A Double Entendre on Conspiracy and being "Set Up."

Sam was building a dog-house. It was of generous proportions, even by Texas standards, but Ursula had been specific. If he needed his space, she wanted him to have SOMEWHERE to retreat. His cell phone rang. It was Travis. While he was not definitively lazy, the dog-house project had not been particularly appetizing, and he welcomed the interruption. Travis was HOT, and not just because he had too many dates for a Friday night.

Travis hardly waited for his "Hello." He started in on a unilateral tirade that made up in volume what it lacked in breathing spots. "Are you spying on me PERSONALLY, or have to lost your mind with conspiracy as well? I want to know just EXACTLY WHY your personal surrender in the war between the sexes should be a hobble, a trap and a crippling of my freedoms and rights as a MALE American! If Ursula had a mind of her OWN, she'd have SOME CHANCE of _NOT_ telling all my friends I'd had a recent heartbreak and was in need of female TLC. She has apparently LOST what little mind she HAD! She told SEVEN WOMEN that I was available for stud, and set 'em up with an E-MAIL ORGANIZATION to hunt my emotional life. I TRIED to play 'em off against each other but they're ORGANIZED. There's one of 'em supposed to go FIRST, and _I'M_ not even _ALLOWED_ to HAVE a date with A-N-Y-B-O-D-Y until she's had her shot. THEN I'm not able to put her on the defensive by makin' Her choose the show. She's got three current so-called 'preferences,' two up-coming releases she'd LIKE to see, and DVD's if I want to have friends over. Meanwhile if _I_ choose the show, this ain't rude or selfish, its -LEADERSHIP-! She calls it Dutch Treat if I make her pay, and Chivalrous if I don't. She thinks the Equal Rights Amendment has it's PLACE, and if ya wanna know, Trey, she thinks p-u-r-e CHAUVINISM would advantage me with Chinese Businessmen." Sam was almost in tears, and these were _not_ tears of sorrow. He had to sit _down_ he was laughing so hard. What Ursula lacked in _anything_ was beyond him, but this joke was better than anything anyone had ever made him party to. His diplomacy had not deserted him either, so he started carefully.

"Travis, if she was worm food already, would you be prejudiced against the worms that ate her?" he led out. This was adequate but not overkill - Travis hesitated. "I'd feel sorry for the FISH that ate 'em if it got _Caught_!" Sam pressed home his advantage. "Would the fish kill the fisherman if he ate the relevant fish?" Travis was mad, but not impervious to reason. His natural Texas cool kicked in. "Nope, that would be going TOO far," he agreed. "Well alright then, can you wait UNTIL she's worm food?" Sam persisted. Travis contemplated becoming responsible for a negative answer, but Sam was known for his Elephantine memory. "S'pose I'll HAVE to," he capitulated. "Murder's against the law, and dueling ain't in season. She doesn't carry a gun around, and you'd probably be personally sore if I used any other weapon. WHAT IS HER _HAYSEED_?" Sam's answer reflected that he was married and Travis was not. "Just how bad IS the vision in the single eye of this lame librarian with a harelip and a cleft pallet?" Travis was shocked, and had not anticipated any such response. "SAM!" he exclaimed. "Ursula's INSANE, not MEAN! All seven of 'em are good lookin' and the first one's _Mom_ ain't really past her prime!" Sam proceeded to score his final point with ease. "OK then, consider HER problem. She can't tell all the other women she's given you a fair shot and move on to the man of her dreams until she's proven open-mindedness, fairness, a knowledge of Texas diplomacy and literally TASTED the soup before she sends it back. Date her without delay and get it over with."

Travis' Texas pride had finally seen it's escape. He let it out with a sigh of relief. "You'll have to represent me to all the other Men," he bargained. "I'll do it and I'll be truthful about everything I've said." Sam replied. "I _CARE_ about you man!" Respect had crept into Travis' voice. "I can see how she Got you," he admitted. "She SMART!" "If I don't tell her, it can't go to her head," Sam acknowledged. "Make sure you don't tell on her either."

The sun was going down and this dog-house wasn't going to build itself.

Bureaucratic Applications of the Protective Instinct;

Sam sat down to compute. He and Ursula had temporarily declared hostilities, and her part in binding arbitration was to list all bets, foreign and domestic, chronologically. His part was to "be responsible, fight fair, be nice and..." the other stuff was hazy. Travis' prediction that she would be feminine upon his return was so 'on target,' that he pondered as he logged in. "I _know_ I agreed with him before he said it. What wrong turn in my mind did I TAKE to get to the idea she _wouldn't_ be mad? I may not be THAT smart a guy, but on balance it isn't THAT complicated a mind." This called for Journaling. He didn't feel introspective, so he logged in to 5t Canada. He did breathing exercises and concentrated as he read the three most recent issues. This reminded him of Jeff Foxworthy's humor, and he followed a policy of engagement with Ursula, by applying for a glass of OJ. By the time negotiations paid off, the sweet refreshment would make his tired brain feel better.

The game in 5ts was to use the 5t archives to post the next article as substantively as possible. The password was NEVER transmitted in the clear, and the democratic process allowed anyone to say pretty much anything. Sam loved the Slashdot concept. The recursive nature of it and it's powerful destination appealed to his inner nerd. The server had been chosen for it's international impunity to American subpoena. Travis persisted in telling other 5ts that Canada was American, and their subpoena's were American too, but this had little bearing South of the Red River.

He reviewed his effort and clicked 'preview.' He checked that the links worked correctly, and mashed 'save.' The computer obediently cleared the screen, and returned him to the subject list. His entry was not at the top. Sam did a double take. Then he did an IP release to anonymize his internet connection and tried again. The stubborn refusal of the communal journal to take his direction challenged a temper that was not honed to this environment. His 9 lb sledge was in the garage, and he was truly chastened by restoring Travis to wholeness. The computer had been the smallest part of that operation, and this was himself, not some flunky. He arbitrarily made sure his entry wasn't anywhere _else_ in the list either. He searched Google - access was good, so he retrieved the Canadian Constitution. He reasoned that since it was a Canadian server, Canadian law ought to apply. He checked enforcement practices, and learned that evidence exclusions are subject to exception. He had to find the RIGHT jurisdiction, and FAIR (good for him) and APPROPRIATE (he hoped good for him) is what he could expect.

Sam speculated that such binary graffiti as _this_, would require 'root' access, and he laid in bureaucratic plans. The adherent of Loki would have certain legal rights of his own, so Sam re-assessed the diplomatic competitor's rule book accordingly. As he ran this WAG to ground, he found that Canadians could count on mostly 'bill of rights stuff,' with good attention to language in the rights section. He noted that a jury trial now applied to matters where 'more than five years,' was at stake; up from 20 dollars. (He briefly speculated what 20 dollars might have meant back then anyway.) For humor he checked the mobility rights of the fugitive ("Mobility Rights" was a section in the Charter.) He discovered he couldn't stop house buying or job seeking during any upcoming Police State contest. He dotted the reflexive case 'i,' establishing that the Canadian constitutional basis for his complaint was "Part 1, 2-b. '...freedom of expression...'"

Sam reviewed the Slashdot journal "playground rules," and downloaded relevant web site pages. He started a new dated folder in the root directory of his thumb drive. Then he used liquid paper whiteout to mark it, so he'd know which one it was. Tommy Lee might not have his Bar Association License, but he WAS a Texan, and at the moment there were NO LIMITS to Sam's planning and strategery. These Canadian Colonials were going to HEAR about it.

Ursula arrived with the OJ and the peace offering of a "between meals" portion of Green Bean casserole. "Why don't you just figure out which local paper is the right one to write, and send a letter to the editor?" she asked. Sam employed constructive criticism appropriately. "You bring me the address, and I'll make his EARS burn," he promised. "Just be aware... this is to be 'in addition to,' not 'instead of.'"

Familiarity bread contempt, and she was VERY familiar with his name. "Samuel Clementine the THIRD! If OLIVE trees grew in YOUR garden, THEY'D have thorns on them!" Sam contemplated the available snappy comeback. If Olive Trees grew anywhere HE was responsible for them, he was gonna have to automate weeding. This did not serve his diplomatic purposes, and he directed the current of his intellect around the obstacle by saying, "Rose oil, Olive Perfume and Champagne from England too! I declare Ursula, you MIGHT be an AGGIE!" While not an endearment, this was Texan enough, and she was sensitive about her immigrant roots. She melted. "I love you Sam."

His judicial senses were invoked anyway, and he held her gently as he replied, "Third time pays for ALL Ursula. The Fiddler on the _Roof_ would have told ya he loved ya by now. How am I EVER gonna take you by surprise if you keep on jumping in ahead of me?" She responded like an articulate marshmallow. "I'll be good. I don't know what I hate more, being mad at you or fighting."

Sam responded from the heart. "Care Bear: If anything ever happens to you they'll have to breed a rabid German Shepherd with a Blue Tick Hound just to take a picture of how mad I'm gonna get." She was oblivious to redundancy. "I love you Sam."

High Tech Red Neck;

Sam was on the phone to Travis. He had spent the last three days acquainting Ursula with the workings of a spray painter so she could exercise her interior decorating interests. The local Home Depot had marked the 't' at the end of the sign as stolen from 'Lowes,' and everyone in town seemed to agree that this was a pretty good sale; they had marked the sacred rite of passage of newlyweds by buying furniture with income derived from anticipation of savings on rent. Her instructions were to use the paint matching feature at the store to get all the colors exactly like she wanted them, with rocking chairs, dinner chairs, walls, etc. color coordinated to her liking. When she was done she was to get vinyl cupboard linings and line all the China cabinets. Meanwhile he directed Travis to meet him at their regular watering hole.

Cassandra's had relined the parking lot when he pulled up. Travis took his time completing his report on Pork Belly prices since they met last. He was descriptive about letting Sam know just how much effort he had put into the substantial shared proceeds. Sam had listened patiently, and now it was his turn to report. "Travis. I got a mystery on my hands," he explained. "Melbourne's got this bee in his bonnet that an Upside-down cake comes out of the oven upside down down under." "A _Pineapple_ upside-down cake?" Travis verified. "Probably made with Hawaiian Pineapple," Sam rejoined. They pondered this in silence for a lugubrious moment. Melbourne was trying to make SOME kind of joke, but what could be the point of this specific foolishness was not immediately evident. "How's he makin' you think he's _serious_ about it?" Travis asked reasonably. "Well, there's no bank and no bet." Sam replied. The seconds ticked away as Travis turned this imponderable over in his head. Sam relented and added, "He sent me an email with a long experiment to send the U5t research division," he qualified. "Answer came back was supposed to be either 180 degrees or 0, and it wasn't!" Travis' laughter was merciless. "Well if the cake didn't move, and it didn't turn over either, what happened to it Sam? You eat it all already?" A passing waitress regarded a rarity without even knowing what she was looking at. Sam's color rose from neckline to hairline, slowly darkening from tan to reddish brown. It stopped short of purple and subsided. "The answer was some number of minutes and seconds per hours, minutes and seconds," he elaborated. From Travis' point of view this was fodder for more raucousness, and Sam endured the commentary with decreasing disgust as his opinion of Travis and his intellect fell. Travis' amusement fell away as Sam's embarrassment subsided. Travis was a computer nerd by day, and an Algebra professor by night. His own mercy finally took the form of the word "superficially." As Sam adjusted to reality, Travis adjusted to Melbourne's strategy.

Conversation took no shortcuts, but after considering the axis of rotation, the direction of travel and the speed of progress, it became evident that the only way for the cake NOT to turn over was to make some kind of parabolic trip either through low-orbit space, with a 360 degree flip, or a high-orbit trajectory that required the revolutionary orbit of earth and related moon computations. For this version, the cake was to remain attitudinally stable all the way. This was to be accomplished with the purpose of landing in Australia upside down without having rotated significantly otherwise. Neither of these experiments appeared to support the romantic ideal of a 15 degree per hour progress report. Sam blushed. "You mean the degrees minutes and seconds of the angle around the earth is the _distance_, and the hours, minutes and seconds of the divisor are different; TIME?" Travis' laughter was better received this time, and they were reduced to giggles for a while. Travis spoke to bring matters to a head. "I wonder if his experiment was right, or if he just wanted to bamboozle you?" he asked Sam. Sam was honest with his friend. "These are _Not_ mutually exclusive Travis," he admitted ruefully.

All reports of Melbourne had been good, and the stories were more entertaining than anyone _else_ Sam had ever taken in, so he was neither angry nor mean when he asked, "How we gonna get him back?" "Well, I know this much. after all the stuff we talked about, leaving ONE cake sitting in ONE place for exactly 12 hours OUGHT to be a useful thing to make him measure." Sam opined. Travis chuckled and threw in another puzzle piece. "Tell him what I told a customer on a Tech support line one time," he smiled. "The Abercrombie and Fitch Stock Brokers have a killer position in textile futures, and a small investment -insert short notice here- would pay off HUGE for Andrea. Make him send it Western Union. They have a time difference too! Use that on him if you're mad." Sam was once again at ease. "I'll make him say he sent it from the West Coast to save time and fees," he agreed. He turned to more benevolent considerations. "You make out alright for Valentines?" he asked. "I only sent flowers to one girl," Travis shared, "but I got three buddies to go muddin' by the swamp, and get stuck." "Pull 'em out soon enough?" Sam regarded him sternly. "oh yeah," Travis responded. "They owe me BIG time." "Well," Sam concluded. "This beer's bitter. You promised we'd get BORED." "Want to play Pool instead?" "Actually, that sounds about as good a way to get bored as any," Sam agreed. "Ursula ought to have gotten the bed-springs bucked out by the time I get back. I can't for the LIFE of me figure why I thought she was sweet on Melbourne over the phone." "Probably because you'd be sweet on Andrea over the phone if She came on to _you_," Travis philosophized. "By the time you're good enough at flirting to get their attention, they want to jury-rig a communist monopoly on your affections, and charge interest for the privilege." Sam preempted an old tirade with an old riposte. "You still haven't explained why Hitler wasn't a woman." "It's called POOL, not TALK and play POOL," was Travis retort.

The commerce of friendship;

Melbourne awoke after 6 hrs of sleep. The sun was high, and he calculated he could barely make it to Mortimer's sheep sheering concern by 6:00 PM. Over coffee he raised the foreman on the ham radio. "Gid die mate," came the otherwise normally accented voice across the ether. "Hey there First," Melbourne began. "How's tricks?" First came back without missing a beat. "Still paying them in 'ones,'" he replied. "What if I bring 'round a mess of Jumbo Shrimp later?" he asked. "Oh, Boss remembers your Shrimp. What's on your mind?" "It's sad, I got snagged by the preacher man. Her name's Andrea." "Word gets 'round," First replied noncommittally. "I hear she's a real sheila!" "Eh, well. Got any fleeces for market? I got a full tank of petrol in the Rover." First seemed genuinely relieved. "Mel, I really got to tell you, I hired three new guys, and NONE of them can fleece a sheep, but they keep trying and trying, and between the three of them they STILL get a lot done. It's late today, but tomorrow I'll have a batch as high as your eye." "Right then," Melbourne promised. "Make a list of what you need from market, and I'll be by 9:30 or 10:00." "I'll tell Boss to expect you. Cheerio" They signed off amicably, and Melbourne stretched. It seemed strange to go about his daily business without a journal to keep, but his survival sense of urgency was surprisingly strong. He soon lost himself in his labors, and the next morning found him on his way with a bucket of his favorite diversion in tow, while Andrea pondered a list of chores. She was willing and able, but knowledge was not the same as experience.

Melbourne rolled up just as First tossed another fleece up on the pile. "Did you hear Bob won the Lotto?" First asked. Melbourne was surprised. "No... what's he gonna do now?" "Oh he was real happy," First said with a twinkle. "He's gonna keep farming till at least half of it's gone!" Melbourne laughed delightedly. Bob had always been a friend. They proceeded to ready the Rover load with the efficiency of men who had to do it again if it wasn't done right the first time, and the pile fell as the Rover settled.

Melbourne's memory stirred. "How long's it been since YOU won a bet, mate?" First flashed a ready smile. "Not long as you I _bet_," he said with more than normal deliberation. "See that row of Crows on that fence over there?" "Oh yeh," First took them in. "I BET that the one farthest on the right is the last to fly away," Melbourne ventured evenly. First was quite amenable. "What's in the pot?" he inquired. Melbourne smiled inwardly. "Three Fosters," he promised. First could see no possible way that Melbourne could have a house advantage. "You're ON!" he cried. Melbourne lost in less than 90 seconds. He didn't blink. "Double or nothing," he re-upped. First was quite amused. He knew Melbourne, but this seemed to be a sure thing. "Hey GUYS," he yelled, "Mel's got a new strategy for PARTIES. He's gonna buy us all beers." 30 seconds later a crowd of laughing jesting sheep -shearers was gathered. Melbourne had been readying the barbecue, and a generous portion of shrimp was in the offing for all. He quickly outlined the stakes, and he used his hat to hold the chits of IOUs. His own stack was not insignificant, but he was confident. They had chosen a referee for the bank, and he held up the stop-watch. "Farthest on the RIGHT is LAST to fly away," he announced in a booming bass voice, and started the timer. No sooner had he spoken that Melbourne's .22 spoke too. The Crow farthest on the right fell. Three of the workmen turned green, and started to yell, but First's laughter led the rest. The more they laughed, the more they saw the joke. Melbourne could afford to laugh with them; he was still holding a rifle. As the laughter died down, he divvied up the Shrimp. All jokes aside, the shrimp were well proportioned. Since each worker had lost little, they collectively felt no pain, and Melbourne stuffed the IOU's in his pocket uncounted for later; it had been fun. "Well First, I guess I'm the one that's won most recent _now_," he grinned. "I'm off to town to make the exchanges and ship the goods." "I'll be drunk from now 'til Christmas on that one Mel," First chortled. "Just don't warn them I'm coming!" "Bob's your Uncle," agreed Melbourne. The rest of the day was a breeze.

Tautological Grace;

Sam came back from the shower with goosebumps all over his skin. Ursula has finished cooking and set aside the apron before setting the table. He finished drying his hair and folded his robe carefully beside her apron. "I'll throw these in the hamper later, with the towel," he explained. He proceeded to fix his hair with a comb; his hair dryer was for extracurricular expeditions, not evenings at home. She eyed his well defined eyebrows approvingly.

He returned her labeler (with which she had personalized his tools,) to the computer desk and asked casually, "What temperature does water freeze at?" Ursula answered without thinking. "32 degrees," she said absently. "You labeled the fridge wrong," was his laconic conclusion. Chagrin is a word that means vexation. Ursula put the "grin," in chagrin. His tools reflected her preference of children's names for years to come.

Ostensibly checking the weather report, Sam reviewed his email for messages from Melbourne. The new subject line was "Methodology." The body of the email was bifurcated. The first half was quite informative. "Sam: Print the following and use it to define the problem for the relevant Academic. It explains that the postman is going to carry the 'fragile' package 'this side up,' at all times, and _yes_, the 'Great Circle Route,' is specified to the nearest meter." The "regards, Melbourne," had the customary spacing, and the hash line after it was followed by a detailed listing of technical language that looked like a cooking recipe. The first part had "vocabulary," and "equipment," and the last part was a detailed description of active voice jargon, with arcane verbs and adjectives. Sam examined it critically; the spell checker went crazy. Oh well, Melbourne was responsible, not his dad. He printed the email, and carefully addressed it to the U5T System campus, "Attn: Physics Department." He used the "reply" feature to let Melbourne know he understood. "Sent Your 'Son of Sam' S**t off to the University. Give my love to Andrea, Sam (Trey.)"

If Travis had been watching personally, Melbourne couldn't have opened the answer faster. He felt more like a fly fishing bass-master than a Marlin catching sea-fisherman. He delayed slightly, and returned his "lasting gratitude," and returned to the crib, where Andrea was anxiously spelling the Veterinarian. Their sow had produced a fine litter of piglets, and he lavished his exhausted affection on his equally tired loved one as the Vet resumed his labors. "He'll never guess," he said confidently. For her part, Andrea was feeling much better. "What if we plant an acre of English Roses?" she asked him. "The land wouldn't be totally barren then." "Lying fallow means letting it rest completely," Melbourne reassured her. "We'll put it back to work soon enough. Dad will gladly front us seed for _something_, all we need is a reliable way to access the market." "He's _SO_ _old_," she said one last time. "The wear-out rust-out thing? He really believes in wearing out," Melbourne reiterated. "He's just glad he's hale and hearty. He keeps Mom's memory alive in the work." "...if he ever _does_ wear out," she added. "He makes it look easy!"

The Vet took his leave, and when they were left alone Melbourne pulled a trick he had learned from an old girlfriend. He looked deep into Andrea's eyes and sighed. "I love you Andrea!" he intoned. Her response was that of a wordless passionate marshmallow; she was ambushed by love and had no defense. His self esteem was insecure from Ursula's reckless bargain, but it seemed _Very_ important to her to win the bet with Sam - he and Andrea could never thank her enough. He clung right back to Andrea and the sun came up quietly.

It's a 5t Small World;

Sam was surprised: His email reflected news from Darwin, Australia. That Melbourne should conquer six degrees of separation and contact him unannounced was not mathematically the same a 1/6 x 10 E 9, but still, intelligent design had not really been his style. The subject line was dumbfounding: "Rotational Velocity of Inter-Continental Cakes." Sam opened the mysterious missive with secret delight. He was a little disconcerted, but surprises from Melbourne were likely to be unanticipated happinesses. The instructions inside were scientific in nature. He was to obtain the audience of such Academics who would listen, and ask them to compute for him the rotational velocity of an upside down cake, if it rotated one degree at a time, half way around the world. His warning was specific. "Make sure that the relevant product does NOT agree with 180 degrees," he wrote. "180 degrees is the difference between that half of the earth and this half. Compute either zero or something else." Sam pondered this from a linguistic point of view. It was perfect grammar. He recapitulated with a view to what he knew of logic. It appeared to be a true dichotomy. False dichotomy was when your boss gave you two bad choices, and made you pick the lesser of two evils. For example, "Do you want to get off your ass and fix that money dryer, or do you want me to KICK your _ass_?" was a serviceable prototype. “Zero OR something else” evaluated to logical true. In fact, Melbourne's lesson on tautology applied: You might as well hang up your spurs trying to compute anything else. He decided to confide in Ursula. He looked up and She walked into the room, but not in that order. Her apron appeared to not quite reach around her at the back. She was examining her ring ostentatiously. "Why would Melbourne know about our German Chocolate upside down cake?" he asked innocently. "Oh I doubt he does," was her reply. This seemed paradoxical, and quite feminine to Sam's mind, but in his current state of incredulity he felt the need to verify aloud. "This email right here states in ENGLISH that Melbourne wants to know SOMETHING about cakes turning over in the mail." he began. "Now, _IF_ he doesn't know about OUR German Chocolate upside-down cake, _THEN_ WHY is he asking questions like THAT?" Ursula managed to look as shocked as he felt. He studied her face. Yep, he felt EXACTLY that shocked. "Andrea probably asked him to go to the store for pineapple upside-down cake ingredients," she replied reasonably enough. "Did he say that he and his sheila were going to send US one?"


Sam took the maximum allowed timeout before he answered; it was otherwise a no-brainer. The naked truth would do. "Nope." Normally this abbreviation would have conflicted him. He did not consider himself a verbose conversationalist, but his economies were of ideas, not exactness. Other than that, he hoped she CHOKED on her peace of mind.

His email to Melbourne was cryptic in response. "My map is unclear. Will the relevant transport be taking a 'Great Circle Route,' or an elevator straight through to China, and an over-land route from there? For completeness, literally ALL Interstates transecting Hawaii have an 'H' prefix, instead of the continental 'I' prefix." He reviewed his effort before clicking the "send" button. He was a little overwhelmed, but of THIS much he was sure. There were _NO_ clues about Germany or Chocolate here. He launched his improbable electronic bottle off on its symphonic journey through digital space, and went off in search of refrigerated Texaco. Ursula had anticipated his needs, but he generously reminded her that he had not long before been completely on his own; he nearly went off on HER. Upon returning the iced Fosters she proffered him with instructions to evaluate the newest lemon-lime balance, he compromised with a glass of 4 degree Fahrenheit water (over ice for good measure,) from the dispenser in the door of the refrigerator, and retired to the shower.

Ursula's peace of mind was inviolate. She re-dialed Andrea's number as soon as Sam had left the room. "Dish," she invited. Andrea was innocent of the machinations of Rube Goldberg, but her feminine feline instincts were aroused. "My 'womens intuition' tells me you're right, but I'm still worried," she professed. "Are you SURE Melbourne _can't_ fool Sam into thinking all Pineapple upside-down cakes made in Australia come out of the oven reverse of everywhere else in the WORLD?" "Is it worth it to make Melbourne replace the old Land Rover?" she replied, answering a question with a question. Andrea could not deceive her heart and answered unaffectedly. "Yes," she admitted, her eyes filling with tears. "There, there," Ursula comforted her softly. "It's worth it then, dear," she confirmed. "I'll make Sam help him out with a string of horses later." She was aware that Andrea was deeply moved, but the scheme was labor intensive, and there was DIGNITY in labor. She was sure the kindness would not be misunderstood. "If I ever need a friend, I'll know you would do ANYTHING for me." she finished. Andrea blubbered helplessly into the phone, and Ursula cooed in reply until she felt better. By the time Sam returned Ursula was setting the evening table with a seven layer salad, barbecue chicken and mashed potatoes with stir-fry on the side. The Li's address had been child's play to infer; the zip was available from USPS._com_; a government web site with a NORMAL extension, and Mrs. Li's recipe had been simplicity itself.

Conflict of Interest in re: Postage;

Ursula walked into the room in tears. "My German Chocolate cake looks positively AUSTRALIAN!" she wailed. Sam looked her over in concern. "Is it the very END of the world?" he asked, trying to keep matters in perspective. "No," she admitted, her countenance lifting slightly. "But its going to be AWFUL... it's practically UPSIDE DOWN!" Sam was not oblivious to the aesthetic problems of overturned cakes, but his gustatorial experiences from youth led him to infer that all was not yet lost. He approached his preference of solutions diplomatically. "If we hide the evidence appropriately, we may be able to yet avert the total destruction of your reputation in the wedding cake community at least," he began. "Oh SAM... you're TEASING me," she smiled, "Wedding cakes are not Chocolate." Sam capitulated carefully. "I'll agree that German Chocolate cakes cannot be made in white, but wedding cakes _can_ be chocolate, as long as they are white," he argued. Ursula was feminine enough to be arbitrary, (what Sam has been known to call perverse when not in mixed company,) but the color of a German Chocolate Cake could not be said to fail her observation that he had been teasing her, and the factual nature that the end of the world was probably going to be related to the mutual assured destruction of super-powers and not cakes was disputable only in certain contexts - this context did not qualify; "I love you Sam," she said, for lack of a better comment. He was standing, and she looked earnestly up into his eyes with large emotional brown pools of affection as he took her in his arms. "How shall we dispose of this incriminating confectionery?" he asked. He had engaged her sense of humor, and she hadn't talked much about Melbourne and Andrea lately, so she opened with trumps. "Maybe we should ship it off to OZ," she suggested, "Melbourne and Andrea can eat it right side up down there in Darwin." Sam's experience surfing the IMDB website movie database for trivial information about the "no longer wild," _west_ now came into play. He countered with an enigma. "Australia is in the Far East," he rejoined. How is the Far East upside down?" Ursula pondered her geography. Galveston was on the east coast, and his stories of a Chinese souvenir vendor from Galveston had amused her in no small measure, but he had never once contradicted the ordinary assumption of all Texans that CHINA was the "Far East," before. The connection between OZ and China was also available from inference. Melbourne and he had been seeking OZ by the mechanism of going as far South as you can go, turning North and proceeding to the nearest Island when the discovery of China had been made, (yellow bricks from the Great Wall of China being the specific object of their Archeological efforts.) He had struck unequivocably upon a truth, Australia was Eastern, and it was indeed her responsibility to show how this was at all "upside down." She turned her intellect upon definition of terms. "OZ" was not actually upside down. All humans stood perpendicular to the surface of the earth wherever they maintained a homosapien presence, erection being the common denominator to how they stood. Instead, all and sundry alluded to Oz as being "down under." She was momentarily distracted by a rabbit trail leading toward the bedroom; they were standing erect already, and she was as leaf as not be down under already, if it wasn't for this now infernal cake. Melbourne and Andrea were defined as "down under," she thought, drawing her mind back to OZ and the allegedly upside down cake. "I have an idea," she ventured carefully. "Do you already have postage?" She had been squeezing him tightly, and he had been forced to stand a little straighter. The rabbit trail of his mind (leading just as surely toward the bedroom,) turned upon a postal aperture, his own chances of employment in the field, and the sealed nature of any persuasive messages of import he might ever thus deliver. The IMDB database once more made itself useful in his knowledge base. "The Aussies have four new stamps, issued just this last January," he informed upon the innocent thespians involved. "They've used the anniversary of their establishment as a prison colony as an excuse to put the world acclaimed hypocrites in the post office with the 'Ten Most Wanted's' on the posters." Ursula was pleased; he had made himself MOST entertaining. "The TEN most WANTED felons in ALL of Texas, and they want _four_ of them to be from OZ?" she asked incredulously. "The limelight makes different people behave differently," Sam shared. "The Poster is still the OFFICIAL Top Ten." "Well, who are these Famous Four?" she asked, real curiosity driving the discussion back from a commonplace precipice. "Geoffrey Rush, Nicole Kidman, Russel Crowe and Cate Blanchette. It could easily have been prevented," he continued. Ursula pondered this languidly. Standing together was not actually 100% as hard as standing on your own, and if it wasn't really _that_ much easier, it was not without its compensations. She had responded unbidden to his earlier stiffening, and they were both divided in their concentrations. She broke the stalemate by moving toward the couch, giving up on his riddle by way of compromise. "How?" she replied. He took his position on her right, his left arm engulfing her affectionately. "Oh, the Country should have made application to the relevant Hollywood Talent Agents. They would no doubt have co-operated with bureaucracy and given capitalist excuses to the actors, their managers and publicists to simply tie up the production of their copyrighted images in litigation. There really isn't even any certainty that these thespians are actually descended from the relevant prisoners." Ursula contemplated the final barrier to the completion of their discussion. "These stamps," she denoted, "are they valid for mailing cakes from here to there?" Sam thought quickly. His priorities had changed since this began, and he was sure that drawing the conversation out was NOT to his advantage. "I'll bet you a 72 second kiss that they'll take them at the Abilene Post Office," he volunteered. "If they don't we can re-open investigations into the Yellow Brick Road." She divided the distance between their lips in half, mumbling "Make sure you time it right... I'd hate to have to recalculate the favor bank deposits." The ensuing silence was more than companionable.

The 5t Seven Bridges of Konigsberg;

TTTTT - In a Rancher-Farmer dispute, fence-mending has taken precedence over bridge burning. At this watershed moment, a sea change has been observed that historians will likely marginalize unless strongly contradicted.

To verbally circumnavigate the problem, one MUST understand the Seven Bridges of Konigsberg. Mathematicians can tell you the most about problems like this, but diplomats are most likely to be left holding the bag.

Bridges: Bridges are water transit mechanisms. Notably Caesar's Rhine Bridges set precedent. Other notable examples are The Bridge over the River Kwai, and the infamous Bridge to Nowhere.

Bridges: Bridges are people. The best among them are from Madison County, TX. In a notation that Bridges are also water transit mechanisms, Bridges have been found throughout history in Civil Engineering pursuits, but also in the Army Corps of Engineers. The Corps of Engineers has been responsible for its share of corpses, but mostly they are a constructive lot, with Bridges statistically normally distributed among them.

Bridges: Bridges are games. Although there is usually thought to be one authoritative game of Bridge, there is no single authoritative language of Bridges, therefore the Japanese game qualifies as well. All Texan Bridges will acknowledge English at all times.

Bridges: Bridges are musical.
a) Bridges are found in Guitars and Violins and are mission critical to the construction of the relevant instrument.
b) Bridges are a part of a musical score like a riff. Notable musical Bridges are the ones over troubled waters, individual examples of which are cited by Paul Simon in the famous tune.

Bridges: Bridges are authoritative. On ships, whether at sea or in space, the position of command occupied by the Captain is traditionally known as 'The Bridge.' There is more than one ship in the Universe.

Bridges: Bridges are places. Traditionally to be found at "the Gap," Bridges are locations, both literally and figuratively. Examples include:
- Networking Bridges in interpersonal relations,
- Bridge loans - loans to get from one loan to another loan, especially in wartime construction projects,
- Bridge Programs - an unfortunate linguistic anomaly denying the very plurality of bridges in a programmatic way, these programs are both computer based and institution based,
- Bridge moves - wrestling and exercise moves that put the word bridge into movement, suggestive of dance, but not seductive.

Bridges: Bridges are scientific. Science uses bridge chemicals (as in transistors if nothing else,) dental bridges, Bridge Cameras, Protocol bridges and Network bridges - implying a graph theory connection.

The statement of the problem can only be called complete in the semi-mystical {NP} way that only data miners and politicians claim to understand. All apologies to the Bridges of Madison County, specifying continental assignments of 5t Bridges will exceed the scope of the current blog. Specifying extra-domestic responsibilities of relevant Bridges will exceed even that scope.

Adieu.

Indications indicate discovery occurs;

TTTTT - Bulletin - It has come to the attention of the relevant fertilizer manufacturer that there is a Sea Urchin 'out there' that uses its only available symbiosis for the nitration of its environment. This Urchin, technically known as an 'Anemone' was first observed evolving in the same network of Oceans and Seas as Julia Roberts used to swim in as a small girl. Happily for the Roberts' name, this has been documented by a lesser known member of the family, living in British exile. While working for the traditional pittance as a PhD researcher with other Scots, these intrepid researchers began to practice their breathing exercises in an environment with real live Darwinian consequences, just like Jacques Cousteau, technically understood by the phrase 'Extreme Chi.' These English found and lionized the "Roberts' Anemone," in the process. Like aboriginal Australian tribesmen, the Roberts Anemone community is content to be represented by a few camera friendly representatives, and continue evolving privately otherwise.

As a tip of the hat to Julia Roberts' pride of place, Dr. Roberts will occasionally consent to be called on the phone.

The "Roberts' Anemone," instead of using the normal symbiosis of small fish, that cannot be killed with it's poison, or birds, that clean Crocodile teeth and Rhino hides, has creatively chosen what is known as 'Endosymbiosis,' a situation in which the symbiant organism is harbored safe within the host's body like a parasite or Joey.

Although this does not immediately affect the fertilizer industry as a whole, notoriety for Sea Urchins (as a group,) should improve the chances of Space Research (specifically 'Inner Space' or the body of work resulting from aquanautics,) bringing tangential benefits to farmers the whole world over. Since most Sea Anemones qualify as indicator species, like frogs and plants on land, Roberts' Anemone LLC. will be applying for minority representation in the UN.

The Anemone group did not stop evolving at the waters' edge, but has also been known in the flora of the temperate latitudes. Strangely, while the Anemone is not prejudiced on land, neither flower nor sea urchin can be found in Antarctica - this is outside Anemone range. The best historical documentation of Anemones is that of the Greek Biologist Ovid, best known for his "Metamorphoses Book 'X,'" apparently a predecessor of the more famous Kafka. Kafka's preoccupation with cockroaches did not impede scientific observation of more elegant examples like Butterflies, and metamorphosis' position in the lore of evolution is permanently established.

Reviewing: Sea Anemone's commonly exhibit symbioses. Anemone's on land are flowers, and are found pretty much wherever non-tropical flowers grow. Anemones, whether flowers or Sea Urchins do not metamorph. Julia Roberts is a card carrying thespian, and pays SAG dues. Dr. Roberts is a PhD. Frank Kafka wrote a book. Evolution is a preoccupation of Biologists. Scuba diving is an extreme sport. Tai Chi includes breathing exercises.

Please do not attempt to mix irrigation with Salt water water-sports. Participate freely in the "Discoveries Occur" v "Discovery Occurs" controversy - lawyers will be interested.

A 5t Inconvenient Truth;

Dawn found Ursula banging at the door, yelling for Sam to come and help her carry in belongings. He rubbed the sleep from bleary eyes, and stumbled out into the steep driveway to assist her in her efforts. His robe was secured by a properly tied belt, but his choice of her bunny slippers for footwear met with limited approval. "Sam! keep my bunnies CLEAN," she adjured him. "They'll give people the wrong _impression_." She had not restricted her returning belongings to her backpack and cooking utensils; she had updated his VDU and DVD player! Sam was not at first aware of the contents of the bulky and mysterious box 3:5:9 or so - it merely looked like a cardboard imitation of Arthur C Clarke's construct for interplanetary travel. In response to his comment, Ursula had only replied "It IS a new window on the world!" cryptically. Sam contented himself with the observation that WHATEVER the content, it was less than 70 lbs, and his back wold not be permanently affected. From pieced together conversation, Ursula had spent her spare time at Uncle George's entertaining an educational bent - she had researched EVERYTHING you needed to know about the newfangled HDTVs! Sam's initial observation was that the relevant VDU appeared to be an LCD, not a DLP. Ursula spoke slowly and with deliberation. "Sam, I KNOW you want the biggest TV on the block. The LCD is a small intimate display unit for the bedroom, not for showing off to your friends. DLPs are beautiful, and huge to boot, but you haven't decided against a theater yet - can you imagine being stuck with a projection screen when you could have had a projector hanging from the ceiling? It'd be bright enough you'd have no excuse to darken the arena (darkness gives people headaches if the pupils are asked to compensate between widely different contrasts,) and it'd NEVER wear out: The burnt out bulbs are easily replaced, and even if the internal mirror thing-a-ma-jig wears out, the bulb would probably still be good right then - at that point you'd be better off with a PLASMA; you could just leave it on one picture until you had a burn-in on the screen!" Sam used her pause for a breath to interject, "But plasma PIONEERED big TV," he implored. "They are worth keeping just for hack value!" Ursula was dismissive, "I don't care how _innovative_ they were, they are no longer appropriate to any use other than research." she stated firmly, "Get used to it!"


Sam had committed his heart to Ursula completely; this was partially on the basis that she was prefect and that she would never change. Apparent departures from earlier norms disturbed him, and he contemplated these in a troubled way as he unboxed the various bits and pieces. For her part, as she ferried odds and ends in from the truck, Ursula could hardly wait to embark upon the virgin voyage of discovery that was the reinvention of her Sam. He was a fine clean slate, but she had AMBITIONS for him!


Her babble of explanation kept loneliness away, but as the mists of sleep cleared away, Sam was wondering if solitude had not exchanged its identity for a counterfeit. The barn owl seemed unperturbed, as were the prairie dogs, but Sam was no longer in perfect unison with their carefree nature.

He gathered that she had seen an authoritative documentary on HDTV assembly by Walt Disney, as a preview to a movie. The hero, Goofy, had apparently modeled efficiency with purchase of cabling, digital antenna, digital converter box, sound amplifying receiver, three video sending units (one for HDD, one for Blu-Ray, and one for ordinary DVDs) and completed the installation in the short half of an early afternoon.

She continued informatively that current sound amplifying receivers were available to improve on information available at time of publication. Now it was the case that an "Up-Converter," was available that would make an ordinary DVD display either a high quality 780 dot pitch signal called 780 p(rogressive scan) or even a low quality 1080 dot pitch signal called 1080 i(nterlaced.) The LCD monitor seemed to lack the feature of a tuner, and she would not even call it a TV. Apparently the digital converter took care of the tuning, and the monitor only had to choose between VCR, HDMI, cable or Air(wave) input. Sam, had a fairly refined old stereo, updated soon after surround sound came out to support 5 speakers - he had never hooked up the center channel speaker, but this gave his system character and identity, not defect. He was afraid that she was going to send him off on missions of new expenditure for the Clementine exchequer, but she blithely explained that her own DVD player (purchased on sale back at X-mas) had its own built in up-converter. HD format had failed to prosper due to an ill-advised dalliance with pornography, and Blu-Ray was an excellent way to experiment with multi-layer computer backups, but not necessary for anything less than 1080p pictures. Meanwhile the cameras for this discipline seemed to be in short supply. Sam was very worried that his cable box would only send one signal, and prepared to gloat as he returned the TV for exchange with one that had a tuner. Ursula bypassed this expected norm by using the HDMI hookup from his cable box to the Monitor, and leaving the venerated coaxial cable lying in disuse in a corner. Other hopes that her plans would need his assistance were dashed on the rocks of a second HDMI hookup on the monitor for the mysteriously 'suped-up' DVD player. As the cables disappeared behind the entertainment center, and the pile of empty baggies and boxes grew, he resigned himself to the truth - if she was to need his help at all, it would be in the form of the very updated audio-visual receiver that he at first had hoped she would not send him out to buy. She appeared to have even invested in a cabling package that united various lengths of pre-labeled cords and wires, each with wonderfully designed endings - simple modifications were the only thing necessary to speaker wires.

As an olive branch to his damaged pride, she offered this suggestion. "Travis is bound to want to compete. Can you imagine him trying to put anything NEAR this complicated together without the advantage of Goofy's documentary?" she asked. "I bet you give him headaches forever - don't put it together FOR him, just buy him a gift certificate for an installation and then sit back with a Foster's each, and watch. The installers will leave, and he won't even have a clue how to turn it on without help." This appealed to Sam's sense of humor, and he wondered how to explain to his beloved, the woman he wanted to impress more than the President of the United States, that he was not too sure of exactly how this was to be accomplished in the bedroom here at home. Her virtues as a manipulator extended beyond all expectation as she unpacked a so-called "learning remote." This device hooked up to a computer with an internet connection and seemed capable of learning all audio-visual devices TI could produce, with promises of all future devices updated while computers shall last. "What do you suppose would be a password we'll never forget Sam?" she asked with an artful attention to detail that he could no more discern here than she his abilities in the cat skinning department. Sam thought for a minute. "Melbourne" was no good, "Happy" was in the past, "Valentine" was no better, and "Sex" was too short. "IF the password IS _Ursula_ we won't be able to CALL it _Ursula_," he reasoned aloud. "What about _Fosters_?" She positively beamed at him. "Super," she smiled. "Fosters it is!" After an hour of incantations, she presented him with his new delight.

As Sam pointed his new found light-saber at the entertainment center, he was awed at its versatility. Every device turned on and off in an orchestrated symphony of harmony. After Ursula kindly pointed out that the on-off function was only one button of many, they fell to experimentation. As they reached landmarks of accomplishment such as first DVD, first on-air broadcast and first dark-screen radio program they reached an arbitrary agreement - Travis would be informed of the possible availability of learning remotes, but he would pay for his own - that is the ONLY way he could POSSIBLY be expected to appreciate the value of one.

Over a late afternoon pizza, Sam and Ursula were already planning for company. "Let's put the jig-saw in the garage, the belt sander and the band saw in the bedroom, the sewing table in the dining room, and the new toys in the living room. Then we can invite Li Nippon and family over for football games and such," Ursula cooed. "Does it display 1080p for sure?" Sam verified, "I wouldn't want Mr. Li to be disappointed." "I am sure it does, but football may only broadcast 780i," she consoled him... "the moving pictures transmit and repaint the screen faster that way." "Well, what DOES display in 1080p?" Sam asked. Their eyes met - the setup was still in the bedroom and the local video store definitively made back-room Blu-Ray available. "If you get a Blu-Ray player to play porno's, I'm getting the biggest vibrator there is in town - and this is TEXAS!" Ursula's six-gun stare was meritorious at worst. "I might as well compete with 'The Galloping Pinto's' mechanical BULL!" Sam lamented. "I HAVE my PRIDE Samuel Clementine the Third!" she bellowed. "If you ever want the lights on in the bedroom again, shut up!" "I can hardly tell the difference between 780i and 1080i anyhow," Sam capitulated. "Travis can HAVE 1080p for all I care." There truly _was_ "more ways to skin a cat than puttin' it's head in a boot-jack, and pullin' on its tail!"

The evening news was coming on and they settled down to evaluate the wardrobe department of the Sweetwater ABC affiliate. You can't stop progress.

5t 1984;

Sam turned off the recorder, then the TV monitor. His was a CRT VDU, not an LCD VDU, and he didn't even want a plasma. He had investigated DLP's and found that the bulb was very replaceable, but E-Bay seemed oblivious to the intimate nature of his living quarters. He already had a band saw, a belt sander, a sewing table and a jig saw set in the living room, and a 52 inch TV was better suited to the dining area. He had futuristically based his home theater system on a multimedia PC, and in true futuristic fashion was just now paying off the bill. He threw the magnetic microfiche in the nearly decade old bin beside the door, near the hat rack and umbrella stand. He was low on tapes, and made a mental note to order more from OZ.

This peculiar hobby had started in the eighties. In the spring of 1985, he had read George Orwell's retrospective of the previous year. This had led to a severe falling out with Travis, right in the middle of County Tax Assessing season. They agreed that something had to be done,but differed vociferously,if non-violently, as to how this should be addressed. Travis argued that he should record himself doing everything he _DID_, whereas Sam argued that he should record everything he _SAW_. His private warehouse in "The Fortress of Solitude," just East of 'Six Flags Over San Antonio,' was filled with neatly stacked rubber band bound bundles of Polaroids, from early on in the experiment.

Needless to say, he had been forward to contact Travis as soon as terabyte Hard disk drives (HDDs) were available, to warn him to buy cheap 320GB drives and use lots of them... a terabyte of data was a jaw-cracker to back up, and if it all went at once, you could lose a whole summer's Six Flags' visits. You can easily back up a 320GB HDD on a spindle of 100 4GB DVDs. They don't last for ever, but if you don't scratch them, librarians will regard you with respect. Proper labeling was his bugbear. He seemed to EITHER be able to date a spindle chronologically, OR arrange labels alphabetically; whatever he did, he could scientifically show that the one he was looking for was in the Very LAST place he thought to look; Travis had told him that to stop this from happening, he should go on looking for a while, and quit at some other place, but the elegance of this theorem had translated badly into language.

Not only did Travis find things before he quit looking, he employed ALL the latest redundant array software, and did incremental backups every day at two AM. Sam had once tried to show Travis that there was literally NOTHING that can go wrong with a computer that CANNOT BE FIXED with a 9 lb sledgehammer, but Travis had spent six weeks in the hospital for interposing his foot. To fairly attribute his abilities of debate, Travis had been able, over the weeks of convalescence, to convince Sam that the restore process was time intensive if one were looking for a specific file - Travis had asked Sam to restore his Diary for the week preceding his accident. Having finished his experiment with the sledge, Sam had found that redundant disks can be temperamental, and the resulting set-up was still finishing its restore process at 4:30 AM the day that Travis came back home, six weeks later. Travis had faithfully believed everything they told him about a twister in town that sucked the whole window frame right out of the wall, and left a pile of rubble in the lawn. Nevertheless, Sam regarded Travis as a suspect source for computer advice, and preferred sledge hammers more than ever.

For his own part, Sam had used tape travel mechanisms to keep his magnetic media moving while he restored batch style if needed. His little dolly truck would move a box at a time easily. In order to borrow the dolly, Travis had made him a gift of 1000 80GB HDDs and now Sam simply changed them out once a month using eSata. To return the kindness, Sam was saving for a ticket to Jupiter, for Travis' computer setup, whenever he got ready to update.

Whatever the case, Sam had made Travis pinky swear that if either one of them were ever arrested, they would drop everything, and transport the relevant computer system to the relevant Jurisdiction, replete with electronic copy of 1984. In this way, the innocent party could show that he had NEVER painted Mrs. Kirkpatrick's Porch Yellow.

The bulk of backup media and supporting documentation was becoming quite impressive, and Sam got out his old Polaroid just for old time's sake and took another picture. He yawned and went to bed.

There's 'No Free Lunch;'

Ursula's Uncle George had prevailed upon her for her presence, and she begged Sam to wait for her as she helped him organize his lunar calendar again. He handed her the keys to the pickup and pledged his undying love. 20 minutes later, he was popping open a lukewarm lemon-lime-green Fosters, and sitting down to watch the Book Review Channel. He liked the Book reviews, and occasionally bought the original for documentation purposes; libraries were better than you might think at figuring out which books were going to be reviewed.

The drawbacks to the Book Review Channel were different than the drawbacks of the other channels. The Commercials on the Book Review Channel (one of three identical channels on cable, all carefully numbered C-SPAN,) were loooong, FACTUALLY _CORRECT_, but _very_,_Very_ boring.

He liked Fertilizer advertisements, being something of an aficionado, like Ursula. Nevertheless, the commercial aspect of the programming was probably more appropriate to Aggies than to Ranchers.

On Balance, the drawbacks to the other channels were commercial as well. The selection was broad, interrupted by brief segments of situational comedy to break the tedium, but the articles on specific items tended to be repetitive.

By following instructions, he had never been able to make one work. True, the product usually came in the mail (often within four to six weeks,) but the bank balance never reflected the promised credits. Rebates were FAR more _reliable_!

His Father's sage advice always stuck in his head: "If you're going to save more than 8 1/2 percent of total anticipated expenditure in a year (than the membership is going to cost,) you might as well join the club."

He hoped his competition went bankrupt from Corporate cost overruns; they subsidized gasoline prices from membership sales.

Of the low-commercial channels, The Weather Channel stood out for relevance. The timetable might be off, but the content was almost always reflected in the local environment, leading to a general atmosphere of trust.

The News Channels were interesting for their politics. Sam knew that "All politics is local," and he enjoyed watching the proceedings of the global village.

Nevertheless, the Book Review Channel was his favorite. He particularly enjoyed the syndicated series on SCOTUS... even the re-runs. But this was the weekend, and new titles invited him toward a sinking sun of ignorance on his western horizon.

A Card and a Pill;

Ursula's navigation was excellent, and soon they were in a small town. Although it had not come up for debate, Ursula was a city-slicker, and regarded the strip-mall format with some suspicion. She preferred her malls large and air-conditioned (refrigerated in the summer, heated in the winter.) After a moment she gave a mental shrug of resignation; you could not blame the embarrassment of three generations of Minors on a name on a sign. They turned into the first promising niche; it was labeled 'Apothecary.' A white coated lab technician stood behind the counter, smiling invitingly. Sam was not deceived. "You look like a Baker, but without the hat," he offered frankly. "No, I'm a druggist," she answered, putting his offense on a credit plan. "Sure you're not a Chemist?" was Ursula's query. The lab technician knew the alphabet, but a word for pharmacologist that started with an "e" was just NOT available in the lexicon. "The pharmacologist is over there," she pointed, giving Sam a sideways glance. Sam's hunted gaze went straight to Ursula's eyes, as he asked, "Don't you mean a pharmacist?" without meeting the lab tech's stare directly. By their actions, the assistant mistook them for Greeks in disguise. "Pharmaco- is making them, pharmacy- is distributing them," she explained. "I thought this WAS a Pharmacy," was Sam's incredulous ejaculation. "I believe the sign on the door _does_ say 'A-P-O-T-H-O-C-A-R-Y'" the lab tech replied, spelling it out for him in so many words. Ursula nodded understanding, and explained, "We're in the wrong place... we were looking for Kleenex Tissues." "Three doors down on your right," the lab coat whispered... "They have a Pharm M AND a Pharm D."

As the pair made their way back to the truck, Sam was more mystified by the mis-communication than Ursula was, and _She_ was somewhat puzzled. "Was that a Voodoo supply store for 'eye of newt and wing of bat?'" was his question. "I don't think so," she answered honestly. "What _I'm_ trying to figure out is what kind of medicine that Witch thought you were going to take for a COLD! It's a VIRUS, NOT a _Bacteria_!" Sam was easily distracted. "When a virus runs its course, who does it race with?" Ursula regarded him fondly. He was not unarmed in a battle of the wits,. but he would never take Gold at the Intellectual Olympics. "I don't know Sam, but it almost _Always_ gets caught before it finishes," she teased back. He broke the seal on the brand new box of tissues and stuffed the two spare boxes into a cranny.

As they set off again, Sam made a metal note that Ursula was a boring driver, and took up the pharmaceutical theme. He had once heard a whole song just about pills by Alan Sherman. "I once heard a whole song just about pills by Alan Sherman!" he shared. "Who was Alan Sherman?" she asked dutifully, squirreling her 'Extra' away in a nook. "He was the 50's generation's 'Weird Al.'" he explained. "It was off the 'For Swingin' Livers Only' album. It was pretty scientific too, talked about how they wake you up to take a sleeping pill in the hospital and everything. Finished up with 'there's no pill that can cure the common cold,' too, just like you said." Ursula preened. Sam's idea of credentialing was novel, possibly original with him (which was food for thought,) but it was nice to be put on such a pedestal nonetheless. "Do you know the BEST pill to take with you to a discotheque?" she decided to teach him. "Nope," was his monosyllabic reply. Truth to be told, it was not obvious how a pill was supposed to facilitate the experience, but he allowed that psychological enhancements might be possible; she was very smart at the moment. "Oxcytocin," she delivered with satisfaction.

"What's Oxytocin?" he asked without guile, after an appropriately respectful pause. "It's the hormone mothers produce when babies get over sucking out the colostrum, and starts the milk supply." she enumerated. Sam was pretty sure that this did not _entirely_ dispel the mystery, but waited patiently – the milk supply sounded promising. "It is the physical manifestation of trust in your blood!" Sam was turned on. The prospect of random honeys trusting him with their milk supply, in a discotheque, had possibilities that extended beyond refrigerated Texaco. He worded his next question carefully. "If you break the pills in half, do they lose strength?" he asked. This unexpected intelligence pleased her brain, and she became physically aware of him. She returned his volley without spin. "Oh, it's not like OxyCONtin... that stuff will put you to SLEEP!" "If you give it to a honey will she sleep WITH you?" he asked unguardedly. Ursula could see that he was in no real danger of straying and took no affront. "You actually have a better chance with Oxytocin," she replied kindly. Sam made a mental note that Ursula liked Oxytocin, and continued. "Why doesn't Oxycontin work if you break the pill?"

Ursula was honest with herself. The in-organic chemistry of Oxycontin was simpler than the bio-chemistry, and she didn't even fully understand the IN-organic chemistry. However, Sam was not knowledgeable, and a little knowledge was a dangerous thing. She decided to have a little fun at his expense and teach him just enough to be dangerous. She knew that vandalism was wrong, but she just didn't care WHO paid to teach him enough to be safe again - she'd put him through graduate school herself if she had too; it was going to be WORTH it.

"The definition of addiction is different than that of alcoholism, Sam," she began. "Alcoholism is a metabolic dependence on alcohol, whereas _Addiction_ is the quality of a substance to need more and more of it to achieve the same effect. The scourge of addiction has the smallest sliver of a silver lining. Whatever dose you start out with can set the level of your high. Too much of an unfamiliar drug will kill you - witness the effects of strychnine, BUT, it can also be like a deep discharge electric battery. You charge it half-way the first time, and ever after, no matter HOW LONG YOU CHARGE IT, it NEVER gets any longer electronic life. Sam had vague memories of Volts, Watts and Amps, but drugs were far more fascinating. "So you can maximize the jading with a minimal dose?" he inquired. "I guess that's one way to look at it Sam," she agreed, "but why are you on and on about _Jading_?"


"Oh, I guess it's just that that's the reductio ad absurdum of the recreational argument," Sam returned between well contained sneezes. "If that's your final destination, why not make it your Goal?"


Ursula regarded this as a kind of 'great circle route,' to the truth, and regretted his current indisposition. "Let's spend the night in a Motel," she replied with total lack of segue. He understood effortlessly - his rhetoric grades had never been very good. "As long as it isn't a NoTell franchise," he smiled. She was more fun than a Nintendo and a joy-stick; the competition in the motel room should be interesting.

"Nature Abhors a vacuum!"

Heat is faster - you can CATCH Cold!

At the Texaco, Sam had rubbed his tired eyes, right after touching the bathroom door knob, and now he was feeling sneezy. His throat was itchy (as well as his eyes,) and a little dry and he knew a cold was almost inevitable. "Ursula, are you sure you didn't catch anything back at the Texaco?" "Well I didn't shoot any rabbits, if that's what you mean, Sam," she replied. "No, I mean it... did you use the toilet seat?"

"That's a pretty personal question don't you think?" she reproached. Sam blushed... that wasn't what he had meant. "I'm sure you used a hole in a dental dam," he comforted her, "What I meant was, Did you catch a cold too?" "I didn't catch a cold FIRST, to go WITH anything else, Sam, besides which we were hunting, not TRAPPING!"

For the first time in his life, Sam experimented with the pickup's window mechanism. It took time, which he felt he needed, and fresh air swirled about the cabin. As the temperature in the compartment plummeted, he rolled it back up quickly, and preempted any further misunderstanding by volunteering,"Sorry, _I_ shot a rabbit." "_I_ caught a cold back at the Texaco..." he stopped, wondering if he should go on. Her heart softened with understanding, and she reassured him, "Well, I didn't join you in your folly; We''ll have to fix you up!" He stopped wondering if he should go on. There seemed little else to say, and he did not even waste a single syllable further. He pulled over and let her assume the responsibility of driving. Since his bandanna was NOT going to be sufficient, he rooted around and dug out an old soft tee. As they got underway again, Ursula served notice early on the tee. "Kleenex has an Aloe Vera offering that will save you wear and tear on your nose," she began. "That tee will do for the first leg, but if I have MY way, we'll burn it... viruses can survive the wildest extremes of heat and cold and humidity. If you throw away every tissue you blow on, you'll never re-infect yourself. I'll at least have a fighting chance, and I'll not neglect a virgin screwdriver for vitamin C." "Does that REALLY _work_?" he asked. "I don't believe in it enough to overdo it, but it ain't exactly superstition," she replied. "I'm mainly worried about an un-trapped sneeze, particularly in this intimate environment." "What do you want me to do, open the window and sneeze outside? You'll GET cold and _Catch_ cold ANYWAY!" "Now SAMUEL CLEMENTINE the _THIRD_," she rebuked. "You KNOW you can run around stark naked on the Arctic Ice and STILL not catch cold from the weather. The germs incubate on your soft palette, and proliferate in the warmth and dryness of winter heating. You could open the window with _impunity_. What I meant is that the germs will fill a 40 cubic foot space from just ONE sneeze, and one droplet properly applied is all it takes to get me!" Sam knew another way to "get" her, but it involved an exchange of bodily fluids, and was only possible if he began by kissing her, which wasn't likely under these conditions. "Kleenex make their tissues _very_ durable, so sneezes don't tear though very easily," she continued apparently unaware of his mixed feelings. "If you absolutely can't get to one in time, use your elbow to do what you can... you can't rub your eyes or anything ELSE with your elbow." Sam folded his left arm at his short sleeved bare elbow, and regarded it as if he had never seen it before. It was Ursula's turn to blush and she hurriedly added, "either way Sam."

5t National Debt;

Sam was experimenting with a new drink. The Texaco's refrigerated cabinet had afforded him such a choice of beverages that he had decided to branch out from Melbourne's genius beverage in the green can. He remembered water fondly, but didn't miss it as much as you might think, and tried a colorful beverage advertised as six different words that meant "not thirsty any more." The name reminded him of the Florida Everglades, and he bought three bottles (because it was on sale;) one red, one orange and one green. As he slowly but surely drank the first bottle dry, Usrula decided to pick his brain for economic knowledge. The economics of law had long been established, but they had little to do with the practice of it, and she was genuinely curious. "Sam," she asked, "what's the difference between credit and deficit?" It should be understood that she already adequately believed that they were different concepts, but if she didn't give him some room on definition of terms, the debate would be short and sweet; too short, and too sweet, if she was not careful. For Sam's part, his natural love of rope informed his choice of definitions... the hangman's noose was all to readily employed reflexively by the fool. He took a W.A.G that her question was merely a springboard to a bigger problem, and took the bull by the horns. "I think you really want to talk about the National Debt!" he lied. She was physically impressed... "What the f...." she began, but he blandly ignored her distress. "The W_ag T_ransaction F_und has little to do with it, although I've drawn heavily on my own account." He knew that being preposterous boggled people's minds, but every once in a while it was NECESSARY. The disobedience of the tongue was simply a reflex reaction of the brain. "As long as you keep receipts and are held responsible," she capitulated when she had had sufficient time to adjust. "How did the world's problems get started?"

He began his answer with the one word that meant it all. "Tradition," he explained. He knew that now he was on borrowed patience and would only be allowed to pay if he connected his answer to the question successfully. She had learned from him that when presented with the opportunity to be incredulous, a person has a choice in the matter, and chose to listen for a while instead. "Which tradition?' she asked. "Back in the days when secession was still new, Alexander Hamilton was inspired by the spirit of Intaglio." She interrupted, "Intaglio?" "Italian wine, similar to Champagne, but with a hangover that even cats can't handle." He was halfway through his second bottle of refrigerated Texaco, and volunteered a review more apropos of drinking than conversing. "Stuff's like Cranberry juice... you drink so much and you're done." Estimating that he could talk longer if he kept his whistle whetted, she handed him some water.

"So, going back to Alexander Hamilton and his favorite beverage," she prodded. Sam took up the challenge where he had left off. "Well he was Secretary of the Treasury and when it came time to pay the South back for all the money they spent, keeping the slaves employed while the North harassed them, he decided to design the Federal Reserve system rather than letting Federalism run its course and everybody making their own money." "So the slaves themselves didn't get any?" she verified. "'Fraid not," was his dry reply. "Anyhow, that was the first National Debt, and it worked out so well that every time we pay it off, the Politicians get together and make a new one, just to honor Alexander Hamilton." "How did it get so BIG?" was Ursula's next volley. "Easy, Politicians just generate zero's with gay abandon," he certified. "After that credit and deficit are just ways to teak the numbers."

Ursula contemplated this for a time. "Didn't Alexander Hamilton have any enemies?"

Sam knew that he was going to have to reference material from the 5t archives that was not available on the Internet, so he bound her to secrecy. "What I'm going to tell you, if you ever tell ANYONE ELSE about it, you have to kiss me, French style, right in front of your Daddy!" This gave Ursula pause, but Sam made no effort to give her a choice. "Aaron Burr had a PARTNER," he revealed. Wanting to get it over with, and seeing he had not kept his bargain, she kissed him passionately before he could continue. This response was possibly counter-productive, but she had made her own deal with the Devil, and he went on.

"A man named Keynes married an apparently harmless Texan named Smith, and they named their first child Adam. Adam Smith Keynes had a MUCH different solution. He didn't fear inflation nearly as much as pregnancy, and strategized that every 4 years we should cancel all Federal Debts and start over from scratch, with new paperwork." Ursula could not withhold a supportive observation. "Like Argentina?" she asked. "EXACTLY like that," Sam affirmed... "It works so well for them that even the people who they owe money to don't ask them for it back... it's not worth the paper it's printed on." "I guess history is useful for looking up failed experiments then," she intoned. "A useful tip when studying history is to keep track of who it is and where it is, as long as you keep track of people all doing it at the same time. Then you'll always have some idea of why things happened like they did," Sam postulated. "I'll muddle through," said Ursula, noncommittally.

"So what happened to Adam Smith's plan?" she asked. He hastened to correct her. "Adam Smith was an author," he specified. "Adam Smith K_eynes was a politician." Since he had been invited, he lapsed into a monologue. "I don't know ALL the details, but Hamilton was not the only fellow Burr had a falling out with. Burr himself disagreed with Keynes, and started calling his plan the ASK plan. It politically died stillborn, and after Burr's death the slaves were compensated with promises of '40 acres and a mule' instead." Ursula was not one to let dialog die without a fight and shot back, "Why wasn't THAT ever honored?" "I see you know your history," he said admiringly. "Mule's were plentiful, even though they didn't breed well, so that portion of the offer was suspect from the start, but there was some dissension over which desert the 40 acre plots were supposed to come from." "No one wanted to live in a Black neighborhood even back THEN?" Ursula asked wonderingly. "That and the old Flag Burning argument," Sam agreed.

Here was a bona fide case of Sam and Ursula coming from different cadres. She had never HEARD the flag burning argument. "How does it go?" she asked. Sam gamely tried the monologue again.

"[When a person burns a flag, they are making an implied argument that they can see an intellectual difference between the burning cloth itself and the design on it to which they pledge allegiance. The argument goes that IF they can see a _difference_ between two things like that in the _same_ place, THEN they also _Ought_ to be able to see the _sameness_ in two _different_ places. They OUGHT to be able to accept their plot of American Turf from anywhere on the Globe we give it to 'em.]"

"Is that why there are so many people in Kansas?" Ursula asked. This answered a question that had been lurking in the darkened corners of his brain, and he shared the light bulb with her that had just gone on. "Do you know, I never connected the history of OZ and Kansas that way?" Ursula could not argue that she was less than mystified, but incredulity had not yet arrived; humor was blockading the port. "How does that connect with the history of OZ?" she asked. "Well, when OZ was settled, the Empire used it for a planetary prison, and only sent prisoners there with one way tickets. They must have sneaked across on the Yellow Brick Road, got out at Abilene, and settled Kansas THAT way!" For self consistency she made one last effort. "Are you sure they weren't deported for flag burning, the constitution amended, and the law changed back and forgotten afterward?" "Pretty sure," Sam, challenged in return. "Do you know of ANYONE loco-weed enough to burn a Texas Flag?" He paused significantly... "I didn't THINK so!"

Ursula found that she just could NOT give up. "Have you heard of Captain Cook?" She pursued him. He didn't blink. "Captain James T Cook, architect of the Mutiny of the Bounty?" He had seen her lighting, but he had unerringly avoided the accompanying thunderclap of comprehension. "Come ON... you KNOW it was BLIGH!" she said in exasperation. "Bligh's named belied his intent. James T was his teacher and he was his student. Architect and Engineer, Engineer and Architect - they did it together, just like Clinton and Perot with their EEPOTUS balanced budget!" Hope of out arguing the arguer was fading. "Did Bligh wear ear-rings?' she played for time. "Both ears, just like all the other Pirates," he supplied. "And how much did his ear-rings cost him?" she baited him. He spoke before he thought. "A buck-an-ear," he crowed triumphantly. She knew she had him, if only on a technicality. "Pirates STEAL, they don't PAY," she gloated. Sam's ears moved as he suppressed his brain's chagrin from showing on his face. After a moment's thought, he offered "Maybe he stole them fair and square, but made his first mate sell them to him for a dollar, just like rich people; have a receipt and STILL not pay taxes."

She knew when she was licked. Despite the fact that all hope of winning the argument was gone, she had enough criminology to know that putting him on the record would provide kindling for the next disagreement; all he had to do was contradict himself once. "How high can the National Debt go, before we can't pay it anymore?" Sam had actually devoted a lot of time and thought to this very issue. He was not only prepared to offer an answer, but own it and defend it in future if necessary.

"As far as payments go, we spend 80% of the budget on entitlements, and of the remaining 20% the Military gets priority for constitutional reasons. If the interest exceeds the available remainder, we can't even pay that. As for the TOTAL, it MUST be accounted for out of taxes levied on profits from natural resources dug out of the ground." Ursula breathed a sigh of relief. "As long as everybody has to pay equally," she said. As a final measure, she clarified one last point. "What was the name of the main flag burning slave?" she asked. "Slaves didn't BURN the FLAG!" It was Sam's turn to be incredulous. "I just always thought they were deported based on a similar argument."

Confident that he would have far less wiggle room in future, Ursula asked for a respite. "That coke you owe me from the Jinx? I'll trade it for a refrigerated Texaco." "I feel your pain," he sympathized as sincerely as he could. He took her in his arms and held her, and they cuddled as she mentally recalled his points, for later review and machinations. The green stuff wasn't bad.

An -A&M- perspective on how water should be used;

As they trundled down the highway (getting closer to Lexington,) Ursula rested her head on Sam's shoulder for a while, until the river of her conscious thought took a new turn. "Sam," she asked, "How long has it BEEN since you met a card carrying AGGIE?" Sam mulled this question for no small moment. He had originally bought his copy of the Enquirer for the reason of a similar observation. Aggies were tough, but they MIGHT be a dying breed.

Of all the Texans there are, the non-Texan Texan was becoming the easiest to find. Authentic Texans represented wherever they went, mostly with diplomacy, and the less hardy Genuine Texan could be found at most Churches. Sooners came down South on a regular basis to spy on A&M about their irrigation techniques, but to _stay_, they'd have to buy land locally, and so they predominantly tended to return to their own stomping grounds and start fights with other farmers. As Ursula had already observed, Texas country didn't OFFICIALLY start until you got south of the Red River. The question he had to decide in order to authoritatively answer Ursula's question was this: Did Aggies venerate the issue of the Bull? If lying was important to them, they'd go be Authentic Texans, but the hat and boots would make them LOOK like Ranchers. If they were Genuine Texans, they wouldn't want to lie about it, and if they were True Texans, they would likely take the view that the whole education system was a source of farm fertilizer; Bull Shit, More of the Same, and Piled h_igher and Deeper.

He finally made his deliberative reply. "I'm not sure Ursula, I guess I don't go 'round asking people 'You Ag?'" "Someone like Old Comstock would get such a big head it'd POP if we did that!" she agreed. "True, but the damage couldn't get too bad, there'd always be Gold to trump 'em." Sam replied. "How do you evaluate if a random Farmer IS an Aggie?"

They both overlooked the obvious and crucial point that to be an Aggie, Texas citizenship was a prerequisite.

Instead they began to list characteristics. "They think the best kind of horse is a Clydesdale, and call everybody 'Bud.'" Usrula volunteered. "How about, they ALWAYS wear a rally cap, rain or shine!" Sam ventured. Both these suggestions had merit, and they went on. They prefer wire cutters to rope; they primarily think leather is for razor strops; they cannot abide you sitting on their fences; they'll use a Post Hole digger and call it '_Operating_ a Post Hole digger;' and they think that a gelded steer is just as good as a stud... they both produce the same grade of fertilizer; "About the only RATIONAL thing I know about 'em is that they agree with Ranchers that the end of a railroad line is in the East, and that is the best place FOR it!" Sam concluded. "Well, they might believe everything they read in that Enquirer rag, but I doubt it tells you where they can be found." She reproached him. He shook his head ruefully; "Not unless they were to be found in outer space I guess."

Usrula shook her head and marveled at the variety of human experience. "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't MAKE him drink," she philosophized. "I could do with a Fosters right about now." "OK," Sam, agreed, "Next stop, Texaco."

A Chinese friend recommends Italian food;

When they returned to civilization, they stopped in Italy. Rather than go into the local Wells Fargo, for rolls of quarters, Sam and Ursula dropped by a full service laundry to get their clothes washing done. The relevant Chinaman was not tall, and showed his true colors by being friendly, if not too familiar. "I'm Trey," Sam introduced himself, "...and this is Ursula." "I'm Li Nippon, call me Mr. Lee," he responded. "Wouldn't that be Mr. Nippon?" Sam asked obviously. "Oh NO, they are from JAPAN," Mr. Li hastened to assure him. "In CHINA, we put the family name Last. Nippon is a VERY _Distinguished_ name in Japan, but Li is common in China, like Jones." Sam was please to boast a mutual acquaintance. "Travis' cousin Tommy from Hollywood... all _his_ dry-cleaners call HIM Mr. Lee," he observed, "but In Hollywood they still call him Mr. Jones." Ursula was not to be left out. "Famous Law School Graduate," she added, "...got a degree too!" she added redundantly. The cleaner was immediately impressed. "You know Mr. LEE?" he asked. "Not personally, but he IS Texan, and Texans tend to stick together overseas." Whatever his personal thoughts on the matter, Mr. Li was polite. "We too know a Mr. Lee from overseas," he shared generously. "He did not know KungFu, but he shared his Karate with everyone equally, just like the Declaration of Independence." "You mean BRUCE LEE?" It was Ursula's turn to be impressed. Mr. Li drew himself up with pride and smiled. "Personally;" his eyes twinkled with pleasure. "My father used to wash his clothes for him before he died." At this point Sam began to wonder if this stranger was becoming too familiar with his sheila, but he was not rude. "Ursula and I will be over at the Pizza Hut," he told him. "If we meet at Church, can we talk about our Hollywood connections over lunch with Mrs. Li?" Mr. Li was far from offended, being almost grateful that Sam had even gotten the last name right, and assured him that he would help them find the best food in town if Church was where they met. "Clothes will be ready by 5PM," he concluded graciously. They thanked him and made their way across the street.

Now that they were in private, Sam's first priority was to correct Ursula's misconception. "Law School Graduates have to pass the BAR," he supplied. "it's a common misconception." Ursula regarded him quizzically. Although Sam truly seemed to think that this was in the answer category of conversational gambits, it seemed to her to raise more questions than it could possibly answer in its present form. She asked him to make their order for a deep dish supreme, with extra cheese while she thought about it.

The misconceptions Sam might be trying to correct were several, and she listed them on a napkin:
- Law School Graduates might be inveterate alcoholics.
- The "degree" to which she had alluded might be conferred by a Bar Association, rather than a University. If so, this might be the official reason the degree in question was called a BA.
- The relevant certification that Tommy Lee Jones possessed was something else supplied by Bar Associations, and not a BA at all.
- Tommy Lee Jones might possess a BA, and not yet have completed his original intentions of obtaining the relevant certification.

She furrowed her brows. That was all she could think of, but, rather than exhaust herself by trying to be exhaustive, she decided that this was adequate cannon fodder. Upon his return with food and Fosters her animosity faded. She chose her wording carefully, and made sure she had his attention while she asked him, "Have Tommy's drinkin' buddies from Travis' county ever forced him to write a confession out about what the local Better Business Bureau thinks about the Bar in question OR are you trying to tell me Mr. Jones never passed?" Sam's gaze returned to eye level, and she briefly wondered if he would like to be the father of twins, such was his libido. It was his turn to ponder, and she dug in, the Fosters quenching a very real thirst. For his part, he felt like he had been sand-bagged by her change of subject, and his first priority now was to remember exactly what she had said. To assist his memory he wrote a question mark on his own napkin, so he would not forget that the remark had been in the interrogative voice.

She was not yet married, and he wondered if her ability to conceive such knotty questions was part of the reason. She had not made enough of these misconceptions to qualify as a pattern of behavior, and so he turned his attention back to the content of her wording. After a moment's consideration he was pretty sure she didn't know the name of the thing that the Bar Association conferred; it was different from Mr. Jones' degree. He took a deep breath and began to run the gauntlet. "He DID pass. Travis' and Tommy's mutual drinkin' buddies wouldn't be caught dead talkin' to the local Better Business Bureau, and the Bar in question serves the County, but not in the capacity of a drinking establishment. They issue Barristers' Licenses, and THAT is what Tommy Lee does NOT HAVE!" he finished triumphantly.

Her pride in his accomplishment approached his own, such was her affection for him. "I feel like you REALLY took the trouble to LISTEN," she praised him. "I don't have mine either." Sam blushed with pride, and he sucked his gut in and stuck out his chest without even thinking. "I think I'll be needing a banana too... I love cheese, but find it very binding." At some level Sam observed that she had been more polite than _he_ would have been under the same circumstances, and he rejoined with a question of his own. "What all do you USE bananas for?"

It was her turn to teach, and she delighted at his True Texan humility. "well, the Pectin they provide helps keep you regular as I just observed and they have potassium for muscle cramps. Other than that, I can personally observe that they give me indigestion; I'd rather have banana pudding." "MmHm," he agreed. "My University Professor used to go on and on about the predilection Monkeys have for 'em," he added, explaining his question. "I used to tell him 'Food is Food, no matter if you're a Man or a Mouse.' He used to cuss up a blue streak right after that. He didn't use normal swear words, but his favorite other kind of swear word was 'phallic.' I think I called him a mouse more than anything." She beamed her understanding with a smile. "Some people just don't understand," she empathized.

They finished their meal with cheesecake all around; Cherry for her, Strawberry for him, and set off for the Cleaners. "Ever been to Lexington?" she asked him. He didn't recall ever having been and, being footloose, they decided to visit there next since hunting until Valentine's was off the menu.

5t story of Narcissus and Echo;

Ursula awoke early and made herself presentable appropriately. She shook the crackers out of the bed clothes, and soon brought Sam a cup of hot chocolate. He had finally talked her into killing an animal for food purposes, and she had payed him back by bringing to his attention that neither of them knew what was in season. He had been willing to shell any number of clams for the equipment, but this had not become necessary. "Why do some hunting seasons start with a bow season before the regular long-rifle session Sam?" asked Ursula. "Well, it's kind of like the reasons we pay Park Rangers. If you used a Gatling gun, you could probably kill as many Deer as a Trawler can trawl fish, so they give every body who really needs the food a head start. There's a story they tell, just to show the historical value of the Bow and Arrow." "Wait, wait, Don't tell me..." she replied. "Does it have to do with the Greek Goddess Diana, the Huntress?" Sam pondered that the answer was negative for a moment, and said "No, I guess that just has to do with dating."

"It IS a Greek story though. It goes like this: [In the forest of Greek myth, there was a young man by the name of Narcissus. He made all the nymphs swoon, and was very handsome. One nymph in particular was more in love with him than the others. Her name was Echo. Echo enlisted the good offices of Cupid to shoot him with the arrow of love, so that the first thing he saw after that would rule his love and affections forever. This was against her ruler’s wishes. When Cupid and Echo implemented their plan, Echo was ready. Narcissus was walking along in the forest, all unsuspecting. Cupid shot Narcissus, and Echo stepped out from behind a tree, but Narcissus (instead of looking at Echo,) saw his own reflection mirrored in a pool of water and fell deeply, madly in love with himself. Echo’s ruler discovered the plot, and punished her by magically ruling that Echo could no longer voice her own thoughts, but only the last word another said. In a bitter sweet ending, this gave Narcissus and Echo a kind of dysfunctional relationship. Echo repeated Narcissus’ last word to him, and he extended his love for himself to Echo, because she never failed to stroke his ego that way.]"

Ursula had been riveted in rapt attention. "Is that why aboriginal Americans used to love the Bow and Arrow so much?" she asked. "I'm not sure if it started out that way," Sam replied sagely, "but it's why they still do." The eggs were ready, and he praised her cooking with a full mouth.

5t War of the Worlds;

TTTTT - Urgent 5t update. Recent developments in the field of comprehension industry have shown Science Fiction connections in the observations of H.G. Wells in his envelope-pushing radio broadcast. See also Footnoted material.

First to address so-called "Reality."

Comprehension is the newest drug of choice in the agriculture of Understanding. AI as an acronym has been worn out in the process. It is variously a Bible Cityname, Artificial Insemination and Artificial Intelligence; these are just the most common flavors found in a ten-class disambiguation on Wiki. The commonality seems to be 'seminality of somethingness.' The new way to refer to the computer variety is to allude to Neural Nets. Differing in the abstract from basketball nets, they are understood through the same analogy as the Internet; the spider web. [Note: Basketball playing Spiders have yet to be observed in nature, and they still observe the natural law of gravity.] Neural Nets are mission critical in modeling intelligence in computing, but computers seem to be completely unable to appreciate comprehension. My first experience of a pusher pushing comprehension was earlier than Society wishes to acknowledge - Elementary School. The teacher was hot, and I had no idea of why she had such an effect on me, but English Comprehension was her specialty, and I sought her approval like a slave - I won her favor by turning up the air conditioning. English Comprehension was my gateway to masturbation, and from there I even took a different view of FOOD. Using Money as a drug was a natural progression, and I am told that others ape the concept with economic participation in a black-market drug pharm. From a rational view point, there is nothing normative to be said about this EXCEPT the same advice as all Economists who control their weight through diet and exercise might give ANYONE, and that without charge: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A FREE LUNCH!

To return to a discussion of my comprehension abuse, I may be said to have exhibited a genetic pre-disposition, and my own descent into precociousness is only one facet of what is charitably referred to as "a checkered past."

Addiction is a hard term to define for purposes of holding intellect accountable - the best one I know for the rigors of logic is


"Needing more and more of [X] to obtain the same effect."


In this regard, comprehension is more like a stupidity re-uptake inhibitor, and has no nervous metabolites.

This definition IS, however, adequate to branch out and cover such things as sex addiction (in it's various orientations,) although a good sex binge is still popular to immunize (jade) people against spring fever. Spring Break is the last chance before bird migrations occur and the birds that carry the relevant viruses arrive.

With regard to genetic predispositions they may be observed, not only in comprehension, but also in homosexual orientation and alcoholism. This last is very observable in society at large, pointing out that, absent genetic predisposition, addiction is achieved only by egregious stupidity... those without the gene can come to NEED the drug as part of their metabolism, but only after consuming mass quantities in violation of good sense. Tobacco serves to show that the metabolism is not subservient to DNA alone, and drug pharms are to be avoided unless money is no object. If you NEED to experiment with addictive behavior, masturbation is free and porn is cheap - this should not be confused with an informed discussion on jading; in pornography jading occurs before satisfaction, differing significantly with actual sex. In the masturbation ecosystem, Advertisers model Pushers, and Models model Dealers, who are otherwise harmless by comparison... they facilitate demand with supply. Add economics to the ecosystem, and sex becomes the first currency; after this is exhausted treasure is induced, and the blood and treasure discussion of War is relevant to the War on Drugs in the same way. Prostitution mixes sex and economics, with the blood and treasure discussion being satisfied by the old observation: The right to contract is NOT absolute.

OFFICIALLY turning to SCIENCE FICTION:

H.G. Wells observations on this subject practically beggar the imagination... his prescience in regard to Venus and Mars so far preceded the Cultural Phenomenon "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus." Having finally understood that the God's of War have been invoked and that the conservationist principle of "catch and release," has been violated at a viral level (this being nearly integral to DNA by that point,) it is kind on his part to have used 'Little Green Men,' as his vehicle, rather than the more difficult to observe "Martian Blood," such as Huck Finn was led to believe his slave friend Jim possessed. The fact that Martians have green blood has been exploited by everyone who disapproves of Governments on Mother Earth martialing her own forces against him. While anyone, red and yellow, black and white can have their blood tested (for needle borne agents like Hepatitis-C,) preparatory to marriage, pacifist refugees from that war torn planet have been helplessly sheltering their war-like dopple-gangers, as Mars' interplanetary espionage runs ahead of Earths own efforts by decades. Although she is internally a crucible of discord, Venus has remained icily aloof to Earth's diplomatic failures toward Mars, apparently relying on preferential treatment from the Sun in the event of interplanetary conflict. The Politics of Rah (who seems to favor Egypt over other Earth jurisdictions,) are left for another day.

Finally, ADMITTING that 5ts can be subject to needle driven DISEASES and DRUG ADDICTION themselves;

Having made a tour of the Interplanetary War Paradigm, we can now see BOTH an Economic AND a Health and Human Services germanity to the discussion of Drug addiction. If Aids AND Money are a concern at the same time, as test for Tuberculosis will work in an emergency - the two conditions propagate under very similar conditions. If you think you actually have the Aids precursor HIV, you are possibly better off moving to the African Continent. People there can benefit educationally from almost any other country's intellectual largess, and the UN participates shamelessly in subsidizing the medications relevant for long term survival, until a way to cure the common cold can be made widely available and cheap; Quarantine is the payoff to humanity.

Footnotes:

In a departure from acknowledging intellectual contributions to the 5t Archives, the premier Teller of The Tale (in both capacities of crier and treasurer) would like to acknowledge the work of Quentin Tarentino in "Pulp Fiction."

The phrase "Pushing the envelope" is not only a practice of the USPS, but also a Journalistic goal. Aviators hate them, and fight for their Freedom of Speech accordingly, because the official definition of an "envelope" is the parameters of air-speed and lift within which a plane can maintain negative gravity. Outside the magic envelope, all treaties with Naturalists fail, and the Law of Gravity is re-invoked. The authoritative Science Fiction on the subject is by Douglas Adams, and relies on "falling so as to miss the ground." See also his Improbability Drive.

In the world of Medicine, we spoke above about viruses. In the field of Contagion, the two classes of contagious agents are Viruses and Bacteria. [Bacterias exist, but simply in a class with lichens, sheeps, fishes; etc.] Medications are typically useful ONLY against Bacteria, Viruses are left to nature's immunity. Syndromes and Conditions are a separate discussion - Biology is hard to study. If you think I am joking, just ask yourself what YOU would have done back in the day when Germ (bacteria) Theory was not well investigated, such that you didn't know the difference between a contagious disease and a non-contagious one, viruses and bacterias competed like pyramid schemes, and the ONE CORRECT pasteurizer, giving you the pills in good faith, couldn't stop everyone around you from getting sick anyway. If his research had been hindered by good hand washing, no one might EVER have KNOWN! As such, please don't hold old Louis' religious superstitions against him.