August Wilson In Memoriam

Writen by Phillip Harvey

"The death of August Wilson does not simply leave a hole in the American theater, but a huge, yawning wound, one that will have to wait to be stitched closed by some expansive, poetic dramatist yet to emerge."
- Peter Marks. Washington Post

On Monday Oct. 17, Broadway's Virginia Theater will become the August Wilson Theater. Moving from the nether side of Pittsburgh to a marquee on Broadway is a journey found in the movies of American myth makers. Its the type of journey that keeps Don King waving miniature American flags and hip hop cats cloning clothing lines. It's the American Dream to the extent that it is the Dream personified. Rags to riches. Catfish to caviar. The whole nine. But somehow I think August wasn't quite so impressed with all of that. I can't point to anything that says this specifically. No banners, no signs, no quotes. A simple hypothesis.

But let me be direct with my reasoning. August Wilson, born Frederick August Kittel in the Year of our Lord 1945 to a Black American mother and a German immigrant father on the wrong end of a steel town's streets, was about the work. He was driven by a sense of ambition that was largely bereft of the navel gazing so prevalent in the artists of the generations that have come after him. No marketing strategies, no publicity stunts, no cross promotion vehicles, no dress to impress networking happy hours. After winning 7 New York Drama Critics' Awards, two Pulitzer Prizes and a Tony Award, Wilson was still about the work. After receiving nearly every accolade and award available to a person who makes a living off ideas, he was still about the work. The true strength and beauty of August's legacy is the sheer ambition and audacity of his ideas and the willingness to do the heavy lifting necessary to realize his vision.

Both of these attributes had to be in plenty supply for August to not only cover the expanse of Black life in the 20th century in a 10 play cycle but to do it in the fashion that he did. Linear thought concludes that the cycle started with the 1984 release of Ma Rainey's Black Bottom and ended with this year's Radio Golf. But that would be too easy and rarely does such creativity come wrapped so neatly. Instead, the plays come at crazy -degreed angles, masked as seemingly separate creations yet determinedly part of the same free flowing current of schemes and ideas, pain and pleasures, triumphs and tribulations that transverse life in real time. Each play feeds into a cultural continuum that connects the first play to the last play, the second play to the seventh play, the ninth play to the third play and so on and so on. August draws a direct line from the first days of the first decade to the close of the century because time is irrelevant. What is relevant is going deep into the grooves of human experience to tap into that deeply embedded rhythm that allows us to fall down, get up, fall down and get up again. August was in touch with that. As a result, August was able to successfully condense a century of Black experience into a 20 year burst of literary brilliance.

And the beauty of August Wilson is that he made himself into a playwright, not through a chance encounter with a broadway producer at a cocktail party; but through hard work and dedication. Even the people that helped him on his path weren't opportunistic enterprises forged simply to establish a "career", they were lifelong creative partnerships. Somewhere along the way, August connected with two people that would help him fulfill his life's work and these relationships told volumes about Wilson the man. The first was director Lloyd Richards, the first man to bring a Black themed play to Broadway when he staged Lorraine Hansberry's "Raisin in the Sun," in 1959. Richards, who served as the dean of the Yale School of Drama and the artistic director of Yale Repertory Theater, played Quincy Jones to Wilson's Micheal Jackson. He reigned in Wilson's excesses and emphasized Wilson's brilliance, guiding August from community stages to the halls of midtown New York. For Richards, August softened his stance when he knew it was in the best interest of the project.

The second was Aunt Esther, a woman who grew from a figment of Wilson's imagination into the shaper of his consciousness and the key to connecting the past with the present, the present and the future. Aunt Esther was over 300 years old before she actually appeared in an August Wilson play but she was there the whole time. She made sense of August's time warps and connected even the most despicable of Wilson's characters to something greater than himself, greater than herself, greater than us. To Aunt Esther, August listened when he felt that his own experience couldn't capture the moment. A man of considerable talent and more than a little ego, Wilson nonetheless knew when it was best to follow and when it was best to lead. And which posture was going to produce the best product.

But even that wasn't what made August the abnormally driven man he was, even this wasn't the extent of his life's work. What made this man historically significant was the fact that he wanted Black folks to really love their own culture. It was his fervent hope that Black folks would embrace their own culture, exhibit their own culture, support their own culture. This is not a hunch. This is not a hypothesis. This I know is true because this came from his mouth. I know this was true because it was implicit in his deeds. He said it when he debated Robert Brustein on the dire importance of incorporating Black minds to shape Black art. He showed it when he cancelled the film production of Fences because of Hollywood's inability, or unwillingness, to assign a Black director to the project. And his perspective wasn't a slight toward the sensibilities of non-Black artists, artisans, culturalists etc. It was just the simple fact that Black stories are best rendered by Black people. Its about the work.

So from the fall of 2005 on, August Wilson's name will be bear one of the greatest compliments afforded a playwright. Millions will travel to the heart of New York City and see his name on the marquee of a theater that he worked so hard to present his creations within. And though he died far too young, August lived long enough to stay true to his word. The completion of his last play brought an end to the definitive exploration of Black life in the 20th century. His fight to place Black American theater on equal footing with the theatrical traditions of other cultures will reverberate for years to come. The promises he made, he fulfilled.

Rest in peace August, your work is done.

Phillip Harvey is the editor of http://www.natcreole.com/, an online global urban culture magazine. Visit the site weekly for updated news, reviews, profiles, playlists, essays, travel journals, and upcoming events.

Sleep During Pregnancy

Writen by Dr. Harry Watters

For most pregnant women, being comfortable and getting enough rest can be two of the biggest challenges. Typically, these problems affect more than 75 percent of pregnant women.

During the second and third trimesters (20 weeks and beyond), lower back pain and stomach discomfort often increase.Women who normally sleep on their back or stomach often find getting enough restful sleep especially challenging. Sleeping on the back is discouraged because of compression of the uterus on the large blood vessels (inferior vena cava) and on the intestines, causing decreased blood flow and oxygen to the baby.

Some Tips on Improving Your Sleep.

Set the proper mood to prepare for sleep through soft lighting, a good book, a warm bath (try adding a small amount of lavender oil) and/or a warm non-caffeinated beverage. Experiment to see what helps you unwind.

Massage by your partner is also a good way to relax.

Try daily exercise - walking or pregnancy aerobics often help.

Use comfort aids, such as the Gentle Air Maternity Bed or a special body pillow to support your abdomen and hips.

Nap during the day to help gain some rest and relaxation.

Ask your doctor can give you additional advice. There are several over-the-counter and prescription medications that are safe to use and effective if other methods are not successful.

Visit http://gentleair.com/studyresults.cfm for more study results and to find out about health benefits of pregnancy back supports on the market.

About The Author Dr. Harry Watters is an obstetrician/gynecologist at Women's Health Care Associates in Chandler, AZ. The inflatable Maternity Bed is available for purchase at www.gentleair.com.

Giving Out Glow Sticks Gifts And Prizes

Writen by Gail Leino

When throwing a party you need to think of the kinds of favors, prizes and/ or gifts you will be giving out and now the popularity of glow-in-the-dark items really makes glow sticks gifts and prizes a great idea for your event.

People love to light themselves up and in effect become the most striking or eye-catching person at a party, so glow sticks gifts are a good idea if you plan on having a party in the evening or someplace dark.

For kids and adults there are plenty of glow sticks styles to go around and you can even find special glow sticks items to fit with a particular party theme. If the party is held close to Easter you can give out glowing bunny ears for guests to wear. If it's closer to Halloween you can get themed monster necklaces for the kids at your party to wear.

For a more adult party you can find other types of glow-in-the-dark prizes to give out. One special party favor type item is the glowing champagne glass. These are champagne glasses with small LED lights in them powered by equally small batteries that you can turn on and off. You can use them at the party to hold everyone drinks and afterwards the guests can take theirs home as party favors.

A simple glow stick gift to give out is the glow stick tube, necklace or bracelets. You can set up a big basket of the different kinds at the entrance to the party and encourage guests to pick out their favorites to wear at the party or to take a couple home with them. Glow sticks not only provide decoration and cool effects but also allow you to keep track of guests at the party. You can even make up little gift baskets with different kinds of glow-in-the-dark items in them, such as glow sticks, glowing stickers, maybe a black light bulb in its packaging (so people can enhance their glow sticks effects at home), and even glow-in-the-dark candies.

Mrs. Party... Gail Leino is the internet's leading authority on selecting the best possible party supplies, using proper etiquette and manners while also teaching organizational skills and fun facts. Huge selection of Glow Sticks, free party games, and party planning ideas.

History Of The Viennese Waltz

Writen by Michael Russell

The Viennese Waltz is a dance performed to music with three beats to the bar. This means that the dance steps can be very difficult for starters because when a step is taken on each beat, then the next bar will have to start on the opposite foot. However, when this technique is mastered, the dancer acquires an enchanting and romantic rhythm.

The first dance of a three-fourth beat on record was danced to folk music called the Volta. The dance was a peasant folk dance from a provincial area in France in 1559. The Volta, however, is also claimed to be a folk dance from Italy during this time. The word "Volta" is an Italian word that means "the turn". This shows that even in its earliest form, the waltz involves a couple turning while dancing. The Volta became well-known in the royal courts of Western Europe during the 16th century. It was described as similar to the Galliard, which is a dance performed to music with a 3/2 beat, but instead danced to a slower 6/4 beat. They are similar because both dances make five steps to six beats, therefore the dancers need to alternate feet in alternate measures.

The partners in the Volta are in a closed position but the lady is positioned at the left of the man and is held by the waist. The lady places her right arm on her partner's shoulder and holds her skirt with her left hand. Holding the skirt is an important part of the dance because the frequent turning and lifting may cause the skirt to fly up. The lifting was done by the man using his left thigh which is positioned under the lady's right thigh. This lift is demonstrated in the famous painting where Elizabeth I of England is dancing the Volta and is lifted by the Earl of Lancaster.

There is also a contemporary Norwegian Waltz which is a folk dance similar to the Volta because it is also a turning dance. Although, in this dance, the couple is required to do a step around their partner and doing this would mean that each would have to take large steps to be able to get around from one side of their partner to the other. In this waltz, the man assists his partner in the big step by lifting her as she takes the step therefore accommodating gracefully the difference in leg length between partners. When this lift is incorporated in the Volta, the couple was required to hold each other in a very tight embrace. The level of intimacy produced was deemed immoral by Louis XIII and banned the action from court on this account.

The Volta evolved from a three-time and became a five-time. One of the first dances in three-time that were published was the "Hole in the Wall" in 1695. The first music played for the actual "Waltzen" was in Germany in 1754. However, any link between the Volta ad the Waltzen is unclear, although the word "Waltzen" also means "to revolve" in German.

The Waltzen, as written by Arndt in 1799, is performed by dancers who held on to their long gowns to prevent them from dragging or being stepped on. The dancers would lift their dresses and hold them high like cloaks and this would bring both their bodies under one cover. This action also required the dancers' bodies to be very close together and this closeness also attracted moral disparagement. Wolf published a pamphlet against the dance entitled "Proof that Waltzing is the Main Source of Weakness of the Body and Mind of our Generation" in 1797. But even when faced with all this negativity, it became very popular in Vienna. Large dance halls like the Zum Sperl in 1807 and the Apollo in 1808 were opened to provide space for thousands of dancers. The dance reached England in 1812 and was introduced as the German Waltz and became a huge hit. Throughout the 19th century, the dance gained further fame with the music of Josef and Johann Strauss.

Nowadays, the Viennese Waltz is danced to music with a tempo of about 180 beats a minute. However, it has a restricted range of figures which are the Change Steps, Passing Changes, Hesitations, Hovers, the Contra check and the Natural and Reverse Turns.

Michael Russell Your Independent guide to Dance

Am Radio Listening Magic Sounds In The Night

Writen by Stefan Smith

Are there youngsters who still carry radios to bed with them, to listen beneath the covers to distant voices and music streaming in from far-away places over the AM dial?

I did when I was a boy. Sometimes I still do.

Before the Internet, before cable TV, before cheap long-distance telephone service, there was something magical about listening to broadcasts from "exotic" places such as St. Louis, Chicago and New York City -- particularly to a boy lying in the dark in his bedroom 30 miles from the waters of the Gulf of Mexico.

I heard first-hand reports of unimaginably cold temperatures registered at O'Hare Airport ... traffic backups on Riverside Parkway--at 5 in the morning! ... impending garbage strikes ... and similar bits and pieces of northern/urban exotica that were unknown in my southern Alabama world. Why, sometimes I even managed to pick up stations from the real frozen north--Canada.

When darkness falls and atmospheric conditions are right, it's still fun to travel up and down the AM dial seeking out distant radio stations. People who do this as a hobby are called AM dx'ers, "dx" being an old radio term for "distance."

Distance isn't everything, though. Sometimes you can get more of a thrill from snagging a small, low-powered station situated in the next county over, if you are outside its normal broadcast footprint, than you do from hearing a 50,000-watt station blasting its blowtorch of a signal from halfway across the country.

All you need to give AM dx'ing a try is a radio, the spirit of the chase, and persistence. The good "catches" don't spring loud and clear from out of the static and noise. You often have to dial in tiny increments to find a distant or weak station, then make micro-adjustments to try to hold it there, at least long enough to catch a station ID or a location. It helps if the radio you're using has a fine-tuning knob as well as a main tuning dial.

Some radios, of course, are much better than others for AM dx'ing. It's generally agreed that the best set for this purpose is an ugly old boxy looking thing called the GE Super Radio. Still in production (with mostly minor model changes) more than three decades after it was introduced, it is relatively inexpensive and engineered specially for outstanding AM reception.

Most any AM radio, though, will receive at least some far-off stations after dark. Having not yet subscribed to satellite radio, I particularly enjoy listening to distant cities on my car radio while driving places at night.

If you become addicted to dx'ing the AM dial, you'll want to keep a log of your catches. This can simply be a notepad you keep next to the radio. Jot down the frequencies and call letters, if you can, of the stations you hear, along with the date and time. Use this information to look up your catches on the Web, where you can find out more information, such as their broadcast power, studio and transmitter locations, normal broadcast range, station history and more.

There's magic in the airwaves tonight. Why not tune in some of it for yourself?

Stefan Smith is a radio junkie who writes on entertainment and related subjects for the Solid Gold Info Writers Consortium. Recently, he has written an extensive review of amazing new software anyone can use to capture music audio streams from Internet radio broadcasts and break them up into individual mp3 song files--a legal way to download virtually free music. Read the review at: http://www.solid-gold.info/radio2mp3.html

Tales Of Poseidonia Planet Moiromma Part Xv

Writen by Dennis Siluk

Port of Poseidonia: Paradise and the Chariot [Planet Moiromma]

Let us not all believe Atlantis and its demonic forces, and Hell with its hidden secrets, and dark powers, did not use them in all dimensions, and throughout the Universe. And this sketch will bring forth, some of them. XV

1 Paradise

It was a shock to have seen Phrygian thought Lailis, for it was her only love, lost love, and of course she was one of his many. It was fate that brought them together, fate mixed with Belphegor's evil. It was a Chicago morning and Lailis received a new assignment to go to the planet Moiromma. But she wanted to see Phrygian one more time. And so they met down by the train station, it had a grand tower and it seemed even a little romantic, yet she was not quite feeling those feeling, rather a mystic curiosity of why he chose the evil side of life (or perhaps it chose him, and he just went along with it), and now in what was called Sheol, or the place of the dead it was carved in stone, as they say.

She was still youthful looking, as she was when she had died, and he was old looking with a reserved, yet pale look to him, so far he was handsome in his own way though. And they met, but he was more interested in what happened to her after her death, possibly comparing notes. He looked a bit disappointed that she was content, and he wasn't. But had she known him through out his years, it was the real him; the him she didn't know, but the real him, the him that turned out to be the King of Atlantis

said Lailis, "Upon my death I went to a place called Paradise; it was down by a gulf, and far across the gulf was a place called Sheol, the whole area being called Hades I think, except for the area I was in. But after I had learned all I could in that area I was brought back up to earth, funny I thought, and there I saw a cherubim blessing a chariot, I was asked to step onto it with a few other folks, and so I did. It ascended with us as its cargo, a cargo of spirits I'd say, near God's kingdom, going through the floor of Heaven one might say. Oh, it was all very strange, but beautiful. Anyhow, I might have been considered a cherub and child of sorts, compared to the rest, they were much older, a child angel I was being transformed into. Then the chariot seemed to have stopped somewhere by God's courtroom, the Seraphim with its four heads and four wings was there at the entrance. Again the Cherubim blessed the chariot, and nearby I heard praise for the magical moment, the holy angels, souls and spirits, all singing. We, the new cargo got quite a welcome. As I stepped out of his chariot, down from it, I glittered like gleaming bronze. What a moment. And the Lord knowing I liked my traveling and so forth, made me a "Traveler," agent you might say."

This happy face on Lailis was not helping Phrygian deal with life as he knew it. Maybe he was more evil than he wanted to be, it was his nature. But he wanted to bite her, jump on her, rape her. Take her to bed, he wanted to have her, 'she belongs to me, me,' he said within his head; but he remembered the words of his Commanding Officer, 'Avoid challenges with the enemy,' and she was the enemy, like it or not.

He leaned against the building, groaned a bit, she was vivacious, and he was moody dull. What a combination he thought.

"Well, it would seem we may or may not meet again," a sigh came out of his lungs, and he dashed off not knowing what else to say.

2 Assignment Moiromma

Her new assignment was on the planet called Moiromma, a planet on the rim of Earth's solar system, and another one parallel: seemingly off its once balanced axis, shifting to and fro from each system to the other, or so it seemed, to where it had caused some climatic arctic like changes on the planet. It was about the size of Earths moon.

She had been there a few times before, and knew the geographical surroundings somewhat, and a few of the 20,000-inhabidents left on the planet. The inhabitants were known to be able to die and be reborn over a hundred times, and lived up to 500-years old; when they were reborn, as adults, they'd most often end up on another planet, and sometimes fall right into another death cycle within hours and sometime to the contrary, living in the new environment for centuries.

Belphegor, was trying to isolate this planet and make it into an outpost, as he did with a lot of the islands around Atlantis in its heyday, some thousands of years ago. He had done that with Mars and some other planets as well. But it was a challenge to him for Moiromma, for Suru'el, and/or Ura'el, or Serr'el, one of the three and now Lailis were often nearby to stop or stunt his progress. Also there was a horde of Fox Fairies (huli jing), ordered out of China to inhabit the planet and to seduce the women of the planet and make them barren, and suffocate at night the men. They had done well the first 200-years, killing 90% of the population. They were creatures, wicked young women or old men, the shen (spirit). The fox Fairy can shape shift, like Phrygian and Lailis could do, change their shapes at will. But did not have the power she had, or him. They could look like a person long dead, or flying bats. Suck a man's blood, or try if given the chance. In the daylight you could not see them well, but by night their configurations showed up quite well.

This was her new assignment, to disrupt their plans to kill Skullmas, an old man, yet potent to where he had a wife who was yet to supply, re-harvest the planet with some children. He was looked upon as one of the chiefs of the several tribes left on the ice planet. They were a warring planet by nature, and cannibalism was in their history. Yet, the Lord had loved them, and Lailis was to show compassion, and try to save the old warrior.

She now could no longer see Phrygian, he was gone, and so dramatically she thought, yet it was all past history to her, and possibly the more she got to know him, the more she'd really know his inner nature. He was jealous, envy was reeking. He was not sorry for his bad deeds she murmured, he was sorry he had to pay a price for them that was all.

3 Phrygian Thinks

Oh, he was still the king he told himself, but he wanted to be like Lailis. It was she he liked. Did he? Anyhow he, so he thought he wanted to be like her, as also in, partly likes her. (His thoughts were whirling on.) He even tired to imagine himself as Lailis standing on the chariot, with his whip , whipping the Hippokamp for stilling Ais; and he versioned Atlantis shinning before him, as he was the king riding on the chariot through the gates; thoughts, too many thoughts. He really was feeling very ineffectual.

Malicious thoughts, he had contempt for any man who could not get his own woman, like Aon, and now he added Anases to his list. His wife had left him, amongst other things. 'I am what I am,' he told himself. He was re-creating himself in the moment, a fancy moment at that.

Part Two of XV Continued

4 Skullmas

It was a dry cold, a profound and dense cold, a wild wind blowing every which way, on planet Moiromma; the cold was such that no man had ever experienced it equal on earth. The man she knew as Skullmas was drudging through the snow, it was hard for him because of his enormous weight, lifting up his powerful legs, his stomach in the way, up, up almost to the top of the snow to leap slowly to the next step, huffing and puffing, trying to get more air into his stomach, although his system was different, he had a large heart, and a smaller one, like his stomach, a large one and a smaller one; three sets of small lungs, one passing air to the next one, processing his blood flow. Yes, yes the snow was irrupting, but that was life. He had very little for a neck, and was all head it seemed, a large skull and mass of flesh. His arms were like tentacles, they swam with his body and the wind. They were also very quick, for whatever they might be used for, to grab an ice rat, or insects digging their way out of the blue ice.

He was walking back to his small abode, made out of mud and plaster, dug into the ground, with in a circle form, and a vent that went from the bottom of the dugout, to the surface over head, and a tree like ceiling, with mud plastered over it. It extended fifteen feet under the ground and five feet above it. Some of he inhabitants lived in ice houses, others in cliff dwellings. There were 20,000 to 30,000 inhabitants scattered around the area, if not the whole planet.

Little pale milky like vapors hung over his giant mass, liken to mosquitoes of some oversize source (akin to little dwarf-ghosts); their shadowy form followed him right into his mud and plastered hutch of sorts. Skullmas was in many ways a gentile man in a land of ungentle men, as was his wife who had passed on to another world, somewhere beyond, of a more favorable nature I would think. He was not sophisticated in any manner of speaking, not necessarily always wanting more, at the risk of hurting others to get it, it is easier to become more rotten to get it he told others—thus, he remained a bush, that is to say, a bush remains a bush no matter what, and so he and his wife had been that in nature.

But what I was about to say is that the heat was intense inside his hutch, but diminished as he allowed his huge body to absorb its warmth. He was but two-hundred years old.

From the ceiling these bat like creatures, dark-fairies of an evil nature, unannounced descended slowly to seize his body, to welcome him with an incision into his chest, where they would slowly suffocate him to death. What for you may ask: who knows a game to them, if that; boredom does funny things does it not.

He had been he was as, fine as one could say, a well trained dog you might say, he'd not do anything out of the ordinary. If anything he was one of those earthlings, who walked high and safe most all their lives, not too interesting enough to be in any danger, so he thought. But here he was, with these little creatures wanting to harm him. Like a robber I suppose who'd rather rob an old woman, or a little boy, but a fighter in shape, no way.

5 Lailis— Contact with Dark Fairies

Said Lailis to Skullmas in a calm and almost musical expedition,

"Some bad spirits are trying to invade your body," as she stood there by him laying down, the dark-fairies trying at that very moment to suck into his chest like blood suckers. Skullmas looked at his chest, than at him, it was all so silent an assault.

She scrutinized the situation, said again, "I think someone in the Underworld on earth wants this planet to be a barren outpost for future time, to be used as a launching pad for the demonic world to attack other worlds. This of course made little sense to Skullmas, not that he was stupid, just that it was new to him.

Said Lailis, "There are two natures of light: one of darkness, one of truth that is light and one of lies that is darkness." Having said that, she added, "We need to worship the Spirit, the Creator of Moiromma, Ephraim." And this they did. And as they held hands in prayer, the dark little elf's or fairies, whatever they were, were now traumatized, and swept out of the hutch with a swirl of a wind, never to return.

She knew there was no other way to save him, they would have suffocated him just for a joke, and he would have froze right in his bed. Having done that, she was now told to return to Chicago—a voice within her thoughts had interrupted, and directed her to her next assignment.

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

Planet Ssarg Finn The Giant Chapter Nine

Writen by Dennis Siluk

"Do not slay him," she screamed at the three misfits, she demanded. Perhaps it was their way of playing with the big guy, but it looked fatal from Siren's vantage point.

The Giant grunted at all three of the individuals, and the three said, "No—why not!" As they continued to fight the giant with bare hands; the giant got knocked down; he now seemed senseless; Finn must have weighed all of 800-pounds.

The giant roared again, and in the hallway it created a clamoring echo; yet this time the swaying giant remained calm, yelling yes, but calm, as if to be stunned, looking down at his shadow, talking to himself, talking to himself like a crazy man, or just idiot; hands fumbling again, his throat was cut from the claws of the misfits.

As Siren looked upon him, "…he lives," she murmured. All looked upon the giant; the misfits venomously looked, and then at Siren, yet all talked to her in a voice of calm: nothing occurred, nothing that would provoke her to fight.

Finn's throat was bad, a deep cut, but not to the point of it being a deadly wound, he put some mud on it, to cover it, and the minerals in the mud seemed to do the trick, by closing the would, and stopping the bleeding.

"We are all… (lost for words: she paused, then continued)…we all should be comrades in this deadly land, not look for warfare…lest we find it, and end our days for nothing," said Siren with a sigh. The misfits looked upon her as if to say: is she nuts; I mean they lived for war; it was a way of life. It was the difference between having an honorable and active life, or dull and limited meager life: so they believed, and reasoned.

The misfits gave a snarl, half smile, as if they were listening, still fearful of this new creature woman: but their minds were really off some other place. On the other hand, Siren was thinking: what could she do with these three new creatures, or was there more like them, and if so, than what, and now a giant, and her army awaiting her. She pondered at the faces, and the facts in front of her.

(—Outside the chambers, and caves, were the rodents and snakes bellowing for Siren to return. She did show her face for a moment, but only a moment, and returned to the Rose Room; the rodents were digging, or trying to dig a hole into the cliff, making holes so they could climb it to be with her, thus, at seeing her, they stopped.)

The First Night

The first night, Siren slept in the "Control Room Chambers," otherwise known as the Rose Room, while Finn slept in the cave like hallway, grunting and guarding the door, and the three-misfits, slept with their newfound friend Siren, but a distance away, and the Manticores slept guarding outside by the top of the cliff, looking down at the army, and trying to keep them calm for Siren. The Vipers were restless, but knew with Siren they had to be patient, and so they were learning, save for the fact, they did worry about their queen's safety.

King Htok

—Something leaped over Siren, then a second something, they held her down still, it was damnable-dark in the room, they exasperatedly grabbed her in a quiet but violent way. Finn was sleeping, everyone was sleeping. Her jaws locked onto a hand, and then she let it go after grabbing onto an ear, then spitting it out. Maddened with pain, the two some bodies gave her a potion that subdued her; then they put shackles around her writs and ankles.

There was a notch in the chamber wall, as they went through a chamber door to anther room, these beings were more Neanderthal looking, more so than the three misfits, whom were the scouts for the King, King Htok [of the Chamber Kingdom], whom befriended Siren. They brought her into the inner chamber, the king sat on a chair, now looking upon Siren and His dutiful soldiers, with a smile for a job well down. The misfits, were rewarded, and then sent away.

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

How To Get Work As A Guest Entertainer On A Cruise Ship Part Ii

Writen by Paul Romhany

This is part TWO of a series of articles I have written to help entertainers get work as Guest Entertainers on cruise ships.

Discounts This varies from cruise line to cruise line, so again, either ask your agent or check the Guest Entertainer Manual of the cruise line you are working for the discounts you are allowed as a guest entertainer. The general rule for most ships is that there is a 25% bar discount for guest entertainers and a 20% discount in the boutique shops on board. At the end of each cruise when you get your bill, make sure that the discounts have been taken off the final account. It has happened on so many occasions where the final discount was wrong or not taken off. For whatever reason these days, the bills are always wrong and most guest entertainers have to end up going down at the end of a cruise and sorting the problems out. I often believe the problems on ships are due to simple lack of communication between departments! There are the top end cruise lines where you don't have to pay for any drinks at the bar, but that is the minority. There is also a 21-year minimum age requirement for purchasing alcohol on most cruise lines. Everything you purchase is put on to your account so ships are a cashless society, however I always take a few dollar bills and leave them as tips. Note:- As of re-reading this book the company I work for has now taken off any discounts in the shops on board for guest entertainers.

Requirement of Shows Each cruise line will have different requirements from their Guest Entertainers, what I offer is simply a guidline –

Length and number of shows I checked the guidelines in the manual for the cruise line I work on and they state that a minimum repertoire of two 30-minute and one 15-minute show is required. On longer cruises it may be necessary to perform three of four 30 minute shows. On the ships I work I have never done two different 30 minute shows, rather one full show and a split show with another act or two different 45 minute shows. On the cruise I am on at the moment, as of writing this book, I am performing two 45 minute shows and a close-up show. The close-up show is at my suggestion to the cruise director as it gives me another chance to push my DVDs plus I thoroughly enjoy close-up magic. How many shows you are required to perform depends entirely on the length of cruise. If you are doing the short seven day cruises then more often that not you will only be required to do one full show, perhaps maybe another show sharing the bill with another act. On the longer cruises of say twenty four days you can be assured you will need to do two different full shows. This requires a lot of work and it is important that your second show is as strong as the first. Speaking from experience I prefer just to do my one main show as it contains all my number one material, rather than try and split it up between two shows. After experimenting with my act I realized how important it is to make sure your first show is very strong, that way people will talk about you, get to know you and come back for the second. You will hear other entertainers say they have an A and a B show, in my opinion if you want a long career in Cruising make sure both your shows are A material. If you can do a close-up show then by all means mention it to the cruise director as it all helps in the long run keeping your name in front of the passengers when they fill in the comment cards. The general rule of thumb is that you will do your main show twice in one night.

Your schedule

Your schedule will vary from ship to ship and cruise to cruise. Generally speaking, on a seven day cruise you will be required to work one night with your main 45-50 minute act. This you will do twice, once at the early show, usually 8.30pm and the other at 10.30pm for two different audiences. On the larger ships they are now getting us to work more, so we will work one night with the two shows, then repeat the show again the next night for the crowds who missed it. The large ships now carry up to 2800 passengers so you are required to do an extra show. On the seven day cruise you may also be asked to do an extra ten to fifteen minute spot on the last night, along with other guest entertainers.

Because I have two different full 45 minute acts plus the close-up show, I tend to get the longer runs which also means the better contracts where the ships travel to more exotic locations around the world. It makes sense to keep me on a ship longer as I can do two different nights of entertainment and the close-up show on a sea day. However, having said that next week I will be leaving the ship I have been on for three months and transshipping to another ship for a little over a week where I will be on the last part of the cruise and the beginning of a new one, then fly to join another ship for a little over a week, then fly to another ship for only one night before flying home. There is no set rule for how many times you will perform and you usually only find out when you join. My advice is to make sure you are prepared before starting your cruise ship career, otherwise it will be short lived and chances of getting re-booked are very slim.

There somehow seems to be an invisible network amongst the Entertainment Department in the cruise industry and word travels fast. Remember that Carnival cruises owns about 70% of the cruise industry including; Carnival Cruise Lines, Windstar Cruises, Cunard Lines, Holland America Line, Princess Cruises, Costa Cruises and The Yachts of Seabourn. That is a huge market and Entertainment is now overlapping with these companies as they all come under one umbrella.

Material I have always made sure my material was never 'adult' orientated or 'blue', unless asked to do the midnight show – in which case you can do routines that are a little more on the edge. Make sure you find out the demographics of the cruise line you will be working for. Because of my Charlie Chaplin act, they tend to put me on longer cruises, which suits me fine because they have the better itinaries. There is a joke amongst entertainers when asked the average age of the passengers they say, "between dead and deceased!" I am currently on a 24 day cruise as I write this and the average age would be sixty plus. On the shorter cruises, such as those in the Carribean, you will find the average age much lower with children traveling. One of my good friends works for a cruise line where he is required to do a 30 minute family orientated show and a 30 minute midnight adult show, so he obviously has his material suited for those audiences. According to marketing the cruise ship attracts a vacationing crowd from a cross- section of North America, the UK and sprinkles of other nationalities so your material will need to be international. I have appeared on cruise ships where the majority of passengers didn't speak English, magicians at least have a sleight advantage over comedians in that we have the visual aspect of our shows to help in these conditions. My advice is very simple, chose material for your act that is suitable for all ages.

Music for the act You have the ability to work with a live band on the ship. If you plan on working on ships a great deal you may wish to utilize this lost resource although the way things are changing the idea of having a 'live' band is becoming less and less. There was a time when working on ships that my advice would have been if you currently use no music at all, consider the use of the band on the ship, however, with cut backs and so on don't rely on having a back up band! Most Cruise Director's will expect "play on and play off" music for you and if the band is available then they often have stock 'tabs' that can be used. As a backup I would have all my music on CD or mini disk.

There are bands on board the ships, but the way things are changing cruise lines now prefer guest entertainers to have their own backing tracks, either on CD or minidisk. Some of the music acts obviously require the 'band' or 'orchestra' to back them and they bring their own musical arrangements. The more self relient you are in your act, the more you will keep working. There was a time when there were two different orchestras on ships, one for the main show lounge and the other for the smaller lounges where most Variety acts worked. However, with cutbacks ships are using all backing tracks for the larger shows and a much smaller orchestra for the other rooms having only one orchestra on ships now. I always take back up music and make sure I have my music in a variety of formats. When I give the Production manager my music, s/he gets a mini-disk and a CD of it, just in case something happens during the show and a machine breaks down. This I tell you from experience because it HAS happened!

I travel with my laptop, which makes life so much easier for me. If I need to change the show in any way, I can easily record a new audio CD of my show and everything is in order so the production manager isn't skipping from one music track to another. I like to make everything as easy as possible so I can concentrate on my performance rather than worry about technical aspects of the show going wrong. Remember also that you may be transshipping, ie. going from one ship to another and have little rehearsal time, so having cue sheets and your music all in order will make life that much easier.

Paul Romhany is a professional comedy magician who has worked as a Guest Entertainer on cruise ships for the past six years and continues to work for the top cruise lines as a headline act and also tours the world with his original comedy magic act. He is also author of several books including his new book on How To Get Work on a Cruise Ship. He has performed in over 50 countries and in over 17 National TV specials with his incredible act, considered to be one of the most original and funniest acts in magic today. His act has been desribed by many cruise directors as 'the most original' act on cruise ships today! To see Paul Romhany on stage is to witness a magical transformation. While his skills and artistry as an illusionist are unsurpassed, Paul takes his performance to another dimension when he applies makeup as the audience watches, suddenly leaving behind Paul Romhany and becoming Charlie Chaplin. It is a mesmerizing spectacle as "The Little Tramp", Chaplin's most famous character, emerges to complete the illusion.

Magic Tricks The Ice Breaker

Writen by David Stone

I'm sure most people have seen some form of magic before. There have been enough famous magicians to give the trade world wide exposure. Houdini amazed audiences with his escape tactics. David Copperfield made the Statue of Liberty disappear. Then there is David Blaine, who stunned audiences with his exceptional skill of street magic. He has capitalized on the best form of magic because it involves the audience and makes it a social situation. This response can work for anybody.

If you are willing to spend some time mastering a few tricks, you can become the center of attention and never have trouble meeting new people. The real trick to magic is finding something that you are capable of. Some tricks involve sleight of hand where you can make ball move from one hand to the other.

Popular tricks involve math where you use numbers and letters to spell a word you have predicted. The best part about street magic is there are so many tricks you are bound to find one that you can master. Then simply carry the tools you need for the trick with you. Carrying a pen or a deck of cards is easy, well much easier than mustering up the courage to use a pick up line anyways. It's amazingly easy to use this to your advantage and meet new people.

Find more magic tricks and info at http://www.the-magic-place.info.

How To Appraise Your Own Artwork

Writen by David Waddleton

Below are some general tips on how to get a sense of the value of your artwork. If you are attempting to get an accurate value of an artwork for insurance, auction or selling purposes I recommend that you hire a professional appraiser as they are the ones that will certify their appraisal.

There are hundreds of techniques appraisers use but for this article I will stick to some general and very affective ones to determine the value of your artwork.

Originality- Original artwork is often copied by making a print (giclee, lithography) or copy (manufactured). A print for example (depending on the number of prints) is always lower in price then the original artwork itself.

Generally the more prints made the lower the value each print will be worth. I once went on vacation to Dominican Republic and when I was walking down the tourist markets on the beaches I noticed the paintings and went to check them out. Right away I knew they were prints but many people were buying them as they thought they were genuine originals as the merchants claimed they were even to me. If these tourists knew the difference between a giclee, lithography and an original then it would probably affect their purchasing decisions.

Keep in mind that if you have a giclee of a famous painting, it will probably be worth more then an original of an unknown artist. Also note that if the original artwork made was rare and valuable then it will usually be more rare and valuable as time passes.

Age- The age of your painting will affect its worth. As everyone knows there were many artists in our world that had paintings that never amounted to anything significant until they passed away. I am not saying that you have to wait until your artist is dead for their work to increase as death is not the point I am trying to make. Death however is always the result of time passing.

If you check the back of your canvas look closely and if you can see rough and uneven threads then that is an indication of original handwork. The date can also be found on the back of the painting or by the signature of the artist. Even Comic book collectors know how important it is to keep their collectable in good shape as they almost always keep their books in sleeves and stored properly as the right books will most likely be more rare and valuable as time passes.

Genuine- Everyday everywhere fakes are being sold whether its currency, watches, bootlegged movies, clothing and yes of course artwork. I cannot recall the name of the individual who ended up stealing millions of dollars by painting and selling fake paintings but I do know that to this date hundreds of his fakes are still in circulation. That is scary when you think about it as you look at your artwork on your wall. If you are considering purchasing a painting that is worth more then your car I would more then recommend getting it appraised.

Condition- The condition of the artwork will affect its worth. Simple things such as a hairline cracks, poor touch up jobs or a small tear can decrease its worth. So closely examine your artwork before purchasing or selling it. Even when you are selling the piece I recommended that you tell the buyer of any cracks or problems as honesty is the best policy!

Paperwork- While I agree that most of us are honest and mean well there are always going to be people out there who without the snap of a finger will defraud, lie or cheat you out of your money. Paperwork such as a certificate, letter of authenticity or letter of appraisal will protect you and help you if you have to go to court. Without that piece of paper it will end up in a battle of one person's word against another.

Realistically if you are purchasing a piece for a thousand or less then a piece of paper is great, however think about how much money and time you will spend in court if you find out the piece is a fake. So make sure you do your research about the seller's reputation and the artwork you are going to buy. Trendy- Typical artwork is going to be worth more money then an unusual piece because collectors are always looking for artwork that will accurately represent a given style or period in time. This is again where researching comes in handy. The more knowledge you know the more you can apply it to your decision making. Trends will also up the value of the artwork so capitalizing at the proper time of a trend is a smart move.

Provenance- This word is defined as "Proof of authenticity or of past ownership. Used of art works and antiques." Dealers will use this word when referring to finding out the origin of the work, who owned this piece and where it was made. The answers to these questions will greatly affect the value of the work. Once again researching your artwork and asking the right questions can help you establish the worth of your artwork. Never hesitate to get a second or third opinion if you don't like the answer someone is giving you. Now if someone tells you that your piece is worth nothing or little and then makes you an offer to buy it at a low price, this to me will raise a red flag in my head. Most likely the buyer's intention is to purchase it from you and then sell it for what he/she really thinks its worth.

If you were able to answer most or all of the questions above positively then your artwork will most likely have some value and again if you want a more accurate answer then I recommend that you hire an appraiser to find more accurately your piece is worth.

Please visit us at http://www.houseofcachet.com

Art Collecting Tips For Profit And Pleasure A Sixpart Series Part 5 Art Conservation 101

Writen by Carol Chua

After you've spent precious time and resources building up an art collection, it would be a shame to have its value depreciate because of a lack if knowledge of proper care and conservation for works of art. Some ageing is natural and acceptable to a certain degree, but deterioration or damage due to negligence is not, especially when it can be avoided.

You've probably seen what humidity, light and mold can do to photo prints and film. The same environmental conditions which inflict this kind of damage threatens your art pieces. In fact, with the worsening environment, art works are more in danger than ever before. Even modern lifestyles pose a threat. Have you noticed how art galleries and museums discourage the use of flash cameras and other artificial light sources in the presence of their exhibits?

As the curator of your own collection, you would be well-advised to protect your art pieces from the following hazards:

Pollution

Dust, dirt, human bodily fluids and oils (such as perspiration) and acids are corrosive and discoloring to art. The first three elements are obvious, but where do acids come from? These can be found in household cleaners, air fresheners, chemicals found in furniture, carpets, curtains, appliances, packaging and even the air. Direct skin contact is also damaging to art, which is why handling art works with bare hands should be avoided.

Humidity

This may be good for the skin but the same cannot be said to be true for art. Humidity, moisture or dampness cultivates mold and causes foxing, or brown spotting on the art. Storerooms are typically humid and poorly-ventilated, the perfect breeding ground for these evils, as well as vermin like silverfish and cockroaches. Even paintings and prints displayed on walls can be destroyed by the wormholes or worm tracks of silverfish. Check any art on display regularly for any potential problems.

Heat

A very dry environment can also be damaging to art. Constant humidity of less than 40% can make art works, especially paper or textile-based ones, brittle and very fragile. Humidity should range from 40% to 60%. Modern living environments in cooler climates widely use central heating or radiators which may make conditions far too dry for delicate art. To minimize the problem, try placing bowls of water on radiators.

Radical fluctuations in temperature can cause items to expand and contract. Art should preferably be kept at a constant temperature, just like in special exhibition rooms in museums.

Light

Art cannot be appreciated without light but too much light is detrimental to art, as the UV found in both natural and artificial light fades colors and details.

Protective Options

So what can you do to protect your art collection?

You can try to keep your art pieces in a relatively pollutant-free, temperature, light and humidity-controlled environment. This may involve:

• purchasing and installing special boxes, chests, cabinets or folders
  
• designating a special purpose-built room or area for your collection
  
• renting specialized storage space designed for housing delicate art

Some protective options, such a metal cabinets, are rather ugly, but they will protect your valuable items more effectively than, say, wood. Not all materials are equal; acrylic plastic is preferred to glass, and acid-free paper is better than normal paper. You'll find some examples here:
http://www.home-museum.com/How-To-Arts/how-to_contents.htm

The variables can be confusing, so seek the advice of an art specialist or archiving expert to get started on the right foot.

If you keep your lovely art works safely tucked away under lock and key, you will not have the pleasure of displaying and admiring them. That would be like having the cake and not being able to eat it. Find a balance that suits your requirements.

Copyright © 2006 Carol Chua

Copyright © 2006 Carol Chua - Carol Chua is an ex-corporate warrior turned entrepreneur, writer and co-owner of Cherish Collectibles, an online gallery of art, collectibles and gifts by multiple award-winning American artist Edna Hibel. Visit http://www.cherishcollectibles.com to see this renowned artist's beautiful artwork. Carol also co-owns an online jewelry store with a nature theme, featuring the creations of another award-winning artist, at http://www.silver-butterfly-jewelry.com.

Shut Up And Believe This Article

Writen by Kyle W. McMillan

Epistemology, my ass...

I know everything. I am an unlimited fountain of information, a veritable library of fact and fiction, knowledge and explanation. Hit me with a question and I'll come back atcha, answer in tow, checked, verified and set in stone. Throw me a curve ball, crack the cement and I'll come rolling back into view, side-winding a bit, but newly updated and ready to go.

Just gimme a little time – that's all I ask.

In reality, I'm a lot dumber than many of you may think. If you met me in person, there's very few subjects I could espouse on as clearly and with as much knowledge as I manage to achieve with the written word. On the tails of a comment in one of my latest posts (SoKP) I come to you with this, for the simple act of demonstrating the illusion this medium allows all of us.

Don't be insulted. I know most of you out there are already quite aware of this, but there are some – a select class of people I'm guessing who hold the same talent for clear, articulated verbosity in person as they demonstrate on this site – that might assume that what they find on the page reflects the reality of the person doing the writing. I am envious of these people. This belief clearly speaks of that talent, and I do not hold enough credentials to be eligible for membership in their club. I long ago stopped forcing full volumes of dry, fact-based information down my proverbial throat in the hopes that I could become one of the 'well-read' – those people who have the ability to pull out an undeniable and upper crust knowledge of most any topic and take the debate to a higher level whenever they see fit, eliminating, enthralling and sometimes angering the so-called 'common folk' they leave behind.

No, those people are a rare breed it seems, and their brains function in a manner I'm sure I'll never possess. So I took the easy way out – writing. I mean, that's what it's all about isn't it? Disambiguity. Giving the general public the idea that you know exactly what you're talking about, that you're an expert on whatever given subject you're covering and they have absolutely no reason to doubt you. From 1984 to Dr. Strangelove, it's the same idea; from the petroglyphs to the first town-criers to the invention of the printing press in 1439, we're simply here to give you what you want, help ease your minds and back your beliefs, even if it's us who created those beliefs in the first place. You don't need to know that we really don't know what we're talking about.

I'm doing it right now. I've never seen Dr. Strangelove and I've only read the Coles Notes version of 1984 in grade ten. The date of the invention of the printing press I just looked up online two minutes ago, and who knows how reliable that is. Then again, I could be lying through my teeth – maybe 1984's my favourite book, and I can quote Dr. Strangelove verbatim. That's not the point. The point is making it sound believable. Like any good actor, I'm seventeen feet tall on screen, or I don't exist at all. You may know my face but goddamit you forget when you're sitting in that seat, white-knuckled and dry-mouthed, waiting for the next line.

Maybe I'm breaking the fourth wall doing this. Maybe a team of top-dog secret-op Media Men are going to kick down the door to my house and murder me in my sleep tonight, but somehow I doubt it. Until then, I'm just gonna keep on making-believe.

http://www.writingup.com/blog/slip_shoes_william

After Eve Part Seven The Stone Builders

Writen by Dennis Siluk

The Stone-Builders [By their Weapons]

[Big-chest was a reluctant hero, for the most part, that is, in killing the Stone-Builders; yet when he could, he did so of course, --but I say reluctant I suppose with reluctance; for it was not unlike everyone at this time to be disinclined to kill them, they seemed to be in the vein of the gods, un-killable: yet he killed them and fought them, more so than anyone else—less out of conviction than out of desire to avoid dishonor and social embarrassment for himself.]

Said I [I, being: Short-legs], I had seen one time Big-chest walk into a campsite of theirs, the Stone-Builders that is, —I tried to tell this story to my brother, Stern-toes, once, but I never could explain it right, but I think he got the jest of it, if not the seriousness, we did both laugh at the Stone-Builders for hours on end, afterwards. As I was about to say, myself and Little-eyes witnessed this whole happening from a distance of course. The Stone-Builders were full of what they called: 'wone, or wine,' something along that order, some sounds take me back a bit, they had new sounds all the time, yes O yes, inventing new sounds like the growing of leafs on a tree, coming into our brains like new winds, dragging it into a mode of thinking more everyday, instead of being fond of the birds, and just living: eating, sleeping and dying—these words we never heard of before were floating everywhere in the air, ever since that is, the arrival of the Stone-Builders on the scene: before this, before Eve walked out of that Garden, things were dangerous, but much more quiet.

Well, Big-chest, noticed one evening—not being too far in the thick of the foliage by their campsite [the Stone-Builders site]—they had killed a man-eater [lion]; there were four of them, called 'soldiers,' at the campfire-site, a resting place to them: just laughing, and drinking, and being playful like a group of little cubs: lion cubs—wild and whimpering [whiny] lion-cubs, that is exactly what they were like. I could see Big-chest laughing to himself—inside that big muscular oversized chest: as he watched them wrestle around with one another, actually they did get a little over physical with one another, like the wild boars whom would chase after one of us, wanting to eat us for a feast, and then they'd settle down again. It was a cold winter's night that day, so there was a real chill in the air, and not all that much leafy undergrowth for us to hide or for that matter to slap the chill away: nor for that matter Big-chest: although he had a coat of hair all over him to keep him warm anyways—showed a bit of chill in his face also. Although—I was grateful for the few large trees with the plant-life tucked around me, it absorbed some of the wind—the brisk, cold winds seeping by us, around us, and almost through us: the shrubbery covered us, as we remained in the distant woods, with a pile of leaves up to our knees: leaves for warmth and camouflage, --camouflage being a plan incase we figured we'd have to duck, hide ourselves-quickly should they get the best of Big-chest, but we doubted that: Big-chest was just the opposite of us----mean,--plus

as always, Big-chest was confident of his abilities, he stood in the woods, no shadow—not sure what he did with it, but he was cleaver; just a big blob of muscle, hair and sharp eyes, small squinty eyes pinned on the four Stone-Builders, at the camp site, and their man-eater, that was going to be his dinner. He was actually blocking our vision a bit, but I think he did that because he wanted to show his audience—which was us—who was the braver. I actually had some kind of a feeling for those men who were about the meet Big-chest, a gloomy feeling at best, and a thankful feeling: thankful, it was not us in their place; yet both I and Little-eyes, both surely held feelings of revenge for the Stone-Builders, and this was kind of a good time for the revenge to seep out, but I don't care for revenge for the most part, not really, it takes too much energy, saps you—in review, all was quite mysterious to me.

Then unsuspected, he walked into the camp, tall as a mountain, hairy as a leafy think forest, long, a very long mouth from ear to ear, his teeth showed—he walked reminiscent of the king of the Stone-Builders [I think he was mimicking him—he like to do such things], he must have seen him walk, for he was arched just like their king, head back, eyes slanting down as if they were subordinates; --among the four he crept up, not a word, not a sound, the dark-dragging behind him, the sky had very little light given by the stars, but it followed him overhead none the less, a cloud covered the moon—as if he and Big-chest were pals; now he had seen their weapons by the fire, where the dead lion lay, if anything, Big-chest was shifty: sly, observant: he was swaying his body akin to the huge trees in a storm, not sure exactly why, but I think it got his blood moving and his limbs more flexible for swinging when he used them for clubs—and it made for a good showing: his hands were as big as large branches of a tree: and as hard. Closer and closer he came to the fire, no one noticed him yet, can't figure it out, no one, no one at all, --could they not hear him a little, just a tiny bit, I asked myself, for both myself and Little-eyes could hear his foot steps even in the woods, at twice their distance, I was about to learn we had better hearing than these new creatures. But then this new breed of course, can not have all the advantages, thank goodness, thus, our senses were better, we were tuned higher one might say, and they were tuned with more and a higher intelligence than we.

His fingers now, almost touching the ground—I could see—he, he had long thick arms, and fingers, and perturbing muscles, he was impressive to look at, huge to digest with your eyes, and frightening if you did not see him on a daily bases, and dangerous to be around, at any time. Then all of a sudden two of the four turned their necks to see what was in back of them; not sure if they heard him, sensed him, or just did out of an automatic military checking ritual,--whereupon, they almost went into shock: two stood up, all four were some fifteen feet from their weapons. The two who were squatting, the closest to the fire, were in a panic, the other two were a little farther away, standing now, unsure, thinking. I think one was releasing himself; he made a puddle and was trying to cover it up by kicking dirt, how modest. I figured why waste your time, this was precious time, run, run, run: that is what I'd do, but I really was hoping they'd not run, I must have an evil side in me also, just like them; you know, they got this pride thing, and I was hoping they would stay with this pride and arrogance, and then as I stopped thinking for a moment, Big-chest knock it out of them, if that is, they had any pride left. I think I was starting to get like them, that being: aggressive thoughts.

In any case, Big-chest took his right hand swung it backwards to build up momentum, and with the force of a giant tree, hit the head of one of the squatters as he was about to stand up, it sounded faintly similar to thunder, and I could hear it snap, and rip, similar to a timber falling after lightening strikes it, strikes a tree out of its roots, its stretching roots out of the ground. He fell on his chest, then pushing himself, flopped over and onto his shoulder as if it had nothing holding his head in place, like a dead fish flopping, jumping in a creek—he lost his inner breath. The other one tried to get to his weapon, but Big-chest, akin to lightening, jumped with one leap over to him, picked him up by one leg, his penis showing, as Big-chest looked strangely at it, as if to laugh at a small ugly worm, for they all liked covering them up for some odd reason, and Big-chest now must have figured out, he knew why. And we both in the bushes started to giggle, snicker, laughing at the sight—I wanted to say laugh again—but we had to hold our laughing inside our stomachs for a while, so as not to spoil his feat. Then after our expressions of amusement, a stern grin appeared on Big-chest's face—I think he heard us—in any case, he tossed him into the fire when he got bored looking at him, after twisting him about for a few seconds, breaking his leg in several places I imagine, for I kept hearing crunches, as if bones were cracking, and then there was his screams.

Then one of the two standing routed himself through the woods yelling something on the order of: "Hhhhh eel pppp...!" Not sure what that meant. The last one, I call him the brave one, or definitely I could call him the stupid one, or should I say foolish one, none-the-less, he pulled out a sharp object, about the length of his hand, and stood in front of Big-chest as if he was going to fight him. At this point I said, and Little-eyes thought: this was the end for him; he [the soldier] looked like a banana compared to Big-chest. I asked myself, 'Is he crazy? Run, and run while you can,' and I was on Big-chest's side now, more than ever, but it didn't sound like it for that split-moment, but I felt it was a little unfair, size and all. But the man, whom I am calling a brave-soldier, stood his ground, and actually looked at Big-chest in the eyes. My-gosh, the man must have been half his size, about 175 pounds, quick on his feet though, for he was dancing around Big-chest, trying to stab him, and poke him. He looked more like a bee trying to sting someone, but that just irritated him more. Big-chest had taken arrows out of himself one-hundred times before, I bet; arrows deeper than that knife would have ever penetrate, if the person had gotten a chance to lunge it into Big-chest, and he didn't get that chance: and it never hurt him much: those pokes. These little wounds were nothing, --but should he leap and get a good stab possible in the upper chest of Big-chest, or eye, then I'd worry.

To make a long story short: Big-chest just looked dumfounded at the figure in front of him dancing in a circle, and didn't move very much, except around; I've seen Little-eyes close his eye-lids now, he knew, he knew what was about to happen, and with his waving quick long arms, Big-chest picked up the seven foot lionesses, and put it over his shoulder, the crazy Stone-Builder charged at him, and Big-chest with a quick sweep, with a turn, knocked the man flat on his back, onto the ground, he had hit him with the man-eater, as he balanced it over his shoulder. Then, somewhat, disparate, or so it seemed, reminiscent of a dying fish jumping about trying to get back into the water—he: Big-chest—kicked him in the mid-section of his belly, sweeping him into the fire like trash, now almost a dead fish. The Soldier could not move, he surely had a broken spine I thought, had he not, he would had gotten up and run fast out of the fire, and he didn't: or couldn't, for Big-chest couldn't run with the man-eater on his shoulder so it was a good time to escape, if he could. But he didn't, or couldn't, nor do I think he intended to. But again, the man tried to move out of the fire with no suitable means other than his arms which were now on fire, for surely his ribs and legs were broken. Big-chest simply turned away from him as if he was insignificant, as I did myself. The defeat was predictable, and most unnecessary. I got thinking: what kind of creature fights when they cannot compete. It has always been the law of the land—to run, unless cornered: hence, when you can't battle, don't. It wasn't necessary to die like that. I was learning about pride and arrogance quickly from these new creatures though; all in time and observation I told myself, and I'd be well informed on their unusual habits.

11

Early winter

We had no way of knowing which winter would be good to us or bad for us, and winter this particular winter had come early, and therefore our food supply was exhausted, depleted that is, rather quickly. When Little-eyes and I returned back to the cave the following evening, we had told in our symbolic way: expressed at the Banana Cave that is, to the entire Horde how Big-chest had killed the Eve People. And you could hear the laughter for miles around. I tried to explain how Big-chest had seen or sensed their movements, their evil objective, and their killing intent: as he always seemed to be able to sense survival quite well; he had a special quality of seeing through a person to his evil side, as he could see through us, thus, he could see through the Stone-People as well. I explained how one of the men stayed to fight him, trying to outstare Big-chest, and got kicked into the fire, and died. They all shook their heads in wonderment, we were not the smartest of the inhabitants of earth, but that was sure dumb we all thought, no vocal language was needed for that understanding or response. I think Big-chest had taken his trophy to his cave in our area, and was having a formal meal at this time. We liked anyone who could out smart the Stone-People I suppose, they were smug and we were helpless to them most of the time; they had well groomed weapons, and we had simply rocks and some clubs, along with a few sharpened stones, as they now were being called, knifes, up to the appearance of the Stone-People, they were just tools. And so it felt good if anything, good to see the odds turn for once, and to be frank, they didn't turn much, if ever in our favor after that episode. But our surprise would come in the morning: --yes, we would not be forgotten for once.

Morning

In the morning when several of us looked out of our cave entrances, in the center of the canyon below our cliff dwellings, as we often did to be sure we were safe from man or beast, in the open area in the valley below us, we saw half a lion torn open, lying in the center of our domain, for us, it was a treasure, a gift, a donation if anything, and all of us quickly ran to eat what meat Big-chest had left for us. Big-chest was not always so generous, or kind, but for some odd reason, he knew we were starving for some protean, and our bodies were starting to show our ribs. Aimless to say, this never happened again—not in such a quantity, but we all gave Big-chest a super big smile as we walked proudly out of our canyon-caves and ate the raw meat [for he appeared standing erect by a cave entrance observing the feast he provide]; yes, some of us even were tarring at the red meat, animal protein, liken to wolfs.

12

The Hermit by the Sea

It was a short period of time from when Big-chest appropriated the lion [took it from the Stone-Builders] and we all ate the meat, when I joined the Horde in the valley on a crisp morning—a morning that told me, the seasons were about to change, thus, leading into spring; I could see my breath: it was so brittle, so I knew winters end was near. There was great commotion in the valley below, as there often was when someone or something new came about to celebrate, I had noticed from my cliff dwelling a gathering of the Horde, looking down, I quickly dashed along the sides of the cliff until I reached the floor of the valley to see what it was, as did Little-eyes, as I had woke him, trying to explain a happening was taking place.

Thin-hips of the Horde [Sister to Moss]

When I reached the bottom and many of the folk were going to and fro, some with sad and hungry faces, very sad posture, I made my way through several folks now gathered around this one section of the cliff; old-Moss, the Hermit by the Sea, was laying dead, his sister, Thin-hips, was there pacing, walking back and forth, kind of chanting, humming something, sounds on top of sounds—death had waxed his face I noticed. Old Moss was the oldest folk I had ever known, ever heard of. He must have been 60 or 65 years old—I doubt Big-chest was that old. No one ever lived that long, no one that is but Moss, I suppose. You could tell by looking at him, half his death was caused by starvation, the other by his long walk back to the Valley of the Caves, the strenuous walk; a walk many took to come back when they felt their time was short on this ground, like some fish, we all seem to know our dying ground; he came from the far off place, called the Great Cliffs by the Sea. I had only seen him when I was a kid and then once or twice coming and going, within a twenty-year period. He lived in the sand hills far from the Horde as I was saying, to the extreme East, and not far from there to the south was the Great Sea and the cliffs he always told his sister about, much larger than ours, higher than ours he'd say. He add, this place was somewhere between the Sea, and the cliffs, and the strait, and this valley was a flat area, plateau, this is where he wondered off too often, or so he'd claim, upon his return. He knew my father quite well, Long-arms, and did visit him, it was always when I was gone it seemed. They appeared to get along quite well, as one might expect, two strange folks to say the least; not sure what they had in common, matter of fact, if anything, one was lazy—my father, the other, Moss, was quite active I heard.

The Great Sea

But he did bring back information to his sister, who shared it with us, and of course he'd tell other people also of his journeys, or try to describe them best he could, and we were all quite interested in his tales—it was entertainment: yes he was a man of tales, I guess in one way I admired him for that, it was almost like some of the occupations the Stone-Builders had, or called occupations, which were really doing things by order of their king and getting fed by someone else because of the king—strange. Thus, Moss was our entertainer, and Moss did get fed by most of the Horde's residents for doing so, I think they'd call him in to their cave to hear him talk, or draw pictures, or act out his strange adventures. Half the time we never knew what he was saying, but then, so what and it was amusement. Everyone liked him, and so did I.

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

Can I Have Your Autograph

Writen by Stephen Schochet

Being a celebrity means dealing with fan demands for autographs, ranging from polite and appropriate to rude and overbearing. One time Katherine Hepburn was performing on Broadway and tried to exit backstage through a crowd of jostling autograph hounds. Bodyguards helped her to her limo and once safely inside the very private star rolled down the window and shouted," Run em down! We'll clean up the blood later!" The crowd scattered and the limousine sped away, pausing long enough for Hepburn to roll down the window and wave goodbye to her fans, accompanied by an evil laugh. Strangely enough, when she lived in Beverly Hills the seclusion loving Hepburn developed the habit of sneaking into her neighbor's houses as a hobby. She became expert at climbing trees, avoiding alarms and dogs, and revealing herself just before her nervous neighbors called the police.

Walt Disney had the strange experience in the 1930s of having his name famous around the world when his face was not. Often he would forget his identification and that combined with his casual attire sometimes kept him out of fancy restaurants. Later in the 50's he became a recognized figure because of his television hosting duties. The lack of anonymity made it increasingly difficult for him to walk through Disneyland without being badgered for autographs. Disney struggled not to be brusque while explaining he didn't have time, he was trying to make the park a better place. In the 60's when the company was trying to purchase Florida marshland for a second amusement park, he was warned by his advisors to stay away from the state, the real estate prices would go up once the identity of the buyer was known. But Disney couldn't resist. Eating in a Orlando diner Walt was approached by a curious waitress,"Pardon me. Aren't you Walt Disney?" Walt who was known for being brutally honest, replied," Hell no! And if I see that sob, I'll give him a piece of my mind."

Stars making movies at Universal Studios often try to avoid tour guides leading autograph hounds. One particular fellow became ingenious at tracking down Michael Caine, who toyed with the idea of having the young man fired, then decided, "What the hell, I'll just sign" and was gracious. It turned out to be a good move, the tour guide was Mike Ovitz who later became the most powerful talent agent in Hollywood.

When stardom is new, autograph signing can be a thrill. One night in Paris the 60 year old Cary Grant and 25 year old Sophia Loren wished to go out to dinner. "But the people will come up to us. I can't stand it!" said the jaded Briton. "I love it," said Sophia. When they left their hotel Grant complete with his hat pulled down,dark glasses, his scarf wrapped around his face, and his huge overcoat looked like the Invisible Man. Sophia looked like Sophia. As they walked the streets of Paris people began to come up to her for autographs which she joyfully signed. After a few fan encounters Grant began to get jealous. Down came the hat, off came the glasses, the coat and the scarf and soon he was standing under neon lights to get noticed.

Another English actor named Grant was thrilled by his breakout stardom due to the movie Four Weddings And A Funeral (1994). Hugh Grant would drive around New York looking for theaters where the film was playing then get out and wait in line, happy for the attention and to sign autographs. Later when he was arrested in Los Angeles for hiring prostitute Divine Brown, he turned down requests to put his signature on tabloids containing his mug shot.

Some actors just sign despite their annoyance. One time Arnold Schwarzenegger was being interviewed at a press junket when a reporter asked him for an autograph for his mother, a big no-no. The star grimaced and said,"Of course. I wouldn't want to disappoint your mother." He paused then added," I'm sure you have disappointed her enough already."

Autographs can cause internal conflicts for stars who take themselves too seriously. During the making of Klute (1971) Donald Sutherland received a written request from a fan who wished for an autograph for his daughter. Sutherland showed the letter to his humorless girlfriend Jane Fonda who expressed a strong opinion that he should not sign it, autographs imply that movie actors are somehow superior to others. Sutherland bowed to her philosophy and wrote a letter stating his reasons for refusing the request. The man wrote him back,"Dear Mr. Sutherland, thank you for your letter. We think you are full of it but we ripped off the signature and gave it to our daughter."

About The Author Stephen Schochet is the author and narrator of the audiobooks Fascinating Walt Disney and Tales Of Hollywood. The Saint Louis Post Dispatch says," these two elaborate productions are exceptionally entertaining." Hear realaudio samples of these great, unique gifts at www.hollywoodstories.com. orgofhlly@aol.com

Planet Ssarghomeland Chapter Three Part Of Quotthe Cadaverous Planetsquot

Writen by Dennis Siluk

Still only partially clothed, and unarmed for the most part of what to do, but with a renewed confidence she examined, Siren examined, the countryside, a thousand snakes surrounded her, but gave distance so she was free to walked any which way she pleased. Almost as if they were protecting her. Blaze was in the forefront. It was but several hours now, since the fight had taken place, and perhaps, if she could count, and she didn't want to count to be truthful, and so she guessed, looked about, there must had been some 25,000-plus snakes in and around her. Coming out of the thick tall shrubbery that surrounded her, was behind them, and trying to catch up with the horde. This perhaps would end up being the longest day of her life.

But it came about, the meadows appeared again, the tall grassy meadows now surround them all again, and liking it or not, she'd had to lie in the grass for the evening. But she knew now, had the snakes wanted to devour her, surely a few could have done it, it wouldn't take 25,000. Blaze almost had done it. And so she lay back, pushing some grass up against her neck to rest comfortably. "Adversary," the word adversary came out of her mouth: deep from in her mind, "Possibly the Vipers had an adversary, don't all living things have one?" so she questioned herself out loud; a question statement perhaps, she was not looking for an answer. Every planet, every living area had what her mother echoed in her: 'war and peace.' It seemed the echoes were vague in her mind of her mother, the telepathy or call it what you will, was not transmitting as it had before for her, before that is, while on Moiromma. War and peace, she could not visualize it, except if it was among the black snakes vs. the brown or red I suppose, that would war, and perhaps the peace she saw now was because there was a war at one time. At the moment, this very second, they seemed all a bit united. Not comfortable, as black with black, and red with red and brown with brown, but willingly united for the moment, perhaps to see if she'd be the leader of all, or a few.

—But as one knows, days pass into weeks, in the clap of an eye, and so it was on this Grass Island Planet in the dark universe in some unknown galaxy, far from Moiromma and farther from earth. If anything was happening in the secret, these two weeks, it was harmony among all who had gathered in this thick foliage nearing some mounds and hills, not quite mountains, no, not quite, but you could see them in the distance: hills. She'd figure they were close when she no longer could see them over the tops of the vegetation, and that was not their situation. And as they walked forward to these landmarks she announced she'd make a home near there; there were patches of brown and trees thereabouts, she had noticed, dray land and such on this journey that seemed most pleasing. She ate fruits of some kind, they looked like eyeballs, but they grow on tall leafy looking stalks, like corn, and were tasty, like small soggy apples, not quite round more oval like an egg. The snakes ate them also, but preferred the small insects and lizards and spiders that seemed to gather around them. They ate any and everything eatable. They even ate the grass, threw it up, vomited it out, but it kept them alive until they found better and more solid nourishment.

The vipers were becoming restless during the third week of walking to those far off hills, a wooded area, the one Siren had noticed before, appeared in front of her now, as they got nearer, with slops and brown spots where it was only dirt. She ran towards the hills stopped at its edge. As she went from the bottom of the hill, at its edge, as if there was a line to cross, and up the embankment, to the more leveled area, she saw her antagonist, a 100-pound rat, with teeth as big as saber-teeth lions. Ah yes, yes indeed, she knew it was coming, something had to come, life was too peaceful for that small period of time.

Drenched with sweat, she slowly walked up another several feet of the reclining area, the slope always turning into a more leveled area as she climbed upward—but not quite; almost as if it was a rampart built out of sod. Now, now behind the arrogant looking rat, the rat that exposed itself to all who were looking up at the wooded area, exposed himself as if to say: don't cross over that invisible line, the line you did, he was standing in front of, rows and rows and rows of rats. Evidently they had an alert, and were ready for battle. 'No wonder,' thought Siren, '…no wonder the snakes were so restless.' She looked about, there were two huge trees to her right: these would make a good home she concluded: save, that they were not taken by the army of rats.

The King Rat stepped up, as the other one, the one that had exposed himself, stepped to its right. Next to Siren was not Blaze the Viper and the King Rat in front of her. Both hissed at one another, but did not provoke, as if they were waiting for this new mighty creature, Siren to stop up and become the inevitable whatever.

Quicker than either the rat or viper could think, Siren pulled off a thick, very thick branch from the tree nearby: perhaps as thick as a 4X4 beam: with a sharp head, likened to a sword. There was a pond of water a few feet from the tree, she calmly went to it, drank some water, and then got back into a warriors stance; but now three huge rodents stood blocking her way forward. The warmth of the sun was baking the snakes below the embankment, and the water looked most refreshing, but they did not move: the rodents seemed to be chatting with one another in their spotted sounding dialect: from hisses, to grunts and sharp squeals. Blaze looked up at Siren, he had seen that smirk, that sneer before, it was a deadly smile, he remembered it, it was just before he got hit in the head, and if a snake could laugh, or displace his personal defeated anger on anyone, it would had been, and probably was, given to these three rats. He knew what pity was, he was feeling it for them, he had learned it now.

Quicker than lightning she suddenly took the branch she had in her hands, struck each of their backs, their upper spines [of the rats], struck them into their spines, pulling the rod like weapon out: killing them as if they were bulls. All three dropped dead. The sharp wooden weapon went from the upper part of the spine, right through their lower body, and she did it so quick, it was like poking the ground with a magic wand.

They died, eyes opened to their defeat, and the rows and rows of rats looked spellbound. So amazed were the rats they all simultaneously ran, ran out of fear: if she could do that in a matter of seconds to three, to the king and two of his guards, how much quicker could she do it to a row, or two rows of rats. Surely they must have been thinking along those lines: they could not reason like her, but they could sense fear, fear for a moment anyway; or at least until they found a way to gain back courage. As a few stood looking at her, she crashed down the solid weapon, the wooden branch, a weapon they had never seen before, for nobody had ever used a devise to kill before, she crushed down on top of their heads this branch, cracking open their skulls, and then the rest ran in double-time back into the thick of the woods.

see Dennis' website for his most recent book, "Spell of the Andes," and his travels: httpj://dennissiluk.tripod.com

Creating Reflections In A Painting

Writen by Samuel Jaycox

Creating reflections in a painting is thought to be a hard task. This is not so. Creating reflections is easy and helps create interest in a painting. There are basically two ways to do this. One is on a dry canvass and the other on a wet canvass. The secret of each of these is the same: Pay attention to the strokes!

Creating reflections on a dry canvass. Dry canvass only means you are applying paint to a canvass that has no under-coat of paint. First create the land by using horizontal strokes up to the waters edge. Now decide what is to be reflected into the water and "loosely" paint it using vertical strokes. Now with things of different colors that will be reflected, it is okay to overlap them. This will only add the the illusion. Now with a soft brush lightly stroke a horizontal stroke. Remember water must take on the appearance of being flat.

Creating reflections on a wet canvass. Wet means there is an under-coat of thin paint. Not much just enough to make the canvass wet. The process is almost the same as that on a dry canvass. The difference is that with a wet canvass you can either paint the reflections or, you can grab the bottoms of the land mass and pull straight down. Make sure they are straight down. Now lightly with a clean soft brush do the horizontal stroke to create the reflection. Keep these strokes straight. water must appear to be flat.

To separate the land from the water you may wish to use a palette knife with a mixture of white and a small amount of black to make a very light grey. Now use this mix and scrape or paint it in where the land and water meat. These lines must also stay straight. One more thing to remember. Reflections may be slightly darker that what they are reflecting. To do this add more base color of what you are reflecting.

Sam's Arts is a website for all things art. You can find landscapes, still life, ocean scenes, and wild life paintings. Come and see for yourself at http://www.samsarts.ecrater.com.

Pc Migration

Writen by Usha Devi

When you buy a new computer you would want your new pc to behave very much like the older one. It is then, you would attempt to backup all your files & data and would typically reset the new Pc by manually migrating settings and applications. At certain moments this process is painstaking especially for large corporate users and system administrators. Even an average home user would feel very tedious and be alarmed at the enormous technical process.

Above all, the basic necessity of pc migration is always felt and you have to ensure that all the data in the old PC is brought over to the new one. Because over period of time, you would have installed many applications; customized settings like Outlook Express and many such favorites added in your old pc. Bringing in all the stuff to the brand new Pc is time consuming.

At this point of time you would tend to look for a PC migration tool that would automate the entire process of migration. Fortunately, there have come lots of pc migration tools on the way to rescue. You can schedule and automate these tools to extract and migrate settings, applications. Usually the settings are transferred to the new system via a network (typically) or cable connection. Once this is done the process of migration can happen with just few clicks of the provided options in the software.

StepUp

StepUp is PC migration tool that automates migration. StepUp transfers all data, applications and settings from one computer to another. If you are attempting to migrate either applications or data ,StepUp would be a good source of rescue.

StepUp is an easy to use tool for new PC users that gives them a feel of their old PC without much trouble. You just need to install the software on the destination machine, share the hard drives of the source machine and the app takes care of the rest.

StepUp also supports multiple OS and migrates any version of the applications. Migration takes place in a very simple and a quick fashion thereby reduces frustration .The user can very well migrate IE favorites and cookies along with the other application and settings. StepUp supports multiple connections options and does not require any external disks.

About CellarStone Inc CellarStone Inc is a provider of software solutions. We develop, implement and customize software. Our software products range from the simple desktop utilities to the sales commission software. CellarStone Inc encourages resellers/distributors and OEM dealers. Contact ushadevi_rangaramanujam@cellarstoneindia.com for further details.

Mr Leroy Pepper Or Undertaking With Leroy Chapter One

Writen by Michael Cooper

Working in a medium size mortuary in a medium sized city in the Deep South has not been without its moments. The outside world may think of the funeral business as always somber and maybe even a little bizarre but characters like Leroy Pepper provided some occasional comic relief. Poor Leroy did not last long in the death business but he will be remembered around here.

Leroy's father, Herbert "Red" Pepper, was our flower truck driver and general handy man for around 22 years when he asked our owner to employ his son as an apprentice. Red wanted in the worse way for his son to have some kind of career so Red thought the funeral business would be right for Leroy. Leroy may have has some knowledge as to what his dad did for us but that was about it. I had met Leroy on occasion and felt that maybe he had a minus IQ. All kidding aside I did not think Leroy should be on the inside in the funeral business but the hiring decision was not mine to make. Mr. Coons, the owner, hired Leroy out of loyalty to Red. Mr. Coons was a no nonsense man but he thought Leroy should have a chance.

Leroy getting a chance to enter this business was fine with me except that I get stuck with this guy. Leroy had three months before he was to enter the mortuary science program at a local junior college so Mr. Coons made him my apprentice understudy. I soon found out that Leroy had never been on the inside of the funeral business. I decided my main job was to see that Leroy did more watching than doing. I had been in this business for 5 years at the time and I did not want something Leroy did to ruin my stellar reputation. I had handled over 200 cases at the time Leroy came on board and was in line for a management position at one of the branch funeral homes. I could manage a case from the first call to the final disposition with our resources at hand. Now for the next three months I had to think of something for Leroy to do. Mr. Coons is not paying this guy to stand around; I have to make sure Mr. Coons gets his money's worth from someone who really does not know this business.

We decided to start Leroy on Monday at opening hours. With no services scheduled on this Monday I could work with Leroy and see what I could teach him. Leroy was informed to enter the chapel from the rear employee entrance. Leroy does arrive on time but he parks his car in front of the chapel and walks in the main entrance. To make matters worse Leroy is wearing a madras sports jacket and is missing a front tooth. Seems that Leroy's false tooth retainer was misplaced. ......

Chapter 2 coming soon on ...

You may reach Mr. Cooper at leroypepper@cooltoad.com.