A boy named Kelsey

For the first 15 years of my life my name was a guy’s name. Now that every other girl born is given the name Kelsey, my gender is often misidentified. When I was receiving info from colleges trying to woo me into attending, I received one letter from St. Mary’s all-girl school located in South Bend, Indiana. I’ve always been a fan of Tom Hanks in Bosom Buddies and it humored me to no end thinking about four-years of cross-gendered hijinx.

Over the years I have received some interesting mail addressed to Ms. Kelsey Timmerman, including one letter asking me to join AARP. Still trying to figure that one out. Not only did they think I was female, they also though I was over 50-years-old. Yesterday I received one of my more memorable pieces of mail, a postcard from the American Greetings Card Company looking for freelance writers to write cards. It was addressed to….

Countess Kelsey Timmerman

Holy hell! I’m a countess!

I think I know what happened here. A few months ago I attended the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop (where I met Dave Barry and Craig Wilson) and while filling out the online registration form I chose “Count” as the prefix to my name. It was late at night and I was feeling punchy and I was cracking-up at the amount of prefixes to choose from. I could have been a Commandant, Commander, General, Duke, you name it. I chose “Count” because I am a huge Dracula fan, plus, it kind of goes well with Kelsey.

Count Kelsey… Wah-ha-ha-ha!

I was bummed when I saw my name tag at the conference - no “Count Kelsey” just plain ol’, boring, “Kelsey Timmerman.” The thing that gets me is that someone sitting at American Greetings company looked at my name on the list of conference attendees, saw “COUNT Kelsey Timmerman” from OHIO, and thought, “Geeze that can’t be right. They must have meant Countess. Kelsey is a woman’s name.”

Come on American Greetings paper pushers! Which is more unbelievable, that there is a guy with the name of Kelsey or that there is someone in OHIO - land of no castles and or royalty - that is either a Count or a Countess!

My New Hero...ROCKET GUY!

My new Hero…ROCKET GUY!

Brian Walker, aka Rocket Guy, plans to launch himself 20 miles out of the world’s largest crossbow housed in the back of his pickup truck. His aircraft, modeled after those found in Star Wars and Battlestar Gallactica, will be mounted on a 24’ long rail and launched by a carbon-fiber bowstring. To help cover the 20 miles his aircraft has a jet turbine mounted on it. To slow his descent, he will use hydrogen peroxide rockets best known for their use in jet packs in the 1950’s. For protection he’ll wear a $15,000 Russian Space Suit.

The engine, the suit, the truck, the carbon-fiber bowstring – all very expensive, but still just a drop in the bucket when compared to the cost of the bushels of pot he surely smoked to conjure up such an idea.

“Dude, you know that ship in Empire Strikes Back? Empire was the best. Do you think someone could actually survive in the cold by cutting open a harmless beast of burden and crawling inside?”

“What about the ship? And yes I think it is possible to survive by beast of burden immersionization.”

“Oh, yeah the ship, it will be like one them ships that goes real fast. I’ll strap a jet engine on it. I bet I could go like 20 some miles.”

“Cool.”

Walker also invented a 300-gallon water balloon launcher.

I admit I am somewhat jealous. I aspire, just like the rest you, to someday be an eccentric billionaire playboy inventor. Until then, I’d get a big thrill out of writing Walker’s obituary if, god forbid, The Force fails him.

Shaolin Shakedown

THE SHAOLIN TEMPLE In the mountains of China’s Henan Province has been a place where countless monks have studied the way of Buddha, but the temple is best known for the physical feats of its monks. In the entire world you cannot find a greater number of grown men wearing saffron who can take a swift kick in the groin without even flinching. It’s the magic of Kung Fu.

Kung Fu may be heaped in ancient tradition, but that hasn’t stopped the temple from embracing modernization. The Shaolin temple is big business. Last year over 1 million tourists visited the temple and paid the $12.50 entrance fee. The monks tour the world putting on shows. They have cell phones. Many of them are studying for their MBA’s. They established a copyright in 1997 to combat misuse of their name in movies such as Shaolin Shakedown , which is a movie title I completely made up, but one I would consider purchasing. I even have a movie summary in mind:

Shaolin Shakedown: A coming of age story in which a young monk launches a hip-hop dance craze based on the fluidity of Kung Fu and the movements of small, friendly woodland creatures such as moles.

The temple is even getting in on the reality television craze. They will host a sort of Kung Fu Idol in which contestants compete for a position in a Kung Fu movie.

You can learn more about the Martial Art Moguls in a recent feature in the Asia Times.

In the interest of full-disclosure, I studied Southern-style Shaolin Kung Fu for a few years. My school was somewhat less prestigious than THE TEMPLE in China as it was in a strip mall in Ohio next to a Domino’s. I won the student of the year award once. If you don’t believe me prepare to face the wrath of my years of training, which means, that I will throw my 5x8 Kung Fu Award Plaque at you and runaway a safe distance before looking back to see if it inflicted any damage.

Today's Inspirational Photo

Kyle is on his way to the deep, dark jungle of Honduras. He will encounter a poisonous snake, a crazy biologist, and one malaria carrying mosquito on a mission.

Inspirational Photo

A big thanks to John Scalzi of Whatever for directing me to the "Motivational Picture" maker. As if I already don't have enough things to waste my time on.

Travelin' Touron - Episode 3

A Living Lesson, Casa Guatemala, Pogostickin' world records

Spaghetti, a Guatemalan delicacy

Manuela a resident of Casa Guatemala shovels it in

Only 11!

Below I’ve pasted a portion of an article and poem sent to me by Writer, Elizabeth Horner. You won’t be able to tell it from the writing, but Elizabeth is only 11 and she does not have an MFA in creative writing (that I know of).

To put this in perspective…

When I was 11… I shot myself at point-blank range with a BB gun in the leg – it was only one pump, but one pump was enough to have me jumping around the yard cursing.

When I was 11… I placed a sweater de-fuzzer on my tongue to see what it felt like. To save you the trouble of testing this out, you know those little bumps on your tongue? Well, they are the tongue’s equivalent of fuzz and a de-fuzzer removes them. There is blood involved and a strict no salt diet for at lest a week.

Elizabeth is 11 and she frequently contributes poems and articles to her local paper, which happens to carry my column as well. She recently has been awarded the Lowell Thomas Literary Award. Did I mention she is only 11?

The following appeared in a recent edition:

…I am very interested in different cultures and would like to do a lot of traveling myself someday. I’ve also wanted very much that kids from different schools around the world would write or send e-mail to each other as part of their Language, Art, Science and Social Studies Classes to learn from each other or even just to be a pal. In one of his e-mails to me Kelsey wrote, “Most people are great people and I never cease to be surprised at the hospitality and kindness that people all over the world display...The most important thing is to be a good person. If you smile and treat people with respect, no matter how far you leave home behind - you will always be greeted with open arms.” Kelsey’s e-mail and also thinking about Mother’s Day inspired me to write this poem.

The Language of your Heart
by Elizabeth Horner

Whether it’s in New York, Paris or Tokyo
The language is not the same
But our hearts speak the same language
One of love and pain

No matter where you travel
Or who it is you meet
We all know the joys of victory
And the lessons of defeat

But if we judge by our hearts
And not by our native tongue
All around the world – you will see
The same songs are being sung

The language of the heart
That is understood everywhere
It is one of kind deeds and love
Understanding, patience and care

Trust and believe in that language
And it will help you go far
To another country
Or to the farthest star

4 Reasons to Never Travel Anywhere

1. Scout

2. Zoe

3. Sammy

4. Sophie

Graduation Parties, Muggings

I attended a graduation party this weekend made up of people that, for the most part, I did not know. After a couple drinks and a belly full of food, I was happy to attain fly-on-wall status – observing, day dreaming, eating peanuts.

The conversation weaved around embarrassing moments of the graduate’s childhood, chemistry, Mountain Dew, Columbus, and at some point - muggings. This got me thinking…

Why haven’t I been mugged? Now, I’ve been plenty of places where that kind of thing wouldn’t be too much of a surprise, but it just hasn’t happened. Maybe muggers can pick up on the fact that I studied martial arts for years (two years – just enough to deserve the plural).

Nah, that can’t be it. I never really studied any animal styles like TIGER style that might lead to a detectable confidence in my gait. I’m not sure if I made it anything past the little known, seldom-feared HAIRY EARTHWORM style. That’s right, I’m far less a fierce jungle predator than fishing bait.

Eureka that’s it! The reason I have never been mugged is because I look like easy pickin’s, too-good-to-be-true, come-and-rob-me bait. I am such a target for being mugged that potential muggers assume that somebody has already beaten them to my passport and pocket change.

I’m too good to be true.

No one did ask me whether I had ever been mugged or not. I doubt I would have arrived at an answer better than “Nope.” By the time I worked-out why it was that I hadn’t been mugged the conversation had turned back to embarrassing stories about the graduate, which got me thinking some more…

Which is the lesser evil: being mugged, or having your family tell stories about you growing up to all your friends and any flies-on-the-wall in listening distance?

Traveling Touron - Episode #2

Midnight inThe Jungle, framing a story, David Blaine, and Ugly America.

Circum-pogostick-ulations of the Globe

Who doesn’t want to travel around the world and set a World’s record at the same time? The problem is that it’s all been done, right? Wrong.

Sure people have walked, sailed, motor-boated, balooned, and I even read about some guys who peddled (bikes and boats) around the world, but there are a lot of ways to get around. Here’s a list of 80 of them, including tractor, dump truck, combine, and my personal favorite pogostick - #3 on the list!

I was actually kind of surprised that no one has pogosticked, or is it pogostuck, around the world, but after some investigative googling I found this to be true. One fella who holds the World’s record for most World records (102) pogo-ed up Mt. Fuji, some other guy went something like 14-miles, but other than that the pogo records seem wide open. I wonder if pogo-balling would count?

What I’m trying to say is that if you’ve got the time and your John Deere combine is just sitting around collecting dust, fire that bad boy up and let the adventure begin.

Hulk-O-Mania Around the World

I’ve gone weeks without thinking of Hulk Hogan. The last time I did was when I flipped by his reality television show, Hogan Knows Best. I believe my thoughts regarding Hulk Hogan at that moment were something like: Gee, Hulk Hogan sure does seem like a good father. I wonder what he would look like with a hair piece.

I used to have a rubber Hulk Hogan action figure (no bandana – it was pre-hair-loss). At one time I even tried to rip my shirt off. Followers of Hulk Hogan are known as Hulk-o-maniacs. I was a wannabe Hulk-o-maniac but I just couldn’t come to terms with Hulk Hogan’s yellow speedo.

I’ve suppressed most memories of my juvenile fascination with pro-wrestling, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t escape Hulk Hogan.

Recently, I was reminded of Hulk Hogan when I heard about this Kiwi fella who is trying to circle the globe in 65 days in a motor boat; it would be a new world’s record. His boat will be solely powered by B100 bio-diesel which is made up of various organic materials including some fat liposuctioned off his butt. What does this have to do with Hulk Hogan? Check out the boat Mr. Kiwi is going to be using. Remind you of anything?

Does Thunder in Paradise ring a bell?

What, am I the only one who remembers Hulk Hogan’s 1994 22-epidsodes-before-getting-canceled hit, Thunder in Paradise - tagline: Danger. Excitement. Adventure. It's just another day in paradise?

I guess so.

Anyhow you should definitely check out Earthrace’s website. It’s nice to know that there are people out there with way too much money who spend their money like I would spend their money.

Slaves of the Throne

We’re all slaves of the (porcelain) throne, except for David Blaine. How does he do it?

Tonight Dave came out of his Plexiglas sphere filled with water after 7 days – Impressive.

Tonight Dave attempted to hold his breath underwater for 9 minutes, but only managed to do it for 7 – still Impressive.

But most impressive of all was the fact that during the seven days that Dave was in the sphere he didn’t poop. Not one floater in the entire sphere!

Now that’s magic.

I have to admit that I only watched Dave’s TV special tonight during the commercials of 24. During the seven - what I am sure were excitement filled - minutes where Dave held his breath, Jack Bauer landed a plane on a freeway in order to avoid being shot down by a fighter plane and then managed to escape unscathed from an entire military platoon that had been ordered by the President to track him down.

Sorry Dave, Jack is just more exciting.

More from the Multi-cultural food file

To owners and gamblers at the Kentucky Derby, $1,000 isn’t that much. But even they have to balk before ordering the The Woodland Reserve Mint Julep with its $1,000 price tag.

Why so expensive?

The crushed ice used in the drink is glacier water from the Arctic Circle, the mint is flown in from Morocco, and the sugar is from Mauritius. As you can imagine with the current price of fuel, transporting all of the ingredients to Kentucky is kinda pricey. Oh yeah, it’s also served in a 24K gold-plated cup.

The proceeds from the drink will go to a thoroughbred retirement center.

On a somewhat different note: I’ve got some ancestors who were moon-shiners in the hills of Kentucky. They would dump gallons of water from a nearby stream, bran from the local bran store, yeast from the local yeast store, and 100 pounds of sugar from the local sugar store, in a bath tub. Sure it wasn’t quite as classy or multicultural as The Woodland Reserve Mint Julep, but it was cheap and would get you real drunk – so says my Grandma.

Kokota Photos

More photos from the first ever baseball game on the island of Kokota.

World Hum

One of my favorite websites/Blogs, World Hum, has a post regarding my recent piece in the CSM. If you haven’t checked out World Hum, you must. It is one of the best places anywhere (books, mags, or online) to find quality travel writing.

World Hum in their own words:

We don’t see travel only as a way to spend a couple weeks’ vacation every year. For us, travel is a way to see the world when we’re abroad, but also a way to see the world when we’re at home. Travel is a state of mind.

Published in the Christian Science Monitor

I was so distracted yesterday trying to get my stupid podcast up and running that I forgot to plug my story that appeared in the Christian Science Monitor's Home Forum essay section.

Read: In a remote area, baseball is the universal language

Feel free to email the monitor and tell them how much you enjoyed the piece!!

I'll let the CSM's website exlplain exactly what it is. Really, there are no other newspapers out there like it:

The Christian Science Monitor is an international daily newspaper published Monday through Friday.

Is the paper a religious periodical?

No, it's a real newspaper published by a church — The First Church of Christ, Scientist in Boston, Mass., USA. Everything in the Monitor is international and US news and features, except for one religious article that has appeared each day in The Home Forum section since 1908, at the request of the paper's founder, Mary Baker Eddy.In an age of corporate conglomerates dominating news media, the Monitor combination of church ownership, a public-service mission, and commitment to covering the world (not to mention the fact that it was founded by a woman shortly after the turn of the century, when US women didn't yet have the vote!) gives the paper a uniquely independent voice in journalism.

Podcast

To check out the first episode of my new PodCast, Travelin' Touron: A behind the scenes looks at travel writing, click this posts title.

Each episode I will read from my column, Travelin' Light, and discuss some of the backstory and decisions that went in to writing it.

The only other feature appearing on episode 1: The Land of Tourons is a reading and discussion from a random page in one of my travel journals. I can't believe I randomly chose the first page I did. You'll have to listen to see what it is...

Enjoy!

The Yank in the Tank Part II

My old buddy David Blaine is at it again.

Okay, okay, I don’t really know him, but when you have seen a fella suspended in a Plexiglas box over the Thames River in London, and that same fella urinated into a small tube and you watched his urine slowly trickle down out of the box, you feel like you know him. Know what I mean?

I was a witness to Dave’s 44-day fast in London. I was there on day 30. He looked tired and hungry. I wrote about the experience (READ It’s a Kind of Magic).

This time Dave has locked himself in a Plexiglas sphere because, as any good street magician/physical-feat-master knows, boxes are so 2003. He plans on staying in it for 7 days until his live ABC broadcast at which time he will go off of his breathing apparatus and attempt to hold his breath for 8 minutes and 58 seconds – longer than any living person ever in the history of non-dead living humans.

You can follow Yank in the Tank Part II HERE where you’ll be treated to groundbreaking coverage like this, “Then slowly we were able to discern David, the man we'd just seen standing around like any other human, swimming around a sphere like a fish. It was more beautiful than can be described with words.

I ended my column It’s a Kind of Magic with the following passage:

A heroic act or a stupid publicity stunt - 84% of those polled on CNN.com think the latter. One man in the crowd at David Blaine’s last day in the box may have summed up this viewpoint best, “Moses fasted for 40 days and brought back the 10 commandments - Blaine goes up there for 44 days to promote a one-hour television show.”

Granted this time there are a few differences. As I already pointed out, he’ll be in a sphere not a box. Instead of 44 days he’s only hanging in for 7 (he’s gone soft). And he’s not promoting a one-hour TV show, but a two-hour TV show.

Dave’s hoping for big ratings.

If I were him, I wouldn’t hold my breath.

The Search for Ugly America

We’re fat. We’re loud. And we’re proud to be American. Screw the rest of the world! That’s what I say.

Think about Bram Stroker’s Dracula for a moment. Was it one of the tea drinking British twits that took out Dracula, the blood sucking Romanian, in the end? Heck NO! It was red-white-and-blue-bleeding, straight-talking, bowie-knife-toting, Yankee Quincy Morris.

I keep hearing this stuff about Ugly Americans and I don’t like it. Sure I agree that we are kind of fat and greasy, but Ugly?

Business for Diplomatic Action (BDA), a non-profit organization, is launching a program this month to teach Americans to be less Ugly. In their publication, The World Citizen’s Guide, they lay out how this can be accomplished: speak lower and softer, don’t use any slang, listen as much as you talk, and dress up.

Apparently, no matter how fast or loud we talk to foreigners they won’t be able to understand us. Who knew? And if we are wearing flip-flops and a tank top there is no way they will be able to understand us because they won’t be able to stop staring at the tufts of hair on our shoulders and back.

I am just as guilty as the rest of us. I try to be nice and polite. I don’t wear tank tops, but I have been known to talk with a strange accented, fast-paced, loud staccato when trying to get my point across to non-native English speakers. Usually this doesn’t annoy people, but it makes them laugh. It makes me laugh.

Does that make me Ugly? No, but my long straight nose does.

I do understand what the BDA is trying to accomplish. I had a friend traveling in South America on business and his co-worker was an Ugly American. They were at a market and the merchant told him how much money he owed in the local currency and my friend’s co-worker said something like: “How much is that in REAL MONEY? IN DOLLARS?

As a nation we are culturally-isolated – we border as many oceans as we do countries. Unlike Europe, where a three hour drive may take you through three countries, here in the US a three-hour drive may take you from Ohio to exotic Indiana - maybe. We aren’t used to dealing with people who don’t sound like us, who don’t use our currency, and who don’t know all of the words to “Take me out to the Ballgame.”

So we are a bit Ugly. But the French are a bit rude, the English a bit prissy, the Aussies are drunks, the Germans are perverts, the Israelis conceited, etc. etc. As humans we can’t help but label nationalities with certain qualities even if they are wrong. This sort of prejudice is not pretty, but it exists.

I’ve had foreigners tell me that I am pretty nice for an American. Of course I am. I was raised in a small town in the Mid-west by loving parents who instilled in me a strong sense of values. The Americans that these foreigners met must have been from the East or West Coast.

People on the East coast are loud and annoying; Westcoasters are a bunch of pot-smoking hippies. That’s where the Ugly Americans are. In the Mid-west and the South we’re pretty. Well maybe not people from Kentucky and Arkansas. But people from Ohio. Except for people from Cleveland or Akron – they’re strange. But people from my part of Ohio we’re great, real winners, with genuine likeability. Well, not always people on Elm Street seem to be bunch of jerks…

Regardless, of our inherent lack of beauty, if it wasn’t for the brashness and boldness that our great nation engrained in Quincey Morris the world be overrun with vampires. We’d all be minions of Dracula.

Think about that!

If ignorance is bliss, don't subscribe to National Geographic

I received the May issue yesterday and I was a little depressed after having read some of the factoids about marriage and pregnancy:

- “Pregnancy is the #1 cause of death among girls 15-19.”
- “In Nepal, 7% of girls are wed before they turn 10.”

Is it just me, or does knowing stuff about the real world really stink? I think from now on I’ll just look at the shiny pics in NG.

I love NG for its candidness. Everyone should get it. Although, I do wish they’d stop calling me about their latest video and free world map.

Antarctica Firefighters

I’m happiest in wide open-spaces and spaces just don’t get any more wide-open than Antarctica. Don’t believe me? Check out this video – it is one of the coolest things I’ve seen on the web in awhile.

The link to the video was sent to me by a couple that I used to work with in Key West who are currently living and working on Earth’s driest and flattest continent. He is a firefighter and she is a dispatcher. Antarctica is known more for its -40 degree temperatures than its blazing infernos, so I’m not exactly sure how the whole firefighting business works out, but I have a feeling it goes like this:

Caller: Oh my! My couch is on fire!

Vanessa (the dispatcher): Don’t panic and whatever you do, do not sit on the couch. I’ll send somebody right there.

Scott (the firefighter) rolls up on his snowmobile: Where’s the fire?

Caller: There! On the couch!

Scott opens up a window and maybe a door. After the flames freeze in place, Scott picks them up off the couch and transports them back to the firehouse's frozen flame pile. During the summer the flames unfreeze and there is a big weenie roast.

Antarctica: Come for the wide-open spaces, stay for the weenie roast!

Internet Worm Holes

Internet cafes are like strange little worm holes.

In Kathmandu I spent the day eating rice with my hands, spinning prayer wheels, trying not to step in donkey poop on the streets, only to find myself in an internet cafe typing in my Yahoo! password next to a saphron clad monk doing the same thing.

In Bucharest there are gypsies that roam the steets, but the internet cafes are packed full with Coke guzzling, cigarette smoking adolescents that probably should be in school. They spend all day playing HALO and the latest Grand Theft Auto.

San Pedro Sula is the AIDS capital of Central America and I had the displeasure to sit next to a perverted American who was bragging about his conquests with young girls.

The atmosphere of internet cafes almost varies as much as the price for an hour of computer time. This months Wired magazine lists prices/hour around the globe. Here's the highlights:

Least Costly- $0.38 in Lima, Peru and La Paz Bolivia

Most Costly- $12.80 !!!! NYC, NY

I can't believe the cost in NYC. In London a city with an overall higher cost of living, one hour online costs only $1.78. What the heck is that about? New Yorkers must be bunch of suckers.

In the Congo, one hour will set you back $1.50, which doesn't seem that bad, but from a local's perspective that is about 70% of their daily income.

Man is planning, God is laughing

I attended a writing conference this weekend. One of the keynote speakers was a fella who started his own publishing company a few years ago. He approached writing purely from a business perspective. He suggested that each of us lay out a business plan and he provided us with an outline to do so.

I was really taking it all to heart, “Yeah, I’ll go home and lay out this list of plans, goals, and expectations. I’ll really give my career the direction it needs.” That’s about when he dropped the name of the first two books he published: Pornucopia and The Magic Fart.

This further proves the Jewish saying, “Man is planning, and God is laughing.” I’m sure when God heard that Pornucopia was a title of a new book he nearly dropped his own Magic Fart.

I scream. You scream. We all scream for Touron Ice Cream!

2 scoops of Touron please.

Get the recipe for Touron ice cream HERE.

From the recipe: “Touron is a nougat of Arabic origin made with almonds and honey or sugar, without which it would just not be Christmas in Spain.”

Now that’s one multi-cultural dessert!

The Air UP There

The average homo sapien sapien flatulates a half-liter of gas per day, dispersed over 14 individual periods of relief.

A flight to Hawaii takes approximately half a day.

A 747 seats around 400 passengers.

As pressure decreases, say, as when a plane ascends, gas expands.

Do you see where I’m going with this?

Learn more about the Air Up There and my grand plan to patent the revolutionary F.A.R.T device in my latest column in The Hub Weekly.

From the Words to Hate File

Octogenarian (adj.)- Someone between eighty and ninety years of age.

Where I read it - I’ve seen it used regularly but most recently in Honeymoon with My Brother by Franz Wisner. A fairly good travel read so far, although, if octogenarian is used one more time, I’m done.

Why I hate it - It’s 6 syllables! It takes the same amount of letters and syllables to say, “An 80-year-old man.” Plus, every time I come across the word I picture a person who adheres to an all-octopus diet and that kinda grosses me out.

When it’s used – When a writer is feeling his/her word selection is too simple and in need of some over-syllabazationaling. Also, used by sadistic writers who get a kick out of terrorizing stutterers that may be forced to read the word aloud in a public place.

For Sale: 10 Bed/15 Bath Castle

Price - $12 million and worth every penny.

Who hasn’t always wanted to own a castle with “a powerful entrance tower . . . curved walls with a rhythmic sequence of battlement towers and bastions . . . an 18th century sundial,” and “a monumental fireplace”? Heck, I'm not even sure what a bastion is, but now I just gotta have one.

I know what you are asking yourself, “But Kelsey, does it have a stable?”

Why yes it does, and if you don’t like horses it can easily be converted into an entertainment room. Although, the stone walls and high ceiling may provide less than optimal surround sound conditions.

There is even a bedroom in the tower where you can lock away any of your crazy relatives or perhaps a fair maiden if you happen to have one that keeps running off after frogs.

To learn more about Italy’s Castello Scotti go HERE.

To make an offer you’ll need to go HERE first.

Giggling Grandma

I always wondered why my Grandma Wilt giggled so much, now I know why... Joint Juice! She has cases of the feel-good juice in her garage. I saw some of her neigbors giggling at a blade of grass. I'm afraid she may be dealing.

Tax Cigarettes. Tax alcohol. But tax chopstick...???

The forests in China are vanishing at an alarming rate so a 5% tax was enacted to encourage the use of non-disposable chopstick. China uses about 45 billion disposable chopstick/year, which equals about 70 million cubic feet of timber/year. Read the full story HERE.

Many of the disposed of chopstick were used to make This SCULPTURE .

I love trees. I also love utensils. I fear that similar utensil's taxes will spread across the globe. Pretty soon, even the most beloved of our disposable utensils may be in jeopardy of being taxed. What then? Will we be forced to eat fast food with our hands?

The Best Seafood in Town

You know you live in the boonies when you don’t associate yourself with a city, but a county. I was born, raised, and am currently living in one of Ohio’s largest farming counties – Darke County.

Darke County is a meat and potatoes kind of place. We have simple palettes. I think this is because of our extremely limited casual dining choices. Sure we get the occasional entrepreneur trying to expand our gastronomic horizons, such as Stephanie the former proprietor of Casa de Stephanie, but, for the most part, these ventures fail.

Recently, the local newspaper ran its annual Reader’s Choice Awards. The winner of the Best Seafood in the County is. . . (drum roll). . . Captain D’s.

I’ve lived in Key West, home of some amazing seafood. On occasion I would spend the day spear-fishing with a friend. When we got to shore we would grill up our catch. Often the meat would still be twitching. The best fish I ever had, but it was missing something…

Hushpuppies!

Captain D’s has hushpuppies. Darke County has hushpuppies. Key West doesn’t. It almost makes me feel sorry for all of those hushpuppy deprived Key Westers.

Almost.

Craig Wilson, the best fan I never had!

Not only did I get a chance to meet Dave Barry this past weekend at the Erma Bombeck Writers' Conference, I also met Craig Wilson, a columnist for USA today.

Craig's column, The Final Word, appears on Wednesday in the Life section. It is one of my favorites. His humor is subtle and witty and he is a master at pulling on the ol' heart strings. At one session at the conference Craig read from his book, It's the Little Things...: An Appreciation of Life's Simple Pleasures, and a recent article about a trip he took to Ethiopia. During the Ethiopia article he had to fight hard to hold back the tears. It's a powerful piece.

I first met Craig at his book signing. All of his books had been sold so I had him sign one of my sample columns. I told him that he didn't have to read it, just write that it was the best thing he had ever read. Here is what he wrote:

Kelsey -

This is the best

thing I've NEVER read

- Craig Wilson

Wow, my first big-time endorsement. You heard it first here folks. My column, Travelin' Light, is so good that you don't even have to read it. Take Craig Wilson at his word.

I'm a swinger!

At 27, on occasion, I sneak out to the local park and pump away on the big 16-foot swings. I suggest you do the same; they won’t be around much longer.

In a recent USA today article Greg Toppo reported: “As safety standards trickled down over the past 25 years, schools, cities and day care centers have been quietly replacing swing sets with all-in-one climbing structures that child-development experts say promote both physical fitness and social skills.”

Toppo goes on to inform us that only 57% of schools have swings. Due to the requirement for spongy surfacing beneath the swings, costs have skyrocketed from about $800 to $4,000 for a simple swing set.

Also falling by the wayside are seesaws (on 13% of playgrounds) and merry-go-rounds (on 7% of playgrounds). Oh, yeah, and the monkey bars are now called “horizontal ladders.” Why the name change? Political Correctness? What next, are we going to rename monkeys?

Personally, I’m of the survival-of-the-fittest playground philosophy. Some of my most vivid memories from grade school are of good friends breaking limbs after high falls or freezing their tongues to the metal monkey bars. Now that all of the equipment is low to the cushioned-ground and made of plastic none of this will be possible.

We are destined to be a nation of weenies with good social skills.

I'm Dave Barry's Idol

(Dave has always been one of my favorite columnists and it was great to meet him. We shared a brief conversation about firecrackers in cats’ butts.)

I'm Dave Barry's Idol.

How do I know this? He wrote it on the inside of his book that I just bought at the Erma Bombeck writers’ conference:

For Kelsey – My idol
Dave Barry

I spend the better part of a passing thought thinking about what it is that Dave admires about me. Sure there are my unique sense of humor, biting wit, handsomely-rugged good looks, and my subtle social commentary, but Dave tends to be doing all right in these categories already.

As I put my newly signed book in my bag, I look up at the line – 350 people strong, arms filled with books for Dave to sign. Then it hits me, Dave idolizes me because I don’t have to sign one darn book.

Later, I hear another attendee talking about how Dave Barry had written that she was his idol on the inside of her book. She is thrilled. I say nothing.

After all, they are the "Magical Fruit"

Why shouldn't beans have their own museum?

The Baked Bean Museum of Excellence in Wales is kind of like "Field of Dreams" except instead of corn there's beans and instead of Kevin Costner there's Captain Beany.

Captain Beany built it and all of us Tourons will come. Without a doubt YOU are a MAJOR Touron if you've been to the Baked Bean Museum of Excellence.

Is it just me or does Captain Beany kind of look like Bono? By the way, Captain Beany is his legal name; it's on his passport.

Evolution and HDTV

Natural selection makes some weird choices? Take for example High-Definition Television. Without a doubt an affinity for high-def TV has been engrained in our DNA for about 100,000 years. I know this because my father and I will sit in front of any television that is excessively large, bright, and clear, regardless of the program. You haven’t seen purple until you’ve seen it in HD.

What purpose this serves in the evolutionary scheme of things no one yet knows. I suspect it has something to do with not being eaten by a saber-toothed tiger.

Lately we’ve stumbled upon the Discovery channel in HD. If only the real world were so beautiful. We watch anything that is on it whether it has to do with fashion, travel, bridges, cars, or bugs.

We are learning a lot. Did you know that spiders fly to Hawaii? Well, not so much as fly, but float on the Trade winds at high altitudes. Most of them die from the cold and radiation during the 3 day flight at over 30,000’, but some of ‘em don’t. Seeds and birds get to Hawaii the same way.

I know you are thinking that HDTV has nothing to do with natural selection, but you are failing to consider games shows. Let’s say that the two of us, me and you, are on a game show. The category is useless knowledge and the host asks us a question about spiders flying to Hawaii. You don’t know it. I do. I win. You lose and losers are fed to the ill-tempered saber-toothed tiger.

OCD travelers

You adjust your surgeons mask. It needs readjusting after the heated conversation with the airport security guard. Who hasn't heard of a portable bidet? You like to feel fresh, why should you have to explain yourself?

Around your neck buzzes your battery-operated air purifier. A concentration of unipoloar ions makes you feel all warm and germ-free.

When you find your seat you bust out the seat condom. A protective layer of plastic is between you and the legions of mites and fecal matter left behind by the seat's previous occupants.

You politely spray down your bewildered neighbors with a light dusting of Lysol - kills 99% of bacteria.

You are an OCD traveler that probably should stay home with your pet monkey Bubbles.

-----------------

Every traveler should read the article Making germs a no-go in today's USA Today. If you are an OCD traveler you should read it to learn of the latest in extreme germ avoidance; if you are a non-OCD traveler you should read it so you can spot travelers that may try to de-germ your eyeballs with Lysol.

Blimey!

The population of Ireland = 4 Million

# of US citizens that claim Irish heritage = 35 million

I found an interesting page of Irish-American factoids and for some reason included on the list is the amount of beer consumed per capita in the USA - 22 gallons.

Read here to find out who said: "Saint Patrick's Day is like green beer - something the Lord never intended." Also, if you want to "purchase products that will help your unsaved Catholic friends learn the truth about their Godless holiday" click HERE.

The Pen is Mightier than American B-ball Mediocrity

Few people appreciate the great influence I bare over world events. For example, I sent Duke University's Coach K an email (posted below) demanding that he take on the job as the USA basketball coach, and, guess what, he did. No surprise really. If a not so prominent freelance writer sent a weak little letter to one of your many assistants demanding something, you'd probably do it too.

Mr. Brown,

I am a freelance writer and I am embarrassed by the state of USA basketball. I have written an article for my syndicated column, “Travelin’ Light,” about my 1992 USA Olympic basketball team shorts and why I am ashamed to wear them. I have pasted the article below. Please pass it on to Coach K.

I would like to encourage Coach K to take the coaching job for the next Olympics. I know that he will bring integrity to the program, win back the respect we lost in Athens, and most importantly, allow me to wear my shorts with pride.

Thanks,

Kelsey Timmerman
------------------------------------

You can read the article I mentioned in the letter HERE.

Pentagon to use sharks as "spies"

News from the "Who are the monsters, sharks or humans?" front:

The Pentagon hopes to turn sharks into "stealth spies" by using, what I am sure are overpriced, neural implants. The implants have passed their lab tests and are ready for the field. "Blue sharks implanted with the gadget are to be released off the coast of Florida."

Spring Break in Florida anyone?

I've got one question: what happens when a shark fresh off a tour of duty in some Southeast-Asian port tries to assimilate back to normal life on the reef, but is unable to beacause he just can't shake the horrors he's seen and the atrocities he has committed?

RAMBO SHARK! That's what!

Missing Link in Turkey?

5 human siblings between the ages of 18-34 were found living together in an isolated village in Turkey. While it is odd that the siblings are still living together after all of these years, it isn't nearly as odd as the fact that they are all quadrupeds.

To quote the Yahoo News story: Researchers believe the five brothers and sisters, who can walk naturally only on all fours, may provide new information on how humans evolved from four-legged hominids to walk upright.

From the report it sounds like these scientists would sell their most loyal Erlenmeyer flask to study the siblings. But to me, learning about our humble evolutionary beginnings from present day humans is nothing new. If these scientists have a weakness for home made ice cream and a penchant for croquet, they can simply accompany me to one of my family reunions to witness various characteristics, appearances, and behaviors of pre-modern man.

I'm sick

I have the flu. As Jimmy Buffett once said, "My head, hearts, my feet stink, and I don't love Jesus." It sucks.

One thing that my travels have taught me is that there is no better place to be sick than at home. It's better than any cheap motel or overcrowded hostel in the world. Here is an excerpt from a column I wrote about being sick on the road:

Hovering or squatting over stained porcelain, you watch your life force pass into foreign plumbing of varying degrees of inefficiency. You wish for a quick painless death to end the suffering, and a cup of your mother’s homemade chicken noodle soup to wet your quivering lips, but neither come. Thoughts of your own porcelain throne, as well as a few good sheets of 2-ply toilet paper, drift just beyond hope, in the realm of the divine. You’re sick and you’re alone in a foreign land.

I am a world record holder!

Remember Mad Libs?

The word game that brought you phrases like "the rhino wore pink panties to Venus," that made you laugh so hard on the bus that you shot snot all over little Susie Schoolgirl seated in front of you?

Recently, I participated in the longest Mad Lib in history - 34 pages long with over 1,100 blanks filled in by attendees of the Erma Bombeck Writer's Workshop in Dayton, Ohio.

That's right I hold a world record, an unofficial world record, but honestly who would actually spend the time verifying such a thing.

Sharks are the monsters?

(I took this picture on a dive in the Bahamas)

Peter Benchley the author of Jaws recently passed away. He made his fortune by demonizing the shark and spent the rest of his life preaching conservation of the ocean's top predators. Benchley recognized what amazing creatures sharks are and that if man screws with the top of the food chain we're asking for trouble. Some others such as Vic Hislop, an Australian "Shark Hunter," never have come around.

Here are the facts:

Each year 100 million sharks are killed by humans. We hack off their fins, essential for swimming, and throw their wriggling, bloody torsos back into the water to die slowly, all for a nice bowl of shark fin soup. According to Julia Brown of Halifax University, worldwide shark populations are falling at an alarming rate. In the past 50 years there has been a 61% decrease in the population of large species. The population of white tip sharks, once thought to be the most abundant large animal on earth, has decreased by an alarming 99%.

And some still think that sharks are the monsters.

Happy 50th to a True Touron...

My Uncle Randy turned 50 yesterday. This picture was taken about 25 years ago when he had one of the best whafros (white guy afro) around.

He says he looks like Hyde from That 70's Show. I think he is giving himself too much credit.

You might be a Touron if...

...you travel to North Carolina and unconsciously (and badly) mimic the regional accent in conversations with the locals.

Thanks to J. Herman for admitting the above Touron If. I believe this is one that we all have been guilty of at some point in time. I lived in North Carolina for about two years, does that mean I am allowed to use English's laziest contraction- Y'all? How many days, weeks, months, or years have to go by before it is socially acceptable to butcher the local dialect?

What really cracks me up is when I am talking to someone that barely understands English and I unconsciously try to bridge the language gap by speaking rapid staccatoed English with some strange accent. It doesn't matter where I am at in the world my strange accent is always the same. One of these days I hope to find someone that understands it.

To read more touron confessions visit the Touron If section of my website. If you have any good ones yourself leave 'em in the comments.

Y'all come back now, ya hear?

Proud to be American?

"You are pretty nice for an American."

I have actually had people say this to me before. I'm really not quite sure how to take it. Do I sell out my countrymen and say "thanks?"

They usually continue on to tell me things that paint "most" Americans as the brash, culturally insensitive, my way or the highway, cowboy, capitalist pig type.

Fueling this misconception is the fact that much of what they learn about us is through the TV or bigscreen. On one hand they think that we are the gun-toting models they see in the movies and on the other, thanks to the US's two most worldwide shows - Jerry Springer and COPS - they think we are toothless, obese strippers who are married to our cousins. I like to think we are somewhere in between.

This thought stream was brought on by a recent post on worldhum.com about two girls from Wisconsin that are selling ad space on their foreheads while they travel around the world. If there goal of $1 million in ad sales is met they will easily be able to fund their 80-day around the world trip. I know what you are thinking, "Capitalist piglettes." But wait. Some of the money will go to charity.

While I admire their desire to travel and their fearlessness in the face of humiliation, I can't decide what I would have them temporarily tattoo on their foreheads. I've narrowed it down to: I'm with stupid, Kick Me, Proud to be an American Entrepaneur, Bet you wish you'd thought of this, or simply a picture of the Canadian flag.

I'd like to buy the world a Coke...

...but the world already has it! Over the last week I've been researching Coca-Cola - very interesting and unbelievable. 1 billion Coke products are consumed each day. One friggin' billion.

Some of my encounters with the all-American company abroad:

• Nepal: Monks using it as offering to some Tibetan deity.
• Guatemala: Met a hippy from Spain (Do they call 'em hippies in Spain?) who blamed Coca-Cola for more than just rotting teeth. She said the company backs the killing of union leaders in Colombia. The materials I used to research didn't make any mention of this, but there is a web site dedicated to it - Killer Coke.

No matter how out of the way you are, if you are thirsty someone will probably hand you a Coke. Coke claims to be in 200 countries world-wide. This just in- there are currently 192 countries on Earth.

Now that is marketing!

Touron Tip -- Underwear and security

Some people may think that the most security that one can get from their clothing is a hidden pocket or two. They would be wrong.

Get rid of your hidden pockets, mace, munches, and stun guns, underwear is the new IT item in travel security. A wisely selected pair of undergarments just may be the difference between months of being held hostage or a day of hanging out with your new friends with guns.

Let me explain...

Let's say you are hiking in Colombia's Darien Province where people tend to get captured every mile or two. You are, in fact, captured, but you are prepared. As your captors tell you to strip off your clothing they marvel at how calm you are. They've never had a hostage act like this before. Your shirt and pants lie in a pile at your feet and you stand there in your wisely selected underwear - Scooby Doo underwear. Your captors grew up watching Scooby. They love Scooby Doo, their children love Scooby Doo. A bond is formed. You spend the rest of the day eating their rice, drinking their booze, playing cards, and recounting the adventures of Scooby. Crisis averted.

Be sure to check local listing to see what cartoons play in the region you will be visiting and shop accordingly. If you are going to a particularly dangerous area you may want to step up your level of undergarments security. Trust me, no one will hold you hostage if you are wearing adult underoos.

Oceanoholicism

I have fallen off the wagon. I'm drinking again. I can't seem to quench my thirst for salt water. Sometimes I poor a glass over my head and let it crust into a nice white layer on my skin. I miss the ocean that bad.

I miss sun-generated heat, colorful fish in the ocean, colorful fish on my plate served with mango, free diving, SCUBA diving, and, most of all, my flop-flipping flip-flops. I have had the good fortune to spend much of the previous three summers in and around the ocean working as a SCUBA instructor ('02- Key West, '03 Key West, '04- Baja), but in '05 I only had the opportunity a handful of times when I was traveling in Central America.

I'm one of those people that requires at least a month or so on and under the water each year. My name is Kelsey and I am an Oceanoholic.

With the help of my OAA sponsor, I have come a long way in the battle with this horrible disease, but today I broke one of the groups sacred rules: Do not read articles about sunny places, perfect beaches, and lazy days on the water. I get the NYT's travel section delivered by email each week and today I made the mistake of reading The Flip Side of the Bahamas by Danny Lee that featured the quiet island of Eleuthera.

So, I read the article and the drinking began again. Despite the fact that Eleuthera sounds like a part of the urinary tract, I gotta go!

Oh, and it's not true, drinking salt water doesn't make you crazy. If you don't believe me you can ask my imaginary pet sea turtle Bill.

Fast food horror

Cue the eerie music and The Voice that does all of the suspenseful movie trailers...

"Somewhere deep in the heart of middle America a little old lady is about to inform her fellow fast food diners of a horrible truth."

Stop the music. Zoom to the little old lady's face.

"The devil never sleeps." NOOOOOOOOOOO! We are all doomed.

I ran into a friend's grandma who randomly blurted this out today at McDonald's when I was mid-bite into my egg McMuffin. It really was kind of creepy coming from such a sweet crackily high-pitched voice.

My thoughts raced as my state of horror elevated: What if she's right? What if the devil never sleeps but spends all of his time trying to do evil? He could be among us right now?

Then I remembered that this is coming from a lady who I know for a fact eats potpourri.

I finished my value meal in peace.

Orwell on high-tech passports

There are some words that people use just to sound smart. One of these words is Orwellian. I know that it refers to George Orwell's novel 1984 that introduced us to BIG BROTHER. I never read the book, but I know enough about it to summarize: 1984 is about a group of farm animals that move into a house in LA and spy on each other. Each week the pig, who is the Head of Household, votes a donkey out of the house. Wait, maybe that isn't right. Let me google it... ... ... ...

Okay here is what I found: 1984 is a "dystopian novel setting forth his (Orwell's) fears of an intrusively bureaucratized state of the future."

Dystopian? This is another word that people use to sound smart. There was an Orwell, does this mean there is some guy out there running around with the last name of Dystop?

Back to 1984. As you can tell from my above research I was right about the pigs.

I read an article in a popular travel magazine in which the author was writing about memory chips being imbedded in our passports. Apparently, he felt as if he needed to boost his intellectual confidence and busted out the "O" word, calling the chips "downright Orwellian."

I have no idea what the chips would have to do with pigs, but to me they may not be a bad idea. They are supposed to speed up the process of passing through immigration. Those lines make me nervous. I don't like being in inter-country limbo. Plus, I always feel like I am hiding something.

There is also the safety issue. I once met a 22 year old American student in Eastern Europe who was fresh off a few months in Iran where he had gone native - wearing bed sheets, sporting an unkept fundamentalist beard, the whole works. It scares me to think that this fella could have handed his passport to a tired immigration worker who flipped past his Iranian stamps and allowed him to waltz into the country. This guy should have been detained and questioned.

That's just my opinion. I know that it's downright Timmermanian , and perhaps a little Kelseyian, so you'll have to forgive me.

You might be a Touron if...

...you were cured from a desire to vomit (due to dysentery, no less) by the revolting state of the toilets available to vomit into.

- Anonymous

Happy V-Day

What do the Headless Horseman and St. Valentine have in common?

Their heads...err...their lack of heads.

On this day in 269 a roman priest named Valentine was beheaded. How we went from a beheading to greeting cards and boxes of chocolates remains a mystery.

I hope your day is memorable too, but not quite as memorable as the holiday's namesake.

1st time in NYC

(2 players just hanging in NYC)

I don't mean to brag - because, trust me, there is nothing to brag about - but I guarantee my first time in NYC was different than anyone else's. That is unless you are Nepalese, a Tibetan monk, or both.

Yesterday I mentioned my time in Nepal in '01. In '04 my monk friend Khenpo Sange visited NYC and I went to meet him.

I had always hoped that my first time in the Big Apple would be the typical country-mouse-visits-the-big-city kind of experience: broadway show, nice hotel, Letterman, good food, museums, hooker-spotting (we don't have hookers in Ohio- that I know of). It wasn't

I spent the long weekend hanging out with illegal immigrants who spoke very little English. We ate about 8 meals a day of home-cooked Nepalese delicacies. I can't stand home-cooked Nepalese delicasies. I was excited when we finally decided to eat out, until we walked into a Nepalese restaurant.

I spent most of my time staring at the wall while Khenpo spoke with his friends in Nepalese. At one point they were kind enough to put on a movie, 3 hours of home video from a Nepalese New Year's party. It made the wall look exciting.

It was great to see my friend Khenpo, but I do believe that weekend was the longest of my life.

A war that never makes the news

In November of 2001 I arrived in Nepal with the intent to go trekking. No surprise. That's what we tourist are supposed to do in Nepal - hire a guide, maybe a yak or two, and head off into the mountains.

My trek lasted one day before an infection in my foot flared up and I limped back to Kathmandu. I spent the next 2 weeks hanging with a monk and his flock of monk underlings who I had met on the flight in from Thailand.

I attended ceremonies, ate sticky rice with my fingers, was blessed by reincarnated bulletproof monks, and helped rebuild a monastery. My time in Nepal was more memorable than any trek could have ever been; read more about it here.

When the Nepalese government had sent troops out to confront the growing Maoist threat, the country became a litte too dicey for my tastes. I left. Since the Maoist uprising, over 12,000 people have been killed, soldiers and civilians alike in conflicts and random bombings. The country as a whole seems to be nearing anarchy - people are calling for the King's execution and government officials have been thrown in jail.

It is a war that never makes the newspapers.

Today is the 10th anniversary of the maoist uprising. Read about it here.

What am I?

(Henry Rollins is a rock icon, philosopher, expert intospective poser for black and white photos. He is way cooler than you)

Just got my latest National Geographic Adventure in the mail - my favorite magazine. I am giving it the quick once over before I dig in and I come across an interview with punk rock legend turned film critic Henry Rollins. He imparts some I-am-cool-so-I-will-try-and-impart-some-great-truth about travel:

"There's tourism and there's travel. The traveler doesn't know where he's going, and the tourist doesn't know where he is."

But what if I don't know where I am going, and I don't know where I am? What does that make me?

Other than unsure of myself and my general location/direction, it makes me know that Henry Rollins is way cooler than me.

Will work for cabbage

I have never pulled out a calculator and worked up the numbers, but I have a strange suspicion that I lose a lot of money working as a freelance writer. This may be why my checking has a tendency to work its way to zero. Who would have thought that traveling months on end and coming back to write 800 word blurbs about the trip would not make ME heaps of money?

Last week in the Hub, a weekly paper in Champaign, Illinois, to which I contribute, one of the columnist used me as an example of the low end of an imaginary pay-scale:

...By the way, I am not so gauche as to quote an exact figure, but let us just say my stipend resides somewhere in the neighborhood below “Koplinski boodle,” but above “Kelsey Timmerman cabbage.”...

You mean people actually get paid in something other than fresh, green produce to write?

Oh well...

I'm not in it for the money. I'm in it for the cabbage. Well, the cabbage and the LADIES!

Malaria Strikes Back!

(Kyle, on right, with malaria again)

The memories and photos from our trip to Honduras this past summer have yet started to fade and, apparently, neither have the parasites living in Kyle's liver. I spent the weekend watching my older brother sleep and occasionally shiver with malaria again, partly because I am a caring brother, but mostly because I feel guilty.

As you can tell from the photo above he is (a little ugly) fine. The doctors say that the type of malaria he has could flare up several times before finally going away.

Oddly enough his flare-up occurred the week I published a column titled Have Malaria, Will Travel about his first bout with the illness. Here is an excerpt:

.. But remember that Kyle took drugs and look what happened to him. He’s walking around campus talking to anyone who will listen, “What, you’ve never had a tropical disease before? Oh, I have. It was no big deal. My brother dragged me out to the Honduran jungle. A mosquito carrying a very rare type of malaria was heading right for him. I pushed him out of the way and took the bite. Some would say I am a hero. I think I’m just a regular guy…”

Whether he is trying to place guilt or brag, I’m not sure, but Kyle is quick to remind me of the score:

Exotic Tropical Disease Scoreboard: Kyle- 1 Kelsey- 0

Aussie...Aussie...Aussie...Oy!Oy!Oy!

(In Australia participating in a very complex drinking game)

Happy Australia Day!

Today, Uncle John's bathroom reader desk calendar has a great entry:

***

Uncle John’s Almanac

Today is Australia Day

In 1954 an Australian college student named Bob Hawke became the “World’s Fastest Drinker” After downing 2 ½ pints of beer in 11 seconds.

In 1983 the same Bob Hawke was elected prime minister of Australia.

In his 1994 memoirs, Hawke lamented, “this feat (the drinking) was to endear me to some of my fellow Australians more than anything else I ever achieved.”

***

Australians love their drink. I was subjected to their passion for alcohol when I was there in 2001. Here is an excerpt from a column I wrote about a very complex Australian drinking game centered around an awards show:

"I drink a shot of Bailey’s and then everyone turns their attention back to the television where another game’s top players are being announced. When a name is given that we all recognize as belonging to one of our company, we give primeval grunts from the gut and erupt into laughter and euphoric goodwill. Everyone watches as a shot or a can of beer is thrown back. A few cheaters drink when their players are not called, but no one seems to care."

The Nature of Monkey is irrepresible!

THE LEGEND OF THE MONKEY KING LIVES (in my room)!!!!

In the pic in the previous post you'll find a wooden staff propped in the corner of my office. It is not just any wooden staff, but a Monkey King Staff!

I wish I had some great story about traveling to China and being given the staff by some small Kung Fu monk who can break a stack of bricks with his genitals, but alas I don't. I ordered the staff online- not quite an amazing cultural experience.

While in college I studied Kung Fu and I bought the staff when I began learning a staff form. The staffs I used in class were light-weight and capable of flexing. While practicing with them I had a tendency to hit myself in the head and shins- not quite a Kung Fu Expert. When I received the MKS it was heavier, harder, and capable of afflicting nasty bruises. It scared the bejesus out of me to whip it around so I propped it in the corner and it has remained there ever since looking cool.

The original legend of the Monkey King may date back to 600 AD. Make sure you follow the link to the history I found online. It is very entertaining full of passages like, "he was crowned the Monkey King after he proved to be the only monkey on the Mountain of Fruit and Flowers to dare go through the Water Curtain and set up a kingdom on Earth."

His staff, which expanded and contracted on demand, was his weapon of choice. He stored it in his earlobe.

I think mine looks just fine in the corner.

Livin' Large in PJ's

The best thing about writing is reliving past adventures and misadventures while sitting at your computer in PJ's and Scooby Doo slippers. As for the hat...it's more of a thinking cap.

I took this pic this morning while I was working on a story about introducing an isolated island-village to the game of baseball in Honduras.

Take note of the killer amount of desk space. I just rearranged my office and opted for an 8' fold-out table as opposed to the weenie little computer desk I previously used.

I expect a visit from MTV's Cribs anyday. Here's to livin' large...

What's a Hummel

In my last post I made a reference to Hummels, which confused one Mr. Don Sanchez:

"What the frick are Hummels? And why would I worry about trusting them with anyone?"

Well Mr. Sanchez, Hummels are 3-D works of art (figurines) that capture a very touching youthful innocence (they are ugly). And you should worry about who you trust with them because they are absolutely precious (worth boat loads of money to 75 yr old widower grandmas who on average have 75% of their childrens inheritance wrapped up in their collection).

If you want to start your own Hummel collection, bid on one of the over 6,000 figures listed today on e-Bay.

People you can trust

There are two things you need to know about ladies who use the word Daggummit:

1. They can be trusted with your most prized collection of Hummels

2. They make great chocolate chip-cookies

Link of the day

Manboobs

Imagine, someone actually sat down and made this site. And sometimes I think I waist my time on stupid things...

But seriously, check out the racks on some of these guys! Impressively disturbing.

24

In honor of the best show on television being back on the air, I have broken my own life down to 24. Since my life is somewhat less action-packed than Jack’s I will use years as opposed to hours.

24 years ago I was about 3.

The following takes place between the ages of 3-5: I stop pooping myself long enough to hold the UPS at bay with a simple garden hose and clown-head sprayer.

The following takes place between the ages of 6-8: While sitting on the bus I notice a girl a year older and twice my size. She is much too ugly and I am compelled to beat her up. Overcoming shots to the head by a very stiff trapper keeper, I am able to control the ugly hostile.

The following takes place between the ages of 9-11: I pick up a BB gun, pump it once, hold the barrel to my leg, and pull the trigger. It is the last time I ever fire a gun because they hurt.

The following takes place between the ages of 12-14: Chemical warfare ensues inside of my body. Some call this puberty. Hair grows from my arm pits.

The following takes place between the ages of 15-17: I am running from the law in my Trans Am at 56 MPH. Eventually, they pull me over and ask me if I had been drinking. After further interrogation the police office determines that the drifting over center was caused by excessive dancing to Billy Thorpe’s one, and only rock hit, Children of the Sun. The officer refuses to admit that this is the best rock song ever written. I’m let off with a warning.

The following takes place between the ages of 18-20: I’m shot by a skunk while running. I smell for days.

The following takes place between the ages of 21-23: Having vowed to never touch a gun again I begin the transformation into a lean mean terrorist butt kickin’ machine by studying Kung Fu. Terrorist’s butts kicked by me- 0; my own butt kicked by me: 67.

The following takes place between the ages of 24-26: I am held hostage by Tibetan monks and force-fed four meals a day.

Stay tuned next week.

I have never: been in a helicopter, shot at someone, been shot at, climbed through an air duct, punched anyone out, downloaded any schematics, or said something as cool as, “the only reason you are still conscious is because I don’t want to carry you,” Jack did all of this in the first 4 hours of his day.

Here’s rooting for an exciting 27th year!

Rewarding Stupidity

(Would someone please take me hostage!)

Sometimes I wish I had less sense than I do. I'm not saying I have been blessed with an overabundance of it, but with a little less, I think I could be a bit more successful.

Take for example Farris Hassan, the Florida Teenager who thought it would be cool to visit Baghdad after studying immersion journalism in a high school class. This kid is a complete idiot. Read CNN's report Florida's 'Ferris Bueller' stuck in Kuwait.

Man, am I jealous! His face is everywhere. I guarantee that in less than 6 months he'll have a book out and it will probably be a bestseller. I could use a platform. I would like a book deal. Maybe, I will summer in Bangladesh this year. They have loads of gangs, militants, and just the right amount of lawlessness to give my writing career a nice little jump start. If I got captured I could really have a bestseller on my hands.

Home

(Me and the precious pups Zoe and Scout)

"I should like to spend the whole of my life traveling abroad, if I could anywhere borrow another life to spend afterwards at home."
- William Hazlett

After my mom got two new lab puppies for Christmas I would have to agree with ole' Billy Haz.