Caption this

I love this picture of Dan so much. It's from his and Kevin's recent cruise in Alaska. To me, it looks like the white plushy porpoise thing is saying something it shouldn't be.

I thought it would be fun to steal a page from DListed and do a "caption this" contest. I'll choose the winner and send him or her a very special treat from the MB.

Come on, be creative! Give me your funniest* caption for this picture.

* Warning: Some captions might not be safe for work or children.

Colbert in '08

Stephen Colbert: Better than the joke we have now.

If you're reading this, Steve, feel free to use that slogan.

Seriously, maybe it's time to let a non-politician with brains, heart and balls take over. At least we know Colbert can read. His state-of-the-union addresses would be better than any previous president's, and he could roast himself at the correspondents' dinner.

I wonder who he'd choose as a running mate.

Colbert's coming home to South Carolina this weekend to "campaign." Unfortunately, his publicists are not letting any local media have access. He's in Columbia tomorrow, and if I didn't have to work, I'd be there.

I'm just hoping he shows up here in the MB for the big primary debates in January. We've got them both this time, which should be interesting for the area, both because the MB's not used to a big surge of people in January and because the Republicans' heads will probably implode when they see that there are actually more than eight Democrats here.

We (not the royal "we," but the paper) are trying to come up with interesting, innovative ways to cover the debates. Our executive editor wants us to do something so creative, so new, that we will become known for it after the debates are over.

Call me crazy, but how about we ask the candidates some really hard questions and don't let them divert our attention with answers that sound good but actually mean nothing?

Nah, that'll never work.

All suggestions welcome...

Stormy weather amended

Of course, no sooner had I signed off last night and snuggled down under the covers to watch "Pushing Daisies" in bed, the real storm arrived - lightning, thunder and rain so hard it sounded like the ocean was washing over the top of my apartment. It was the kind of storm I used to hunt when I lived in Aurora -- spectacular.

I interviewed a Coastal Carolina University student today who is testing shark repellents made from dead sharks. Well, from the chemicals emitted by the rotting flesh of dead sharks, to be more specific. No wonder they call it "repellent." The word "stink" doesn't even begin to describe that nast.

Allegedly, some of the repellents are not smelly at all -- I guess those are the ones they will make sunscreen out of.

One more reason not to swim here: Sharks. Bull sharks, tiger sharks, blacktips, lemon sharks and those creepy freakin' hammerheads. No swimming. Maybe not even any wading.

However, I have decided what I'm doing for my birthday this year: Going down to Florida to swim with these:

Manatees! I cannot wait. There's a refuge, or shark-free zone, as I like to call it, and the tour only lets in a few people a day. You're not allowed to pursue the manatees, you have to wait for them to come to you. But once they do, they want their bellies scratched and their backs rubbed and they like to snuggle. I cannot really think of anything better, unless the manatees also like to listen to Cheap Trick while they are snuggling. But what are the odds?

Stormy weather

I thought the humidity had gone, but it's back today, along with the storms blowing through. No lightning and thunder, though, sadly. It rained so hard this morning I had to pull over. Couldn't see a thing. But it was kind of exciting.

I'm on my ninth straight day of working. Tired. So tired. Can't wait for Friday. Must... sleep... in.

Shortest blog entry ever.

On living in The South

Right up front, let me say this is not a complaint. As I am often reminded, I chose to live here, which is true, and I'm glad I did. Overall.

However, there are some funny little quirks about The South that bear mentioning.

Like people's names. My favorite this week: Hooks Dawson. Don't know what Hooks did, but I heard someone talking about him (I'm assuming it's a him because no one in their right mind would name their daughter "Hooks") in a tone usually reserved for "the legendary," so I like to think that Hooks Dawson is famous, or infamous, for something interesting.

Maybe it's the NASCAR influence, but driving here is a lot like I imagine being caught in a tornado of wild, rabid Tasmanian Devils would be. Bless their hearts (which is Southern for "fuck y'all"). Someone Southern tried to explain it by saying that not a lot of money is spent on education here, let alone driver's education, but that only carries so much weight with me. Some of it is just common sense. These people are insane (and by "insane," I mean "batshit crazy") in their cars. No wonder car insurance is so much more expensive here -- the chances are extremely good that I will get hit by some crazy-ass Southerner who is in a big hurry to either get to the sports bar for the NASCAR races or just to drive right up inside the Jetta's trunk.

It makes me want to put a sign in the Jetta's back window that says "Get off me. Bless your heart."

I like to think the majority of the bad drivers would be able to read it, but maybe not, since they apparently couldn't read their driver's manuals.

Make no mistake, this is a red state. RED. Not even a hint of purple here. We joke about the seven Democrats in the MB (now eight, including me, although my citizenship papers have not arrived yet, so I can't really say I count), but it's really not much of a joke. At least, I don't find it funny.

Also, people here often refer to themselves as if they had lived during the Civil War, as in "we chased them Yankees outta here." And people say I have a problem letting go of the past.

I'm learning to properly use "might could" and "fixin' ta," as in "I might could eat some hushpuppies," and "I'm fixin' ta go ta the store."

Lastly, I heard a woman say this morning, "I'monna go pay-pay."

That really don't need no additional commentin' from me.

Bravo, Boston

The more I travel, the more I realize how little I miss the state of California. There are just so many wonderful, amazing places to see, Boston being one of them.

I can't wait to go back and see more, more, more.

The flight up was so easy. It's 2 hours from here, and I got cheap tickets on Spirit Airlines. Fell asleep as soon as we left the MB, and woke up to see Manhattan out my window. From that point, it's less than an hour to Logan.

Kev took me for a walk around his neighborhood, which is a block from City Hall, an ugly I.M. Pei building that should be a jail or something else. We visited, briefly, the Old South Meeting House, where the Declaration of Independence was read to the people of Boston from the second-floor balcony two weeks before it was signed in Philadelphia; the graveyard where Paul Revere, John Hancock and Samuel Adams are buried; Old City Hall, which, sadly, is now a Ruth's Chris steak house (still don't know what the hell a Ruth's Chris is); and then met up with Dan and some friends from work for drinks at the Parker House Hotel.

I loved hearing about their new jobs at a very high-powered corporate law firm. Andrew and Liz and Dan do corporate law, and Andrew's beautiful girlfriend, Mel, is an assistant district attorney. They all just started their jobs, and Dan is waiting to hear about his Bar exam results (but Mr. Editor of the Law Review Smarty Guy cannot possibly NOT pass), and I loved hearing Mel say "I'm wicked excited to do that" in regards to picking apples, if I remember correctly. Poor Mel didn't realize Kev and I weren't making fun of her -- we really enjoyed her Boston accent.

It was all happy fun until I went outside for a cigarette with Mel and Liz, and a crazy guy wanted to bum a smoke so he could die sooner and find god. He said he had been looking for god everywhere and just couldn't find him, but he knew god had special plans for him.

Soon after, Kevin, Dan and I went to the North End for dinner Friday night at L'Osteria, a great Italian place that had Roman chicken. Irresistible.

On Saturday, Kev and I went on a Duck Tour, driving around the city in one of the land-and-sea vehicles used, among other things, during WWII. Saw a chunk of the city, including the lovely Boston Common and Boston Gardens, Beacon Hill, Newbury Street, the big, old churches, Fenway from a distance, the Museum of Science, the steeple of the Old North Church and more. Part of the tour involves a short sail up the Charles River.

It also generated my favorite Kevin moment of the weekend. This snooty jogger came plowing toward us and the other people who were trying to get to the tour, and she kind of barked "Watch out," at all of us. In a flash, Kevin snaps "YOU watch out -- you're running." The rest of the weekend, we kept warning people to watch out.

Beautiful weather -- perfect excuse to wear my leather coat from Florence -- and lots of fun. We rode the T (the subway) and went to Faneuil Hall for lunch (traditional Boston lobster rolls, but on grilled brioche instead of simple white rolls), then to Macy's for some shopping for Dan and Kevin's five-year anniversary.

Met up with Doug and Al at Kev and Dan's lovely apartment, and went up to the top floor and checked out the amazing view of the city. The sun had just set, and we could see the blimp hovering over Fenway for the game, and a fingernail moon coming up between the Prudential and John Hancock buildings.

Went for dinner in the South End at this cool little place called Tremont 647, and I ended up with a lapful and a purseful of ice and water, thanks to the waitress. Kevin dared me to tease her about it, so when it came time to order dessert, I asked if I ordered ice cream to go if she could just put it in my purse. She didn't find it funny at all, probably because the boys were laughing so hard. Only Kevin knew I would take a dare like that. Sadly, my fish was overcooked, and I said something to the owner about it, so next time I visit Boston, I get "swank" reservations and dinner cooked by him personally. Apparently, he's a rising star of the Boston food scene, and wrote "The Fearless Chef." Seemed like a really nice guy, to me.

Actually, it feels like all we really did this weekend was eat. I'm so stuffed with amazing food. We met Andrew and Mel for brunch in Cambridge, near Harvard. Cambridge is a gorgeous town -- at least the parts near Harvard and MIT are. Didn't see it all, of course, but I'd love to spend more time in Harvard Square.

And with Felix, Dan and Kevin's handsome cat.

What a great weekend!

Boston

This week marks a shift in my work schedule because as of next Sunday, I'll be the editor for the Monday papers. So I'm off tomorrow and heading for Boston for the weekend to visit Kevin and Dan. They've promised me a tour of Cambridge and Harvard, and booked a Duck Tour -- those tour vans that drive around the city but also go into the river. We'll get to see the Freedom Trail, with spots like The Old North Church and Boston Harbor (obviously, I did not take this beautiful picture of the harbor, but I'm excited to get to see it).

Kevin's also promised we'll have plenty of opportunity to hear people say things like "wicked good" and "Haahvaahd Yahhhd." I wish there was any possibility of seeing a Sox game, but we will get to see Fenway Park, in any case.

Para-vomiting

OK, so, my friend who will now be known as "Vomit Girl" is here to visit and we decided to go parasailing this afternoon after work because it's beautiful and summery.

We had to catch a little shuttle boat out to the parasailing boat. This duuuuuuuude on a personal watercraft towed us on a "banana boat," which I firmly believe is what led to the later stomach upset. He thought it would be funny to tow us straight into the waves, so that our little banana boat -- and I -- got some major air. Ouchy on the back, but not a major issue.

When we got out to the parasail boat, "Vomit Girl" warned me she felt less than, but we got harnessed up, and all of a sudden, we're up in the air over the Atlantic Ocean. V. cool, as Bridget Jones would say. V. V. cool, in fact. V. exhilarating, despite my fear of dying in the ocean. It's silent except for the wind and you're just way up there, looking down at the water and the beach and the horizon.

We had been up for maybe five minutes (of a scheduled hour-long ride) when "Vomit Girl" earned her nickname. Actually, it should be "Multiple V. Girl."

We had to come back in V. quickly.

No photos, of course, so I found this one, which also carries a message. Probably the message Vomit Girl's stomach was screaming.

By the way, does anyone know if the Atlantic is saltier than other oceans? I don't remember the Pacific being so nasty in the mouth or the eyes.

A phone call from Iraq

It's times like this that I remember why I love being a reporter so much.

Two days ago, I went to a local intermediate school to sit in on a fifth-grade class that was having a special videoconference call with a soldier in Iraq. It was not just special because the videocall came from Iraq, but because the soldier's daughter was in the class and she was turning 11 that day and had no idea she was going to get to see her dad and talk to him.

Truthfully, I kind of didn't want to do the story because I was worried I'd spend the whole hour crying, not because Jasmine got to talk to her father, but because I can't talk to mine. I drove up there wishing there was some kind of videoconference with wherever my mom and dad are, because I'd give up everything to get on that line. My birthday was always special, too, because my parents would call and tell me my adoption story, and I'll never get to hear that again from them. I know, pretty self-involved, right? What can I say? It's where I'm at right now, and will be for some time to come, I imagine.

In any case, when I got to the class and saw how excited the kids were, and more, how excited Sgt. McNiely was to see his daughter, I forgot all about what I didn't have and was so thrilled for what Jasmine had -- a dad who loves her so much he made this happen.

He sat in a common room at an air base outside Baghdad, in his fatigues, answering the kids' questions about how he feels fighting for our country and what it's like to be in Iraq. He told the kids it's hot and he can't eat at McDonald's.

But when the kids left the room at the end and he was getting ready to sign off -- after Jasmine told him she loves and misses him -- he had to get ready to leave that safe common room. He started strapping on guns he had stashed out of the Webcam's view. Big guns.

It made me sick and sad.

Sgt. McNiely called me today from Iraq to thank me for the story. He said when he gets back next August, he wants to come to the office with Jasmine and meet me. I see that an e-mail from him just arrived in my work inbox, too.

I've never for one moment been in favor of this war, for a variety of reasons. Now I have one more: Jasmine McNiely. I know how tremendously awful it is to lose your parents, and I desperately hope this will not be the last time Sgt. McNiely gets to wish his daughter happy birthday.

Still thinking about Rome

I just finished reading "No Reservations," by Alice Steinbach, a Pulitzer-winning columnnist/reporter for the Baltimore Sun. She took a year off her regular life to travel Europe, spending time in Paris, London and Italy. Of course, I was most interested to read about Italy and that was the shortest section of the book.

Decent book, but what really got me was that she was indifferent to Rome.

How could anyone be indifferent to Rome? I mean, I could see how someone could hate it, and I definitely understand loving it, but to not care?

It got me thinking about how, from the minute I got into the city, I felt at home. I didn't know how to get around, where I was going or anything, but it did not matter at all. I felt safe, I felt welcome and in awe of everything.

I remember stopping to take a picture of a little street I passed that smelled like cinnamon toast, just because I liked the smell and wanted to remember that moment.

And wandering around thinking about all the layers and layers of lives that had been uncovered and those that had not yet been discovered. It was breathtaking to realize how small our lives are in the big picture, but also how we can leave something behind that, millennia from now, will make other people stop and think about us, the time we were here and what we were like.

I never realized you could fall in love with a city. Certainly not love at first sight. But I remember after I checked into my hotel, going for a walk that evening to get the lay of the land in my neighborhood, and thinking "I'm in freaking ROME!" I think that's why I could never write a decent postcard from Italy, because I was so thunderstruck, overwhelmed, in love with it.

That first night, I walked up and down the streets around my hotel, figuring out where to get a "Coke light" and where the taxi stand was and the newspaper stand and seeing Santa Maria Maggiore all lit up, watching the little cars speed past, drivers honking and gesturing at each other. I was so pleased to be able to order a creme caramel gelato (uno gelato, per favore) and sitting on the church steps and just breathing in Rome.

The city might have been dirty; I don't remember. It might have been dangerous, but I never would have known. I just kept looking up and around me, realizing the genius that built that city, seeing angels and saints in the architecture.

I've read two travel memoirs recently, and several others over the past few years, and no matter how good the writer, they can never adequately explain a city and why it so charms them. I'm the same --no words are enough or right.

But I've been thinking a lot about Italy lately. Maybe it's just that I want all good things back in my life, and Italy was the best thing I've ever had the good fortune to experience. Also, I know that of all of what I want back, Italy is the most attainable.

Or maybe I just want to take a crack at a travel memoir of my own.

A candidate for the Darwin Awards...

...courtesy of Ms. Schnakenberg, who works for the dpa and gets to read all the good stuff, comes this story about a man who found an interestingly stupid way of removing himself from the gene pool.

Ms. Schnakenberg said when she first saw the headline, she assumed this was a reporter's way of getting around the prohibition on the word "penis."

But no.

Trouser snake proves the death of Cambodian man

Phnom Penh (dpa) - A Cambodian man who took off his trousers, tied the legs at the bottom and wrangled a 2-metre cobra into them died when it bit him through the fabric, local media reported Monday.

Khmer-language daily Koh Santepheap quoted police as saying Chab Kear, 36, saw the reptile swimming in a river just outside the capital last Thursday during a drinking session and captured it in the hopes of selling it later in the day.

He tied the animal inside his trousers and a scarf around his waist, but as he continued carousing the enraged snake managed to get its fangs free and bite Kear three times on the stomach.

The newspaper reported Kear's last words as being "don't worry, it's nothing a drink can't fix" before he succumbed to the cobra's venom.