Blame it on the Tardis

I've been time travelling, so that's why this blog seems to be so sporadic. These little leaps through time are really just seconds apart for me.

So I had to skip a year in Ladakh, in which nothing else of significance happened in my life.

That's not entirely true- there was horrific flooding, mudslides and devastation, so I had to take a year off from my work in the Himalayas, but other stuff did happen. The vet school kid graduated and is now the Vet. The poet kid is now teaching English at a university. The bird is still just insanely hilarious. Let me take a minute for a bird anecdote (or two.)

Earlier this week, I was puttering around in the morning and the bird thought I was taking too long to get to her cage to uncover her. She began to ask, "Hey! What about the bird?" Did ya forget the bird?" "Hey! Where's the bird?", and saddest of all, "Don't forget the bird!" I quit opening the curtains, and took her cover off. She looked at me with what seemed to be relief and said, "Remembered!" Only she pronounces it "remem-burrrd". Get it? I remembered the bird. Remembird. Freaking amazing.

The other bird story is about our other little bird, who had been removed from the general population for horrible behavior- especially biting. This bird doesn't say much except for the occasional "Thanks." Well, I finally put together her BIG cage, because she'd been very, very, good for a couple of weeks (no biting) (She could take off your finger, and had tried.)

When I asked her to step up so I could do the transfer to the nicer cage with more toys, I reminded her- NO biting. I nearly fell over when she replied, "I won't bite anyone anymore."

Well, OK. ummmm. I didn't know you could say all that.

She hasn't bitten anyone since, although I'm still a little flinchy.

So that's all that happened and this year I was able to go back to Ladakh.

I had a wonderful time with my buddies at the Oriental Guesthouse. Phuntsok made my stay the best ever, and Chondal, Tanie, Dechen, Nawang, and the little kids are permanently in my heart.

I had a wonderful homestay out in the valley, and went banking with a monk. I hung out with an archeologist and a young woman who is going to teach in Inner Mongolia this fall.

So tune in- you've got the QR code- so don't be a stranger. You know yoou want to know just how naughty 3 year old Ledstone is, and how charming everyone thinks he is! (and he is!)

Pie? Why yes, thanks. My favorite flavor is humble.

Tamara is definitely in charge of this operation. My required participation seems to be to follow her suggestions with good cheer. The library at Domkhar officially (I suppose) seems to be her project undertaken through HEALTH, Inc. and Omprakash, a non-profit organization run by 20-somethings with good intentions.

Omprakash is the group that organized the shipping of several boxes of books to the school last year. When I arrived last October, it was to find these boxes infested with silverfish. While about 80% were useable, the boxes also contained about 20% inappropriate (for a school library) material. Among the books were items such as Christmas coloring books, activity books with the pages worked already, books with copyright dates in the 1960's, broken, damaged and smudgy books, as well as some that put forth the worst of western values. One of the teachers at the school described the scantily clothed Princess Jasmine kissing the cartoon Prince Ali from Disney's Aladdin as "disturbing." She actually clapped her hands to her eyes!

In this culture, women cover up from neck to ankle and shoulder to wrist on a daily basis, and all have difficulty dealing wtih tourists who dress as though think they are on the beach. Married people don't hold hands or otherwise display affection in public. Unmarried people wouldn't even consider it. People who work with the NGO's here know this. There is even a brochure that you are given at the airport when you arrive on the local cultural values and appropriate attire. Nonetheless, I am met with some defensiveness about why some of the donated books are in the "junk box." We'll see how this pans out.

One of our philosophical differences is that I think that to send some of this stuff is just culturally insensitive- even if some Ladakhi kids do have access to TV, and may have seen Disney cartoons someplace. The Ladakhi people aren't naive, and I'm sure they are capable of deciding which western imports are junk and which are not. I don't harbor any fantasies about preserving some sort of Shangri-la that is cut off from the modern world, but I sure hate to be a party to the proliferation of the nastier western stuff, like rampant consumerism.

Tamara has been coming here longer than I, and her kids at Siddhartha School don't seem to have a problem with Babysitters Club, and the like. So we compromise- some books go, some stay. Good-bye, "Don't Get Mad Get Even." Good-bye, "Goosebumps." Good-bye, half-naked Disney babes.

Comparative heat, shopping good, and shopping bad

There is another woman staying at the Oriental Guesthouse, Cateriona, who is from Edinburgh, but who works largely in Nepal. She is currently setting up the webpage for a woman's trekking company, and has helped to train employees. She has traveled extensively throughout Asia, and has a good sense of humor and perspective on "getting things done" in India. She is seeking relief in Ladakh from the oppressive heat in Gujarat. Unfortunately, it is massively hot here as well. It's been about 38 or 39C. I'm ok if I stay in one system (metric, preferably) but get confused when I try to convert from F to C. Those of you who are math stars, go for it. I'll just say that it is HOT and that I won't be needing my tights or polartec vest this trip. There is hardly any humidity in this mountain desert, which made for a nice change, even though it was hot.

Tamara and Cateriona went to a party at SECMOL to which I was invited third hand. I declined and went shopping instead. I went back to Himalayan Handicrafts to see Iqfal (who is still there and remembered me*) and his little brother, who is now 18. Iqfal is all of 27, but a real businessman. There was a funny Swiss couple already there when I entered. Marion is a school librarian (the woods are thick with them) and her husband Alec was enjoying bargaining for a lovely turquoise encrusted wall plaque and some jewelry. I sorted through some shawls, and kept an ear to the proceedings. I didn't want to choose sides, but it was hard not to smile at all of them. Iqfal finally sent his brother out for tea. I refused twice (as is polite) and then they offered me a coke. I accepted the offer of tea, since I wasn't going to get any shopping done until the fierce bargainer was finished. Their purchases were significantly more than I could afford, and the business was good for Iqfal- plus the show was entertaining. While they were "thinking things over" Iqfal showed me a cashmere shawl costing 8,000 rupees. It felt like butter, and could easily have passed through a small ring, but it was way out of my range, costing as much as my room for the whole month! It was nice to see and feel it, though.

When Marion and Alec left and it came to my turn to buy, we were all too worn out to bargain much. Iqfal asked what price Dechen told me, and I replied, "250?" We had a good laugh at the ridiculously low offer, and agreed that she probably had said 450, so we settled on that price. Dechen is one of Nawang and Chondol's daughters. She is married and works at Jet Airways. She brought me to Iqfal last trip, and told him to give me the Ladakhi price and not overcharge. I trust her, and in turn trust Iqfal. They packed my purchase up with lots of tape, and I set out to the next stop on my list.

I had worse luck at the Kashmiri tinsmith, who tried to give me the wrong change. I bought some cups and bowls of medium quality for whomever will come on this project in the future. I had enough to carry, so headed back to the guesthouse, where I had some soup and was in bed by 9pm.

* I quit being flattered that any Ladakhis remember me when I realized that I probably am one of the odder looking people they've seen. I'm quite tall- which means taller than may Ladakhi men, my hair is white, my eyes are green, and my fair skin gets red in sun or heat. A preschooler in the US once asked me if I was a muppet- but I think that's taking it a little far. But I can see how I would stand out in Ladakh.

The Language Issue - complex and fascinating

I have finally met Dr. Tamara Blesh, the "Traveling Librarian." She is a school media specialist with an interest in Ladakh- specifically the Siddhartha School. It is a Tibetan Buddhist school in Choskor, Stok. (This is the same Stok that has the Hemis National Park, home of the few remaining snow leopards in the world. It is a stunningly beautiful setting.) Tamara is on the school's Board of Directors, and her Rinpoche- Khen Rinpoche Tsetan- has a significant hand in running the school. We visited this school last year, and it is very nice- and has a huge, sunny, well-stocked library room. http://siddharthaschool.org/about/history.html

There is an ongoing and lively debate over whether any instruction at all should be in "mother-tongue"- that is, in Ladakhi. Ladakhi does not have a written tradition, although it is a seperate language from Tibetan. I think the argument is similar to the one about allowing Catalan to be used in schools near Barcelona. Ladakhi is what is spoken at home for most of these children. It is not just a dialect or accent issue. The languages are seperate and discrete. The Tibetans maintain that since the sacred scriptures are written in Tibetan, that language is essential for an education.

Add to the mix the universal feeling that English is very important, and fact that Urdu is the state language of J & K, while Hindi is the official language of India, and you have a proper mess. The youngest kids don' t know what is going on for quite a while- until they pick up enough something to at least follow instructions. It reminds me of going to Catholic School in the 1950's, where Church Latin was taught by rote to everyone from 1st grade on up, and students who were old enough took Latin in High School. Gabriele Reifenberg (more on this remarkable person later!) commented that the difference was that no one expected you to really be able to speak Latin- but she had never met Sacred Heart Academy's Sister Jean Dorothy! (Ubi o ubi est me sub ubi?)

Long story short, Tamara is interested in organizing school libraries here in Ladakh using pretty much a US model. The proposal for which she is seeking funding would compare school scores from a private (Siddartha) school, a state school with a school library, and a state school without a library. She is hoping to demonstrate that schools with decent school libraries perform better. There are many extraneous factors that will be difficult to either match or rule out , so she has many interesting years of work ahead of her.

Heather and I helped her by editing a proposal that was submitted to Room to Read and that she will submit elsewhere, should R to R not pan out. It is a little outside their regular process, but who knows, it may interest them. Cynthia Hunt really wants whatever grant that materializes to include a piece on mother tongue books as part of the library. She has written a number of heavily illustrated instructional books that have been translated into Ladakhi, and would like to see them get more widespread distribution. I've gotten the impression that Room to Read is more interested in native language books written by native language speakers, but since many Ladakhi presses (therefore authors) have been supressed, it may take a while to cultivate enough writers. I have looked (using all my mad library research skills) and haven't unearthed any Ladakhi books for children- written in Ladakhi.

Airport to airport, and the Oriental Guesthouse at last!

India is different. You know it immediately upon landing. Things are at once more relaxed and much more tightly wrapped than the US. There are rules that are not immediately apparent that may or may not apply to you as a foreigner. I find this stimulating and a little scary, but just like everyone in India, I am somehow managing to cope.

I love the bus ride from International Arrivals at the airport. It is hot, and everyone- with or without a uniform- checks your tickets and papers. The bus is narrow and fairly full of luggage and sleepy passengers. There is a young man who is an apparent NRI (non-resident Indian) who is more confused than I am this trip. He is worried that this bus won't go to the right terminal. It will.

The airport is much changed even from last year. The new construction seems to be largely completed. The World Cup (of Soccer) will be held in India in 2010, and they are working like crazy to make a good impression on the world. I hope I'll be able to spend a little time there instead of in the holding area for International Departures on the way back.

Still, there are wonderful signs dotted about, and odd workings in progress. One sign is over a very large hole. "Man at Work. Inconvenience is Regretted. Complaint is Futile." This is pretty much how bureaucracy works here, and the sooner you accept it, the better off you'll be. People apparently live all over the airport grounds -workers and their families, along with little shops to serve their needs, petrol stations for trucks, planes, and what ever else needs fuel. As strict as security for travelers is, there is chaos outside the terminal and it looks as though anyone could take up residence. There is even a small, ancient Hindu shrine out in the center, between some runways. It could be in use, or it could have been there first and the airport just arose around it.

Photos are strictly forbidden at the airport, so I can't document this with pictures; I'll have to figure out a way. One set of signs is my favorite. The set indicates no left turn and no right turn- which is reasonable because we are crossing an active runway in our little bus.

The flight over the Himalayan Mountains is fantastic. There aren't enough superlatives in my vocabulary to describe the vastness and majesty of these mountains that go on as far as the eye can see. It is a little hazy, and so difficult to see Nun and Kun, two of the highest peaks visible on our route. Tso Pangong is easy to see, though. It is the large lake that lies on the Indian/Tibetan border.

At the Leh airport, all arriving passengers have to fill out health forms, as well as the usual immigration forms. The H1N1 virus is everywhere. Baggage pick-up was easy, and instead of calling Dawa, I just took a cab. The driver was nice, and was surprised that I knew the way to the guesthouse. I was even able to stop him from taking a wrong turn. Cab fares are by destination, not by distance, so even if he'd turned right instead of left, the fare would still have been 170 rupees.

At the Oriental Guesthouse, I was greeted by Phuntsog, who looks just the same, and who acted as though I'd been gone a couple of days instead of nearly a year. "Mary-le! Your room is almost ready, not yet, not yet. Sit and have some tea!"

Stanzin was off from teaching that day and helped me get my bags to my room, A201. A201 is the former intern's office for HEALTH Inc., and is located right next to the beautiful family shrine on what Americans would consider the third floor. It is large, airy, and has a large wardrobe, although no attached toilet. The shared bath is more than adequate (as long as those I share with behave) and it'll be fine if I stay well. I am in Wing "A", which will save me a TON of money.

Everyone here is fine. Little Leydstone is just beautiful, and is walking. He has shoes that squeak like a squeaky toy when he walks. Phuntsog says they need the squeaking shoes because he tends to disappear. She said that she can be sitting with him, and that all of a sudden, he'll be gone. More evidence of his nascent lama-hood!

I spent the rest of the day, the next full day, and most of the following lying around getting acclimated, unpacking little by little, and repacking for the journey to Domkhar Dho. Drinking enough fluids is essential, so I tried to consume enough tea and water to float an armada. On my first trip to Ladakh, Nawang insisted that I try to drink seven liters of water and tea. Drinking that much would be impossible, but it is a good goal to shoot for. People who refuse to drink get altitude sickness, and I don't have time for it.

I have no appetite at all, but soup is offered most nights as part of the dinner, so that is what I have. It is hot, salty, and tasty, and helps with the hydration.

Saturday there is a general strike in Leh. Everything, including government offices, is closed. A taxi drive has been murdered, and the strike is in protest. Rumor has it that a Korean couple was in the cab at the time it was pulled over. They reported seeing a gun, but not identifiable faces of the assailants. They were detained a couple of days for further questioning, but they were not under suspicion. The murderer(s) are still at large. Everyone feels as though this was a targeted murder, and the rest of us feel pretty safe. There is no where to go after dark anyway, so there aren't many saftey precautions to take.

Getting there is Half the Fun

Well, it's three days into this famous trip, and I'm just now getting around to tending to this blog! I have excuses- not the least among them being that there was no Internet the first day, and yesterday I was too busy.

The trip to India is just l-o-n-g, if you are starting from the middle if the US. The stewardess on the Detroit- Amsterdam leg stopped by to chat, and was just appalled that I had two more flights to go. This was from someone who flies for a living, and gets to skip to the head of every line.

My seat companion on the way over was a new four year old, who was a great flier. He knew about his videos, and where his snack should go, and that he wouldn't like the food. His first words to me were, "Are you my friend?" That 's such a hard question for to answer from a little kid. I had to tell him that while I was actually a stranger, we'd be spending 9 hours sitting next to each other and that I hoped they would be friendly hours. That was OK with him.

The difference in the airport at Delhi is dramatic. They have opened a new domestic terminal that is first class all the way. No more crouching on the floor while Bollywood plays on the single TV. The airport at Leh is still the same, which is kind of nice, as it prepares you for the reality of your stay.

I tried to email via blackberry, when I first got here, but it turns out that the new card/ access doesn't work here. phoo. As in everything else, Ladakh is a special case. I will try to get an Airtel card sometime to use while I am in Leh, but I am afraid that nothing will work in Domkhar.

More later, as I can.

Fear not! This is a test!

You got notified that I posted to my blog because you are either family, close to it, or have expressed an interest in keeping up with what's going on during my impending visit to Ladakh, J & K, India.

If you would rather wait and hear it all at once when I get back, or if you are already up to your gills in email and this notification will be a burden, or if you haven't a clue who I am or why I'd be letting you know I've posted to my blog, please email me or comment and I'll get you off the list, no questions asked and no hard feelings.

Ready to go? Not.

I am trying to get ready to go on another trip to Ladakh, and it has just been awful trying to get ready to get out of town. My time is not my own and lovely, well-meaning people tear chunks of it away under the guise of being kind, wanting to talk to me, wanting to see me, wanting my opinion, wanting me to see if I can figure out one last thing for them before I leave. phoo.

I've portioned out little tasks at work for others to do in my absence. Most of my "victims" have been gracious enough, but a couple seem to imagine that the minutiae I leave in their care is a monumental chore and huge imposition. Buck up, y'all!

I sigh for the charmers that want me to "just re-send that report you wrote a couple of months ago," because they didn't keep a copy. I sigh for the customers who want to talk about how unhappy they are that the drawing for SRC prizes will be after all the entries are in (yes, really.) I sigh for the administrator who just wants me to knock together some preliminary statistics on comparative SRC participation (when she has the same numbers I do and is paid over twice as much.) I sigh for visitors who will think I am rude because I am not going to impose any further tasks on my hard working- already overworkedTeen Tech Camp/ IMLS grant folks.

I can't wait to get on the plane(s). For two whole days my only tasks will be flight related- passing through baggage weigh-ins, security check points, gate location, seat location, headphone location, "stuff stowage", and then sitting still until it is time to perform the routine in reverse, wait a bit, and get on another plane. I'll do the routine three times through before I get off the plane in Leh, Ladakh, and take a cab to the Oriental Guesthouse. I'm hopeful that a room will be ready for me, despite not having spoken directly to Phuntsog or Dawa- and even though I'm not nuts about hauling my stuff up three flights of stairs, I hope I'm on the top floor again. Looking south and east to the Himalayas is the most beautiful vista in the world.

I'll bring more useful gifts for Phuntsog, Dawa, and all. Masking tape, tweezers, first aid cream, and waterproof bandages are a priority this time. Books for Nuzum and Nudum- maybe something silly this time instead of educational. Little girls like to giggle everyhwere. I don't know what I'll bring little Leydstone Gyatso yet. Maybe some stacking blocks? I've got one day to decide and shop.

I guess I'll go continue to pack. I thought I might start a new blog, but this one will have to do. We'll see if the fates conspire to allow me to post while I'm in Changspa. I don't think there will be Internet access in Domkhar or Stok, but maybe I'll be fooled.
Later, gators!

Ah! In between!

In between is a little like waiting, but maybe not as bad. In between, you have an idea of what is coming up next, and you might have some assurance that it will be something good. Right now I am in between a couple of things. I'm in between library events, just having completed hosting a short worskshop series for folks from across the state, and coming up to a big staff meeting and then summer reading programming. The workshop presenters were phenomenal women who were full of energy and grace, and who also had mad training skills. All the participants went away happy, and none had an unpleasant experience either in our library or in our city. Miracles do happen!

I'm in between rounds of surgery with a suicidal dog. The last round of surgery for a perforated intestine and the resulting peritonitis went far better than anyone imagined. Brainless Jack- one of the most beautiful and sweet animals I've ever met- seems to veer from relentless will to live and attempts to take his own life by eating tennis ball fragments. Just when he got out of the woods, so to speak, and about to start solid food, he ate another piece of tennis ball that he had apparently put into a pocket and saved for a special occasion. The vet has prescribed prozac- no kidding. We'll see what happens with his digestive system. I'm hoping against hope that he chewed up the ball fragment (it was a small fragment) well enough that it will ease past his stic

I'm in between loving my job and hating it. It could be so good- and once was- with huge opportunities to help this city that is mired in illiteracy and its attendant ills. But it is also so awful as I watch the city gut what was once a premier library system before they outsource the product of their effort. A political climber and a heavy handed thug have taken the place of a library director and deputy director. I'm not supposed to notice. We're not supposed to notice. I'm supposed to bedistracted by flattery. My mom taught me to consider the source of compliments as well as slams, and to take neither seriously. She was a pretty smart cookie.

I'm in between being here and being there. I am here, but need to do a lot of preparation for my summer trip to the Himalaya. I've got lesson plans to clean up and send to a colleague, money to raise via speaking engagements, and plane tickets to buy. I'd rather be there than here. If it weren't for my family (and parrot), I would live there permanently- oh wait!!! There's winter to consider! Winter in the Himalaya is really, really, really cold. Autumn was just "pretty cold" and I damn near froze at night.

If I ACCentuate the positive and ELIMinate the negative, would I have no time for Mr. InBetween?

Of things feline and not

Well, the vet school kid (VSK) managed to get past me on this one, and I am glad that she did. I have always been sort of allergic to cats. It has been the sneezing, eye-itching sort of allergy that makes you want to rub your eyes until you look like a raccoon, and has made me want to stay away from kitties unless forced by circumstance or politeness to be in the same room. (Once upon a time I had various cats as pets, and never knew what was wrong with my eyes. How stupid is that?)

In the intervening decades, I have taken some meds for allergies, and avoided provoking agents with fervor. How stupid have I been about re-introducing allergens to my life? As stupid as I was about the allergic reaction in the first place. VSK has brought her cats to my house for so long that I just take an Alavert any time I know that I will visit her, or that she will be coming home for a visit. Apparently, if you stay away from stuff that makes you sneeze and wheeze, you can get over it- who knew?

Enter the cat. VSK was at work when two morons came in with their two cats. The morons had had the cats for a number of years, and had recently acquired a couple of little yippy dogs. Now they realized that they had too many pets (2 dogs, 2 cats- sounds about right to me) and wanted the Vet to euthanize the cats. They were tired of them, were switching to dogs, and wanted to be nice and tidy about it. Kill the cats, please, sir. Now, if you can explain this kind of thinking to me, I don't want to hear from you because you are obviously also a very damaged person who may be beyond redemption.

The Vet said no, and managed to get the morons to sign a release that they were relinquishing all rights to the cats forever and ever and then he took the cats away from them. One of his regular customers agreed right away to take the Himalayan, but that left the neutered Siamese. That's right- these weren't just some goofy looking cats- these guys are beautiful! The Siamese lived at the clinic for a couple of days, generally being a good little cat- until VSK thought he might be better off wtih me. She snuck him home- "just to give him a break from having to live in a cage at night" for a couple of days. He spent the first few days upstairs, avoiding everyone- especially the dogs. Who could blame him? I'd be bitter about dogs, if they had usurped my life.

Little by little, he came out to visit, and accept pats, and cookies, and ear skritching, and cozy sitting on the couch, and snugging up close on the bedspread. Now he sleeps part time in his new fuzzy bed, and part time on his pillow on my bed.

This little cat is the sweetest, best tempered, prettiest cat anyone could ever hope for. He stays off the counter, uses the litter box correctly, scratches only his scratching post or box, plays with his toys, and enjoys a little catnip now and then. He'll voluntarily sit in your lap while you read or compute, and he avoids the bird. Yes, she calls him. He is too smart to fall for it, so far, but she is hopeful. There is a dangerous glint in her eye when she calls, "Psss, psss, psss- here kitty!" I don't think her intentions are benign.

I hope the morons are happy with their choice, because I sure am. Without their idiocy, I'd never have met this honey of an animal. And I hope that good old fashoined Karma doesn't hit them too hard when they are older and out of fashion- and that they don't get exchanged for the newer, snazzier version.

So now, when I arrive at home after work, I am greeted by a bird that yells, "Hi!" and lets me know if there are any messages on the answering machine, three joyful, bouncing dogs who act as though they would throw confetti if they had any, and a chatty cat. He also runs up to say hi. Not a bad way to live, in my opinion.

Jim Bob the Reproducer

A friend called my attention to a family's website that gave her pause. Now, we both hate to criticize folks' choices of lifestyle- unless of course, they have made them public and exposed details that IMHO are much better off left to the imagination.

The folks in question are Quiverfulls- which was a concept foreign to me- and I'm sorry that it is still not an alien idea. They live in Arkansas, which is really no excuse. It gives me the creeps even thinking that I live in the state nearArkansas- although I'm sure that the rest of the mid-south has their fair share of religious nut jobs. Thank goddess the good people of Arkansas had the collective wit not to re-elect good 'ol Jim Bob. Twice.

And what's with the J names. Did I miss a memo from the big G on that? Maybe you can make any name a j-name by just changing the first letter to J. (Jalice? Jary?) And I wonder if anyone asked the older "buddie" siblings if they would like to have another baby? "Here, your dad and I have no restraint whatsoever and I've shot another one out and it's for you!" I'd have been in juvie by the second l'il buddy. There's a link to the family rules- I'm going there next. Maybe I can pick up a few tips on how to raise kids in a crowd. Although that j-name thing makes a little more sense now that I think about it. Surely they have some trouble recalling their kids' names now and then (goodness knows I did with just 2.) So I guess when they start stuttering around, trying to come out with someone's name, "J-j-j-j-j-j" might get a pretty good response- and maybe even the right kid! I wonder if they have pets, and if their names start with J?

I harbor a secret fascination with the program about the family with some emmbers with dwarfism. Little people, big world? Not because of their configuration, but because of how their dad has done the house and yard. It's humongeous. Their show should be on DIY. He's built a pirate ship or something for the kids on their acreage and a old west-type ghost town. Or maybe I just wish he had. It's pretty surrealistic. I only watch it when I am sure no one is going to be there but me. If I drank like that, I'd worry.

I have two new favorite questions someone has asked me. Well, they aren't actually THE favorites, but they have a good chance of making the pantheon. Has anyone ever said to you, "Who is that man with a Mowhawk- I know for a fact he is a security guard?" If they have, and if you were able to answer, would you please cite your source in your comment? I think the answer might be Mr. T., but I don't have an official source, besides admitting that I have way too much knowledge about Mr. T. The next new, great question is, "What is the Internet source with the answer to how we can fix the failing economy? Please send me the link." Well, shit! Why didn't we think of that before?!!? Quick! To the Bat Cave! Hook up the Interwebs (or do we need Spidey for that?) Wait- first I'll Google, "How to find endless personal wealth so I can endow all the programs I deem worthy." BRB. I'll let you know how that works out. Meantime, get your proposals ready!