A not so Able-bodied Seaman

I couldn’t stand waiting for my turn at the helm of the Picton Castle so I bonked the girl seen beside me over the head.

No postings in over a week and not one email asking if I had gone down with the ship! Thanks for your concern.

Anyhow, I didn’t.

I'm currently polishing up my piece on the story. It will appear in the August issue of Glucose Magazine.

Out to sea...kind of

I'll be sailing away on the Great Lakes for the next week or so aboard the Picton Castle.

Shark Petting!?

If I was a shark and my species had survived millions of years thanks to our sleek design and keen predator senses, and I was stuck in some tank as opposed to the vast ocean, if you tried to pet me, I’d bite your hand off. I’d be bitter. I’d be pissed. But most of all, I’d be bored and there is nothing I’d like to see more than you jumping around holding your stump.

The patrons of the Newport Aquarium are lucky that I’m not a shark. Recently the aquarium has opened its shark-petting exhibit, which just may be the dumbest exhibit ever. Divers and nature-lovers are taught not to touch anything, not out of fear for themselves, but out of concern for the touched. The aquarium is erasing the "watch, don't touch" approach to nature.

Aquariums and zoos always kind of make me depressed. No matter how many gallons the tank or how natural the habitat may appear, the animals are getting a raw deal compared with their free-roaming brethren. I justify the existence of aquariums and zoos because they often promote education and conservation. By watching and appreciating animals such as sharks in an aquarium, we will make decisions that help protect their natural habitat. What the hell does touching promote other than the Newport Aquarium’s bottom line?

From the aquarium’s website:

This summer you can enjoy the most unique experience of its kind in the region – Newport Aquarium’s new Shark Central exhibit. It’s home to a field research facility and dozens of sharks you can actually touch. You’ll learn the official “two-finger touch” technique and how to properly pet them. It’s safe. It’s thrilling. It’s an experience your kids will never forget.

I’ve got my own two-finger technique ready for a visit to the Newport aquarium.

Paddlefest

Photo Courtesy of Mike Baker

I spent last weekend covering Paddlefest in Cincinnati for Glucose magazine. On Saturday over 1,400 paddlers hit the water to paddle 6 miles. The take out was at the Great American Ballpark home of the slumping Reds.

I thought I was going to be one of the slower ones because I was in a short whitewater boat that plows the water, but there were other paddlers in much smaller boats. It’s pretty cool being part of a string of canoes and kayaks that runs as far as you can see upriver and downriver.

My piece on the event should be in the August issue of Glucose.

The half-way rest stop was a paddle boat tied to shore. Jake Speed and the Freddies played their unique mix of American folk, bluegrass, and ragtime music from the boat’s top deck. Jake writes a song a week at the CincyBeat’s website – very entertaining.

On the boat I met Mike Baker who spent the perfect Saturday morning snapping photos. He was kind enough to email me some of his shots like the one above. Thanks Mike.

Insects on my mind

For every human being on the planet there are 200 million insects. How many of them are living in your head?

Whatever you do, don't watch this video!

FLOODED!

My friends at the Casa Guatemala orphanage are in the midst of a terrible flood. I help them write letters to their English donors on a regular basis. Here is the letter I worked-up today about the flood. If you’ve got some extra loot lying around, send it to ‘em. I guarantee it will be put to good use. DONATE HERE.

Dear Friends,

The Rio Dulce provides so much for us here at the Casa Guatemala Orphans’ Village. It’s our highway and our playground. Unfortunately, living so close to a river in the tropics has one big drawback – rivers flood.

The Rio Dulce has jumped its banks and flooded our entire village. The school, the farm, the clinic, the pig pens, the children’s dwellings, are all under water. Normal life has come to a halt as we deal with this disaster.

Our immediate concern is with the health of our 250 children and 150 adult workers and volunteers. We are struggling to provide them with a sanitary place to live. Our wells have flooded and the drinking water is contaminated.

Long after the waters have subsided we will be dealing with their adverse effects. Buildings will have to be repaired and crops will have to be replanted.

Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers. Any donations that you are kind enough to make will be put to immediate use dealing with this crisis. Your kindness will allow us to get back to doing what we do best: raising and educating our children into responsible citizens.

Like Nothing Else.

I took this pick about a month ago while doing some mountian biking around Oxford, Ohio

The new H13.5 the most fuel efficient Hummer yet. With its paired down V-12, this all-terrain, all-weather bad ass gets a whopping 12 miles per gallon.

Memorable 4th's

This 4th I lazed by the pool and ate a lot of food. It was a time to reminisce about more memorable 4th’s:

1 year ago-

I was in Guatemala. My stomach was in hell. Explosions resulted.

3 years ago-

Key West. The crew of the dive shop I was working at decided to take one of the boats out to watch the island’s fireworks show. There is nothing quite like being on the flat calm ocean watching 10’s of thousands of dollars exploding directly above you. The sky and the water glowed with greens, yellows, oranges, and about every other color. I was elected to pull-up the anchor. It was heavier after a few beers.

Back on shore I watched a co-worker, Koko – like KnockOut KnockOut – launch a backpack full of fireworks. He ended up setting a trash can on fire at one of the public parks. The police came.

20 some years ago-

I always thought that my cousin Brice was the devil. This night confirmed it. We were running around my house with sprinklers, lap after lap. Our parents were out front and we would show off as we ran by them. Behind the house no one was watching. I was following Brice and was the first to come upon the flaming bale of straw next to the house. Dad put the fire out by beating it with a blanket. Brice claimed it wasn’t him. But I knew.

I’ll stop at three memories, but please note that two of them involve things burning. Hope your 4th was a safe one.

Jimmy Buffett Syndrome

Stats from the July National Geographic:

Every week…

…3,300 people move to Southern California

…4,800 move to Florida’s shore

Every day…

…1,500 new homes rise along the U.S. Coastline

I lived on the coast, island actually (Key West), for two stints of six months. This may sound kinda dumb, but the best thing about it was the ocean. I don’t mean the beach, but the vast “where the hell did the land go” deep blue ocean. Where, in the summer, you could count more distant thunderstorms than boats or people. It’s hard to find more isolation than in a boat at sea. There is no other way I could stand to live on an island 2 miles x 4 miles if I couldn’t get away from the 25,000 residents plus cruiseshippers and other tourists.

I miss the ocean, but I don’t miss all the crowded streets, not to mention the rent.

With all of the crowds flocking to the coast, I’ve got one question…

Mountains anyone?

Read the NGeo article HERE

Commencement Speech

Kurt Vonnegut on the writing trades:

They allow mediocre people who are patient and industrious to revise their stupidity, to edit themselves into something like intelligence. they also allow lunatics to seem saner than sane.

This is how I feel about writing, I just haven’t had the time to revise my stupidity enough to express it as well as Vonnegut.

Part of what has really helped my writing skills develop is that I have trouble forming sensible sentences with my mouth. With that being said, I just recently gave my first commencement speech.

The 5th graders at Woodland Heights were inspired and enlightened by my every word, but mostly they were hot, tired, and uncomfortable. The school doesn’t have A/C and they were sitting on the gym floor. I have pasted the unedited outline of my talk below (Note: the layout is a little screwy in the transfer to the blog - deal with it).

Warning: May cause uncontrollable picking and eating of boogers.

Intro
When people hear where I’ve been and what I’ve done they often say: “Aren’t you afraid? You must be brave.”
What it means to be brave…

Shark story
Dive
i. Shadow could be one of two things
ii. Shark Surprised
Brave or not brave?
i. Superman X-mas Tree
ii. Not brave because Knowledge is power and I know sharks and how rare an attack is.
Sharks like a school teacher

Jungle Snake story


Brave or not brave?
i. Stupid
1. No idea what we are getting into
2. Nothing brave about scurrying to the back of a canoe

What is bravery?
If swimming with shark and going into the jungle with snake and crocs isn’t brave what is…?
What scares me when I travel is meeting new people, making new friends
i. People, that’s what I remember the most
ii. Each person I meet has something new and different to teach me
1. 80 year old monk in Nepal who hasn’t spoken a word for 15 years
2. Guide in the jungle who gets paid $5 to accompany a crazy biologist into the jungle to whack poisonous snakes across the head
3. Each one of you

6th Grade: the Adventure
Opportunity to meet new people: teachers students
Explore a new environment
i. Familiar place boring


So be Brave. Make a lot of friends. Explore your new school. But before you set off on the adventure of 6th grade have a great summer.

Thank you

Stupid thought for the day

My mind wandered off and here’s the stupid though it came back with …

When I am out of my element, I am in my element.

Let me explain:

I prefer to be…
…underwater
…in a foreign country where I don’t speak the language

Why? Because the more uncomfortable the situation physically and socially the better my writing will be.

Don't hate me because I'm American

It’s hip to be Anti-American in New Zealand. Or so says this recent piece in the Christian Science Monitor: Kiwis have turned sour on Americans.

The article introduces Gregg Smith an American who has lived in NZ since 2005 where he works as a teacher. Smith has filed a lawsuit with the Human Rights Commission because people give him a hard time about being American.

Smith says: "It can't be just personal - it has to come from a wider concept about what America is and isn't. But how did that happen?"

Of course the article goes on to reveal declining American approval rating abroad such as a drop in Kiwis’ approval from 54% in ‘01 to 29% in ’06. Big whoop! Isn’t this the same story in our own country?

Maybe it is personal Gregg. Maybe your students don’t like you because you spell your name with two “G’s.” By the way I’m not your typical “Greg.” I’m Gregg with two “G’s.” The way I see it - Gregg is Greg with 25% more work.

I spent some time in NZ and the people there were awesome to me. Of course in Gregg’s defense, I wasn’t in much contact with school kids who are highly trained at the sticks and stones game.

Maybe Gregg has BUSH tattooed on his forehead or flaunts his politics in and out of the classroom, which is a bad idea no matter what country you are from. I find it hard to believe that I would be treated any differently today than I was treated when I was in NZ three years ago. People see people as people not as extensions of a nation’s government to be scorned.

Regardless of why Kiwis don’t like Gregg, I would like to offer him some advice:

Gregg you’re Rubber, they’re Glue.

Weather

Just a reminder to stop cussin’ the damn hot humid weather we’ve been having. It could be worse - you could live in Antarctica like my firefighting friends Scott and Vanessa who sent me a pic of their local forecast. -58 below windchill. Yikes!

Hondo Soccer

This time last year my Brother Kyle and I were involved in some heated international soccer competition in the village of Mocoron, Honduras. Our field was a rocky sandy, grassy, muddy, shore next to a river. It was covered with fresh shavings from a newly carved dugout canoe. The river wasn’t out of bounds. Soccer balls float and as long as the ball wasn’t in danger of washing down stream in the deeper currents it was playable. At random, the kids would all stop play and dive into the river.

It’s easy to see why the world loves soccer.

My New GIG

What’s this? You haven’t signed up to receive Glucose Magazine, Ohio’s premiere outdoor magazine? Man are you missing the bus. SIGN UP NOW. It’s FREE so even if it blows you’ve got yourself a free glossy mag filled with various fonts great for cutting out individual letters and gluing to a piece of paper so no one will recognize your handwriting and be able to trace the whacko letter back to you. And that’s worth something!

Plus, I’m writing for them so you know that the magazine is going to be wildly successful.

The July issue will include a definitive feature on paddling in Ohio and some other stuff that will be of interest to people from all over.

As for the name…

If I have to listen to one more person say, “Glucose? Is that some kind of diabetes magazine?” I will personally find the nearest supply of insulin shots and stick you with them until your limbs shake from your torso.

What’s in a name? Heck, I’m not sure what Glucose means, but here is my take: Energy drinks are full of sugar (glucose) that pep people up and help them through the daily grind. At Glucose, fresh air is our source of energy, adventure our sugar high. Or something like that.

My latest contribution to the CSM

A week has almost past and I have yet to plug my most recent piece in the Christian Science Monitor, A house on wheels provides tons of adventure . It’s about RV adventures with my grandma, grandpa, brother Kyle, and cousin Brice. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any high quality photos to accompany the story in the CSM, but as you can tell I’ve got a pretty decent, yet terribly embarrassing, one of the cousins.

THE PHOTO

From left to right: Me, Kyle, and Brice

I’ve spent more time than I care to admit staring at this photo and trying to come up with captions. My favorite so far: “This is one stupid hat I’m wearing, but I’m still the only normal looking one here.”

Eau De Kayak

“What are you wearing?”

I’m wearing shorts, T-shirt, and flip-flops, but I’m not sure why the fella checking me in at the Best Western should give a darn. I look up after considering this for a moment, befuddled.

“What scent are you wearing?” He, a man in his mid-20’s who could play on the offensive line at most Division II schools, says this as if he is clearing up the confusion instead of adding to the awkwardness.

I have been kayaking all day in the rain, working on a feature for Glucose Magazine. I smell of sunscreen (I know it was raining but those are the days that you can really get burnt), sweat, and a little BO. I stink a little. Mine is a scent that should be politely ignored, not complemented.

“You smell, woodsy. A good sort of woodsy.”

I don’t know what to say, but eek out, “Thanks.”

I take my key card, grab my bags and head for my room.

After about 15 minutes the phone rings. “This is a courtesy call from the front desk. Do you need anything?”

I’ve stayed at a few Best Western’s in my day and this is the first in which I received a post-check-in courtesy call.

“I’m good.” I hang up the phone, walk to the door. I lock the deadbolt and insert the chain lock.

Another Poem by Elizabeth Horner

Someday Elizabeth Horner will be President of the USA, but today she has agreed to let me post a poem she wrote about attending a World's Fair in Dayton, Ohio. She first contributed a poem to Touron Talk way back when she was 11. Now she's 12.

Once a year we celebrate
The lands from which we came
We learn how we are unique
And how we’re all the same

And although we each have
A native language, cuisine or dance
We join at this place
For an opportunity, a chance

To see the world a different way
From another’s point of view
To understand what we do not share
And learn those that we do

For our hearts are linked together
Despite what our outside might be
We need to learn to understand
The thoughts of friends and family

As next year comes around
We will gather here once more
Because while learning from each other
There is fun and excitement galore!!!

If you're stupid and you know it scratch your head

Aron Ralston cut his hand off with a pocket knife after a boulder fell on his arm while hiking solo in the slot canyons of Utah. He told no one where he was going or when he would be back, which was pretty stupid. He waited 3 days before hacking away at his arm. Of course, you likely know all of this already since he has published a book and been featured on Dateline.

Now he's making Man Laws in beer commercials with Burt Reynolds. In one commercial he even scratches his head with his stump. If you poll all of the one-handed people you know about what they use to scratch their head, trust me, they’ll say something like, “My hand. My one and only hand. The one with the fingers. Vibrating beds aren’t called ‘magic stumps’ are they? No. They’re called ‘magic fingers.’”

Aron Ralston is just another example of how being average stupid pays nothing, but being exceptionally stupid pays heaps.

Who knew?

Lunch had passed. I just finished kayaking and I was hungry. I reached down into the Scooby Doo sandwich bag for a Gummi Bear.

EEEEWWWW!

The end of my fingers dip into multi-colored, hot, gooey gummi ooze. I pull out my hand and a string of gummi guts stretch from the bag.

Gummi bears melt! I didn’t know. It took me 27 years to find out.

Yakin' down a country road

Many of the rivers and creeks were too swollen to paddle this weekend, but the roads weren’t too bad.

The Great American Pastime

This past Sunday I went to my first game at the Cincinnati Reds’ Great American Ball Park. We had box seats and passes to a restaurant overlooking the field. The seats were almost as good as the game.

The Reds won on a walk-off two-run homer in the bottom of the 9th, but the best part of the game, by far, was when the Reds’ manager got tossed. There is nothing quite like watching a senior citizen in Pajama’s yelling at a stuff-shirted bubble-butted umpire.

Ah…the Great American Pastime. If the hotdogs were under 6-bucks, I’d be tempted to go more often.

Namibia, where stars are born?

Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie holed up in Namibia, Africa, to await the birth of their child. Well out comes baby Shiloh and up go the headlines: Jolie-Pitt newborn puts little-known Namibia on tourism map (USA Today).

Let me throw out some figures and then ask the question on all of our minds:

Combined salaries of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie for Mr. & Mrs. Smith - $80 Million (I made this up, but it has to be in the ball park)

Per Capita Income in Namibia - $7,300 (I didn’t make this up. I would have guessed it to be lower).

Cost per night per person to stay in a private resort surrounded by paparazzi - $313

THE QUESTION:

If you are a movie star that marries a movie star, and you have a baby with that movie star, and you go to an impoverished nation to birth your first love child, and the government of the impoverished nation provides security to protect you from the paparazzi, and you are paying $626/night to stay in a private hotel on the beach, if you have a baby do you have to pay an extra $313/night? Or do children stay for free?

Remembering Kosovo

I try to avoid politics as much as I can when writing. This piece Bill-Clintonville is hopefully the closest I will ever come.

A few years ago I visited Kosovo and spent a few days playing Playstation, hiking, and hanging out with some guys who were nice enough to show me around the area. If it wasn’t for us, as in the capital U.S., sticking our “nose in other countries' business” my friends in Kosovo and their families would likely not be alive today.

I still keep in touch with one of them, Luigi, via email and recently learned that he is in love with and soon to be married to a beautiful young lady.

Maybe someday I’ll have a friend in Iraq crediting US for the chance at life he has been given. Although, the way things are going… OOPS I was about to get political there….Sorry.

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.