By Special Request

Since I'm not allowed to drive for a week or two - I'm going to be Miss Daisy and get myself driven around. So... in exchange for some light driving for me, how about a car for you?

I thought it would be interesting to pick a car that I thought you would like. :)



A dandelion yellow 2001 Porche 911 Turbo - For AusGrl




A screaming red 1957 VW Karmann Ghia - For Punkn




An equally screaming red 1966 Ford Mustang - For ChicagoLady




A black with gold race stripes 1966 Ford Shelby Mustang - For LadyStyx




A green 1974 Ford Mustang (the white vinyl top to be added later) - For Alice Kay

I don't think I'll let the ScubaDude do any driving...




A classy silver 1957 Corvette (or the red and white one previously posted) - For Karla




A white Cadillac sedan decorated for a wedding - For Lainie




A white 1964 Rolls Royce Silver Cloud IIl Saloon limo - For MarmiteToasty

I can just see her pulling along side another Rolls, putting the window down and saying, "Pardon me, would you have any Marmite in the brown bottle?"




A British racing green 1968 Triumph TR-250 - For Tori




A charming blue and white 1956 Nash Metropolitan - For Jess




1971 Cadillac (the longhorns are in the mail) - For YellowDog Granny




A yellow 1971 Checker Cab Model A-12 - For Marz




BMW with special paint - For Island11



1958 Ford Edsel - For Me...


SugarBush says, "Remember, don't drink and drive!"

Halloween is coming!

I just love Halloween.

I Want One!

A red and white, first model (1953-1962) Chevy Corvette Roadster, a hardtop convertible - the Lansdale Post Office in the background where the US flag is flying.

More information

What LOL Really Means

When the butter starts laughing at you, perhaps you have a problem. As for me, I checked my fly to make sure it was zipped up.

What PT Really Means

First and foremost, I want to thank all of you for the 'get well soon' wishes, thoughts, and prayers. I appreciate them all.

Your get well wishes must have worked. The good news is the cast came off yesterday - however, the bad news is the PT also started yesterday.

I thought PT meant physical therapy but noooooooooooooooooo...



All I could say during the 'session' was "Oh! sweet mother of god..." over and over.

I spent the rest of the day eyeing the pill bottle and wondering how many pain pills I could consume. Fortunately, in a way, I was too spaced out and too sore to even try to reach for them. I'm convinced PT really means punishing torture.

I wonder which of the devices below the "therapist" will select next?



Seriously, I exaggerate (only) somewhat - the doctor thinks things look "as good as can be expected**" and removed the immobilizing cast - the situation is complicated slightly as there was some reconstruction of some shoulder bones that they want immobile but they can't let the muscles and tendons scar up and have to get them moving - so there was a trade off. I'm supposed to wear this sling thing to keep my upper arm still unless I'm doing the sadomasochistic self-torture, err... PT. Heck, who knows? I might even figure out how to get this sling on and off by myself in a couple months or so.

Furthermore, I'm not supposed to drive for a couple weeks or more - I wonder how long this "lives alone and isn't going to beg for rides" guy is going to let that last.


** For some reason I didn't find this assessment all that reassuring.

Bubba's Tale - How It All Turned Out

My vacation was a months-long extravaganza. I went up the road past the hardware store thinking that maybe, just maybe, I didn't need the drink first to get to heaven and walked and walked and walked and walked. I hadn't walked this far since camp, but I did well enough since I didn't get any blisters and I was careful to remove the ticks and leeches every time I stopped for the night just like my teacher told me to at camp. I sometimes spotted the ticks at lunchtime and had to remember where they were until nighttime, but I didn't forget, not once.

I was so proud of myself. I was being an independent self-supporting adult for the first time in my life. The road ran for nearly two thousand miles and by the time I reach the end I was sure that Steve was wrong and this was not the right direction to heaven. For one thing it didn't go up much except for the little section in West Virginia. So I started back to tell him that he was wrong.

On the way home an odd thing happened, I met someone that had many of the experiences I had endured and it was a she. I mean, she was a girl. I was very excited about this and asked her to be my girlfriend. She asked me if I had any crabs and I said "Yes!" thinking that having them was somehow a lucky thing. Having walked the last thousand miles or so alone, it's clear now that I should have said no.

And that is where things stand now that I'm back in Pennsylvania.

--The End--
While this story ends here, it was only after many years of struggling with feeling that the ringing in my ears and my hearing loss somehow made me a defective person; that is, a mutant, a hideous way of thinking that led to me spending many years in a deep hole of depression. Depression does odd things to your way of thinking - in the story I called thinking about suicide 'wanting to go to heaven' - somehow thinking about it this way made it more acceptable or more palatable.

I finally found a flashlight (complete with weak batteries) and a ladder and climbed my way out of the hole. To do this required taking a 'vacation' - that is to say I couldn't deal with the real world and got some help. The biggest help was being involved in group therapy and just hearing what others had to say - one woman in particular, who gets mentioned in the last part of the story, had many of the same issues I did - but had overcome far greater handicaps. Simply hearing what she had to say helped me get a much better perspective of things.

However, the ugly and mean-spirited dark voices of negativity remain and they are never far away although I've learned to cope with them in a way - and do things that help me avoid triggering their onset and the accompanying awful slide back into the darkness - sometimes even with success.

I've learned to greatly limit alcohol. A glass of wine isn't going to hurt me, and when it’s a special occasion - it's a treat. Drinking to excess, however, is to be avoided at all costs.

I almost always look for something to laugh at - and failing that, change the subject. Unfortunately, sometimes I think I'm seen as 'just a clown' and not taken seriously, when I am being serious.

I try to always encourage others - a kind word might help someone avoid a nightmare or two. No one 'deserves' a trip to the pits of depression and an unkind, careless, or thoughtless word in the wrong place at the wrong time can cause far more hurt and harm than you might ever expect.

I avoid being places where there are happy couples hanging around - seeing others holding hands, kissing, hugging, or just walking, talking and laughing together can burn a deep bitter train of negativity into my thoughts. This avoidance is probably the hardest thing to do... they are everywhere.

My sleeping on the sofa is, hopefully, the last of the 'problem'. I started sleeping on the sofa because I thought that I wasn't 'good' enough to sleep on a bed since I didn't have anyone to sleep with. Sleeping on the sofa was a New Year's resolution - I vowed to sleep on the sofa until I found someone to share the bed with - and the resolution was meant as a positive spur, to get me dating again, having long since given up any hope of finding someone. After three or six months I should have stopped sleeping on the sofa – as it is, it's been well over six years now.

I do not want nor expect pity - the story was written into a journal and never analyzed or evaluated. Having broken it into sections for you to read or not read - I wanted to explain where some of it 'came from' and what, if anything, it might mean.

Deciding to publish this was a very difficult decision for me - it's my hope to eventually cure my 'illness' once and for all. Thank you for taking the time to read this story.

Bubba's Tale - The Current Crisis

Once I was back and had thought about life and its meaning for a while, I was unsure about what I was to do next. I knew I would still like to find one of those whores the guys raved about and getting one of those career things sounds like something I ought to do before too much longer. So I decided seeing the old lady that sent me to college was the best way to go about doing these things. I found her at the school in the playground and when I walked up to her, she keeled over in front of me and died. My grief was boundless, I had lost the only girlfriend I had ever had. I attended the funeral and watched her being lowered into the ground. I pondered this lowering into the ground business since everyone that came to the funeral service said she was going to heaven, which is up there they pointed, when I asked where heaven was. Why set her back six feet? - does she need a running start? Slowly the idea come to me that heaven must be the place where I was when I was in the waiting room before that dreadful day at the hospital.

I had this incredible urge to go to heaven so asked Steve how I could get there and he smiled and said he thought I'd never ask and that sure he'd tell me how. He directed me to get a container of weed killer at the hardware store and to drink it and after I had satisfied my thirst I should start walking the direction away from home and before I knew it I would be there, in heaven, that is.

So off I went to the hardware store to buy some weed killer. I asked the guy at the store for some and he asked me which kind I preferred. I told him I wanted the kind that would get me to heaven quickest and all he did was give me a funny look and say I was a wise ass. At this point I agreed with him, figuring two people couldn't be making the same mistake about what I was. The guy was getting impatient and asked me again which brand I wanted so I asked him which tasted the best. He was very upset after that and threatened to call the cops. I thought calling the cops would be like calling the roll, so I told him that calling the cops was no big deal. I knew instantly I should have just asked for one of the orange colored cans instead, because the guy went gonzo and shouted for me to get out of his store.

My trip to heaven was a fiasco. I never got past the hardware store. I was so bummed out that all I wanted to was kill myself. I returned and asked Steve how I might kill myself. Steve looked puzzled and replied that he had already told me how to kill myself by going to the hardware and getting some weed killer to drink. I knew then that killing myself wasn't going to be any easier than going to heaven. So I gave up trying to do that and went back to my "homeroom" to think some more. I was back to where I started from in every sense of the word and my frustration was mounting daily. I had to find a different way to get heaven or to kill myself or to have a career or a new girlfriend. It was kind of a limited situation and growing weary of the thinking about it, I took a vacation.

Bubba's Tale - A Past Crisis

My joy of having gone through college was short lived as I was assigned a tour of duty in the desert in some place called Eye-Rack. I couldn't understand how I was to study anything marine-like while stuck out in the desert. Worst of all, I was to stand in front of a shack labeled "Latrine" all day doing what my teacher called guard duty. I could smell what was in the shack and I figured it didn't need guarding, so I wandered around looking for the place the guys were always raving about so that I could see what a whore was. I was strolling around asking where the whore was when the teacher that told me to guard the shack appeared and asked me to tell him what I thought I was doing. I told him that the stuff in the shack didn't need any guarding and that I was looking for a whore. If I thought the teacher that meet the bus at camp had an explosive temper, this guy made him look calm. I was taken to a place called the brig and after they did a courts-martial I was told I had failed and I was to return home.

Failed! I didn't know what I was going to tell my folks, folks that only weeks before looked the happiest they had ever looked when the old lady that turned out to be my girlfriend told them I was going to the front and would probably be a casualty. I figured my folks never expect me to sit in the first row and do well, so that the stuff my girlfriend said really brightened them up. Now I was going to return to them a failure, they would really be disappointed in me for not being a casualty, whatever one of those is.

I waited in the brig room for weeks and finally got a ride home. While I was waiting I concocted a story to explain why I didn't do well and be a casualty so I didn't get into trouble. I got off the bus and walked into the house, seeing the inside of it for the very first time, when my brother returned from a room called "work" and nearly passed away when he saw me standing forlornly in the living room. He said that mom and dad would somehow manage to pass bricks through their digestive tracts when they got home.

I was very excited, for the brick passing trick seemed impossible to me, and I was thinking they would somehow use mirrors when at that moment they entered the house and stood stock still before me with their mouths wide open. Thinking this a new social custom that had sprung up while I was away at college, I looked back at them with my mouth open equally wide. After an interval, my dad asked what I was doing home and why wasn't I at the front where I ought to be. I told him my carefully prepared story about how I had found a whore and after getting lucky, had caught some crabs. The college immediately graduated anyone lucky to catch crabs and so there I was. This story didn't seem to have the intended effect as my dad turned very pale and my mother fainted dead away after murmuring something about how could anyone screw something like that. I guess she meant my girlfriend and was wondering why anyone would want to up and leave me. After my homecoming and reunion with the family, I moved back into my room out back by the pigpen and sat around for a while trying to think what all had happened to me. I was very happy to be back in my homeroom.

Bubba's Tale - College

The first thing I noticed about college was that there were no scales to be seen and that the bus that brought me to the college didn't have flashing red lights and was painted a hideous shade of green-grey. I was given quite a rude shock when the bald head of the teacher that greeted the bus appeared at the door and its owner said he welcomed us to Camp Quantico and that boot camp would start in 2 minutes, line our asses up outside the bus and move it, move it, move it. I was thinking I got on the wrong bus, since I was going to college and not to camp, and if this was camp I couldn't figure out why the pell-mell rushing about the guys on the bus were doing when the teacher's bald head disappeared back out the door. I watched them for a minute to see what it was that I was to move, and when I couldn't figure it out, I figured I'd at least line my ass up outside the bus. When I got out of the bus to do this, it occurred to me that my ass was pretty much the shape it was, so lining it up didn't make a whole lot of sense so I walked over to the teacher and told him so.

I have never witnessed such an explosive show of anger. The teacher hollered at me shouting that I was, although I think he meant, I had, a wise ass. I then asked him to excuse me but was I wondered if I was in the right place and was this the U.S.M.C., which the old lady at the school told me stood for United States Marine College. It seems that the old lady screwed you over, the teacher screamed into my ear, followed by the not to be refused request that I get my ass into the line that had long formed at the side of the bus. Later that day, after getting my head shaved, possibly to make it easier for the teacher to get things into it, and being given the first set of new clothes I have ever owned, I was assigned my very own cot complete with a pillow. I thought that with the exception of the rough start, college wasn't so bad after all, but being still confused, I asked the guy laying on the bunk next to mine what getting screwed over meant.

His reply left me all the more confused as he said that's what happened when your girlfriend ups and leaves you after you plunk down the dough to get her a ring. I was partly thrilled because up until then I didn't know that the old lady at the school had been my girlfriend and I really wanted one since I was told that everybody has one but I didn't remember the part about plunking down any dough for a ring. I do forget a lot of things because things are often hard to figure out so I guess I simply forgot that part. I told the guy I needed time to think things out and went to sleep.

It was still as black as can be outside when a teacher rushed through the room making this awful din by hitting a trash can lid with a stick and hollering that there would be roll call in 5 minutes gentlemen, move it, move it, move it. I was bleary eyed as could be but in a way happy, because I figured out the move it, move it, move it part must mean something like the word "over" when they use it movies about airplanes. Camp was over after a few, all too short weeks and I was once again graduated. I was going to kick Steve for telling me I would have a hard time of it, because I didn't.

Bubba's Tale - The Path To College

I eventually found out that school was a place that little children grow to be bigger children and to complain about how awful the sandwiches moms pack in lunch boxes turn when left in a hot locker for 3 or 4 hours before it comes time to eat them. I was once offered the delightful treat of a whole tuna salad sandwich by a boy that told his compatriots that some substance called mayonnaise had magically turned into rat-piss slime jelly. The interval between exiting the bus with the flashing red lights and eating lunch was filled with short stays in several different rooms, the first of them named, rather oddly, "Homeroom".

I often sat while in "Homeroom", wondering why this place that was definitely not my room at home was called what it was. The only thing of note that took place while I stayed here was the bored recitation of announcements of no apparent interest to anyone, the standing ritual called pledging allegiance to a flag for which it stands, and the calling of the roll. Calling of the roll was in itself an arcane activity, for in order to call the roll, the teacher stood and read a list of names and when a child heard one he liked, he would shout out the word "here". In the 12 years I attended grade school the calling of the roll never did actually generate either an appearance or any other response from a roll, even though I would sometimes prod the roll I brought from home with a stick to see if it would react somehow.

It was during roll calling that I became know officially as Bubba although my parents would stoutly declare that they never named me, and the children that went from room to room with me never called me anything but derivations of either the word "mutant" or words of scatological origin. My brother Steve was in my first "Homeroom", which for some reason in the years after the first one, would every year be a different room. I was sitting quietly through my first calling of the roll when the teacher who was finishing the calling got a marked reddening of the face and turned to me and ask me what my name was, if I had one, since it wasn't on the list. I must have looked as lost as I was, because Steve chimed in immediately saying that I was "Bah-ba". The teacher must of thought that Steve was trying to say Bubba because that is what I saw the man write down at the bottom of the list of names he had while mumbling to himself that he had to tell the registrar he had an unfortunate addition. I liked having a name, for it made me an equal with the other children, who it seems, were all given names. I also like being given something, even if I couldn't eat it or sleep on it.

The rooms that followed the "Homeroom" were called things like Art, Math, Science, Social Studies, and Jim. Jim was the most interesting of all these since it was a really big drafty, wooden floored room, and just before we entered it, we went into another room and changed our clothes with the ones that stayed seemingly permanently in small metal closets. My change of clothes were a pair of shorts so stiff that I couldn't bend them and I knew they were mine even the day the lights didn't work due to a failure by somebody named Power, because I could smell them from at least forty feet. The part I remember best about the Jim room is that we would have another calling of the roll but this time instead of just shouting the word "here" when we liked the name that was called, we dropped our shorts to show the teacher our "Jock Straps and Cups". It took me many years to figure out that "jock straps" was not the thing that grows from time to time amongst the hair, and that the cup was the plastic thing that always clanked when the teacher had me stand in front of the children and hit it with a ruler saying to us that a cup protected us from injury. I guess it did, but it hurt sometimes when he got worked up into such a frenzy that he was spitting half way across the room apparently mad that one of the children forgot to wear his that day saying that an example had to be made. If he ever made one, I never saw it so I guess the example must of been made on the other side of the teacher.

I was told by a old lady after attending school for several years, that I didn't need career counseling since no employer in his right mind would ever want to hire something as distasteful as me and that I should go to college. I didn't want to argue with the old lady but I bit off a finger and found that I wasn't all that distasteful, and in fact, tasted far better than a tuna salad sandwich with rat-piss slime jelly and I told her so. She turned a very interesting shade of white-gray and proceeded to vomit all over the table and the application papers she said she filled out for me. When she regained her composure, which she said she lost, she told me I would go to college and the sooner the better. I asked Steve what college was and Steve told me that it was like schall but harder, I was only more puzzled but determined to find out what was harder than the flakes that come off of a dead fish.

The old lady said she would do what she could do get me into a good college and that I was to continue going from room to room like I had been for years. One day, she called me into her room and told me she had great news for me and that she had got me into a college and I was to start in July and that I was to start to think about what I wanted out of life so that I could make the best of my wonderful opportunity.

Little did I know the worst years of my life were soon to come and that I would some day look back on the experiences I had while going to school with a sense of loss and sadness. But before July came, I experienced the pomp and circumstance of graduation, and drinking some stuff called vodka at a party in which the guys invited me to so that they could imitate the teacher that called the roll in the room called "Jim". I never felt so loved in my entire life, and when the party was over, I felt so let down that I had this terrible headache and the thing that grow from time to time in the hair in my shorts hurt like nothing I've ever felt before except maybe the time when a classmate said he wanted to heat some meat with a Bunsen burner and I wasn't to move until he did it. My pain and headache were only just fading when July came around and off I went to college.

Bubba's Tale - Encounter with Steve

The next time the swing flew into view it was empty and I heard my mother say that the stun gun was only for their protection and that Steve wasn't to get to close to the mutant. I was waiting for something that would explain these words when the gate to my yard swung open on some very rusty and very unused hinges and into my world entered my mother and a little boy, both wearing what appeared to be environment suits and my mother carrying what appeared to be a sawed-off shotgun. I quickly deduced this to be the aforementioned stun gun and started to shake from fear, the mutant must of somehow gotten past the safety fence and into my yard. My fear turned to puzzlement when I heard my mother say to Steve that mutants often shake when approached by strangers and that he had nothing to worry about. As I was the only thing in sight that was shaking, it suddenly dawned on me just what was going on.

You might be able to imagine my surprise at this nasty bit of enlightenment but the ongoing mind-expansion was not to end with this revelation, for the next thing I heard my mother say to Steve was that this was the mutant and that it was her boo boo, all the while she was pointing a finger directly at me. Steve was my older brother, it turned out, and he had a speech impairment that was acceptable to the folks that made up society. In fact, it was even considered cute by many, since he could not say the sound of a long "u", so he consequently called me "Ba-Ba" and could never count past one. After this fateful meeting, Steve was allowed to visit me, deeming it his duty to drop in on his pet mutant at least once a day, always taking painstaking care to don his environment suit and making sure that his fingers were never even remotely near my mouth. I grew to enjoy his afternoon chats, for he often would have a story of how his day had gone and even I found his speech impediment kind of cute.

And so Steve grew to the age of attending school when the daily visits came to an end and my folks grew perplexed since they were informed by the authorities that I would have to be allowed to attend school as it was my law-given right. I heard them argue outside the closed gate about enduring shame and ridicule and hadn't God already dealt them this thing called a bad hand. But the day came when the gate swung open on its rusty hinges and I was directed to quickly step into a yellow bus that had flashing red lights on it. I was on the way to school, a place that I was legally required to go 180 days a year for a purpose I had yet to determine. The yellow bus was not the school itself since the driver said that he would be glad when he got to the school so that he could unload something that belonged to a superfund effort. I was puzzling out what a superfund effort was when the door of the bus opened and all my fellow passengers exited, running for their lives and desirous of barf bags if I correctly made out the words they screamed into the air. I didn't need a barf bag as far as I could tell and felt quite safe so I exited the bus with what I hope appeared to be dignity.

Bubba's Tale - Going Home

After what seemed like hours in the hot smelly confines of the paper bag into which I had so ignobly been stuffed, we at long last arrived at where ever it was my folks called home. It seemed that the dumpster at the local Pathmark supermarket had been overflowing, whatever that meant, and that the SPCA didn't have this thing called trade-ins, both events causing my already upset parents increased distress. We must have entered the house through the back door because after only a few steps into the house, I was thrown through the air and onto what later proved to be the kitchen table. I heard the refrigerator door swing open and a couple can tabs being pulled followed by an awfully loud gurgle and an even more terrifying belch, when at length, my father spoke and said that the dog was to move from the doghouse out back by the pigpen and into the nursery, and I that could have his blankets which were to stay in the doghouse.

And so it was, I was home with blankets of my very own in a one room building that had a door that wouldn't close and said "Fido the Faithful" over it and had this really strange odor wafting through it at night. The odor, I soon grew accustom to, but the fleas and ticks that roamed around the hard little collars that I found in a corner on the floor were unpleasant and the grunting noise of the hogs making bacon was not what I had in mind when I said I wanted stereo music. I grew rapidly on the table scraps that were hurled over the fence that dad said kept the curious and the dangerous away, although I couldn't quite figure out why the barbed wire was on my side of the cement wall and all the glass edges that were embedded on the top of the wall had been sprayed with cyanide and the signs that warned folks of some dreadful thing called a mutant were facing the other way.

I was eating on the remains of what appeared to be a chicken with some corn kernels on the side when one day I saw a boy swinging on the old inner tube that hung beneath one of the lower branches of a tall oak tree near my yard. Every time the boy swung, he would appear, gaining the height to bring him into view above my 'safety wall'. And every time he appeared, he made a horrid little grimacing face at me and even in the wind I could hear his stomach protesting at the sight. Finally, being the bright boy that he was, he hollered to my mom who was hanging wash on the line and said he wanted to know what I was. I knew my mother was hanging wash even though I could not see her because every now and then, some piece of clothing that showed excess wear or that would not wash clean, came sailing over the wall to land with a wet plop in front of me. I took the rags with gratitude, for after they dried, they replaced the dogs blankets and I was rid of the pesky fleas, at least for a short while.

Bubba's Tale - The First Day

The first of 8 parts - Iggy hopes to return as soon as he can.

Far up the dusty street, high on the hill that overlooked the stream that long served the inhabitants of the area as an open sewer and named after an Indian tribe stood a very ordinary brick building. The Indians claim to fame has long been forgotten if it they ever had one - beyond having a name that is unpronounceable now as is was then. The brick building showed no real signs of age and bore the words "Montgomery Hospital, Norristown PA" over its two stainless steel and smudged-glass entrance doors. It was here, many years ago that my number was called by God and I left the celestial waiting room on the south side of heaven and entered the world via a dark, damp, tiny, little tunnel.

The bright lights and the garlicky breath of the doctor who was delivering me made me quickly forget the fact that I had somehow gotten covered with a disgusting slimy coating of blood and afterbirth mucus. Gasping for breath at this bewildering turn of events I heard the doctor hollering at the stunned nurse with the prune-like face to slap it! Slap it! whereupon the stern-faced nurse recovered some of her composure and began to slap the living daylights out of my mother. Before I was whisked away to be run through a machine not unlike a car wash, I overheard nurse let out a tortured moan and the words that haunt me to this day, "How could you do this to the world ma'am? that baby is revolting".

A few hours later, my head still spinning from the proceedings, I was attempting to get out of the confines of the straitjacket they put me in as the booties, as I believe they were called, were about as itchy as any fabric ever made. The stale, reused pacifier they stuck into my wailing face tasted like the inside of an empty beer bottle left on a beach for a couple turns of the tide. It was well past the time to split the scene, I was just being to figure, when two ugly wart covered hands reached into the plastic containment cart that held me captive and pulled me into the air and shoved me into a paper bag. In the stuffy darkness, I heard a nurse say something about signing a release paper for insurance purposes and hoping that the owners of the warty hands would be able to find an abandoned dumpster. After a short journey during which I could see nothing and could smell only the remains of a couple overripe bananas, I heard a car door slam and a man's disgusted voice say that we were going home and that something had to be done to correct an awful mistake. I waited in dread, not knowing what the awful mistake was or who had made it.

OCHA #4 Whereabouts Discovered

Kyle Busch vs. Orange Traffic Cone

While dodging a wreck late in the 2008 Sylvania 300 New Hampshire Nascar race, Kyle Busch found OCHA #4. That cone lives an exciting life.

Bubba's Tale - Preface

As of September 17, 2008 at 7:00 AM
Steps: 189,284
Miles: 80.47



Since I do not know how long I'll be off-line or be unable to type without difficulty after I (hopefully) get my right wing fixed up tomorrow morning, I have serialized something I wrote about twenty years ago into eight sort of semi-digestible parts and will set Blogger on auto-pilot and have it publish one part a day for the next eight days.

At the time this story was originally written, I was having some considerable personal difficulty and was told to write my thoughts into a journal when time permitted. Partly a result of this advise was something I pounded out in an hour and a half over a long lunch break and called "Bubba's Tale." It was a rather grim, unhappy bit of prose, expressing near total dissatisfaction with life in general, and the state of mine in particular.

Looking back on it, I do not recall whether the writing helped me in anyway - I do think there was some relief in just expressing what I wrote. Not all of it is sensible, and very little of it is anything I would write today, although I do find some of what I suppose is "forced humor" to be hilarious.

I hope you will enjoy these entries in the spirit in which they are offered, soul-searching, self-mocking, and mostly juvenile. I've censored it by removing only one sentence from the original and did the lightest touch possible of editing and updating it.

- Feel free to read, heckle, deride or ignore these entries, just don't try to hard to read much into it, or between the lines - you might get scared.



I hope to be back on my keyboard soon. I hope all of you get/stay well and enjoy the onset of autumn/spring as the case may be.

Stupid Questions

This morning I stretched my blog reading legs and went further afield than usual - and read some of Marz entries, who had commented on LadyStyx's blog. She is a young woman that aspires to write - and while working on her dream, she is a tour guide. Her blog is worth a read - After all, anyone that enjoys Kurt Vonnegut's writing can't be all bad. You will, however, find life as a tour guide is not as charming or as glamorous as you might have been led to believe.

One of her entries, "Stupid Questions" struck a cord with me. And I wrote a comment - but my mind, once started on the topic, didn't want to leave it. :)

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I walk a lot, and on the main street in town, so I often get folks driving by asking me where this or that is - I think I have a sign that's invisible to me over my head that says, "Serious map dude here" or something.

Most of the time - from the questions they ask, I end up wondering how they found the bathroom that morning and figured out how to get dressed, let alone do something as complex as drive a car.

For instance, a few days ago, an older (well, I'm being generous here) lady stopped in the middle of the road (it is Main Street) and had about 30 cars, all honking away, behind her. She rolls down the passenger window after a bit of a struggle, and asks me, "Where is the bank?" I could barely hear her over the din. I yelled "WHAT BANK LADY?" and she names one - dumbfounded, I turn and point a half block down the street and say in a loud voice, "See that green bank sign? that's the bank you want." So what does she say? "You don't have to yell at me sonny!" and drives off, putting on her glasses.

At just about the same spot - a few weeks ago, a guy driving a four-door sedan pulls over and the window comes downs. I hear him say, "Hey! YOU! Where the F*** is the G** D*** coin store?!" I must of looked a little confused, because he continued with, "You know! The F**king store that has the old coins - I collect the d*** things for a hobby!" The light came on in my head - he wanted the "Coin and Hobby Store" and had just driven past it, perhaps while looking at me.

So, not feeling like an Eagle Scout that day, I replied, "Oh! I know the place!! Just keep on going," pointing down the road, "It's about 3 more miles on your right." As he drove off, I quickly disappeared knowing I had sent him into a road construction nightmare. Only later did I actually trouble myself to see where I had sent him via Google Maps. Ah, the town cemetery - good move, Intense one... Shrugs, well, there was no call for the offensive language.

Another time, a guy was in the local 7-11 (a 'convenience' store) at the counter with the guy I call Turnip in my mind but not out loud, since I can't remember his name, with a map out demanding poor ol' Turnip to tell him where the bowling alley was. Now Turnip speaks perhaps 40 words of English and has trouble making proper change even though the register tells him the amount (so you have to count it each time) just looked totally flummoxed. Taking pity on poor Turnip, I say to him, "You know, this is the perfect time for someone to buy a map." The lost guy turns so quickly he knocks stuff off the counter and glares at me, and says, "If you don't know where the bowling alley is, keep your mouth shut!"

Taken a little aback by that display of 'good manners', I calmly say, "But I do know where the bowling alley is," while going to get whatever I had gone in to the store to get. When I return to the counter, the guy is livid and shaking in rage. He barely spits out between clenched teeth, "Where is IT!?!?" To which I replied, "It was at 606 East Main Street until it burned down about 3 months ago," and walk out.

Finally, while walking in Valley Forge National Historical Park, on the Schuylkill River Trail, last week, just as darkness was closing in, a breathless guy on his bike comes to a skidding halt next to me and he asks, "Which way is it to Philadelphia?" I point direction in which he had come and say, "Philadelphia is about 25 miles back that way." The guy looks over his shoulder and back down the trail in the growing gloom and murk, and says, "Do you think I can make it before dark?" I don't know how far I rolled my eyes or how hard I bit my tongue to keep the next thought I had from getting spoken.

Defeat of the Spanish Armada, 1588 AD

As of September 16, 2008 at 7:00 AM
Steps: 171,849
Miles: 73.04



The defeat of the Spanish Armada is one of the most famous events in English history. It was arguably Queen Elizabeth (the First)'s finest hour. In triumph she led her people to glory, defeating the greatest power in the 16th century world.

In the late 1500s Spain was the most powerful country in the world. her King, Philip II ruled vast territories of land, and had unparalleled wealth from the New World. England at the time was a small country, with little wealth, few friends, and many enemies.

Although relations between Spain and England had began rather well, over the 30 years since the Queen's accession to the throne, relations deteriorated. There were many reasons for this. To begin with, England was a Protestant country, and Spain was a Roman Catholic one. The Spanish made no secret of their hostility to the English Queen, who they believed was illegitimate and had no right to the English throne, and they were involved in plots to dethrone her.

Elizabeth herself had encouraged the activities of English pirates, who plundered King Philip's ships as they made their way from the New World, seizing their treasures. This greatly angered Philip, especially as the stolen treasure was used to help fund those people rebelling against his rule in the Netherlands.

As early as 1585, Philip had begun to prepare a great fleet that, under the Spanish commander Santa Cruz, would invade England. King Philip believed he had a genuine claim to the English throne. The purpose of the mission was to depose Elizabeth, put his daughter on the throne, and make England Roman Catholic once again.

Despite numerous setbacks the Spanish were determined to send a fleet against England, and finally in the May of 1588, the great fleet set out.

It was planned that the Spanish fleet, consisting of 120 ships, would sail up from Spain along the English Channel and meet with the forces of the Duke of Parma, Philip's nephew, making their way down from the Netherlands. Together they would sail towards England. It was believed that this force would overwhelm the English. The English would be conquered, and the heretical Queen would be captured.

But the English were waiting. On the cliffs of England and Wales, men watched the seas day and night, waiting for the first sighting of the great Armada. When the ships appeared on the horizon, beacons were lit on the hillsides, which sent the message over the cliffs and throughout the country, that the Spanish were coming. By the next morning, London and the Queen knew that the fleet was coming. As soon as the ships began to make their way up the channel, the fighting began.



In the English channel, the Spanish suffered a humiliating defeat. The weather was dreadful, with the wind and rain against them, and they were not able to compete with the superior English ships and war tactics. The only way back to Spain was the perilous long-way-about journey around the Island of Great Britain, and many a Spaniard never saw his home country again. The battle was over, the English had won.

The Queen and her people were jubilant. No more were they a second rate sea power, for they had conquered the fleet of the mighty Spanish Empire.

Although King Philip sent other fleets against England in the 1590's, none was as significant as that of the Armada of 1588.

Source

Car Keys

Before 1913, cars, like most houses, did not have keys. Starting a car back then meant flipping a dashboard switch to Battery, moving an ignition timing lever, check that the gas was flowing, and setting a choke - before winding the hand crank at the front of the car. If the car started, you move the dashboard switch to Magneto, advance the ignition timing, and shut down the choke. Shutting the car off meant setting the dashboard switch to off.

Electric starting was invented by Charles Kettering in 1912. However the mass market car from 1908 into the 1920s was the Ford Model T, which did not have electric start and remained starter-less and key-less until 1919! From 1919 until the production of the Model T ended in 1927, Ford made locking electric starters but only had 24 different keys! The keys were stamped with a number as was lock face - so you could look at a key and look until you found a car that had a lock that matched! Worse yet, from the security standpoint, you could buy a master key from a mail-order catalog.

It wasn't until 1932 that the steering wheel locked when you turned off the engine - making it harder for thieves to drive off after hot-wiring a car ignition.

Even more incredible, it wasn't until 1949 that Chrysler invented the key-turn starter, where the engine would start when you twisted the key and the no longer needed to press a separate start/stop button. In 1993, the now common passive key-less entry system was introduced - being fitted into the Corvette.

Some day, the car may simply recognize our voice and unlock the doors when we say, "open" and start, when we say, "start." Losing or forgetting your key will become a thing of the past - but you sure won't want to loose your voice!

And before any of you ask - this entry was inspired by me locking my keys in my car - again, something I've been doing since 1978! - this past weekend...

Its times like that, when I wish I was Edward Scissorhands.

The Island of Sodor

As of September 14, 2008 at 7:00 AM
Steps: 132,604
Miles: 56.34


The Island of Sodor is an island located between Great Britain and the Isle of Man.

About half of the Island of Sodor is cultivated. Oats, barley and turnips are major crops. Fishing is important too - the Tidmouth kipper is a prized dish at breakfasts both far and wide. Lead, zinc and silver is mined, and the island stone has excellent weather-resisting properties. The rugged and beautiful scenery, and the fishing, particularly in the mountain lakes, attract holidaymakers from all parts. Bauxite is mined at Peel Godred by the British Aluminium Company. As this process requires a huge amount of electricity, a hydroelectric power station was opened nearby in 1923. Tidmouth now contributes to the country's revenues by being an excellent port, owned by the North Western Railway.


Sir Topham Hatt was, as plain Mr. Topham Hatt, the engineer in charge of the construction of the Tidmouth, Knapford and Elsbridge Light Railway. When the job was finished he was made a director of Company, and after the Wellsworth and Suddery Railway was linked with the original line at Knapford, was elected a Director of that Company, too. He was created a baronet for his services to the the railways of Sodor in 1948. He married Jane, sister of Mr (later Sir) Handel Brown, and retired in 1954.

By now, hopefully, you recognize this story as the one created by the Reverend W. Awdry, OBE, (15 June 1911 – 21 March 1997), who was a clergyman, railway enthusiast and reknown children's author.


He is best known as the author of The Railway Series of books in which the character Thomas the Tank Engine originated which he wrote in 1943 to amuse his son Christopher during a bout of measles.

Old School Paper

Awhile ago, LadyStyx mentioned she wrote a multi-paged paper for one of her childhood classes that described her room in great detail - at the time I was struck by the comment, since I had done the same thing. While looking for pictures of the John Brown Liberty ship that LadyStyx mentioned in her entry detailing her visit to Baltimore's Inner Harbor, I didn't find the pictures, but I did find the old school paper.

Rereading this paper brought back vivid memories of the room I shared with my younger brother for at least a dozen years. I do not remember what grade I was in when I wrote the paper - I can visualize the teacher and her endearing smile, but very little else.



Mrs Lau -- Karl Mousley
-- Period One

"Your roof is leaking again, get the bucket," my mom said wearily.

"Ok, Ok," I replied twice as wearily, stumbling through the assorted pieces of accumulated junk. I found the bucket easily as it was the only thing that didn't have sixteen layers of dust on it. The bucket only had seven. Placing the bucket on the center of my bed was a painful act. I sat on the edge of bed and thought, "It wouldn't matter if this junk got wet."

The junk looked familiar; it was all my earthly belongings. On the top of the pile on the floor was my ragged, six-year-old baseball glove. I hadn't thrown it away because I had become attached to it. Along side of it lay my stack of old magazines. I had kept the magazines to keep the dust off the goldfish bowl. There weren't any goldfish anymore. (The fish might have died from the shock that looking at my room produces.) The bowl now holds marbles, string, pencils, and a few broken crayons. Above this pile, or rather, partly beneath it, is my desk. My desk serves only to hold up a good color television set, except I never got around to plugging it in. On top of the television set, are a few worn out paper backs, used to keep the dust off the t.v. and to keep it from being scratched.

Above my desk is a bookshelf. the bookshelf is my handy place for candles, pencils, pencil sharpeners, wooden animals, model cars, clay sculptures, penny collections, old newspapers, wheels, and an apple core. I threw the apple core away just now. The prize, however, is a string-less yo-yo, and that joined the apple core. There are no books, mind you. Above this shelf is another one, this one has books on it. (Wow!) a clock, and a dirty sneaker. Oh, by the way the clock is not plugged in. I shall endeavor to explain why it wasn't plugged in. The sockets are full, all eight of them. A dirty, greasy lamp that takes a socket, is on a bureau on my left. The top of this bureaus is the only thing I can keep clean. A radio claims a socket and the pencil sharpener I mentioned is plugged in too. My tape recorder has another socket. A brand new hot dog cooker is plugged in too. Why do I have a hot dog cooker plugged in? Well, that's easy to answer. I was cooking hot dogs! Lights of various types including a black-light claim the rest of the outlets of electricity.

In a few, very few, places you can barely discern the red, white, and blue wallpaper. I've been told the rug's the same color, but I wouldn't know. the ceiling thank heaven is still white.

In wondering what to do about the leak, I remembered my brother had drilled a hole through his upper bunk of the bunk bed and that is why the water falls right on through. I realize my brother is a genius; I fall back from the pain that this revelation causes me and cause the half-full bucket of water to overturn and it pours into my face.

---

Mrs. Lau's comments: An excellent description, Karl. You've not only listed items, but mentioned colors, giving your reader a feeling for the disorder and included much detail. It's this detail which probably does half the job of communicating to your reader what your room is like. It sounds like a great room to live in, to visit, but I wouldn't like to be the mother of it's occupant. Maybe your mom is more relaxed than another person I know.

Mile 36.4 - Lizard Point, England

As of September 12, 2008 at 7:00 AM
Steps: 106,332
Miles: 45.15



Lizard Point in Cornwall is the southernmost tip of the Lizard Peninsula. It is the southernmost tip of Great Britain. The tiny villages of The Lizard and Landewednack are located about half a mile north of the point.

Lizard Point is for many ships, the starting point of their ocean passage and a notorious shipping hazard. The Royal National Lifeboat Institution operates a lifeboat station at Kilcobben Cove, two miles northeast of the point. The station features a funicular line to transport lifeboatmen from the boathouse to the clifftop station.



The Lizard lighthouse is situated at Lizard Point. Immediately below the lighthouse, situated in what used to be a hotel is the Lizard Youth Hostel.



"Their olive green color and smooth or scaly appearance is the basis of the name from the Latin serpentinus, meaning serpent rock"

The area is famous for its carved serpentine rock items, which range from ornaments to the pump handles in the local public house; The Lizard Inn.

Also located on Lizard Point are the Goonhilly Earth station and the Bonython Wind Farm.

Goonhilly Earth station was once the world's largest earth station with over 60 dishes pointing into space and was responsible for sending and receiving millions of telephone calls, TV pictures, faxes and internet connections around the globe. It was the first earth station to receive "live" TV images from America and was used to broadcast "Live Aid" back in 1985, which became the most watched TV show in history. It is now a technology park called "Future World" and is loosely patterned after Epcot.



The first sighting of the Spanish Armada on Great Britain was off Lizard Point on the 29 July 1588. This was one of the greatest invasion fleets in history and consisted of 120 ships with 29,000 men on board.

As the Spanish Armada is a reoccurring mention - an entire entry will be devoted to it in the future.

The Mississippi Squirrel Revival

Ray Stevens - The Mississippi Squirrel Revival
Album: Collection
Thanks to Alice Kay for streaming this gem.

Well when I was kid I'd take a trip every summer, down to Mississippi.
To visit my granny in her ante bellum world.
I'd run barefooted all day long, climbing trees free as a song.
One day I happened catch myself a squirrel.
I stuffed him down in an old shoebox, punched a couple holes in the top
and when Sunday came, I snuck him in the church.

I was sittin way back in the very last pew showin him to my good
buddy Hugh, when that squirrel got loose and went totally berserk!
Well what happened next is hard to tell.
Some thought it was Heaven others thought it was Hell.
But the fact that something was among us was plain to see.
As the choir sang "I Surrender All"
the squirrel ran up Harv Newlan's coveralls.
Harv leaped to his feet and said, "Somethin's got a hold on me!" YEOW!

The day the squirrel went berserk,
in the First Self-Righteous Church
in that sleepy little town of Pascagoula.
It was a fight for survival, that broke out in revival.
They were jumpin pews and shouting Hallelujah!

Well Harv hit the aisles dancin and screamin, some thought he had religion, others thought he had a demon.
Harv thought he had a weed eater loose in his fruit of the looms.
He fell to his knees to plead and beg, and that squirrel ran out of his britches leg, unobserved to the other side of the room.
All the way down to the Amen pew where sat Sister Bertha "Better than you" who had been watching all the commotion with safistic glee.
Shoot, you should've seen the look in her eyes when that squirrel jumped her garders and crossed her thighs.
She jumped to her feet and said, "Lord have mercy on me!"
As the squirrel made laps inside her dress,
she began to cry and then to confess
to sins that would make a sailor blush with shame.
She told of gossip and church dissention,
but the thing that got the most attention
is when she talked about her love life, then she started naming names!

The day the squirrel went berserk,
in the First Self-Righteous Church
in that sleepy little town of Pascagoula.
It was a fight for survival, that broke out in revival.
They were jumpin pews and shouting Hallelujah!

Well seven deacons and then the pastor got saved
and 25,000 dollars got raised.
And 50 volunteered for missions in the Congo on the spot.
And even without an invitation there were at least 500 rededications.
And we all got rebaptised whether we needed it or not.

Now you've heard the Bible stories I guess of how
He parted the waters for Moses to pass.
All the miracles God has brought to this ol' world.
But the one I'll remember to my dyin day is how he put that church
back on the narrow way with a half crazed Mississippi Squirrel.

The day the squirrel went berserk,
in the First Self-Righteous Church
in that sleepy little town of Pascagoula.
It was a fight for survival, that broke out in revival.
They were jumpin pews and shouting Hallelujah!
 
 
---
 

9-11 and The Constitution of the United States

We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

...

Article I, Section 8:

The Congress shall have Power To lay and collect Taxes, Duties, Imposts and Excises, to pay the Debts and provide for the common Defence and general Welfare of the United States; but all Duties, Imposts and Excises shall be uniform throughout the United States;

...

To declare War, grant Letters of Marque and Reprisal, and make Rules concerning Captures on Land and Water;

Article II, Section 2:

The President shall be Commander in Chief of the Army and Navy of the United States, and of the Militia of the several States,

...

---
The Federal Government was tasked over 225 years ago with the defense of, and providing for, the well-being of American citizens.

The taxpayers of the United States pay billions of dollars each year for defense - and employ millions of people to provide for that defense every year.

Commander in Chief is much more than a title. It is a burdensome responsibility - one that continues twenty four hours and day, seven days a week.

The events at Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941, very clearly shows the disastrous results of incompetent and complacent leadership.

In my opinion:

On September 11, 2001, the Federal Government inexcusably and outright failed to perform one of its most fundamental functions. The citizen's of the USA did not get their money's worth for the taxes they paid; what they did get where excuses, finger-pointing, political and self-serving lies and deceit masked as 'spin', demonstrations of unaccountability, even more government (of questionable effectiveness) and their taxes raised to even higher, more ridiculous levels.

Being Commander in Chief precludes taking multi-week vacations "back at the ranch."

History serves an important function - for our own good, we need to learn from it. The dates are far from being the most important thing - it is lesson that the cause and results of human behaviour teach that is important.

---
Remember the events of 9-11-2001 - the extraordinary heroism displayed by those caught at the epicenter; heroism performed in part by those doing their jobs and brought about in part by the extraordinary ineptitude of their government.

Mile 12 - The Pirates of Penzance

As of September 10, 2008 at 8:00 PM
Steps: 87,986
Miles: 37.46

Penzance, or "holy headland" in the Cornish language, is a reference to the chapel of St. Anthony that stood over a thousand years ago on the headland to the west of what became Penzance Harbour.

Until recently, this history was also reflected in the choice of symbol for the town, the severed 'holy head' of St. John the Baptist. It can still be seen on the civic regalia of the Mayor of Penzance and on several important landmarks in the town.



A headland is a piece of land that juts into the sea from the main land coast line. Headlands are shaped by erosion. They are formed when the sea attacks a section of coast consisting of alternating bands of hard and soft rock. The bands of soft rock such as sand and clay, erode more quickly than those of more resistant hard rock such as chalk.



The Promenade

The completion of the railway through Cornwall from London made it easier for tourists and invalids to enjoy the mild climate of Penzance. Bathing machines were advertised for hire on the beach as early as 1823 and public baths were opened on the Promenade in 1887. The town's first official guide book was published in 1860. The town was "noted for the pleasantness of its situation, the salubrity of its air, and the beauty of its natives".

It wasn't always so pleasant in Penzance - In medieval times and later, the town was subject to frequent raiding by Turkish pirates. The name of one of Penzance's oldest buildings 'The Turk's Head' pub is said to be a reference to these incidents.



Being at the far west of England, Penzance and the surrounding villages were also sacked many times by foreign fleets. On July 23rd 1595, several years after the Spanish Armada of 1588, a Spanish force under Don Carlos de Amesquita, which had been patrolling the Channel, landed troops in Cornwall. Amesquita's force seized supplies, raided and burned Penzance and surrounding villages, held a mass, and sailed away before it could be confronted.



It is assumed that these pirates and raiders later inspired 'The Pirates of Penzance, or The Slave of Duty', a comic opera in two acts, with music by Arthur Sullivan and libretto by W. S. Gilbert. The opera's official premiere was at the Fifth Avenue Theatre in New York City on December 31, 1879. The London premiere was on April 3, 1880.

This opera remains popular today, taking its place along with The Mikado and H.M.S. Pinafore as one of the most frequently performed Gilbert and Sullivan operas.

Get Well Soonest AusGrl!

Just a short post to let you know AusGrl has not been feeling well lately and I want to wish her a speedy and complete recovery.

If you haven't seen her blogs lately, she's been busy and you may have been missing out on things like Australian foods (something that she calls "tucker") and some yummy recipes as well as Australian lingo - which has many entries on things Australian - like their national anthem, colorful birds, actors and actresses, historical characters, and of course their lingo (for example, they call redheads, blueys, isn't that odd?)

A Rainy Day's Musings

It's a dreary rainy day day here, so I thought I would sit and recount my visit with Mr. Earthworm that took place a couple days ago. Even after I nearly stepped on him, he graciously allowed me to pick him up and place him on a nearby bench - where I sat next to him and we chatted about things, you know, things like the world's problems (all of which we solved), the new football season and other sundry topics.

What Wormy had to say was really interesting and got me thinking that, if and when I ever get reincarnated, I want to come back as a earthworm.

There are a great many pluses.

Earthworms are invertebrates. That is, they do not have a backbone. So this means they experience no lower back pains, no neck pains, no sacroiliac troubles, sore knees, and never have achy dislocated shoulders.

Earthworms do not have a nose, eyes, ears, or hands to gather sensory information about their environment. Instead, they depend on sensory receptors in their skin to "feel" their way through the soil.

This would be wonderful! To never have a runny or stuffed up nose and never worrying about being poked in the eye. And never having conjunctivitis or irritated eyes from allergies as well as never having ringing in the ears, or ever hearing any nagging.

In fact, you would never hear dumb songs like the "Popeye the Sailor's Mam" and "King Henry the Eight I Am!" Without hands, you could never get arthritis in the fingers to boot! All of this is just for starters!

Oh! How can I forget! you'd never need to buy contact lens solution, or a nose or ear hair trimmer! Gosh! The list seems nearly endless!

Cooler still, earthworms have both boy and girl reproductive parts - they are, like snails and slugs, hermaphroditic. The brilliant Woody Allen once said, "The good thing about being bisexual is that it doubles your chance of a date on a Saturday night." Of course, being hermaphroditic takes things to a whole 'nother level. Oh, I hear you thinking "simultaneous orgasm" two times over... but you don't have to admit it and please don't comment on what you think about this.

Earthworms have simple brains which specialize in directing body movement in response to light, and not much else. To show how simple the brain is, if an earthworm's brain is removed, changes in its general behavior are hardly noticeable. Now, wouldn't that excuse a lot of my silly behavor? I'm also thinking earthworms don't get migraines or other headaches - or at least not really big ones.

Earthworms have no lungs. Their "breathing" consists of oxygen from the air passively diffusing through the skin into the body. So, no asthma, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, infections like influenza, pneumonia and tuberculosis, lung cancer, and many other breathing problems. It would be really hard to beat that!

There would be no taxes or rent or mortgage to pay, no baby diapers to change, no worries about gasoline prices or car repairs or rush hours, no listening to endless ads placed by politicians shamelessly slinging mud at one another, no telemarketers, no agonising over what to wear or even what clothes to buy and how to pay for them, no teeth to brush and never getting cavities and no root canal surgeries... In fact, nothing is expected of a worm other than they eat and poop (and have that aforementioned mind-boggling sex).

This list is by no means all-inclusive - the absolute best thing about being an Earthworm, I would think however, would be playing in the mud all day. Now that would be a whole lot of fun!

There are, a course, like with anything else, some downsides.

• No arms for hugging or for tattoo'ing if you are into that sort of thing.
  
• Not being able to do the breast stroke or to be able swim at all for that matter.
  
• Having to remember to get out of the house when it rains and not vice versa.
  
• Having dry skin is worse than the heartbreak of psoriasis.
  
• Being eaten by something like a robin or a mole.
  
• Getting put on a hook and tossed into a fish's mouth.
  
• Getting stepped on by some worm-splutters.

Worm Facts

Mile 0 - Land's End, England

After parachuting from the obliging courier aircraft into Tori_Z's backyard to deliver her stuff, I found myself patting Kero on the head and shaking his paw - pondering what to do next, when down the road came the rattle of a light tank tread, and with it arrived the Royal Welch Fusiliers led by Prince Andrew who was overhead flying a helicopter.

A loudspeaker hailed me, saying "Remain motionless and put your hands up!" and who but Prince Charles pops out of the tank turret (taking much care not to bang in long royal nose on the rim of the hatch combing) to speak to me saying, "I've reassured Ambassador Nutkins that you would be escorted to the place your Virtual Walk begins without allowing for any dilly-dallying nor delay. Nor will you be allowed to mosey about after your walk starts."

And with that I was forced into the helicopter and taken to Land's End, England, where I was unceremoniously dumped.



It being late at night, this is what I saw at Mile Zero. I took a deep breath, gathered up my courage, find my bearings, and take my first step... and so the walk begins!

Land's End (Cornish name: 'Penn an Wlas') is a headland on the Penwith peninsula, located near Penzance in Cornwall, England, United Kingdom.

The Cornish language is one of the 'indigenous Briton' Celtic languages. The language continued to function as a community language in parts of Cornwall until the late 18th century. Today there are perhaps a couple thousand people that speak the language.

Cornish exists in place names, and a knowledge of the language helps the understanding of old place names. Many Cornish names are adopted for children, pets, houses and boats. There is now an increasing amount of Cornish literature, in which poetry is the most important genre, particularly in oral form or as song or as traditional Cornish chants historically performed in marketplaces during religious holidays, public festivals and gatherings, and executions.



Visible from Land's End is the Longships Lighthouse. The Longships, a few miles off-shore, is a serpentine and quartz island.

The Sun Never Sets On the British Empire

As of September 8, 2008 at 8:00 PM
Steps: 53,118
Miles: 22.62
Miles To Go: 2682.38


The Flag of the United Kingdom

The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, commonly known as the United Kingdom, the UK or Britain, is an island country located off the northwestern coast of continental Europe. The UK spans the island of Great Britain, the northeast part of the island of Ireland, and a great many small islands.

Northern Ireland is the only part of the UK with a land border, sharing it with the Republic of Ireland (Southern Ireland.) Apart from this land border, the UK is surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean, the North Sea, the English Channel and the Irish Sea. The largest island, Great Britain, is linked to France by the Channel Tunnel.

The United Kingdom is a union of four constituent countries: England, Northern Ireland, Scotland and Wales. It is governed by a parliamentary system with its seat of government in London, the capital, and is a constitutional monarchy with Queen Elizabeth II as the head of state.

Great Britain is the larger of the two main islands of the British Isles, the largest island in Europe and the ninth-largest island in the world. Great Britain is also the third most populated island on earth (after Java and Japan). It is also the second richest island in the world (after Japan) with the world's 5th largest economy and 58 million people.

Traces of early humans have been found in Great Britain from some 700,000 years ago and modern humans from about 30,000 years ago. Up until about 9,000 years ago, Great Britain was joined to Ireland. As recently as 8,000 years ago Great Britain was joined to the continent as the southeastern part of Great Britain was still connected by a strip of low marsh to the European mainland in what is now northeastern France.

In the Cheddar Gorge near Bristol, the remains of animal species native to mainland Europe such as antelopes, brown bears, and wild horses have been found alongside a human skeleton, 'Cheddar Man', which has been dated to about 7150 B.C. Thus, animals and humans are thought to have moved between mainland Europe and Great Britain via a land crossing.

The island of Great Britain formed at the end of the Pleistocene ice age when sea levels rose due in part to the melting of glaciers. Its Iron Age inhabitants are known as the Britons, a group speaking a Celtic language, and most of it (not the northernmost part where the majority of Scotland lies today) was conquered to become the Ancient Roman province of Britannia.

The United Kingdom retains sovereignty over 14 territories outside of the British Isles, collectively named the British overseas territories, which remain under British rule, some of these territories might be side trips as the Virtual Walker will be walking through England, Scotland and Wales which are (mostly) situated on the island of Great Britain, along with their capital cities, London, Edinburgh and Cardiff respectively.

I do hope I've not messed this up! Otherwise MarmiteToasty and Tori_Z will be around to straighten me out! :)