Hall of Shame
or never make fun of someone with 1337 photoshop skillz




James aka Chewie (left)

Justin aka Peaches aka Weezie Bat (right)





















James aka Chewie

Top 10 Reason Why I Won't Go See Cloverfield The Movie:

1. SHAKYCAM

2. The entire movie was filmed with a friggin SHAKYCAM!

3. The same reason why Transformers sucked - you couldn't see the robots because of the damn SHAKYCAM!

4. J. J. Abrams thinks he's so cool, he can film a whole movie with a SHAKYCAM.

5. Moronic movie execs spent millions of dollars that could have feed the homeless, or China for a day, on the premise that the nausea one feels watching a SHAKYCAM for 2 hours will increase it's horror potential.

6. I was burnt by Blair Witch Project already, not gonna fall for another movie with a damn SHAKYCAM as its hook.

7. I can save $10 by watching the trailer on Youtube, while my friend repeatedly hits me in the head with a baseball bat and get the same effect as a SHAKYCAM!

8. Hollywood seems hellbent on following the crappiest trend in film making, by taking what was once a minor annoyance in most action films, and devolving a complete set of shot styles to the lowest common denominator - the SHAKYCAM.

9. I was hoping this movie would have been the next Godzilla, but instead, it looks like we got Youtube -The Movie, filmed by a drunk two-year-old with a damn SHAKYCAM.

10. Going to see Cloverfield at the theaters will only validate the stupid idea of using a SHAKYCAM will make a movie about a 500 ft. tall monster seem more 'realistic'.

Duct Tape Diver films Giant Grouper in Fiji during a shark dive

Feb 2002 scuba diving footage from a shark dive in Fiji. Just outside of Beqa Island, Fiji. The diver seen in the video is the Fijian divemaster who is well over 6 foot tall to give a size comparison to the Giant Grouper. Another Duct Tape Divers' special.

Part 2 - In Honor of Shark Week

Friday was our final day on Beqa Island before we headed back to semi-civilization of the mainland. It was also the day that I had eagerly awaited for, ever since hearing about the much hyped cageless shark dive, as well as a day that will forever remain emblazoned in the annuals of my past. Our dive boat arrived within a few minutes of the scheduled time. Another perfectly blue cloudless day. Even though the sea was eerily calm on our way to the dive, our boat bottomed out on a reef causing our Fijian dive handlers to revert back to their native tongue in a spattering of shouts, and undoubtedly several curses. After checking the vessel for any damage we continued on wondering how many years worth of coral were killed in the collision and hoping that this was not a portent of things to come.

The location of our dive site was marked only by a small, lableless, Clorox bottle used as a buoy along with the presence of the chum boat tied up to it. The Divemasters busied themselves tying off while the rest of us gazed in amazement at the flurry of activity just below the waters’ surface. Thousands of fish everywhere. Some guy on the other boat threw in a piece of chum and the ocean erupted into froth as every fish vied for a free meal. “Whoa!” Sounding a little too much like Keanu, was all I could manage to utter as what appeared to be a pod of dolphins cruised by the madness of frenzied fish. I blurted to no one in particular, “I’ve never seen dolphins before, cool.”

“Not dolphins, skipjack tuna. Four to five footers from the looks of it.” It was the first words I heard Caroline utter all day. She was usually pretty quiet until the previous nights drinking had worn off. And she could drink with the best of us. She had a hand in getting us cut off on the painfully long plane ride by starting us off with free drinks in the executive lounge at the airport, eventually digressing into her very vocal displeasure at the speed of the drink attendant on the plane. Not to mention the hilarious string of expletives that always sprung from her mouth. Or the four bottles of vodka we consumed. I bet she could make my old drill instructor beam with pride upon hearing her. Though I’m sure he would frown at the cigarette that continually dangled from her jib as she swaggered around the boat. I swear she was Blackbeard trapped in a woman’s body. A rather strange image considering she was 61 at the time.

Her sluggish conversation belied her efficient dive prep, somehow always managing to be the first one into the water and, to the chagrin of my pride in my air consumption, the last one back on the boat with more spare gas in her tanks. Determined to be first in the water I began to suit up while the feeders gave the dive briefing.

Upon hearing of the two 17 foot tiger sharks, bulls, grey reef and whitetips that awaited our arrival, two from our group decided it would be better to pay $100 to skip the dive. Our plan required us to enter the water, descend down to 100 ft. along a steep coral mountain and position ourselves between the coral and a makeshift rock and debris wall about 3 ft. high and 5 ft. in front of the coral mount. This sheltered us from behind and front, yet allowed us to see over the man made hedge with our exhaust bubbles forming a protective curtain that the Fijians assured us the sharks didn’t penetrate. A Divemaster would be on each end of our group armed with metal Little Bo Peep Sheppard staffs. Once we were in position the feeder would enter the water with the 55 gallon drum cut in half, filled with chum and bedazzle us with the show about 10 ft. in front of us. Sounded like a good plan to me.

Splash. Dammit, Caroline beat me to the water yet again. I finished gearing up, grabbed my video camera, and jumped off the back of the boat into the swirling mass of fish. I descended to about 5 ft. below the surface to adjust my gear and start my camera, while waiting for the rest of the group to enter the water. All week long the 110 degree temperatures and 100% humidity had been causing massive havoc with my camera; it would take a couple of minutes of being submerged in the cooler water until it would operate properly, so I just sort of hung there scanning the wildlife for any signs of a shark. It’s hard to describe the sheer amount of visual overload that lay before my eyes as thousands of fish of every conceivable shape, size, and color swam in all 3 dimensions all around me. Some were in schools, others simply fended for themselves in this Cirque D’Aquatic. An oceanic orchestra being conducted by the feeder topside; tossing a piece of chum to the right and the collective would rush at the slowly tumbling chunk of meat, nipping and biting until something larger pushed its’ way in or it fell away from the rushed trajectory of the pursuer. Throw a piece to the left and the assembled would shift direction in a procession of visual wonder that reminded me of the scene in Fantasia where Mickey Mouse as the sorcerer’s apprentice conducts the broomsticks to dance around the floor.

Camcorder finally behaving, I dumped the air from my BCD and slowly dropped in depth as the last diver entered the water. The congregation of fish thins from thousands to hundreds as I descend to about 30 ft. where I spot the first shark cruising the perimeter of divers and oceanic freeloaders swimming near the surface. It was a blacktip, maybe four feet long, gliding effortlessly in the periphery looking for stragglers. I filmed him for a minute or so until he disappeared into the blue haze possibly finding something of more interest. Continuing downward the sandy bottom became visible around 70 ft. deep. I could make out large dark shapes circling around the descent line intermingled with another collection of marine life gathered below. Another 10 ft. down and something caught my eye through the viewfinder. “Holy shit,” clearly audible, upon reviewing the video tape, escaped my mouth as I panned and centered upon a monstrous shark swimming away from the feeding site. Possibly a bull or tiger, easily 10+ ft. with a girth twice that of my own 165 lb. frame. He looked like a fat fighter jet skimming the bottom with a casual back and forth motion of his tail propelling his seamless flight. The shark had a carbon-copy counterpart that swam several feet behind him. I filmed the two until they faded from view and turned my attention back to the action that was unfolding around the feeder as he dropped to the bottom with his chum-drum.

What I saw next just blew my mind. Commanding the attention of everyone and everything around them, three of the largest non-shark fish I have ever seen came in from my right hand side as I dropped into position behind the safety of the hedge in front of the coral mount. Giant Groupers. Two smaller and one mammoth, literally the size of a VW bus. To give a rough set of dimensions, think 10 ft. long, 5 ft. high and about 3.5 feet thick from left to right gill, weighing roughly 1000 lbs. The short video above shows the two smaller groupers moving up to the drum of chopped fish parts and treating it like a mug of coffee – and these were only half the size of the larger grouper. I’ve heard horror stories of commercial divers being swallowed whole by these fish, prompting some to believe that the origins of the Jonah and the Whale parable stem from real life grouper attacks. I soon realized that the Sheppard hooks that the Fijians carried were not so much for the sharks, but rather to prevent the groupers from consuming an unsuspecting tourist.

Transfixed by their momentous size and slow lumbering pace all I could really do was film these amazing beasts, temporarily abandoning my slow panning search for my beloved sharks. Everything in their path showed the respect of Poseidon by giving them a wide birth as they swam towards the feeding drum. Imagine the density of thousands of fish whirling around in a mini-mountain of mass the size of a house around the chum, to the point of almost being solid, then opening up a bubble of solitude around these overgrown giants as they entered; each smaller fish compacting even tighter into the group so as to not anger these behemoths which even the larger sharks deferred their respect to. When the groupers approached the drum is when things got really interesting for me.

The Fijian feeder turns and points at me to get my attention. At first I just thought he wanted me to film something particular, until I realized he wanted me to come over towards him. My heart raced as I swam over, leaving the protection of the group, the rock hedge with anti-shark bubble curtain and the Divemasters with the metal hooks. He waved me over, pointing to the ground by his feet, indicating where he wanted me positioned – inside the feeding frenzy!

It was a spot only about 10-15 ft. from the rest of the group, but quickly proved to be a very difficult swim as the water was so turbulent from the rush of fish moving in every direction, leaving a chaotic wake that moved in all 3-dimensions at once. I was battered back and forth, side to side, struggling to cover the few feet of ground. As soon as I arrived at the feeders’ side I was smacked in the cheek by an out of control tuna. The 60 lb. fish hit me with enough force to knock the regulator out of my mouth and leave me slightly dazed. More stunned than hurt, I didn’t even realize that I was without an air source until the feeder grabbed my regulator and held it up in front of my face. I sheepishly grabbed the reg and returned it to my mouth.

Both the marine animals and I were amped for the feeding to begin. It was like a surreal dream to be surrounded by so many fish that it was noticeably darker inside the mass of hungry predators. The feeder moved over to the drum and removed a fish head, tossing it towards the grouper closest in line. Without moving, the beast simply opened its mouth, inhaled and the 5 lb. chunk of meat disappeared so quickly that it looked like a piece of lint being sucked into a vacuum cleaner. After a couple of more pieces, the creature slowly turned and moved to allow his brother a chance to eat. Once the groupers were satisfied and moved away the masses returned to surround the drum.

At this point the animals got distinctively more excited. Since the giant bullies that could end their lives with a single gulp exited the scene the rest knew that their time to eat had come. The more animated the creatures became the more difficult it was to keep the camera steady. As I dropped to my knees to try and level the shot I noticed one of the other Fijians with Little Bo Peep moved along side of me. He kept putting the staff in front of me blocking my shot of the action. After the second or third time, I looked up from the camera to give him a look of anger that said, “What the hell?” when I realized why he was doing it. The sharks had returned. And they were close. Like if he didn’t staff block them I would have been bitten close. It was a little disconcerting to look up from the camera only to see a large bull shark with mouth agape 3 ft. from your face with only a little metal rod between you and him. Though it was enough to discourage him sufficiently that he veered and swam off. This guy with the hook instantly became my new best friend.

As crazy as things were they were nothing compared to the tempest of animation that exploded once the feeder removed the lid of the drum to release the contents of blood, fish oil and meat to the awaiting masses. It became an underwater tornado of scales swirling around the barrel. I was thrown all over the place unable to keep the camera the slightest bit steady. Dumping every bit of air from my BCD, in an effort to get as low to the bottom as possible, helped little, so I picked up the largest boulder I could manage and placed in on my lap in an attempt to anchor myself. That kept me from tipping over and gave me the added benefit of protecting my groin from the frenzied cannibals that bit into the remains of their diced brethren and anything else that got into their way.

At 100 ft. deep, light from the surface is enough to see everything clearly except for color. The sun is filtered by the water column to the point where everything attains a greenish hue. The cloud of blood that pillowed from the chum bucket appeared as a dark green mist rolling out in all directions from ground zero of the drum. A severed fish head tumbled out of the mist followed by a dozen or so skipjacks that swooped in for a taste of the flesh. It came to rest next to my left foot making for some great up-close footage of the carnage, but also placing myself into dangerous proximity of the ravenous banqueters, making me glad that I had the big rock on my lap, since I received several bites to the leg.

A long slender nurse shark swam directly over my camera, its tail fin actually brushing against the small light mounted on top. It made me pull my face out of the viewfinder for a moment to get a wide look at the amazing spectacle that played out before me. I felt on top of the world. I felt like a National Geographic photographer capturing history. I felt like a kid again. I was a world away from my day job as a manager, expense reports, daily yields, bills, personal problems or health concerns. I was free and loving every single minute.

The Fijian next to me tapped me on the shoulder, waking me from my reverie. He pointed up quick enough for me to catch two magnificently colossal tiger sharks gliding overhead; one of the only creatures in the world able to compare to great whites in size, length and sheer awe factor. One came from the left, the other from the right, both merging onto an imaginary lane that they rode out of sight. Aside from an elephant at the zoo, I have never witnessed an animal of that size before. Even cruising 20 ft. above my head their size was apparent. Almost twice the length of the largest grouper, these creatures were an amazing sight to behold. It was almost as if they were the final spectacular act that ended the show on a bang. With the barrel empty and the crowd thinning, the feeders collected their equipment and signaled our group to begin our ascent.

On the way up, Fate held one more surprise for me in the form of a beautiful 6 ft. long whitetip that followed us up to our safety stop at 20 ft. He snaked his way between the other divers looking for any leftovers. His long, slender body would bend almost into a u-shape allowing him to turn on a dime every time he reached the end of our group and decide to make another pass. It made for some great footage as I swam behind him and he turns heading directly at the camera. Either hunger or curiosity caused him to stick with us the entire 5 minutes of allowing our bodies to decompress from our dive. When our time was up, I gave him a military salute, bidding him goodbye and made my way back to the boat.

The total bottom time clocked in at 19 minutes. About the same length as your average sitcom or an oil change. If you exercised for 19 minutes it wouldn’t really make any difference in your overall health. If you drove for 19 minutes you wouldn’t really get that far. And if you studied for 19 minutes you wouldn’t really learn that much. Yet somehow those 19 minutes that I spent inside a ball of sea life changed me forever. It helped me through some of my darkest days. It gave me the confidence to try things I never thought possible. It gave my soul more peace than any religion. And it fulfilled more dreams than any other single adventure in my life – even if Caroline made it back onto the boat after me with more air in her tanks.

Unbelievably, this was just the start of a day that consisted of another dive where I saved a woman from drowning, witnessed firewalkers cross burning coals barefoot, drinking with the leaders of Fiji and being crowned honorary king for a day. But that is a whole other story for another day.

In Honor of Shark Week

In February of 2002, I embarked upon a SCUBA diving vacation to the South Pacific Islands of Fiji. The majority of my stay was upon the totally undeveloped Beqa Island, a few nautical miles south of the main island of Viti Levu. Other than the generators to run basic electrical appliances during the day, we left behind modern living for 7 glorious days. No telephones, no TV, no cars, no computers and no interruptions to whatever we may be doing at the time. Generally, the sound of the wildlife was our music and the sunlight our lamps. Friday was our final day of diving and innocuously started generally the same as the previous days, save for the anticipation that grew within me for the days’ big shark feeding dive.

I awoke predawn to catch the sunrise, as if to emblazon the approaching day in my memory, for I had been waiting 16 years to finally dive with big sharks. I got dressed and walked out to the oceanside hammock in front of our Bure’ for a little contemplation and to fantasize about what it would be like to be in the water with some of the world’s most dangerous sharks. All week long I had been hearing stories from the local Fijian Divemasters about this pinnacle dive. I figured most of what they told us was hyperbole to either boost anticipation or sell more spots on the charter that cost an extra $100. One Divemaster claimed that there would be hundreds of sharks, another claimed some were the size of Great Whites, all the while boasting that thus far nobody had been eaten due to their vigilance. There was no doubt that their dive skills were pretty good, and that they knew the area better than anyone since this was their waters. In my mind it was difficult to separate the fact from their fiction; I nonetheless let my mind wander as my eyes saw the first rays of sunlight strike the water. Other than a few brief encounters with some smaller and medium sized sharks the preceding days, and one close call the day before, I had no real basis for comparison other than what I had read or seen on the Discovery channel. Then my mind drifted to the close call a day earlier.

We were diving a fairly large, oval shaped reef on the outskirts of Beqa Lagoon, in open waters away from the shallower and more protected areas. As usual we entered the ocean as a group, then split into smaller buddy pairs for individual exploration since this was mostly an unguided dive. Basically, the reef was a giant coral mountain, several hundred feet long, about 60 feet wide and about 90 feet tall. We started at the tip of the oval and slowly worked our way around, checking out squid, eels and the diverse populations of colorful fish. Normally I had been carrying my videocamera, filming whatever would catch my eye, so I usually buddied with my camera. This dive I was tired of limiting the dive to my viewfinder vision, missing half of the sights to behold, so I left the camera back on the boat and tagged along with Rod and Tara, two divers I had gone on several previous dives with.

Visibility was fairly poor, only about 30-40 feet at a depth of 50 feet, and worsened the deeper we dove due to the open ocean currents running past the coral outcropping. Rod went in one direction to check something out and Tara and I were fairly content to slowly follow the group around the coral head. After a couple of minutes of Rod being out of our visibility, we went off in the direction he went to catch back up to him. Rod immerged out of the haze, giving us the OK signal and pointed downward and gave the signal for Shark.

Now here a little explanation is in order. Ever since I was 16 and read my first book by Ron and Valerie Taylor about sharks and their adventures with them, I became an avid shark fan. This trip to Fiji was the first time I was able to swim with sharks and actually see them in real life. Their sleek beauty, their seamless underwater flight, their attitude and their personality instantly mesmerized me. Throughout the entire trip, no matter how small, every time I saw a shark I became possessed. Rational thought was no longer mine. I just wanted to get closer and closer, seeing these magnificent creatures right before me, possibly even reaching out and touching one. As soon as someone from the group spotted a shark, they informed me and like a cartoon character I was off like a flash chasing after the fish as fast as my fins would take me. Contrary to popular myth, sharks are generally pretty skittish, and swim off upon seeing a diver unless they become territorial. Though, no matter how much effort I gave the chase – the shark would always manage to elude me with ease and swim into the deep blue haze before my curiosity was satiated. It became sort of a running joke with the other divers about the sharks and myself – a love affair they called it.

So, after Rod flashed me the shark hand signal, I instantly descended down to where he had pointed. We were about 50 feet deep when we regrouped with Rod. 60 feet down – no shark, 70 feet down –no shark, but then around 80 feet I thought I could just barely make out his tail fin disappearing into the murk. He swam away from the coral mountain towards the open ocean. Fully possessed, I couldn’t turn back and continued in hot pursuit. Visibility was down to only about 15-20 feet at that depth, but I could see the sandy ocean floor about 10 feet below me. No matter how fast I swam, I could just make out his shape in the distance and then he would disappear again into the gloom. Finally about 100 yards from the coral head he slowed enough for me to catch a good look at him. At first I thought he was an unusually large grey reef shark, but as I got closer I realized he was a bull shark. This fellow must have been between 8 and 10 feet long, with the classic frown shape of the mouth. Bull sharks have the rare ability to swim in both fresh and salt water. They are also known for their aggressiveness and willingness to attack people as well as other sharks. My excitement and enthusiasm got the better of me and I swam closer. Of all the dives to not take my videocamera! Then I noticed that he wasn’t alone. “Cool” I thought, “he’s got a buddy.” Make that plural. I couldn’t believe my luck. 3 bull sharks only about 10-15 feet away from me. Suddenly, my pupils dilated in disbelief at the sight of yet another shark - and another. I began to get the feeling that perhaps I was duped into this chase.

Looking at my dive computer revealed that I was 85 feet down and only had about 1,000 p.s.i. of air left in my tank. What my computer did not reveal was that I could now count at least 10 bull sharks, larger than me by a body length, and starting to come closer for a look. I was alone, several hundred yards away from the dive boat, and breathing air like it was free. My, how suddenly the tables had turned. The novelty of the situation started to wane. Like humans, the sharks felt a little bolder in the presence of friends and started to investigate by coming even closer. One buzzed me, swimming fast and close. Time to leave. Rational thought returned to me like a slap in the face.

Over the years since I found my lust for adventure and sharks, I’d read that there are several things that you do not do when surrounded by sharks. First, like most animals, sharks can sense fear, or at least react to it – so don’t panic or act scared when faced by a shark. Second, sudden, jerky movements have the tendency to convey fear or being wounded, so being jittery around a shark is another no-no. Third, simply don’t turn your back on a shark, for they will think you are fleeing and can strike without you knowing it. Reviewing my options seemed rather immediate at that moment. Obviously, I was running low on air and had to return quickly, though not so quickly as to make a tasty morsel for my new found friends. Emboldened by their numbers, the bulls swam closer and in all directions around me. OK, no one ever explained to me how not to turn your back to a group of sharks when they surround you. To put it mildly, my heart rate began to increase, in turn causing my breathing to hasten. Now only 800 p.s.i. left in my tanks.

Perhaps as redemption for my lack of common sense that had gotten me into the situation in the first place, a rather wild idea occurred to me. I descended the last few feet to the ocean floor, eliminating one avenue of approach. I flipped over, swimming upside down, thus keeping my back against the sandy bottom, and calmly began to make my way back to the coral mountain. That upside-down swim back to the outcropping was one of the most interminable times of my life as I inched my way back to safety, careful to make my movements smooth and confident. Thankfully, this seemingly odd behavior worked quite effectively, save for the fact that the sharks continued to encircle me, moving as I moved.

Now, every once in awhile, comes those moments in life that you would give a good years’ salary to be able to capture on film. One would definitely be the look on Rod and Tara’s face when they saw me casually swimming towards them, upside down, surrounded by around 10 fairly large bull sharks. About the time I reached the coral head and made my ascent to my dive buddies, a school of skipjack tuna was carried by, riding the currents that flowed downstream. Much to the appreciation of Rod and Tara, the sharks traded their interests from me to the tuna. When we returned to the dive boat, my tanks nearly empty, we had quite the story to tell. Little did I know that the very next day would dwarf this experience in comparison.

Splinter Cell Researchers: Collision of Video Games and Real Life

How often does a job come around where you get to live out a video game experience? Not often. Which is why I had to accept an offer as a research assistant for the University of Michigan’s Transportation Research Institute where we would be using Night Vision Goggles and PDA’s to collect traffic survey data in the middle of the night. When the field supervisor first described this position it sounded eerily similar to the game Splinter Cell, where the main character, garbed in all black, NVG’s and often uses a PDA, sneaks around in the dark.

One area of this study that, a little too closely, mirrored Splinter Cell was the amount of gunplay that we encountered on the road (see previous posts entitled Crazies, Cops and Gunshots and It’s Hard Out Here For A Pimp). Since this study was state-wide, we were required to visit some pretty dangerous areas of the larger cities in order to get statistically accurate sampling. Never would I have imagined that I’d see more action as a research assistant for U of M than during the first Gulf War serving in the Army.

Beyond the game similarities, something that really appealed to me was just the sheer amount of tech that we ended up using in this job compared to most; laptops, cell phones, GPS, digital stopwatches, MP3 players (ipod Shuffle, Creative Zen Nano), WIFI boosters, portable TV band tuners, digital cameras, Treo 650 PDA’s using HanDBase, Infrared spotlights, and of course the very sexy military ANPVS-7B Night Vision Goggles (chicks totally dig night vision) – the exact model that I used back in my Army days as a sniper. Though, I’m sad to admit that the goggles don’t make that cool sound you often hear in movies and the game when turned on.

The purpose of this study was to look at nighttime seatbelt use of motorists in the state of Indiana using two waves of data collection surrounding the Memorial Day holiday. I’m sure everyone has seen or heard of those “Click it or Ticket” campaigns, well this research is basically to see how effective those commercials are, as well as general seatbelt use statistics. We concluded the first wave a few weeks before Memorial Day, and we are now finishing up the second wave of data collection.

The use of PDA’s is a pretty revolutionary step forward in data collection methodologies as compared to the tried and true, yet outdated paper and pencil approach. While a lot of this technology has been around for years, often it takes much coercion and forethought in order to convince academia to incorporate new tech. We were able to reliably increase the number of records collected by a good deal, as well as save time transferring the data into Access for later statistical analysis.

Another area where we were cutting-edge was with the use of the NVG’s. This was the first state-wide nighttime study of seat belt use utilizing night vision and infrared in the United States, though I’m sure this study will pave the way for future direct observation nighttime research. Since Indiana is pretty lax on their window tinting enforcement, we found using the goggles was the only way to determine seatbelt use even on well lit roadways. Not to mention that it's extremely cool for star gazing when there's a lull in the action. For anyone interested in learning more check out the Social and Behavioral Analysis Department at the University of Michigan’s Transportation Research Institute: http://www.umtri.umich.edu/index.html

Middle Of The Road Enlightenment



Sometimes a quiet place, far from the glitz and mach speeds of society, allows the mind to drift from what should be to simply what is. A job that entails standing at the crossroads of a farm and an empty sky for long periods of time waiting for nonexistent traffic to cruise by grants such time for reflection. During these lulls in the action I find myself with a hushed serenity, able to truly enjoy my surroundings that reside far from the cubicles and stress of white-collar doldrums. An uncomplicated sunset. A fox prowling the cornfields with mouth agape. The rhythmic chanting of insects as the moon advances across the skyline. How often are these elementary, yet beautiful moments missed, or more commonly, ignored due to more pressing matters of state? The sheer effort of life's upkeep demands that these banal pennies be thrown asunder in the name of more productive fruits. Taking time to smell the roses. Perhaps the calamity of cliche' prevents such treasures from being more en vogue, though that seems so superficial as to be absurd. Without trying to sound all "Scientology" try spending an hour in the middle of nowhere with your ipod full of favorite music and you might just find the need for those big-billed therapy sessions somewhat lessened.

Never, Ever, get out of the boat...


I believe that line is from Apocolypse Now, when the guy goes searching for mangos and runs into the tiger. Sometimes life is just like that. Sometimes more than not my life is like that. Like when recently, I inadvertantly locked myself out of a hotel room in my underwear setting the room service tray outside the door. Or the time I swam off from the group and found myself surrounded by a dozen or so maneating sharks in Fiji. Possibly even the times I've been just lost in thought and somehow managed to wander into some of the worst parts of New York, Detroit, South Central Los Angeles and Miami. I really should learn to pay more attention to my surroundings. Many moons ago, when I was way too young to know any better, I even found myself in the middle of an anti-American, pro-Communist rally in Italy during the Cold War. A week after that somehow managed to pick the worst camping spot of all time - between Italian troops and the Red Brigade when they attempted a coup. No wonder my mother always worries about me. I don't think I'm really naive, more just oblivious to the consequences of not paying attention. My guardian angel must suffer migraines of immese proportions. Perhaps by writing this down it will act as a memory aid, kinda like saying something 3 times in a row. Never get out of the boat, never get out of the boat, never get...