4:17

Thanks Pacman. Wokka wokka wokka. Shit, now I have the theme from the video game stuck in my head. You know, I was thinking about this thread the other day after my last post, and I really think everyone -- even those on the fence or on opposite sides of the fence -- are in the same boat, ultimately. I'll see your split infinitives and raise you a mixed metaphor. At the end of the day, everyone is at least ostensibly trying to be happy. I think the trick is figuring out what makes you happy. Obviously that's not the same for everyone. The thing is, for some people, they may have expectations about what makes them happy, and when that doesn't pan out, it leaves them up a creek in the aforementioned boat without a paddle. "WTF do I do now?" And this works both ways. Not everybody is happy being the consummate butterfly man who truly loves all of his ladies but never settles down with just one (beyond a night -- they really do have hearts of gold, most of 'em, but that doesn't mean I want to settle down with 'em. ) Sometimes discovering what makes you happy may be a matter of stepping out of cultural norms and social and familial expectations -- this requiring the aforementioned grit -- but I think for many more it's simply a matter of knowing yourself and finding out what works for oneself (as others have stated previously) -- what makes one happy. Dog knows it took me a long time to figure it out for myself; I spent some time up that creek sans paddle before I realized I was happiest being a ramblin' man -- and at least a few (Mekong) delta women think the world of me, as a result. Ha!

Wow, I thought this Christian flavor of religious conservative bigot whacko was only to be found back in my homeland of 'Merica, but I see you have them down under, too. Shame, that. Also, of interesting note -- well perhaps to those of us who have knocked around the journalism field, at least -- but I find it interesting that the article writer refers to the Archbishop in ensuing references as "Dr." In the U.S. it's standard practice to only use the Dr. moniker for someone who is a medical doctor; someone with a doctorate (PhD) degree may be identified as holding said advanced degree, if it's relevant to the story, but they are not referred to as Dr. This is done as to avoid confusion for the average reader, most of whom don't have much experience in deep academia, and might be confused as to whether someone is a medical doctor or a doctor of, say philosophy, physics or what have you. Not so for the Sydney Morning Herald. After the lead, the Anglican Archbishop of Sydney Peter Jensen becomes "Dr." Jensen. And lest I look like an idiot, I double checked; Jensen is indeed a doctor of theology, naturally, as opposed to a medical doctor/graduate of medical school. Notably, his masters -- not his doctoral -- thesis was entitled "Calvinism and the Persecution of the Witches in England (1563–1604)." Guess he knows a thing or two about unjust witch hunts. ...

I wasn't in New York that day, but was scheduled to fly through JFK the next day, Sept. 12, on my way to Europe for a holiday and an ensuing work-related trip. I worked remotely at the time from my home in Northern California and rarely went to the office down in Sillycon Valley; that morning the first inkling I had that something was wrong was logging into my corporate email account and seeing a notice that all corporate travel was suspended until further notice. "Bullshit on that," I thought, "I'm still going on vacation." Then the emails came flying fast and furious asking that if anyone who knew the whereabouts of one of our colleagues that worked out an east coast office, to call his wife, as he was scheduled to be on one of the "planes that hit the towers this morning." "What the fuck?" About that time I realized something bad must have happened, but I couldn't get to any of the usual news websites, as by this time, about 11 a.m. East Coast time, those sites were crashing with all of the 'net traffic coming at them. So I did the old fashioned thing and turned on the television; the rest you know. ... Turns out I lost two colleagues that day, one on each of the planes that hit the towers. They weren't close friends or anything; I had only met one of them, and then only once. But still, when you can put a name and a face to something like that, it personalizes it in a way that doesn't otherwise happen. For me the biggest thing I remember from that time happened a few weeks later, however. I pulled into a gas station/convenience store to see a horrific site; someone had beaten and killed a gas station employee. I arrived literally less than a minute before the first police officers and rescue personnel were on the scene. There was nothing to be done for the guy; his head was an unrecognizable bloody pulp -- not even recognizable as human, really, just random mashed-up flesh and bone. The perpetrator(s) had ostensibly taken out their anger over 9/11 on this guy because he was from the Middle East, and herein lies the tragedy -- he wasn't even Muslim, or even Middle Eastern: he was a Sikh -- but then to the ignorant fuckwit who doesn't know any better, any turban-wearing guy must be a bad guy. I remember getting so angry, thinking I wanted to do to these ignorant fucks what they had done to this innocent man who had only done what their -- and my -- white ancestors had done, come here looking for a better life. Of course they had fled the scene and soon the police were sending everybody on their way, once they had a statement. Still makes me angry to this day, when I think about it. It was then I knew that the world had indeed changed, that nothing would ever be the same -- that the terrorists had done far more damage to my country on 9/11 than anyone realized -- damage that's still going on today, more than a decade later. The only other thing I can compare it to was the first space shuttle explosion in January, 1986. While not as bad or as tragic as 9/11, certainly, it made a huge impression on my young self. After all, Generation X, we grew up with the space program; I was a baby when Armstrong walked on the moon, and barely remember watching news footage of Apollo 17 as a toddler. Like every kid back then I dreamed of being an astronaut; I followed the ensuing Skylab missions and the beginning of the shuttle program with the keen fanaticism of youth. Space travel was a given, almost routine -- but not so much that I used to fake illnesses to get out of school so I could watch shuttle launches on T.V. Thus, when I learned of the Challenger disaster -- I was in physics class and we were, in fact, talking about space travel as the teacher had used it to demonstrate one of the finer but more esoteric aspects of physics -- to say it shook me to the core would not be an understatement. It sounds cliché, but I grew up a bit that day, learning the lesson that heroes -- and every astronaut to me was (and is) a hero, naturally -- didn't always come home. I suppose that was a lesson 9/11 reinforced all to well. I remember flying shortly after air traffic resumed in the continental U.S.; naturally it was impossible not to think of New York, Pennsylvania and DC, back then. I'll never forget going through security that first time after 9/11; this was when National Guardsmen in full combat gear with automatic weapons were stationed at every checkpoint -- not a site one was used to seeing in the United States. I'm assuming many people back then like me used to wonder, if faced with the situation, if they would have the guts to do what the heroic folks of Flight 93 did: fight back. I've flown often since then, and while I don't dwell on it like I used to, I don't think I've stepped on a plane since then that the specter of 9/11 didn't at least momentarily tease my thoughts at some point. I like to think I'd have the guts to fight back; I've always been one to go down swinging. Of course I also hope I never have the opportunity to put it to the test.

And thank you for getting back to us on that, FP/Solice. Glad to hear what's what regarding Tata. if you're still in country the last week of September, (or the last week of October/first week of November) first round is on me. Well said, Ciobha; took the words right out of my whisky mouth. Although not quite as besotted as you are, I think ;) I agree on both points. Also, this: If I were standing on the edge of a chasm filled to the rim with stiff-cocked, naked and horny Areeyas, Nancys (Nancies?) and Mints (you know the ones I mean), and Karn was standing on the other side, and she gave me one of those sloe-eyed, crooked smiles of hers? Fuck it man, just fuck all. I'd climb over all those writhing hot Areeyas, Nancies and Mints just to get to Karn. I'd be slapping their hands away from dick as they grabbed for it like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man, exclaiming "No! That's not for you!" I don't know what it is about that smile, but ... fuck me, she could be a total chilly starfish and as long as she flashed me that smile I'd be happy. Okay, that last bit is just a wee bit (too much) of hyperbole, but still. She has the kind of smile that makes me want to pick up a paint brush, but since I can't paint for shit, then a camera and some decent hot lights. The kind of smile that erases fortunes, brakes hearts and then breaks 'em, and starts -- and ends -- both novels and wars.

I think BB was alluding to the fact that the protaganist of True Grit, the teenage girl Mattie Ross, led an unconventional life -- an alternative one, if you will. She certainly didn't conform to the stereotype of the teenage girl in the late 1800s when the Western U.S. was still being settled (when she narrates the story it's in the late 1920s, if I recall correctly, when she is an old woman -- but it's been many years since I read it). One of my favorite quotes from the book (assuming that I transcribed it right; I gave away my copy years ago): “People do not give it credence that a 14-year-old girl would leave home and go off in the wintertime to avenge her father's death but it did not seem so strange then, although I will say it did not happen every day. I was just fourteen years of age when a coward going by the name of Tom Chaney shot my father down in Fort Smith, Arkansas, and robbed him of his life ... ” I have to respectfully yet whole-heartedly disagree with this; I would say how you choose to live has everything to do with being free. And each choice you make in life has a subsequent impact on how you can live your life and how free you are to make the choices you want. But then to each his own beliefs. Again, I have to respectfully disagree; I don't have to be an airline pilot to know I wouldn't enjoy a career as one. The happiest years of your life were in the context of marriage and parenthood (and certainly there's nothing wrong with that); the most miserable of mine were spent chasing the dream of marriage and all it entails. I spent half my adult life chasing that monogamous white-picket-fence dream, and for every day I was happy -- and there were some glorious, ecstatic, wonderful days -- there were many more days I was miserably unhappy, and many others still where I was just tired, bored and indifferent (the worst of all). This includes a three year stretch of dating, living together and an engagement; I'm pretty sure I know what I'd be getting into if I got married and consequently know I don't want that, as it's not going to make me happy. Coincidentally the happiest times of my life as an adult have been the years I gave up chasing that dream and resolved to merely do what I found fulfilling -- what *did* make me happy (within reason, of course). By the same token, I've gotten at least somewhat of an idea of what being a parent entails; I've watched my brother raise his children; I was with him at the hospital when his first son was born, and I was there to witness his first steps. As much as I love those kids, I don't want any of my own. If something happened to him would I head back home and step up to the responsibility plate? Of course I would; I've been asked to promise as much should that terrible possibility arise. Do I want to seek out that responsibility on my own? Nope. I'm not knocking people who do; good on 'em, those that do. It's just not for me. What I don't understand are the people that chase these dreams with blinders on in the most unlikeliest of places, or those that are clearly trying to shoehorn their square selves into the round hole society and culture have prepared for them, never stopping to consider why they are unhappy and what they could do about it. What's worse are those that dream about doing it, but for whatever reason, can't or won't. I'm not condemning them, judging them, or ridiculing them; I just think it's a bit tragic, really. But such is the human condition. *shrugs* Do you assume we don't? I'm not trying to get into a pissing match here -- far from it -- and I can only speak for myself of course, but I'm eternally grateful to my parents for providing the loving, stable, two-parent home in which I grew up. I told them this often in the years before they died, and I'm further grateful to the powers that be that they lived long enough for me to grow up enough to appreciate just how fortunate I am. Ironically, they often said the same things I've heard for the last decade or so of my life, some of the things you've said above: "you can't imagine how wonderful it is until you have children of your own, and/or are married to your one and only. You just haven't found the right one, etc." And the big argument to counter the wayward son: "Where would the world be if everyone thought like you?" To which I would always answer: "Well, there would be fewer people in the world, less strain on the environment and more resources to go around or last longer, and fewer people who shouldn't be raising children (who are in spite of that). "You have to understand (Mom, Dad, et al), my choice of paths isn't a condemnation or veiled criticism of yours, or anyone else's for that matter. It's simply the choice I want to make, as it's the one that makes me the most happy." It seems people rarely understand that, though. I've had this conversation a zillion times, it seems, not just with them over the years, but siblings, extended family and my straight breeder friends -- some of whom are very dear, close friends -- back home. *shrugs*

I was just sitting here wondering if this is some regional politician's pet project; not uncommon to see those in Thailand -- or really anywhere in the world, I suppose. Plenty of those back home, to be sure. Well, if it does come about, I'll be sure to take advantage of it, while it lasts.

I'm of two minds about this. On one hand, I want to put Hua Hin in a bubble so it never, ever changes from the way I found it. It's just about perfect if you're looking to relax as opposed to party 24/7 -- if your relaxing includes some very laid back mongering. It ain't broke so don't fix it and certainly don't fuck with it/fuck it up. But then it would be nice to just hop on a cheap boat and three hours later you're in Patts (or the other way around). As for the quote-unquote plans, I find it exceedingly difficult to believe that this would pump 2 trillion baht (presumably that's annually) into the Pattaya economy. The vast majority of people who go to HH aren't going to go to Patts very often, and vice versa -- it's apples and oranges. I'm guessing those of us that appreciate both equally are probably few and far between; I'd hazard a guess most folks prefer one or the other -- many probably exclusively -- and would only make the trip across the bay on rare occasions. In any event, looking forward to spending the end of the year there.

So if I say your name in the right place will I get magically transported to Thailand? Or just end up in the debris room again?

Why would she do that when she works in a beer bar, where she would easily be tracked down? Maybe she just couldn't get to her fence quick enough. And geez, you'd think you could trust a bar girl who was two years older than yourself. D'oh! And how did you crack some ribs, Uncle? I never cracked any, but separated the cartilage from a few of the bones in my rib cage once (fuck, I hated wresting in high school), and that was bad enough. You have my sympathies ...

I'll be there in spirit. Two weeks and two days until the "Fuck It I Can't Wait Until the End of October" Trip. For those of you on the ground have fun on behalf of those who are not. ...

You know I haven't read his stuff in ages, so was perusing over his archives this afternoon. He *does* seem to write about and even interview ladyboys rather frequently. Perhaps DC is onto something ...

Eh, good on 'em, I say. Beauty is fleeting; time catches up with all of us sooner or later. And lets face it, they got some ... I almost said, "brass balls," but that's probably not an apt metaphor, after all ... some serious intestinal fortitude, let's say, to walk their walk, as P. Dogg put it. Well played, ladies. Incidentally, oddly enough, when I tried to watch the embedded video, I got this message: "This video contains content from AFP, who has blocked it from display on this website. Watch on YouTube" -- that last was linked to the YouTube vid, which played fine. Aside from the fact that Agence France Presse should know better than to use a grammatically incorrect pronoun for *it*self (okay, so French handles pronouns a little differently than Anglais, so we'll give their peeps the benefit of the doubt), I wonder why they have it blocked from playing externally -- and why not just disable embedding? But that's off topic and neither here nor there.

Ah, that explains that then, Thanks Mardhi. I confess I only pop into read Stickman once in a while. Shame the grand plans fell through, but can't say I'm surprised. One could chalk it up to TiT, but I'd chalk it up to the nature of the bar business; for every grand plan there are many that never go beyond the planning stage.

Stickman doing what he does best: A Dump Called Nana Plaza He's proficient at pitching a bitch, is our Stickman. While I agree Nana could use some serious help (i.e. cleaning and renovation), I don't find it as bad as he makes it sound. And I like to poke my nose generally where it doesn't need to be, so I have seen "under the stairs" -- a point which he goes on about at length. He goes on to gush over Soi Cowboy, pondering why anyone goes to Nana when Soi Cowboy looks so "ooh - ah" pretty (obviously ole Stick lately hasn't been in a Soi Cowboy short-time room or a go-go toilet, apparently). Of course, for people of our ilk, that answer is obvious. But aside from that, to his credit, he eventually puts the nail on the head: There is also this laugh-out-loud gem from earlier in the column: .He doesn't mention anything about the new site owners and all the grand plans that supposedly exist, which I found curious. But then perhaps that is by design; the fruition of these grand plans is admittedly doubtful; they may be nothing more than rumors. In any event, I thought some of you might find this interesting if you hadn't already seen it.

I *could* spin a long yarn about the numerological aspects of my forum name. To wit (or to Google, actually): "The 4 is without a doubt masculine, reflecting strength and stability. His chief characteristics are dependability, productivity, punctuality and obedience. He is trustworthy, patient, conventional and a traditionalist. He is a bit boring and not much of a social person, preferring to toil in quiet obscurity. He works steadily and can be very persistent. He finds great satisfaction in his accomplishments and favors results over financial reward or public recognition. He is humble, dresses conservatively and blends in with his surroundings." This is of course tempered by the 17 (1+8 in numerology, apparently): "It consists of number 1 and number 7, but the sum is 8, which this figure makes it very interesting in numerology. Here, too, grant number 1 ambition, energy and independence, creativity, character and aspirations accurate implementation. From the number 7 while the coming changes, anxiety, desire of travel, mobility. Published in conjunction with a good writer or artist. At the same time, this artist is a practical man who knows how to intelligently and logically to solve problems. Both figures the amount broken down by 8 gives the personality, which does not understand. In fact, the number 17 has three main characteristics: number one ambition and energy, number 7 the uncertainty and volatility in difficult readability, which brings with it a number 8." But that would be complete utter bullshit -- or bollocks, if you prefer (but not of the canine variety, I gather). When I signed up for a hotmail account to supplement my Yahoo account back in ... oh, 1998, I think, I needed a login name. I looked around the room for inspiration, and my eyes fell on the clock; it was 4:17 in the afternoon. I've been using that handle ever since for various forums (fora?) and IM clients. Literally no significance to the numbers, but I've used it so much that now it's become like a thing, I guess. A numerological 4:17 would be a pretty hip dude, though, I suppose.

D'oh! And I've been giving it away all this time. I had no idea ... I laughed out loud at this one. I need to learn this/develop this instinct. Seems like I have to explain why I'm not married at least once a week -- much more often than when I lived in Thailand, it seems. Perhaps there is some cultural observation to made in there, somewhere. In any event, at one point I even thought about buying a cheap wedding band, in hopes it might cut down on the inquiries. Plus one, as always ...

I'll agree with Sam; I've had some good experiences with random cab drivers/motorbike/tuk-tuk guys in Bangkok and elsewhere in the kingdom. I've also had some grade-A assholes to deal with, although these seem to be more rare than the former. As for the original topic, I can't see this law being very effective; if I get some cab driver who refuses to take me somewhere, am I going to lose even more time by noting his cab number and name, and then dick around some more by calling the hotline or logging onto the 'net? Either right then or after the fact? Nah, and I don't imagine most people would. Perhaps the law may occasionally net the consistent offending cab driver, when he eventually refuses to pick up someone with time on their hands and axe to grind against Thai culture, so perhaps it won't be all for naught. Granted this is better than having to physically got to the police station, but still ... meh. Can't be arsed on the rare occasions it happens. For anyone new coming to Bangkok, I would suggest that if you don't know about what the fare should be to your destination, don't put your bags in the cab until you see the driver turn the meter on. Or, if you only have a carry-on, just put it in the backseat with yourself; then you can get out if the guy tries to dick around with you too much. Typically once you show you know what's what regarding the usual fare and are willing to barter, that does the trick. Not always, but usually. It's been my experience that typically the metered fare (say in the last year or so) from the airport to Suk Soi 4 (Nana) is usually about 340 baht at night, give or take (going to the airport), and closer to 400 during the day (more traffic, etc.). I've gotten as low as 350 during the day, but usually anywhere from 380 to 420. Usually if I get a guy who doesn't want to use the meter, I'll offer 400 baht and he pays the tolls -- if he doesn't offer it first -- and that's usually okay with them. Like SLBT said, I can't be arsed to dick around for another 20 or 40 baht when I've got to get to the airport.

Hmm, that hasn't been my experience here in Viet Nam at all. Outside of the Backpacker ghetto, at any rate (where you have to expect that sort of thing). In fact having lived in both places, I came across more people on the take in Thailand, when it comes to foreigners, than VN. Outside of District 1/central business district, I've never had anyone try and take advantage of me here in HCMC, other than the odd xe om driver try and quote an outrageous price. But then I don't have a house to maintain either, and don't even own a motorbike. Sorry to hear the renovation was so problematic, Ken ...

Heh, yeah, pretty sure I saw that guy lounging on Beach Road playing chess. On the other hand, he owns the pimp walk -- the dog knows this instinctively. All kidding aside, it's a brilliant advertisement. There are few guys out there who won't see the irony it and think yeah ... I'm cool like that. The rest of us laugh. Either way, we're talking or thinking about Southern Comfort.

Hefe, well said! I was thinking about foreign destinations and forgot all about my native continent. Ditto for the western areas you mentioned; I used to live in Northern Arizona and can vouch for everything you've said. You haven't seen the sky until you've seen it out there -- both day and night. Same for New Orleans. I haven't been back since visiting it in the late 1990s, but it's an amazing city with a unique culture all its own. As for the States, I would add just about anywhere in Northern California, from San Francisco bay area and points north, on up to Portland, Ore. I love Portland, hipsters and all. Thanks, Willie. Indeed, Leuven is a hidden gem; I doubt it is on many tourists' itineraries. But it's got a wonderful, vibrant university culture and all that entails, and you're right -- the old-world architecture is just amazing. So many historical buildings. I know this is old-hat for Europeans, but for a Yankee whose country is only a few hundred (plus) years old, it's always a bit awe-inspiring. There are so many old buildings there that the university has freshman dormitories in buildings dating back 1200 years -- in the United States that would be a protected national historic landmark; in Belgium it's where college students party.

I was flipping over the calendar yesterday (Sunday) to change the month and it dawned on me that I get my next fix in three weeks. I literally exclaimed "holy shit! less than a month!" Then I remembered that while I had made my hotel reservations weeks ago, I hadn't gotten around to booking a flight yet. D'oh! Fortunately the rates hadn't gone up too much, and I remedied that in short order. But I'm glad my boss asked me to break up my holiday. Little more than three weeks after the above sojourn, I'll be turning right around again and heading back to Thailand. Life is good.

Not really. I learned what I call "survival Thai" -- how to order my favorite dishes in a restaurant -- making sure I get it spicy and not the falang-friendly version, giving directions to a cab driver, things like that. But not enough to carry on a meaningful conversation purely in Thai. And I think you are absolutely right; after six months I needed to get back to the big city, as I didn't have much in common with the five -- count 'em, five -- other falang that lived in town. That's why I'm making more of a concerted effort these days to learn Vietnamese and Thai; unfortunately I'm not a polyglot and it comes slowly to my middle-aged brain. But until I can carry on a conversation with a native speaker beyond the "how-are-you-what's-your-name" type of conversations, I'll stick to the big cities for day-to-day living.

The only two places I've ever visited besides Thailand -- hello Hua Hin, Nong Khai, et al -- that I genuinely felt sad upon leaving (as in, I really don't want to get on that plane and leave) were Ireland, specifically Donegal (although everywhere I explored in the northwest corner of the country I felt at home) and mainland China, specifically Chengdu, the capital of Sichuan province. In Ireland, it just felt like home, or that it could be, even though I don't know a lick o' Gaelic (If there is a lovelier sounding language, I have yet to hear it in my travels). I remember my cousin asking me how I was enjoying my stay, and I said "You know, if I got stuck here the rest of my life, well, it wouldn't be so bad." Mind you, this conversation came after some excellent seafood and wine, chased with pints of stout and several fingers of Irish whiskey -- there was much time spent with my cousin comparing Protestant and Catholic whiskeys in order to educate this wayward, ignorant American come home to his roots). Maybe it's because my mother's family hails from that region and I still have relatives over there (according to family history/legend, the family originally hails from Scotland but were "encouraged" by the Crown to resettle in Northern Ireland, in hopes that bringing in some loyal (in theory) Protestant folk would help the political situation; we know how that worked out). Maybe I'm just a romantic fool, too, but then I do have the blood of poets in me. Or maybe it was just the Guinness and the fact that it was available everywhere, Praise Jaysus. Anyway, when it came time to head back to Dublin -- certainly one of the coolest cities I've ever had the pleasure of, incidentally -- and catch a plane to France, I didn't want to go. I remember thinking, as the plane went wheels up, "Why am I so sad? I'm going to spend a week in Paris followed by a few days on the southern coast and then in the Alps (fuck I miss the job I had then, heh -- and the global economy that wasn't in the toilet). I should be fucking jazzed. WTF is wrong with me?" Speaking of France, gotta give Grenoble and Montpelier honorable mentions, and Leuven, Belgium, too. Wonderful old European university towns; being stuck in any one of these places wouldn't be so bad, either. As for China, after a month of running around the country, I had a similar feeling waiting in the Hong Kong Airport that I had when I left Ireland; I was literally running through scenarios of what my options were if I walked back out of the airport (I had precisely 1 day left on my visa). That time, though, I think it was more a case of China being such a strange culture (cultures, emphasis on the plural, really) to, me -- much more so than Japan, in some ways (although Japan can be very alien to a westerner, and I had yet to travel to Southeast Asia, at this point in my life) -- that I just didn't want this amazing adventure I had just had to come to an end. That and the fact that the food I had in Chengdu was the best I had ever had -- still is. I often think I need to go back there, but so far haven't made it back yet. ... Of course now I'm besotted with Southeast Asia, a love affair that doesn't seem to be showing any signs of waning. Yeah, the GGs and ladyboys have somewhat to do with it, but even if you factor that out of the equation, I think I'd still be mucking about in this part of the world. I'm sure I'll get fed up with it eventually; maybe then I'll get back to Ireland or Chengdu. ... Thanks for the trip down memory lane, JaiDee!.

And were greeted by this reportedly Englishman doing a Not-so-Irish jig. [media=] [/media]

Shit, BB beat me to it. That Num's gonna be trouble for a few gentleman, I'll wager. Well played, Mr. Karl. Hope you'll be around so I can make your acquaintance this time here at the end of the month -- or the end of October.