A timeless contemplation of the Theater;

All this talk of Hollywood had put Andrea in a pensive mood. "I wonder who, besides Paul Neuman, is the oldest Hollywood Producer?" she asked. "I always thought that he just used his Neuman Haas credentials to prove he was the fastest man in Hollywood... he has left us in peace by now," Sam replied. The Aussie smiled, and pointed out that the Oldest theatrical production was none other than Stonehenge. Ms. Sheila pondered this, and instead of zoning in on the venerable and aged among Hollywood elite, she consented to discuss historical anomalies and said "Theatrical Production? I thought it was a Calendar!" The Aussie would not be denied. "I'll grant you that keeping season separate from season was mission critical as long ago as then, but I don't think a calendar could have been important enough to cart all those obelisks around until they could set them up in a circle for a theater." The natural fair-mindedness of the male 5t had been engaged. "My Aggie friends set great store by Poor Richard's calendar book." He volunteered. "They set the date for the Sadie Hawkins dance, and when to fix the tractors, and all manner of other lazy pursuits just according to when the crops are busy growing themselves, but not yet in need of harvest. Which brings up another question: Was there a proper hitching rail at this Stonehenge theater?" Andrea pondered this herself while the refugee from Oz contemplated any possibility of explaining the discrepancies available between historical calendars (Julian, Gregorian and other calendars of known historical record,) and prehistorical ones that Dinosaurs nonetheless did not employ. "England may not be in the horse LATITUDES," she added knowledgeably, "but Horses are FROM there. Arabians may be from Arabia, but all Mustangs trace their lineage back to horses employed by those who defeated the residents of Saxony." In a mental departure from gymnastics, the sole PhD possessor of the group let go of all hope of explaining the difference between recorded history and Evolution, and instead did a mental flip over the disregard for a Nation, Sea Going Empire AND Culture, over what amounted to the Equine equivalent of a MUTT. He then caught himself, and finished his contemplation of how hard they would both laugh if he conveyed to them the scale of the Kingdom in question, and stood there vacillating. "I wonder if the English ones can swim?" Sam added, in a genuine conversational gambit. "Nope," she replied with conviction, "Or they'd have known already better than to try and change horses half-way across a river." This logic did not brook much contradiction, and Melbourne did his best to portray an interested version of a Guppy. Andrea caught his hint, and added "...but if they CAN, they probably do it right-side up, just like ours do." She wasn't sure exactly WHY Melbourne was taking the swimming thing so literally, but she couldn't deny a certain affection for him anyway... he was CUTE TOO! Her sense of humor led her to experiment to see how long he could portray an interested fish if she took his breath away, and her eyes twinkled as she asked, "Where would you like to be on the 14th?" For his part, Sam could tell that the thespian experiment had a piscean theme; he sucked his cheeks in and worked his contracted lips up and down like a Goldfish in solidarity.

Melbourne's mind had a remarkable capacity for analogy. No matter how absurd, he seemed to be able to think of a physical analog, against which to compare the intellectual behavior of his new mates. In this case, he was defensibly contemplating a wooden floor in a closed environment, in which his own personal efforts at painting had left him barefoot in a corner opposite the door, with an unbroken expanse of paint between the two. His efforts to abandon the comparison, and usefully contemplate a reply served only to enhance the effect, making it indelibly clearer in his mind, in a kind of holographic clarity that defied description. Catching the very last mental train leaving the station for the evening, he played for time. "Where do YOU think would be a fun place to be?" he asked redundantly, telegraphing his chosen audience to his inquisitor by rounding squarely on Sam with his gaze. To do him credit, Sam had tired of aping a goldfish in less than three seconds, and undertook a confident and unrehearsed answer: "Easy; Happy or Valentine." Melbourne was not immediately sure if this represented salvation or comeuppance, but Andrea left him no time for worry. "HAPPY?" she exclaimed. "THAT tourist trap?" Without letting on for a moment, Sam considered if there might be another tourist trap of the same name; he answered without pause, conveying debonair assurance, "Valentine it is, then." He turned and addressed Melbourne helpfully... "I have some candy left over from Halloween," he offered. "It's not for you, it's for the Missus." In his turn, the Aussie made a cultural deposit. "You're a real Card, Sam," he intoned. Sam knew that this was another word for "Character," and put his hand on Melbourne's shoulder platonicaly, and steered him straight into Andrea's waiting arms. No further words were needed, and this time he sprang for the Limo himself.

A new World Leader in the Refrigeration Industry

Urgent 5t Update: Late breaking news from the Archiver of the Scrolls is that yet another Foreigner has taken an interest in 5t global politics. We anticipate that her management credentials must have been represented in a very favorable light, because she has undertaken that most challenging of Continents, Anne-tarctica. Anne Hathaway has again used Leno's tonight Show as her springboard to popularity, thus dunning all other potential venues, David Letterman's last among the Evening Talk variety shows. Chronomatically, Craig Kilborn is truly last, but this would admit him to a potential political bid for 'Last but not least.' Since Letterman employs the poor Scotsman merely for his command of double entendre, it would be wrong to give him pre-eminence over Letterman in Hathaway's disdaining of the Late Night Talk circuit - she dunned him too. Since she has no offspring, we cannot PROVE that her initiation was other than social intercourse... legislative congress is unlikely (all apologies to Angie Harmon and her own valiant efforts.) Still, she must have talked to SOMEBODY, probably by financial inducement... she has the world's toughest nut to crack. Greenland is quite frigid, but pales in agricultural comparison to Antarctica. With her evident disdain for Satanism (I quote "..I'm the color of Antarctica...") it is difficult to know how she will administrate her new domain. All previous efforts have been to administer small (but ever increasing) doses of Academia. To make radical changes at the top is the main reason for bringing new blood in to upper management, but since my 5t archives are light on information relating to Antarctica's previous management, she may very well have been promoted from within, like Bernanke. Her name is a tip of the hat to a middle aged English Bard. His significant other was named Hathaway, and he was known to comment on her command of action (and poetically,) as follows, "Anne Hathaway, she hath a WAY!" That was racy stuff back then, but biology has no doubt improved since then, and Anne Hathaway's anatomy is not observably different from other female specimens. To her management credentials, I would like to add a credential as an English Rose. They are hardy roses (smelling the same as other roses per same bard,) but she must have been put to some trouble to deliver more than pizza and fudge in New York, NY. She was from across the border in New Jersey even back then. I'm the kind of guy who would want to know who she employed as a bicycle courier on those occasions when management required fudge distribution of her (as well as agricultural product,) in Little China. Whoever he is, he will personally be able to verify what I anticipate to be GOOD acting tips. Her manager, being affiliated with the ROIAA is probably no different than mine. My manager expects me to pack my own fudge for distribution, not just his (he won't pack his own!) The return on my investment is payed in mountains of hope. He does not consider his job well done, unless I hope for something; he simply has poor luck with couriers. The RIAA ensures his ROI like the FDIC, and he ensures mine from personal responsibility. He uses an agent, who keeps away all potential stalkers, pretenders, competition and disadvantageous work, and a publicist who intimidates all who would besmirch my name, and teaches sue-happy people ambulance chasing classes on the side. [He SAYS it is community service, but his last DUI/DWI was 2 years ago... he's HAD TIME.] Whatever the case, Anne Hathaway has shown excellent good sense, and good looks too (wreaking havoc on my adrenals,) by getting out in front of the camera early in the score. Her philanthropy will only be known later by association with screen writers of her choosing. These guys are KNOWN for their poor choice making mechanisms, and internationally are distinguished from talent, just like management, but without the pay. I hope Anne Hathaway has better luck in predicting global warming's fallout for Antarctica, and that it flourishes under her incumbency.

A question about the N-Word;

Melbourne had been reading the latest 5t update respectfully, and ventured to ask "How did sand-pirates get such a bad reputation that the author won't even list the WORD, but rather just the 'euphemism' PEJORATIVES?"

Sam and Andrea looked up at him in surprise. "Which issue were you reading?" asked Andrea. Upon reflection, Melbourne blushed, and confessed that his audiographic memory had gotten confused with his photographic memory... he had heard it, not read it, and they had been addressing him in person. "We were talking about the certainty of the full-moon," he admitted, with Freudian concern.

Sam hastened to set his now-beloved comrade at ease. "Those 5t updates don't reliably list 5t at the top," he noted. "They used to, back when newspapers would still print anything we wrote, but nowadays we leave off the intro, just for hope that someone out there will listen."

"Those were the glory days of the 5ts," Andrea concurred, wistfully.

"You guys are wonderfully helpful, and I now understand my own confusion, but you still haven't enlightened me about Pirates," Melbourne noted persistently.

"Pirates are just thwarted horsemen from Texas," Andrea explained. "They used to want to learn to ride Horses sooooo much they would BEG to ride. Haven't you heard the expression, 'If wishes were horses, PIRATES would ride?'" "No," answered Melbourne, truthfully. "Horses are IMPORTANT in Texas... back in the formative days of the Union, no one would even HEAR of a 'Ship-of-the-desert,' but only horses, horses, horses... they even called this part of the globe the HORSE latitudes, and it wasn't JUST from Spaniards yelling at Texans about their HORSES. Columbus was so certain of the importance of horses that he brought his own with him, and when they made landfall, they sank the ships and let the horses swim ashore so the sailors would never want to go home." "I'm pretty sure that wasn't Columbus," ventured Sam, "But it was SOMEBODY." “...who clearly knew the value of a horse,” was Andrea's point.

Sam continued wholeheartedly, "Horse theft itself is a HANGIN' offense." he added somberly. The Aussie pondered this a moment, and then asked sagely "Galveston isn't THAT far off the coast... how did pirates become such savvy sea-goers?" Here Sam was not at a loss for words, knowing his history. "Well, after we won the Civil War, we got to rewrite all the History books as our own 'The-Winners-Story,'" he explained, "and we just gave them credit for all their services in Mule running Whitelightning, and King Cotton Diplomacy. You KNOW we hated 'em or we wouldn't have re-written the Constitution special, just to make it so we could start a constitutional war IF a nation EVER refused to honor letters of Marquis or Retribution against a known-good-pirate."

Andrea added from her own stock and store that Hawaiian pirates had loved SPAM so much they renamed their charts MAPS, and this is how cartography got started.

The Aussie made every effort to both believe them AND learn their version of events, but asked the following from a basic need for self consistency. "What is the defining characteristic of a PIRATE, if they don't ride horses anymore?"

Andrea headed off this misunderstanding at the pass early, "They never RODE Horses, or they wouldn't have turned to PIRACY," she clarified.


Melbourne had been persistent enough over time that Sam knew he had best answer the question or their would be fireworks; "Pirates ALWAYS have a chip on their shoulder, and want something for nothing." he defined.


The Aussie had had some experience of the world, and knew it was necessary to know a REALLY good INSULT on occasion, just in cased a member of any given stereotype had been living up to his name a little too well, and asked his Texan friends candidly "How do you make 'em Mad when you have to?"

"Call them the N-word," they replied together... "Jinx, buy me a Coke," Andrea was quicker.

"There's only ONE?" asked the Aussie. "Is this from the A&M profound book version of the Dictionary?" Although he was suspicious of an insult of his own, the green, lemon-lime Fosters had been making Sam very tolerant, so he spelled it out for the Academic. "N-I-N-N-Y, Ninny," he explained. Andrea averted her eyes and acted self-conscious for a moment.

"Well, Just to clear the air, I'd like to make a pact with you both." The Texans turned their respective gazes on him. "I will NEVER call EITHER of you guys a NINNY," Melbourne vowed. Their eyes welled up with tears. "We won't call you one either," they swore. "Scout's Honor," added Sam with an oath. Andrea was more long-winded "Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye,” was her own commitment.

A log popped in the campfire, and they sat in companionable silence until it burned low.

A New Understanding;

There is a new paradigm available for dealing with very old data storage mechanisms, such as have been available at the Library of Congress for decades. These devices, instead of requiring an electrical source, rely heavily on solar power. For data-storage density, they rely on a tiered and cascading paging system, not too different than computer caching, but developed completely independently from the electronic era. For quick reference, these pages are numerically organized with a pointer system, for binary search. To execute a binary search, one starts in the very middle, and searches the middle of each successively smaller grouping, until the exact location of an item is found. This method is so efficient in terms of page turning that even a very large B(iologically) O(rganized) O(ptical) K(nowledgebase) can be searched for an exact item on an exact page within 73 to 91 seconds. This remarkable system was developed in conjunction with datatypes designed by ancient Egyptians, but hardly renderable to the modern B.O.O.K reader. Despite differences that many would put down to fonts, the cryptic old hieroglyphics are potentially still intelligible in their native environment. In larger compilations, a B.O.O.K that has folded many capsules of knowledge into a form that distinguishes the Latin "Pedal" for foot, from the Greek "Pedia" child, ((with a suitable attention to C(yclic) R(edundancy) C(hecking,) ))is known by the perplexing name "En- Cyclo-Pedia." These encyclopedias are encyclopedic, both in subject matter and topics, but each article itself is much abbreviated. To be fair, I looked up the word "abbreviate," in an Encyclopedia, and the explanation was hardly brief, but most other subjects are more condensed and distilled than elucidated. Overall, for abbreviations, I think one has a better chance in an ordinary Dictionary; I have spelled the whole word out in every instance lest you should fail to be able to look it up... bits and bytes are free.

A historical "Dictionarian" was Daniel Webster, a hero of Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett both, but only in a studious way that a hush of librarians could make you think of with all their spectacles on. Curiously, my Merriam Webster dictionary has no mention of the collective noun for librarians, but gives due consideration to; a) an exultation of doves, b) a crash of rhinos, c) a pride of lions, d) a school of fish e) a school of fishes, such that there are different kinds of fish, in a non-discriminating way, f) a pod of whales, g) a herd of almost anything - not a discriminating word at all, h) a clutch of eggs, i) a gaggle of geese, j) a flock of sheep, k) a pack of wolves and even l) a hand of bananas. This made me check to see if it was an exhaustive dictionary, and it made mention of a collection older than Texas itself, going back to the very days of Beowulf.. the O.E.D. Whatever an OED is, it is a more exhaustive dictionary than any respectable farmer would use for firewood, and the only more complete reference work in the world is a 100% redundant Encyclopedia. The whole point of redundancy is that there is a backup system in case of an emergency, and I immediately went looking for a 300% redundant Encyclopedia, for astronauts. They looked at me like they wanted to hit me over the head with the thing, and I left very quickly. It turns out that if you find a single SUBJECT in any ARTICLE in the Encyclopedia, that ARTICLE is referred to right back in the other article on that SUBJECT, wherever it is in the B.O.O.K. I was immediately smitten with the concept, and (rather than making any more efforts to find 300% redundant B.O.O.K.'s,) I went looking for a 100% redundant dictionary. This caused quite a stir in the library where I brought it up, because (for one thing,) these librarians had never known that they traveled in 'hushes,' although they faithfully 'shushed' me every time I paused for breath. Well, when they finally understood my whole idea, that 'hush,' ought to be in the dictionary AND that I wanted a 100% redundant one, they commended me to a personal study of pointers in a computer environment, just to know what I was asking for. Instead of calling me a complete fool, they told me that a complete dictionary was enough for the dead tree contingent and left it at that. I looked up "complete" in my new found treasure trove (the OED online,) and went to sleep looking at the answers, even before I looked at the answers in the back.

A sage young librarian smelling of tarragon was the TRUEST friend I every found in an Ivory Tower. She read my "stuff," on the wrath economy and asked me to come to an understanding with her; if I stayed out of sight back in the stacks, she would consider giving me my education. I assured her I would pay TOP DOLLAR, not just the going rate, but this sweet young thing promised to do it for free. I asked if this would not put her out, but she seemed put out by the very suggestion, and we proceeded to our rendezvous.

The secret that she told me was profound:


The final goal of every bit of data is unknown in cyberspace by any name on earth. To carefully develop data, it must be organized, and subjected to a discriminating editorial process. It then becomes new "information." By adding understanding to information, a little at a time, it results in full "KNOWLEDGE" - an abstract construct that encapsulates data like an egg.


She blushed a little, no doubt guessing what was going on in my fertile imagination. I couldn't help but try to impress her, so I tried to add to her understanding with what I considered to be "new information." IF I have knowledge, AND knowledge encapsulates data like an egg, THEN I must know Data. At this her temperature heated up, and she threw my words back in my face like verbal vitriol: "YOU are AFFIRMING the POSITIVE," she roared. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, and my cool demeanor did nothing to warm her heart toward me. I eventually coaxed her to confide in me once again, but her repeated and urgent insistence that I should make all future efforts to affirm the CONTRA-Positive my imperative goal, went through my head like a wind tunnel, until all I heard was the roar of distant surf, dull and soporific. I don't think she ever got the POINT of my personal acquaintance with the sentient robot of the Star Trek Next Gen Series... oh well, she probably couldn't love me anyhow.

She finally told me that her name was "Cipher," and her address was "Double Ought, Null Road," just across the railroad tracks. I asked for her number, but she told me I could never fill the void in her life. As a parting gift, she told me to look for a 5t connection between the Colombian Contras and Sisyphus of Greek mythology. I looked it up - she was SERIOUSLY off on the Gregorian Calendar. Still, it is a good memory, and I wouldn't mind learning the same lesson again.

Understanding Research and Development;

TTTTT - Urgent 5t update on the wrath economy of Canada. A suitable substitute for turning unalloyed wrath into anger has been found due to diligent research and development. Texas PRIDE can be used in place of Hoser HONESTY. Since Texans tell tall tales, Canucks decided to investigate the pride of Texas, and see if was anything like Canuck pride. Hosers have pride, being Canucks... a Canuck's a Canuck... they just can't all be Hosers. By happy coincidence, Texans have just enough honesty in their bones for their Pride to be useful in the process, and Texan pride makes an anger of a quality competitive with all current Candian standards. It should be noted, that good humor is a quality also shared on both sides of the border, and if understanding contaminates the anger making process, laughter is an unreliable by-product. Like nitrates in Diesel, it EITHER supercharges the anger process (and even in a controlled environment this is dangerous,) OR it results in gales of laughter. Whatever the case, understanding is now itself under investigation, since it could be used to eradicate MAD on both sides of the earth. We will make a public commitment to use the smallpox virus as a pilot for the project, such that IF MAD is ever to be eradicated, the project will be undertaken responsibly. In a related report, ire has been discovered to be more difficult of entreaty than previously supposed, being like a wellspring, and difficult to draw out. Despite the apparently unending nature of the supply, it may actually be more like an aquifer. Well-springs can be found on the face of the earth, Hot-springs among them, but the rigorous application of them to ire remains elusive, Ireland itself not having access to the knowledge. Data is being gathered and synthesized into information for study, but hope of a bore-well type application of ire, from some imagined ire aquifer, springs eternal in the breast of an unidentifiable species. We don't even know if this species can be identified in Texas. Studies of synthetic ire have more commonly resulted in rage instead, itself little understood.

A Diplomatic Forray;

Canada has recently been able to accommodate China in a diplomatic request. By observing that Texas seems to have over-reached earth in its Imperial ambitions, they have asked Canada to bring to the Official attention of Texas that the their Constitution specifically forbids Hegemons. This necessitated a trip directly to the dictionary for the relevant Texan. Having used his knowledge of the alphabet to locate and read the relevant definition, he was able to respond that this was a paradox. If Texas takes over the Inner Solar System, this represents an entrepreneurial effort of an LLC, and a mere business endeavor. But if China tries to tell Texas how to read their own constitution, there are two World powers, and neither one qualifies as a Hegemon. The implied argument, writ large in the small print of the response was "the more, the merrier." Interplanetary Diplomacy is not the only competition Texas is interested to employ for a system of checks and balances. From the language of the news article, the conversation seems to have turned to a discussion of how many languages the representative could speak. While the Chinese Representative argued for competency in two or more, the Texan said he knew at least one word in fully ten languages. The Chinaman reviewed the list with special attention to the Texan's claimed command of Chinese itself. The list was: Italy, pizza; Russia, borst; Poland, sausage; China, food; Canada, bacon; Texan, tea; Mexican, chimmichanga; British, tea; S. Africa, Rand; and Gallopogos, monitor. His diplomatic response was that as a concept it was undeniably important, but with specific attention to wording, there were Chinese school children with a better command of language. This made the Texan blush with pride... the Chinese did not usually reply directly to his claims of sovereignty. They parted amicably.

Official Military Response to 5t petitions on behalf of Texas GIs.

TTTTT - Texas is not without its Political pull, even in the Military, so an investigation was made into the size and function of Golf Courses the world over. To keep matters in perspective, the efforts MIGHT have gone as high as a FIVE star General, but in this case a LONE STAR General stepped up to the plate, and the buck stopped with HIM. His official report reflected a little known fact, that even in Texas there are no FULL SIZE golf courses. Texas has little enough water to go around, and while there is adequate desert for almost ANY size golf course, there was just not enough grass all in one place, to build a FULL SIZE Golf Course. Texans are a proud lot, and didn't abandon efforts without a fight. They have outstanding Treaty requests with both Montana AND Wyoming to BUILD a FULL SIZE Golf course in their territory, but these States were unwilling to accommodate the intellectual property rights of calling these FULL SIZE Golf courses TEXAN. This is particularly disagreeable on the part of these two states, because they have more than enough grass to go around, and Texas has generously offered to EITHER exchange an equal amount of Texas desert, for NIMBY usage, OR import the relevant State back to Texas. Every Gubernatorial Election, the new Governor of the relevant State is required to renew their objections to both of these riders; they do this faithfully, just to keep Texas down in the Interplanetary Diplomacy tryouts. In fact it is only the very diplomacy they so abuse that keeps Texas from restarting the troubles of the time of Lincoln (may he R.I.P.) In the mean time, Texas continues to make do with as many Full Size Miniature Golf courses as it takes to meet demand, and a fair sprinkling of Miniature miniature Golf Courses. The final regulating authority of all the military was a generous man, and when he read the report, he couldn't let the perceived arrogance of Texas GIs keep everybody else from playing miniature Golf, so he used the fairness of a judge, and just said everybody could practice miniature Golf in their spare time, as long as they bore the expense of their own green fees. In a remarkable case of contradicting reality, instead of making Texans mad, or non-Texan GIs happy, it just didn't change much of anything, and moral improved.

The full moon is a certainty.

Well, although Andrea had developed a yen for him that was not a Japanese Yen, the Aussie couldn't be happy until he paid the Texan back in his own currency. Being from down under, he knew a thing or two about the South end of a steer... they have them in Australia, and he was wondering what (if anything,) this Texan had been feeding his Longhorn bull. He didn't have a true fact that couldn't be proven, but he had false facts aplenty, and they were not in short supply. He decided to show his own fair mindedness and lack of prejudice to Andrea, and braced the...

"What exactly DO you do for a living?" he asked abruptly. For her own part, Andrea knew that the 5ts didn't pay - that would have been paying for free, and a true Texan doesn't do ANYTHING for free. What could he possibly do to keep body and soul together? Sam had lied about his name, but in a pinch a false identity can be supplemented with the truth, and so he answered directly, but with some concern. "I work in a money laundry," he explained, laying all his cards face up on the table before his friends. "Texan currency has so much linen in it that it's the next best thing to denim, and all I do 6 weeks out of the year is launder money. It's not too different from working on an oil rig." Andrea beat Melbourne to the question, "And THIS pays enough for everything else you do, all the rest of the YEAR?" she cried. She was not as advanced in the field of prevarication as the Australian was, and incredulity was not a matter of choice for her. Melbourne was chuckling quietly in the background. "Shall I tell her, or will you?" he asked. "By all means YOU do the honors," the Texan growled. As Andrea turned a hunted gaze upon him, Melbourne illuminated the deceit. "He helps himself to the product while he's laundering it. Probably makes all his purchases by money order, and pays taxes on exactly what they pay him at the plant," the helpful true Southerner supplied. While Andrea did a fair impression of a goldfish, the unflappable Australian took the initiative back into his care.

He had established that the Texan worked, and so he returned to his original course of questioning. "In Australia, do you have any idea which way is up on the map?" The alert Texan was not easily accommodated by being taken in. He rather intended to liberate himself, and answered a question with a question: "Away from the center of the earth?" he ventured. His opponent was not to be so easily dissuaded, and pursued him in a quid pro quo. "In TEXAS, which way is up on a map?" "Well that's easy as Apple Pie... NORTH," came the confident reply. No sooner had he spoken than his face informed his brain that there was an Apollo 13 moment near his ears, and he took his seat suddenly. He truly did not know what the convention was, South of the Equator, and his entire fiction that Texas was the center of the Universe collapsed.

Having made his point Melbourne offered Andrea his arm. "Shall we exeunt?" he asked. Unaware of Shakespeare's requirements, she assented, and they disconnected the pickup and took off for a nearby IHOP, leaving Sam behind to sort himself out. They found each other's company enchanting, and their solitude was much improved.

2+2= a full moon.

The Aussie contemplated his whole existence. He had known all along that Andrea didn't have nuptials in mind, but now she seemed to be about to call his bluff of calling her bluff. He took a deep breath and spoke with authority. "The next full moon is February 15th." he explained. He needed time to let his heart mull over what his mind had recently observed, and so he took a chance on borrowing trouble, and bought time with a question to the ostensible Mr. Clementine. "But coming back to the point you were making before," he inquired, "You made mention of facts that were suspected to be true." The Texan was impressed with his perspicacity, and made a mental note never to trust Fosters ever again.

With typical woman's intuition, Andrea read his mind and piped up "What's perspicacity?" "It's like prescience, but in the present tense," he replied, much more concerned with the Australian's point.

"Well, there are certain things that I just can't doubt," he began. "Things like 2+2=4, and Newton's Second Law of Thermodynamics. It's just that as an organization, even absent bureaucratic process, we have NEVER been able to prove things like that." Well, right there, the Australian recognized the Imperial version of an absolutist statement, and put on his best empirical hat for testing. Under these conditions, incredulity was neither here nor there, and his friend appeared to be more in need of some good and honest SOBER, than an argument. "Make me doubt that 2+2=4," he urged him charitably. For his own part the Texan neither postured nor feinted, but pulled the trigger on his argument just like he would a gun.

"I've got it right here on an oilskin next to my heart," he said, and soon produced a small empirical scroll. The argument was inscribed as follows:

To understand what it means to doubt "2+2 = 4" consider:

U = {apple, apple, apple, orange, orange, orange, orange}

let A = { x | x is an apple.}

let B = { x | x is an orange.}

let "a" stand for a variable element of A and "b" stand for a variable element of B.

If I then ask myself, is 2a + 2b = 4, I am left to show, "Four of WHAT?"

2a + 2a = 4a IFF 2+2 can be repetitively added to multiply out to four.

When you are finally satisfied that 2a + 2a = 4a, how do you show the mechanics that, absent the "a's," the old 2 + 2 = 4?

After that, it is not necessary to subvert true algebraic logic by attempting to show that 2a + 2b = 4 fruits, but the possibility will induce many a charlatan to prove an impossibility.

The Aussie had had enough arithmetic and algebra to know he was truly devastated. He hadn't been had, but he felt like it. His eyes got glassy, and his jaw got slack, and he did the thing he thought the Texan might have done just moments before - he swooned. Ms. Sheila hadn't had that many serious boyfriends, and exactly two suitors, so the prospect of someone physically swooning over her made her weak at the knees. She followed suit. There was no fire hydrant handy, so Sam passed the time gazing up at Orion in quiet contemplation.

When he came to, Melbourne made a quick review of the 5 stages of grief, with particular attention to denial, and decided that anger was the appropriate response. "How could you DO that to me?" he asked perplexedly. The 5t regarded him with equanimity; "Without doing you any favors, I have reached out into your head with words, and made you experience what it means to doubt '2+2 = 4.' All apologies to the ancients, I won't wake up tomorrow doubting it, but I'll proceed to disambiguate ordinal value from something I'll call 'numberedness,' and now you know how I earned my Sheepskin," he ground out with a voice sounding like gravel. The Aussie attended to Andrea as she rejoined the living, marveling at the forthrightness of the Texan expression "you've got sand!"

Andrea was able to verify that Orion had stopped his ballet performance, and the two newborn listeners contemplated the revelation by talking to each other. "I can't even imagine doubting it," Andrea volunteered. "How can I face my colleagues back in OZ?" the academic wailed. "They'll howl mercilessly at me for doubting something so obvious, and there will be no refuge from their scorn." "Sounds like you musta gone to one of them Agricultural colleges," remarked Sam with indifference. "Well, at least you know ABOUT respect now," he continued philosophically. "Maybe that'll help." Andrea and Melbourne exchanged a look, and it might as well have been a phone number, because their friendship was cemented like glue. "I'll give you Vegas Odds he's had a filly before and lost her," she said with telling import. The glum Australian could only shake his head. Texan Fosters lacked the punch of the Real Thing. The green Texas can was nothing like the OZ version, and every can tasted like it had a twist of lemon.

5t protocol with money; howling at the moon.

Sheila and Melbourne had just had the biggest fight of their respective lives. Melbourne had begun introducing Andrea to all and sundry as “his sheila.” This led her to question his intentions, and he re-iterated his undying love, and intentions of marrying. She had asked him exactly whose name he expected her to take, and he had said, “Didn’t I just tell them that we are going to marry?” His ignorance of ERA protocol had left him unable to anticipate her dilemma – the initials A.S.S. His own Melbourne Sydney had not escaped her attentions, and he had tried vainly to explain that in Australia, even a MASTERS in Education is Pretty hard to Do. Her evisceration had been reserved to his PhD in Naturalism, following which she had retreated from his company and begun talking to the Listener of the Records in a punitive social move.

Being at loose ends, she extended the age old hand shake, “Did you hear about the Aggie… who thought he set a record for jigsaw solutions?” The Texan’s ears perked up, and he could not believe his luck. A female 5t! He had heard about them, but never actually seen one. He was prepared to forgive all her gender bending jokes around the campfire at his expense, if only she would make an introduction for him to the opposite sex. He dutifully pretended ignorance, and asked, “No, what happened?” breathlessly. “Well,” began the Sheila, “way back in the day, a team of Aggies went into a Longhorn bar and began partying, carousing and buying rounds.” Having pretended ignorance, which is proper, he was furiously trying to remember the joke himself. Without being able to exhaustively list them all in his head, he came to the conclusion that he had not heard this one before, and began listening again. “After a couple of hours, the barkeep asked them what they were celebrating. Well, the youngest Aggie expounded, we had a puzzle to do, and we did it in just SIX MONTHS. The barkeep thought on this a moment, and responded, I’m an open minded kind of Longhorn, but that right there hardly seems like a record! Ohhhh, continued the Aggie, with deliberate dictionary diction, you should have seen what it said on the side of the BOX! The barkeep had experience with the inebriated, and caved without complaint. I’ll bite, s/he asked, what did it say on the side of the box? It said ‘FOUR to SIX YEARS!’ the Aggie finished off, laughing hysterically.”

The other Texan’s laughter was unfeigned. “That’s TREMENDOUS LOGIC,” he ruminated humorously. “Can you guess who that barkeep was?” Andrea prompted, stealing a glance at the Aussie to see if he was listening. The listener was too engaged in his professional accomplishments of listening to think before he spoke “So,” he asked, taking for granted that he knew the answer, “How long have YOU been a 5t?” Her delight at correctly identifying another 5t was mitigated by the disaster of their mutual discovery by OZ. Whatever the rich qualities of her expressions, the man knew his mistake before she even had to speak. “If a man goes into the forest and he speaks, and there is not a woman there to hear him he is STILL wrong,” he intoned apologetically.

Although there was disaster in discovery, it was not itself without mitigation. The Australian had been far more open with them about OZ than they had been with him about the 5ts. If they played their cards right, he would come out of this owing them an apology. Like Orcas attacking a whale at sea, the record keeper turned upon him. “You didn’t hear it from me!” he said tersely. “You didn’t hear it from me FIRST,” Andrea echoed, saying almost exactly the same thing. The Aussie, for his own part was mystified by this apparent hostility at HIM, for a comment that had passed between two others in his presence. “WHAT, under the STARS, is a 5T?” he ejaculated at the top of his lungs.

Andrea turned on a tap to prevent recordings and started a CD of squeeze box music, matching Sam’s fast talking with fancy footwork of her own. Before you knew it they were wrapping it up, and the Aussie was in the know. His main concern was not for home and hearth, nor for the organizational structure, goals and financing of this fearless organization. He went straight to questions about protocol when meeting a 5t in the CAPACITY of a 5t. He had correctly reason from the reflexive case of two meetings with himself, and their behavior with each other, that it was a secret organization. Having observed the stolen moments, thunder and marches, he would be HANGED if he would let them steal his initiative. In fact, if he could, he’d steal their fire, and leave them without motivation. He demonstrated the debonair wisdom of a world traveler by kissing Andrea after the fashion of the French, and directing his question to a single individual in the small crowd. “You,” he commanded, “What am I supposed to do when I meet a 5t in his OFFICIAL capacity?”

The 5t man knew that this would take more than one or two Fosters, and checked his wallet for a moment, not sure what he was getting into. “[When fighting with a 5t, he will occasionally stop all argumentation with the traditional 5t call to "order in the court," "LISTEN." On those occasions it is best if one's next statement is truly PROFOUND. If possible, this represents an opportunity to move up or down in the organization. Respect is the currency, and it is traded on exactly three bases. It can be earned, like dollars, yens, and Yuans, OR it can be won in contest with someone else who has respect. The only other way to get respect out of a 5t is to COMMAND respect. The first misunderstanding is to think that this may be accomplished by creative application of the imperative voice. This is not possible - rather it is commanded by association with important individuals, or downright law-quoting – whatever the case, it is comprehended by the phrase ‘appeal to authority.’ The second misunderstanding with regard to commanding the respect of a 5t is to think that association with important people is the ONLY way to command it. The other way to COMMAND 5t respect is to convey your merit by superior argumentation; specifically a reasoned appeal to known facts, suspected of being true. If ever a 5t fact is PROVEN to be true, it is automatically off the list of ways to command their respect. If one ever employs the appeal to Jurisprudence of saying "LISTEN," and then follows it with "NEVER MIND," the 5ts all get together and fight over who gets the offending "never mind," as it has become a collectors’ item amongst them. Not all "never minds" are equal. Some are acquired only after months of backing and forthing, others are more commonplace merely using rapier wit to thrust and riposte, with lightning repartee. In these contests, a "parry" would be the equivalent of a "never mind," and so the contest draws to a quick and decisive close - a fun game for anybody, but a cheap "never mind." In general it should be understood that the better never minds are valued for the time and effort put into making one, just like a pearl in an oyster.]” “Well,” the Aussie asked, “that’s how you STOP fighting with a 5t, but what if you want his RESPECT, and haven't earned it, can't command it and lack the audience for a competition?” “[The secret there is to use the time honored incantation that "knowledge is power," and make preparations for future argumentation. This almost inevitably begets the comment "forewarned is forearmed.” ALL 5ts agree to respect this comment at all times they are not actually engaged in conflict, armed or intellectual. To be VERY clear, the same comment on THAT occasion will draw severe reprimand and DIS-RESPECT, and even then the WINNING side is only allowed to commend their own foresight by those words. Other than that, the statement itself makes an excellent test if someone is a 5t or not. It’s akin to the Boy Scouts of America motto "Be prepared." It’s a numerological fact that the BSA was started in 1910 by exactly (count them) FIVE individuals, so right there, you know 5ts like ‘em. The disambiguation between the comments ("forewarned is forearmed," and "Be Prepared,”) comes from observing that an individual who is prepared, without BEING warned, is forearmed by some other mechanism; other than that, the statements are just the same – you’re forearmed.]”

The listener of the records sat back, drawing a satisfied drag at his Fosters. “I thought I asked about Protocol in introducing myself to a 5t!” the Aussie protested, illustrating his assimilation of the local color, “and here you’ve told me all there is to KNOW about FIGHTING with them.” “That’s because I care about you, and I know what’s acomin’,” his Texan friend elaborated. “The words you speak are only the beginning. If the first words out of your mouth are not insulting enough, there won’t even BE a fight.” “Well, I’m pretty sure that’s the best way to make an ENEMY in a proper AUSTRALIAN bar.” “I know, I know… it’s hard to explain. If you don’t start a fight you won’t get no respect, but that’s not the reason for the custom, any more than money is the reason you shelled a clam for that hummer you got over there. The real reason you insult him is so that he CAN’T take offense, and you’ll get along fine after that!” Well this caused the puzzled outback expert to turn to Andrea for a second opinion, only to be met with a lower temperature version of the old soft shoulder. “You wouldn’t stop calling me SHEILA!” she reminded him. “I was DRUNK!” the Aussie implored. “The only way you can make it up to me is if you get me JUST AS DRUNK as YOU WERE!” she continued. “Then who’ll do the driving?” “Your conspiratorial FRIEND,” he responded, this time giving due diligence to incredulity. “This is NOT another example of your so-called TREMENDOUS logic either, so don’t even go there.” She dropped it like an obedient bird dog; after all, he HAD earned SOME respect.

Well Sam was disappointed that Melbourne hadn’t been forced to offer an apology for eavesdropping, so he struck out for a new field of endeavor. “I’ve told you everything I know about money,” he noted, “What do YOU know about money?” Well next to the closed ended question, there is no comment so interrogative in nature as the open ended question. Of these, the “What do you know…” variety represent an open invitation to an attempt to be exhaustive. Once that mistake is made, proof by exception is available, and then, as Yogi Berra himself affirmed, it’s all over.

[He had once met a poor man, who argued that it was NEVER over, but they had parted on ill terms, he having questioned the poor man’s patronage, and the poor man having questioned his patrimony. He shook off the thought… he rarely if EVER said never.]

Without a word, the Aussie took up the gauntlet, and proceeded to run the gauntlet of the displeasure of them both. “Money is a need, like sex and food,” he began. “You’ll note I’m leaving out alcohol, so I’m making every effort to take your query seriously, but I’m not addicted to the stuff.” Andrea bit before Sam, and forged away with “Try and do without it!” “Well, I’VE tried to do without FOOD,” he intoned (secretly delighting in her accommodation,) “and I’m sure YOU’VE tried to do without SEX. Neither one is convenient, and I use that word in the Russian sense, but I wouldn’t call myself addicted to EITHER.” Sam took this opportunity to add, “At least I’m not addicted to SEX.” The Aussie wasn’t finished and went on, “Even if you COULD do without money, you wouldn’t be able to get AWAY from it.” Now that he WAS finished, he turned and threw the relevant gauntlet back down: “What do YOU know about money Andrea?” he asked.

Andrea was surprised, and certainly not forewarned, but her experiences with Boy Scouts (the grown kind, not the children – you pervert,) had taught her to be prepared and, somewhat to her own surprise, she had an answer. This derived partly from her knowledge of the contents of her own mind, and partly from her truthful examination of the same. “I always thought there were two schools of thought, the tools and the addicts. The tools always want more tool, but the addicts can never get enough. Whatever the case, supply never seems to quite catch up with demand.” Sam was impressed and added for consistency “Texans keep being born every year and needing more just for THEM,” he observed. "It IS an addictive romance," agreed Melbourne. They all three shared a quiet moment, and made sure no one else had overlooked them committing learning behavior that way. “So when exactly is the next full moon Melbourne?” asked his Sheila.

An Engaging Proposition.

They arrived at a Bar just as the bartender was leaving for the night, counting her tips. They were aware that it was 6 to seven hours before noon, but having had their hearts set on a Fosters, they were somewhat crestfallen. The bartender was not only friendly, but she had a camera, and seemed inclined to use it on anyone friendly in return. The Aussie spoke first, and tripped over his tongue, "How am I?" he asked.

Without skipping a beat, she light-heartedly replied, "You look like a Virgin Screwdriver in search of a Shirley Temple!"

"My name's Sam Clementine," the Texan lied, easing his friend over the hump, and extending the right hand of friendship.

She shook his hand firmly, with a bright, "Hi, I'm Andrea, Andrea Sheila."

The Aussie's heart thumped so loudly they could both hear it, but they politely overlooked his distress as he introduced himself, "Melbourne, Melbourne Sydney, Pleased to meet you."

"So polite and truthful too," she smiled demurely. "What are you boys in search of at the bottom of a bottle?"

Being more in possession of his faculties, the Texan spoke before his friend could embarrass himself further, "We were really just looking for a Fosters, to freshen us up for another long trip."

"Will you marry me?" the Aussie asked. It was Sheila's turn to do a double take. The last time anyone had asked her, he had been three sheets to the wind, and offering a tarnished, slightly green, ring.

She decided to see if the Texan could match the shade, being a bit of an interior decorator, and said "Certainly, Melbourne. Where shall we do the deed?" You must remember that Chameleons are from South America, and Texas is technically still N. America, but the Texan valiantly strove to fulfill her unstated wish. The Aussie came to his assistance instantly.

"This cat's turning green," he observed, "Can we find a place for him to wash his face?"

She smiled with a gratification she had not enjoyed since never, and suggested the local firehouse. As they drove the truck slowly to the firehouse, the Texan lay helpless in the bed, numb with shock. Before they got there, Melbourne and Andrea had agreed that Paris was the only place they could bear to wed, and that this must be accomplished before the next full moon, or the deal was off. It was warm, and the Aussie worked the hydrant, while Andrea used a rock to redirect the torrent; the Texan was soon revived and standing beside a sparkling clean truck. It was Andrea's turn to show initiative, and she brightly suggested a Hummer Limo, in place of a crowded pickup cabin for the trip to Paris. Having recovered his aplomb, the Texan volunteered to Chauffeur IF the Aussie paid. The Aussie dutifully shelled a clam, and they were off to Paris on I-45, pickup behind them on a tow-bar. It had been a while since the Texan had enjoyed his solitude alone, and he was happy in spite of himself. For his part, the Aussie was glibly carrying on one of those fascinating conversations accomplished only by asking questions of his intended. She soon had him up to date on the family history of all the Sheilas in Texas, their hometowns and professional ambitions, with not a little attention to the highway signs of soft shoulders, dangerous curves, a high water sign, and a slippery when wet. When they passed a a deer crossing sign, his mind turned to husbandry, and he exclaimed "They should COVER that one," out of sheer embarrassment.

After a while she began to ply him with probing questions in return. He was oafish at first, and all he could think of was military applications of Hummers, but she was an experienced conversationalist and he was soon as laid back with her as he has been on the promontory back in Iceland, gazing at the Otters in their native home. She then explained to him that although they were ascending I-45, he was truly best called a .44 caliber man in Texas. He was so delighted he nearly shed his skin.

And then they were in Paris. The Texan stretched his legs, and opened the door from the outside. Sheila was the first one out, camera in hand, looking like any other tourist.

"Sam, you look short for your weight... can I take your picture?" The Texan drew a pensive breath. He relaxed his puffed out chest, and stretched his girth.

"Is that why all my friends keep yelling 'GROW' when they throw a frisbee too high?" he asked. Before she could reply, Melbourne was at her side.

"Don't rub salt in an open wound, Sheila," he growled kindly. "His own mother once said he embarrasses the camera!"

"How can anyone embarrass a camera?" inquired Andrea archly.

"Well, ma'am," the Texan already knew the answer, "The camera represents me all faithful like, and folks look at the picture later and say 'That camera did him WRONG!'." This had been her goal all along, and Andrea added,

"Please do the honors for Melbourne and me then." The shutter clicked more than once before she was happy.

When Andrea went to powder her nose for a minute, the Aussie asked the Texan, "I know what a Soft shoulder Sign stands for, and a Dangerous Curves sign. What on EARTH does a 'High Water' sign mean?" The Texan smiled, because he was glad his friend would learn that upwards of 9 inches of running water would wash a reasonably air tight car away in a flood, "It means 'Turn Around - Don't Drown'," he said. The Aussie did not immediately register appreciation, but his Texan friend was familiar with difficulty grasping the concept. Andrea returned, and they set off for the Zoo.

To understand the attraction you must observe two things - one, that the zoo is not a notable tourist trap, and two, that the Aussie really was a devoted naturalist, and his Sheila wanted to make him very happy. The first exhibit was an Ant-eater. The Aussie noted his long prehensile tongue, that could go anywhere, good for eating as well as for licking. They wandered around, passing a long-necked Tortoise exhibit. "Look familiar?" he asked his audience. "It's just like a regular turtle," he explained, "but this one SNAPS."

They rode a mono-rail tram around, and Andrea busily clicked away at various habitats, the Ibex particularly catching her attention as it popped a wheely chasing its mate. The rhinoceros, the Aussie compared to a Unicorn. It really does have a horn in the middle of it's forehead, he observed. "Do you know that the Chinese sell rhino horn scrapings as an aphrodisiac?"

"No," the Texan admitted, "What makes them want to eat what amounts to finger nail scrapings?" The Aussie was glad to have an impressionable audience for his story. "On the open Savanna of Africa, if you are camping and a Rhino sees your campfire, he will charge the camp and stomp it out vigorously. The Chinese reason that because of all the fire's he's stomped out, he must have a credit balance of passion in the Cosmic ATM of heat, and they expect to get the benefit upon consumption. I've tried it, before and after Viagra. It works MUCH better AFTER Viagra." The Texan couldn't resist asking, "What were you using Viagra for?"

"I was breeding Rhino's in captivity," the Aussie explained. "I decided to farm them because they were becoming rare, and had no small success in my own right. There are still smugglers in Africa who would rather pay me for a surgically removed Rhino horn, than hunt down a wild Rhino for themselves." He did not add that the money had been rather helpful in a surfing competition. What they didn't know could only hurt them in a Military sense. The trio moved on to a menagerie, and regarded the colorful parrots with delight... the Aussie assuring his two buddies that the birds were quite unaware of defecation. The big cats were a new trepidation - the Lion could bound a hundred yards in three seconds from a standstill, and the Aussie was clear that a misfired rifle was an invitation to meet the Pride. He explained that cats were superior breeders, since the female never went out of estrus once she became fertile. Dead or alive, baby cats were coming. The snake exhibits were still ahead, and upon arrival Andrea shivered deliciously. Melbourne explained that of the thousands of snake varieties in the world, there were only 14 poisonous kinds, and that in any geographic range, there were at most three to worry about. "What three are here in Texas?" Andrea inquired. "Rattle snakes, Cotton Mouths and a variety of Viper or Adder," he informed them nonchalantly. "The remarkable thing about Rattlers is that they are born with poison in their glands, and their bite is bitter from the egg, but whatever living animal they see first thing, they think THAT is their mother, just like Alligators... Invaluable when impressing tourists in their natural habitat; they don't ever try to hurt their mother." The Texan was able to add to the discussion about Rattlers. "Rattlers strike at a heat source," he intoned. "Since living things generate heat, this saves them all manner of mistakes, including lizards. My Grandpa had a theatrical trick he used to pull whenever my Aunts came over. He'd pick up a hot rock, that had been laying in the sun, and throw it hard as he could near as he could get it to the Rattlers head. Nine times out of Ten, that Rattler would hit the rock in mid-air. Then he'd turn to anyone watching and say 'Evolve,' in a significant voice. He was a trip that way."

Andrea asked the obvious question as they walked up to the Cobra exhibit. "Where did these Cobras come from?" The occidental tourist smiled and replied gently,

"This IS a zoo! The King Cobra (the long black one, without a hood,) is also poisonous from the egg. It doesn't imprint though, so don't do anything foolish with the babies. The others all have HOODs, just like a jersey, and this comes up over their heads when they become erect. They have to become erect to strike, and the hood is their mechanism to warn, just as the rattler has his rattle. We all know that if you suck the poison out soon enough after a bite, they don't kill, but it's not a very smart experiment. Much better to milk them before they bite. The most common one is that tan one over there... the Spectacled Cobra. His hood has a 'V' for victory on it. Other varieties are the Monocled kind, and the Spitting one, that spits its venom straight into your eyes."

"I bet they taste like Chicken, same as Rattlers," the Texan volunteered. They made an obligatory appearance at the Otter run, but the Aussie had seen enough Otters that tame ones didn't engage him like a wild family would. Andrea unwrapped a butterscotch hard candy, and told them she was testing herself for nervousness by not biting it until it dissolved completely.

As they returned to the Hummer, Andrea was feeling a little overwhelmed. "Did you know I lost my virginity to a full grown HORSE," she asked Melbourne for shock value. It was his turn to emulate a Chameleon, while the Texan chuckled and looked on unaffected. "She's trying to tell you that she lost it riding astride at an early age on the ranch," he volunteered. "Were you riding bareback, or had you already learned not to be saddle sore?" he inquired. She grinned and put a piece of gum in her mouth. Not to be outdone, he turned to Melbourne and continued mercilessly.

"What kind of steer do you know has the widest horns?" he asked. "The Hereford, the Angus or the Brahma?" The Aussie saw this one coming and answered correctly, "The Longhorn, you jackass." He wasn't in a very humorous mood. "Go Beevo," he egged him on. Andrea took offense, and put in her two-cents worth.

"You UT guys think you're all that," she noted. "Where would Beevo be without an Aggie Vet?" The Texan gave her his best six-gun stare and she averted her gaze. He was gentle, but he wasn't harmless. "Let's sleep in and not break camp till after 10 AM," he told a dusty golden sunset. Andrea and Melbourne shared a happy glance.

The truth about Little China.

As they pulled up to the Bridge across Galveston Bay, the Texan was smitten by a feeling of Dejas Vu. "Do you know, I think I've been here before?" he commented. "When?" the Aussie asked, hoping against hope that this might shed some light upon the question of Australia's location. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure they've built up this bridge since then, though." "What business brought you out this way?" the Aussie asked, probing a little. "Well, it was back during the War of Liberty Ships. Those years were some of the LONGEST years of my life. Why I had a friend born on Feb 29th, and HE had TWO birthdays back then. Anyway, it was back in the days before Houston was the world's center of the Silicone Valleys, and I was off on my virgin voyage of discovery. Well, I turned into a Cat house, and got a good toke on an opium pipe, and pretty soon I got Shanghaied, and that's how I got started on my trip to China, which led to all the business about the Golden Rat. I do believe that if I am not mistaken, the whole of my trip was not more than the length of this bridge!" "But I thought YOU thought this was OZ!" the Aussie explained, a little breathlessly. "Well, if it's China, it ain't OZ, and that means YOU don't know your GEOGRAPHY!" the Texan finished accusatory. "Well, I've come to have my doubts," was the angry retort. The lane markers fell behind them with metronomic precision, and the Aussie thought about it. "If this is China, what's in NY?" he finally asked in a diplomatic purchase of time, in case this 'Galveston' place turned out to be neither Oz, nor China. "Well, New York, for one thing," the Texan replied knowledgeably, "but I know what you're alluding to. That's not China, China, that's LITTLE China." The man from down under breathed an internal sigh of relief, and pondered this new development. "Where did the opium come from?" he queried further, partly out of curiosity. "Well, you know, Houston IS the Southern tip of the Golden Triangle, and the Golden Triangle is the source of MOST of the world's opium crops." The Texan knew that drugs were bad, but he couldn't help being proud of Texas' premier position in the trade anyway. "We'd best find another bar and have a Fosters," the Aussie commiserated. "It's going to be a long drive back home. "I know what you mean," the Texan responded glumly. "I'd better spell you."

The truth about Galveston.

The dawn of a new day found them trundling down the road headed into the sunrise. The Aussie had slept well, and now directed their mechanical progress, while the Texan navigated. He was feeling mischievous, and decided to have a little fun at the 5t man's expense. "You know what Grasshopper tastes like?" he asked. The Texan had heard all about Australians and their Kangaroos, but he didn't know what they tasted like and so he was unable to answer preemptively. "I give up... what do they taste like?' he asked indulgently. "Chicken," the Aussie said, expecting fireworks. Remembering his promise, it was the Texan's turn to be the bigger man, and he addressed his friend constructively. "I'll tell you what... I know what Otters think!" he said, spreading his net in plain sight. The Aussie's ears perked up, because this was a potential Otter story, and he was pretty sure Otter's didn't eat 'roos, but couldn't for the life of him imagine them making a meal of locust either, so he was intrigued. "I'm sure I've NEVER heard," he said. "Please do tell!" "Well, there was this whole FAMILY of Otters, living near the mouth of the old Mississippi, and one year after torrential rains, the fish all washed out to sea and left them hungry. So Daddy Otter gamely led his family up the river, fighting a fairly urgent current, until they finally turned into a Louisiana swamp, all tuckered out. Well, in this swamp there was an abundant supply of Alligators, and they had been helping themselves to the nearby Herder's Sheep. One at a time, they'd lie in wait while the sheep came down to drink, and they'd jump and snap, and make a meal of one. Well the Otter family was downright hungry after all that swimming, and sheep were not as easily reached as Alligator, so Daddy Otter sneaked around and came up under the soft throat of the Alligator laying in wait, and killed him. All the Alligators were mad as hops, but they didn't really want to brace a cornered hungry Otter family, so they waited around and didn't kill them right away. The farmer would come out once a day and feed his chicken in the Alligator trap he had set out to catch an over zealous Alligator; the Alligators would delegate one Alligator to lay in wait; the sheep would come down to drink, and Daddy Otter would kill the Alligator before he got the Sheep. Within three weeks, the Alligator supply had mysteriously dwindled more than natural selection could account for, and soon the Otters were hungry once again. Well Daddy Otter was not out of moves yet, and set about to get the Chicken out of that trap. He was savvy, though, and didn't want to fall Alligator victim, so he set it off with a stick of wood. Well, the wood trap would have caught him IF he would have been too slow, but he wasn't and it didn't and he soon had him some chicken. Well his baby otters all enjoyed the chicken, and when he asked what it tasted like, do you know what they said?" the Texan paused at the interrogative and did not continue until the Aussie finally asked, "What?" "It tastes like ALLIGATOR." the Texan finished off, laughing delightedly. Well the Aussie man had found out that his friend was not unarmed in a battle of the wits, and laughed till his eyes watered. "Do you know, Texan, I think you understand what it means to be understood?" Without rancor, the Texan was nonetheless unsure he was ready to agree. "Well I hope you don't mean you think I'm a simpleton and you know already what to expect, no matter what I say!" he explained honestly. "It's not like that at all," the Aussie hastened to explain. "Who's your best hunting buddy?" "Well that would be Travis, from out Austin way," he volunteered. "Well, when you and Travis go hunting, does he ever act like a fool, and scare away the game?" "Of course not," the Texan answered, still not sure of his friendly tutor's intentions. "That's because you and Travis have an mutual understanding... you understand each other at least THAT much!" The man from OZ had made his point completely manifest, and the Texan couldn't disagree. Understanding someone clearly meant that you were not really going to hurt them, unless it was a hunting accident. "We'll be in OZ soon," he volunteered further. The Aussie wasn't sure if the Texan was joking or had taken leave of his senses. "OZ? Are you sure?" he asked. "Oh yeah. We worked it out while you were drunk. Brownsville is as far South as you can go, and Galveston is the nearest Island to the North. I just regret it was dark when we crossed the Yellow Brick road, or we'd be there already." The Australian had a feeling it was going to be a VERY long day.

A Brave New Plan for World Peace.

TTTTT - The Texan took the relevant exit, and they began heading south. He wondered if some cosmic irony might make the conversation do the same, but shook off the superstitious view that reality modifies abstract thought by physical operation. Humor is humor and reality is reality. This tautological paired syllogism took his fancy, and he repeated it to his friend. “Hey Aussie, did ya know that ‘Humor is humor, and reality is reality?’,” he laughed. For his own part the Aussie got the joke, and asked, “Does chewing gum impede your driving?” Still laughing at his own joke, the Texan responded, “No, why?” The man from down under valiantly took another shot; “Can you talk and drive at the same time?” “Sure can… what’s on your mind?” Aware that wasted humor is not a crime, the Aussie took the opportunity to ask another question. “Why does Texas fight with Oklahoma so much, seeing as they went and made your documentary for you?” “It’s aboriginal Texan territory, and we still want it back,” the Texan shared aloud. “Is that why there are no Texan Indian Nations?” the Aussie asked. The Texan could have used his ability to abbreviate in the form of a monosyllabic reply, but the Aussie had irritated him, and he didn’t want to leave this perplexing acquaintance to the privacy of his own thoughts. “First off, they’re not Foreign Nations, they’re Reservations. The Indians themselves have reservations about living there. Second off, the Sooners are cheats. It shows right there in the movie that they didn’t wait for a fair start, but lit out early to stake out the best Cattle Gate gullies and Stargazin’ clearings for themselves.” The Aussie saw an opening here, and ventured a contrasting viewpoint: “If you had been there, would you have left early too, just for sake of fairness?” Instead of laughing, the Texan growled “Two wrongs don’t make a right!” Sensing more approaching tautologies, the Aussie took another tack. “Isn’t it OK to be Oklahoman?” he asked, clearly pointing out that they might not all be “Sooners.” “OK’s just the name of the state, and it’s not ALL THAT OK… it’s mostly just mediocre,” he explained. Aware that he was at some pains to be polite, the Aussie didn’t ride the Cowboy too hard. “I heard that OK was actually the result of a legendary political campaign,” he elaborated. “Back in 1836, the Golden Anniversary of the Philadelphia Convention, Martin Van Buren ran for President as 'The Red Fox of Kinderhook.' " The Texan had little time for such nonsense. “I don’t care if he was a Fox or a Wild Goose, if he’d WON, THEN it would have been a ‘legendary campaign!’.” The outback camper took no offense, but decided to help himself to a little of the Texan’s legal tender. “Who’s the bank?” he asked. The Texan, having wagered many a time on the potential departure order of Crows, pointed to the ash tray. “Put ‘er there,” he intoned. They argued that two-cents was too symbolic, but a whole dollar was an invitation to fisticuffs, so they each pitched in two bits. They officially shook hands, and the Aussie took out an old NewYorker. There, on page 77 was a Campaign Ad, declaring in bold type “Vote for Old Kinderhook, it’ll be O. K.” The Texan was shocked. “You mean that’s what it means when we say ‘OK’?” he asked. “Not exactly, but close.” The Texan pulled into a rest area as the Australian pressed home his advantage. Peering at the magazine in the dome light of the pickup, they puzzled over very many ridiculous acronyms and abbreviations, “Oll Korrect,” among them. The Texan drank his fill at a water fountain, and took off for the restrooms. Upon his return, the Aussie changed waters in his turn. While he was gone, the dismayed Lone Star advocate reflected on the relative virtues of shooting Crows dead, so as to tamper with their ability to fly away. Just before departure, the Continental wanderer symbolically purchased a Coke, and they went on, the Texan wondering if the candidate that Van Buren beat in 1836 was Texan.

Having established that the Texan could both drive and talk at the same time, the enthusiast of Oz broached another topic. “This Ross Perot Diplomat of yours… you said he had success in the Middle East?” “Oh no,” the 5t was shocked at the misconception. “Not the Middle East, Arabia!” The Aussie neglected to be incredulous in return, but instead asked, “How does he compare with Canadians?” Well this topic called for special consideration on a whole new level. For one thing, the listener of the records wasn’t sure if Nacogdoches was the Middle East, or the Far East, but he was VERY sure it wasn’t Canada. His Texas Pride was on a mission too, absent from his brain. Canada was known to be a repeating candidate in the Interplanetary Diplomacy competitions, and while Texas had placed very favorably from Venus to Mars, they had not done so reliably. Perot was a new Diplomat, too, having only recently been promoted from Presidential Candidacy. Gone were the days when Texas Governor had done double duty as President, and now it was up to a foreigner to even take an interest. But this would have been IMPOSSIBLE to explain to his Aussie buddy, so other explications were in order. Without wrath to alloy it with, his Texas Pride went up in a puff of smoke, as he spoke with uncharacteristic humility. “He’s pretty good, but he’s just ONE Texan,” he admitted. Diplomacy Teams were a new invention, patterned after the more widely accepted group, the Debate Team. He gamely attempted to be objective by adding “Reuters has news articles on Canada.” The testable aspect of this suggestion warmed the heart of the generous Aussie, and he asked “Well, what do you hear?” “I don’t think Texas and Canada have much of a history,” he said contritely. “Do you mean that you haven’t heard about the Canadian Incentive Rider on the Marshall Plan?” the Aussie supplied, attempting to be informative and educational at once. “You mean back when France was still war-like and hadn’t all become lovers and not fighters during the Second World War? No, what was it all about?” The Texan was still listening to what the Australian was saying, but he was using learned and practiced coping skills, purchased with intellectual elbow grease in his capacity with the 5ts. Other than that, he was falling to the Un-Texan human habit of thinking about his next sentence and rejoinder, rather than the content of the conversation. He came to the conclusion that it was best to deny all involvement with Canadian Incentive just as the Aussie finished telling him “… so if Canada fails in two out of three diplomatic missions, Quebec would have to explain to all of France about the reason America as a whole treats them like muscular simpletons in all considerations of war, and never lets them forget the French Partisan occupation of the Pyrenees.” The Texan noted that his friend had dutifully avoided the offensive “the Americas,” and responded in a typically unbiased way, “The occupation of the Pyrenees was Naked aggression,” he agreed, “but that doesn’t really justify ridin’ the French – why I’m pretty sure they’re just as tired of it as I am!” The Aussie made a mental note to clarify what (if anything,) horses are for, and began to reconcile the differences. “The French just talk about sex a lot because they avoid the topic of money; you’re just the same, but you have more not to talk about,” he began. “Despite this, I can’t see ANY reason for Texas to bomb Canada!” The Texan knew he’d missed a trick, and decided to document the humility of a student, and make a real meal of Crow. “OK, so what if we DID. The papers would be forced to report everything FAIRLY, including the Republicans AND the Democrats. By the time the media get done covering the Military’s point of view, there’ll hardly be any newsprint inches LEFT for the Texan agenda! Why, I really think that’s the whole reason Texas politics is so hard to follow.” The longtime educational researcher regarded the Texan for a long moment pensively. Then he rolled down the window and let the cool evening breeze circulate within the cab until the temperature fell and the air cleared. Upon re-closing the window, he ventured a truly foreign point of view. “I speculate Reuters might actually have a different take on the whole affair,” he postulated. “In all the world I’ll agree, there isn’t a single unbiased news source. Nevertheless, I reckon their bias will show your bias a different point of view. Instead of trying to poll the entire UN council, they’d just go and get TWO opinions and publish THEM outright: The US point of view and the Canadian point of view.” “Well if that’s the case, it’s a marvel that Texas and Canada don’t just have World War III,” the 5t concluded with sincerity. These Canadians were potentially using Reuters as a license to ignore not just the Republicans, and the Democrats, with their various military cadres; they were going to ignore the TEXAN POINT of VIEW – I mean these were the people who just BOMBED them. Thankfully this was an area that the Aussie had encountered before. Outside the US, it was actually quite commonplace to ignore the Texan point of view. It was simply his charitable opinion that this was the World’s loss, and not that of Texas. “My friend, you have less faith than I do in the world’s two premier sources of diplomacy,” he elaborated. “Texas and Canada both agreed long ago to have a Peace Hostage System. Canadians come down from Canada every year, and dutifully pretend not to know about tourist traps, and attend conferences and ride public transport (most Texans don’t, and public transport has to stay in business somehow,) and Texans do the same in return, taking pictures, and visiting all the Canadian hotspots, treating English and French speakers alike without prejudice. Why, I myself learned about the Parthenon from a Canadian who had been there telling me about it in San Angelo.” “What’s so special about it?” asked his conversational counterpart. “Well, you know how all the sky-scrapers point straight up in the sky and go on and on for ever? The Greeks apparently had a thing about buildings falling on them, and used a 12 and a half degree slope to make their Parthenon LOOK straight up, and not lean over on them like a stile in the concrete jungle.” “The Greeks built it, huh?’ The Texan replied thoughtfully. “I’ve known about them a long time... practically taking OVER the educational system!” Acknowledging a mutual love of education, they rode on in companionable silence.

A -UT- perspective on how water should be used.

TTTTT - When it was his turn to drive again, the Aussie was the one to re-open the dialogue. His question came of observation, and he was sure the topic was far less personal and controversial. “You UT System guys are always fighting with the A&M guys, right?” he asked. “Yup,” the Texan agreed congenially. “Why is that then? Don’t they know the value of their water?” “Well I know you’re making sense, because they do live in Texas,” the 5t explained, “so I’ll agree they know the value of water, but there the agreement ends. They have a whole different philosophy of usage that’s got no horse sense to it. Just look at that old documentary ‘Oklahoma!’.” “I’ve got to admit, that’s hardly a recent production. Even Australian song and dance men know those songs.” The Aussie paused to gather his thoughts. “From that point of view, the most important song in the production is the one about the Farmer and the Cowman!” “Ya done figure ME out,” agreed the listener. “Which one did YOU think was the most important?” “The one about Jud Fry, because he was a fatality!” the Aussie rejoined. He was not a novice philosopher, and had been presented with THESE arguments before. “I guess I can see how you’d make that mistake,” 5t said extending a dubious olive branch. “It’s a matter of whether you’re more concerned with one person, or the whole country of Texas as a people.” “Hmmmm…” The ball was in the Aussie’s court. “So how do you teach Horse sense?” he finally asked. The educational emphasis was hard to deny, so the Texan undertook his best explanation. “Aggies are usually so poor they can’t afford a Horse,” he began, “or we’d just put them in a corral together and make ‘em learn to ride. That process is itself subject to difficulties, as I’ll note in a minute. I know what horse sense is and I can tell ya the words, but it’s just not that easy to get it in a stubborn person’s head. I don’t know a stubborn UT man, but them Aggies are HARD to teach.” The Aussie had been in Texas long enough to learn, and he wasn’t about to stoop to being obsequious. “I’m waiting on the words,” he replied. The Texan took a moment to begin a piece of gum, and continued. “The most important thing to understand about Horse sense is that it ain’t the innate good sense of Horses! It’s how ya manage ‘em. A good rider can make ONE horse last all morning and most of the afternoon, while a bad rider can’t get ‘em to run a mile without they start to make ‘em windbroke. Which brings me back to my point that just learnin’ to ride ain’t enough. We used to have Apache’s around here, and we have one a story so prominent almost EVERY UT graduate knows it! There was this Apache, and his father in law had given his whole string of horses to a white man as a punishment. There was a Dun, a Buckskin, an Appaloosa and a Paint. The father in law knew good and well that the Apache would invoke the custom of “Indian Giving,” but he wanted the Whiteman in his debt, and that was how he did it. As Apache’s go, he was an exemplary specimen: He knew how to set a trap, how to cover his tracks and how to reconnoiter the enemy. Well, the Apache couldn’t have the Whiteman showing his father-in-law any gratitude, so he didn’t take the trouble to steal the horses in the approved stealthy Apache fashion. He just set fire to the barn. The reason he did this is part of the story and illustrates my point that he had no Horse sense. Any fool knows (and I’m a respectable example,) that a horse will run back into a burning barn, even if he gets out; it’s just his idea of safety. Well, there wasn’t just a commotion, there was pandemonium. The horses went everywhere, and the Apache had to make choices. He Dunned the Dun, he caught the Buckskin, the Appaloosa ran back in the burning barn and the Paint took off for the North Pole, being an SMU Mustang, and able to run like the wind; slow, and easy, without ever getting tired. The Apache was downright upset, and he jumped right up on the Buckskin bareback and took off after him. You may not know this Aussie, but a good horse will run until its heart bursts. It’ll die of thirst afore it’ll disobey. Well, in this story it results in tragedy, because half-way across the desert the next day the Buckskin died beneath him, and the Apache himself died of thirst. Now that may not be all, but that’s a pretty good survey of Horse sense.” He spit out his gum, and the Aussie thought about things for a bit. He could see that old disputes were old for a reason, and retreated as tactfully as he knew how: “Did UT system ever appoint a diplomat to set up treaty talks with the Aggies?” The Texan was pleased, because this showed a good understanding of the problem, and brought him to an excellent stopping place. “We thought about it and thought about it, and finally we took an Authentic Texan, a real statistical outlier and made him responsible for all the problems. His name was Ross Perot. He is the only certified Miniature Texan I know, and he’s forgotten more about horse tradin’ than I’ll ever learn from a book. We took the Capital “T” for T_exas, and used it for a bargaining chip. We told A&M to think about Texas Tea, Golf Tees, Tee times and (just to include money in the talks,) Green Fees. Since he makes most of his money from “Capital Gains,” so he didn’t come cheap, but he’s already had more success with the Arabs than the Aggies.” This amused the Aussie, but he managed to keep a straight face. “He went and told the Military to stop calling them sand-pejoratives and camel jockeys, but to call their Camels “Ship Of The Desert,” and admit to reality in the fact that Arabians, inbred as they are, are the fastest race horses in the world!” He was right, and the Aussie could see that Aggies must be from some other Universe of Texas. He stretched and offered his Texan friend the wheel.

Part Two: The Secret of The Birds and the Bees.

TTTTT - The Aussie knew he’d already been a little familiar, and his head told his heart that if he didn’t choose his words just right, the Texan was going to do him in. But he had a job to do, and there was an open question on the table. He briefly wondered if a preamble about Waltzing Matilda might help, but decided to run the gauntlet of the Texan’s temper without further circumlocution. He took a deep breath. “From the Southern Hemisphere we've been observing the state of education in the Global Village. It’s a question of integration,” he said, and began to spill the beans. “[To begin with, you have to have a discussion of the elements. There are two schools, each integrated with respect to race, but not to sex. The Men's school is the “South Pole School of Bio-mechanics.” The equivalent Women's institution is “Beaver Creek Memorial.” They are both night schools.

They are both very private institutions, and I know of them only by reputation... I have never seen any high profile published references.

The South Pole school offers the obligatory Bachelor's. The pre-requisites to admission are a manual dexterity test, and a correspondence course in art appreciation, free to the needy, and subsidized by the famous alumnus, Hugh Heffner. The British Admiral Byrd was a charter member, and his name is inextricably linked with the activities of South Pole students and alumni the world over. A few examples of the courses available to South Pole applicants are

- Reciprocation operations
- Fluid dynamics
- Pressure valves and safety releases.

However, their main college is devoted to the study and prevention of Repetitive Motion Injury. More recently, the name Bush has been associated with their University Mission Statement. In fact, there is a secret symbol, recognized by the entire South Pole Fraternity, though never verbally defined outside of the sanctuary of their inner sanctums that is as dear to them as it is secret. They hold this emblem so dear, and so deeply, that it is the passport to their friendship and industry, be they never so long a graduate.

Beaver Creek Memorial offers only one degree: an Ms. in Self Directed Studies. The whole institution is much less specific in its goals and objectives. At one point they were in fearful danger of annexation by the Government, when Dr Jocylyn Elders was Surgeon General. However, this potential disaster was averted by diligent work behind the scenes. A famous alumnus of this institution is Dr. Ruth, whose original self help manuscripts (executed by hand,) are still available at the school library. Example titles of theses that have been submitted at this institution are:

- The Washington Monument: Are we satisfied with its prospective durability?
- Are there any frozen estuaries, or is it physically impossible to prevent their reciprocation?
- Why is Brazil shaped the way it is?
- The size and location of Panama, with respect to Brazil: Can geography be improved upon?

The question for our consideration is this: Were funding not an issue, would there be potential benefit in integrating the two student bodies with a view to a more rounded result? Us Aussies don’t mind spending the money, but we really don’t know if it advances the actual cause. We know about the war between the sexes, and don’t want to lose it over a successful battle.]” The Texan pondered this for a while. He felt like the Aussie had trusted him, and wanted to offer something of value in exchange. Being a 5t, he had nothing profound to say, but he did have some intelligence that didn't come up in mixed company for barter. "Aussie: I'm gonna tell ya this in confidence, and it never gets told aloud outside the confines of this truck cab. The children of Israel have shared with the people of Texas the secret of the birds and the bees. We both have desert in common, and those who know the value of water, also know how not to say too much, but ya done broke my heart and now I gotta trust you. They shared it with us, and now I'm trying to share it with you - you got a pretty good size desert of your own. If you'll take a minute and ponder, you can see as well as me that if you tell someone a secret, it isn't secret anymore. But when I said about the children of Israel, I chose my words real careful and didn't say they said what it was. In the winter time, Birds always fly south for refuge from the cold. In a completely unrelated fact, a Bee will take you the most direct root to water if you see him in the desert. If you find his hive, you're stuck with honey, and that'll happen now and then, but it's a pretty good wager to make if you don't have a better choice. My point is this: They don't go around telling people this because they can't talk. But really, if they could they wouldn't know what to say. They just do it. Because they haven't told me, I can't blow it, but I share their secret. You said you like nature, so now you know!" With that they drove on in silence.

Part One: Why Birds Fly South In Winter.

TTTTT - Being quite comfortable in the Pickup truck (it wasn’t a working duel-ly) the Aussie was now prepared to share some intelligence of his own. “In the land down under,” he began, “we have long known of the Chinese affinity for Otter Fur. They like it because it has the densest hair count per square inch of any fur on earth, and this is how the Otters stay dry in the water. If they ever get wet, the water conducts heat (like an electric wire) away from the body, and the Otter gets cold. Otter’s hate shivering so they evolved a tight coat as soon as the Evolutionary Timeline would allow. Us Aussies like Otters because they eat lying on their backs, using a stone as a hardened tool, to break apart the outer shell of see-food. We lay awake at night, gazing up at the stars and dreaming of them. There are only two places on Earth that don’t HAVE otters: Australia and Antarctica! The stories I could tell you about otters…” the Texan was not about to be misled: “Spit it out quick. I want to hear one!” he verified. The Aussie laughed for a whole minute. “Do you know how long it’s been since anyone fell into my trap?” he asked. “I guess NOT,” the listener answered still unbelieving. The Aussie took a deep breath. “When I was out Missouri way, I had so many people ask me that, I had to memorize one just to keep from going stark raving mad! It’s a long story though…” The Texan interrupted yet again: “I’ve got TIME!” he stated. Without further ado the Aussie began his recitation: [I was exploring in Iceland in 1978, where the spring verdure made for a jealous play on frigid Greenland's name. I had made my way up as far up as the finger of the fjord could reach, and found myself in a valley between twin peaks. The soil was soft and giving, and I began to mount the left-hand promontory almost before I knew what I was doing. Imagine my excitement when I came upon a spring fed creek with a romp of small otters gamboling in a pool. I took a breather, enjoying the remarkable flexibility of their bodies twisting and turning impossibly quickly in the water. It truly seemed as if there was nothing but cartilage within the agile swimmers. It was obvious which one was the dominant male, as he was using a rock on his chest as a hard protrusion to beat open shellfish, feasting intently on the soft flesh within. He dove repeatedly, always coming up with the same tool. Misfortune turned to serendipity. I lost my footing and composure simultaneously, sliding down the slippery face and into a lower pool. I had been expecting cold, but the water was warm and quite inviting; clearly the spring was the result of an old geyser. Behind a small waterfall, there was a mysterious (and to any spelunker inviting,) cave. I was already quite wet, so I took the next few minutes and explored it thoroughly. I came away feeling like my very soul had been refreshed. These will always be my memories of Iceland.] It was the Texan’s turn to reevaluate. “Pretty good yarn,” he affirmed, respectfully. “You know anything ELSE about Otters?” he asked. “Well I’ve heard they eat alligators,” the Aussie ventured without affront. “I’ll tell you about that for a FACT,” the 5t promised, then went on. “What on earth did Texas housewives take in trade when their husbands sent all the aquatic-life off to China for exchange back then?” The Aussie had had enough of being belittled. “Why CERAMIC TABLEWARE you Texan clown,” he said. “Haven’t you ever heard of CHINA?” There was silence in the vehicle for 37 seconds. In person this is a long time. On radio or television media it is so fatal to attention that they call it “Dead Air.” The listener remembered his manners. “What kind of work were you doing in Iceland back then?” he asked. “I was working as a Naturalist, but I want you to understand that I actually like nature, it’s not just a job.” “You still like nature?” the 5t asked, verifying. “Yes,” replied the Aussie. “What kind of WORK brings you to Texas then?” he asked. “Educational Research,” was the reply. The arbitrarily appointed listener of the records for the Podunk 5ts took a moment to collect his thoughts. His Southern pride had been nettled, his Southern hospitality had carried him, but now he was on the trail of a long standing mystery to him: Southern roots. “I’ve got time,” the Texan reiterated, but in a less challenging vein. He didn’t care how long the story was anymore; he wanted answers.

The 5t Pied Piper of Hamelin

TTTTT - The 5t Listener woke the Aussie as soon as his blood alcohol level had had time to drop to .08, so that he could get relief at the wheel. Conversation soon ranged to the anticipated tourism that 5t wanted to do. "I've been to China," he elaborated. This piqued the Aussie's interest. I am not sure why, because Aussies (although their heartbeat exhibits the same 'ticking' sound as Texans',) do not come from the same mold. Nonetheless, Aussie wanderlust has been observable since aboriginal times, and the Aussie in question was no exception. In response to quizzing about his souvenir acquisitions, the 5t reveled in a new audience for his old story about the Golden Rat. He told the story well, not too fast, but without dragging. [I was in Shanghai, after an egregiously leisurely trip to China, and in somewhat of a hurry to make my way home. In search of evidence of my accomplishments for my UT System professors (he did not yet feel it proper to "take the Aussie in," with regard to the entire 5t epic,) I took a tour of the docks. There I found a vendor manning a small cart of souvenirs. I asked after this and that, and he quickly decided to list his best suggestions. "You like a Bolex watch?" he asked. I verified "Rolex or Bolex?" "Bolex," he intoned; "Original ONE!" I declined politely. "You like a Vicki Moto Pearls?" he tried again gamely. I verified again "Vicki Moto or Mikimoto?" "VICKI Moto pearls," he said testily, "NOT Japanese one!" I gave him my best six-gun stare, and instead of challenging me to a gunfight, he diplomatically compromised. "You like Golden Rat?" he ventured. "How much for the Golden Rat?" I asked. Alert to potential problems with exchange, he gave his price in Dollars. "5 dollars for the rat; 14,000 dollars for the STORY!" I smelled a bargain. I bought the 14 carat rat, and took my leave as quickly as I politely could. I'd hardly gone the distance to a hitching rail, when to my amazement, out from the woodwork, rats began to follow me. I'd heard of the guy from Hamelin, but I'd always THOUGHT he was from England, so I began to stretch my legs and run. The faster I ran, the more the rats followed me; more rats and faster. Having habitually chosen the shortest path to water (there's only one lake in Texas,) I found myself at the end of the wharf in short order. Hanging underneath by the skin of my teeth, I flung the Golden Rat as far out into the harbor as I could. To my relief, they proved my thesis by swimming out to sea (and milling around in circles where the rat sank,) until they ALL drowned. Well I determined to give the vendor a piece of my mind, and I stewed a little just getting there. By the time I arrived I had developed a solution from my Texas diplomacy and my experience of Semitic stereotypes. For his own part, he seemed quite pleased with himself, and greeted me without waiting for address: "Sooo.. You have return-ed for the stor-ay." he intoned. "No," I answered. "What I want to know is this: Do you have a golden LAWYER?"] "Your turn to drive," the Aussie replied laughing.

5t Pilgrim's Progress

TTTTT - Despite the fact that they were now fast friends, the Aussie and the Listener were not finished in their pursuits. Since they could at least be sure of compass bearings, they agreed that heading south was the best course to take in an attempt to intersect the yellow brick road, and talk turned to the best route to Brownsville. Truckers are a knowledgeable source of travel lore, and as such rarely agree on anything. While the listener made a project out of questioning seven different truckers, taking copious notes on each, the Aussie employed the more philosophical method of research, hitting the bottle. A savvy local who had been unavoidably contemplating the entire exchange from the beginning brought matters to a head. He first addressed the Aussie directly: "You said go as far south as you can, turn north and find the nearest island, right?" "Yes," he replied, with tremendous logic. "Well sounds to me like Galveston is where you want to go. It's gonna to be quicker just to take Hwy 44." The 5t listener could see another advantage to this approach. By going east, they were far more likely to intersect the yellow brick road than if they took a chance on merely traveling parallel to the south. By now the deliberative bunch were hungry, and decided to order Pizza. The ensuing collection turned up just enough scratch for one pie, and they spent 75 seconds agreeing on the toppings. When talk turned back to finding Hwy 44, an Interstate Commerce Commission official explained that they should BE AWARE that pizza would make them all overweight, and that Hwy 44 did not go all the way. The best looking trucker of the bunch said that it was most practical to take I-45, and was able to convince them that he had been "all the way," and off they went to Galveston, by way of I-20. The 5t listener made a note that it seemed impossible to get ANYTHING done by committee.

The 5t Wizard of Oz:

TTTTT - In researching the official Abbey Road Studios soundtrack to 'The Wizard of Oz,' the 5t listener of the records (see more at 'auditor of the minutes,' in organizations possessing bureaucratic systems) has come up with an observation. The easiest way to verify the soundtrack for yourself is to use the 'Redbook' format, available commercially as "The Dark Side of The Moon," album, by Pink Floyd. By starting the music at the second roar, just as all official rumors specify, the listener (a fanatical disciple of the coaching legend 'Yogi Berra,' who once said "you can observe a lot, by watching,") was able to observe that the Land of OZ is not in Texas. Already intrigued by the prospect of tourism to OZ, he noticed that the main interstate artery to OZ was made of yellow bricks. In pursuit of archeological evidence that these bricks might have come from the same source as the historic Great Wall of China (still visible from space,) he decided to go and get one from the documented road in question. It seemed most logical to start in Abilene, and after verifying from the reader of the tomes that Abilene was the end of the line for cattle drives, he took off to investigate. After an exhausting exhaustive search in Abilene, he was not able to find the turn off, and so he used the mathematical idea of borrowing a construct. If he could not find the beginning of the yellow brick road, he argued, the other way to find the yellow brick road would be to go to the end and work his way back. He didn't have to search for long before he found an Australian at a nearby restaurant who was generously willing not only to share compass bearings with him for the search, but take him there in person, so great was his affection for the place. Imagine the listener's surprise when talk turned to the yellow brick road itself! Not only did the Aussie not know where in OZ to look for it, they were in Abilene to start with, and the quickest WAY to OZ ought to be the Yellow Brick road, a thoroughfare he had never even been ON! The mutual puzzlement was compounded when they contemplated together that the Aussie had FLOWN from OZ to Texas in a plane. This implied taking a "great circle" route that locals call "as the crow flies," and he had not noticed it from the air. Suspicious of the Aussie's veracity, the 5t (himself an experienced liar,) asked if the Aussie even knew where to find Australia. The Aussie took offense, and pointed out that all the 5t had to do was take an "as the crow flies" route as far south as he could go, turn north and go to the nearest island, and he'd find it. This satisfied them both, and they shook hands and made up over a Fosters.