The Diatom Project

It's Christmas Morning!

2007-03-24T09:20:00.000-07:00

This is a grand day! We have received presents! Piled on our doorstep! This occurrence is unprecedented! Our mail lady must have been bemused by the appearance of two cartons with our names on them.

(We also removed the propane bill from our doorknob, but we're not counting that as a gift.)

We'll give thanks alphabetically, because the gifts are of equal value to us, and our thought processes have yet to flow as smoothly as might be wished.

First, many thanks to you, Debra, for the absolutely astounding quantity, quality and variety of tea bags that caused our sleepy eyes to spring wide in shock and awe. Many of the flavors we have never before tried, and you included among the enormous selection some old favorites that you know we enjoy. We plan on having a good old-fashioned Penfield Tea Party! We haven't the words to express how we feel about this, so we will just give thanks for having met you.

And Kathy, many thanks to you for the piles of newsprint that you sent (Bonnie is at this moment happily ensconced at her command center, poring through the pages in search of intriguing tidbits. I myself am wondering if this is your fiendishly clever way of reducing your recycling load {;~)> ) You must have chortled to yourself as you enclosed the small bottles, knowing that we would ask "What are these?" After struggling with the ziplock, stripping away the plastic seal (who would want to contaminate that solution, for heaven's sake?), and prying off the cap, we discovered the tiny wand and exclaimed "bubble solution!" I am so far from my childhood beginnings that I began to wave the wand about in the air, to no effect. Bonnie finally said "Blow through it." With a mental slap upside the temple, I said "Oh. Right." and did so. And lo, there were bubbles!

We both want to say "Thank you, dear friends, for being who you are. We can ask for none better."

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Our Weekly Wednesday Answer Page

2007-03-21T15:13:00.000-07:00

I am not in the habit of complaining overmuch about my health. Much of what I suffer from is a fact of life and has been relegated to background noise, not worth mentioning, and no one enjoys a constant diet of bitching and moaning. This latest nastiness, however, is worthy of note, if only to memorialize it as an actual journal entry. I need not describe it, as most everyone in J-land who has suffered from it already knows the details. Bonnie, bless her soul, has been largely immunized to it through constant exposure, and we can only hope that it stays that way.

In our area, we have three entities responsible for providing content and communications (I am here ignoring radio because for me it is a medium of last resort, as when the power goes out.)

For communications we have Citizens Communications, formerly the ill-fated Global Crossing (ill-fated for us, anyway, as GLBC bought Frontier Corp. not long before the corporate honchos danced away with what Wikipedia describes as "astounding gains", leaving employees, including Bonnie, with very shaky pensions) and Time Warner Cable.

For content we have Dish Network and Time Warner Cable.

You will discern the common denominator.

Despite the fact that Time Warner has a virtual stranglehold on our local area, they feel it necessary to mail out glossy, four-color, picture-laden more-than-weekly brochures touting their various bundled products (digital tv! digital phone! broadband!) Every year our cable rates are raised, presumably because 'programming costs more.' Along with that, they continually play with the schedule, moving most of the decent programming to digital and bestowing upon us backward (read cheap) troglodytes the picked-over leavings that nobody wants to watch. They have done one nice thing for us, removing TBS and Animal Planet from ala carte status.

However, being the greedy corporation that they are ...

Although the two channels will be ala carte for four days only, the latest bill reflects the idea that we should pay for the full month. What they presumably planned to do is to give us a credit on next month's bill for the overage, having earned a shitpile of interest in the meantime.

Bonnie discovered this because she became curious about the new lineup and wondered how long it would be before we had access to the ala carte channels. She was surprised to learn that our actual bill was $1.13 less than the printed bill that came in the mail. Due to this felicitous discovery we will have that $1.13 in our account, rather than in Time Warner's account. Multiply that small sum by thousands of customers, and you will see how clever Time Warner is being.

I hope that was coherent; my thinking is not currently of the clearest.

Here is the answer for the March fourth Cryptocrostic -

These puzzles are meant to inform as well as entertain; you will sometimes discover words that are somewhat uncommon. We try to stay away from too much of that, but we can't resist tossing in some lesser-known words from time to time.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Our Weekly Sunday Puzzle Page

2007-03-18T10:18:00.000-07:00

We were warming. We were greening. And then - we were cold and white again. Today the sun is of that brilliant purity that leaves you in no doubt that your retinas will ignite if you gaze too long upon it. There are sounds of melting and ice breaking away.

Winter is a fickle soul.

We thought we might offer a cynical political observation.

We thought we might revisit the unexceptional bookbindery.

We think we'll just publish the puzzle.

This is the second in the CityState series of sudokus.

(Note to Kathy - your word scramble skills should stand you in good stead for this puzzle.) ;.) {;~)>

Bonnie has given this puzzle a rating of ** (of course, over time she's become an expert solver, so she may unintentionally be understating things.)

Happy Sunday, happy solving and

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Our Weekly Wednesday Answer Page

2007-03-14T15:19:00.000-07:00

Whew! Missed it by one day! Friday the thirteenth might bother some people; it's Wednesday the fifteenth that always gets to us. (Not really - we just wanted to offer another angle on superstition. Maybe we can start something. Beware Wednesday the fifteenth!)

Here's the answer to the Feb. 28th word cube - we await breathlessly the appearance of the graphics -

Not quite as clean as we would like, but readable. We can't ask for anything more.

We've been remiss in welcoming one of our good friends, Marti, online again. For a long time, she did not have access to a computer, but that has been remedied and she is writing again. Please stop by her place and say hello.

If we haven't commented in your journal recently, it's because our alerts have gone missing. Once again, aol is exercising its capability to be annoying.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Our Weekly Sunday Puzzle Page

2007-03-11T13:10:00.000-07:00

Random Sunday Blather

Our life together could be said to be astonishingly soporific (perhaps more so for our visitors than for us), but we like it that way. We have reached an age where most surprises tend to be of the unpleasant variety (annoyances minor and major); we still do enjoy agreeable surprises, but they represent a distinct minority of the overall class of amazements, and so are the more welcome for their rare occurrence.

I have lately been wondering why I do not suffer from what is called "cabin fever"; I spend almost every hour inside our mobile home, essentially living in what might be described as a warren (this may be why I identify so closely with mice). It does have the appearance of a tunnel with various recesses, except for the windows through which I peer as I pass them. My only reasonable conclusion is that cabin fever is a condition that I cannot afford to suffer if I wish to lead a happy life.

War, it seems sad to say, is for some reason part of our primitive makeup - when we live in peace, we sublimate our need for war by means of the outlets of sports and the reenactments of past battles. Despite the fact that natural disasters are a perfectly good means of limiting population overage, it appears that we humans are not satisfied with that but must indulge our primal urge to slaughter. It is to be devoutly hoped that our species may someday become civilized enough to move beyond that, and develop the means by which we can play well with others.

Bonnie has shared a few jokes with me, engendered by her choice of tv viewing for this afternoon (Barbarians on the History Channel):

"What battle cries did the Saxons shout as they attacked the Picts?"

"Take your Pict!"

"Go for the Pict of the crop!"

And the Pict battle cry?

"Blood your axe on the Saxon!"

Okay. We'll stop now. Please don't throw anything, you'll only damage your screen.

I heartily accept the motto, "That government is best which governs least"; and I should like to see it acted up to more rapidly and systematically. Carried out, it finally amounts to this, which also I believe--"That government is best which governs not at all"; and when men are prepared for it, that will be the kind of government which they will have. Government is at best but an expedient; but most governments are usually, and all governments are sometimes, inexpedient. The objections which have been brought against a standing army, and they are many and weighty, and deserve to prevail, may also at last be brought against a standing government. The standing army is only an arm of the standing government. The government itself, which is only the mode which the people have chosen to execute their will, is equally liable to be abused and perverted before the people can act through it. Witness the present Mexican war, the work of comparatively a few individuals using the standing government as their tool; for in the outset, the people would not have consented to this measure.

From "On the Duty of Civil Disobedience" by Henry David Thoreau

Substitute "Iraqi" for "Mexican" and this becomes a very timely quotation.

A couple more items of note before we publish the puzzle -

Kathy has written a very moving and eloquent entry on what it means to be a small-town American, to revere flag and country, and to experience the emotions that arise when someone we may have known is taken suddenly from us in war. Thank you, Kathy, and be assured that we will NEVER FORGET.

When Carl Sagan was alive, we were attentive readers and viewers of any appearance of his, particularly the PBS series Cosmos. He was known as a popularizer of science, but beyond that, he was a serious and dedicated proponent of rationalism. There is a contemporary scientist who, although speaking in his own unique fashion, wears the mantle of popularizer and rationalist quite well. His name is Neil deGrasse Tyson, and it is well worth anyone's time to expose themselves to his enthusiasm for the scientific. Here is a short article that we found highly enjoyable and would like to share.

This word search was designed for a particular person whom some of you may recognize, hence some of the peculiar search terms.

For everyone, we wish happiness and

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Tags: blather, surprises, cabin fever, war, Thoreau, science, puzzles

Our Weekly Wednesday Answer Page

2007-03-07T19:41:00.000-08:00

We've been hibernating over the past few cold days (animals do it and we can too), so it came as a bit of a surprise that it's Wednesday already. We bought a couple of little toys online that are crucial to puzzle creation and they arrived today, so we're busy playing with them.

Yes. That is boring. That's why we kept it short. ;)

Here is the answer for the first CityState sudoku. Only 49 more to go!

The graphics! They're clean and clear! Oh, what hath aol wrought?

Friendship is returned in the measure in which it is received.

If you live life as though you enjoy it, you will.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Editorial

2007-03-05T11:42:00.000-08:00

We have been watching the Congressional hearings devoted to the state of facilities and medical care of our young men and women who have sacrificed their health, and more, to fight for freedom. It is amazing to us that it took a pair of journalists to rip off the scab and discover the suppurating sore underneath. For decades, veterans have been complaining about the treatment, or lack of such, that they receive, to no apparent effect.

To put it briefly, here is the problem. If you have ever dealt with a bureaucracy in any capacity, or if you have ever worked in an organization that relies on a rigid chain of command, or (Creator forbid) you have had experience of both, you understand the gist of what representatives' questions have elicited from the testifiers. There appears to be a predisposition to avoid accountability and to pass the buck on any situation that presents more than a normal level of difficulty. This is not specific to the military; one encounters this type of behavior frequently.

There is plenty of blame to go around, from the lowest-level officers who deal directly with the outpatients to the highest levels of the Department of Defense, and ultimately to the commander-in-chief himself. The men and women who are supposed to represent us in Congress are not exempt; they have been taking the word of military officers that all is either okay or in the process of being fixed instead of initiating personal inspections and compelling the military to allow them to visit places that most ought be inspected.

We the voters should be able to expect that the people who have been injured in service to our country be offered a higher degree of caring than they are at present receiving. That they are not is a shame and a black mark upon the soul of our nation.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Our Weekly Sunday Puzzle Page

2007-03-04T09:18:00.000-08:00

We do not often stop to think how important our senses are to us; how, although we have necessarily defined our world by means of them since we were first propelled from the birth canal, much of our sensory functions are semi-automatic and largely taken by us for granted. It is not until we are compelled to recognize that our senses may fail us that we devote some time to an analysis of how we are intimately impacted by their deterioration or loss.

It is never easy to realize that what was once a fact, such as the apprehension of high-pitched sounds (the sound of birdsong or the voices of mice), is presently but a sometime or never occurrence. It does lead one to appreciate more the sounds that one can still hear, especially sounds that carry a freight of emotional significance, such as we heard the other night, as we were drifting toward sleep. It had begun to rain earlier in the evening, and as time passed, became a soft and steady percussion of raindrops upon roof. That in itself would have been cause for reflection and the urging of primitive memories to the surface of the consciousness, but in this particular instance it was augmented and heightened by the haunting and lonely sound of a train whistle reverberating through the deeps of the night. It was a moment such as occurs infrequently, laden with phantoms of our primal beginnings and causing us to burrow more deeply beneath the covers and to offer thanks for all that which we have been given.

One of our visitors recalled to me, via her latest entry, what life was like a year ago, when things were different. Those who were reading then may remember that I was compelled to make forays to the grocery when Bonnie became incapacitated. It was my habit to do the shopping very late at night, after 11:00 pm, because the great crush of day people would have made it impracticable for me, depending as I did on my cane, to maneuver through the aisles with any degree of competence, and more likely than not, things would not have gone well. The comparative emptiness of a megamart at midnight was a more felicitous circumstance.

There was one occurrence with which I had not reckoned, however - that same emptiness that made my passage through the store easier, leaning heavily upon the handle of the cart in lieu of my cane (which rested in the cart alongside the groceries), made the appearance of a particular employee inevitable - the wielder of the floor polisher. This stolid gentleman would appear from the depths of the rear of the store, maneuvering a truly sizable and daunting device that appeared to occupy most of the floor space. When he was plying his machine in one of the wide horizontal aisles, it was nothing to worry about; we would pass as two ships, one in no way affecting the other. In the narrow vertical aisles, however, circumstances became much more chancy, as the polisher occupied more than half of the alloted space. More than once I was forced to scootch the cart right up against the shelves, attempting to retain my erect position as my legs clamored for nothing more than to collapse in abject surrender. It became such a common occurrence, almost as if the gentleman was intent upon causing me grief, that I began to listen avidly for the gentle but ominous whirring and whooshing of the enormous circular brushes and to go out of my way to avoid the contraption by moving to an aisle that had already been rendered spotlessly clean. I can look back now and chuckle at the ridiculous nature of those occasions, but at that time it was a source of certain distress.

Here is the second in our series of cryptocrostics - we hope that you enjoy it.

Happy Sunday, happy solving, and

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Our Weekly Wednesday Answer Page

2007-02-28T16:07:00.000-08:00

Every once in awhile, we run across an aphorism that is so elegant or to the point that we wish we had written it ourselves. We ran across one such this morning, a pearl of wisdom spawned from the mouth of Art Cashin on CNBC:

"Often, it's the second mouse that gets the cheese."

Words to live by.

Here is the answer to the Feb. 11 word search -

This answer grid isn't quite as clear as we'd like, but if you saved the original, you should be able to make sense of it.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

THIS is a Rant

2007-02-25T23:05:00.000-08:00

Long-time readers may remember that we have occasionally made mention of the modest store in East Rochester known as the Village Fair ("Our Meats are Freshly Cut").

Bonnie stopped there yesterday to pick up some Delmonico steaks (at least what passes for Delmonicos nowadays, what with high-priced restaurants claiming the prime cuts) and brought them home. I thought, when I put the package in the refrigerator, that it looked a bit odd.

Tonight, as I was preparing to cook dinner, I asked her, "How many steaks did they give you?"

"Three, as always. Why?"

"The package was one-layered, and it isn't very wide."

When I unwrapped the paper, I discovered three narrow steaks that looked nothing like Delmonicos; they did, however, bear a strong resemblance to strip steaks. I asked Bonnie if she had seen the steaks before they were wrapped, and she said only briefly. Then she related the story.

She told me that she had gone up to the counter and spoken to a younger man in his mid-30s and asked for Delmonicos. After a few moments of inspection and hesitation, he asked the older counterman, who was somewhere in his 60s, if there were any in the back. The older gentleman detailed a particular shelf in the cooler and the younger man disappeared, returning in a matter of moments with a plastic-wrapped hunk of meat.

"Is this them?" the younger man inquired. The older man, who was busy with another customer, indicated that it was, indeed, "them", and the younger man, after saying "These look like strip steaks", cut off three slices to the thickness that Bonnie indicated and quickly wrapped them.

We would just like to say to the young man, if he should happen to Google 'Village Fair + East Rochester NY', "You were right. They were strip steaks. You obviously have more knowledge of meat than 'Uncle Tonio' or whatever non-butcher it was that they brought in to serve the customers on Sunday. Keep up the good work, and don't let the old fart try to fool you again."

If you should be in East Rochester on a Sunday, wait until Monday when the regular butchers return to work. You won't be sorry.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Our Weekly Sunday Puzzle Page

2007-02-25T09:19:00.000-08:00

First, we would like to extend a thank-you to those of you who contacted your representatives about conditions at Walter Reed Army Hospital. There is nothing like a good dose of public outrage to awaken politicians to their responsibilites to the people who elected them to office. It feels very good to be able to report that the military administrators are taking this seriously. There are still numerous dark corners in this country that are capable of being illuminated and cleansed by the sunshine of journalistic scrutiny, and we can only hope that the light will shine in.

We are (we hope humbly) proud to announce that we have created a new type of puzzle, one that combines our love of puzzles and our propensity to play with the Paint program. While it is a variation on other types of puzzles, still we believe it to be unique, and we have created a mechanism to allow for three levels of challenge to accommodate those who may not have scads of time to devote to solving. We would warmly appreciate any feedback that you might care to give us.

We are, at present, calling this a word cube. As you can see, it has some letters already filled in, and all that is required of you, the solver, is to fill in the empty spaces using letters from the list(s).

We have designed letter lists to offer three levels of challenge - the first list, offering the toughest challenge, is simply a comprehensive list of all the letters to be filled in.

The second list offers a bit of help by breaking the list into two parts, one for the horizontal letters and the other for the vertical letters. Admittedly, this particular method may be the most confusing, but for those who can solve in more than one dimension, it may be helpful.

The third list is broken into three parts; each numbered list represents the letters assigned to one of the visible faces of the cube (i.e., #1 might represent the front face, and all the letters in that part will be used to fill in that face.)

As an additional aid, for those who might want it, here is a breakdown of the characteristics of the words -

1 word has 3 of one letter repeated, 2 of another repeated, e.g. cocoons (none of the examples listed appear in the actual puzzle.)

1 word has 3 of one letter repeated, e.g. groggy (after the fact, we discovered that there is an alternate word that has exactly the same letters, but slightly rearranged; either word is acceptable. Someday we'll be professionals, but we're not there yet.)

5 words have 2 of one letter repeated, and 2 of another repeated, e.g., tactics.

The remaining 11 words all have one letter that is repeated, e.g. furry.

We hope that, if you decide to solve the word cube, you derive some enjoyment from it; that is, at end, the reason we're here.

Happy Sunday, happy solving, and

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Tags: responsibilities, puzzles, pros

Shameful and Our Weekly Wednesday Answer Page

2007-02-21T16:12:00.000-08:00

Many of you may have already heard something about the recent Washington Post series of articles, written by Dana Priest and Anne Hull, detailing the living conditions at some of the facilities at Walter Reed Hospital. Many of the young women and men who have honorably served in Iraq and Afghanistan and been severely wounded and/or traumatized are treated and, after their treatment, warehoused there.

If you would like to read the complete series, here are the links.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/02/17/AR2007021701172.html
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/02/17/AR2007021701314.html
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/02/18/AR2007021801335.html
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/02/19/AR2007021901113.html
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/02/19/AR2007021900759.html

We have ourselves, for reasons that some of you know, experienced a variety of conditions in regard to medical facilities, but even in some of the oldest buildings, we have never encountered conditions like this.

This is no way to treat young men and women who have accepted the challenge to fight for our country, and sacrificed something of themselves in the process. Please write an email to your congressional representatives, informing them that their inaction in regard to our injured servicepeople is simply unconscionable.

Thank you.

Here is the answer for the first cryptocrostic.

A short note - I began to tidy up this answer grid, aligning the letters so that it would look neat. If the original puzzle ever gets published in something other than this journal, I suppose I will have to do that. Until then, pfft. You can read it, right?

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Tags: veterans, medical facility conditions, reportage, neatness

Take Your Pick Part 2

2007-02-19T23:59:00.000-08:00

First, I wish to correct a possible misimpression that I may have unintentionally left in the previous entry. When I mentioned that Bonnie’s command center is the couch, I was stating the truth, but a little amplification may be in order.

When we used to work at the unexceptional bookbindery, we operated literally as a team. Having attained a measure of seniority and autonomy, we were free to arrange our workspace to our own satisfaction and to assign roles to ourselves that most efficiently accomplished tasks that needed doing. We have continued this practice in retirement, and the way matters have naturally ordered themselves is that I, who had performed the majority of computer tasks at work, am the one who fulfills the same function at home. Bonnie, on the other hand, takes care of any matter requiring paperwork, and she has surrounded herself with all the paraphernalia of an office, including clerical appurtenances and the telephone (there is good reason for this - when speaking on the phone, Bonnie’s voice bears a strong resemblance to that of Marilyn Monroe, while mine more closely resembles Andy Devine - ergo, Bonnie is the one who deals with any callers or people who require calls); consequently, it truly is her workstation, with the added advantage of a television, something the bindery would not have allowed.

(Because we are together 24 hours a day, we, as do most couples, prefer that we not spend every minute cheek by jowl, hence I have set up my workstation at the kitchen table, where we are in voice contact but are not constantly tripping over each other.)

The evening vignette (shuttling between the bedroom and the living room):

"Honey, do you still have your answer from the Sunday paper sudoku?"

"Ummm .... yes. Are you working on it?"

"Trying ... the box in the upper left-hand block - is that a 9?"

"Yes."

"Thank you."

Minutes later ...

"Honey, the number under the 9 - is that a 6?"

"Yes!"

More minutes later (once more coming up the hall) ...

"Heeeelllllp meeeeee ... heeeeeelllllp meeeeeee ..."

"Uh-oh."

"In the center left-hand block going down, is it 5-2-3 or 2-5-3?"

(I’m getting desperate when I guess more than one number at a time ...)

"It’s 5-2-3."

"Thank you."

Still more minutes later ...

"Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

(I must sound like a train passing through a tunnel ...)

"In the center left-hand block again, is it 6-1-4 going down?"

"No."

"Then it’s 6-4-1."

"Yes."

"Thank you."

Half an hour later, Bonnie peeks in to see if I need anything.

"How’s the puzzle going?"

"Finally finished the damn thing. That sucked."

One would think, being a nominal puzzle constructor, I could do better than that. Then again, I too could put twenty letters in a sudoku and make it seem unsolvable, unless one wants to spend days trying out the various combinations. At least when we construct a puzzle, we are fair about it.

We will sign off with a couple of exceedingly gratuitous jokes. This format is a blatant swipe from Late Night with David Letterman, and for all we know this may have been an actual joke used on the show, but if so we have forgotten. Anyway ...

How cold was it today? It was so cold our local squirrel was using a hotplate to keep his nuts warm! Thank yoooooooooouuuuuu!

And -

It was so cold today that we spotted a vagrant using a bun warmer to ...

Okay, you get the picture. We need say no more.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Take Your Pick

2007-02-19T06:05:00.000-08:00

(Vignettes of Family Life)

(Come Sit with Us Awhile)

(At Home with the Motts)

I’m feeling a bit older this morning, unsurprising in light of the milestone that passed yesterday (thank you, one and all, for the birthday wishes; they put a lopsided grin on this old man's face), and also a mite crotchety. (No, I do not have mites in my crotch.) I have found that an antidote to this state of affairs is to do a bit of self-examination and observation. Here is a rare and intimate look into our ordinary life.

It’s early; we got a good sleep during the night, but on this day we are both awake around 6 a.m. After our waking-up routines (draining the dregs of the coffee and tea in our cups and lighting that first cigarette of the day) we begin to get active. Bonnie settles in at her command center (the couch) and I stay in bed awhile, waiting for my legs to recognize that they will be required to function for at least one more day. Finally giving in to the importunities of a dry and scratchy throat, I reluctantly rise and shuffle up the hall, peering into my coffee cup at an extremely disconsolate-looking slice of lemon (one of my idiosyncracies consists of drinking tea from a coffee cup.)

Reaching the kitchen, I navigate toward the tap, still searching for meaning in the remains of that sorry-looking lemon butt. Finding none, I upend the cup, allowing the slice to drop into the grounds bucket, its final, ignominious resting place. I am at this point running on autopilot, so I remove the small wad of paper towel blocking the drain (we have had the water on trickle these last few days due to the low temperatures, and we both detest the sound of the resultant gurgle) and begin to fill the cup with water.

(Conversation will be rendered in emerald for Bonnie, and amethyst for myself)

"I made coffee."

"Oh, thank you, hon."

The cup is now full. I pause by the refrigerator, reach up and snag a teabag from the box. (I DID see the coffee on the way to the sink. It just didn’t really register.) The bag goes into the cup, the cup goes into the microwave.

"Did you hear me, hon? I made coffee."

"Yes, thanks. I’ll have some after I finish the tea. I’m not awake yet."

Bee. Bee. Beeeeeeeeeee.

"Oh, it’s time for your pills. Did you want some cold milk to go with them, or are you going to take them with that hot tea?"

"Cold milk, please. This tea is a little TOO hot."

..........................................................................

"Wow. I can really tell the difference between the Upstate milk and Wegmans milk."

"Which do you like better?"

"Oh, the Upstate milk, of course, but it is $.60 more than Wegmans’ milk, and Wegmans’ milk is quite acceptable."

"Upstate Farms has happy cows."

(If you haven’t seen the commercials put out by the California Cheese Association, you probably won’t know to what this refers.)

"Yeah, they must. The only milk I really don’t care for is Tops’ milk, when it has that musty flavor."

"Tops has unhappy cows."

"Yeah, well, why should their cows be any different than their cashiers?"

Aren’t you glad you don’t live with us?

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Tags: family, lemons, milk, cows

Our Weekly Sunday Puzzle Page

2007-02-18T12:03:00.000-08:00

Whenever we open this page, we feel that we ought have something profound and earth-shattering to impart -

But -

As Bonnie so cogently puts it, "It's your birthday. You don't HAVE to think!"

I like the way she thinks.

Ah, hell, at least we have puzzles.

So- this is the first of a series of sudokus that we have designated the CityState series, because each puzzle, on the diagonal (of course), features a 7-letter city and the two letters of the state. At the moment, we have 50 puzzles in the series, one city from each state. (Thank you, Mapquest, for making our job so much easier.)

We're not sure yet whether we'll continue to alternate puzzle types or run a string - we guess you'll just have to wait and see.

*Sigh* I keep forgetting the ratings. I'll never be a professional. Bonnie has given this puzzle a rating of **.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Happy Valentine's Day and Our Weekly Wednesday Answer Page

2007-02-14T15:07:00.000-08:00

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

In microcosm, a marriage is a lot like relationships between nations - amity requires discussion, negotiation, compromise, and sometimes sacrifice.

We thought we'd toss that in for Jeff, the subject of today's puzzle answer, who has recently embarked upon the ship named the Institution.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

The Night the Music Lived

2007-02-11T18:50:00.000-08:00

Bonnie has always been the music aficionado in the family; up until this century, music has often formed the background of our life together, but I left it to Bonnie to keep up with the particulars of this topic, while I allocated my attention to other topics that Bonnie might not show great interest in. In this way, we have both acquired a good education in a wide range of topics, as our interests have tended to bleed one into the other, and we both are enriched thereby.

In 2003, the Dixie Chicks were reviled for daring to speak out against George Bush and his war. They suffered through many attacks upon their patriotism, spewed out by people who demonstrated some ignorance of what patriotism truly is.

Tonight, they won a Grammy for best country album and album of the year- Not Ready to Make Nice. Rock on, Chicks, and let people know that the music never forgets.

Gnarls Barkley is Crazy like us, and we love it.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Our Weekly Sunday Puzzle Page

2007-02-11T14:41:00.000-08:00

Ah, marvelous Sunday! It's very quiet here now; the only sounds are those of the furnace soughing away and the infrequent small squabbles occasioned by a particularly choice nutmeat (and the omnipresent squeal of the exercise wheel.) Bonnie has gone out to the store and the library to pick up a few things, and here I am trying to decide what puzzle to place in this space. Lisa has expressed a preference for a word search, and since we have constructed some but never posted any, this may be a good time.

A short explanation about this word search (and word searches in general) - this puzzle was created for the father of a friend, and I asked her to offer themes of interest to him, so instead of a single theme, there are six; all of the themes are included as search terms (e.g., country music.)

Word searches, we have found, are the most time-consuming and tedious puzzles to construct. I will not go into all the reasons why; the best way to discover that for yourself is to try to construct one. Nevertheless, they do represent a challenge, and we have discovered that word searches are a quite popular type of puzzle, perhaps because all the information necessary to solve the puzzle is included, and because most people do enjoy a scavenger hunt. We have constructed a few and probably will continue to do so when the mood strikes, when we have found a sufficiently entertaining or informational theme. At any rate, we hope that you enjoy this one.

I just had to edit this in - different town, different bay, different idiots - same outcome. When will they ever learn?

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

This is Rochester

2007-02-09T10:20:00.000-08:00

We first inserted a quick bit about this in Wednesday's entry, but we were unaccountably fascinated by the whole sorry saga, so we thought we'd include the followups today.

The first full-fledged article was in Wednesday's print and online edition of the Democrat and Chronicle, which you can read here.

This article is particularly notable for the quote "Vehicles do not belong in the bay." The gentleman from the DEC has a keen grasp of the obvious, and owes his job, no doubt, to political patronage.

Thursday's edition featured this article.

Today's edition has this article, which largely reprints Thursday's material but does reveal the estimated cost to Mr. Newberry, who has presumably learned a valuable lesson (vehicles do not belong in the bay.)

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Our Weekly Wednesday Answer Page

2007-02-06T20:32:00.000-08:00

First, we'd like to thank two of our good friends for some items that they sent us - Debra for a sampler selection of teas that we had not tried, and which were uniformly quite good; and Kathy, for the Anyday Card and the small-town news publication that is always so much more interesting than ours.

Next, a gratuitous selection for our This is Rochester series - it is, we think, fairly typical of certain people who live near substantial bodies of water, but Rochester does seem to possess more than its share of them.

Lastly, here is the answer for the Jan. 20th sudoku -

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Our Weekly Sunday Puzzle Page

2007-02-04T05:01:00.000-08:00

This is a little exciting for us, it's been a long time since we put anything but a sudoku on this page.

There is a weekly publication issued by the Democrat & Chronicle titled The Insider; it is free and aimed at a young crowd, with lots of glitzy colored pictures and replete with articles, comics and puzzles. The person who provides the puzzles is a nationally recognized constructor named Matt Jones; he offers two puzzles per issue, one a crossword and one a quasi-sudoku. If you want to know more about Mr. Jones, you can check out some of his stuff here.

We have freely borrowed a particular puzzle concept from him; we have no idea whether it originated with him, or if he borrowed it from somewhere else (we know that he borrowed at least one of his puzzle types from elsewhere; we used to solve that type in Dell Publications, lo those many years ago.)

Anyway, Bonnie took a decided liking to this particular style of puzzle, so I took it upon myself to try constructing some, to tide her through those dry periods when the provided puzzles were uninteresting to her. As long as they exist, we may as well share them, so here is the first in an occasional series that we have chosen to call Cryptocrostics.

We have chosen to call them Cryptocrostics because they are solved somewhat in the manner of a cryptogram, and the grid is reminiscent of an acrostic.

The solving rules are:

All 26 letters of the alphabet are included in the puzzle, and each letter is represented by a number, always by the same number - i.e., if 17 represents A, it will represent A throughout the puzzle. As in cryptograms, the number assignation is random (if 17 = A, it does not necessarily follow that 18 = B.)

Because I am still a novice at constructing these, I have taken it upon myself to relax the rules a bit - you will run into an occasional capitalized word, such as a name or city, and I have included a hyphenated word in one puzzle so far (not this one.)

To solve, you will need to look at the puzzle as you would at a cryptogram - look for frequency of letters, letter placement, at the ending letter of longer words (e.g., few long words end in U), such things as recurring prefixes and suffixes - as a solving tip, you will see that the long horizontal words at the top and bottom share a prefix and a suffix, and the long vertical word just right of the central line has four of the same letter, two of them together. As a further tip, you will find two proper names in this puzzle.

For sources delineating letter frequency, you can visit here, here, and here.

We certainly hope that you enjoy solving this type of puzzle; if not, feel free to let us know, and if we get enough thumbs down, we'll stop publishing them. Happy solving!

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

February 2nd

2007-02-02T04:44:00.000-08:00

Attention, government officials of small towns across America! Is your local economy in the tank? Are you worrying about how to keep that last gas station and tavern open? Are the last hundred people in town packing to leave? Fret no more!

It's "Hoist-A-Small-Animal-Into-The-Air" Day! What better way to attract hordes of cash-waving tourists to your desperately poor region than by hauling some shy, hibernating creature from its comfy den and exposing it to the pitiless light of day? Punxsutawney did it; you can too!

Remember, hoist a small animal into the air today!

Oh, yes, don't forget to alert the major media, or you won't have the chance of frost in Hell.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Molly Ivins - 1944 - 2007

2007-01-31T16:04:00.000-08:00

We loved you and your work, Molly. Where you now are, may you carry on in the spirit that you always have, pointing out that which requires change.

Peace forever.

Bonnie and Walt

Molly Ivins, and Our Weekly Wednesday Answer Page

2007-01-31T09:44:00.000-08:00

It was with a sense of deep sadness that we heard news on the Stephanie Miller show this morning of the possibility that one of our favorite columnists, Molly Ivins, is losing her long battle with cancer. The latest news that we can find on the net is five days old, and did not quite convey the seriousness of her condition. This morning's news makes it seem likely that she is soon to pass to a better place.

If it is Molly's time to go, we wish her well on her journey. If there is a chance that she may yet survive her latest struggle, we send our prayers her way, in hopes that she may yet be with us for a while.

Here is the answer to the Jan. 14th sudoku.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

This is Rochester

2007-01-29T09:01:00.000-08:00

We are incapable of making this stuff up, so we'll just share it.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Our Weekly Sunday Puzzle Page

2007-01-28T09:58:00.000-08:00

We seldom use this page as it was perhaps meant to be used (i.e., as a daily journal) for the simple reason that little in the way of ordinary life changes for us (those of you who have been visiting for awhile know that when a major event occurs, it is likely to be chronicled here, just as a way of preserving the memories.) The little vents and gripes of daily existence that we experience are dealt with outside of this page, in our interactions with friends whom we have met through this medium but who have, with us, moved beyond it, and we thank them for demonstrating the patience that they do.

That being the case, we have felt free to use this space as an entertainment venue of sorts, to put into words and pictures notions that we (as perhaps might some of our visitors) find humorous; to call attention to items that have impinged upon our attention, just for the helluvit; and to showcase the various products of our interests.

We are no longer attempting to attract visitors, or even seeking comments as we once did (not that we don't appreciate the ones we receive - we truly do); we have attained our goal of having discovered a few good people who appreciate what we are trying to do, and have become, we like to think, friends, or at the very least, welcome acquaintances.

We have exhausted our feeble repertoire of things to say about one of our favorite pastimes, puzzles. Even if we had much more to say upon the topic, you would, no doubt, all be moved to go outside and contemplate cloud shapes rather than subject yourself to such horrible torture. Hence, we shall simply publish the (for now) last of the J-land sudokus.

This puzzle contains the name of a journaler who resides solely (as far as we are aware) at blogspot. In his journal, he has recently taken to chronicling the events of his newly-wedded life. The fill-in portion includes his name and the title of his journal.

On future Sundays, we may throw in a sudoku from our CityState series, a word search, or one of our current fascinations, the presently titled Cryptocrostics (formerly heralded as WordFigures - we changed the title to more properly reflect the dynamic of the puzzle.)

Once again, we are beginning to bore ourselves. It's time to put this outside.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

News Nuggets

2007-01-25T13:20:00.000-08:00

Fret not, news junkies! (We love that line) Having succumbed to the urge to seek out the curious and bizarre, we offer, for your approval, a series of articles guaranteed to waste some of your valuable time. We shall waste no more of your valuable time than absolutely necessary, so let us begin.

BIG-HEADED 'PREHISTORIC' MOUSE IS ALIVE IN EUROPE

Now we venture to claim that we bow to no one in our love for small furry mammals, but does the world really need more mice?

NEW SQUIRREL-LIKE RODENT DISCOVERED IN PERU

Ditto with tree rats - aren't there enough of these creatures burrowing into our lawns without adding others?

(Thanx and a tip o' the Mott manes to Debra for providing the threads to these stories)

To swipe an idea from Dave Barry, the former and currently occasional Miami Herald humorist, 'Now the terrorists are using sponges!'

MICROWAVE EXPERIMENTS CAUSE SPONGE DISASTERS

Is it necessary to spell out in excruciating detail exactly how to nuke a sponge? Is common sense dead?

Common sense is also a hallmark of this next story - this tragedy might have been prevented with a little more care -

WOMAN ON POTTY BREAK FALLS INTO FRIGID LAKE

It is always wise to assure that there are proper facilities in a proximate location.

Lastly, a headline we would like to see - but do not expect to:

PREZ TO ENTER REHAB

Sadly, we cannot provide a link to this particular story, as it is, of course, imaginary. However, we can provide a snippet of it below.

According to White House Press Secretary Tony Snow, President George W. Bush has arrived at a determination to enter a rehabilitation facility. Following in the footsteps of such celebrities as Mel Gibson, Tara Connor, Nicole Ritchie and Lindsey Lohan, President Bush is seeking to boost his badly sagging poll ratings and to curry favor with the American people by burnishing his tarnished image as a wanton warmonger ...

Stay tuned for further semiprecious gems.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Our Weekly Wednesday Answer Page

2007-01-24T11:17:00.000-08:00

It's Wednesday already. Why, only yesterday, it seemed like it was Tuesday.

It's already obvious that we have nothing to write about. Last night we watched what the cable news channels persist in calling the SOTU. It was unremarkable, except for the rather subdued nature of the speech and the entertainment value of discovering which section of the audience thought it appropriate to stand and applaud at which initiatives were being proffered.

Having beat it to death in the late hours of yesterday and the early hours of this morn, the news cycle has already moved on.

Despite the serious nature of the consequences for our people and our country, we find it hard, these days, to get very worked up about things. Perhaps, having seen too many of these spectacles over the years, we are just overly jaded. Or maybe we sense, after all has been spoken and left undone, the futility of expecting miracles to occur.

Fret not, news junkies. The sound and fury will continue indefinitely, even if you never discover anything of substance. Perception, at bottom, becomes reality if it is shoved in front of our exhausted minds often enough.

Here is the answer to the journal sudoku of Jan. 7th (it seems so long ago now. We should have resolved to swear off the consumption of news.)

(Note to Barb: if you haven't done it yet, don't peek.)

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Credit is Hard to Come By

2007-01-23T12:09:00.000-08:00

We are posting the item below, an email that we received from one of our friends, because credit (and respect) is hard to come by.

I would like all of you to read this and spread it around. My hubby is a journalist for the North Branch Post Review. He worked his butt off on a story and is now being stomped on by the bigwig news stations and such. He is getting no kudos for this story, just phone calls from people like Inside Edition, Splash News and our local WCCO did a report on it as well.

We live in a smaller area and no one gave two-Shits about this story until they saw Pat's write up in the North Branch Paper...Guess what, it's going National now. Not to mention an offer for a contract with 15% going to the people involved. Now, don't get me wrong, we are not looking to gain a dime from this but some recognition would be nice for my hubby!

Can you help spread this story around and give the credit where the credit is due???

LeAnn

http://befuddledlouie.blogspot.com/

An injustice is being served...

And I am here to make a little difference.

Last week, hubby wrote a damn nice story about a woman who saved a 5-year old little girls life. You can find that here. This woman, then known as Tia Peterson got married over the weekend and is now Tia Cunningham, had this little girl in her wedding as her flower girl. It's truly an amazing story and Pat did a great job writing it.

I was getting emails from Pat all day yesterday with updates on something that has turned a bit frustrating. We live in a very small area, many times the bigwig news papers and news stations will troll the little local newspapers for some story and basically steal the story from the reporters out here. Not uncommon but never are the kudos given to these little locals who go to great lengths to credit a source for their scoop.

The story of this woman is now going national thanks to Pat's write up of her. Pat was getting calls from Inside Edition, a magazine/company called Splash, WCCO did a story on her and no credit for how these places found this story.

The grandmother of this girl originally called Pat a few weeks ago and asked if he would do a story about this. Of course he said yes and interviews were done and the story was written.

Pat is very frustrated with this turn of events yet happy that this family is getting some attention for their persistance and abilities. So I wanted to point out that if any of you hear about this, it came from the North Branch Post Review Newspaper compliments to my husband Patrick.

Ironically, our bigwig newspaper ran ANOTHER story that Pat broke in our area awhile back one in which Pat also received an award for, for his investigative work into the story. The bigwig is a little late with their reporting on this one but all the same, another that they ripped out from a small town reporter who's just trying to earn a living for his family and perhaps some credit once in awhile where credit is due.

UPDATE: One of the women related to this story phoned Pat at work. Apparently Splash News is offering her an exclusive contract to market this story across the globe. She would get 15% of the proceeds...but still no thanks to my husband! Pat's advice to her? Get a lawyer.....more to come.

It is shameful that all too often, things like this occur, so we hope to help, in our small way, rectify an injustice.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Our Weekly Sunday Puzzle Page

2007-01-20T19:37:00.000-08:00

The state of Paranoia is not a wonderful place in which to live. It is replete with enemies seen and unseen, a place that leads you to question the trust and faith that you have placed in others. It compels you to the conclusion that you are alone, that it is impossible for anyone to truly befriend you, that you are beset on all sides by those who wish you not well, but want only to use and abuse you. There are ways out of this state, but they are narrow, murky, and difficult to locate. I intend to keep searching.

Today's puzzle features a journaler who, despite health issues, is hard at work on a renovation of his house amid some beautiful heartland scenery, as his photographs attest.

Bonnie has rated this puzzle ****.

A correction of an oversight - last Sunday's puzzle was also rated ****, but I forgot to include it.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Our Weekly Wednesday Answer Page

2007-01-17T09:48:00.000-08:00

Souvenirs of a Life

Most of us, if truth be told, have at one time or another succumbed to the lure of some small trinket while engaged in the act of touring unfamiliar places. We purchase these items not for any intrinsic value, for most possess little or none, and while some can be rather charming, there are a few that are simply hideous - enough so that they would make worthy additions to Bonnie’s Curio Closet. No, we procure them, often against our better instincts, as a means to jog our memories when the occasion has long passed, to try to recall the outpouring of emotions that filled us at those times we considered to be special. Flea-market-like retailers take advantage of our weakness for these items, and cannot be blamed for doing so; it is up to us to resist the attractions of such things as naked-lady ashtrays or little statues dedicated to forgotten war heroes or charming monstrosities such as flamingo snow globes or lobster claw harmonicas (we loved it, Kathy, we’ll never part with it!)

There are other items that could be considered souvenirs of a life well-lived - photographs, letters and private papers, special books and objects, films and audiotapes, paintings and crafts produced by loved ones, collections - the list could go on and on.

The original puzzle of Dec. 31st and the answer that is here reproduced represents, for us, one such souvenir.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Superfluousness

2007-01-16T06:29:00.000-08:00

Winter has finally arrived in the Northeast, commencing with that loveliest and most dreaded of conditions, the ice storm. The last major ice storm that our locality has seen was in 2003; we seem to receive at least two per decade. The 2003 version was annoying but we toughed it out, spending the majority of our time huddled under two comforters and a pile of lesser blankets, listening to our portable radios and thanking ourselves for having plenty of batteries on hand. That year, the power was off for only a few days; in 1991 the power was off for over two weeks, and we ended up staying with some friends in the city, which naturally had a higher priority in the matter of power restoration than did the suburbs.

Yesterday was not much of anything to write about; despite the overheated excitement of the weather reporters, the coating of ice was thin and the lights only flickered a few times at midday - it would have inconvenienced my heating oatmeal had the power gone, but not much else. We are very lucky in that after the ‘91 storm, the park made a wise decision to place all lines underground, and the only way we lose power now is if a substation is taken out.

The sky is of a gray quite bright; near the brilliant circumference of the sun the atmosphere contains a hint of salmon color, very pretty in its way - it is nice to be able to enjoy the nuances and subtleties that are there represented. We are now receiving our first authentic snowfall. If we are lucky, it won’t amount to much, and we will have the pleasure of viewing the snowy landscape without having to move portions of it so as to allow us to go anywhere.

Awhile ago, when we were yet working, I remember that I had written down a few themes that I thought at the time might be nice to incorporate into a crossword someday. This was, of course, long before it occurred to us that we had some small talent for constructing puzzles - indeed, before we possessed the wherewithal to construct them. Now those themes are tucked away in the security and solitude of a binder pocket - and we have no idea which binder, in which mound of detritus, might hold those golden little products of vagary.

*Sigh*

We hope, friends, that you are all enjoying your day as much as we are ours.

Peace be with you.

Bonnie and Walt

Our Weekly Sunday (Props) Puzzle Page

2007-01-14T04:11:00.000-08:00

As far back as we can remember (and, to be sure, that is a way), Sunday morning has been imbued with a special aura that pertains to no other day of the week. When we were very young, it was a day to sleep late (for our parents, certainly; we were likely up at the crack of dawn) and to dawdle over the breakfast table. As we aged, it became a day to suffer the ministrations of our mothers and don clothing that we would normally loathe, and refuse to be found dead in, all in aid of appearing before the Lord in something approaching respectability.

After we married, it became a day of rest for us, an opportunity to forget the worries of the workday week, a day to read through the various sections of the Sunday paper and to take long exploratory drives through the countryside.

It is still that for us, lacking only the worries and the long drives, but with an added sense of peace. And it has become a day for us to demonstrate that we are not yet virtual vegetables by posting the resultant products of our pixel-slathered fingers and twisted minds. To wit -

This edition represents a prop for this particular journaler, who is something special in J-land. It is unusual in that there are two names located on the diagonal (we thought she would want it that way.) The fill-in portion includes her s/n and the name of her present journal.

In response to our "Grumpy ..." post, Jeff requested that we list the advantages of aging. We at first quirked, smiled, grinned and guffawed, thinking that there was no possible way to fulfill the request. We have, however, given the notion due and careful consideration, and have managed to cobble together two very important and related advantages. The first is that at our age, we no longer have to make compromises in how we present ourselves to the world. We are free to be exactly who and how we are, without the necessity of having to play nice in order to maintain employment, or to get along with those for whom we have lost respect through the process of familiarity. It is not that we are sociopathic, but there are certain types of people who we have learned, through the acquisition of bitter experience, simply do not suit us, and we now have the choice of whether or not to enter into a relationship with them.

The concomitant advantage is that we are free to speak as we wish, and to say exactly what is on our minds, without much caring if those who do not like what we have to say become offended by it. If what we say offends someone, it is likely someone we would not care to maintain a relationship with anyway.

This is not to say that we delight in going out of our way to offend anyone. We believe in the idea of living and letting live, and we truly appreciate others who feel the same.

There is a delicious peace of mind and comfort in discovering that one can, and ought, be true to oneself.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Our Weekly Wednesday Answer Page

2007-01-10T23:38:00.000-08:00

Kathy, who posts the private journal Life On Flamingo Row, has requested a favor of her friends. Her dear cousin's son was involved in a vehicle crash, and did not survive. She has included a link in her journal to one of the newspaper articles, if you wish to follow it. We ask that you please send your thoughts, prayers and well-wishes her way, that she and her family may be comforted. It is always difficult, we know, to cope with circumstances such as this, and J-landers are known for joining together to offer their support and comfort to those in need. If it's not too forward of us, we would like to thank you, J-landers, on Kathy's behalf, for being there for her.

Here is the answer for the Dec. 24th puzzle.

We would like to profusely thank both Kathy and Barb for their lovely plugs in their journals, and as long as we're tossing in links, we'd like to welcome Debra and Vicki as charter members of our little puzzle club.

For our signoff, we would like to quote Kathy:

Peace. Out.

Bonnie and Walt

Highlights of a Lowlife

2007-01-09T09:15:00.000-08:00

This semi-stream of consciousness entry may never see the light of day, but just in case ...

There are festive, colorful drifts of paper everywhere (one of the facts of life at the unexceptional bookbindery was the sheer amount of paper that the print room used as text dividers, and we employees were the grateful recipients of the excess, supposedly non-reusable sheets, shrinkwrapping them into 8 inch tall bundles and toting them home, storing them against the day when we might find a use for them) covered with the expired remains of formerly pristine puzzle grids. Such is our life now, and if we dared take a moment to muse upon where our life has led us, we might suffer serious mental damage, so it is probably best that we do not. However ...

We have begun a new series of crossword-style puzzles that require (requires? Is series singular or plural?) the solver to deduce the letters that belong in the spaces from the numbers provided (when we actually publish one of our WordFigures, we’ll provide more explicit directions.) The charter member of our puzzle club, Debra, upon setting in to solve the first one, inquired as to whether there was a theme. Alas, there is not, as we told her; it is difficult enough matching words that intersect across and down without worrying about a theme. Her query did, however, challenge us and lead us to attempt to construct a thematic puzzle, an effort that was quickly doomed to failure as we began to try to fit the entries on our word list together. We ultimately constructed one, albeit lacking any hint of a theme; these puzzles are more suited to insertion of words that closely resemble each other, and that is the way we have chosen to go. Still, we had that word list, which seemed eminently suited to a Word Search, so ...

So now we get to the point. I can’t remember now what led us to research this particular topic, but the word list for the nascent puzzle consists of a wildly disparate collection of toys, games and puzzles, items that have for thousands of years been devised simply to challenge the mind at such times as there existed leisure for those pursuits. Many of the entries are games that we remember from childhood, classics if you will, and others are those that attracted our interest as we entered adulthood. The younger members of our visitorship (hah! coined another word!) may be unfamiliar with some of the titles, and will likely notice the lack of games familiar to their childhoods, but we had to stop somewhere. (The point is coming along; please wait for it.)

We webcrawled to amazon.com to take a trip down Memory Lane; we felt certain that many of the games that we half-remembered would still be extant, and lo, they are! Some things seem to attain a species of perpetuity that is singularly gratifying. Anyway ...

Among the gaily decorated (gaudy) collections are a number of editions of a particular title that returned us to the years of our seriously misspent youth, back in the days (the early '70s) when we were just beginning to shape our shared history. Bonnie was performing data entry for a financial institution that was eventually consumed by a larger one, and I was working in inventory at Bausch & Lomb. We had acquired a rather odd set of friends who shared our love of gaming, and we would host frequent weekend get-togethers to indulge ourselves.

Among the many games that we enjoyed playing, often while under the influence of malt beverages and herb, was a favorite called Risk (the game of global domination). One of our group, whom we shall call "Dave", had devised what he conceived of as a brilliant strategy for obliterating the rest of us ("Mike", "Todd", "Bonnie", and "Walt".) He would place his little pile of colored wooden cubes on one territory (for some obscure reason, he seemed to prefer Kamchatka) and make only a few forays into other territories whenever he thought he could score an easy victory. He would continue to build his pile of cubes into a truly massive structure, struggling to prevent it from toppling and spilling across the rest of the board.

By the time he had acquired what he considered to be an army sufficient for conquest and domination, we were all pretty far gone, giggling uncontrollably and sometimes laughing uproariously, stuffing our faces with crackers, cheese and grapes, and wondering where all the herb had gone to. At that point, "Dave" would put his scheme into operation, performing a maneuver that he gleefully titled "The Grand Munch", moving his handfuls of cubes hither and yon, marching across the board swiftly and destroying everything in his path. It was a truly impressive spectacle, and the rest of us could only admire his audacity and the greatness of his military mind.

There was, however, one small flaw in his plan ... on each conquered territory, he would leave but a single, lonely cube, apparently deeming it sufficient protection. The rest of his force would continue on the Munch, leaving a string of territories barely defended. Not being idiots (although rendered nearly so by our vast consumption of mind-altering substances) the rest of us would sneak in his back door, so to speak, and parcel out among ourselves all those territories that he had left seriously underdefended. This operation seemed to befuddle "Dave" even more than he already was; it had apparently never occurred to him that we could be so brash and unfeeling as to deny him his victory by such an ungentlemanly (or, in "Bonnie’s" case, unladylike) method of play.

It is difficult to remember now how often The Grand Munch resulted in an actual win, but it seems likely that it was infrequent, as the notion that sticks uppermost in the mind is that of major befuddlement.

Which led us to contemplation of Donald Rumsfeld, our erstwhile Secretary of Defense. It is impossible to know whether that estimable gentleman ever played Risk as a youth, but the execution of the original march on Baghdad, if memory serves, bore a certain resemblance to what we remembered of The Grand Munch, a massive strike force moving rapidly upcountry, sweeping all aside in furtherance of the objective of reaching Baghdad. Little attention was paid to fortifying gains; the main thrust of the plan was always to move men and materiel directly to the capital. The assumption may have been that the citizens were too cowed to offer much in the way of resistance. That, as it turned out, was unwise, as many of the citizens remained armed, and the token forces (if any) that were left to subdue individual towns and villages were insufficient to the need. In hindsight, The Grand Munch may not have been such a good idea. The concept of shock and awe was not enough, even back in the days when we sat around the dining room table playing the game of Risk, to ensure a quick victory.

Thanx for bearing with us for the trip down Memory Lane.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Our Weekly Sunday Puzzle Page

2007-01-07T10:02:00.000-08:00

Hello, puzzlers. 'Tis a sunny Sunday and in the high 40s here in upstate NY, another fine and snowless day. It almost seems as if Colorado is destined to be the only state to see real snow this year (not that we're complaining, mind you - this weather is kind to our backs and bank account - who would've thought we wouldn't have to fly south for the winter?)

It's an appropriately fine day to go outside and power walk, hit the links or inspect the garden for incipient blooms - hardly the day to hide oneself away, curl up in an easy chair and solve a puzzle. Nevertheless ...

... in case you are one of those people, here's one to curl up with. As we mentioned, we have a few leftover J-land sudokus lurking in the files, and though the temptation is great to toss in a word search or one of our other fine constructions, we'll clean those up first.

Today's journaler is someone who suffers from peripheral neuropathy, as do I, and she knows full well what it means to live with this condition. Despite that, she is a generally cheery and upbeat person, and makes the most of life. The fill-in portion represents the name of her journal, and her name, as always, can be found on the diagonal.

Happy puzzling!

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Our Weekly Wednesday Answer Page

2007-01-03T11:25:00.000-08:00

We would like to be able to report that our life is replete with perennially sunny skies, and that nothing ever obscures our limitless horizons. That, however, would be bullshit fresh from the pasture (actually, the skies outside our windows are quite sunny, and the temperature is in the 50s, and this is upstate New York on January 3rd, and ... and ... this is not right! People, there is something seriously out of kilter here! As much as we enjoy and thrive on this type of weather, it's just too obviously wrong). This is undeniably the real world, and we are still grossly physical beings, with all the attendant aches, pains, sniffles and ... um ...

Sigh. OK. That's enough. We'll shut up now. Here's the answer to the Dec. 17th sudoku.

We'd like to add a few notes about these little monsters that lately seem to be consuming our lives. We have four more J-land puzzles in our files, and we'll publish those before we move on to the CityState series, of which we have now completed 33.

We like to think that we are supplying puzzles that you could not get by going to one of the copious sudoku sites; those, beyond all, are bursting with bland number puzzles, and have no character. Ours, at least, have some small entertainment value in addition to the simple act of solving.

Of necessity, we have learned much about what goes into constructing these beasts; there are certain conventions that must be followed if one is to produce a puzzle liable to successful completion. We have designed tools of sorts to make construction easier - early on, much of the process was hit-and-miss, but as we realized how time-consuming it was, we conceived ways of easing the burden.

Bonnie has begun rating the puzzles as she solves them, so in future, if a puzzle has a rating, we will publish it.

If you note a particular lack of coherence in these ramblings, chalk it up to vicious head colds. We hope you all are feeling better than we are.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Our Weekly Sunday Puzzle Page

2006-12-31T01:41:00.000-08:00

The last Sunday of the year is come. If we had still been employed at the unexceptional bookbindery, we would have had to have worked Christmas Eve and today, because B-shifters get no respect whatsoever, save for what might accidentally happen their way, and then only if it's not spotted and stomped flat first. To add injury to insult, we would have been chivvied enthusiastically out the door before the stroke of midnight, lest the company be forced to pay us time-and-a-half. We would have been made to feel lucky that we were allowed to have the actual holiday off, even though the A-shifters would have gotten a 3-day weekend.

Today we get to kick back, sleep as long and as late as we wish, and enjoy whatever small pleasures the day brings us. Sometimes there is justice.

As it is the last Sunday of the year, today's puzzle will be a special one.

It is technically a J-land puzzle, albeit one with a difference. It includes the name of a journaler, and also a hidden message that rhymes with her name. Those of you who solve the puzzle will need to determine the first letter of the third word of the message to complete it successfully, but it shouldn't be difficult to suss; it is not very subtle.

Happy New Year to all, and to all a good morn.

Peace.

Grumpy Old People

2006-12-29T14:54:00.000-08:00

As the year 2006 winds slowly down to its indisputable end, we pause a moment to ponder what the advent of a new year might mean, and conclude ... not much.

There are some who will insist that aging is grand, that passing a particular age means entering the golden years - a sort of senior paradise where birds sing, the sun always shines, and the soothing sound of trickling water brings serenity to the fevered brain (at least if you believe the commercials.)

We are not among them.

Although in birth years we have not yet attained the privilege of mingling with those of official senior status, we can with some certainty say that physically, we deserve to stand on a pedestal and proclaim "I’m OLD."

This is the first in what may possibly (although we promise nothing) become an occasional series on the possibilities inherent in the act of aging.

Be forewarned - here are some of the joys of watching oneself fall to pieces:

Projectile sneezing - much of this, we suppose, may be attributed to the fact that we both still smoke, but the truth nevertheless remains that a sternutation (we learned a new word!) is, as they say, semi-autonomous, and often results in a glob of mucus being ejected at truly marvelous speeds, made problematic by the near-certainty that a tissue is seldom at hand, resulting in the question "Where did it go?" As it is of an anonymous color and at best translucent, if not immediately located, it can lie in wait for the unsuspecting to randomly encounter it, leading to language much more colorful than the object itself.

The Push - it is a beneficial physical fact that living beings receive, in the form of a particular pressure, an indication that their bowels are in need of evacuation, and we learn at a very young age that there is a generally precise length of time involved by which we may gauge when the probable becomes the inevitable, and take the necessary steps to forestall accidents. Aging does not alter that span, but the exigencies of decrepit bodies make the trip to the bathroom seem longer than it once was, rendering it much more adventuresome. If one makes it to the goal safely, one sometimes discovers that one has been cozened, and a lengthy wait is sure to ensue. Reading materials are highly recommended.

Sitting with Scissors - It is also inevitable that, with advancing age, one’s joints lose the suppleness of youth, and become increasingly immobile. What was once a simple operation of slipping one’s fingers out of the handle’s apertures becomes an increasingly impossible task, as the holes seem to shrink and the painted metal (if you still possess a pair of those quaint, old-fashioned style of scissors - you know, the kind that quickly lose their tightness and sharpness) to cling to one’s knuckles, resulting in a ballet of twirling scissors, locked joints, and more colorful language.

The Light Fantastic - There comes a time in one’s life when the feet, due to the creeping onset of muscular weakness, become increasingly difficult to raise more than a fraction of an inch off the ground, leading to the astonishing discovery that there are hitherto unsuspected invisible objects littering every inch of our floor space, patiently waiting for us to locate and trip over them. They seem to be especially prevalent on rugs, but can be found occasionally even on bare linoleum.

And we don’t even want to speak about extension cords.

To all of you who choose to spend your valuable time dropping by to say hello, we thank you and wish you health and wealth of spirit in the coming year.

Happy New Year and

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Our Weekly Wednesday Answer Page

2006-12-27T01:45:00.000-08:00

As promised, here is the answer to the sudoku that we published (printed? 'ported? who knows or cares?) on December 10th.

As is readily apparent,the list includes all the things that, in one way or another, can be found within the puzzle, or associated with it.

We had a very quiet and enjoyable Christmas day; we hope your celebrations were equally as enjoyable.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Our Special Holiday Weekly Sunday Puzzle Page

2006-12-23T22:47:00.000-08:00

Okay, so we fibbed. We've decided to begin the CityState series of puzzles after New Year's, and instead present, on Christmas Eve, this special edition sudoku that somehow seems appropriate.

As is our wont, a word appears on the diagonal, and the fill-in features a phrase that shouldn't be too difficult to figure out.

We've decided to begin publishing the puzzle answers on Wednesdays, beginning with the one we printed two Sundays ago, so if you haven't done a particular puzzle, you might want to avoid peeking.

We wish you all a very merry Christmas and a happy Chanukkah, and blessings for the year to come.

Peace and love.

Bonnie and Walt

Once Again, 'Tis the Season

2006-12-22T18:48:00.000-08:00

We were going to do a piece on how the Christmas holiday has been diverted from its original purpose, and is now an excuse for those of particular faiths to conduct battles in the media against those whom they perceive to be their enemies, or a threat to their way of life.

Instead, we'll simply repeat the phrase that has been around since the beginning, and remains the best delineation of what this Season of Affirmation was meant to be about:

Peace on Earth. Good will to humankind.

Bonnie and Walt

A Reminder

2006-12-20T12:43:00.000-08:00

On September 11th, 2001, 2996 Americans died in a concerted attack on our country by members of al-Qaeda. To date, in Iraq, 2954 reported American deaths have occurred.

http://icasualties.org/oif/

Peace. Please.

Bonnie and Walt

Bonnie's Catalog Curio Closet - Year-end Edition, Part 2

2006-12-19T21:57:00.000-08:00

We love the Christmas holiday, it is so endearingly ... commercial. At few other times of the year can you find brochures, circulars and catalogs filled to overflowing with items that you never knew you needed - indeed, that you probably never considered owning - but there they are, displayed in glorious full color on blindingly glossy pages, absolutely useless trinkets that lead you to shake your head in bewilderment and mutter "What the fuck?"

It's time to finish our tour of the curio closet, that magical container of the inexplicable and the breathtakingly boneheaded, a collection of artifacts that represent the idea that in Corporate America, nothing is too tacky, shoddy or worthless to attract the dollars of the harried shopper.

We begin with the physical embodiment of what has apparently become an actual sport, featured on ESPN and possessed of its own championships -

Yes, it's speedstacking! The erstwhile pastime of bored waitresses and busboys has now become, through the magic of cable television necessity, a sport! Joy! It is not enough that you can go to the supermart and cheaply buy a column of Dixie cups, should you so desire, no! You must have this official collection of plastic cups! Trust us, nothing else will do!

Those of you who, as do we, remember the early days of video games will perhaps recall the advent of the Nintendo Entertainment System and one of its flagship titles, The Legend of Zelda. As time has passed, the legend has grown, and has led to this next marvelous item -

It includes a certificate of authenticity, thereby proclaiming that this is the actual gear that virtual fantasy character Link employed to strike down the evil creatures of Hyrule. We're somewhat surprised that Link has not affixed his autograph to the items.

What can we say about this next toy?

"Find his "magic" tickle spot!" "Tee-hee hee-hee" "Ages 3-up"

Do we really want to be teaching our 3-year-olds about magic tickle spots? Isn't elementary school soon enough to be teaching them about sex ed? Enough is enough, we say! It's difficult to continue the tour after this outrage, but we must.

This next item is just so over-the-top, we stand in awe. Gone are the days of simple and relatively inexpensive exercise wheels for small pets, they are so ... quaint. These days, we must own something that offers much more entertainment value, thusly -

A track, so the little darling doesn't accidentally go barreling into something. A Dazzle Ball, complete with decals that will serve to obliterate your view of your small pet, and - a checkered flag (!), presumably in case a number of pet owners decide to gather together to conduct a meet. You'll notice that in the illustration, the pet has had the poor grace to face perpendicularly to the track, thereby insuring that its owner will lose the race.

Our next treasure is just so wrong -

The antiquated charm of the original rotary dial is completely destroyed by substituting push buttons for the original holes. Of what possible use is a rotary dial that cannot rotate? Oh, the desecration!

This is another of those bibelots that renders us speechless- where has respect for the office of the President disappeared to?

Do we truly want to be treated to the spectacle of a shimmying Presidential figure?

Our last two items are connected, and are meant to appeal to the budding artists among us - the first one is self-explanatory, and once again words fail us -

And, if that's not enough for you art lovers, there's this accompaniment -

We are moved to wonder if the figurine's left ear is detachable.

Vincent would, we do not doubt, be flattered that this is how we remember him.

The lights go down, the doors swing slowly closed, and the refreshment table awaits, so until next year, the Curio Closet will stand in stately isolation, awaiting the next shipment of detritus, and we will, for now, bid you a fond farewell and a good night.

Peace.

Bonnie's Catalog Curio Closet - Year-end Edition, Part 1

2006-12-17T21:45:00.000-08:00

Creeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaak.

No, that is not the sound of the doors to the curio closet. They are well-oiled and swing smoothly and silently open; what you hear is the grating of aging and tired joints as they attempt to perform the function for which they were designed. The light, though ... ah, the light.

Artfully recessed spots flatteringly illuminate each sparkling, shiny object. Crows observing this spectacle might be driven mad with indecision, knowing not which article is most deserving of being spirited away and ensconced in an occult location. You, however, are free to enjoy, and if you see an item that you have always secretly coveted, accept our apologies for viewing these treasures in a vastly different light.

Please accompany us now as we tour the wonderful world of ... of ... well, you'll see.

We begin with the simple cultural notion that certain items are ineluctably identified by a majority of people as being part of a matched set, never to be cloven in twain.

Perhaps it is your fondest desire that your bed linens and sleepwear ought match, just in case that special someone drops by to spend an enjoyable evening. What better way to demonstrate your unspoken wish for a continuing alliance than by sporting this stylish pattern -

Nothing indicates the epitome of togetherness more than trailers and lawn ornaments - specifically, the plastic flamingo - and your dear one will love you the more for this clear implication that you are uniquely suited to each other and that you were meant to spend eternity, in the minds of friends and family, as inextricably conjoined.

(Lest you think that we are in some way denigrating those who have chosen a mobile home as their domicile, please be advised that our home possesses wheels and a hitch.)

Speaking of hitches, that leads us directly to our next item - a true (made in China) American original.

Let us completely ignore the fact that hitch balls are situated behind the vehicle and much lower than eye level, totally obviating the notion that you could possibly view this while sitting in the front seat. It is much more likely that you will annoy and aggrieve the unfortunate who is luckless enough to be driving directly behind you, especially if you happen not to be towing anything that might obscure a clear view of this marvelous tchotchke.

In a similar vein (and from the same catalog) there are these items geared toward the dedicated sportsperson -

Our ursine friends eagerly anticipate the annual appearance of these unobtrusive and classy hunting blinds. Crafty bears have learned that not only do they reliably indicate an excellent source of food, they also ensure that the human prey stays warm and dry by providing protection from the elements and further, offer a means of storage for the bears' future feasting purposes.

Young hunters of the future require extensive training to guarantee that when the time comes, they will be fully prepared to meet the challenges that will come their way. An important part of their education consists of game recognition, so be sure to start them off right with this amazingly comprehensive collection -

And, as the young'uns inevitably tire of their "cute and cuddly" stuffed animals and feel the urge to go out and "kill somethin'", we present the perfect accompaniment -

With these dandy firearms, our armed and dangerous cherubs can begin their lessons in target practice, blowing their un'bear'ably adorable plushes away with gay abandon, learning to take lives with a minimum of suffering (fake blood not included.)

To wrap up this first part of our tour, we present a bauble that requires no further explication than the (we feel certain) unintentionally hilarious ad copy (on point, we have been rendered speechless by our contemplation of the item, and of anyone who finds it attractive) -

"He's jus' a good ol' boy, never meanin' no harm ..."

The non-sportspersonlike part 2 will be along shortly. Until then,

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Our Weekly Sunday Puzzle Page

2006-12-17T07:57:00.000-08:00

First of all, congratulations to you, and you, and you. Each of you is now enshrined in Time Magazine's "Person of the Year" Hall of Fame. Are you generating content on the Web? Of course you are. You are therefore entitled to the designation. Hoist a glass of your favorite beverage to yourself; you've earned it.

Now to the puzzle. Next Sunday will herald the advent of the CityState series, but we wanted to let it be known that we have not forgotten the J-land sudokus. They will still appear randomly; we wanted, however, to vary the subject matter a little. We could say that we wanted to demonstrate our versatility, but that would be fatheaded.

This puzzle, as in previous J-land sudokus, features the name of a journaler somewhere on the diagonal. The fill-in portion features the title of the journaler's original weblog and, contained within, the name of her present aol journal, along with her name.

We have been alerted to an ongoing phishing scam by our friend Kathy, and we include the links to the original releases on the FBI website here and here. If you receive one of these calls, please ignore it. It is totally invalid, although it can appear to be quite intimidating to the uninformed and unwary.

For those who care, the doors of Bonnie's Curio Closet are about to swing open once more for the grand year-end revelation of the risible, the useless, and the truly tacky that manufacturers believe we just cannot live without.

You've been warned.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Renascence

2006-12-10T01:56:00.000-08:00

Puzzles.

A puzzle is a gloriously, or hideously, unproductive activity, depending entirely upon your particular point of view. Puzzle solving contributes nothing toward the general welfare of society; it is a leisure pursuit comparable, perhaps, to indulging in the playing of a board game, save that game-playing is most often a communal exercise, whereas solving is a solitary practice, except for the occasional query to a spouse or friend ("Honey, what’s a three-letter word for ‘feline’?")

Nevertheless, puzzles do have a saving grace - they exercise the brain cells in a way that few other things can. In addition, they can teach pattern recognition and, in the case of crosswords, can often convey interesting, if not always useful, information.

Puzzles are an excellent way to amuse oneself while waiting - at doctors’ or dentists’ offices, at the salon or gym, at the airport or in line at the supermarket ("You are going to pay for that publication, aren’t you, sir? And the pen, too?")

For some, puzzles represent infrequent entertainment, something to occupy oneself while waiting for those wretched commercials to end; for others, they border upon an unconquerable addiction.

To those of us who have been lured into the snare of solving, there is something compelling, even gently arrogant, about a puzzle’s pristine, invitingly vacant grid, daring one to have a go at it, to unrasa the tabula, to transform that epitome of emptiness into a cluttered scenery of scrawled letters or numerals. The challenge, alas, can be irresistible, and one can while away hours of frustration in decoding the clues that allow one to claim victory over the fiendish construction, and in cursing the constructor who has so defiantly enticed the piteous solver.

After a number of years spent in enslavement to these ruthless overlords, we solvers sometimes entertain the notion that familiarity may breed competence - that we may, having labored for so many hours over so many puzzles, be able to unravel the inner workings enough to allow us to become creators of these beguiling brainteasers.

What’s all this aimless rambling in aid of? Awhile back, if memory serves, we had instituted the practice of including a weekly Sunday puzzle in the pages of our weblog, little-read but largely enjoyed by a few exceedingly discriminating cognoscenti. (What? We pander? By no means!) Our puzzle joneses having recently returned to gleefully vile life, we feel compelled to begin anew the task of keeping our constructions a carefully guarded secret by publishing them solely in this medium. So, for the foreseeable future (which amounts to about one week) we will offer the doleful products of our diseased minds, in hopes of corrupting for all time those who are the most easily impressionable.

This new entry (our 17th published sudoku) is one that has been often promised but never before seen. It is the puzzle that was fated to be debuted for my birthday early this year before exigent events intervened. It was meant to be Bonnie’s present to me, and now it will be her present to you, our perceptive and knowledgeable visitors. (No! No! We are not pandering! Perish the thought!)

In this puzzle may be found a number of things, if you care to search. Over and above the name that will be found on the diagonal can be discovered the two three-letter names by which we used to be known, along with the initials of the state in which we live, Bonnie’s initials (both real and pseudo-) and, if you remove the two letters that are mirror images of each other (my initials, both real and pseudo-), the remaining 7 letters will spell a word. I humbly bow to Bonnie’s ability to pack so much into one puzzle.

We have begun work on a new series (called CityState) of sudokus incorporating (surprise!) 7-letter cities and their 2-letter USPS state abbreviations, but we have one more in our J-land sudoku series to publish before we take a short hiatus from that particular series.

We hope those of you who enjoy puzzles derive some divertissement from the reinclusion of puzzles into this space.

Peace.

Bonnie's Catalog Curio Closet - Special Edition

2006-11-24T23:30:00.000-08:00

It's that time of the year again - the season when folks are filled with holiday cheer. Retailers, of course, are eager to augment those warm feelings, as people filled with cheer tend to spend more money. A few companies have discovered ways to maximize the experience, to wit -

Nothing says "fill 'er up" like this nifty little item. Top off your tank, and then hop in the car and head off to the gas station. Always assuming that you manage to make it there in one piece.

When the servants are all in bed and your bartender has gone to visit his kindly, doddering grandmum, who's going to do for you when you can't even stand, let alone navigate a straight line to the liquor cabinet? Never fear, this dandy item will solve all your difficulties. Now all you'll have to worry about is making it to the bathroom in time.

This is an astonishingly brilliant concept. Stolen from the venerated game Chutes and Ladders, this game board has only 36 squares, perfect for you and up to five of your drunken friends to amuse yourselves while suffering the loss of up to 75% of your brain cells. An added level of suspense may be experienced if a player's diminution of motor skills causes him to slam his tumbler down onto the glass board, shattering it into a myriad of sharp, almost invisible pieces. Hilarity will ensue as players attempt to locate and retrieve the shards without serious injury.

In the same vein, here is the tale of a really dumb criminal -

Please, kids, remember - don't drink and mow.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

'Tis the Season

2006-11-22T14:13:00.000-08:00

Thank You.

Thank You for life. Thank You for health.

Thank You for family, good friends and neighbors.

Thank You for creatures to share our lives and plants to offer us beauty and sustenance.

Thank You for the circumstances that we enjoy, the country in which we live and the good people who share it.

Thank You so much.

May the Creator bless and keep you all.

Happy Thanksgiving and

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Killer News!

2006-11-21T23:55:00.000-08:00

This will come as a shock to many people, but things are not always as they seem. The recent gaffe by News Corporation in regard to a certain book and television interview has been instrumental in bringing to light some new information that sheds a completely different light on two celebrity trials that, within recent memory, absorbed the nation. If it happened, here's how it happened:

"Say, Bob, I have this little problem that you might be able to help me with ..."

"Oh yeah, O.J.? What's that?"

"Whisper, whisper ..."

"Sure, O.J., I'll take a stab at it."

Some time later:

"O.J., remember that little matter I helped you with? Now I need your help."

"Sure, Bob, I'm always willing to help a friend. Whattaya need?"

"Whisper, whisper ..."

"You bet, Bob. I'll take a shot at it."

(Note: this is strictly satire. In no way are we imputing any guilt whatsoever.)

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Ironies

2006-11-17T00:01:00.000-08:00

In perusing yesterday's online papers, we discovered a couple of things that bemused us. In reference to our previous post, this article gave us food for thought.

Iraq's neighbors appear to be assuring us that partition would be a very, very bad thing. Why? The Saudi ambassador to the U.S. claims that it would lead to ethnic cleansing. Excuse us, but isn't ethnic cleansing exactly what is occurring now? Shias and Sunnis are killing each other. Partition would alleviate or obviate that, to our way of thinking.

Syrian President Bashar Assad is worried about an "ethnic-religious break." Should we care overmuch for his opinion, particularly when he likely is aided by the status quo?

It is obvious to us whose oxen would be gored by partition. It seems to us that the Saudis and Syria would benefit from a weak Iraq. Should we cater to these people, when they have done little or nothing to help us build a democracy in Iraq?

We have found in this article, also, what seems to be heavy irony.

Albert Einstein first posited what physicists now call "dark energy," but rejected the concept when Edwin Hubble's research led to the theory of the Big Bang, which seemed to disprove Einstein's idea. How ironic, then, that the telescope named for Hubble has now proved Einstein's concept to be correct. A further irony is that the Hubble telescope keeps turning up new discoveries, even though it is constantly in danger of having its funding cancelled.

Tis a wondrous world in which we live (*sigh*.)

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

A Castle in the Air

2006-11-15T08:21:00.000-08:00

(Disclaimer: we are neither politicians, military strategists nor diplomats. That being said, we would like to offer a modest proposal for Iraq.)

Iraq is at present a divided country. Kurdistan in the north is relatively quiet and free of violence. The Kurds had for a long time hoped and planned for an area that they could call their own, and it seems that they now have it. If all of Iraq could follow their example, it is a good bet that most of the country’s problems would disappear.

Lacking the iron fist of a dictator to counteract rebellious tendencies, the two sectarian entities, Shiites and Sunnis, are now at each other’s throats, engaged in a de facto civil war. It is our opinion that a possible way to minimize violence is to physically separate the combatants, as was the case in the partition of Czechoslovakia. The division of geography and the relocation of the sects (especially followers of religious leaders such as Muqtada al-Sadr) into respective territories should present much less opportunity for the type of activity that now occurs - e.g., kidnappings, mass executions and car bombings - as it might be necessary to institute checkpoints and possibly a physical barrier between the territories.

When separation becomes a fact, the only remaining instigators of violence will be fanatic insurgents and terrorists, and their activities will likely be limited by the aforementioned barriers and checkpoints.

Once the partition into what we shall call Kurdistan, Shiastan and Sunnistan is accomplished, each territory could elect one or a number of representatives to an advisory body that would serve at the pleasure of the people, and could be analogous to our Congress, albeit a tripartite body. They could serve as the legislative body, and they could jointly select a president or prime minister who would be acceptable to all three factions. This would necessitate compromise, as no faction could be allowed to be underrepresented. As in our country, the executive would serve as the commander-in-chief of the future Iraqi army.

An important qualification must be that all three territories must be guaranteed equal shares of the production of oil, so that no faction can feel slighted. This should dissipate some of the worries that the Sunnis now feel, and would offer them a greater stake in a stable future.

If, to accomplish this goal, additional troops are required, we ought go to the United Nations and insist that UN peacekeepers be committed to the restoration of a united and peaceful Iraq. It is high time that our young American men and women not be expected to bear this burden largely alone.

We would like to see this proposal be considered as a possible solution. Certainly it will require modification to accommodate realities, but we think that it could provide a basic framework that might be acceptable.

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Presidential Follies

2006-11-12T23:38:00.000-08:00

A long long time ago, during the days of Watergate, every so often a small publication would be issued featuring photographs with humorous captions. In that spirit, we have taken these photos and exercised a little artistic license. We have tried not to be mean-spirited, and we hope you understand that we are just having a bit of fun.

"Can you put it in terms that I can understand, Maxie?"

"'Big wind', Mr. President."

"Uh - gulags? Why would y'all ask?"

"Say, you're kind of a shrimp, ain'tcha? Heh heh heh."

"Dang! Laura told me to wear the red tie."

"What was that word again, darlin'?"

"Nu-cle-ar."

"Nope, don't think I know that one."

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Bonnie's Catalog Curio Closet Part 2 and Walt's Complaint Corner

2006-11-08T21:08:00.000-08:00

One more holiday item - the text is unfortunately blurry, but here’s the wording from the catalog -

"This delightful ornament will be the ‘talk’ of the holiday party. 4" ball blinks its eyes, shouts at you and then plays "Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree."

It "blinks its eyes and shouts at you." Does anyone else find this unutterably creepy?

"Designed to replace kitchen string ..."

Why? Kitchen string is perfectly good and it’s inexpensive. It certainly doesn’t cost $2.50 per piece. This is simply uneconomical.

Here are a few items that I found to be of some slight interest -

One of our fondest dreams is to pay $4 for the privilege of following a naturalist around and staring at little piles of turkey shit. Ayup.

Here’s something else we want to spend our money on - moseying through a cemetery in the dark, staring at the graves of famous Rochestarians, followed by the scarfing down of refreshments. NOT.

A special East Rochester supplement - how to humiliate children and seniors.

Nothing says you value your youngsters quite like bedizening them with reptiles and allowing them to be bitten on the nose.

A masterpiece of humiliation, to be preserved forever. First force the child to participate in an activity reeking of embarrassment, and then call forceful attention to his utter abasement.

As for the seniors -

Please, please, please, respect your seniors! You may be a senior someday!

These are, of course, captioned with tongue firmly in cheek; it's obvious that all involved participated joyously in their shameful humiliation.

And lastly, this -

"... a dish to pass plus their own place setting." Our question for the caseworker is, "Why should we go at all? We can get that at home."

And now it's time for Walt's Complaint Corner.

When we were young, toothbrushes consisted of a handle and bristles.

Razors consisted of a handle, a head, and a blade.

Air fresheners consisted of a jar of scented fluid, a metal framework and absorbent material.

Have you looked at the modern versions? They're electronic marvels, loaded with tiny chips and (I haven't done the research here, but I'm guessing) requiring massive amounts of batteries, and costing much more than we want to spend on such things. This is progress?

Good night and sweet dreams.

Peace.

Bonnie's Catalog Curio Closet Part 1

2006-11-08T17:44:00.000-08:00

Here are a number of Hallowe’en leftovers that caught my attention, and a few pre-Christmas items:

This picture demonstrates why so many people think that dogs are stupid - they willingly allow themselves to be dressed in silly outfits. The dogs are actually humoring their owners in hopes that someday they will wise up.

WTF?

Ladies, if he can’t find it without this, it may be time to move on.

And now for those pre-Christmas specials that your kids won't be able to live without -

Britney Spears? Why would anyone want to smell like Britney Spears? The only person she could attract was K-Fed, and she’s dumping him!

An indoor helicopter. Now there’s a good idea. Think of the potential for humorous accidents.

Imagine - it's the evening of Christmas day - the kids are tucked in and sound asleep, and you and hubby want some ‘together time.’ In your anticipation, you forget to lock the bedroom door. As you settle in together, you hear an odd whirring sound -

Who thought THIS was a good idea?

There are also 2 other "Spy Gear" items, a digital spy camera and an Eye-Link Communicator with wrist keypads and headsets. Do we really want our 8-year olds turning into NSA bait?

The next two items fall into the category ‘small furry pet nightmares.’

If you own mice, hamsters, gerbils or guinea pigs (possibly even ferrets - hi, Lori), you may wish to forgo purchasing these items.

If one were to purchase this item, one might discover that this is not the only ass in the vicinity.

Part 2 to follow.

Peace.

Random Thoughts and a Plea

2006-11-05T20:34:00.000-08:00

Now, this day, you want each other. Someday, you will need each other.

Religion, practiced inclusively, unites people. Practiced exclusively, it divides people.

Much has been written about what constitutes support for "the troops." We do not much care for the rubric, it seems too impersonal. We prefer to say "our young American men and women." These newly-minted adults, many not long out of high school or college, are people we know - children and grandchildren, relatives, friends, or neighbors - youngsters whom we have watched grow up and mature, who have decided to demonstrate their patriotism and love of their country by joining the Armed Services.

There is naught but nobility in the mission our young people signed up for when they joined the Armed Forces - serving our country and undertaking the task of protecting it from harm. There is not, cannot be, any denial or denigration of that high purpose. Our young people understand going in that they are training for the dangerous business of war, and they willingly offer their physical and mental capabilities to their country in return for the fierce pride that they feel and the privileges that they receive, in the brightest spirit of selflessness. We who cannot serve as they do owe these young warriors the very best that we can offer them.

Our service members, our young American men and women, deserve the best training, the best equipment, the best of medical services, the best supportive services for the families that they leave behind and remuneration at the very least sufficient to their needs. They also deserve from us the very best leadership, military and civilian, that we the voters, their relatives, neighbors and friends, can give them.

One more thing that we think we owe them for their selfless service is to keep from unnecessarily placing them in harm’s way, only sending them to war when there is absolutely no other way to accomplish a worthy goal, and only then in defense of our country. We do not think it is worthy of us to require them to precipitate a war.

Tuesday is the day that we are privileged to exercise our democratic rights and responsibilities. Please go to the polls and vote, and as you do, spare a moment to think of our young American men and women, those who are fighting and dying on foreign soil, and vote in a fashion that respects their sacrifices. Demonstrate to them through your vote that we respect them and care for them, and want them to stay alive.

www.icasualties.org

Peace.

Bonnie and Walt

Happy Hallowe'en

2006-10-31T16:23:00.000-08:00

HAPPY HALLOWE'EN!

PEACE.

Bonnie and Walt

Bonnie's Oddments, Pictorial Edition Part 2

2006-10-20T02:04:00.000-07:00

Bonnie's Oddments, Pictorial Edition Part 2

The Hallowe'en costume pickings are fairly lean this year; however, there are always a few new good ones -

Nothing breaks the ice at parties like a beer keg, and if you run low, you can always head on over to the Sam Patch ...

The other costume? It does speak for itself, doesn't it?

This next costume could be described as 'shocking', I suppose. Any guesses on who this could be? Anyone?

You know you've earned a special place in history and a certain amount of respect when you've been chosen as fit to serve as a model for a Hallowe'en costume.

It's nice to see that our mice are getting into the spirit of the season -

Although we are registered as Democra... (wait - this just in - Defeatocratic), we do occasionally deviate from the party ticket and vote 'the other way'. Before the Mark Foley scandal erupted, we were planning to capitalize on our senator's catchphrase (Keeping in Touch) and run a series of pictures illustrating its aptness; however, we are sensitive types, and so will hold that particular satire until the furor has died down somewhat.

Withal, here are a couple of pix we just couldn't resist -

We are curious as to whether or not he is above renting himself out for any and all occasions - we haven't noticed him rushing to our sides lately, but then, we have not quite yet achieved seniority status. We can hope that in the not-too-far distant future, we will see ourselves in a photo such as this ...

And, to demonstrate that Republicans are presently on the lookout for new constituents, we offer this proof -

Don't worry, Senator Alesi, you still have the Defeatocratic vote ...

Is it really a good idea to buy your child a toy ATM? Yes, we know that the more children learn about survival in the adult world, the better off they will be, but still - this just doesn't feel quite right. It doesn't mention anything about a toy ATM card, but you can't access an ATM without one. It is not so great a step from there to revolving credit. Speaking of which, did you notice the little disclaimer 'money not included'? How realistic is that? And does it play the Super Mario 'success theme' when the $20 bills drop into the chute, as ours does?

Here are a couple of items that we ferreted out of The Salem News that Kathy enclosed as wrapping paper for the darling Hallowe'en-themed mouse canister that she sent us. If we had a camera, we would take a photo of it. Maybe if Kathy photographed it before she mailed it off, she can send us a copy so that we can properly display it.

Anyway -

After all the Monday physical activity, it's no wonder the poor seniors are ready for a Thursday appointment with a podiatrist. It's a marvel that they can even make it to the appointment.

In the first review, we are certain that that is a misprint, and it should have read 'bar' area, but just imagine if they really did have a bat area. Wethinks the word 'lively', in that case, would definitely be applicable.

And in the second review, just what, exactly, is considered to be an American accent? The review makes it sound as if one should not voluntarily patronize this establishment. The wait staff appears to leave something to be desired.

And lastly, our random rodent photo of the day -

"What? Whaddaya want? Whaddayou lookin' at? Mwaah! Mwaah! Mwaah!"

Oh, oh, oh! One last thing! We are soooooooooooo honored!

Before we received this, we were completely unaware that such an entity as the Western New York Frozen and Refrigerated Foods Association even existed. Lest you think that we subsist solely on microwave dinners, please note that the category includes meat and dairy products, of which we have been known to consume vast quantities. We do, however, consider this to be at best a dubious distinction, and we have no plans to attend, as it would likely require us to tailor our attire to the occasion, when we would prefer to tailor the occasion to our attire.

We hope shortly to return to the second part of the Tri-Town Extravaganza, in part because Kathy has sent us fresh material.

Until then,

Peace.

Bonnie's Oddments, Pictorial Edition

2006-10-18T01:03:00.000-07:00

Bonnie's Oddments, Pictorial Edition

Here are a few more choice items that I have selected for inclusion in this space (and thanx to Walt for performing the grunt work ;) )

I'll start off with an item that, if simply typed in, you might not believe, so I have included the actual snippet from the paper -

Same address, same zip, same entrepreneur - okay so far, but I have to wonder - what can an operation entitled 'Moneywise Academy' possibly have to do with an operation entitled ... well ... 'Stinkyfarts'?

In the same vein, I have to wonder if this next ad is an example of a job that Americans will - or won't - doo?

Can it be that immigrants are illegally crossing the border for this?

This next picture was taken from a special D&C publication called 'Our Pets'. One section was devoted to pictures, drawn by preteeners, that supposedly depicted their pets. The child who drew this has either an active fantasy life, or needs to be visited immediately by Child Protective Services ...

If we are not a stupid species, we had best be prepared to worship our future feline overlords (the Egyptians obviously had forewarning, and got their bid in early) -

Here is a face that only a mother could truly love -

And here is something else only a mother could ...

... well, you get the picture.

[By Bob Wallace (American, active ca. 1937) "Lotus Fore" and "Lotus Aft" circa. 1937. Gelatin silver print courtesy of the George Eastman House Collection]

I have given you some examples of the bad and the ugly (cue theme music), I leave you with an example of the good. All together now ...

AWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!

It's not a mouse, but it is a rodent, and a damn cute one at that!

Peace.

Bonnie's Oddments

2006-10-17T12:39:00.000-07:00

Bonnie’s Oddments

A small collection of curios has been piling up, and now seems as good a time as any to dump them into this space for our own future amusement, if for no one else’s. Bonnie, take it away -

We are blessed to live in close proximity to the Erie Canal, the local part of which is popularly known as the Barge Canal. Along with the usual complement of dedicated boaters, there are tour boats for those who wish to sightsee. One of these, a packet boat called the Sam Patch, is named after one of a number of idiots who were wont to leap from a platform built above the Genesee Falls for the express purpose of entertaining crowds and also, one presumes, for self-aggrandizement. To quote from Wikipedia -

"In September of 1827, Sam Patch jumped 70 feet from the top of Passaic Falls in New Jersey, just for the fun of it. Patch became a local celebrity and began a brief career of jumping off things to please onlookers. Nicknamed "The Yankee Leaper," Patch took a 120 foot plunge over Niagara Falls in October of 1829 and lived, becoming the first person ever to do so. On 6 November 1829 he jumped 100 feet from the Upper Falls of the Genesee in Rochester, New York, accompanied by a pet bear. A week later, on Friday the 13th, Patch made the jump again, this time without the bear, and didn't survive. His body was not found immediately, fueling speculation that he had somehow pulled a fast one. Four months later his corpse was found in the Genesee River."

Perhaps, if he had thought to take the bear along on his second jump, he might conceivably have survived. It would at least have provided a cushion.

For those who wish to know more, or to view photos of his headstone, here is a useful link -

http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=3227

That was a long way to go for this small item from the Brighton-Pittsford Post, but hey -

"Deputies responded to the Sam Patch at 1:15 a.m. that morning (Aug. 17), according to the reports. One suspect ran from the boat and was caught, while a second suspect was found on the boat. They allegedly said they were at a party where the alcohol was almost gone, so they went to the Sam Patch to unload the contents of its coolers into their car."

Bonnie’s observation: "Why go to Wegmans and buy the booze when you can get it for free?"

A couple of items from the Police Beat -

East Rochester

" A man was arrested after police saw him standing on the sidewalk waving a stun gun at 12:13 a.m. Sept. 23. The police officer heard the man yelling and the crack of the stun gun. The man got into a car and tried to hide the gun when police approached."

Where, we are forced to wonder, does an average citizen of a small town acquire a working stun gun? We can assume that the gentleman was inebriated, given the place, time and date, but still - a stun gun?

An example of a local drive-by attack -

Irondequoit

"A woman was standing outside Starbucks on East Ridge Road when a female driver in a gray Saturn pulled up to her at 9:13 p.m. on Sept. 29. The driver yelled an expletive and then threw a wine glass at the victim. The glass, which did not hit the victim, broke when it hit the ground."

This is the worst kind of example of potable snobbery - simply because one chooses to imbibe (admittedly expensive) coffee as a beverage should not expose one to disrespect.

There are other items, but they will require us to hook up the printer, and time does not allow for that at the moment. So, until the next time,

Peace.

The Way it is Today

2006-10-11T12:40:00.000-07:00

A curious thing has happened. I find that the red flags that I normally watch for to ascertain whether or not Bonnie is about to have an episode are appearing again - this time, however, they are appearing in regard to myself.

I have trouble arising from bed; I have no real desire to. My appetite has diminished appreciably. Pursuits that would normally give me enjoyment hold little or no attraction for me. My ability to maintain concentration is not what it should be. There is a sense of surreality to my existence that has heretofore not been present, and I find myself listening more closely to neighborhood sounds than is my usual wont. If I saw these behavioral traits manifesting in connection to Bonnie, I would be on the phone to her therapist soonest.

But they are occurring to me.

I cannot afford this. I don't need this shit. The weather is rough enough without adding this to it. Nevertheless, I'm going to try to ride the storm out.

Items that appear here will be instigated by Bonnie, except for the occasional puzzle. I find them to be about the only things that, at present, hold any interest whatsoever for me, and I will cling to anything to get through this. Wish me luck.

Peace.

The Eighth Member

2006-10-08T20:48:00.000-07:00

October 8/9, 2006.

North Korea is reported to have detonated a nuclear bomb on this date in history.

Do you feel safer?

Will the madness never end?

Peace.

The Tri-Town Area Extraordinary Police Blotter Extravaganza (Part 1)

2006-09-26T02:38:00.000-07:00

We’d like to mention that we’re going to miss Kathy’s entries; she is entering a sabbatical period and will not be writing in her journal for awhile. We will anxiously be awaiting her eventual return to J-land. We send our blessings and best wishes to her, and hope that others of you will do the same. In the meantime, she has kindly sent us a wealth of material that, we believe, she meant us to scrutinize with the object of rendering it in our own (hopefully unique) fashion.

Police blotters often include, amidst the dross of domestic squabbles, valuables and vehicles stolen, and countless DUIs, rare gems of oddities that we cannot seem to refrain from commenting upon. Without further ado, we offer up a special out-of-town entry, herewith entitled

The Tri-Town Area (Boxford, Middleton, Topsfield, MA) Extraordinary Police Blotter Extravaganza

(These entries are taken from the estimable local journal Village Reporter, covering events in the Tri-Town area - instead of organizing them by date and/or town, we prefer to categorize them by occurrence and topic, because that method seems to offer a more cohesive layout than might otherwise be the case.)

To begin - some individual entries can be seen to form a logical sequence, as in this instance (from Middleton) -

Aug. 4: 10:30 pm - resident complains of loud party on Emerson Lane.

Aug. 5: 12:05 am - noise complaint, Emerson Lane, nothing found.

We must presume that the party broke up.

Or this (also from Middleton) -

Aug. 2: 9:49 pm - attempted to serve restraining order on River Road.

Aug. 3: 7:29 am - restraining order served on River Road.

Evidently the party was out for most of the night. We applaud the persistence of the police.

This sequence indicates that some individual or group had a busy day in Boxford -

Aug. 3: 6:43 am - Lakeshore road resident reports that air conditioning unit at house was paintballed overnight.

7:20 am - Lakeshore Road resident complaint that vehicle and house had been paintballed.

2:06 pm - residence paintballed on Lakeshore Road.

7:12 pm - Lakeshore Road residence reported paintballed.

7:18 pm - residence on Lakeshore Road hit with paintballs.

We're guessing that the reporter grew tired of finding various ways to describe identical incidents. And someone really had issues with the residents of Lakeshore Road.

In Middleton, the East Street beach would appear to be sacrosanct -

Aug. 1: 4:59 pm - officers asked non-resident to leave town beach area on East St.

6:20 pm - resident reports dogs on town beach, gone when police arrived.

Aug. 2: 7:05 pm - caller reported to Animal Control, three dogs running around beach on East St. Party leaving when Sgt. Jones arrived.

And also in the non-resident category -

Aug. 2: 12:23 pm - resident reports people jumping off Thunder Bridge and parking lot crowded with non-residents.

Damn those dogs and non-residents!

We must wonder if there is any correlation here, also from Middleton -

Aug. 9: 3:45 pm - skateboarders asked to move along from sidewalk on Lake St.

Aug. 10: 7:00 am - malicious destruction on Lake St.

This has to be our favorite sequence, from Topsfield -

Aug. 12: 9:59 pm - loud party, River Road.

10:20 pm - noise complaint, River Road.

10:43 pm - River Road complaint, music turned back on after officer leaves.

10:57 pm - kids ran from party, reported by Danvers PD, mutual aid.

11:15 pm - music coming from party, River Road.

They're baaaaa-aaaaaack!

Then there are the animal follies, which, Rochester and environs being heavily populated, seldom make it into the grudging quarter-page of space allowed our Police Beat, but around the Tri-Town area seem to be more numerous, or perhaps just better reported.

To wit -

Aug. 5: 12:17 pm - (Boxford) party reports they hit a deer with their vehicle on Main Street. No damage to car, deer ran into woods.

12:17 pm - Main Street resident complaint that neighbor's dog is destroying caller's personal property.

Missing a chance at an injured deer would frustrate any dog, we think.

Aug. 6: 10:05 pm - party reports seeing baby deer on Route 97. Gone on arrival.

Did they think the deer was going to hang about waiting patiently for them?

Aug. 7: 2:23 am - fight between a raccoon and a dog reported on Washington St. ACO notified.

We live in a heavily-wooded area and there are many fights between raccoons of a summer night; we have no raccoon/dog fights here, because owners know enough to obey the leash laws. If we called the Animal Control Officer (who lives on our street), he'd forcefully tell us to get a grip and not to call him again.

From Topsfield -

Aug. 4: 10:50 am - bat in house on Alderbrook Drive.

Aug. 6: 8:35 pm - bat flew inside vehicle on Ipswich Road and Asbury Street.

Okay, we get it. Topsfield has a bat cave. Alert Bruce and Dick.

There is another part to come, but we are feeling a bit like we're sitting in heavy downtown traffic right now, so the conclusion will be along later.

Peace.

Turtles

2006-09-21T12:51:00.000-07:00

Okay, we're about to get completely tasteless again, but that's part of the reason you drop by, isn't it?

In light of this -

cooter n: The vulva.

- we're somewhat sorry that we missed this.

And, just for the heluvit, here's a picture of a mouse who knows how to use its head, courtesy of Kathy.

Peace.

Potpourri

2006-09-19T10:56:00.000-07:00

The few readers of this journal will, we are certain, agree on one thing: we seldom indulge in full-on rants. This entry will be the rare exception.

Recently, the Pope saw fit to quote from a 14th - century emperor’s text in regard to the religion of Islam and its prophet Muhammad, and the manner in which Islam may be spread. What the intentions of the Pope were are unclear and, in fact, irrelevant, save for the fact that easily inflamed adherents have once again raised a hue and cry at a perceived attack upon their beliefs.

We say this - God did not create us to go about killing each other in Her/His Name. God is not about death. If people are serious about their beliefs in God, they will eschew violence. If people are using their religion as a cover so as to attempt to dominate and dictate the beliefs of others, then they are not Godly. God meant for us to learn how to love, not how to hate.

The sixth commandment reads "Thou shalt not murder." The seventh through the tenth commandments can be distilled into the statement "Thou shalt respect one another." If believers violate these understandings, they worship a false god.

If religious leaders are incapable of controlling the behavior of their adherents either through teaching or example, they are unworthy of their leadership positions and should find a line of work more suited to them.

This has been a public service announcement brought to you by utter disgust with "organized" religion. We now return to our regularly scheduled lunacy.

We are looking forward to the movie sequel of the year -

Parrots of the Caribbean: Polly’s Cracker Box, once again starring Chipper as (who else?) Captain Jack Sparrow.

Capers, caprices and cavorting from our Police Beat:

Brighton

Police found beer, marijuana and two pipes at an Aug.30 party on Rensselaer Drive. The report stated that police would talk to the parents when they returned.

We would expect that to be a given. This incident will no doubt provide fodder for some lively family discussions.

East Rochester (our favorite town - well, except for Penfield)

A man is accused of putting his arm around the neck of a female customer and then putting a knife to her throat inside China Chef restaurant, 452 W. Commercial St. The man, who reportedly threatened to kill the female customer, demanded money from the restaurant clerk. The clerk gave the suspect the tip jar from the counter and the male suspect left the store (sic). The suspect was later apprehended by the Rochester Police Department on other robbery and grand larceny charges.

Seems pretty drastic to us, threatening someone’s life in order to acquire a tip jar. This dude must have been severely down on his luck. (With his arrest, his luck has improved; 3 squares a day and no need to fend for himself - at least not on the outside.)

Someone started a fire inside a plastic garbage can at Eyer Park between 6 and 6:10 pm Sept. 1. A witness saw four young people near the garbage can in the park. Once the fire started, the witness saw the youngsters run off.

We believe that a fair inference regarding cause and effect may be drawn here. This incident may also be related to events described in this article.

Penfield

An ATV was stolen from the back yard of a home on Clove Drive on Sept. 4. Two bicycles were found in the driveway where the ATV would have had to be pushed to make an exit.

Two bikes for an ATV? Hardly seems like a fair trade.

Perinton

Security for the Monroe County Board of Cooperative Educational Services (BOCES) District 1 reported that between Sept. 1 and 5, someone entered the Foreman Center building on O’Connor Road, rummaged through drawers in three offices and left M&M candies scattered about. It was the second such incident at the building.

Has the legacy of Johnny Appleseed been reduced to this?!?

Here’s a curiosity from one of our local realtors - a page of twelve properties listed for sale. Eleven of the photos look like this -

The twelfth picture is different, and provides a slightly less illustrative graphic of the noted property -

We can only speculate what made this substitution necessary - did he run out of film or leave the cell phone back at the office? Couldn't he be bothered to get an actual photo of the house? Are the residents camera-shy? Or is the place such a dump that he daren't show the actual property? This appears to be a case of caveat emptor.

Lastly, we'd like to showcase another tag that Nikki has designed for us -

We love these things - never get tired of them. Thanks, Nikki.

Peace.

Addendum - Tribute to Walter E. Weaver

2006-09-11T13:11:00.000-07:00

When we first learned about the 9/11 tribute website, we were at first unable to discover much material related to Walter E. Weaver, but a new search has revealed a site of which we were heretofore unaware, so we have borrowed from that site to expand our knowledge.

This is the original site, and here is the biograpical material that gives us a better picture of this young hero who had many hopes and dreams, and traded them away so as to offer help to the victims of our national tragedy.

Walter Weaver and his girlfriend, Shannon Faulkner, had just settled into their new home in Centereach in early September. It was a special time for them. No more apartment living, and plenty of room for their many animals, including a puppy they had adopted the week before. The couple was also looking toward the future. They were waiting to start planning a wedding until after they moved into the house and became more settled. "Now, everything's just shattered," said Faulkner, 25. The two grew up in Hicksville, although they didn't meet until seven years ago. Faulkner was at her brother's hockey game and Weaver was waiting for his turn on the ice. "I sent my mom over to get more info," recalled Faulkner. Later, she wrote him a note and left it in his mailbox at home. He called for a date and they had been together ever since. "It wasn't hard to love him," she said. With a love of animals between them, Faulkner and Weaver, 30, had a menagerie including two dogs, an iguana, turtles and birds. In fact, they took in any animal that needed help and ended up keeping them. "Every pet store in the area knows us," Faulkner said. Weaver joined the New York Police Department in 1992 and most recently with the Emergency Services Unit, Truck 3. In 1994, he helped deliver two babies a month apart, both in the Williamsbridge section of the Bronx. On Sept. 11, he was last seen rushing to the scene of the disaster with three other members of his truck. "He absolutely loved his job," Faulkner said. "There was nothing else he'd rather do." She remembers times when her brother and friends would wait for him to return home from work with stories of chasing "bad guys" or rappelling offa bridge to save a potential suicide victim. "I would always worry," she said, but Weaver would calm her - telling her that nothing was going to happen to him. He also is survived by his mother, Joan Weaver, father William Weaver, and brothers Brian and Michael Weaver.

We shall not forget Mr. Weaver, and we will continue to pay tribute to him.

Peace.

September 11 - Honoring Walter E. Weaver - the 2996

2006-09-10T17:15:00.000-07:00

Franklin Delano Roosevelt, or one of his speechwriters, had it right -

September 11, 2001 is a day that will indeed live in infamy.

It was the day that we average Americans arrived at the stark realization that there existed people in the world who harbored so much hatred for us and our way of life that they would gladly sacrifice their own lives to take as many of us with them as possible. It was, and still is, unsettling to understand that we are, now and forever, targets only because we are who we are, and that by simply existing, we represent some sort of danger to others in this world who do not share our philosophy.

It is difficult for us to comprehend what type of mindset could encompass suicide for the sake of murder, what twisted, evil outlook could impel someone to hijack airplanes and transform them into directed IEDs. If we are to triumph, however, over barbarians who consider suicide/murder to be an honorable method of destroying their enemies, we must make the effort.

At 8:46 am on the morning of 9/11/2001, shock and horror struck the entire nation as an event that only a few had ever imagined could happen played out before our unbelieving eyes. Among the chaotic images of confusion that were thrust through the television screen into our homes, we were shown scenes of heroism unparalleled, as first responders performed their duties in the face of unimagined tragedy.

We would like to pay tribute to one of those wonderful, amazing Americans who refused to quail in the face of terror, who unselfishly relinquished his life in his unstinting and dedicated efforts to offer succor to the victims of unspeakable tragedy. He, along with the others who perished that day, demonstrated the capacity of our fellow citizens to rise to occasions that would leave others of lesser fortitude quaking and helpless.

This is a photograph of Walter E. Weaver of Centereach, New York, whom we have chosen to sponsor for no better reason than that he and I both share a first name and last initial, and a love of the outdoors. He was an officer in the Emergency Services Unit of the New York Police Department, and he died in the attack that terrible day, performing his duty as did so many others. We didn't know you, Mr. Weaver, but had we met we are sure that we would have liked you. We pray that your family is well and that you are watching over them.

We will never forget the callousness. We will always remember the heroism.

Peace.

Dedication to Each Other

2006-09-09T14:04:00.000-07:00

This is admittedly a lazy day, hence the spate of whimsical entries. This, however, means something to us. As long-time readers may know, "our" song, early on, was "Cherish" by the Association. Prodded by Jeff, we have settled on a new song to represent us. It's an oldie but 'still' a goodie.

STILL THE ONE (Orleans)

We've been together since way back when
Sometimes I never want to see you again
But I want you to know, after all these years
You're still the one I want whisperin' in my ear

You're still the one I want to talk to in bed
Still the one that turns my head
We're still having fun, and you're still the one

I looked at your face every day
But I never saw it 'til I went away
When winter came, I just wanted to go
Deep in the desert, I longed for the snow

You're still the one that makes me laugh
Still the one that's my better half
We're still having fun, and you're still the one

You're still the one that makes me strong
Still the one I want to take along
We're still having fun, and you're still the one

Changing, our love is going gold
Even though we grow old, it grows new

You're still the one that I love to touch
Still the one and I can't get enough
We're still having fun, and you're still the one

You're still the one who can scratch my itch
Still the one and I wouldn't switch
We're still having fun, and you're still the one

You are still the one that makes me shout
Still the one that I dream about
We're still having fun, and you're still the one...

We would like to dedicate this not only to each other, but to send it out to all those who feel the same. May it be ever thus.

Peace.

Wascally Wabbits

2006-09-09T13:39:00.000-07:00

This speaks for itself.

"Signs" of the Times

The Bunny Map

We are led to consider one possible explanation - perhaps these are meant to be memorials to the untimely struck - roadkill commemorations. One never knows.

Then again, perhaps it's an indication of a future invasion - the cliche "breeding like rabbits" exists for a reason.

Peace.

Just Give Us That Old-Time Religion

2006-09-09T13:15:00.000-07:00

You've heard of shotgun weddings. This story could loosely be described as 'shotgun salvation.'

People Different From Us

Peace.

Saint William

2006-09-09T12:51:00.000-07:00

Majority Leader William Frist joins the ranks of the newly canonized.

(Alex Wong - Getty Images)

Hey, why not? It's about time, we say.

Peace.

Why Do We Never Get an Answer ...?

2006-09-09T11:16:00.000-07:00

When we used to watch the tv show "Cops", there were two questions that were invariably asked of perps after they had (literally, in most cases) been run to ground -

"What's your name?"

"Why'd you run?"

We borrowed this story from the Chicago Sun~Times for the sole purpose of pointing something out -

Man falls out of window trying to escape police

September 9, 2006

FROM STNG WIRE REPORTS

A man is in stable condition after falling out of a third-story window reportedly while trying to escape police in the East Rogers Park neighborhood late Friday night.

Police are unsure Saturday morning why the 27-year-old offender ran after being pulled over for a traffic stop for a routine seatbelt check near Birchwood and Damen Avenues about 11 p.m., according to Rogers Park District Capt. Howard Denk.

The offender ran from police and forced his way into a third floor apartment on the 7400 block of N. Sealy Ave., where he fell out of the window, Denk said.

"He should be okay," Denk added. The man was in stable condition at St. Francis Hospital in Evanston under police guard, he added.

The offender has been charged with criminal trespass, criminal damage to property, and possession of cannabis. These are all misdemeanors, Denk said. He was also wanted for a warrant in Wisconsin.

We have highlighted the perennial question in orange, and the possible answers in red. It does seem to us that if you're stopped by the police and happen to be in possession of an illegal substance, and into the bargain are being sought in another jurisdiction, you have good and sufficient reason to run.

Peace.

Another Curiosity

2006-09-08T12:07:00.000-07:00

One more story in a favorite News of the Weird category - and a local one at that.

Least Competent Criminals

Peace.

For the Best in Curiosities ...

2006-09-08T05:52:00.000-07:00

Borrowing a concept from Chuck Shepherd and his wonderfully entertaining site News of the Weird, here are a couple of stories from Reuters that tickled our funny bones this morning:

Unclear on the Concept

People Different From Us

Enjoy.

Peace.

Prop-erly Impressed (and Irate)

2006-09-03T16:52:00.000-07:00

This is a gratuitous prop, but what the hell - silly us, we thought we had a new visitor to our site, but it turns out that she is an old visitor; she does, however, have a new site, so we will plug it, just because we can. Drop on by the site known as Two Write Hands, where you'll meet a lady who works for a distinguished publication of long standing. You will thrill to her exploits and those of her illustrious co-workers, and you will meet the Matriarch - a formidable personage indeed.

We welcome back to blogland our friend V, who was ailing but is now on the way back to health, thanks to a few warning signs that his body thought it prudent to send him. His journal is called TO GROW IS TO BE ANXIOUS, and at the moment he is in the midst of recounting a grand old faery tale, so go send him your well-wishes.

And now -

Allow us to preface this with full disclosure - we are necessarily investors. In the absence of paychecks - items we shall likely never lay eyes or hands on again, due to our disabilities - it is the sole means that we possess of making money, at least until our Social Security and pensions kick in, events that lie eight years in the future. But we have been wage earners, and we well remember what it was like to work for our living. This fact gives us an outlook that is possibly at variance with that of other, more well-heeled investors.

With that in mind, we would like to direct your attention to this article by Ellen Simon (who we hope will not mind that we have taken the liberty of reprinting portions of her work), and to put our spin on some of the items that she has here covered.

Workers who don't work on a farm and aren't supervisors are making, on average, $22.69 more a week than they did last year, according to the Labor Department.

What this means to us - the average worker is earning a gross wage that has increased by $1,180 per year. It seems like a reasonable sum, but not all workers will earn that much, and a goodly amount of that total will be eaten away by taxes and other fees, leaving substantially less for the worker to pocket.

But that raise is making some investors twitchy.

What this means to us - some investors are greedy and uncaring about wage earners.

Year-over-year increases in average wages are the steepest since the summer of 2001. After 17 quarters of double-digit growth in corporate profits while wages stayed flat, average workers may finally get a scrap of the economic expansion now in its fifth year.

What this means to us - For four year and three months before the present quarter, corporations have been earning fistfuls of money, while paying their workers little to nothing. Corporations have not even been spending most of those profits on upkeep and other necessities; they have been investing that cash in search of profits on profits. Finally, in the third quarter of 2006, the little gal or guy is finally getting a break.

The bad news is that wage increases could push prices higher.

What this means to us - in the aggregate, a small amount of extra spending money in each worker’s pocket will substantially increase the amount of money not under the control of corporations, thereby forcing them to raise prices so as to reacquire that cash, once again reducing the amount that individuals will be able to spend.

The Federal Reserve's biggest concern about workers while their weekly earnings were flat was whether they would keep spending enough money to power the economy.

What this means to us - the Fed expected that workers whose earnings were flat would still bear the burden of keeping the economy afloat, even though they were treading water instead of moving ahead. Corporations earning substantial profits should not have been expected to do their part to support the economy.

"tightness in the labor market and the rate of increase in average hourly earnings should continue to cause concern at the Fed about upside risks to inflation."

What this means to us - more money in workers’ pockets will most likely lead to inflation, probably caused by corporations raising prices to compensate for losing some of their profits to their workers’ paychecks. Creator forbid that corporations should have to lose cash to make their employees’ lives a little easier.

rising compensation costs should be a drag on corporate profitability.

What this means to us - investors will be hurt because lower profits will mean a slight decrease in the earning power of their investments. Wage earners be damned - the investors, as putative owners of the corporation, are all-important.

The article goes on to explain in more detail what we have covered here; the copy that we read in our morning paper was substantially abridged, and caused us to search online for the original (if newspapers wonder why they are losing readers to the Web, this is the logical answer - to make room for more advertising and to save costs on newsprint, media conglomerates are depriving readers of the full impact and insights of the partial articles that they choose to print.)

Sorry, we just felt the need to vent.

Peace.

Prop-erly Pleased (and Pensive)

2006-08-31T13:03:00.000-07:00

We are pleased as 'possums to welcome a new visitor to this page - and proud to plug Cathy, whose journal is called DARE TO THINK. Stop by and say hi. She has not been journaling long (at least at that page) but we shall, we dare to think, hear much more from her.

We have also once again to thank Kathy for her indefatigable efforts to expose our journal to a wider audience. She cleverly turned our post of yesterday into a tag, something it would not have occurred to us to do. Kathy is a marvelous photographer and is fighting a continual battle with aol's photo manager in order to allow us to view her wonderful pics. Go to Life on Flamingo Row to see them.

We must note here that a distinguished member of our community has been beset by a transient ischemic attack and needs everyone's support now. He has apparently not signed on since Monday, and many of us are worried about him. Please stop by V's journal TO GROW IS TO BE ANXIOUS and leave your thoughts and prayers.

Chapter 13 of Dark Rambler is now on display. Chapter 14 may be a while; many voices are clamoring to be heard.

And, just for frivolity's sake, here are a bunch of pictures we've been saving up.

If you love creatures of the species Rodentia, as we do, we're certain you'll enjoy this small gallery.

Do they come any cuter than this? We don't think so.

Please - this is just cruel. Yes, we know that it's unbearably cute, but think of how you'd feel if you were forced to wear a cap like this. You wouldn't be very happy, would you?

This too is obvious cruelty. Inducing a small furball to consume vast amounts of jellied fruit until it is incapable of movement is unspeakable. And we refuse to consider the unforeseen results of teaching it to wield a utensil.

This is much more felicitous. Granted that it is wearing headgear, but this creature has been educated and is preparing to matriculate. Furthering your pet's education is productive, and may one day prove useful in saving its life, as in this illustration -

In conclusion, respect your small, furry pet and it will respect you.

Lastly, for the Boopsters in the audience (we know that you're out there, and you know who you are) we offer this -

Addendum to yesterday's post -

East Rochester

On Aug. 13, police charged Giacomo Mascaro of East Rochester and Nathan Rider of LeRoy with driving while intoxicated. Police allege that the two drove toward each other from opposite directions on S. Washington St. and collided. Rider and Mascaro allegedly failed sobriety tests.

This incident occurred on the same day as the previous entry, in which two inebriates chose to slug it out in the middle of Main Street. August 13th was a Sunday. Need we say more?

Peace.

Pass Before My Eyes, A Curiosity

2006-08-30T09:48:00.000-07:00

Oddities from our local Police Beat -

East Rochester

One man was charged with disorderly conduct and resisting arrest and another was charged with disorderly conduct on Aug. 13. The two men were fighting on Main Street at 9:51 p.m. Police ordered both men to stop. They refused and both were sprayed with Capstun. After going down to the ground, one of the men got up and tried to start fighting again.

What possesses two idiots to refuse to stop fighting after the peace merchants indicate a firm preference for nonviolence? And what can possibly render Capstun ineffective? Hint: the gin mills are on Main Street.

A man is accused of placing 21 packs of razor blades, two razors and four packs of meat in his pants at Wegmans Food Markets Inc. 851 Fairport Road, at 11:18 p.m. on Aug. 14.

Bonnie asks the musical question "Is that a sausage or are you just happy to see me?" And I am forced to wonder "Is this guy planning to shave his meat?"

Irondequoit

A man is accused of removing a 52-pack, a 26-pack and a 60-pack of diapers from the shelf at Eckerd Pharmacy, 689 E. Ridge Road, and leaving the store without paying at 12:04 p.m. on Aug. 13.

This poor gentleman obviously has many mouths to feed and many bottoms to service. It's no wonder that he couldn't afford to pay.

A man reported that while he was walking on East Ridge Road, someone came up to him and punched him in the face at 8:45 p.m. Aug. 19.

Random drive-by shootings have become commonplace, but random walk-by punchings are an unsettling new phenomenon. East Ridge Road: where the wild things are.

Webster

Three wheels and tires worth a total of $1,500 were stolen from a pickup truck at Marina Dodge, 943 Ridge Road, on Aug. 20 or 21. The right rear wheel was not stolen. A cinder block placed under the vehicle apparently broke as the last wheel was being removed, and the truck fell to the ground.

From this incident we can all learn a valuable lesson: when planning to strip a vehicle, always check your cinder blocks to ascertain whether or not they are cracked. Otherwise, you may end up a wheel short, and what good is that?

Peace.

Karr Lines

2006-08-25T12:15:00.000-07:00

Some John Mark Karr headlines and their cable news banners:

Karr's Father Also Named John -

Johnny Karr's Son

Karr Commandeers Vehicle, Flees -

Police Engage in High-Speed Karr Chase

Karr Flown from Thailand to Los Angeles -

Karr Hop

Karr Spends First Night in Jail -

Karr Crashes

Karr Late Arriving in Boulder, Prosecutor Worried -

"Dude, Where's My Karr?"

Addendum - Jeff asks "Why should we Karr about all that? ;)"

and we just had to answer "We should care because we all love a Karrnival."

Addendum 2 - Jeff opines "Not all of us love Karrnivals. Some of us get Karr sick! ;)"

Not to be outdone, we were forced to drag out the black humor, and replied -

"You may not enjoy a Karr ride, but John Mark Karr evidently enjoys a slay ride."

How low can we go? Stay tuned.

Peace.

"Excuse Me, My Signage is Draining"

2006-08-18T14:56:00.000-07:00

When we seek, for whatever reason, a solid dose of comic relief, we can do no better than to turn to the local television channel (aka the "drainage and signage" channel) that broadcasts the continuing follies of our town board legislative meetings and planning board sessions. We have been privileged to derive massive amounts of useful information from these extravaganzas, a few highlights of which we shall attempt to distill into coherent and cohesive form.

If you are or plan to become an owner of a commercial enterprise, or if you are a developer of a subdivision or mercantile establishment, these points invariably apply:

1. No sign can be large enough, bright enough, garish enough, obtrusive enough, and/or near enough to the public thoroughfare so as to best attract the attention of the paying public.

2. The water table, in whatever location, is never high enough to impede proper drainage from the property of unduly concerned homeowners, and limitless care shall be exerted in a determined effort to allay said homeowners' unfounded fears by selflessly installing holding ponds. Any worries that may arise from baseless notions that toddlers may wander into ponds and drown are to be vigorously disputed and refuted.

3. No amount of traffic is liable to obstruct or endanger, in any fashion, pedestrians, joggers, cyclists and other drivers, and all assertions to the contrary are misguided and ridiculous.

4. Homeowners' God-given right to view and thoroughly enjoy, without obstruction, the bucolic scenery the allure of which originally induced them to purchase their property, is nowhere enshrined within the town codes or the Constitution, and therefore may be at any time abrogated without appeal.

There are, we feel certain, more lessons to be learned from a thorough and careful study of these social and political gatherings, and as we ferret them out, we shall relay them.

Peace.

Relationships

2006-08-14T13:58:00.000-07:00

Relationships, connections, make the world go ‘round. They come in all shapes and sizes, from acquaintances to relatives to political and religious affiliations to the largest relationship of all, organic life. Our existence, without family, friends or pets, would be bleak indeed. We (which pronoun is here meant to include all forms of sentient life) are naturally social. There are exceptions to that rule, but only a very few. In the main, people (and creatures) crave contact with others. (We state the obvious here only to clarify our own thinking.)

This likely to be maundering line of thought has been occasioned by a couple of things, among them online connections, friendships, and the story that we have been relating.

There have been sociologists, professional and otherwise, who have bemoaned the rise of the Internet because it leads people, so they say, to become more isolated from "real life." This, while it may be technically true in a microcosmic sense, is not the only circumstance that leads people into a state of isolation. Physical disability and loss of relationships through death or distance are among other factors that may lead to a shrinking of the social web that connects people.

We have, in the past, referenced a few stories of people who die alone in their homes, whether through the lack or inattention of relatives, neighbors, friends, or employees of human-resources agencies whose workload is so large as to negate their well-intentioned efforts to care for those who live, by design or necessity, in solitude. These stories are invariably sad, and lead us to wonder how such shocking neglect can occur, but the sorry truth is that it happens all too often, and frequently for the most mundane of reasons. Many of the subjects of that sort of story would have benefitted greatly by having maintained connections with others.

It has for a long time been clear that people form many types of connections, as witness some viewers of soap operas, who become passionately involved in the fictional lives of the characters and, should they meet the actual actors, treat them as if they were the characters. The same is likely to hold true in the cases of some readers of online journals or compelling stories.

The relatively new institution of the "blogosphere" (a word we personally abhor) and in particular the phenomenon of journals appears to represent a reaching out by people to connect to others in ways that they may not otherwise have been able to. Those of us who maintain journals are familiar with the ebb and flow of visitors to our pages, and to a greater or lesser degree, we may hope that among those visitors there will be those who like what they see and return for more. Our writings and the responses represent, in a fashion, a validation of the idea that we are possibly worthwhile, that what we have to say might be interesting to others. Most of us are thrilled when we receive feedback, in the form of comments or emails, from those who have read what we have to say and been moved to respond.

In some cases, there will be people among those visitors who will connect on a deeper level, and begin to correspond outside the pages of journals. Oftentimes these relationships will arise through the agency of a commonality, a shared experience or condition, by which the individuals involved will join to form an impromptu support group, including a growing number of other like-affected people. In other cases, the relationship will spring from a shared political, religious, or personal outlook. No matter from what wellspring they are derived, these connections can become real and lasting, depending upon the commitment of the individuals. At other times, as with any friendship, whether online or offline, a certain amount of neglect will cause relationships to suffer, and eventually wither.

Neglect, of course, may have more than one cause. It may spring from necessity, wherein a proprietor (or proprietess, if you care for that distinction) of a journal becomes momentarily incapable of contributing entries due to circumstances such as the death of a loved one, illness, or unavoidable upheavals in one’s daily life. Here we must mention two people of whom we are aware - Barb, who has an inspirational journal entitled Hey Let’s Talk (she has a number of journals but this is her current one) and CYNDYGEE, whose two main journals are The Real World of Cyndygee and Pal’s Place. They are, for one or another reason, unable to inspire for the moment those who look to them, but they shall in time return and their devoted visitors await the day when they are once more writing. Barb and Cyndy, we hope that you soon recover and begin anew to contribute your particular brands of sunshine.

Those who enjoy reading understand that the success of a story (and in some cases, a series of stories, such as the Forsyte Saga) is frequently dependent upon the inhabitants of the story. While a talent for description is worthwhile, a tale is ultimately driven by the ability of an author to bring her or his characters and their interactions (that is, their relationships and connections) to life, and to involve the reader in those lives. We who read are much more likely to enjoy and remember a story that allows us to participate in (and perhaps relate to) the existence of vivid and engaging characters.

On a more personal note, Bonnie and I are privileged to be the recipients of some wonderful comments in regard to our story, and we have noted that one character in particular has intrigued readers to the extent that they have felt compelled to muse upon the fate of that character. While we ourselves are incognizant of her fate, we can say that she has surprised us by her tenacity (and, dare we say, spunk?) She has assumed a larger role than we at first expected, and we, as do the readers, wait to see what is to happen next.

Whether fictional or real, our relationships and connections to others give to us, as the case may be, pleasure or pain, arouse in us strong emotions, bring to us a fuller realization of our place in the world, and recall to us that none of us is, should or need be truly alone, unless we wish it to be so.

Peace.

Belated Props

2006-08-10T19:19:00.000-07:00

It has been awhile since (for good and sufficient reasons) we have done a props entry, but it is time to remedy that. We are in the habit of giving props to anyone who drops by, and at some point we will be giving due respect to those who have visited only once, but we would like to recognize a few people who have come back for more than one helping, and who we are learning to know a bit at a time.

First, we would like you to meet Barb, who, like me, is an experiencer of peripheral neuropathy, and has a journal called Diary of a Mad Woman. As to her purported madness we cannot testify, but we can vouch for the fact that she's a very nice woman. Go and see.

There is Mark, who is in the midst of reconstruction on his house in the beautiful terrain of southern Illinois, and who shares with his readers some marvelous photos of same. His journal is called Marks Daily Journal. If you would like to view those photos and say hi, head on over.

And we have a new visitor to our 'other' journal, Of Mice and Puzzles, named Jeff, who can and will write about anything and everything, and does a bang-up job of it too. His journal is called Psychosomatic Wit, and it is, in our humble opinion, worth some minutes of your time.

We plan, at some point in the possibly near future, to do a grand prop entry, including every single one of our once (and some future) visitors, which, if we lived in Boston, we could call 'Boston Props'. However, *sigh*, the final title will be much, much lamer. Don't bother looking for it at a store near you.

Some day, once our lives are fully our own again, we will resurrect the journal sudokus, but the time is not yet felicitous (if you think this is a reference to the Dark Rambler saga, give yourself a gold star and have a cold beer.)

Chapter 11 is completed and ready for posting, and while we might have preferred it to be a little more lively, it is what it is. We hope you enjoy.

Peace.

We Are the Lazy Among Us

2006-08-08T16:35:00.000-07:00

It's AOL PARTY TIME!!

Links Below ..... muah, hahahahahaha! One way or another, we'll get ya'! In case you missed the first entry about the birthday party, I went over to Kathy's (the other Kathy) and did just what she asked, well, okay, nicely demanded, we do.

Ok Everyone we need you to get involved!

spread the word!!! PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!

Word is that all of J-land doesn't know about the upcoming celebration, graphics, contest, memorials, and chat. Whew. That's a lot of stuff not to know about.

So here is what I am asking you to do. I want EVERYONE to make a post. Just one little entry in your journal. And that includes the international folks. I want you to tell EVERYONE the celebration is for them. It doesn't matter how long you have been in J-land or where you live. If you have a AOL Journal then it's for you.

Now copy/paste these links into an entry in your journal. You can even copy/paste the graphic and the tag. Heck, take the entire entry if you want. Just be sure to pass the news to all your readers!

*********** start copying here **********

Each link goes to a journal that will tell you more about what is happening and how you can get involved. If for some reason you don't understand something then email the owner of that journal.

Viv: http://journals.aol.com/viviansullinwank/NwanyiomasJournal/

Steve : http://journalsaol.co.uk/stevietwain/ThelifeofSte/

he is making a video for everyone to particpate in!!

Shelly: http://journals.aol.com/xxroxymamaxx/XXRoxyMamaXX/

Donna: http://journals.aol.com/nightmaremom/Thisandthatandhockey/

Sugar: http://journals.aol.com/sugarsweet056/MYBELOVEDFURRBABIES/

Go Visit and don't forget MY READER TAG: Go back to your first ever journal entry, read it and then right (well, actually that's WRITE) about what you would change about that entry 'if you knew then, what you know now, about journals'. Post it in your own journal, leave a link here and spread the word through your J-land friends .... you can even spend some time reflecting on the reasons you started journaling and are the reasons the same now? Take it from here friends and run like heck with it!

This was copied in its entirety from Life on Flamingo Row, a wonderfully scintillant journal that everyone should visit, if you haven't already. It is private, but if you email Kathy (mutualaide), we're sure that she'll welcome new readers.

The reason this was copied in its entirety was because WE ARE THE LAZY AMONG US.

Peace.

Ramblers, Readers and Risibility

2006-08-07T20:24:00.000-07:00

We wish to announce that chapter 10 of the Dark Rambler saga is now available for your delectation at its home site. We would like to acknowledge all seven of our admitted readers and occasional contributors in alphabetical order - Deb, Kathy, Lisa, Marti, Nikki, Vicki, and V - and our one occult peruser, M. Thank you, thank you, one and all.

****************************************************

Bonnie heard a joke on the radio last week, but could remember only the general tenor of the joke and the punch line, so I undertook to recreate something that partook of the contents of her memory, and here is the result (please, we are equal-opportunity offenders, so we hope that you don’t become too offended) -

The Almighty one day decided to return Jesus and the prophet Muhammad to Earth in physical form, that they might appear before their respective followers in the Holy Land to prepare them for the coming end times. So as to facilitate their mission, the Almighty saw fit to equip them with the finest in modern technology, the latest design in personal computers.

Upon their return, they immediately set about collecting information from their adherents which, that evening, they began faithfully to enter into their databases. All went well until, late that night, a tremendous thunderstorm ripped through Israel and Gaza, knocking out each power station in the Holy Land and shutting down every pc. Muhammad was horrified - every bit of data that he had so painstakingly entered was lost to the whimsy of the storm when his pc crashed. Jesus, however, far from being crushed when His computer shut down, sat before His keyboard with a beatific smile upon His face. And the reason that He remained unruffled was this -

Jesus saves.

Peace.

Bon & Mal's Brief Thought for the Day

2006-08-06T12:20:00.000-07:00

For a car's engine to function properly, a goodly amount of oil is necessary. As the oil is consumed, more must be added, or the engine breaks down.

For the twin engines of destruction called politics and religion to function properly, goodly amounts of warm bodies are necessary. As the warm bodies are consumed, more must be added, or ...

Neither oil nor warm bodies are infinitely renewable resources.

Peace.

Tip of the Day #8 (we think)

2006-08-05T15:41:00.000-07:00

This was not our faux pas, thank the Creator, this incident was perpetrated by our neighbor's visitor. Most people would probably think twice before committing such an act, but there are those who, for one reason or another, simply don't consider the possible consequences. Thus, this tip is included mainly to amuse you, our perceptive, discerning, and highly intelligent visitors.

Tip of the Day #8 -

Do not use a recycling bucket as a handy platform upon which to place your small grill, no matter how well it fits. Grills do, by their very nature, emit a goodly amount of heat, and even the sturdy plastic from which the buckets are molded is not proof against said heat. Inevitably, the plastic will soften and a major concavity is certain to form beneath the grill, thereby reducing the capacity of the bucket by a substantial amount. This course of action is not recommended.

Peace.

The Attack of the Leeches - Chapter 3

2006-08-01T09:31:00.000-07:00

Chapter Three

The couple arrived home from work the next morning around 1:00 am to find two calls waiting for them on their answering machine. The first was from their credit card company, inquiring as to whether the couple would like to activate their card (as they had stopped using their cards and were attempting to pay down the balances, they had not bothered to activate them as new cards were issued.) Perhaps needless to say, Biff and Muffy later that day called the company and informed them that NO, they certainly did not wish to activate it.

The second call was quite curious. No background noise could be detected. All that could be heard was a male voice saying "Hello? Biff? Biff, are you there?" Suddenly a female voice whispered hoarsely "Bill, stop!" at which point the call was abruptly terminated. Biff and Muffy then knew who had placed the call, having previously done research on the agency. They had learned that the Head Leeches were named Bill and his wife, Judy. This call had been a blatant violation of the Fair Credit Reporting Act, because leeches are required by law, when placing a call to a debtor, to identify themselves by name. Judy had obviously been trying to prevent Bill from committing a reportable offense (a bit too late, Biff and Muffy would say.)

Biff and Muffy had a hearty laugh over this episode, imagining the heartsickness that must have struck Bill as he unsuccessfully attempted to access their inactive account and lay his greedy hands upon their funds. Poor Bill was not going to get any of Biff and Muffy's money then, or ever.

Subsequently, Biff and Muffy began receiving daily calls from one or another of the lesser leeches, insisting that they needed to call the agency. Biff and Muffy joked about how wrong that was - that the leeches needed Biff and Muffy to call them. The couple made it into a sort of game, placing bets on which lesser leech would be calling on any particular occasion. They never again spoke to anyone at the agency - the best advice that Biff and Muffy had ever read was "NEVER DEAL WITH THE COLLECTION AGENCY."

This is true for a simple reason - the agency's main weapons are ignorance and intimidation. Legally, there is nothing they can do unless the size of the debt makes it worth their while to file a lawsuit, and they understand that while they may be able to win a suit and attach a lien to a home and garnish one's wages, the possibility of bankruptcy could render their legal actions fruitless.

The phone calls, though still being received, gradually tapered off and became sporadic, deteriorating into a series of mysterious calls which featured no spoken words, only the generic background noises of an office - chairs scraping along the floor, ringing phones, and the ghostly sounds of other conversations mingled together, no doubt calls to other poor souls being badgered to pay up or die. One phone call, though, remains in Biff and Muffy's memory to this day - frustration at the agency must have been running high that day, and perhaps a concerted effort to close aging accounts was being attempted, for the wife of the Head Leech, Judy, personally phoned Biff and Muffy, possibly relying upon her supposed powers of intimidation to compel them to answer or return the call. But of course she could not know that the couple had done their research and knew her first and last names and where she lived.

Her monologue began this way, delivered in a nasal, peevish and hard-bitten whine - "Biff, Biff, Biff. This is Judy. Don't you think I deserve a courtesy call? I think I deserve a courtesy call." There was more, but Biff and Muffy were by that point doubled over with laughter; it was, quite possibly, one of the most humorous things that they had ever heard. On random occasions, either Biff or Muffy are still prone to break into a chant of "Biff, Biff, Biff" in order to crack each other up.

The couple received quarterly written notices reiterating the attempt to collect on the debt, the amount of the debt, and an observation that the balance remained unpaid. These too were roundly ignored by Biff and Muffy. They assumed that these were sent mainly for legal purposes, as they were already conversant with the information.

In October of 2005, the statute of limitations for their state expired, and after a last desperate spate of calls shortly before the expiration, Biff and Muffy have not heard, nor do they expect to hear, anything further from the agency. However, Biff and Muffy have recently become aware of disturbing information that they would like to share. There are small outfits out there in finance-land that make a business of buying up debts that have been written off for mere pennies on the dollar, and begin the cycle all over again, instituting new attempts to collect on the bad debt. Biff and Muffy wish everyone to know that if you have ever been, or in future find yourself in a similar situation, and someone should call you after the statute has expired inquiring about your debt, you must tell them that you have no idea what they're talking about. If you even admit to anyone that you did owe the debt, you may invalidate the statute of limitations and discover yourself to be at the beginning of a new seven-year cycle. So take a tip from Biff and Muffy - silence is indeed golden.

Listed below are a few sites that you may find useful -

http://www.ftc.gov/os/statutes/031224fcra.pdf

http://www.fair-debt-collection.com/statue-limitations.html

http://www.privacyrights.org/fs/fs27-debtcoll.htm

On a happier note, today is our 37th wedding anniversary. We're still together, despite stormy weather. Please be happy for us.

Peace.

OTC Relief Products and the Placebo Effect

2006-07-31T10:12:00.000-07:00

You know and we know that somewhere in the wide world, someone has already come up with this parody - you may have yourself. However, if you have not, we wish to enter our own bid. We have not yet eyeballed any of the news stories devoted to this phenomenon, this triumph of marketing and supposed efficacy of the placebo effect, we came up with this all on our own (to our no doubt everlasting shame.)

FROM THE MAKERS OF HEAD/ON, ACTIV/ON and FREED/HEM -

COMES A NEW PRODUCT -

HARD/ON

Apply directly to the penis! Apply directly to the penis! Apply directly to the penis!

AVAILABLE NOW AT FINER DRUGSTORES EVERYWHERE!

Peace.

The Attack of the Leeches - Chapter 2

2006-07-31T09:33:00.000-07:00

Chapter Two

Biff called the agency and asked to speak to the person who had first left his name (there had been three separate individuals, and Biff and Muffy had taken the trouble to make note of them.) After Biff had been put through to him, he politely informed the leech of the couple's situation, and that they were sending checks to the hospital each month in amounts that they could afford. In return, the leech insisted that not only was their effort not good enough, but also that they were committing a terrible act by sending any money to the hospital - that they must henceforth send money only to the agency. Patiently, Biff once more explained that they were doing their best, and that the agency would have to live with it, at which point the leech said "Could you hold, please?"

A new voice came on the line, a less-pleasant female leech, and Biff reiterated everything he had already related. The female leech rejected Biff's effort and vaguely implied that if they did not pay up in a timely fashion, the agency had ways of dealing with people like them. There were no specifics, just sinister mutterings. After Biff continued to be recalcitrant, the leech spoke the dreaded words "Can you hold for a minute?"

(It might at this time be wise to point out that Biff and Muffy had availed themselves of the resources of their local library and taken the trouble to research the ins-and-outs of bankruptcy, collections agencies and the Fair Credit Reporting Act due to Muffy's aforementioned hospitalization, and were well-versed in what could and could not be done by slavering packs of leeches.)

The third person to speak with Biff was the Head Leech, and this worthy knew his stuff. He was nasty enough to have cowed an enraged pit bull into abject submission. He had obtained Biff and Muffy's credit information from the credit bureaus, and knew what credit cards they carried and what the exact credit line of each card was. Their card of longest standing had a credit line of $20,000, and the leech demanded that they pay their debt using that card. Biff cheerfully told the leech that if they were to do that, the interest rate increase would push them into bankruptcy.

Biff then inquired if they had already been reported to the credit bureaus as deadbeats. The ensuing silence told Biff all that he needed to know, and he said "Since a black mark will be on our record for seven years, and bankruptcy would be on our record for ten years, we may as well claim bankruptcy and have all our debts erased. The extra three years won't matter much, and you won't get a penny from us."

This was not received well. After having been rendered speechless for long moments, the leech became even nastier, threatening all sorts of actions that they might take to harass Biff and Muffy, including sending an agent to their place of employment each day. The leech was being dishonest and Biff knew it, so he indignantly cried "You can't do that!" Biff should have said "You're not allowed to do that", because the leech mistook the first statement to mean that Biff was frightened, and began to bear down even harder.

Biff had by now been on the phone for over an hour, and it was approaching time for Biff and Muffy to ready themselves for work, so finally he said, "All right, what are the terms?" The leech wanted to be paid $2800 immediately and thereafter in installments of $200 per month. There was, of course, no way that Biff and Muffy could afford that, but Biff agreed to do so and gave the leech the credit card number. Then they hung up, and Biff and Muffy began to dress for work.

(To be continued ...)

Peace.

The Attack of the Leeches

2006-07-30T19:46:00.000-07:00

We are here to announce the recent posting of chapter nine of the Dark Rambler saga at its regular site, but we would also like to tell a cautionary tale, based on a true story, that we believe has some relevance to these days of loss of decent jobs, inflation lurking on the horizon, employers flush with cash but unwilling to pay living wages, and credit companies who have attempted to make bankruptcy an artifact of the past (how long will it be before the government reinstitutes poorhouses and debtors' prisons? we ask.) We hope that some who might find themselves in dire straits are able to take something away from this story and apply what they learn as need be.

As we have stated, this tale is based on a true story. The facts occurred. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent (and the guilty.)

THE ATTACK OF THE LEECHES
Prologue

Once upon a time, there lived a happy couple named (oh, why the hell not) Biff and Muffy. Biff and Muffy worked at good jobs, earned comfortable paychecks and put money away in a savings account. They lacked for little, and enjoyed a pleasant life - until Muffy fell ill and was hospitalized. Her insurance paid for most of the bills, but, to her dismay, she soon discovered that the company for which she worked took a dim view of employees becoming seriously ill and consuming many thousands of insurance dollars. She became the focus of much pressure, so much so that she finally and inevitably committed technical insubordination and was fired. In the interim, Biff had also suffered misfortune and did not at that time have a job either. The couple searched for work as their finances began to dwindle. They both found other employment, but at salaries much lower than those to which they had been accustomed, and their account soon faded, as smoke dissipates in the wind. As Biff and Muffy struggled to pay off their debts, they joined the ranks of those who are forced to live from paycheck to paycheck. Their life was not unpleasant, they were getting along all right ...

and then ...

Biff fell ill.

Chapter One

Biff and Muffy had been working at their jobs for just over five months and were not yet eligible for paid leave or health insurance. Nevertheless, Biff had woken one weekend morning to discover that he was suffering from a perforated ulcer. As men will, he delayed treatment as long as he could, attempting to deny reality, but in late afternoon he agreed that Muffy should call the ambulance. By the time he had gone through the emergency procedures, he was on the point of lapsing into shock, and, except for one incident of coming out of anesthesia and attempting to tear the unfamiliar tubes from his nose and throat like a wild animal, he spent a week in the hospital recovering quietly and fairly quickly, considering that he had been split from breastbone to belly-button and pierced by four tubes of various functions, and stapled shut after the operation. All this, you may imagine, cost a substantial sum of money, a sum that Biff and Muffy could ill afford.

When they had received the bill and recovered from their shock (the total came to north of $8600), Muffy phoned the hospital's patient relations department, determined to organize a payment schedule that would not unduly damage the state of their precarious finances. She hoped to set up a number of $50 payments over a quantity of years, as that amount was all they could easily afford. Muffy explained the circumstances to the representative, who seemed singularly unsympathetic and became rather short with Muffy. Muffy eventually terminated the unsatisfactory call, and considered the question of payment to have been resolved.

Shortly after the conversation with the rep, Biff and Muffy began receiving messages on their answering machine from mysterious strangers, who would leave their name and intone, "You need to contact me at this telephone number." As Biff and Muffy were unfamiliar with these strangers, and suspected some sort of scam, they ignored the calls, as a matter of general principle.

After they had made three $50 payments to the hospital, Biff and Muffy received a letter in the mail. The return address was unfamiliar to them, but seemed to suggest that the firm was in some way involved with commerce. When they had opened the envelope and perused the enclosure, they stared at each other in astonishment, both marveling over the words "This is an attempt to collect a debt." The couple quickly realized that, without bothering to inform them beforehand, the hospital had turned Biff's account over to a collection agency (hereinafter referred to as "leeches".) Biff and Muffy were rendered nonplussed and considered that they had been treated with an appalling lack of courtesy by the patient relations department. Nonetheless, they decided that their best course of action was to place a call to the agency and explain their situation. Surely the people at the agency would be kindly disposed toward Biff and Muffy and treat them with sympathy and understanding, wouldn't they? Wouldn't they?

Foolish Biff! Silly Muffy! NO.

(To be continued ...)

Peace.

A Shelter in the Rain

2006-07-25T09:00:00.000-07:00

We would like today to say a few words about an online friend who has been kind enough to give our story site a plug in her journal. She is a state affiliate for NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illnesses) and as such is closely involved in all aspects of the organization’s activities. She conducts frequent seminars and has recently printed and assembled a quantity and variety of documentation for use in the seminars. She is responsible for, as NAMI’s promotional material states, support for, education of, and advocacy on behalf of those with mental illnesses and/or brain disorders, and their families.

This is, we think you’ll agree, an exceedingly important service, and one that not everyone can successfully provide. It requires at the least organizational and interpersonal skills and a discipline that many of us, sadly, lack. Our hearts go out to those whom she serves, and our hats are off to Deb, a marvelous lady who takes on a difficult and demanding task in stride and with pride. Thank the Creator that there are selfless people, like Deb, willing to shoulder the burden of helping those who often feel powerless.

Peace.

Wow

2006-07-23T01:30:00.000-07:00

We have astonished ourselves. We have just now posted Chapter 8 of the Dark Rambler saga, only three days after Chapter 7 was posted. Please do not expect this to be a common occurrence, it happened only because Francis wished it to.

Thanks are once again due to Deb and Nikki, Nikki and Deb, for their invaluable input, and we unabashedly thank Kathy for the plug in her personal journal.

If anyone should spot an Oxford mouse gamboling about in a mortarboard while clutching a tiny diploma, please send her home. Thank you.

Peace.

Just a Thought

2006-07-20T09:43:00.000-07:00

When two young punks start potting at each other with lethal weapons in the middle of the global village, it's a good bet that sooner or later, every family will in some fashion suffer. Can't we all just grow up?

Peace.

Thank Yous

2006-07-19T22:53:00.000-07:00

Thank you, Deb and Kathy, Kathy and Deb. Your separate but equal contributions to the newest Dark Rambler chapter (that would be chapter seven, out of Word via the magic of copy and paste and into virtual reality on the Dark Rambler site - sorry about the shameless plug) are hereby gratefully acknowledged, and we hope you're both happy with the result.

And a blushing thank you to Nikki for her generous plug in her own journal - Nikki, we'll be as happy as cheese-filled mice to have you critique us any ol' time.

If anyone happens to see this and is intrigued enough to visit the Dark Rambler site, we hope you enjoy the show, and remember, it's only a story.

Peace.

Just a Quick Note

2006-07-15T09:39:00.000-07:00

Unsurprisingly, perhaps, most of our recent creative endeavors have been directed toward the ongoing story of the Dark Rambler. For those who care, the fifth chapter was posted on July 4th and the sixth chapter was posted in the early hours of this very morning. If you wish to acquaint yourself with Francis Collinwood Jr., his story may be found here:

http://journals.aol.com/b4i8clover/HunterandHuntedTheDarkRambler/entries/430

We have decided to no longer post the chapters in our regular journals, since we consider the story to be displayed to best effect in its own home.

Peace.

Nikki's Tags Part 2

2006-07-05T13:08:00.000-07:00

Back in April, I devoted an entry to a number of tags that Nikki had designed for us. I have renamed that entry to better reflect the contents, and now include the second part, because Nikki has seen fit to grace us with more. If you'd like to revisit the original entry, you may access it here.

This first tag recelebrates my predilection for crossword puzzles. I have made a desultory stab at creating an actual crossword for the journal, but a program dedicated to crossword creation would, I suspect, make things much easier. Maybe someday ...

This tag is just damn cute, and was probably created before I found it necessary to reveal my offline name.

Here we are, folks, in a nutshell (well, a teacup). Thanx, Nikki, for these marvelous creations.

And, because we are proud of our newest website, we wish to include the URL here. Because our Dark Rambler stories seem to have taken on a life of their own, we decided to move the tales to a showcase of their own. The URL will take you to the Introduction, and from there you can access the various chapters if you wish. Any new chapters will be posted at that site first. "What might this have to do with Nikki?" you may inquire. She offered the graphic that graces the Introduction, and we eagerly accepted.

Enjoy the day.

Peace.

Independence

2006-07-03T19:54:00.000-07:00

Hospital Follies - The Final Chapter

2006-06-30T20:30:00.000-07:00

(Elevators! Am I finally being moved to a room?)

No such luck. After exiting the elevators with the gold diamonds painted upon them, and negotiating a few twists and turns, we slowed as we approached an opening on the right-hand side of the corridor. A sign on the wall informed me that I was entering Observation Unit One. The unit was shaped as two sides of a square, with the nurses’ station on the left and a multitude of curtained cubicles on the right. I was wheeled down and to the left, into the other leg of the unit, all the way down to the end cubicle. I observed with some satisfaction that the unit’s rest room lay directly across from my space.

The staff member informed me that here on the unit, at least, tv privileges were free. I failed until later to realize that this fact portended a very short stay - if I had been meant to stay longer, I would have been assigned a room and expected to pay for the amenities. Looking around, I observed a small, wheeled cabinet with a couple of drawers, and a number of items on it. The first object that caught my eye was a combination remote/call button that controlled the wall-mounted tv and served to contact the station if necessary. There was a plastic bag containing a little box of tissues, a pair of no-slip socks, a toothbrush and toothpaste, roll-on deodorant and a piece of paper that turned out to be a patient satisfaction survey. I wish now that I had availed myself of the survey. There was a salmon-colored rectangular plastic tub and a smaller kidney-shaped receptacle, and beneath the cabinet on a pull-out shelf were a number of ginger ale-colored plastic jugs, looking for all the world like juice containers, save for the fact that each had a cap attached to the handle of the jug by a plastic strap. These are called by the staff ‘urinals’, which name and function I had learned at the time of my ulcer surgery in 1998.

I picked up the remote and surfed to determine which channels were deemed important enough to be offered free by the hospital. The three broadcast networks and three cable news networks were there, along with CNBC, our erstwhile channel of choice. BET, Univision, Lifetime and Oxygen were all represented, along with Bravo, A & E, and HGTV. There was some sort of in-house educational channel (featuring, not surprisingly, graphic depictions of various operations - joy) and, lastly, a computerized analog clock face that presumably showed the correct time. I switched to CNBC to see what the market had done that day.

At roughly 5:15, a food service cart appeared and my first official meal was delivered to me - the ubiquitous napkin and plastic utensils, milk, juice and dessert choice (generally a fruit cup or apple, but infrequently more imaginative) and the main meal, which this night consisted of canned green beans, runny, flavorless potatoes made from flakes (believe me when I say that I know this - I have had much experience of various potatolike formulations) and a slab of something covered with congealed gravy that the accompanying menu assured me was meatloaf - a more unappealing offering I could not imagine (later, while visiting Bonnie, I discovered that there were indeed more unappetizing concoctions.) After careful consideration, I consumed all but half of the potatoes and most of the disheartening slab - I had sampled it and found it to be inedible.

Tray and remnants removed, I lay back and attempted to concentrate on Jim Cramer, who was valiantly trying to inflate my portfolio, but the pain radiating up my leg made this a difficult proposition. I shifted around for awhile to try to find a position that would decrease the awful discomfort, deciding finally to lie on my right side and stretch my left leg over until it rested upon the metal tube that served as a preventative to my rolling off of the bed. I passed most of two hours in this fashion, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

At around 8:00 pm, a nurse or tech (it was almost impossible to determine which, unless the individual was bearing medication) appeared and offered me a small plastic cough-syrup dispenser containing Motrin and Vicodin (aha! A nurse!) Since my last (and sole) application had occurred at 8:00 am, you can imagine the relief I felt. Unfortunately, the 12-hour interim had allowed the earlier medication to lose all effectiveness, and the pills took a long time to manifest any reduction whatsoever in the amount of pain that I was suffering. There was a gradual lessening, although the pain never completely went away, and I spent another two hours trying to fall asleep.

At some time between 10 and 11 pm, a technician entered my curtained cubicle with her little wheeled machine and proceeded to take my vital signs (blood pressure, pulse and temperature.) By the time the procedure was finished, my leg was once again unhappy, and I was looking forward to the next medicine delivery. Alas, that did not come for another five hours. In the interim, however, I was visited by another tech who inserted what is known around the hospital as a Heparin Lock (I had had one inserted in Emergency, but it had been removed after the CAT scan.) Then I was hooked up to a sodium chloride drip which, as usual, caused more than its share of grief by running quietly for some minutes until a bubble developed, and then beeping continually until someone noticed or complained and a tech arrived to tap and shake the IV line until the bubble broke up or dissolved. The unit, although only partially occupied this particular evening, was pervaded by the almost constant sound of regular, highly annoying beeps.

I spent a bad night, watching the infrequent car coming or going from the parking garage and wishing that I was minus a leg. At one point I tried to rise to my feet to stagger across the intervening space to the rest room, but discovered that my ankle was intensely averse to bearing my weight. In desperation, I finally availed myself of one of the portable urinals (that, I assumed, was why they had been provided.) After I received my next medication at 4:00 am, I managed to get an hour or two of sleep, in between the inevitable vital signs checks.

Of the last day in the unit, I will not say much, as not much happened. I received breakfast (cereal, two pancakes with syrup and !coffee!)

The food service gentleman kindly allowed me to have a second cup, which improved my mood, if not my pain, considerably. I rested and waited for noon to arrive. It eventually did, along with medication and lunch (which was a reprise of the meatloaf from the previous evening, and just as dreadful the second time.)

I had taken to pressing the contact button, hoping to receive medication on a more timely schedule (does it rain in Hell? I think not, and neither did the contact button help.) A disembodied voice always assured me that someone would attend to me (they did not mention when such attention would be forthcoming - crafty of them.)

The only event of note occurred when one of the maintenance staff noticed that I had dared to pollute one of their precious urinals. She looked at me with instant dislike, pointed out the rest room across the way, and snarled, "The rest room’s right there! Can’t you walk?" I said that no, I couldn’t, otherwise I would have. She then snarled, "Make sure you empty that before you leave, and dispose of it." Yes, ma’am. Excuse me.

Oh yes. Around 10:30, I was visited by a social worker who wanted to help me fill out the Medicaid application form. Despite the fact that I was in a bit of pain and did not immediately have all the facts at my fingertips (Bonnie knew more about the bills than I did) we proceeded to struggle through the twenty-four (or -six, or -eight) pages required for a successful process. This, perhaps needless to say, was not one of my more pleasant experiences. (As it happened, since I could not yet walk when the hearing was due to occur, the procedure proved to be useless. We have since reapplied and are awaiting the new due date.)

As the day began to laten, I wondered just what it was that I was doing here. The medication was arriving, granted, but the interval between was so lengthy that I might as well have been at home - I would have been more comfortable. As if receiving my thought, a nurse appeared just before the arrival of dinner. She informed me that I was shortly to be released, and asked me to indicate which method of conveyance I would prefer to use to go home. Then she asked, "You do have a home to go to?" As I was at that point wearing little but a T-shirt, jeans, and a pair of ratty slippers that had all been slept in for three days and two nights, and my beard had gone unshaven for many months, I suppose there was some justification for her rather impertinent question. I informed her that, yes, I did have a home, and that it was not in a public park, and I chose a taxi as my preferred means of travel. The nurse appeared unflustered by my pert remark and vanished back up the corridor.

At length, she returned. She first removed the Heparin Lock, exclaiming, "You can withstand much pain!" When I inquired what she meant, she said that the tech had inserted the lock with a kink in the line. I suppose, if my leg had been ruly, I might have been bothered. As it was ... It did, however, explain the frequent appearance of bubbles.

The nurse wrapped my leg and foot in an elastic bandage, handed me a second bandage as a backup, and gave me my discharge papers and prescription forms. "Someone will be along soon," she said. Shortly, a marvelous member of the transport staff appeared, helped me into a ‘chair, and took me for my last ride through the anal canal (err... corridors) of the hospital.

As we wended our way through the various halls, my attendant and I had an opportunity to chat, and it was he who informed me of the unspoken policy - "treat ‘em and street ‘em." I knew exactly what he meant. At length we reached a desk, where my discharge was made official, and then it was out to the enormous, echoing lobby, which in an emergency could double as an airplane hangar. We stopped at the pharmacy, a small offshoot of the huge space, to fill my prescriptions. The prescription for Vicodin was for a total of twelve pills, which if taken as prescribed, would last less than four days. To fortify myself for the taxi ride, I immediately dry-swallowed two of them.

My attendant (whose identity I am protecting) then wheeled me toward the front doors (dare I call this aperture a sphincter?) of the lobby. As he walked and I rode, he asked me if I had noticed what was showing on the monitor of the young woman who had finalized my discharge. I admitted that I had not, I had been busy inspecting papers. When I asked what he had seen, he said, "It was a video of a man and woman ... having sex." "Oh." I replied.

Having passed through the lobby doors, and flush (flushed?) with joy at being excreted, I was handed into the taxi, ready to begin anew my life as a free man.

**************************************************

A "Tina" postscript:

The first time that I visited Bonnie on the ward in early May, I caught one glimpse of "Tina" and marveled that she was still there, as to me she had not seemed all that ill. The next time I visited, about a week later, it happened that "Tina" had been assigned the room next to Bonnie’s, and while I could not tell if she recognized me as the wild-haired, bearded, suffering crazy from the prelim ward, she did, while I was visiting, meander in and out of Bonnie’s room at random during the visit, eventually handing me a stamp, a scrap of paper with the address of the "Marians of the Immaculate Conception - Association of Marian Helpers" written upon it, and a letter from her apologizing for having caused us embarrassment, which she had signed as "Ruth". The last time that I saw her, she spent about fifteen minutes loudly praying outside our room as we were attempting to have a quiet visit. It became so annoying that Bonnie stood up, walked to the door, and stood there staring at Ruth without uttering a word until Ruth got the hint, entered her own room, closed the door and began to pray aloud again.

Ruth, wherever you are, may God bless you.

Peace.

Hunter and Hunted: The Dark Rambler - Chapter 4

2006-06-28T12:43:00.000-07:00

HUNTER AND HUNTED: THE DARK RAMBLER

I thought, when I began this transcription, that I had tuned into a single frequency. I seem to have erred. My inner ear appears to have picked up a number of broadcasts, and this is what I have been able to discern in between the bursts of static.

Chapter Four: On the Prowl

Plainfield, Texas

"Excuse me - Detective Grosvenor?"

"Yes?"

"The sergeant at the desk said that I should come back and see you."

"Please state your name and business."

"My name is Darla Madison, and I think I may have some information for you."

"Is that so? ... Please - come in and have a seat."

****************************************************

Albuquerque, New Mexico

"Evenin’."

"Mmmm."

"Mind if I sit here?"

"It’s a free country, ain’t it? ..... G’wan, take a load off."

"Y’know, ya look familiar. Ain’t I seen ya down ta th’ Adecco agency?"

"Mebbe. Who wants ta know?"

"Francis’s th’ name. Say, that glass looks pretty empty. C’n I buy ya one? Or d’ya like drinkin’ alone?"

"Ain’t often got a choice. Yer buyin’, ya say?"

"Sure, I got money burnin’ a hole in my pocket, and I’m always willin’ ta treat a pretty lady."

"Yer comin’ on a bit strong there, aintcha, sport? But if yer buyin’, sure, I’m drinkin’. Jus’ don’t go thinkin’ yer gonna run th’ bases, okay, Mr. Bigbucks?"

"Hey, don’t get me wrong. I’m jus’ feelin’ good ‘cause I got paid, and I don’t like drinkin’ by my lonesome, is all. If ya’d rather I leave ya alone ..."

"S’long’s ya ‘member I ain’t easy, we’ll get along jus’ fine, sport. Since yer feelin’ generous, mine’s gin ‘n’ tonic."

"S’cuse me. Bartender? Could ya set th’ lady here an’ me up? I’ll take a Rusty Nail. Thanks. Obliged."

"Well, if I’m gonna spend yer money, I s’pose ya oughta know my name. Ya c’n call me Jeannie. I was named after th’ teevee show, y’know?"

"Y’mean ‘I Dream of Jeannie’? Yeah, I was ‘bout five when that show started. Yer parents musta really liked that show."

"Yeah, they thought it was a real hoot. Pa loved it, anyhow. I ain’t too sure ‘bout Ma. Yer ‘round forty-six, then, huh, Frank?"

"Don’t call me Frank. I prefer Francis ..... please."

"Touchy, aintcha? Sorry ..... ‘Francis’. I’ll mind my p’s ‘n’ q’s from now on. "

"Don’t mind me ... it’s jus’, my dad’s name was Frank, an’ I ... I like th’ sound a’ Francis better, is all. Classier, y’know?"

"Sure, whatever ya say. Since yer treatin’ me ... right, I guess I oughta treat you right. Francis it is. So yer workin’ outta Adecco too? I did think ya looked kinda familiar."

"Yeah, I jus’ blew inta town a coupla weeks ago, an’ they were hirin’, so ..."

"So where’d they send ya?"

"Tilt Arcade in th’ Coronado Center. Y’know it?"

"Whaddaya think, I’m an idiot? Jus’ north a’ Adecco, an’ ya figure I don’t know where it’s at? Not too smooth, sport. Yer gonna hafta do better’n that."

(Are you listening, my patient auditor? My talent never lies. In truth, I believe that this must be the one.)

****************************************************

Interlude

June 24, 1960

Genesee Hospital Maternity Ward

Rochester, New York

"Frank?"

"Hi, darling. I came as soon as I was allowed. How are you feeling? How’s our son?"

"Oh, honey, he’s so wonderfully handsome. He’s got your eyes, I can tell already. Beautiful gray eyes. Would you like to hold him?"

"If you think I won’t drop him, darling, I’d love to. Are you sure you trust me?"

"Oh, Frank, don’t be silly. You’ll make a wonderful father. The sooner you get used to holding him, the better. Here. Just make sure to gently prop his little head up."

"Gosh, he’s so small and light. Can I take a closer look at him?"

"Of course, he’s as much your son as mine. Oh ... take a look at his left ankle. He’s got a little freckle or birthmark."

"Really? Oh! I see. Unusual, isn’t it?"

"Yes, dear. I think it’s rather fetching. Distinctive."

"Well, Emily, my love, shall we still call him Francis Junior?"

"I wouldn’t think of calling him anything else, darling."

****************************************************

Plainfield, Texas

"And you say he knew Amelia Sirkin?"

"Yes, well, sort of. Just friends, really, you know? Amy and Slim went steady for a while, and Francis and Slim worked over at Allied Depositories together just before they both disappeared, and Francis and I were seeing each other, and of course I worked with Amy, so naturally we’d all get together for a beer now and again. Francis would always tell me Amy wasn’t his type, but he did like me to tell him gossip about her. But then he liked to hear gossip about everybody."

"Hmm. When was the last time that you saw Francis Collinwood?"

"About six weeks ago."

"Have you heard from him since? Phone calls, mail, instant messages, any communication whatsoever?"

"No, not a word. That’s not like him."

"I see. Do you have any other information concerning these missing friends that you think may be helpful?"

"No, that’s really all I know. I hope you can find them, Detective Grosvenor. It makes me uneasy to think that so many people I know can just up and disappear."

"Yes, Ms. Madison. I can well imagine. We are endeavoring to locate them, and every lead that we get is valuable. Thank you for your time and trouble, and if you happen to remember anything else that you think we might want to know, please contact us again. If your information leads to anything, I assure you that we will be in touch."

"Thank you so much, Detective."

"Goodbye, Ms. Madison."

Peace.

Hospital Follies, Part 4

2006-06-26T10:54:00.000-07:00

Consistency is not one of my strengths, but I shall attempt to rectify that here, in a small way. Following my perhaps quease-producing analogy of the hospital as a rough beast into the bowels of which I had been precipitated, I consider Admissions to have been the throat, Emergency to have been the esophagus, and the prelim ward to have been the stomach. In the shallows of Thursday, April 20th, I temporarily resided in the duodenum.

It is not often (thank you, Lord) that one is wakened by the disturbing sound of screaming in the obsidian depths of early morning. That I was is something I shall not soon forget. I opened my eyes (remembering not to sit bolt upright) and peered groggily down the corridor at the end of which I was situated. In the middle of the floor twenty or so yards from where I lay, an overweight woman in a shapeless blue shift was sprawled, convulsively clutching a shopping bag and beating her fists upon the linoleum, shrieking ceaselessly, at least until an attendant materialized from the glassed-in inner sanctum of the ward and attempted to help her up and hopefully quiet her down. He succeeded after some minutes and coaxed her into the nearest empty room, after which he spent 15 or 20 minutes seeing to whatever needs she may have had. As I lay there wondering to what fresh hell I might be exposed (thank you, Dorothy Parker, for that elegant and invaluable phrase), my bladder reminded me that at no time since the previous morning had I availed myself of toilet facilities. It was forcefully borne in upon me that it would be to my benefit to expeditiously do so. To that end, I got as close to the base of the bed as I could, and half-dragged myself to the waiting ‘chair (thank you, "Jose", for leaving me that wondrous mode of transportation, you saved me from much humiliation.) The recent arrival’s room was situated two doors away from a sign on the wall that indicated the presence of a rest room, something I had registered as I had watched her being helped into her new abode. I wheeled myself to the door, struggled momentarily with it, and managed to get myself through the aperture in one piece, with my dignity reasonably intact.

Back in the bed, and after my ankle had once again calmed down, I floated anew upon the choppy waves of sleep, waking only at the appearance of "Jose", who was cheerily urging me to accept a Styrofoam tray that bore a plastic pack of cereal, a pint of 1% milk and a spoon. I gladly devoured the offering, and shortly thereafter the male nurse reappeared with another dose of medication. I even more gladly devoured that.

Things began to move rapidly after that. As I listened to a phone conversation from a girl to her parents explaining why she might not immediately be home, "Jose" came into the nook with a large green and white plastic bag labeled "Patient Belongings" and my cane. I peered into the bag and saw my wallet and keys nestled rather forlornly in a corner of the bag. I was happy to be reunited with my meager belongings. "Jose" informed me that it was time for me to be returned to Emergency, and without further ado urged me into the ‘chair (a different one, I noticed, the one with the large rear wheels had mysteriously disappeared.) I was wheeled to the elevator, a security guard accepted me from "Jose" (whom I thanked for his care and attention - he is sure to enter Heaven), and off we went.

"Mr. Mott? What are you doing here?"

(*sigh*)

(beats the hell outta me)

(patiently [get it? patiently? har har] awaiting further assaults upon my dignity)

"I was deemed to be undesirable and thrown back."

The pretty nurse from the night before was standing over me, at a loss as to how I should have managed to make my way back to Emergency (which will now double as the intestinal tract) without her having been aware of it. I smiled weakly in the face of her exasperation and lay back, hoping that my lame humor would mollify her enough to leave me alone. Scowling and muttering, she turned away and left to torment some other poor soul.

My time in Emergency this day was mostly uneventful - I spent much of the morning and afternoon observing the prosaic life of hospital personnel and the constant stream of EMTs and new patients that circulated through the corridor. I was taken to the X-ray department for a further and more comprehensive series of tests (everything, in fact, but my head was photographed) and during the afternoon I was wheeled to a completely different area of the hospital to have a thorough ultrasound conducted (the dimness of the room would have been conducive to sleep, except for the cold gel, the probe, and the constant swishes, hollow gasps and whistles of the audio representation of my circulation.)

Only two events really stand out - one patient of about my age who was brought in had apparently given the EMTs some trouble, as he was firmly restrained, and was not bashful about informing anyone within hearing distance, at the top of his voice, that he needed to be released posthaste. The other incident involved the attentive son and daughter-in-law of an elderly lady, who insisted on ignoring the strict instructions that only one visitor per patient was to be allowed. One of the nurses asked the woman to leave, at which point she became incensed and began haranguing the nurse, who was obviously unwilling to suffer the woman gladly. A lengthy expostulation followed, after which the woman was escorted from Emergency by one of the security personnel. I would have liked to have offered her my visitor spot, as I had no expectation of receiving any, but that would have been unrealistic, considering the undue attention she had already attracted to herself.

The day passed, not swiftly, and around 4:30 in the afternoon a member of the transport staff appeared behind my bed and prepared to wheel me off. I asked if further tests were to be performed and I received the unenlightening "No" as my only answer.

Next installment: I visit the rectum.

Peace.

Hospital Follies, Part 3

2006-06-25T16:16:00.000-07:00

And waited. And waited.

As I stared out through the window, hoping for someone to block my view by entering the room, I unavoidably thought back to the two previous times that I had encountered this particular scene. Always before, it had been Bonnie who was being evaluated, and I was there to supply the information that she could not or would not. Never before had I been a potential patient, and I did suffer some trepidation, wondering if I was badly enough off to be admitted to the regular ward, and belatedly wondering how our mice would fare if such an occurrence eventuated. I had left them enough extra provisions for a week or so, but I knew from past experience that a stay on the ward was likely to be of a much more extensive duration.

At length a woman appeared, introduced herself, and sat down in the chair. She must have wondered, as we shook hands, why I neglected to arise to an erect position as any normal person would. I imagined that she possibly considered me to be either remarkably lazy or so ill that I had forgotten politeness altogether. By this point in the proceedings, roughly about 9 pm or thereabouts, the medication’s effects had completely worn off, and everything that occurred was filtered through a lens of constant pain, so my memory of this portion of the evening is necessarily incomplete in spots. I was asked a number of questions presumably calibrated to zero in on my present state of mind. A recitation of recent events was required of me, which I supplied, and I did not neglect to include the information for which I had originally committed myself to this rigmarole, namely information related to Bonnie’s previous episodes, including the dates, the name of her doctor, and the treatments that were most efficacious.

The interview eventually concluded, and before the woman could exit the room, I asked if it would be possible for me to see Bonnie. She told me that Bonnie had been taken to the regular ward, and my heart sank, knowing it to be located at the other end of the building. I was, however, comforted by the ignorant presumption that Bonnie was shortly to begin receiving treatment and that I could rest easier (you all know how that turned out.) As an afterthought, although quite appreciated by me, the woman asked if I had yet been offered food. I said no, forbearing to mention that as yet, I had not even been offered medication. She assumed a horrified expression and hurried off to remedy my deplorable situation.

She returned bearing two clamshell containers with an expression that practically shouted "Eat, you poor man!" I inspected the contents and unwrapped what proclaimed itself to be "Tuna Salad." It turned out to be an incredibly bulky Kaiser roll with a razor-thin spread of some tasteless, unidentifiable substance. I managed to choke down most of the underdressed roll and the fruit salad, cookies, juice and milk that accompanied the disconsolate (but presumably nutritious) starch product. I set the remainder of the second clamshell aside and, for a goodly while, contemplated my own mortality. After an indeterminate time, I heard a perfunctory knock at the door and a gentleman with the inevitable clipboard in hand appeared. We wended our way through the by now familiar set of questions and responses, ending with the query as to whether I felt myself to be a danger to myself or others, and whether I had ever considered suicide to be an acceptable alternative to my present situation. The gentleman must have been satisfied, because he stood up, smiled, and departed.

I waited for a further length of time, amusing myself by watching "Tina’s" countenance periodically passing by the window as she endlessly paced the circuit of the ward, and attempting to time her reappearances before they occurred. She had passed by about five times before a new lady appeared. After introducing herself as a social worker, she sat down and began to once again question the circumstances that had led to my present predicament. I explained about the onset of Bonnie’s illness, my own health problems and my inability to secure food for us, the persistent toilet leak, the lack of close relatives and my worries about our mice. She wrote on her clipboard, inspected what she had written, looked up at me with an expression that clearly defined her uncertainty, and spoke:

"What we have is a quandary!" To which I could only offer an ironic upward quirk of the lips and the firm statement "Yes."

She stood and bustled out despite the lateness of the evening, and I was left to wonder what might happen next. At length the first evaluator reappeared, explained that under the circumstances my feelings of latent depression were justified, and that in the morning I would be returned to Emergency, it being too late to move me presently. Also, she mentioned that I was to expect to receive one more visit from the social worker with a solution to my problems. When the social worker finally reentered the room, she told me that it had been deemed desirable to place me under the auspices of Adult Protective Services for the duration of our difficulties. This news was not received by me with the unalloyed relief that you might think, given that some help would be necessary until I could do for us again. We are, after all, private people ("Yeah, right!", I hear you saying) and we had read stories in AARP magazine about how the bureaucracy can sometimes abuse the power entrusted to the practitioners thereof. I was forced to agree to the terms, however, and the satisfied social worker departed with a smile, having successfully performed her job and ameliorated the "quandary."

"Jose" appeared not long after, apologizing and explaining that it was necessary that I vacate the room for another’s use and be placed momentarily in the waiting area until suitable accommodation could be arranged for me. I moved back to the ‘chair and was wheeled out. It quickly became apparent that my ankle was in no mood to treat me gently, although bending the leg back, clutching the ankle and resting it upon the ‘chair’s seat lessened the feeling of pressure somewhat. I saw by the clock that it was now 10:45, and I tried but failed to interest myself in whatever was being televised (Surface? Invasion? Lost? One of those.) Of more interest was a family seated in the waiting area, consisting of two parents and two young men. The young man closest to me had an extensive area of scarification on his right arm, appearing to have been executed with a razor blade. There was no scabbing; the reddened skin of the intricate design seemed to have been healed for awhile. The rendering appeared almost to be totemic - the right-hand side of the design consisted of a series of twenty or so dashes parallel to the wrist, ascending from midarm to about 2 inches below the wrist, and to the left of the column a single line rose from the base of the column up to about the third dash from the top. Above the vertical line was a curlicue. Drawn on paper, this would have represented a design of some elegance. Seen on a human arm, it was quite disturbing.

The young man, I noticed, was agitated and fidgeting, but not overly so. I was diverted from my covert inspection by the sight of "Tina" standing on the other side of the partition, staring fixedly at me. Before I could determine what this apparition might portend, she pushed through the door and sat in the chair to my left, obscuring my view of the young man. She began a lengthy peroration on the completeness of her soul, opining that its development had somehow been arrested and was not fully formed. Not knowing what to say to this, I offered her nods and quiet affirmations. When she began explaining that she believed her theory had relevance to the Age of Reason, I mumbled some nothing about the Age of Superstition and wondered how in hell I was going to carry off an appearance of knowledge, given the subject matter. Luckily, we were both distracted by a flurry of sudden activity - the young man had been busy in the interim, and when I looked at him, he was sprawled on one of the chairs opposite his parents, scrubbing vigorously and contritely at his right arm with a paper towel, from which a goodly quantity of blood was now issuing. I was quite relieved at the appearance of "Jose" at my right shoulder, informing me that a bed was ready for me.

I was wheeled down the corridor which harbored the interview room that I had previously occupied, down to the end where a bed was positioned against the wall. "Jose" helped me out of the chair into the bed, then pushed me into the small nook that held overhead supply cabinets. He pushed the bed beneath the cabinets in order to access the supplies, and gave me an extra sheet and blanket. I realized that if I woke up suddenly during the night, it would not be in my best interests to suddenly sit bolt upright, as I might conceivably incur serious damage.

After profusely thanking "Jose" for his untiring solicitude, I asked him if he would kindly do me one more favor.

"Is there anyone on the ward who could prescribe me some pain medication?"

Smiling and answering in the affirmative, "Jose" disappeared after parking my ‘chair at the base of the bed, and shortly thereafter (finally!) I was given a Motrin and a Vicodin by a male nurse, and I stretched out on my right side, heavily favoring my left leg and ankle, and descended into a troubled sleep.

Thus ended my first night, deep in the intestines of the health care system.

To be continued.

Peace.