Wrigley Field

I went to my first game at Wrigley Field. Awesome.

Bonds eyeing #728 . The fella who caught this ball bucked the Wrigley tradition of throwing back the opponent's homerun ball and stuck it in his pocket. Luckily a kind-hearted soal two rows behind him pulled out a ball he brought and threw it onto the field. The crowd roared in approval. Of course, we wouldn't have cheered if we knew that the fella pocketed Barry's ball. I saw it on SportsCenter later that night.

Me holding the 2nd all-time leading homerun hitter in history. He's much lighter than I thought he'd be.

My brother Kyle who landed the tickets, his bud Daryl and Daryl's father in law Ken

Me in Cubbie Blue

Croc Hunter died doing what he loved

“He had it coming,” said the expert on the Dayton, Ohio local evening news.

One would think that in Ohio there would be no experts in the deadly critter wrangling field. Sure, there is the occasional rabid raccoon or opossum, but other than that most of our creatures are of the gentle, woodland, Bambi variety. This fella is no expert. He wouldn’t know how to handle a pit viper’s scat. Why he was commenting on Steve Irwin’s being killed by a stingray is beyond me.

Anyone from this school of thought can go to Hell.

Steve Irwin is what we should all aspire to be. He shared his passion with the world. No doubt, his profession had its risk. Being poisoned, eaten, or drowned are not things that the rest of us concern ourselves with on a daily basis, but everything has its risks. Reckless behavior is taking on something beyond your training, comfort, and skill level. Reckless behavior for me is different than reckless behavior for you and vice versa.

I’m comfortable holding my breath and diving 80’ below the ocean’s surface. Most people aren’t and therefore should not try this at home.

I’m not comfortable snow skiing. If I strapped on a pair of skis, found the steepest downhill in Switzerland, and ran off the edge of a cliff to my death…I had it coming. I’m not trained to fix an electric line. If I climbed up a pole to do so and was electrocuted…I had it coming. I’m not familiar with the behavior of crocodiles. If I try to wrangle one and become eaten in the process…I had it coming.

Steve was a professional and he died doing something that he had the knowledge, experience and training to do. His death was a freak accident. I have never heard of a stingray puncturing a man’s heart with its stinger until yesterday. I would have ventured to guess that only a few people, who were very allergic to stingrays' mild toxin, had ever been killed as a direct result of a stingray.

Working for a few years as a dive instructor, I have had nothing but positive experiences with stingrays. Well, there was that one time… a student of mine did step on one and got stung in the ankle. Occurrences like that aren’t all that uncommon. He cried. Snot came out every hole in his head. He was 14. At no time was his life in danger. I’m sure he thinks it’s cool now.

In 2001 I visited Steve’s Australian Zoo. When I heard about his death I revisited my notes from the experience. Here’s a passage:

Although Steve was not there (he was in the USA on business) his character, humor, and passion could be felt throughout the park. Like everybody else, Steve’s employees thought he was crazy, but for different reasons. They recognized that his passion to educate the world about crocs, snakes, etc. was beyond normal . Last year he gave over $8 million to the Australia Zoo for renovations. That's not something a sane person would do.

A few short days after his death and Steve Irwin, “The Croc Hunter,” is being memorialized and eulogized as a great teacher, conservationist, and wildlife warrior.

He had it coming.

US LOSERS AGAIN

The US basketball team lost again! What next? Yemen dominates apple pie baking competition.

I’m really at a loss here. I did everything in my ability to push the US back to the head of the basketball world. I wrote Coach K a letter begging him to take the job, which he did. I’ve been wearing my 1992 USA basketball Dream Team I, “The only Dream Team,” shorts each day. And what happens? We lose to Greece!

I’ve been to Greece. I didn’t see one darn basketball hoop the whole time. I guarantee that Indiana alone has 1,000 times more hoops and players than the entire country of Greece. How can they beat us!

We lost 101-95.

What am I going to do? Although my jumper is sweet, my feet are slow, I’m short, my left hand could use some work, and my vertical is in single digits. I guess I’ll have to write another letter…

Dear Coach K,

You failed me! Why did you cut Bruce Bowen? Why is Shane Battier on the team? Why…? How…? Etc.

Lifestraw, a straw that doesn't suck

From a recent story of mine about playing soccer in Honduras:

Kyle and I grew up playing soccer in a small league in Ohio. We wore shin-guards, had matching uniforms, and were treated to little plastic barrels of sugary fruit drinks whether we won or lost.

The kids of Mocorón, on the other hand wear shirts given to them by relief organizations. One shirt says, “Benton High School Class of ’95,” another has a dancing Snoopy on it. None of them know who Snoopy is. As for refreshments, the kids drink the river water by the handful.

Over 1 billion people in the world don’t have access to clean water. There are a lot of grizzly stats that drive this home, including how many children are estimated to die a day because of this, but I won’t mention them here. The Lifestraw could provide an economic and practical answer to this problem.

Got a muddy bog filled with swimming parasites? Stick the Lifestraw in and start drinking. How cool is this thing?

Lifestraw's mission: Sharing a passion to achieve the Millennium Development Goal of ‘reducing by half the proportion of people without sustainable access to safe drinking water’ by the year 2015, we recognize the immense sense of urgency.

Nepali claims to be World's Smallest Boy

Khagendra Thapa Magar is a little boy with big aspirations - he wants to be in the Guinness Book of World Records. Thapa, at 20 inches tall and weighing in at 10 lbs, claims to be the world’s smallest boy.

Currently Guinness doesn’t have a Smallest Boy Category, but they are considering it. Thapa says that his nearest competition is some kid who is 25 inches tall.

Some thoughts:

Thapa will probably never be able to be a laborer of any kind so he needs to cash in on his lack of height why he can. But what happens if he hits a growth spurt? Legendary Bulls’ small forward Scottie Pippen grew something like 7 inches between his freshmen and sophomore years of college. 7 inches would put Thapa over 2 feet, and, once you are over 2 feet you’re just a real short dude.

What are the parameters of the Smallest Boy Category? An age needs to be defined here. What if the boy who Thapa says to be his nearest competitor at 25 inches is 17 years-old? Thapa could grow 5 inches in 3 years. It could happen.

How did Thapa, a boy of little resources living in Nepal, learn about the kid who is 25 inches tall? Is there some type of 3’ and under convention held each year in Kathmandu?

If Thapa learned English he could makes loads of money in Hollywood. Think of the success of Verve Villechaize, aka Tattoo, and the guy who played mini-me, not to mention the lollipop gang trio. Thapa is shorter than all of them so his earning potential must be greater. Plus...

HE CAN WALK ON WATER!

HE CAN RAP TOO!!

Ted Kooser

I must admit, since high school I’ve been a little turned off by poetry. It has always seemed to be either a lot of flowery fluff or extremely high brow. Like if I read it I had two choices: skip through the garden naked and free, or, slobber all over my uncomprehending, oafish self. So, for these reasons I just don’t. Until now…

I’m happy to say that I checked out my first book of poetry from the library since…well, I’ve never checked out a book of poetry. This is truly a testament to the wonderful words of Ted Kooser THE Poet Laureate from 2004-2006. The position is appointed by the library of congress and was once held by a fella named Robert Frost. Poets Laureate are the superheroes of poetdom. Here’s what Wikipedia knows about ‘em.

He spoke at the writers' conference I attended this past weekend in Columbus and he won me over fast with poems like The Urine Specimen. Here, have a sample:

…You know that just outside a nurse
is waiting to cool it into a gel
and slice it onto a microscope slide
for the doctor, who in it will read your future,
wringing his hands. You lift the chalice and toast
the long life of your friend there in the mirror,
who wanly smile, but does not drink to you.

After the talk I found myself sitting in an easy chair next to Ted. I read the paper and he was flipping through a book. I didn’t want to bother him, but took the opportunity to strike up a conversation after another pesky conference-goer hit him up for an autograph and then left. Ted and I talked for a good half-hour. We talked about football and poetry and everything in between. Ted bemoaned the proficiency testing in schools and how they’ve killed poetry (poetry isn’t on the tests, but fractions are). And how he just heard that similar tests may soon carry over into college. He also offered the following wisdom:

“There is no better way to spend 6 minutes than talking with your grandmother.”

The cool thing is that Ted is just like me and you. I bet he’s never written a poem in his life while sitting at a coffee house, but I bet he’s written books of them sitting on the steps of the barn. Here’s his bio from his website (note: he sold life insurance for 30 some years):

Ted Kooser is a poet and essayist, a professor of English at The University of Nebraska-Lincoln, and most recently, The United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress. His writing is known for its clarity, precision and accessibility. He worked for many years in the life insurance business, retiring in 1999 as a vice president. He and his wife, Kathleen Rutledge, editor of The Lincoln Journal Star, live on an acreage near the village of Garland, Nebraska. He has a son, Jeff, and a granddaughter, Margaret.

See I told ya! Just like me and you. One heck of a guy.

I’m reading Ted’s poetry, you should too.

OOPS!

On 8/11 I posted about the age of the Earth. I mention a relevant story that I had written, but I forgot to post the link. Here you go:

WONDERS OF THAILAND

I'm at a writers' conference in Columbus. I had lunch next to a lady who just published her first book. For Game of My Life Lauara Lenese interviewed ex-OSU football players on the best games of their career. It drops in 3 days, just in time for football season.

Before & After the Mast

Before & After the Mast of the Picton Castle

(for Glucose Magazine 8/06)
By Kelsey Timmerman

Go Here for more photos

The journalist, ten stories off the deck of the ship, is standing on the yardarm of the uppermost sail, the royal sail. A layer of grease covers his hands disguising white knuckles. His right leg has gone into full Elvis mode – all shook-up. He turns to Shackle for guidance.

“Squat down…put your right foot here…grab there.” Shackle calls out the foot and handholds like the spinner in some high-stakes game of Twister. The journalist is lost in concentration. Shackle’s job is clear: he's got a mast to grease and a journalist to keep alive.

In May of 2005 Kjetil Dimmen, aka Shackle, was driving a cab in Norway, his homeland. He had been working as a cabbie for the previous ten years until a television show altered his course. The Travel Channel’s Tall Ship Chronicles followed the barque Picton Castle, a classic square-rigged deep-sea sailing ship, on an around-the-world voyage. Within two weeks, Shackle was in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, the home port of the Picton Castle, loading it for its next around the world adventure.

Now, a year later with a world voyage under his belt, Shackle is one of the more experienced crew members. He is participating in the ASTA Great Lakes Tall Ships Challenge®, a traveling parade of sailing ships visiting ports such as Cleveland, Green Bay, Toronto, and Chicago.

Lost amid the ship’s sail rigging, the journalist and Shackle slap grease on the wood mast and spread out a thin layer with their hands. Far below, the noon-to-four watch is hard at work painting, steering the teak wheel at the helm, and standing lookout on her elevated bow.

Andrea Deyling, an assistant engineer from Cleveland, sweats away in the belly of the ship monitoring the 690-horse power diesel slogging through Lake Huron. She steps back to the galley for a drink of water and a cool breeze. “It’s like 103 degrees in there.” She’s sweaty. She’s greasy. Her feet are ink black.

She assumed the Great Lakes would be a bit of let-down after the exotic excitement of the circumnavigation, but she was wrong. “I’m totally surprised at how much I’ve enjoyed the trip on the Great Lakes.” Last night with the rest of the crew she marveled at the anchorage in Put-in-Bay -- sunset, islands, backflips and belly-smackers off the bowsprit, warm clear water, and warm clear laughter. “I keep having to remind myself that I’m in the Great Lakes.”

Shackle and the journalist have worked their way down the main mast and are now sitting on the yardarm of the next highest sail, the topgallant. They stare off into the cool blue waters of Lake Huron. Empty horizon occupies two-thirds of their 360-degree view. Michigan accounts for the rest. They’re not the only ones taking a break. Charlie Janowski, 63, of Cleveland sits on the cargo hold amidships in his painting bibs preparing for his shift. Charlie saw the Picton Castle at the Cleveland festival and was instantly smitten. “I always wanted to be on ship like this. This is a once in a lifetime experience.”

Trainees pay about $100/day to live, work, and learn on the Picton Castle. Charlie built a deck for his 88-year-old widowed neighbor, and when she learned of his desire to sail on the ship she, along with another friend of Charlie’s in his debt, paid his passage.

Admittedly, Charlie isn’t as young as he once was or as in good shape, but that didn’t stop him from going aloft on the foremast to help unfurl the sails. Forty feet off the deck, Charlie balanced on a shaky thin foot rope. Those who watched Charlie go aloft were inspired. Charlie got the job done. You can bet that Charlie always gets the job done.

“I was hoping I didn’t fail and look like a fool to the young guys. This is a lot of work and a lot of fun.”

When Charlie doesn’t smile his face looks tired. He hasn’t stopped smiling since stepping aboard the Picton Castle.

The Picton Castle, originally a fishing trawler, was built in 1928 and operated off the coast of Wales. In World War II she was a mine sweeper. In 1996 Captain Daniel Moreland refitted her with a clipper bow and three masts and began operating her as an around-the-world sail training ship. “We’re not trying to be old fashioned. We’re interested in the tradition of sailing ships.”

Many of the other Tall Ships participating in the traveling festival are merely floating museums and tour boats. The Picton Castle is much more. Today she is the only square-rigged ship circling the world trading goods and training sailors. The Picton Castle preserves more than the memory of the age of sail. She preserves the lifestyle itself. The exploration. The adventure. The freedom.

Hundreds of people, young and old, from all across the globe count themselves in the growing fraternity of her crew. They’ve hauled on sheets, tightened braces, taken their turn at the helm, done the dishes, and washed her decks. Under the guidance of Captain Moreland, the crew of the Picton Castle has circled the globe four times and helped her get where she is today.

One of the hardest tasks that falls upon the tanned shoulders of crew members is saying goodbye.

Andrea will be leaving the ship in Chicago to work for a few months saving up money so she can rejoin the ship for its upcoming eight-month sail in the Caribbean. After 13 months of living on the ship, she hasn’t had enough.

Charlie is leaving the ship in Bay City, Michigan, but hopes to return. “I wanna bring my son with me.”

Shackle left the ship for a short time once already, “When I got back onto the ship in Panama, it felt like coming home. It still does.” He’ll be leaving the ship at the end of the summer to return to Norway. He’s not sure how, but he wants to return to the ship. Minus all the pilfering and pillaging, he’s a pirate 200 years too late.

The journalist?

He got his story. Days after his departure from the ship in Bay City his hands still have splinters from the ship’s main mast. He can’t stop thinking about the starry night in Lake Huron. How he seemed to float before the ship as he looked back at her from the bowsprit. How the sails, lit by the stars, stretched up into distant galaxies. How the wind buzzed through the rigging, hummed across the 12,450 square-feet of sails and listed the ship to her starboard side. Is there anything more magical than a 500-ton object moving along in the silence of night in the open water? It’s almost enough to make a journalist put away his compound sentences and learn his knots.

Memories last longer than splinters. The Picton Castle haunts the dreams of those who know her. But even if they never see her again, they will find comfort and joy in the knowledge that somewhere out there, on Earth’s great waterways, she is afloat. That someone is on watch from her decks. Someone is aloft, greasing her masts.

For more info visit www.picton-castle.com

Scary

10 years of college. 3 Bachelor degrees. 1 Master's. PhD pending...

And Kyle still can't remember to take the truck keys out of his pocket before skiing. We were lucky he didn't lose them in this crash. We would have been stranded in Kentucky.

In your face waterskiing

It's not easy to look cool while waterskiing. This weekend at Lake Cumberland (Kentucky) my brother, Kyle, and his BFF, Tim, tried their best.

SNAKES ON A CANOE!

Snakes on a Plane, please. Try snakes in a dugout canoe. Now, that's exciting. Listen to the story behind the cartoons as featured on my podcast The Traveling Touron. Cartoons by Geoff Hassing.

A writer's eye

I observed two details the other day that will probably never find there way into any of my writings, but are worth sharing all the same:

#1
Portsmouth, Ohio - I stopped at a Podunk gas station to grab a Powerade. I handed the overweight store clerk a $5-bill. She checked it with a marker to make sure it wasn’t counterfeit.

“You get a lot of counterfeit 5’s around here?” I asked.

She nods and hands me my change.

This small detail sums up Portsmouth, a depressed town on the banks of the Ohio, better than any description of its streets, storefronts, or residents. It almost makes me want to write an entire story about Portsmouth just so I could build on it.

#2
A fella in a T-shirt driving a shiny black, stretch-limo on the interstate.

His story begs to be written.

Jill Carroll in the Christian Science Monitor

Read the Christian Science Monitor’s special feature Hostage: The Jill Caroll Story. The feature will run 12 days and is currently in day 5. It’s scary. It’s creepy. It’s enlightening.

Frogger Indian Style

Jail? Community Service? A ticket? Come on Justice System! Let’s try to have little fun!

In India speeding truck drivers aren’t given warnings or fines. They are sentenced to 1 KM of hoppin’ like a frog along the side of the road while holding their ears and hollering the name of their favorite political leader.

There are so many questions to ask here. For instance, “Why?” comes to mind. Most of all I wonder how the police determine who you support politically.

I heard about this on the radio and then found this article via Google.

Punishment by humiliation? I like it. It works too. My 4th grade teacher made the class troublemaker stand on a chair and we all shouted at him how awful he was. He’s now in a band call “Everybody Else Wins” and seems to be fully rehabilitated.

Go deep, see stars

“I was just a guy tied to a rope,” said Navy diver Daniel P. Jackson after being the first diver to reach 2,000’ deep.

“At 2,000 feet, I had topside turn off all the lights, and it was like a star show. The phosphorescence that was naturally in the water and in most of the sea life down there started to glow," Jackson said. "When I started to travel back up, all the lights looked like a shower of stars going down… It was the best ride in the world.”

The ocean at its deepest is about 36,000’; I guess there are plenty of places left to explore. Read the Navy’s coverage of the dive here. The group discussion is also worth a visit. There are some nice debates on the necessity of having a human go to such great depths instead of robots.

I’m all for it. Sometimes our quests for new horizons may not result in direct scientific advances, but the research and development of the projects do. Think Tang, the Space Pen, and astronaut ice cream. What would we have to stuff in our Christmas Stockings if not for the space program?

A big thanks to my buddy Stinger, a fellow narc-o-holic, for emailing me this news release.

The Age of Earth

I heard an interesting stat the other day on NPR.

48% of Americans believe Earth is less than 10,000 years old.

I have not confirmed the figure. By not doing so I leave myself with a glimmer of hope that it is false and that we Americans aren’t as stubborn-minded and foolish as this percentage implies. 10,000 years ago is nothing, geologically speaking. I’ve skipped rocks that are older than 10,000 years old.

I suspect that religion may be a factor here. But anyone who actually believes Earth to be so young is blinded by more than faith. Whoever you believe created the world, I can assure you that he/she/it/they did it a way long time ago (~4.5 billion years ago).

To help put the geologic timescale in perspective here is a column I wrote a while back:

WONDERS OF THAILAND

BIGFOOT IN OHIO?

Bigfoot lives in OHIO! As you can tell from this picture.

You may have trouble making him out in the photos because Bigfeet tend to blend in with their natural surroundings. I had trouble at first too. And then I banged my head against the desk five times and could see him clearly standing behind the truck.

This Bigfoot photograph was taken by Dallas Gilbert of the Ohio Bigfoot Search Club. Dallas and his Bigfoot researchin’ buddy Wayne Burton are among the exclusive few who are able to see the Big Ape without resorting to the sudden pre-inflicting head trauma method (SPHTM).

I learned of the Ohio Bigfoot Search Club while interviewing the park staff last week at the Shawnee State Park near Portsmouth, Ohio. I asked them if there were any local legends and out they came with one of the big 3 (Nessie, UFO’s, Bigfoot). They were all smiles. It seemed to me that Dallas Gilbert was a bigger legend – albeit, living legend in these parts - than Bigfoot himself.

You should definitely check out the website of the OBSC. There is some very insightful information that addresses the much discussed debate on how to prove Bigfoot exists. You’ll be happy to learn that the OBSC is of the “No Kill” school of thought. The OBSC in their own words:

The Ohio Bigfoot Search Group Club takes their own stance in these bewildering days for credible eye witnesses that are trying to prove to the world that Bigfoot does indeed exist. We are of the NO KILL school of thought. We do not want to see a Bigfoot brought in to be dissected at some scientist's leisure. Therefore, we are going to continue as we have over the last six years, and that is to continue our pursuit of obtaining photographic evidence of the Ohio Bigfoot's existence. It is our sincere hope that soon we can ask the State of Ohio and these United States for protection of "OUR" Great Apes!

Bewildering days indeed.

Now, bang your head on the desk five times and check out more photos of Bigfoot in Ohio.

Still not a believer? Purchase Mr. Gilbert’s one-of-a-kind CD – a definitive collection of evidence that Bigfoot exists (WARNING: MAY CAUSE EXTREME LACK OF CONSCIOUSNESS).

...gonna need a bigger boat...

I just learned to roll a kayak last week. How comfortable am I with my roll? If I was this fella, I would be doing some serious puckering if I saw any rogue waves heading my direction. I don’t think my roll is oh-my-gosh-I-better-roll-this-puppy-over-fast-in-order-to-not-get-eaten-by-a-great-white good, yet.

This pic is a reminder to practice.

Crazy Hot Hiking

I picked the hottest week of the summer to go hiking.

On Tuesday I hiked 10 miles on a trail in Tar Hallow State Forest that hadn’t been hiked in quite awhile. I could tell because the spider webs hanging across the trail were so thick I could hear them snap when I walked through them.

On Wednesday I hiked 25 miles in Shawnee State Forest. I didn’t intend on doing this. Kinda stupid really with the heat index pushing 105 degrees. The original plan was to hike 12 miles and then camp. I got to the camp at about 3. It was down in a buggy breezeless ravine. After three hours of rest, I was bored and sweaty and opted to hike the remainder of the trail. Overall it was a quite a challenge fighting dehydration, nausea, and at times (and you know this ain’t good) goosebumps. I think I was a wee bit delirious too. For instance, if you look closely at the picture above, I’m holding a small jar of Vaseline. I’m still not sure why.

My latest Podcast

You’ve waited with bated breath for over one month. Like a junkie you’ve dreamt of your next fix. The wait is over! Junkies here’s your junk…

The latest Traveling Touron Podcast

Or go to the Traveling Touron’s homepage to get more Traveling Touron than you ever thought you needed.

Touron Bliss

Only The Great Touron King could attain this level of transcendent joy from a desktop travel calendar. ~Submitted by Kyle, GTK's big brother

SPAM VS. TUNA

This week I am going to be hiking some of Ohio’s best trails for Glucose Magazine. Tomorrow I’ll be hitting up the grocery. I’m not too much into eating on the trail. I figure I could go a week or so without eating so why weigh myself down with a feast. My food of choice - flavored tuna. I’ve lived for as much as two weeks at a time with crackers and packs of tuna. They come in enough different flavors to keep things slightly interesting. I once tried to subsist a few days off of nothing but SPAM in Hawaii. Here’s what happened:

Excerpt from a Travelin’ Light column titled Life, Death, and Lava:

SPAM is a staple food in Hawaii and, for some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to subsist solely off various flavors of the canned meat during my hike. There was chicken SPAM for breakfast and Ham SPAM for lunch. I couldn’t tell the difference.

When I reach the Summit cabin, my legs heavy from the altitude, I can’t help but dread another meal of SPAM.

It’s a Mauna Loa mountain miracle when I find a MRE left behind for emergencies. Is this an emergency? Heck, yeah! I eat the MRE and leave behind the SPAM, a food that I believe has no purpose other than emergency sustenance.

I’ll be back blogging sometime Thursday or Friday.

A Simple Game of Soccer

I'm waterskiing in Kentucky this weekend, if the weather holds. Here's a link to a recent column, A Simple Game of Soccer, which has nothing to do with waterskiing or Kentucky. It doesn't have much to do with Soccer either. The story could use a little re-titling. Let me know if you have any suggestions.

Have a great weekend.

Celebrity Sighting - Cleveland

Celebrity sightings in the Midwest are rare. Usually they go something like this:

“Hey isn’t that Mike Hartsock, the sportscaster from Channel 7 Action news.”

“Holy crap, it is. Be cool, dude. Be cool.”

This past weekend while at the dock on the Picton Castle in Cleveland, I saw my first nationwide-level celebrity in Ohio. I immediately recognized the ‘stache, the shifty eyes, the aura of cocky confidence. I was excited, much more excited than I thought I’d be.

“Look, its Geraldo.” I turned to the nearest crew member.

They stared blankly, “Who’s Geraldo?”

Ughh! No one in my immediate vicinity had even heard of him. Where the heck do these people live? Well, actually, some of them live at sea and some are from other countries – pretty good excuses. But the Americans of the bunch, they have none.

I’m not really much of a celebrity hound, but somehow this was different. Geraldo Rivera is part of our Pop Culture. He is the walking talking equivalent of the old school T-shirt with a big can of SPAM on it - equal parts retro and ridiculous. It’s almost un-American to not know who Geraldo is.

The 3rd Mate on the boat spotted him and hollered, “Hey, everybody – It’s Geraldo!” I expect that is how it always goes for Geraldo: there he is trying to enjoy a sunny Saturday afternoon looking at some Tall Ships. Somebody hollers and its time to go.

Poor Geraldo. He could put on the classic Groucho disguise, with black furry eyebrows and mustache and people would still recognize him. I suggest he shave the ‘stache and drop the “O.” No one would recognize clean-shaven Gerald.

Update:::: Geraldo still has a show! Who knew?

Beach House on the Moon

With all of this talk about the moon and space travel, I thought I’d post a portion of one of my older columns. In general I disprove of anything that I haven’t written in the last year or so. Usually, before I’d post old writing it would be reworked. Today, I’m lazy. Plus, this piece was very time-dependent and is now somewhat outdated. Most people, including the President, pretend that this particular press conference never happened. It was a major flop. There is also a reference to Lance Bass going to space. He didn’t.

Note: I wasn’t actually at the press conference. I was in my recliner eating cold pizza watching the Simpsons.

Without further ado, a portion of the unedited version of...

BEACH HOUSE ON THE MOON

“Using the crew exploration vehicle, we will undertake extended human missions to the moon as early as 2015, with the goal of living and working there for increasingly extended periods of time.”

Whoa! Stop the presses. Excuse me Mr. President, but I was never informed of such plans. Mars…fine, let’s go for it, but the moon?? ? No one asked me for permission.
Who am I? I just happen to be an owner of the moon, who appreciates to be kept in the know when decisions are made involving my property.

This year for Christmas, my brother purchased me an acre of land on the moon for the bargain price of $35.00. The one-acre of land represents the largest thing that I own. Area G11, Quadrant Alpha, Lot Number 6/1190 located 001 squares south and 006 squares east of the extreme or 6-10 degrees north and 20-24 degrees east, is harmoniously located on the northwest portion of the Sea of Tranquility, near the Crater of Argo.

Slices of the big cheese can be purchased from the self-proclaimed “Head Cheese,” Dennis Hope. In 1980, Hope found a loophole in a UN treaty that prevented governments from owning extraterrestrial property, but failed to ban ownership by individuals and corporations. Hope laid claim to the surface of the moon and the eight other planets, forming the Lunar Embassy (http://www.lunarembassy.com/) - one-stop shopping for your extraterrestrial real estate needs.

Mr. President, as an owner of the moon, I hope that you plan to treat it with the respect with which we have treated our own planet. What are your plans for the moon?

“…the moon is home to abundant resources. Its soil contains raw materials that might be harvested and processed into rocket fuel or breathable air.”

Hold on a second sir…Maybe you were unaware of this, but I also am an owner of the mineral rights from the surface of my one-acre to a depth of three kilometers inclusively. I believe that I should be consulted or compensated for property being dug-up, thrown into a rocket, and burnt away. Maybe if I were to accompany the mission…

“Eugene Cernan, who is with us today, the last man to set foot on the lunar surface, said this as he left: ‘We leave as we came and, God willing, as we shall return, with peace, and hope for all mankind.’ “America will make those words come true.”

Mr. President, please, I do not appreciate being interrupted. If there is no place for me in your plans, or respect of my ownership, I will be forced to take matters into my own hands. I love to travel to far off places and a trip to the moon has always been on my list of things to do; I am not beyond seeking the aide of the Russians. They have similar plans in the works and hope to revisit the moon by 2014, a year sooner than NASA. Sir I must remind you that the Russian’s can be bought. In 2015 when you visit the moon and Man Band member/Astronaut, Lance Bass, steps onto the Lunar surface, do not be surprised to see a sign driven into the ground: ‘Private Property. No Trespassing: Any violators will be prosecuted!’

“The vision I outline today is a journey, not a race.”

I respect that sir, I really do. But, please respect my rights as well. In the future I hope to develop an environmentally friendly get-away for the earthbound on my one-acre. Beachfront on the Sea of Tranquility guarantees to be an ideal location for a dive resort. Customers will have lunar diving a few “small steps for man” away from the front door of the Beach House. There is no atmosphere, promising that customers will return home with the tan of their life. What do you think?

“Let us continue the journey. May God bless.”

I’ll pencil you and Laura in for the grand opening. It’ll be great; I’ve booked Jimmy Buffett.

Spaceport Sheboygan?

Stereotypes happen. When we hear any mention of Wisconsin, we ultimately think of things like cows, milking cows, cheese from cow’s milk, and other cow related activities, products, byproducts, and souvenirs. We don’t think spaceships, let alone a hub of space travel worthy of being called a port.

The August issue of Wired Magazine lists Spaceport Sheboygan as one of the world’s “tourism-focused spaceports.” Right now all they do is shoot up rockets for school kids, but give it a couple of years and tourists may be dropping a cool quarter-million for a few minutes in space. There are 15 such places in the USA. A few hope to be operational in a year or so.

Hopefully, the price will come down enough that I can afford a trip to space before age leaves me unable to control my bladder – no one wants you messin’ in their rocket. Regardless, this is super cool stuff. If I don’t make it to space, at least my chances of meeting someone who has will be greatly increased.

Someday we’ll all drive to Sheboygan to watch rich people blast into space. We’ll remember the experience the rest of our lives. Of course, how will we be able to forget with that reasonably-priced, rocket-riding space cow magnet on the fridge?

Picton Castle Audio Slideshows

Silas Crews a photographer for the Bay City Times (MI) was also on board the Picton Castle. He put together a few slide shows about the trip from Cleveland to Bay City. If you look closely, you might even see me pulling up the anchor, standing as the lookout, working in the galley, and fresh off a mast greasing adventure.

Here are the links:


Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4

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.