.

I won't bore you with the details of how the game is played, it's basically a strategy game in which one accumulates wealth and property to get ahead. Sometimes you attack other mobsters to accomplish this, but it's all in spirit of fun. Mostly.

Man oh man. I found the game attractive for its strategy aspects. For me, it's an intellectual exercise, albeit a lowbrow one. Nothing wrong with that. It's an involving time waster. When the person who's done most of the attacking started in on me I checked how much it would cost to have him killed, and it turned out it was cheap. So i did! I thought it would deter him. Hoo boy, was i wrong! He came back to life and proceeded to attack me over and over again. What's a boy to do? I had him whacked again! Surely he couldn't be so thick that he wouldn't get the hint this time. Oh, nay nay! Since then he has pounded me for three days straight, and there is no end in sight.

I have spent a bit of time idly speculating about his initial motive, as you do. Well, as I do anyway, i'm easily amused, after all. I have come up with the following possible scenarios:

I robbed his girlfriend at some point (there are female players in the this game too), and he's defending her honor.

He's a fourteen year old boy with anger issues and few or no friends who takes out his frustrations on game players he sees are not as powerful as he is.

He's a thirty-two year old case of arrested development with anger issues, etc.

He's a case of arrested development with a three inch penis, and therefore anger issues.

He's a paranoid schizophrenic in a mental hospital with computer privileges.

He's one of my ex-wives who's found me at last.

Personally i'm rather fond of that last one.

It doesn't matter which, if any of those things are true, i'm enjoying the mystery and looking forward to his next round of brutal attacks. God forbid he should ever decide to ignore me, I would be tempted to go in and punch him in the face to start the frivolity again. I love Mob Wars.

Forcing his way onto the air lift, Raxtaple touched the invulnarability shield button on his wrist console without a thought. In 1.87392 seconds he stepped out of the lift and proceeded to the guideway on the outer ring of his work habitat and hailed a cab.

As they glided along the inbound tube he gazed absently at the scene outside the perspex and idly wondered what he should have for lunch. He stepped out the cab and headed into his usual restaurant. A Glanixtian courier bumped into him as he considered his options and he felt a moment of annoyance. He spotted an old lover he didn't have the energy to deal with and decided he needed a change of pace. Afterall, the memories of her prediliction for involving Blovodian Yelphinoids in their sex life was still fresh in his mind. Why they allowed those things to replicate was beyond him.

Shrugging it off he thought to himself, perhaps i'll go to that quaint part of the quadrant with the ancient buildings made of that strange material. What was it called? Ah yes, bricks. It always amused him to see what was down there at ground level, it was so two centuries ago! It had been built as a reminder of what life on Earth had once been like.

To save time he decided to take a transporter tube. Setting the coordinates on his console he stepped into the nearest tube and in .98462 seconds stepped out onto the street. Oh yes, this was just the ticket! He strolled along the pathway and came across a building with a sign that read Massage Cafeteria. Excellent, he thought to himself. He had been feeling a bit tensed up of late. He approached the counter and enquired about the services available.

The attendant smiled vacantly and said "today, sir, we have Kedgeree, Malorvian cod ceviche, gratin of mixed vegetable..."

"No, no, I was inquiring about the massage options", he interjected.

"Well sir, the massage is given either before or after lunch, or during if you prefer, but you must order your meal first. All known forms of massage are available." She smiled slyly at the last.

"I see", he said. "Fine, i'll have the Kedgeree and think about what else I want."

Leaving the building with a spring in his step after a very fine Naloobian reverse pressure transaction session he was about to hail a cab when several rapid fire photon beams exploded a nearby communications booth. Diving for cover he could see the return fire from a door across the way followed by the sight of two Zarbinian freedom fighters fleeing from the scene.

Sensing the drama was over he stood up and dusted himself off and hailed a cab. The one downside to visiting the ground level, he thought to himself, one had to deal with the rabble. He returned to his work habitat to complete his daily analysis quota.

After work he met up with some friends at a nearby watering hole. A couple of Sepherian vodka martinis into the end of work celebrations one of them suggested they take in some holographic Grook hunting at a leisure center on the outer ring of a nearby colony.

"What the hell", he said, and as they headed for the nearest transporter tube he reflected that life on Earth was pretty fine.

Just a bit of musing about social mores today. The photo you see here was taken while on holiday on the south coast of Croatia in 2006. The reason i'm putting it up, other than the obvious bid to get more people to look, is to contrast what Americans, Canadians, New Zealanders and the like consider to be risque, and what it's like in Croatia, which is different to anywhere else i've ever been.

This young lady is actually not that extreme a case. Many of her peers were showing more flesh, she was just the one we managed to get a photo of without being obvious. No, I didn't take it, my wife did.

Conservatives in the western half of the northern hemisphere and indeed downunder do a lot of tutting about how young women dress these days, I believe they would have a coronary if they saw how they dress in the Summer in Croatia.

In the week we were there I never once saw a woman sexually harrassed. The argument is often put about that women dressing provocatively are "asking for it", and yet we saw many young wome dressed like this walking around late at night without a care in the world, which would not be the case where I come from, nor where I now live.

So what is the difference? Why is there a problem in some places and not in others? I believe the answer is in societal attitudes toward sexuality in general. Where sex is considered a healthy and natural part of life there is less harrassment and rape. Something for our Muslim and Christian fundamentalist neighbors to consider.

He looked down on the fo'c'sle of the ship and felt a slight dread that sent a shiver through him. He needed to know what was behind that door.

He felt himself being propelled forward. To his horror he seemed to move downward until he was standing on the deck a short way from the door to the hold. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw movement. Blurred shapes darting about in a mysterious manner, taking no notice of him.

The smell of machine oil and salt was strong in his nostrils and he shivered as a chill wind moved through him. Trying hard to tamp down his mounting dread he looked about. The wind rose, and there was a low moaning somewhere just beyond the anchor chain to his left, rising briefly to a howl before falling back.

Suddenly he was drawing closer to the door, drifting, but had an inexorable urge to turn and run. The strange blue glow from the slightly open door pulsated at a growing rate. He drew closer to the door, his nerves raw and on edge, paranoia beginning to gnaw at the very fabric of his mind. He couldn't stop himself from reaching out.

Watching as his hand moved with a will of it's own, he grabbed the handle as the wind again surged to a howling pitch and banshee wails filled his tortured ears. The pulsating light was blinding and his mind went blank. He felt his heart would explode. As he pulled the door open -

The first officer looked over at his navigator and shook his head. This really couldn't continue. He got up with a sigh, walked over to where his mate sat slumped in his chair, a thin line of drool coming from the corner of his mouth, twitching and moaning. He poke him hard in the ribs and barked "wake up"!

The navigator jumped in his seat and came to attention. He shook his head and looked at the first officer. "Oh man, you wouldn't believe what I was just - hey, have you ever wondered what those guys do at night in the forward hold. I mean, what's with that blue -"

"Look, if I catch you sleeping again you're going on report, got that"? He shook his head again as he headed back to his seat and then added, "no more scarfing pizza before you go on duty, got it"?

Last night it was my privilege to see Leonard Cohen in concert. What an amazing performer. What an amazing show. There are some, who, when they step onto a stage simply exude a presence of greatness.

After three encores the show ended, nearly three hours after it began. He did every one of his hits, much to the delight of all, and a few that are rarely heard such as Democracy (Democracy Is Coming To America), a wry commentary i'm sure he pointedly put in because it is so topical.

Backed by a twelve piece band, all of whom are outstanding muscians in their own right, it was a night to remember. He's touring again because, sadly, his long time manager ripped him off to the tune of five million dollars, leaving him with only $150,000 in the bank.

His loss was our gain, and he is reportedly philosophical about the loss. Truly a great man, a gentleman in the greatest sense of the world and a performer everyone who gets the chance should go to see. Thank you, Laughing Lenny.

Jason stepped off the train in Ljubljana in the middle of an electrical storm late on a Sunday night. He surveyed his surroundings and quickly descended downstairs to a set of closed shops. Great, he thought, how am I gonna find a place to stay in all this? He trudged along and much to his delight he could see lights down the way, and a sign that read tourist info! He went in, crossing his fingers that someone could speak English.

He approached the counter and asked about accommodation. The lady in charge was delighted to help, much to his relief, and told him there was a reasonably priced hotel not far away and he could get a cab topside. This he did and found himself at a 70's era communist block rooming house. He booked a room and took the elevator to his floor.

Fumbling with the key, he sensed someone watching him. It was a girl, but oh man, not just any girl! She was gorgeous. Better yet, she was amused. She took the key without a word and opened the door. He smiled. "My name is Jason". She grinned and replied "Magdalena". Damn. Welcome to Ljubljana.

"Where are you from", she asked. He told her and they engaged in a bit more small talk. He was drinking in her incredible hotness and then, much to his delight she said, "Some friends and I are having a dinner party tomorrow night, would you like to come?"

"Sure!"

She smiled thinly and said "I'll see you tomorrow." She took a card out of her pocket and handed it to him and headed for the elevator. He looked at the card. A Celebration Of The Long Pig, it said, followed by an address.How bizarre, he thought to himself. Oh well, a dinner and a chance to mingle with some real live Slovenians and a beautiful new friend and...who knows?

He spent the next day looking around the city. It was charming, with an imposing fortress on the hill, and lots of lush green parks. Strolling along the river he came to a bridge with a copper dragon statue on it. I wonder if that's the long pig, he thought to himself. The city was beautiful, but he couldn't get his mind off the quirky,incredibly beautiful girl and wondered what tonight would bring. He found a shop and bought a nice bottle of wine to bring.

That evening he put on his finest duds and stepped out the door only to find Magda standing there. "I thought i'd accompany you," she said. He beamed at her and they headed for the street.

As they walked in the cool evening air he turned to her and said "so, what's long pig"? She smiled thinly and said "oh, that's a surprise." He waited for more, but she seemed satisfied that she had answered his question. They soon arrived at the appointed address and walked up a long flight of stairs to an ornate door painted blood red. She knocked and they entered.

She introduced him around and he was gratified to find they all spoke English quite well. They were an eclectic bunch and seemed very curious about Magdalena's new friend. They quizzed him about his travels, and several of them touched him with familiarity, which he found a bit unnerving, but decided it must be a Slovenian thing.

The host went into the kitchen and soon returned with shot glasses of an amber liquid. Magda handed him one and said "it's Jagermeister, have you ever had it"? He allowed that he hadn't and she added "it's an herbal liqueur, good for the digestion." They clinked glasses and downed their shots. Sure tastes odd, Jason thought to himself, but he said nothing, not wanting to offend his hosts. He looked at the group and they were all smiling that thin smile that he had seen on Magda a couple of times.

"So when's dinner" he asked. He suddenly felt lightheaded and stumbled a bit. As he righted himself he looked up. The last thing he saw as everything went dim was a room full of people grinning open mouthed, and every one of them had teeth that had been filed to razor sharp points, and there stood Magda with a long bladed fillet knife in her hand. "Soon."

[As you hopefully have realized by now, long pig is slang among cannibals for human flesh, as that's apparently what it tastes like.]

This charming young man, whose name is David, if memory serves, I met on Pentecost Island. Pentecost is one of the 83 islands that make up the nation of Vanuatu in Melanesia.

Pentecost was a cruise stop, the highlight of which is a chance to witness the N'gol, which is called land diving in english, a ritual that gave rise to bungy jumping, which, in turn, originated here in New Zealand.

N'gol originated from an oral tradition of the Pentecost people about a beaten wife who climbed a tree to elude her abusive husband, and when he climbed the tree to get her, she tied some vines around her ankles and jumped, surviving the fall. Her husband, on the other hand did not. It evolved, ironically enough into a male rite of passage ritual. Boys as young as nine take their first jump from around three stories up a precarious tower constructed of tree branches, older males jump from platforms as high as six stories. It is an amazing ceremony to watch, with brightly costumed women dancing and chanting at the base of the tower and stomping the ground as the men walk out onto the platform and speak what might be their last words, for all they know. The object is to choose vines that are neither too young, and therefore too elastic, nor too old, and therefore prone to snapping. the jumper chooses the vines he will use himself, and must cut them to the length that will allow his hair to brush the ground when the vines are fully extended. Too short, and he is shamed for cowardice, too long and his neck will snap.

At any rate, to get back to young David, I met him on the path to the tower where the jumping was to take place. I was taking photos, and he seemed captivated by my camera. I'm sure he must have seen many of them in his young life, but I had the feeling that no one had ever engaged him before and he therefore had never actually gotten to examine one. He was quite shy and reserved, but I manged to connect with him and learn his name and I let him hold the camera and inspect it and showed him the pictures I took on the monitor. He was amazed.

He was such a charmer I took his picture as a memento of our chance meeting. As you can see, he was perplexed. It got me to thinking about all the things we take for granted in our lives that literally billions of people around the world have no experience of. As the world becomes a smaller place all of that changes, of course. One can find rock band tee shirts in the remotest of places, but it's wonderful to get a chance to interact with someone who's experience of the world is so vastly different from one's own.

Frank got out of the cab in front of the pawn shop he had found in the yellow pages. He didn't like doing business with the same place too many times. He wrapped his hand around the necklace and earrings in his pocket and smiled. These should be worth quite a bit, he thought to himself as he pushed the door open.

Frank was, well, an entrepreneur. The police had other names for it, but hey, what the hell did they know?

He walked up to the cage and passed the goods through the slot to the oily looking shop owner. "Check these out", he said. He looked the pawn broker over while the appraisal was being made. He noticed a scar running down his face next to his ear. It looked fresh. Damn, he thought, this guy is rough trade.

He cast his eye around the shop and did a double take when he spotted a nice camera with a twenty-five dollar price tag. He knew enough about cameras to know it was worth a hell of a lot more than that. This guy must not know anything.

The broker put the necklace and earrings down and looked at Frank. "I'll give you a hundred dollars for them", he said.

Frank looked at him like he was out of his mind. "Are you kidding, they're worth ten times that", he exclaimed.

The broker shook his head. "Nope. The stones are paste. The gold is real, eighteen carat. That's the best I can do."

Well shit, Frank thought to himself, then said, "hey, i'll make you a deal. I'll take that camera over there and the rest in cash."

The broker smiled. "Sure," he paid Frank out but seemed apprehensive as he grabbed the camera and headed for the door.

What luck! Grinning from ear to ear he headed back to his hotel. He had a sucker lined up for later, but he couldn't wait to try out his new toy. He hung the camera around his neck, eyeballed an interesting old building and lined up the shot. He looked at the lcd monitor, shook his head and squinted, then looked again. There was the building, but in front of it was some sort of...beast. He looked up quickly at the building. Nothing. He looked again at the monitor. The thing was the size of a man with fangs dripping nasty fluid. Worse, it had what appeared to be razor sharp nails at least a foot long.

He stormed back to the shop and stomped in. The shop owner didn't seem surprised to see him. Frank took the camera from around his neck and put it down hard on the counter. "What the hell is this about?!" he screamed.

The shop owner grinned. "Oh, I assure you it's no joke. Many years i've waited for that damned thing to leave me! But no, everytime I thought I'd found some one, back it came. It's your problem now!"

Frank looked perplexed. "I'm not leaving here with that thing, give me my money back!" The shop owner handed him twenty-five dollars with a smile. Frank rushed out of the shop, slamming the door.

And found himself standing on the street with the camera around his neck. He began to shake. He stormed back in. "Start explaining", he said tersely, as the shop owner grinned.

"You saw it, didn't you?" he said. "You better arm yourself. It'll come for you soon enough."He could barely contain his glee.

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

"It! It's your problem now! It likes blood, by the way. Lots of blood. It hunts the owner of the camera. Once you take a photo, he's loose and you become his prey. You can only get rid of it by fobbing it off on someone, shall we say, more deserving than yourself. I haven't been a boyscout, but you must be a real piece of work. I knew it the minute you walked in. I knew you'd be the one".

"This is bullshit!", Frank thundered. "It's a trick!".

"Is it?" the pawn broker mocked, turning his head to the side to display the fresh scar that ran down the side of his face.

The photo you see here is of a Catholic Saint, one Columba de Sens. The story behind it is one of the more bizarre experiences of my life.

We were on a cruise of the Mediterannean and we had a stop at Bari in southern Italy. It was a hot, stifling day and we had toured a few churches and I was feeling "churched out", so I stayed out in the cool shade while my wife went into a little neighborhood church to have yet another look around. She came out and told me there was something in the basement I just had to see.

I protested that I had had enough church tours, but she insisted, telling me I really needed, indeed, wanted to see what was down there because if was bizarre beyond belief. I couldn't imagine what could be strange enough to make me want to go, after all, I had toured Italy the year before, and had seen many strange things, including some nuns praying at a shrine that contained nothing but the finger of some saint.

What awaited me in the basement of that church was beyond even that. I went down the stone stairs with some trepidation, and there, in all her glory was Saint Columba. I was transfixed. This was the mummified body of a 16th century nun. The detail was startling. She is so perfectly preserved. She lies in a glass casket, and as I recall has gold satin slippers on her feet and a halo made of gold wire around her head. Oh yes, she's also holding a feather. I stared. I was dumbfounded.

I have always considered Catholic iconography and ritual bizarre, but this really took the cake. When I went back outside there were several children playing ball, bouncing it against the wall of the church. They were not twenty feet from the body in the basement. It occurred to me that they had seen this all their lives and to them it was normal.

I've since learned that mummification of religious figures was common all over Europe, but especially in Italy and France. What I find most bizarre of all, however, is that it all seems so perfectly normal to them.

Aaron wrapped both hands around the ice cold bottle in front of him and gazed out from the deck at the blazing blue sky. He had no particular love of summer, hot weather always made him uncomfortable.

He looked at his watch and then up at the front door in time to see his best friend Andy come walking in. Andy spotted him right away and sat down opposite him. "Hi Aaron. How you doin' today?" Andy tried to keep his voice even. Aaron had been having a rough time of it for quite a while now.

Aaron looked up and smiled. "It's all going to be fine, Andy", he said with a hint of serenity in his voice Andy hadn't heard in...well, in longer than he could remember. Aaron seemed to have gone from bad break to bad break, and for the life of him Andy couldn't see why these things should happen to such a great guy. He really hadn't done anything to bring any of it on him as far as Andy could see, and he knew Aaron's life well. His wife had left him for another man a couple of years ago and took the kids off across the water to a new life. Aaron hadn't seem them but a few times since, and Andy knew how much he loved his kids.

He took a sip of beer and looked at Aaron who was looking out over the bay with no expression. Damn. All the pain he'd been through. Andy felt bad for him. His business had started to fail last year, what with equipment needing replacing, and more competition, and now the recession. To cap it all off, he'd been having back pain, and the doctor had done a biopsy and Andy hadn't had the heart to ask what the verdict on that had been. That was a week ago. Now, here they sat, and alarm bells were sounding in the back of Andy's mind. Something wasn't right.

Suddenly Aaron turned and spoke. "I'm so glad you could make it today, Andy". "It's good to see you." He smiled, but seemed to be looking right through Andy. "So, Aaron, i've been meaning to ask you about that biop -", Aaron cut him off with a wave of his hand. "It's all good, Andy. Just like I said. It's all going to be ok." He darted a glance at his friend. "Things have a way of working out."

"Well i'm glad to hear that", Andy said, hoping he didn't sound dubious. He had noticed Aaron kept looking at his watch. "Look, i'm really glad you came, but I have to run. Got some stuff to take care of, you know?", Aaron stood up abruptly. "Well hell", Andy said, "Are you sure you have to run off right away?" "Yeah, i'm afraid so." Aaron reached out for his friends hand and shook it firmly. "Thanks for always being there for me. I mean it." Aaron turned and walked briskly to the door. Andy sat there looking nonplussed and shook his head.

As Aaron got behind the wheel a fire truck roared by heading south, followed closely by another. He looked at his watch again. That would be the house. Right on schedule. The explosives he'd so carefully placed at the factory would go next, in a few minutes time. The employees were all long gone for the day and the cleaning crew wouldn't be in for a couple of hours yet. Well, they wouldn't be in at all, he thought grimly. It was going to be a rough night for the fire department. He felt bad about that.

He looked down at the seat next to him where the plane ticket lay. He reached over to the glove compartment and took out the .45 and layed it down next to ticket. Decisions, decisions. Why not let fate have it's way, he thought. It certainly had up to now. He sighed and reached into his pocket for a coin. Heads or tails. Did it really matter? He flipped the coin and caught in on the back of his hand, covering it with the other. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, opened them and uncovered the coin. He sighed once more and reached down to the seat.

[The photo above is of a huge Bouganvilla not far from our house that makes it's showy appearance every summer. I've driven by if for five summers now, and finally decided to get out today and take some photos. I took some in regular and some in infrared and then decided to splice one of each together to see what would happen. It inspired this story. Hope you enjoyed it.]

This piece of graffiti art is on the wall of the same museum in Tallinn, Estonia as the the painting entitled Strawberry Eaters that inspired the story I wrote. There were several quotes of this type, and they are apparently French Marxist sayings that date back to 1968. A couple of other examples are "Run comrade, the past is behind you!", and "Culture is the inversion of life".

I was particularly taken with this one because it brought to mind the state of popular culture in these perilous times. I'm thinking in particular of the prevalence of "reality television" shows such as Survivor (whatever) and Fear Factor, just to name two examples of that execrable genre.

In other words, when I asked myself what arts corpse might consist of, reality television leaped to mind, along with a great deal of pop music and fashion. I find it alarming that even though the corpse is gargantuan, there are no end of those more than willing to gorge themselves on its ample and constantly regenerating remains.

Which is not to say that there isn't great art being made all the time. Art that challenges and provokes and, yes, makes one think. For surely that is what art should do. What it must do if it is to remain vital and relevant. But it seems that increasingly the masses only want bread and circuses, just as they did back in the times that led up to the fall of the Roman Empire.

Something to think about there. Could there be a correlation between the state of the world economy and the state of popular culture, which increasingly resembles something that might well pass for the corpse of art? Perhaps not. Then again, the similarity to the Roman Empire...

There was another saying on the wall that I photographed, these were all part of a single installation, that said this:

"In a society where all adventure has been abolished, the only adventure left is to abolish society."

I don't think any one part of the world is quite there yet, with the possible exception of North Korea, but we may well be moving in that direction. There is an old Chinese curse that goes: May you live in interesting times.

Indeed we do.

The only thing worse than waking up with a force ten hangover was waking up with a force ten hangover on a beach you've never seen before and having no idea how you got there. That was the conclusion Josh came to as he rolled over in the sand and clamped his eyelids down hard to shut out the morning sun.

He could hear children laughing and the gentle roar of the surf and he knew he'd have to face the day sooner, rather than later. Gathering his will, he pulled himself up to his knees and let the wave of nausea pass before he attempted to make it upright.

Standing with his back to the surf he was faced with a line of coconut palms and shrubs not unfamiliar in the general sense. Good, at least i'm still in Thailand, he thought. Probably. Hopefully. What in the hell had he gotten up to last night? Nothing out of the ordinary probably. He reached into his pockets and assessed his material situation. All good. He still had everything he needed.

He wandered along the beach front, staggered would be a bit more accurate actually, and soon came to a Spirit House, one of the ubiquitous Buddhist/Animist shrines favored by the locals. Brushing his long, unkempt hair back from his face he shuffled over to the shrine and contemplated it for a moment. The attendant who had had his back to him a moment ago turned and came over. Bowing with his palms pressed together, fingers pointing upwards in the Thai manner he smiled. "Sir wishes to ask a blessing of the spirits?", he inquired. "A small offering only, if you please", he said, indicating a bowl at the base of the shrine.

Josh grinned and dug in his pocket for some notes. He tossed a few into the bowl and tried to concentrate. A blessing. Yeah, he could definitely use one of those. Big time. In spades even. He had gotten so tired of looking over his shoulder everywhere he went. Or more accurately, ran to. But that's what you had to do when you'd gone and offed one of the biggest drug dealers in the City of Angels. Not that the money he'd taken wasn't all he'd ever wanted, but still, he was a marked man now, and that meant running. Forever. Ah well. He closed his eyes and made his wish.

The sun was getting to be a bit much, so he headed into the trees to walk off the remnants of the hangover. As he shuffled along he suddenly felt something hard hit him in the side of the head. Stopping in his tracks, he looked down at the coconut that had just bounced off his noggin. The sound of a high piercing laugh drew his attention to a tree a short distance away where a monkey sat on a low branch pointing at him and bouncing up and down. Why you little bastard, Josh thought to himself. He walked towards the tree and shouted at the offending beast. The monkey regarded him wryly out of one eye and then went serious. "What, you have no sense of humor?", it asked. Josh stopped short and his eyes sprang wide open. "You...did you just...holy shit", he said.

The monkey cocked it's head and regarded him for a moment. "Yes I did. I asked you a question. I can understand your bewilderment, allow me to introduce myself. I am Prueksa Thevada." The monkey bowed deeply and made the hand gesture Josh had come to expect in such instances. Stepping back a couple of paces and steadying himself to keep from falling he stared hard at the creature in front of him. "You're who?", he sputtered. This was insane. He must have done more than some heavy drinking last night. "I am a Saksit", the monkey said. "You asked a blessing at the spirit house. I have decided to grant it." The monkey gazed at him serenely, but Josh could have sworn there was a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Great", he said. "Um, thanks, I guess...". This was beyond anything he could handle just now, turning on his heel he ran through the trees and back out onto the beach towards his hotel. The monkey watched him depart and then vanished into thin air.

Arriving back at the hotel Josh threw off his clothes and jumped into the shower, not even waiting for water to warm up. He shook his head and turned his face up into the cold blast. He had to get ahold of himself. At least he hadn't actually left the island as he'd feared when he first woke up. He toweled off and sat down heavily on the bed to think things through. What a mess. In a moment of madness a few days ago he had pulled a gun on major drug dealer, shot him in the head and taken a suitcase full of money. Straight to the airport and onto the first plane out. To Thailand of all places. It was only a matter of time before they caught up with him. He needed to run. Again.

But what was this bizarre thing that had happened in the trees? A talking monkey claiming to be a spirit that could grant wishes? What the hell had he taken last night? He vaguely remembered a seedy bar, and that hooker who had lured him into the alley. Had she slipped something into his hand as she left?

He thought about the shrine and the wish he had made. To have his appearance change so they wouldn't be able to find Josh Broggan ever again. Then he wouldn't have to run, would he? So the monkey was going to grant his wish. Yeah, good luck with that he thought as he lay back on the bed. As his head hit the pillow he started planning his next move, but before he could work anything out sleep overtook him once more.

Josh awoke just as the sun started to go down. He lay there and admired the sunset for awhile and then remembered everything that had happened. Damn. He couldn't stay here. It had been three days. He needed to keep moving. He opened up the laptop and Googled Jesus Ramirez. Wow. The papers were reporting that Jesus was missing, and no one knew where he had disappeared to. The biggest coke dealer in L.A., and to make matters even stranger, they were reporting that the police were looking everywhere for him and had put his picture out to Interpol, believing he'd probably left the country. He closed the laptop and stared off into the distance. How strange. Not one word about him being killed. For some reason the cops were keeping a lid on it. But he had killed him, hadn't he? Oh well, he'd have a nice dinner and then plan his next move.

Moving toward the bathroom to get ready he reached up and touched his face to see if he needed a shave. He stopped dead. What the fuck. He felt the full thick beard and his head began to feel light. How in the hell...he walked slowly to the bathroom mirror and as he looked into it a scream rose in his chest but froze in his throat. Staring back at him was the unmistakable countenance of the most famous coke dealer in all of Southern California.

What is it about New York pizza? I've never been anywhere that had such consistently satisfying pies. When people say New York pizza is the best, and many people who don't happen to be New Yorkers do, I think that must be what they mean.

Because i've certainly had better pizza in other places now and then, but overall the Big Apple is the place to indulge. The pair of mouth watering pies above were had at a totally authentic place on Staten Island a few years back. I can still remember the taste.

As a former professional baker I have some ideas around the wherefore and why of certain types of baked goods being superior in certain places. I believe the type of water being used contributes immensely to taste of the finished product. This would explain not only the unique pizza of New York, but the quality of the bagels as well, which i've never seen matched anywhere else in the world.

But to get back to the pies, i've had pizza all over Italy, all over the U.S., and in many other places as well, but New York, ah, New York, is the pizza capitol of the world, and I salute it.

"So? Where is she?". Mike took another swig of his beer and set it down on the table. "She'll be here, not to worry. She's been here the last three nights in a row, I tell you. Just wait." Jason gave him a doubtful look, but no sooner had he done so then in she waltzed. Jason couldn't believe his eyes. It was just as his mate had said. A gorgeous girl in the weirdest getup he'd ever seen. Sort a silver lame' thing with pink tail feathers and a matching hat. crikey!

"See? What did I tell you?" Mike exclaimed. "Is she all that or what?". Jason looked her over again. "Yeah. Yeah she is. But are you gonna go through with it?" he leered.

Mike had told his buddy about her a couple nights before. The strange chick he'd seen at this little out of the way club in the inner city. He'd come back a couple of times just to see if she was a regular, and sure enough, she was. But the funny thing was, none of the guys in this crowded club ever made a move. They all stood back and let her walk on by. So, having had maybe a couple of beers to many when he was recounting all this to Jason, he'd allowed as how he was sure he could bag her. Jason had jumped on that, and now there was money riding on it. And Mike, well, Mike was starting to regret. As you do.

"So?", Jason asked pointedly. Mike rubbed his face with one hand and put his beer down. "Yeah, yeah, i'm on it. Just watch this." He stood up, perhaps a little slowly, and made his way across the room to the bar where she was standing, conveniently alone. He moved in next to her, casually, he hoped. "Hi there. My name's Mike."

Lydia turned her head slowly and met his eyes. "How nice for you", she smiled. Great, Mike thought to himself, that was smooth. She looked at him again and a slight smile played at the corners of her mouth. "Lydia". "Lydia. Nice name." Wow, he thought, i'm a regular Cary Grant, I am. Maybe I should just quit while i'm ahead. Lydia turned back to the bar but said, "Isn't this where you ask me if you can buy me a drink?".

Mike did his best to retain what composure he still had and glaced sideways toward where Jason was sitting, grinning from ear to ear. "Absolutely!" he said. "Shall we have a seat?". As they settled in he started to make some small talk, but Lydia cut him off. "So, what do you want?" she asked as she too took a sip of her drink.

Mike nearly spilled beer down the front of his shirt. "Um...well, I...I saw you there, and I just..." he trailed off and waved his hand helplessly. Damn. Lydia leaned across the table. "You saw me there, and you thought, I wonder if that chick in the strange getup is available? Is that it?". "Um, well, I..." Mike turned it over in his head for a tick. "Yeah. Ok. Yeah, is there something wrong with that?" Turn the tables. What the hell. Lydia sat back and allowed herself a self-satisfied smirk. Then she squared her shoulders and got back to it. "No, not at all", she smiled. "But if you want me to leave here with you, you're going to have to prove to me you really, really want it."

Ok, Mike thought to himself. Whatever it takes. "Ok. Whatever." "Whatever?" she asked coyly. "Yeah, what have you got in mind?" "Oh, it's pretty simple really", Lydia shrugged. "All you have to do is stand up, take off your pants, put my cute little hat on your head, and we walk on out", she said, casting her eyes downward and fluttering her eyelashes. "You can do that, can't you?".

Mike's jaw dropped slightly. He had that possum in the headlights look, he knew, but he couldn't help it. "You're joking, right?" "No. " Lydia said simply, casting her eyes about the room. Mike's mind was racing. Damn. He needed to win this bet. And he sure wouldn't mind taking little miss strange home with him. He drained his beer and stood up. "You better not be putting me on", he said. He reached up and undid his trousers and stepped out of them. All heads in the room turned in unison, and a stunned silence fell over the room. He reached over and took her hat and put it on his head. Lydia stood up matter-of-factly and smiled sweetly at him. She picked up his pants and took him by the hand as she led him toward the door. Hoots and laughter followed them, but Mike kept his eyes on the prize.

As they reached the door Lydia moved her hand to the small of his back and shoved him through, grabbing her hat off his head as she did. She took the door and swung it shut, deftly flipping the lock. The pounding and cursing began immediately. She walked over to where Jason sat bug-eyed and dropped the pants in his hands. "I think you better take your mate home now", she said and walked over to where her girlfriend Sandra sat in stunned silence. As Lydia sat down, Sandra reached in her purse and took out a hundred dollar note and slid it across the table. "You're a piece of work", she said, shaking her head. "I don't know how you do it." Lydia tucked it between her breasts. "It's the attitude", she shrugged. "Works every time."

If I had to say there is one thing I love about photography more than anything else, it would have to be the joy of suddenly coming upon a great shot. Sometimes you're just doing something, not even thinking about photography, and there it is, an amazing view that you were so completely not expecting and for a shutterbug the first thought that comes to mind is, where's the camera?

So it was was with this shot of Luna Park under the bridge, next to the Sydney Opera House on Sydney Harbour. I stepped out onto the balcony of our stateroom on board the Diamond Princess and was greeted by this amazing sight.

The quality of the shot is marred only by the less than stellar quality of the light available to work with. It was overcast and intermittently raining, and so I had to make do, but overall I'm satisfied with the outcome. The colors really stand out from the surrounding drabness all the more. A silver lining to every gray cloud, as it were. This shot was, of course, the culmination of many attempts to capture the scene properly.

Anyway, I was lucky enough to be in a position that made this shot possible, and with photography that's always a significant element. It's all about angles. A good photographer always studies his subject from every possible angle before he/she takes the shot. It can make all the difference between a good shot and a great one. In this particular case there was little room for a change of angle, but on the other hand, the only way this particular shot could have been taken was from the exact place I was standing, something not available to anyone else at that moment in time, and that's what makes the shot unique.

As a good photographer knows to check out every angle he can before he commits to dropping the shutter, so it is in life. We should always consider a matter from every point we can before we come to a conclusion about it. And it's important to consider the possibility that we may be the only one in a position to see things a certain way. Difficult to keep in mind, especially when our judgment is clouded, but as with the cloudy sky in the picture, sometimes there's a silver lining. The trick is to persist until we see it.

Embarkation went smoothly for a change and they were looking forward to this cruise for all the usual reasons, plus they had splashed out on a nice balcony for the first time, and were excited at the prospect of being able to relax and take in the scenery with privacy and comfort.

Brent put the bags down and went straight to the balcony to check out the view. There was a magnificent view of the Sydney Opera House. This was going to be great! He called Ellen out to admire the view with him and they could both feel the tension of the work week fade away as they inhaled the fresh air and admired the view. Brent mused that the more expensive and larger balconies were below them two decks and had less privacy as they and the people in the cabins one deck down could look down onto the deluxe balconies. Sometimes down is up he thought to himself.

He awoke early the next morning, just before dawn and couldn't get back to sleep. Oh well, he thought, i'll just go grab a cup of coffee and chill out on the balcony until she wakes up.

He stepped outside and inhaled deeply, enjoying the clean salt air and watched the seagulls wheeling back and forth. As he sat there, mesmerized by the swells rhythmically undulating he became aware of low but angry voices coming from somewhere below. Sounds like a lover's quarrel. He hesitated briefly then thought, what the hell, and peeked over the railing. Below, in the dim light he could just make out what appeared to be a young couple having an argument that was rapidly becoming more heated. Suddenly the woman slapped her partner and he cursed her as his hands flew to her throat. As Brent watched in horror he began to strangle her. His mind raced wildly as he tried to think what to do. He ran to the phone and tried to figure out how to call for help in the darkened stateroom, but couldn't get anyone on the phone. He ran back out to the balcony and looked down and saw the man standing over the body of the woman who lay motionless on the balcony floor.

Oh my god, he thought to himself. Oh my god, what the hell do I do now? He sat down heavily on the bed and Ellen stirred and opened her eyes halfway. "What's up, she mumbled. Why are you up, it's not even light out." He looked at her and something in his face registered in her half-asleep brain and she sat up in bed. He told her what he had just seen.

She looked at him hard and realized this wasn't one of his occasional practical jokes. "You have to report this!" she said. He stood up and went back out to the balcony. He poked his head back in the room and said, "She's gone. He's must have taken the body inside." "Well of course", she said. "We have to call someone. Now!"

He mulled it over. What the hell do you do in a situation like this? He tried to imagine how the the conversation would go. Hello? Look, I know this is a bit awkward, but I just saw a guy two decks down from us murder a woman.

Right. Great. He looked at Ellen and said, "Who do I call?". "I don't know! Security?" He reached for the phone again, then put it down and turned on the light and looked through the directory. He picked up the phone again and dialed. Ellen watched and waited and when he put the phone down she looked at him expectantly.

"They didn't seem to want to believe me", he said, "but they're going check it out. They seem to know which cabin it would be." Ellen looked at him blankly. "And then what?" "I don't know, I guess they'll let us know what happens."

Half an hour later there was a knock at the cabin door. Security. "Sir, we've had a check on the cabin you told us the event happened in. The couple in that cabin are both fine. I've spoken to both of them." Brent couldn't believe his ears. "But, I know what I saw! Are you sure you've got the right cabin? What did they say happened?!" The security guard grinned. "Well, we have to be discreet in these matters, I didn't ask them about an argument, I just made sure they were both there and nothing seemed amiss. I can assure you the lady is fine, sir."

Brent sat down on the bed after security had gone and pondered. Ellen was standing there with her arms folded across her. "Well?", she said. "But...I know what I saw!".

Tony and Sharon were hungry and decided to go to the restaurant for breakfast instead of the buffet. As they waited for the elevator Sharon turned to her husband and said, "What do you suppose all that was about with security? Sort of odd that they just wanted to know if we were ok, why wouldn't we be?" Tony scratched his head. "Don't know. It's a cruise ship thing, I guess. Hey, you think the rehearsal went well this morning? I really want this play to be a winner. I know we're on holiday, but I think we should keep practicing some more." "You're right", Sharon agreed, "Practice makes perfect. We'll try it again after breakfast."

[Things aren't always what they seem. Or as John Lennon once put it, "Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see...]

Buckminister Fuller wrote a book entitled Nine Chains to the moon back in 1938 in which he coined the term Ephemeralization. The word refers to the ability of people to use technological advances to continuously do more with less. Fuller’s vision was that ephemeralization will result in ever-increasing standards of living for an ever-growing population despite finite resources.

In the book he likens the idea to the movement of a ship through the water and notes that the optimal movement consists of minimizing the break, the forward movement of the bow, and maximizing the wake.

The basic premise he was putting forward is that science must, and would find more and more ways of increasing efficiency, thus offsetting the populations growth of the planet and the effects of man's activity on the earth. In many ways that is happening, but now more than ever the pace needs to quicken. Global warming, a population out of control and dwindling oil supplies are just a few of the reasons the whole concept of ephemeralization needs to be revisited. There is much in Nine Chains to the Moon that is especially relevant today.

The title of the book, by the way, referred to the fact that the population of the Earth at that time was such that if each person alive were to stand on each others shoulders it would form a chain that would reach the Moon nine times over.

In this day and age of nay-sayers who call for us to do less in the face of decreasing resources, I am reminded of a quote I once read.

Those who say it can't be done should get out of the way of those busy doing it.

As his eyes began to open, Toomas felt the bright light stabbing into him, causing his head to begin throbbing. He tried to move, but he could feel that he was restrained, and he could not feel his fingers or toes. His throat was very dry, and he tried to call out, but his voice came out as a weak croak and his head fell back against the straw mattress where he lay and he breathed shallow breaths and tried hard to swallow.

He sensed people moving about nearby. Why did they not come to him? He tried to gather his thoughts. Where was he? Why was he restrained? He felt dizzy. Not good. No. Darkness engulfed him once again as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

The doctor noticed Toomas was stirring, but he had so many others to attend to. That one will not last much longer he thought to himself. There was nothing more to be done. He shook his head and sighed. So much death. The Great Pestilence had been raging for many months now, and it had been days since he had any sleep. The infected keep being brought in, and with each new case the doctor's heart grew heavier. When would it end? It was hot and stifling inside his coverings, but he must not take them off! As much as he pitied the infected, he dared not chance becoming one of them.

Toomas stirred. Something was different. He was in another place. Not where he had been when last he could remember. It was darker here. The smell! It was horrible! All at once he knew where he must be. This was the Cellar of Death! He had heard the stories. The silence all around him brought an icy chill to his heart. He was so hot. And so very tired. His throat so dry. If only they would give him some water. Surely he would make it. Why would they not come to him? Why? His thoughts were cut off as he heard the sound of a door opening, and a shaft of light fell on some stairs near where he lay. It came to him all at once. The Black Death! He was infected! No! He could not go out this way! He struggled, but was unable to right himself. He shook his head from side to side and his vision began to clear a bit. Oh my god! He could see rats scurrying along the walls opposite. Moaning and wailing began to fill his ears. He was among the dying! What hell was this?!

He strained to see in the dim light from the open doorway above. As he stared, a hellish looking figure began moving down the stairs towards him, cloaked in black from head to foot, his black hands, extended before him holding a knife. Toomas tried to scream. Only a thin, keening wail escaped his parched, cracked lips as he felt the blood rush to his head and he evacuated his bowels. His head fell back with finality and the blackness engulfed him.

[This story is inspired by the photo above. It is of a figure wearing the costume of a Plague Doctor from Medieval times in Europe. The photo was taken at a cannon tower museum in Tallin called, oddly enough The Kiek in de Kok. That translates as "a peek into the kitchen", but still I get a chuckle out the name everytime I say it.]

What's the fastest speed you've ever traveled at on the ground? until a couple of years ago I would have said around 193 kph (120 mph). Then we did a tour of China, and in the last city we visited, Shanghai, we were treated to a ride on a Maglev train.

Maglev is short for magnetic levitation, which means that these trains will float over a guideway using the basic principles of magnets to replace the old steel wheel and track trains. The trains literally hover a couple of centimeters above the track, allowing them to move at speeds you would never experience otherwise unless you were a race car driver. The train line runs from Longyang Road station in Pudong, on the Shanghai subway line 2 to Shanghai International Airport. The journey takes 7 minutes and 20 seconds to complete the distance of 30 km (18 2/3 miles). A train can reach 350 km/h (220 mph) in 2 minutes, with the maximum normal operation speed of 431 km/h (268 mph) reached thereafter.

It's difficult to describe what it feels like to accelerate that quickly and then travel at 268 mph. Think of the fastest roller coaster you've ever been on and then multiply that by a factor of 5. That would be close. The view out the window is amazing. cars appear as dots of light whizzing past. You can't recognize them as what they are. The most amazing part of the journey is when a train passes going in the opposite direction. There is a sudden sonic boom that startles everyone who experiences it for the first time. The regulars just smile.

It's an experience I highly recommend. The Shanghai train line was the first in the world, but there are now trains in Japan and, I believe, Europe. We were told that if the line were extended farther speeds of up to 600 kph (373 mph) could theoretically be reached!

The picture above to the left was taken inside the train after we reached cruising speed. There are LED displays in every car that give you the time and speed being traveled.

Grigori sat down at the table and eyed the cakes and wine that had been layed out for him. Surely they should know that he was plagued with hyperacidity and could not indulge? Perhaps not, he mused. Young Prince Felix had beckoned him to partake as he left to fetch his uncle, the grand Duke. Perhaps a few polite bites would do no serious harm.

As he ate, his sixth sense stirred within him. Surely they would never try to poison him? After all, he was Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin! Confidant and adviser to Tsaritsa Alexandra, and a strannik of great power, respected and feared by all!

But where was the young whelp? He had been gone too long, and Grigori could hear whispering on the floor above, keen as his hearing was. As he rose to investigate the Prince returned to the room. "Sit, please your worship, I apologize for my absence, Duke Pavlovitch will be with us shortly. He has a matter of great urgency he must discuss with you!".

Rasputin lowered himself back into his seat, but his senses was greatly heightened, there was definitely something afoot. The prince quickly moved to his side and placed his hands on the back of the chair and made to push it it for his guest. In a moment Rasputin heard a deafening roar and felt a sharp pain in his back. As the room grew dark he knew...

Prince Yusupov ran out of the room and up the stairs, his legs trembling. His co-conspirators looked at him anxiously. He had dropped the gun on the stairs, but he nodded in the affirmative to their unspoken question. The deed was done. Rasputin was dead!

The company left the Palace for some fresh air to calm their nerves and to finalize plans for disposal of the body and to make sure they all had their story straight. The royal family must never know that it was they who had done the deed. They needed to be protected from the thrall this anti-christ held over them! Prince Yusupov felt the chill afternoon air upon him and begged leave to return to the downstairs room to retrieve his coat. As he entered the room he saw that Rasputin lay montionless on the floor, but something was amiss. Hadn't he fallen face down? How was it that he was now on his back? As he leaned over the body for a closer look Rasputin's terrifying eyes flew wide open and his hands reached up like lightening and closed around the Prince's throat. Increasing his grip on the boy's neck he leered into his face. "You bad boy" he breathed in a demented whisper.

Suddenly the rest of the party flew into the room, and the Grand Duke drew a pistol and fired three quick shots into Rasputin's back. As he fell back they stared in horror. He was rising! One of the others advanced with a club and flailed wildly, severely beating Grigori about the head as the others shouted encouragement. Finally they stood back and watched. Rasputin's blood-splattered body stirred no more, and soon they had wrapped his body in a sheet and carried him to the carriage behind the Palace that waited for them. They drove his body to the river and dumped him in the icy water. The Anti-Christ would hold sway over the Royal family no more. Long live Tsar Nicholas II and Tsaritsa Alexandra! Russia would forever be ruled by the rightful heirs to the throne!

[This story was of course inspired by the photo that accompanies it, which I took at the Moika Palace in St. Petersberg, Russia. The photo is of the actual basement room where Rasputin was killed. The wax figure of him sits at the very table where he allegedly ate cyanide laced cake and was shot and clubbed to death.]

I was made aware today of a Youtube video entitled Jesus Was A Mushroom. Apparently there are quite a few of these, and they all relate to a theory by a biblical scholar named John Marco Allegro whose study of the dead sea scrolls in the late sixties led him to the conclusion that Christianity was based on fertility cults of the near east known for rituals involving Amanita Muscaria. Books on the subject are readily available on Amazon.

It's all a bit much to go into here, but one of the fascinating things i've learned in delving into all this is that the word christian is derived from the sumerian language and translates as "smeared in semen"!

At any rate, it got me to thinking about the relationship between civil law and drug use. One would think that if the prohibition attempts of the '30's in America, and in other places at other times had anything at all to show us, it is that prohibition simply doesn't work. And yet governments the world over continue to throw great wads of money at the same, blithely ignoring the monumental failure of it all. Never mind that drastic laws against naturally occuring mind-altering substances take precedence over laws concering the use of alcohol and tabacco, which, while naturally occuring, need refining and processing to be used. The wherefores and whys of all that are best left for another post.

We rail against the wrong things so very often. Laws we proclaim are intended for the health and safety of us all really only create a very profitable black market, and those who engage in that market certainly seem to have far more insight into human nature than any government ever has.

Something to think about.

[The photo is of a fine example of an Amanita Muscaria mushroom, on which John Marco Allegro alleges Christianity was originally based. I took the photo in 2004 in the front garden of our then home.]

Raivo opened his eyes as he roused himself from another deep sleep and gazed at the place where the window used to be. Nothing. Just as the day before, and the day before that. He tried hard not to let himself lose control. He had to be strong. For the sake of the family, he must surely be strong.

It wasn't enough, he thought to himself, that there was a war on and times had gotten hard, but now this...this...nightmare. Or was it? There was simply no way to know. The last any of the family knew, it was August, 1939. The Soviets were marching into Tallinn, and things were not looking good. And what had he, Raivo, done? Merely wished with all his might that things could be different. So perhaps he was responsible. Perhaps he was the reason they were now trapped in their house, a house that they had awoken one morning to find no longer had doors or windows.

It had been...what? three months now, since they had last seen the light of day? A chill passed through him as he remembered how they had panicked when they could find no way out, and had no way of knowing what had happened. No doors, no windows, the phone had disappeared, they were well and truly cut off from the outside world, if indeed it even still existed.

Gradually they had become resigned. They discovered that they would not starve, for somehow they had only to imagine what they would like to eat and it would magically appear on the kitchen table! There was no accounting it. Any of it. It simply was what it was. There was no way out. They had tried to break through the walls, but nothing they used made the least bit of difference.

Raivo heard his brother Andres moving about, so he got up and went to greet him. "Good morning, Andres", he said. Andres looked at him blankly. "Is it?", he asked. "please Andres, we must try..." Andres cut him off with a look as his sister Leida entered the room. She gazed at her brothers and then cast her eyes downward. She couldn't bear to look at the others anymore. All of them had gradually changed since they had been cut off from the world. Their faces had become unrecognizable, all of them with oddly round eyes and a rictus grin.

"Are the others up yet?", Raivo asked Leida in as light a tone as he could muster. "Yes", she replied simply. "Then what shall we have for breakfast?" he asked. Leida thought for moment and then said, "Strawberries, Raivo. I should like to have some strawberries."

Raivo nodded and they proceeded to the kitchen, knowing full well what would be waiting for them on the table. Life must go on, he thought to himself, but he wondered how and when he would confess to the others that it was his simple innocent wish that they could be spared the misery that would surely ensue with the coming of the Soviet soldiers that had probably led to the twilight zone they now found themselves in.

One must always be careful what one wishes for, Raivo thought to himself as he contemplated the strawberry he was about to bite into, but the alternative was something he could not bring himself to contemplate.

[The painting I based this story on is called Strawberry Eaters. It is a Naivist painting by noted Estonian artist Paul Kondas, and hangs in the KUMU Arts Center in Tallinn, Estonia, where I took the photo.]

The first man who, having fenced in a piece of land, said "This is mine," and found people naive enough to believe him, that man was the true founder of civil society.

~Jean Jacques Rousseau

We all talk about freedom and wanting to be free. If asked, there are few if any who would deny that to be free is very high on their list of desires in life. But what is freedom? If ever we were to find ourselves in the position of literally having nothing to lose, and to be cast adrift, free to do as we may, go where we wish, would we be happy?

I submit that we would not. we have a deep and abiding need to feel connected, and that sense of connection extends to property as much as to the people we care about.

Some primitive tribes have been exceptions to the rule. The Aboriginal people of Australia were completely unable to comprehend what was happening when the first white settlers began putting up fences to corral cattle. For them, the land belonged to no one and the concept of restricting it in any way was bizarre. As a result they were considered dangerous and anti-social and were driven into the Outback.

We too run the risk of censure and isolation if ever we were to take up the life of the hobo or wanderer. Few would ever choose such a life. But at the other end of the spectrum we have the likes of the photo you see on this post. It is a shot of what awaits anyone unfortunate enough to step off a ship in Suva, the capitol of Fiji , a country in the grip of of political upheaval after a bloodless coup by a military commander who now calls himself interim President. The presence of iron fences and barbed wire go hand in hand with the censure of the press and heavy handed tactics against anyone who disagrees with the president.

There are two sides to every story told by a picture, especially when a fence is involved. Especially when that fence is topped with barbed wire.