The 721 Club

Feeling Gravity's Pull

2008-10-22T13:41:00.000-06:00

"Do you want to keep pushing on?" I asked The Bishop.

Undecided, he remained silent in front of us, looking off of the main road and down the slope to the valley below and the mountains beyond.

The Lizard was due back in the citadel, her ascension ceremony and appointment as Ambassador for The Order being imminent. Thus, after a continued silence, I turned to her, expecting the usual nod for me to continue forward down the path, but she simply stared at our friend, a pained look in her eyes.

It had been a rough journey. The Master had worked his arcane art to restore the power of The Bishop's visions. The results were mixed, prompting a long recovery of my friend's body and mind.

But it was his spirit that was most in need of rebirth. The Order had refused The Bishop leave to see The Master, and I sensed an infinitesimal weight had tipped unseen scales.

"It's ok." The Lizard broke the silence. "I now know it's the right thing for you to do."

The Bishop nodded, embraced her and said, "Send me word of your final decision on accepting the post, and I'll let you know how I fair. Our paths may run parallel and allow us to ride together."

Grasping my hand, he instructed, "Make sure she reaches the citadel," and then he turned down the slope.

We watched him, moving away from us, into the valley toward the sun.

The Lizard started to cry.

"Are you sad because you are afraid of what events he has started in motion?"

"No Genghis, I'm happy for him. By bravely letting that slope carry him away from his closest friends, he is deciding to end a long cycle of abuse."

I contemplated this, offering "When you are safely back at the citadel, I will set out to accompany him."

"Good," The Lizard approved. "He'll benefit from your strength."

"Certainly, but I'm curious to see what occurs in that valley and over those mountains!"

The Karma of Coffee

2008-10-18T19:32:00.003-06:00

It had been a good morning ride - bright and cool, steeds swift and sure. The aroma of my beverage filled my senses as I watched The Lizard consume porridge outside the roadside cafe, while simultaneously keeping conversation with a two other, obviously bewildered, patrons.

A tara approached with her driver. She was voluptuous, and atypically clad, but exuding pleasant compassion. They entered the cafe, and we continued relaxing with our second-breakfast.

As the tara exited the cafe, her servant carried her meal and his beverage to their conveyance. Helping her up, he laid his beverage upon the cab of their carriage. Forgetting his drink, he entered after her and prepared to disembark.

"Your coffee!" The Lizard projected, unheard by either the tara or her driver.

In typical form, The Bishop had already moved forward, clumsily covering the space between our table and the carriage. The driver looked concerned at first, The Bishop focused on arresting any movement of the carriage.

The tara simply looked puzzled, seeming to understand The Bishop meant no harm. Her visage transformed into a smile, as The Bishop reached up above the carriage, grasped the driver's cup, and carefully placed it in the owner's hand. The Bishop turned as quickly as he had started and returned to our table, his duty fulfilled.

The tara called after him, "You've earned yourself much coffee-karma, my good ecclesiastic."

The Bishop appeared to politely acknowledge the tara's blessing, but I could see his hue change perceptibly.

"He deserves good karma," The Lizard whispered, "after all he has been through these many months."

"These many years." I corrected, and took another draught of my coffee.

It was a fine morning indeed.

The Tree Pirates

2008-09-20T13:00:00.002-06:00

"It's as if she were bleeding her last."

"I prefer to think she is crying." The Lizard corrected, as we both looked at the stump, siphoning groundwater to the surface. I did not offer an argument, sensing Lizard's loss.

What the storm had started, the motley troupe of tree pirates had finished off. Regardless if their fervor was based in euthanasia, or entrepreneurial motives, they made quick work of the laced bark.

Sunshine now took collateral damage on the ferns that had once sheltered beneath a majestic canopy.

Two Flags, Red and Black

2008-09-13T07:21:00.000-06:00

CGC Phoebe stood at her post as daybreak filled the darkened room. I sipped the tea Lizard had made for me after she had awoken from a deep sleep.

The cyclone had given us a rough ride, but The Bishop had labored long, directing our efforts in preparation these last few days to fortify our dwelling. He had stood watch overnight, shoring up the defenses where necessary.

He looked tired, and I was surprised when he said, "We'll have our work cut out, clearing debris, once the gale subsides."

I nodded, and asked, "What do you think the worst part of last night's experience was? The high winds rocking our quarters? Or perhaps the rain seeping through unseen cracks?"

"Well, if I were to be pressed," The Bishop answered, his eyebrow raised knowingly in my direction, "I'd have to say The Lizard's snoring."

AKC CGC

2008-08-24T20:36:00.003-06:00

The Bishop and The Private came sprinting out of the training grounds, relief on the face of the latter, a proud smile lighting the former's visage. They raced past me at full speed, bounding on the trail near the woods.

The Lizard also exited, and seemed happy, but tired. I walked over to her, and asked, "I trust it went well?"

"It was amazing. The Private was the only student in her class to pass all the tests."

"Splendid!" I replied, "You led her well, then."

"That's the amazing thing, Genghis." She said, watching our compatriots celebrate near the trees. "When things seemed to be breaking apart, and I was getting nervous and frustrated, The Bishop suddenly took the lead, making course corrections as necessary. The Private took to his commands and executed... almost flawlessly!"

"The Bishop has been known to rise to the occasion when the chips are down, but I'd be willing to bet neither of them would have been successful if you hadn't provided your special recipe of hard work and communication." My comment made her astonishment turn to a full, and satisfied smile.

We continued to watch The Bishop and The Private gambol about, with a word of praise every now and then being tossed by The Lizard in their direction. It was good to see them happy, especially The Bishop, since so many days of recent past had been sorrowful for him.

"It's hard to comprehend that The Private will get promoted." I contemplated aloud.

"Comprehending won't be the problem. Putting up with The Bishop's pride in his protege' may be the issue, " she correctly noted.

Please Bathe Regularly

2008-08-18T09:33:00.000-06:00

I was enjoying myself, certainly, but I felt a bit out of my element. In fact, at times, a bit uncomfortable. The Bishop and Incan seemed to revel in the strange and unique air at the conference, and I'm sure part of their happiness lay in the fact they were able to see one another - old friends sharing conversation.

I was beginning to feel less out of place, but then came across a "ground rule" request, posted prominently in the conference schedule. Reading over the statement several times to be sure I hadn't imagined it, I turned to Incan and asked, "Are they joking? Having a little fun with a stereotype, right?"

Incan tilted her head to look at what I was reading. Her shoulders slumped in slight embarrassment. "Unfortunately, no." She admitted, letting it out slow, resigned breath.

27 inches of good times

2008-08-15T13:40:00.002-06:00

"It lasted 17 years?"

"Yes. It was dependable, entertaining and of noble quality," The Bishop remarked.

I was amazed... Both at the implement's longevity and The Bishop's characteristic loyalty to his tools.

Like a Pet

2008-08-08T07:30:00.008-06:00

We finished our coffee, embraced, then turned away. Silence followed for a good while, broken by The Bishop, a mix of bitterness and sorrow in his voice.

"First Sarge, now three more. I feel like we are fighting a losing battle this year."

I pondered what he said, and offered a positive thought: "Well, at least they chose their path, and hopefully will be happier for it."

The Lizard looked hopeless, tears in her eyes. "The Keeper was so sweet and focused, and The Doughnut was like a little sister."

"And The Booger?" I asked.

"Well, he was sort of like.... a pet."

I couldn't help but smile.

Inner Hardware

2008-07-28T19:52:00.000-06:00

"All that was inside of her?"

The Bishop nodded as he inspected the items. I was amazed.

"Is she in pain?"

"Much less now." The Bishop explained. "The hardware supported part of the spine as it fused, but the bone above started to fail. They had to pull out the old metal, then add new support at the failure."

"I hope she stays clear of big magnets."

One Arming It

2008-07-23T14:17:00.004-06:00

"Thank you!" Booger yelled.

As we sped by on our steeds, I looked over to see an old woman by the side of the road, straightening from a bent position and smiling back at us.

"What did she do?" I asked.

The Bishop responded, his words separated by the pulsing rhythm of his steed "She - was - pick - ing - up - rub -ish."

I turned to take another look at the charitable soul.

She had one arm.

"How did she lose her arm?" again I queried.

"Not sure," said Booger, "but she's doing more with her one arm than the lazy fools who dropped their trash across our countryside."

I nodded and sped onward, making a note to lend both of my good arms to extricate the next bit of debris I came across.

Conveyed by The Congon

2008-06-06T20:12:00.001-06:00

The Bishop and I hailed transportation at the port as we disembarked, since speed was of the essence.

"Where are you from?" I asked the driver, hearing his accent.

"I'm Congon," he happily replied as we made our way into the city, mountains forming and impressive backdrop on this clear and sunny day.

"What brings you here, so far from your land by the river?"

"I followed a girl," he replied, and I turned a knowing grin toward The Bishop. But The Congon added, "She did not love me, and took my daughter far away."

My smile faded, and The Bishop chimed in, "But at least you are here, in a prosperous land?"

"Yes, " The Congon agreed, "it is much better than the refugee camps."

"War?" I inquired.

"No," he explained, "I was a student, and protested the corrupt government, so the tyrant closed the school and persecuted us. I fled to a neighboring land where they sent us to camps."

"So these camps were unpleasant?" The Bishop inquired.

"Yes. The people were in a terrible state - disease, no food, insects. Fortunately, good people from your country noted me as worthy to come here."

He continued, "I got a job, but met a girl - so beautiful! She had my daughter, then broke my heart by leaving me. I left my job and used my money to try to be closer to them, but they moved again. And now I'm stuck here, dreaming of my daughter and hoping one day I can make enough money to buy unspoiled land in my home country."

I felt thankful for my minor inconveniences, and when we departed The Congon's conveyence, I nodded approval as The Bishop added a few more coins to the fare.

Iron Chair of Pain

2008-06-03T09:09:00.000-06:00

The Bishop was admiring the cooling breeze in the garden, so unusual for this time of year. My attention was drawn to a robin, worm prey firmly in beak, when I heard The Bishop cry out: "My Lord!"

I turned to see my friend bolting away from an iron chair he had attempted to sit in, rubbing his arm. I noted that the chair was flanked by two blue agave.

I chuckled, and The Bishop remarked, "Who would set up a torture apparatus in such a beautiful garden?"

"They are special, pups from a plant over 100 years old." The Lizard chimed in from across the garden.

The Bishop didn't seem impressed, so I tried to cheer him up, "Well, if they didn't get you with their spines, I'm sure their contribution to the margaritas would have taken you out in the end."

Discrimination

2008-05-31T09:00:00.001-06:00

"I would think that you would be the most outraged, Genghis, considering the history of your race." The Bishop noted as we stood outside the doorway, staring at the offending signage.

"I've learned to expect as much," I replied. "Besides, The Private seems to not mind staying here at the gate, as long as she can have a drop to quench her thirst."

"Perhaps we should point out that their own children pose more of a health risk than our good comrade at arms? Maybe that will lead them to reason."

"True, but I think it will be useless -- prejudice knows no reason."

The Hump's Hammer

2008-05-12T09:33:00.002-06:00

I was glad to see The Earl of Humphrey ride up on his powerful black steed. The Bishop and The Lizard, after years of negotiations with several generations of leadership from the neighboring land, had arranged for the destruction of The Dead and Dangerous Trees. Now all that was left to rid our lands of the foul stench and fetid waters which had stagnated in our realm, was the demolition of the fortress-dam the undead flora had erected.

"You're arrival is timely, Hump. I'm in need of your power and strength!"

"No worries," The Earl replied, "I'll just need a implement to begin our work."

I placed the ancient hammer in his hands. He looked at the weapon, smiled and swung it high above his head.

Stone, wood and rock splintered under his mighty assault. Water and mud splashed high in great geysers as the debris fell. The locals moved for cover, but peered backed from safety at the mighty titan.

When The Bishop insisted he wear a visor to protect him from the shrapnel, I spelled my friend, concentrating on some particularly stubborn areas of the dam.

From both our efforts, slowly the fortress began to give way. And when, at last, one portion of the wall remained standing, The Hump delivered a final, deafening blow. The sundered fortress allowed the waters to flow. But I looked into The Earl's hands and realized the victory had a cost: the ancient hammer had broken under The Hump's mighty strength!

He gazed upon the two pieces that remained of his weapon and declared, "This good tool deserves a place of honor."

"It certainly does," The Bishop remarked, and added, "As do you... at our table for such fine service to our cause!"

This made both our spirits rise, and we ambled off to reap our victual rewards.

Sisters of the Shinai

2008-05-09T19:16:00.003-06:00

"They used what?" The Bishop seemed perplexed.

"A shinai. It's a practice sword."

"Yes, Genghis, I know what it is," he replied, "I was talking about the other 'weapon'. It seems so... strange."

"Well, apparently The Donut found the doors to her inner keep ajar. Quite concerned that a band of brigands had broken into her abode, she summoned The Lizard."

"Prudent, and I'm sure that the shinai was chosen as a weapon of opportunity," The Bishop said, then added, " but what were they going to do with that door to a dog crate?"

The Dharma Flute

2008-05-03T21:18:00.001-06:00

The Bishop was intrigued, and questioned our server: "What wonderful tones, is it a bass flute?"

"Yes, it's twice as long as a normal flute," was the reply.

"I think I need to meet this fellow with an extra long flute ," I informed the table, adding, "to compare notes." I then pulled on my glass of Turkish pilsner, cooly ignoring both the glare of The Bishop, and the laughter of The Lizard.

Clear, Cool, Dry and Sunny

2008-04-28T21:10:00.004-06:00

"Say that again." The Bishop commanded, disbelief in his voice.

"'63°F, Clear. Wind West at 0 mph. Humidity, 45%'" I repeated, reading from the report.

"It's supposed to be a mosquito infested, water saturated, sun-broiled hell-hole this time of year. What's going on!" The Bishop looked around amazed.

"Galactic climate change." The Lizard stated as a matter of fact, bending to sniff a carissa blossom.

We both turned to her, smiled, and I added "Well, such an event calls for a galaxy sized beer!"

The Finger

2008-04-08T15:10:00.004-06:00

"It's a long story," The Bishop replied to my inquiry.

"OK, but at least tell me if it involves any underaged boys," I requested...

Soon I understood what the label on the bottle meant.

Devilish Oxymoron

2008-04-08T12:30:00.002-06:00

Normally I feel that The Bishop can be a bit painfully acerbic with his criticism, even when the criticism is due.

However, in this case, I think he hit the nail on the head with the witty analysis of the situation we found ourselves in.

Shade... Swedish Style

2008-04-04T12:06:00.001-06:00

"I want something lighter, how about the ravioli?"
"Certainly. Since you aren't from here, you should know the ravioli shell is not pasta, but raw meat."
The Bishop paused, not knowing what to say.
I stepped in.
"I normally eat raw meat, but we had a tough night last... Can you bring us 'mac-n-cheese'?"
"Certainly"
"Wait!" The Bishop interjected. "What are the noodles made of?"

Swedish Shell Game

2008-04-02T11:35:00.000-06:00

I glanced around the platform to ask one of the local citizens, but none could understand me, so I turned back to The Bishop who was examining the three receptacles.

"Is it like the two buttons, or the three shell?"

"I'm not sure," he replied, staring down into the one on the far right.

"Well, do we segregate our rubish according to shape? Round peg in the round hole?"

Bishop nodded, "Perhaps you are right."

"Thought so. Let me see what happens when I try to stuff your ticket into the round hole."

An expected furrowed-brow-stare turned my confusion into mirth.

Strange Ambassadors

2008-04-01T09:32:00.000-06:00

"The ambassadors of this land seem... strange. They sing to us in our language, but it makes no sense" The Bishop observed.

"Yes," I agreed. "And who is 'Fernando'?"

Profound Disappointment

2008-03-31T19:05:00.000-06:00

I expected The Bishop's lips to be set in a thin line - the typical sign when he became angry at transgressions perceived or real.

But his lips were relaxed. His eyes distant, sad.

This concerned me. I moved over to him and tilted my head in query.

"I ran out of giving to those who can't even say 'thank you'," he stated.

He continued, resentment lightly coating his words. "When others required support, or guidance out of the storm and darkness, I put my energy towards their needs. When someone wanted an adventure, I'd take their path so that they would not be alone, even when it wasn't the path I would have chosen."

"I asked for nothing in return but respect and friendship."

"But the times when I asked for them to take my path, their ears turned away deaf. When my soul required comfort, they demanded the more of me, blind to my heartache. When I finally had to ask for friendship, they chose their own whims over me."

This was true, but I offered: "The Lizard would forgive."

He bowed his head. "In this, I look up to her example, but am unable to yet achieve it. She is compassion and grace even when others do her wrong as Stormy did. She simply shines her light on other things."

I nodded, remembering Stormy's dismissal. I had been disgusted at how thoughtlessly she had treated The Lizard.

Looking up at me, tears fell from his eyes. "I've lost so much lately, and I can't pretend or let these many stones flung upon me to roll off my back. At some point, you have to protect yourself. Despite my heart of a crusader, if not allowed to right a wrong, prudence would require that I turn away."

The army officer in me agreed that a tactical withdrawl often serves your cost best, but I asked: "Forever?"

He put his hand on my shoulder and answered. "I still have friends, like you, who I am thankful for. With that, comes hope, and all things are possible."

I smiled.

"But I wouldn't delay dinner just yet waiting. I'm hungry." The Bishop added with his own self-aware smile.

Frequent Film Quotes

2008-03-14T09:18:00.004-06:00

Incandragon came up with a good post recently:
http://incandragon.livejournal.com/250574.html?view=1648846#t1648846
She asked to identify the motion picture quotes she uses frequently in everyday life. Only one overlapped with one of mine ("Mostly") and so I thought I would throw a few out there and see if anyone could guess the movie. Some are quite easy, I'm sure...

"I feel a presence..."

"You're still alive, old friend"

"I am a leaf on the wind"

"No capes!"

"Negative Ghost Rider, the pattern is full."

"We're dangerous at short distances."

"So I figure I've got that going for me."

"The overide. Where's the overide!"

"As in 'to swing' "

"And if frogs had wings they wouldn't bump their ass a hoppin' "

"There she is!"

Dead and Deciduous

2008-03-12T08:37:00.000-06:00

"That there is a Dead and Dangerous Tree", the Urban Forrester proclaimed.

The Lizard beamed with happiness -- a run in with the more radical druids in her sect could be avoided. She moved forward to pat the 4 foot thick trunk, a long life having been lived.

The Forrester grabbed her: "I wouldn't get too close if I were you."

Special Competitors

2008-02-09T15:41:00.001-06:00

"Well, I tend to like sporting events when the score is close. Means the competitors are evenly matched," I replied.
"Even when you are competing?" Bohunk asked.
"Especially when I'm competing."
"Not me. I like it when my opponent is underskilled."
"Really?"
"Yes... Special Olympics level... And I'm not talking the ones who get a medal..."

Courageous Hannah

2008-01-28T22:05:00.001-06:00

The Bishop cradled Sarge's head in his hands, quiet whispers encouraging her companions more than the old soldier. She had, afterall, possessed far more determination and courage than any one of us.

The Lizard touched her old friend with tears in her eyes, but happiness in her heart. The healers had given Hannah one last day of dignity and enjoyment -- spending it resting with friends and sampling favorite foods.

With a nod from The Bishop, the surgeon administered the serum to ease the old soldier to sleep. Quickly and quietly she was gone, all too soon, but dreams well deserved.

The surgeon and assistants paused to allow for silent respects, then moved to take Sarge away.

"May I bear my old friend to her final rest?" I heard myself ask. With none present offering disagreement, I gently lifted my most trustworthy companion and proudly carried her home.

The Restless Vigil

2008-01-22T09:06:00.000-06:00

The Private was on watch, and I listened to Sarge's labored breathing. A strange sickness had made camp outside the old soldier's seemingly impregnable defenses, threatening a long siege.

"Sarge seems to be resting better now," I commented, eyes only half open, attempting to find myself a comfortable spot on the floor in the chill, dim common room.

"Hopefully The Lizard is resting too. She doesn't need to worry about one of her soldiers, or be turmoiled while performing her duties with the other leaders on the morrow." The Bishop was uncharacteristically calm and forgiving after being woken from our deep sleep.

I remembered The Lizard's worried sobs earlier in the night as she attempted in vain to minister to her old friend. Normally decisive, worry clouding her mind, she had asked us if we should take Sarge, in the dead of night, to The Triage. "They helped before, when wounds were great," she had reminded us.

The Bishop had looked thoughtful, assessed the situation, and noted to our compatriot: "Sarge is not in as dire circumstances as she was then, and all might be best served if we hold action till morning. Let Genghis and I watch over her till sun-up, so that you might rest for your day." And The Lizard had relunctantly agreed.

I gazed over at The Bishop as he drifted off to sleep, covered by a mismatch of blankets and cloth on the floor. He could be difficult, and bitter at times, but his actions this night were evidence of why I kept company with him.

I turned one last time and offered a salute to my fellow soldier, her breathing still rough, before laying down to ride out the vigil to daybreak.

Angel Down

2007-11-22T16:45:00.001-06:00

(war bird flys over stadium)
Genghis: "An Angel went down this year."
Bo Hunk: "He take one of his team with him? Hit somebody?"
Genghis: "No, I think it was an engine that went out. Fuel problem."
Bo Hunk: "Well you never know what will happen when those engines get hold of that high test alcohol..."

La Vida Loca

2007-11-10T17:00:00.000-06:00

We were relaxing, tired, but content from our day with The Emissary. I swirled the warm red wine in my glass and smiled at The Bishop. The light silhouetted his form, as he intently gazed into his crystal, waiting for a message from The Factor.

The Bishop's brow furrowed, "He'll be late at best."

"What does he say?"

"The authorities closed the main port and he had to negotiate transport." The Bishop responded, then a smile broke across his face. "It seems he had to take a coach to Latacunga, then to Guayaquil to make his final escape on a vessel bound for The Republic."

I looked questioningly at The Bishop -- The Factor was, after all, accustomed to making last minute tactical decisions on the fly, and mob-like situations were not uncommon to him.

The Bishop explained, "Apparently the coach fare included cultural immersion... complete with loud ethnic music for the many hours of transport."

I laughed out loud. The Factor certainly was living La Vida Loca...

The Pink Warriors

2007-10-30T08:06:00.000-06:00

Dripping wet, I walked over and grabbed the towel on its hook. It was warm and fresh, and I deduced that The Lizard was on the job, making The Heights a more habitable location for man and beast, regardless whether we asked for the service or not.

The Bishop had already started to dry himself, and unexpectedly began to chuckle.

"What are you in such a good mood about?" I asked, thinking The Lizard's little luxury had brightened my friend's usually dour mood.

"I'm remembering the old days in the monastery... religious warrior's training." He replied, a happy, distant look in his eyes.

I grinned, "When you and Justice first met?"

"It was a good time. But I'm not thinking of Justice as much as I am a specific event. The warm cloth reminded me."

The Bishop remained quiet for awhile, smiling slightly. The curiosity getting the better of me, I asked, "Are you going to leave me in the dark?"

The Bishop's grin widened.

"The Instructors would gather our clothing at the end of each day's training to be laundered. Each student had his own sack that would be secured and washed in the hot water."

I nodded and he continued.

"We had received new cuirass covers, colored according to the tactical service of the wearer. Some received purple, others white, some had blue, and some others had red covers. As usual, at the end of that day's training, we put the new covers into our sacks with the rest of our gear to be laundered. When we returned the next afternoon for drills, those in our company who had red covers were surprised to find that the dye had leached out onto the rest of their clothing. Their tunics and stockings were stained a light pink color, and the red covers had faded to a similar, but darker shade!"

I began to smile, and The Bishop finished his story.

"The Instructors proceeded to mortify the victims of the wash by expounding upon how non-threatening the Pink Warriors would be on the battlefield. This was simply an attempt to shed ridicule onto others since the Instructors were the ones to blame for procuring low quality garments. But that didn't make it any less funny to me, especially considering that I would not have minded the color choice in the slightest."

I was now laughing heartily, mostly at the image of holy warriors adorned in pink, but also at my compatriot's predictable sense of style.

The Port Palace

2007-09-05T22:39:00.001-06:00

"It was what?" The Bishop stopped halfway up the staircase to the third story of our accomodation.

"A brothel," I replied, adding "and quite a good one."

The Lizard turned her head and grinned one of her knowing, mischievious smiles for my benefit.

A crimson hue flushed beneath an ebony mask as I continued past my comrades to our rooms...

Island in the Clouds

2007-09-05T10:45:00.001-06:00

"I thought we'd never surface," The Bishop remarked, with a hint of happy relief.
"Will Vultan greet us in person?" The Lizard asked enthusiastically.
I gazed a moment longer at the beauty of my winged friend's realm, and then nodded my answer with a smile.

The Karma of Toiletries

2007-08-27T05:57:00.001-06:00

"You must put all of your liquids in one of these bags," the Helpful Female Traveler stated, then asked "Do you have any shampoo?"

The bald Tibetan monk in saffron robes smiled and nodded understanding...

Zombies

2007-08-06T11:46:00.000-06:00

I was having a hard time convincing myself this was same warrior I had once rode alongside. He had nearly matched my legendary stamina, was full of enthusiasm, but now seemed beaten and tired.

We had not seen him for a moon's cycle and decided to call upon his home after we returned from our most victorious campaign, to tell tales and enlist his attendance on the next adventure. The greeting at his manor door was welcoming, and open, but we soon began to realize something was amiss. Our hosts were quiet, forlorn, haggard. There was an air of uneasiness blanketing the gathering, and unspoken anticipation of dire occurrences, so we ended our visit prematurely, reasoned by pending engagements.

"It's a disease," The Bishop frowned, having kept his tongue during our brief call. "A curse, or charm perhaps, transmitted by the infected, and eagerly received by the next victims!"

The Bishop had sworn an oath, so I understood his basic misgivings for our friend's situation, but still smiled at his traditional vitriol. I, on the other hand, had no prejudice in the matter, yet still could not fathom why someone would intentionally place themselves in such a taxing and unprofitable predicament.

"But they chose this path," The Lizard countered, though her face betrayed her concern with what she had seen and heard. "I believe they did not fully fathom the depths of their undertaking. Still, we should respect their decision, and meditate for them."

I looked at The Lizard with understanding. "Perhaps we should make ourselves available for assistance, but also provide any distance they may need?"

The Lizard nodded, continuing to look concerned, as we rode away down the highway.

NZ: Hallowed Tome, Native Tongue

2007-07-24T14:26:00.001-06:00

The Lizard's smile brightened the central bazaar of the Western entry port to our native soil as pages turned, crisp and new. She had resisted obtaining the final book of the magical tome in a foreign land, and was now rewarded for her patience dealing with the embarrassing attitudes of our home nation's guards.
"I can wait until she is finished," The Bishop graciously told me, her joy overwhelming his relentless pursuit of knowledge.
My grin was almost as wide as The Lizard's, tempered only by a touch of sadness with the memory of the amazing lands and the adventures we had just concluded.

NZ: Fidel's

2007-07-18T14:36:00.000-06:00

"It's hypocritical," The Bishop remarked, looking across the café.
"Perhaps, but he sure makes good brownies," I countered, washing down the chocolate goodness with a smooth sip of pinot.

NZ: Gnocchi

2007-07-17T14:24:00.001-06:00

I've had two great gnocchi dishes in my life. One was in Boston, 10 years ago. The other was at the corner of Cuba and Ghuznee in Wellington, NZ.

NZ: Kaitaki

2007-07-16T20:32:00.001-06:00

"What does it mean?" I asked the bo'sun.
"It means 'Challenger'," he replied and moved quickly to secure the cargo on deck.
The wind had started to whip furiously as we moved out of the protection of the fiord. The swell could be felt, even on such a huge vessel. The Lizard was meditating and The Bishop looked a bit worried - everything was normal it seemed. I commented: "It would appear she'll be 'challenging' these dire straights."
The Bishop kept his eyes fixed on the horizon, but added: "Wasn't 'Challenger' that famous ship which went down with all hands?"
I frowned. Perhaps this time The Bishop actually had cause for worry...

NZ: The Gritty Side of Christchurch

2007-07-14T13:25:00.001-06:00

Village idiots are a constant it seems, and I will have to admit Traten's matter of fact assessment that the human race is made up mostly of base stock has its merits. I therefore feel for The Bishop as he approaches each situation with a fresh and positive attitude, only to be let down by his fellow man. Beer guzzling roughs, reigned slightly by a stern look from myself, made last night's competition fairly unpalatable. Still, all was not of the negative, as we watched the young local child perform his nation's war dance in mimic of his older brothers on the field.
...plus a reckoning was dealt to the offenders the next morning in the form of pounding skulls while riding the northbound carriage.

NZ: The Riviera of Canterbury

2007-06-30T23:00:00.000-06:00

Weegie Waiter: "Shae called me Irish!"

Genghis: "Glasgow, right?"

Weegie: "Correct."

Cook: "Well at least she didn't call you Welsh."

The Bishop ( pointing to the dragon on his cap ): "Now wait a minute!"

NZ: Edoras

2007-06-29T22:21:00.001-06:00

The king greeted us at the great hall, and The Bishop complimented him on the beauty of his lands. The stories did not do The Riddermark justice, and I was glad we made the long trek from the coast to see the horse plains and it's capital.

The Lizard wandered about the landing where Eowyn once stood, grieving over her cousin. The wind whipped my comrade's hair as it must have done Eowyn's, and I was filled with emotion.

I turned my attention to the north, where the great battle took place at Helm's Deep. How outnumbered and heroic Theoden's host had been, and I was proud to be spending the evening in the midst of his kin.

Rohan

NZ: Skipping Rope

2007-06-29T00:27:00.001-06:00

http://www.mackenziethorpeart.com/

NZ: "He doesn't know how to use the three seashells! "

2007-06-29T00:02:00.000-06:00

Lizard, Bishop and Genghis stare at the NZ toilet.

The Lizard: "Try pushing the one with the slash-mark on it"

The Bishop: "Are you sure? What if that's the wrong one?"

Genghis stops himself from pushing the button.

Genghis: "Are you saying one is for 'number one' and the other is for 'number two'? Man, I thought you were anal, but evacuation segregation takes the cake."

NZ: Space-Time Distortion Hallucinations

2007-06-28T12:14:00.000-06:00

The Bishop fretted, "It feels colder than predicted. I don't think I brought the proper gear. I'm going to freeze before we make the mountain pass."

"We have a day before we head for the pass, and we can try to find you what you need here on the coast, " The Lizard reminded. "In the meantime, perhaps you still just need to get acclimated to the change we underwent crossing the space-time barrier?"

The Bishop didn't seem convinced. He was grumpier than ever.

I had to admit that even I was not feeling myself after passing across The Time Change Barrier. In fact, I think I was beginning to hallucinate. The walls of the lodging we had aquired appeared to be covered with disrobed women.

Unlike The Bishop, however, I wasn't complaining...

NZ: You have to pass the Barrows...

2007-06-27T12:12:00.001-06:00

...with Ringwaiths harrasing you at every turn, before you can get to Rivendell and sample the strawberry shampoo.

NZ: LAX

2007-06-26T21:32:00.001-06:00

Cool weather.
Not so cool airport.

NZ: Airline Burger

2007-06-26T20:01:00.001-06:00

Charbroiled to perfection on a open fire grill... with a Milky Way side.

NZ: Got those flight cancelled blues...

2007-06-26T16:02:00.000-06:00

(The Lizard wipes the blood off her weapon after lashing the rude woman trying to cut in line, and turned back to the gate counter...)
American Air Rep: "I can get you on Continental at 1720, but Genghis will have to fly standby."
Lizard: (her mouth abnormally forming a frown) "OK, but I'm not leaving without him"
AA Rep: "Shouldn't be an issue... Oh look, you've been selected SSSS..."
Lizard: "Is that good?"
AA: "Depends, do you like cavity searches?"

NZ: Automatic Toilet Problems

2007-06-26T13:28:00.001-06:00

Automatic toilets:
Good idea for those who require a fresh bowl.
Bad idea for the efficient and economic use of toilet seat covers

NZ Mission: First Breakfast

2007-06-26T08:46:00.001-06:00

Elevensies will be later...

The Fauchard

2007-06-04T19:32:00.000-06:00

I walked out into the courtyard after supper. The air was heavy and humid, but yet a crowd had gathered. The Bishop and The Lizard were disagreeing, as good friends do. I moved closer to see what the matter was.

"F-o-o-c-h-a-r-d," The Bishop confidently whispered.

"No, I believe it to be f-a-u-c-h-a-r," The Lizard politely replied.

"What are you two quarreling about this time," I grinned.

"The young ones are competing in a contest." The Lizard informed me, her hand presenting seven children on the crier's stand.

The Bishop elaborated: "One that tests the mind on accuracy of spelling a word."

"Hmm," I mused, looking over the nervous young faces, and my two academic friends in observance. "What word are they attempting to spell?" I finally asked.

"Foe-shard," The Bishop slowly sounded out for me.

"Oh, fauchard," I smiled, "f-a-u-c-h-a-r-d."

The Lizard's eyes grew wide along with her ever present smile. The Bishop turned with a frown.

"Why would you think it was spelled that way?" He asked.

"It's a weapon. Big poleaxe. I don't prefer it, but I've snapped a few in my day. I've also requisitioned them."

As if on cue, the competing child repeated my spelling and received an approval from the judge of the competition. I winked at The Lizard. The Bishop stared at me, his mouth slightly agape, trying to comprehend how a lug like myself might actually know how to spell the names of the tools of my trade.

I politely nodded and headed off for an evening drink, as the contest judge sounded out the next word: "Trit-uh-cay-lee."

I decided to keep walking and not enrage The Bishop with my knowledge of cereals and grains...

http://www.spellingbee.com/07bee/rounds/Round08.htm

The Rover

2007-06-01T14:08:00.001-06:00

http://genghismaximus.livejournal.com/2366.html

An Unusual Proposal

2007-04-25T13:01:00.000-06:00

An Unusual Proposal

By Sylvia Sullivan Villarreal

I have an unusual proposal. Not one likely to be enacted, but one that might offer some comfort in a week so filled with pain and grief. Let’s take all the talking heads, the hosts and the pundits, and replace them with poets for a week. Let’s imagine that our air waves, usually pulsing with the sly and slick rantings of Howard and Rush, are suddenly ripe with the language and images of some of our unsung heroes. Allow the words spoken and transmitted to our ears to be the same ones selected, crafted, and then polished to perfection by artists whose lives depend on finding that precise noun or verb. Those whose impetus is to constantly pare away the extraneous, the sensational, and explicate in concise and moving ways the bare bones of our existence.

How could that possibly be relevant? In a week that contains a horrific slaughter of innocents on a college campus, more savage suicidal bombings on the Iraqi war front- how could any of this be helped by piping the voices and visions of our poets into our weary ears and broken hearts?

Consider for a moment the words of poet Mary Oliver, who appeared onstage here in Houston the very evening of the Virginia massacre. This slight woman, clad in gray yet somehow luminous, read softly from her work, including a much beloved poem, WILD GEESE. In it she invites the reader, “Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.” And later in that same poem, she reminds us “Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese…announcing over and over your place in the family of things.” The blackness, both experienced, and created by those who feel no stake in that family, felt palpable in that large room.

Perhaps we could really listen to the words of Naomi Shihab Nye in her poem entitled KINDNESS. “Before you know what kindness really is you must lose things, feel the future dissolve in a moment like salt in a weakened broth….how desolate the landscape can be between the regions of kindness.” She continues, “Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside, you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.”

It’s possible that rather than another rehash of security concerns, and the endless, looping exercise of assigning blame to all guilty parties, we could let ourselves dissolve into loss and come out the other side, laying down our arms, and reaching out in the kindness born of sorrow, to all who suffer so profoundly in our world.

Or we might choose to listen to the voice of Pablo Neruda, who is no longer physically present, but through the body of his work continues to offer us his insights.

In his poem, KEEPING QUIET, Neruda proposes that we all count to twelve, then keep still. He goes on to state, “If we were not so single-minded about keeping our lives moving, and for once could do nothing, perhaps a huge silence might interrupt this sadness of never understanding ourselves and of threatening ourselves with death.”

Neruda implores us to do nothing, not for inactivity, but for the sake of recognizing what we have wrought in the world in so many “victories with no survivors”.

We have all been dulled by constant and repetitive analysis, by now we are saturated with the menacing images and psychotic ramblings of this young Virginia man. We hear stories of teasing in his early life, of increasing alienation in his young adult life, and we are puzzled and frightened by this morphing of a troubled teenager into a murderous man. We suffer with the families as they choke back their sobs, and we watch in horror at their vulnerability, at their unending and inestimable loss, at the harrowing possibility that any of us could be one of them. We know with dead certainty that only a thread separates us from sudden and complete sorrow. The faces of their recently life-filled children smile back at us from our morning newspaper, and the litany of their promise and potential in stark contrast to their sudden, violent end is almost too much to bear. This event opens the window into the black, snarling presence of the hate and evil that lurk in the world, and how they can be manifest in any of us.

We have heard from Katie, and Brian, and all the others who intone for us nightly the innumerable details, the ‘very latest’ in our collective attempt to try and make sense of events that constantly spiral out of control in our violent world. I, for one, have no more stomach for the constant stream-of-consciousness detail and one-upmanship that often passes for analysis.

To help ascertain the true impact of these events on our psyches and souls, give me the poets. At times of such despair, they help us name our grief, and remind us that even when muted in sorrow, life is a jewel to be prized. Perhaps just for a moment, their voices stir us to remember, what poets everywhere are always calling out to us. Attention must be paid.

The Dinner Show

2007-04-15T08:03:00.000-06:00

"So, you are a fashion model?"

"Yes," the slim, chiseled face across from me responded.

"Do you have a preference on the kind of work you do?"

"I prefer runway to photo shoots - you are in-and-out and it's not as tiring." The Model explained.

Her mobile rang. Her sister was calling from Bogotá, and she smiled as she listened. Her boyfriend, a dark and handsome sport trainer from Bulgaria, rolled his eyes as he related the escapades of her large family to Mr November, who sat to my left.

I listened to The Bulgarian Trainer relate his story, as my eye wondered down the table at the unusual assortment of connected friends gathered to celebrate Transvaal Irish on her day of birth. Aside from those previously mentioned, dining at the table were African Author , The Palliate, The Lizard, The Bishop and The Shetlander. A diverse and traveled group, to say the least.

The Bishop was on his best behavior, considering the tardiness of the food, and lack of general attention the staff was providing at the tavern. Still, the food was good, and I relaxed into the evening, my gaze continuing on to the next room, focusing unexpectedly on another birthday party in progress.

The honoree at the head of the other table was dressed in what could only be a manufactured-hide corset, too tight for her frame, that enhanced her cleavage beyond necessity. Her hair was bleached straw, and it tossed as she gesticulated wildly with her glass of liquor. Her court, a bit mismatched in age and dress, had become louder and filled with spirit since we were seated. Mr. November followed my eyes, his ears already picking up the fury as a man appeared from the other end of the table, and gave The Corset a kiss.

Then a woman followed the man, moved him aside, and began to kiss and fondle the honoree for several minutes.

Mr November and I exchanged an entertained look and a raised eyebrow. This might be a more interesting evening than either of us had prepared for.

The other members of our party became well aware of the show next door, as the wild ride continued for several hours as we were served our courses. The Corset's voice started to carry over our conversation, profanities mixing with alternating laughter, anger and sadness. More fondling ensued, and we struggled to determine who each person had arrived with, who was going home with who, and if the older gentleman was The Corset's father ... or perhaps some strange uncle.

Then suddenly, in rekindled aggression from apparent past wrongs left simmering, The Corset ordered, in a verbose manner, that one of her guests leave the premises. When the rest of her court attempted to pacify her, she decided she would just leave herself... breaking an ancient pane of glass in the tavern door.

Our evening had come to an end it seemed, and the curtain was closed. But we waited a acceptable amount of time to allow the other party to clear the area -- just to ensure we gave their exit a wide berth to avoid any collisions.

We had come just for a dinner, but we got quite a show. The tavern owner ensured us there would be no extra charge.

http://houston.citysearch.com/profile/9847741/houston_tx/house_in_the_heights.html

A Bloodletting

2007-04-12T10:42:00.000-06:00

The Bishop was initially a firm opponent of the practice. He'd argue with The Lizard, "They're stealing your life force!", when she would suggest the members of 721 contribute to the Bloodletter's cause.

The land needed healing liquors for the many ill and infirm, and the Blood Takers provided a portion of the raw ingredients. Her nature-centric outlook carried no ill-conceived prejudices toward alternative approaches to solving a problem. Thus, with the support of Traten and Sandy, she allowed us to benefit from her liaisons with certain cultures and groups not strictly within the boundaries of Justice's or The Bishop's canons.

I had nothing against them, personally. Unlike vampires, these fellows asked politely if they could take a portion of your fluids. Still, I turned down The Lizard's requests, as I was on the front lines most of the year, and couldn't afford to have my ebony form at less than prime.

But then I went into retirement after twenty plus years on the battlefield, and The Lizard approached me again to participate in a Bloodletting. I considered, then accepted the invitation, and she promised to be there to guide me through the process.

I was lightly amused with the Takers of Blood as they clamored about me. Most commented about my "nice huge veins", with some having to verify by feel what their eyes were perceiving.

"I could hit that with a dart from here!" one Bloodletter boasted from across the room. She gave me a bit of concern, not from her comment, but from the view I received as she proceeded to bend down to retrieve one of her instruments, allowing her trousers to betray a foreboding Crack of Doom . Whereas combat has never left a stain on my memory, this chance occurrence I fear may haunt me for some time.

Certainly a rag-tag group.

Nonetheless, they impressed me with their skill and efficiency, and I was soon enjoying their appreciation of my contribution in the form of sweets and beverages offered to satiate my famous appetite. This was a bonus I had not expected, and I promised The Lizard to return, if only to make periodic samplings of their treats! She seemed amused, but proud, and agreed to join me when I made my contributions.

So, I continue to fulfill my promise to The Lizard time to time, enjoying her company, smiling at the buffoonery of the Blood Takers, but also knowing that my actions are helping others, at little expense to myself.

And after relating my good experience, I think even The Bishop is starting to consider allowing the "fiends" take a look at his veins!

http://www.giveblood.org

It has risen...

2007-04-08T21:01:00.000-06:00

The rain was cold and lightly pelting my visor. I moved my gloved hand up the shaft of my weapon, and walked steadily through the mud and muck to stand before an enemy, seemingly countless. I turned to look at The Lizard. The Private was at our side, eager for her first major battle. The enthusiasm made me smile despite the odds, and with a nod, I drove us into the fray...

At first the signs had been subtle. A strange sighting here, a rogue tendril there. But then it became evident. The Thing had escaped.

The Bishop had kept cursing and lifting his eyes skyward for solace. He blamed himself that The Thing had broken through the ward he had constructed with wisdom and craft to keep the land safe. But, inexplicably, It had found a hidden path beneath the walls. It was only a crack, unseen, but enough to grant clear passage for destruction. It was out in the wild... and threatened to overtake us all.

I left The Bishop to his prayers and meditations. I know not of blame or forgiveness, only action and consequence. The Lizard's reports from her local reconnaissance were grim. The beast had moved further, and spread it's tentacles far wider than any mortal might comprehend. We had no time for delay.

I pulled the necessary implements from the stockpiles and said to Gunny, "Guard the perimeter, old girl."

She eyed me with a knowing glance, then retired to the outer gates. The Lizard and The Private took their weapons at my side and we strode, grim faced, into battle with the awful foe.

We waded in, breaking apart to better divide the beast. Hacking and slashing, minutes turned to hours, and we realized that we had to resort to the trenches and sapping if we would have any chance of success. We divided labors, The Lizard and I digging in at two separate points. I was in awe of The Private, who took on the beast with a ravenous ferocity unheard of for such a young warrior, tearing into the stragglers with hungry abandon.

At the end of the day, we had managed to corral The Thing back into its prison. The Bishop, with all of his characteristic obsession, devised and constructed a new fortification to keep It at bay.

We walked away from the battle, dirty, sick, and tired. We had accomplished our task, but a sense of forboding hung above us. Had we contained the chaos permenantly, or would we have to face the foe, perhaps in darker corners of the realm, soon one day? The silence was uneasy, and I needed to break the tension.

"We need pandas," I stated.

The Lizard brightened us with her smile, and quirkily remarked, "No, we need ninja pandas."

Gunny just rolled her eyes and guided us into the keep for supper.

Guinness Ice Cream.... Genius!

2007-03-29T20:15:00.000-06:00

Amy's sure knows how to show a brother a good time on his birthday!

The Judge

2007-03-22T08:59:00.000-06:00

Harvard recently requested the services of the Hon. Genghis Maximus to judge this year's science fair.

I'm a busy myrmidon, shaving my head and picking out skirts, and my brother Justice usually takes on these judicial roles. So how did I reply when the HISD Math and Science Magnet Elementary made it's query?

"Here come da judge!"

Expecting to be given a box of gold stars to place on every half-eaten paste collage posted on the wall, I was pleasantly amazed when they handed me a full page grading form that detailed the scientific method (Problem, Hypothesis, Materials/Experimental Variables, Log book, Data/Data Presentation Results, Conclusion) with point ranges for each category. I was assigned the fresh minds of the Pre-K and Kindergarten class projects, and then informed that the entries were the school finalists for the age range: I should show no quarter since the winner would advance to regional competition.

This public school wasn't screwing around.

I advanced forward on my mission. Critically I evaluated the entries, stoically performing my duties as eager little eyes glanced my direction during class changes.

The subject matter of each project was intriguing. Of note were:

The bilingual entry which attempted to determine the primary locomotive appendage of Betta fish.
"Will it float" -- Not a Letterman stunt, but a highly participatory investigation of the difference between weight and density.
An experiment on the effects of light, water and soil type on growing several different kinds of beans.

And my favorite:

A determination on how much larger a crocodile will grow in fresh water compared to salt water.

Finally I finished my task, and a winner was chosen. I felt drained and accomplished, like The 721's battles of old. I am certain my comrades Traten, Edge, Sandy and Justice would agree that the ribbon of honor bestowed upon me this day was the equal to any given us when we rid the land of evil in the past.

On to regionals!

On Winning The Lottery

2007-03-08T21:55:00.000-06:00

"I'd buy me some midgets," BoHunk stated, without hesitation.

I paused, looked at him, smiled and queried, "Midgets?"

"Yeah, midgets." He confirmed in his normal, happy demeanor. "You remember in the 80's when Van Halen went on tour with a bunch of midget body guards?"

"You mean you'd hire a bunch of midgets to be your entourage?"

"I wouldn't rent them. I'd buy 'em."

"You'd buy a bunch of midgets?"

"Yep"

"You know slavery went out of style back in the 19th century? Not very good for the karma and all."

"Yeah... it's probably why I haven't won yet."

Genghis at Live Journal

2007-03-06T22:42:00.000-06:00

http://genghismaximus.livejournal.com/

Frito Pie!

2007-02-28T11:39:00.001-06:00

Today, in our company cafeteria, I was reminded of a discussion the The Lizard and I had concerning school lunches several years ago:

What was your favorite? What was your most despised? I fondly remembered Frito Pie.

The Lizard stared at me, blankly, and asked "What is Frito Pie?"

I was stunned, but then remembered -- The Lizard was a Yankee by birth (her Republic visa yearly renewed due to matrimonial status). The people above the Mason-Dixon never dreamed of eating black eyed peas and cornbread, let alone the ultimate in Texan delicacies, The Frito Pie, so I described the dish to my Yankee bride, and her eyes widened.

"They feed children that?!" She cried, aghast.

I assured her that, compared to the vapors wafting off of the chemical plants in my hometown, ingesting Frito corn chips covered in chili, cheese and onions was a very healthy endeavor. Quite good too, if you could burn off the 1500 calories the small dish provided (not a problem for active children of my youth -- maybe a big problem for today's kids).

Still, she seemed skeptical, and I had to enlist the help of one of my fellow citizens of The Republic to explain that:

Yes, this dish does exist.
It is fed to school children to this day.
There are two major varieties: the 'school lunch' version (served on a plastic tray) and the 'ballpark' version (where the Frito is skinned fresh in the field, and the chili poured, hot and steaming, into the carcass).

I have yet to get The Lizard to enjoy a meal of Frito Pie, and I doubt I ever will. Same holds true for chicken-fried steak and cream gravy.

I have higher hopes for the black eyed peas, however... complete with bacon drippin's, of course...

HALO, MIA

2007-02-26T13:13:00.000-06:00

Gunny was worried. The young Private had been missing for several hours. The search had turned up only an open hatch on the forward hangar deck. Something was fishy, and unlike normal, it wasn't The Private's breath.

The sergeant was a proud marine, so it was a tough duty to inform the Captain and the Admiral upon their return to the ship of the young soldier being MIA. The two officers, realizing the seriousness of the situation considering the youth of the private, moved into action.

The Captain, a man of action, immediately took the cargo shuttle out to search the area. He hoped he wouldn't find any debris or bodies in his search, but as his grid widened, he started to fear the worst. Grimly he stayed on task in the cold harsh vacuum.

Back at the ship, The Admiral contacted the commanders of the rest of the fleet, requesting assistance in the search. Navy and marine personnel sprung into action, searching for their missing comrade.

Knowing that she had done what she could to initiate the search for The Private, The Admiral decided to investigate any clues on the ship which might shed light on the details of the disappearance. Channeling the abilities of Old Earth's Gil Grissom, The Admiral pieced together what must have happened. Gazing out the open hangar door, The Admiral looked down at the planet far below, blanketed in night. She quickly ran a scan of the ground, and found the tell-tale marks of landing pad imprints in the soil made soft from rain showers the day earlier. The imprints were deep.

Had The Private, untrained and guided only by youthful enthusiasm, attempted an unauthorized HALO jump from such an extreme altitude? All the evidence pointed to this, and The Admiral's blood chilled as she feared The Private's inexperience could have led to problems on the landing... and thus a lost and injured marine down in hostile territory.

The search continued. One squad led by Corporal Dexter Attwell had spotted a small force moving planet side. They closed to investigate, hailing the unknowns. They received a friendly reply: it was a allied patrol. Dex inquired about their lost private, asking nonchalantly if they had any spare marines. The helmsman's eyes brightened as word returned that they indeed had a spare marine! The Private was with them -- she had hooked up after an extensive recon in the dumpster zone, and a brief surveillance of the Canine forces.

The allied patrol moved into formation with Dex, and they all returned to the main body of the fleet. The Admiral was relieved, thanking the allied patrol for helping one of her own. The Captain turned his heavy cargo vessel on a dime when he heard the news over the com and headed back to the fleet. He didn't know whether he was going to hug or throttle The Private, but at least he had that option.

The Gunny, however, knew exactly what she was going to do. After a stern reprimand, and thorough debriefing, she sent The Private scurrying to her bunk! Secretly, Gunny was smiling at The Private's adventures, and the pride that she had so many comrades who were not willing to leave a man behind!

Rodeo Run Finish

2007-02-25T09:06:00.000-06:00

February 24 -- Premiere 10K for The Lizard and I. Darkened skies threatened, but made for a comfortable run.

Leisurely pace and a good time. Joined by Seabiscuit, a Scottish Leprechaun, and a Dutch Aussie.

Carver, Kirk 3300 01:01:47.95
Carver, Elizabeth 3301 01:01:47.75
Forrester, Dean 509 01:38:13
Tulloch, Lynsae 510 01:38:14.15
Kubik, John 4179 00:48:18.75

(Finish line video on the links)

The Rodeo Runners

2007-02-24T18:12:00.000-06:00

Dean, Liz, and Lynsae - ConocoPhillips 10k

Can't... breathe. Must... open... window...

2007-02-23T20:55:00.000-06:00

I woke on the couch. The girls were eerily quiet - no snores, no grunts. 2 am. Something was wrong.

I realized my eyes were burning. The air was stagnant and pungent. An odor crept downstairs. My fogged brain searched for the right action.

Stumbling, I struggled to the window. Old paint impeded my efforts. Finally the seal gave way, and the upper pane slid down. Fresh air wafted in from the cool, damp night. A second window, and a breeze made its way across the first floor.

We were saved.

Who had tried to poison us in the night?

Remind me to spend the night at a hotel room if we ever have the floors resurfaced again....

The shame of the IncanDragon

2007-02-20T13:10:00.000-06:00

I frankly can't stand the word "blog". It is unpleasing on the tongue, and the practice is a bit... self aggrandizing.

Still, when my oldest friend bravely left for the West, without Frodo, but with trusty companions nonetheless, I thought it only honorable to grant her final request and begin a Weblog of my own.

Perhaps this will spur my writing back to life again. I would hope that I could be half as good at this endeavor as is my old friend...

http://incandragon.livejournal.com/