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Turbo time. 12/30/2006

I was coming home, late last night, from the regular Friday night bike club meet. It must have been 2 a.m. or something, and the roads were nice and clear. I was riding along, minding my own business, and came up to the traffic lights. I stood there, waiting for the lights to change. And a car rolled up behind me.

I heard the rumble of the stupid trashcan exhaust, and I looked in the mirrors. Oh yes, another boy racer, with his souped up little hatchback, and neon lights, and thumpa-thumpa sound system. I was planted right in the middle of the lane, just before the white line. And this idiot started creeping up to my back wheel, revving his engine. I could hear the blow off valve whistling as he did so. Obviously he had some sort of transplanted engine under the hood.

I got a little irritated, and waited for the green light to come on. When the lights turned, boy racer behind was probably expecting me to blast off. Which I didn’t. I took my time about getting into gear, and letting the clutch out. I did a sedate take off, and boy racer lost his cool. He started revving up the engine, and trying to shunt me. I waited till I got into third gear, and then I looked behind.

Readers of this blog will know about my encounters with boy racers, and that I have little to no respect for them. Not because they’re stupid, but because they do not know who to, and not to, taunt on the road. Picking a traffic light drag race with another car is normal. Picking a fight with a superbike is plain idoicy on the boy racer’s part. I turned back, flipped him the bird, and slammed my visor down. I turned my head towards the front, giving him full view of the row of skulls decorating the back of my helmet.

And turned on warp speed.

I was at the next set of lights, which were red, and I could see boy racer far, far behind. I must have taken him by surprise. He was trying to catch up because I could hear him revving the tits of his engine, and the turbo whistling. He drew up alongside me at the lights. I didn’t even look at him, but extended my left hand, and gave him another middle finger, just as the lights turned green.

He was really excited now, and as the lights turned, I did another sedate take off, expecting him to spin his wheels. He didn’t do that, but matched my speed. He obviously wanted to show me that his car could take my bike in a roll on. I was so sorry that I really had to show him that my bike could trash his car any day, any time, any where. Actually, that’s not quite true. I wasn’t sorry at all. I wanted to teach this punk a lesson.

We were running side by side, at something like 100 km/h, and then I did the starship Enterprise thing again. He went for it. I kept pace with him. He kept pace with me. I looked at him. He was looking at me. Then I waved my left hand at him in a “come on” gesture, and I simultaneously whacked the throttle open with my right.

The front wheel lifted, and I still looked at him. He tried putting the pedal to the metal, and overtaking me. But it was all over. I gave him him a flash of brake lights, and another finger, as I took the turn off for home.

I’d like to meet up with this clueless boy racer one day, and tell him that last night, I wasn’t even riding the fastest bike I have.

Girl Friday. 12/29/2006

Finding Nemo. 12/28/2006

I walked into the local aquarium supply shop round the corner this evening. I had been neglecting the fish tank I keep at home, with the single goldfish I have swimming around in it. Someone remarked that the tank wasn’t supposed to be that way, i.e. with murky water, and a non-functioning filter system, and a very miserable looking fish, who hadn’t been taken out for a walk for weeks.

As I walked in the shop, I noticed that there was a very large aquarium out front. Big. Huge. Filled with marine creatures. As in salt water. There were little clown fish in it, and dories, and a couple of triggerfish. And some anemones and brain corals.

I looked at it for the longest time. All the fish were really tiny, as in juveniles. None of them were sexually mature. And all of them were confined in this artificial environment, and put on display. I asked the price for this tank, and just about managed to stop my eyes bugging out of my head.

I am a semi-professional scuba diver, even though I haven’t gotten my fins wet in a long time. And before that, I used to dive in places no one in their right mind would ever go, to depths that would give you decompression sickness just thinking about it. In all those many dives that I’ve done, I’ve always marvelled at the diversity of marine life. The sheer number of shapes, and colours, has never ceased to give me joy, every time I descended into inner space.

And I find it a little sad that some people, who have never ventured any deeper than their swimming pool, could, as long as they had money, take a small section of this beauty and place it in their living rooms. Without considering the damage they are doing to the marine eco system.

Marine animals are notoriously difficult to breed in captivity. Everything has to be just so, in order for marine life to pro create. Taking juveniles away from the ocean, and placing them in a tank, means that their contribution to the gene pool is subtracted. And sea creatures do not thrive in aritificial environments. The mortality rate of salt water aquariums is ridiculously high, in a ridiculously short space of time. Someone told me about her uncle, who had a huge salt water aquarium put into his house. I say put in literally, because a wall was demolished, and an aquarium constructed to take the place of the wall. And three months later, the only living thing left was a solitary shark, a pup, swimming alone.

Coral reefs take thousands of years to create. They are also a living organism. The interdepedant relationships in a coral reef are numerous beyond count, and sometimes are connected in ways no one can foresee. A matter of single degree’s rise in water temperature may be enough to stop some species from breeding, and a couple more degrees may result in mass die-offs.

There is nothing more desolate than diving over a dead reef. I have done this many times. And in all cases, the single largest contributor to the death of the reef is mankind. I know of one local resort island, where the resort owner, in the interest of making it easier for his guests to disembark from the boat, built a small jetty. And the construction of this jetty was enough to kill off a 2 acre area of reef just in front of the beach.

So, the next time you walk past one of these very fancy salt water aquariums, and marvel how pretty the clown fish are, swimming around in the tank, think about what it cost, and will cost, to the environment, to get those animals into that tank. And then ask yourself if it’s worth it.

I also know that many of my readers may have seen those cute little clown fish swimming in aquariums, and may be under impression that that’s as big as they get. They get a lot bigger.

Amphiprion, life-size.

Dances with Elephants - R.I.P. Mardos. 12/27/2006

I received word this morning that Mardos, the young elephant we were trying to help, was put down yesterday morning at 9 a.m.

I guess we tried, but we were hoping against hope.  The little guy is now at rest, and won’t have to suffer any more.  I really wish we had managed to get him upright, and walking, and living.  But it wasn’t to be.

I still remember going to see him, and he would wrap his trunk around my hand, and pull me down to sit next to him.  I remember his big eyes, full of trust, and intelligence, looking at me, as if he was asking for help.

Goodbye Mardos.  I promise to continue helping your other elephant brothers and sisters.

Seasonal cheer. 12/23/2006

A couple of nights ago, a young lady of my acquaintance, and a dear friend, returned to this country for a short visit home. She had taken the trouble, at my request, to bring me some spirits, in keeping with the spirit of the season. And if you don’t think that’s a bad pun, you must be dead and have absolutely no sense of humour.

My favourite tipple, brought with much love and care, and parental expenditure in air fare, right to my door step.  I appreciate the gesture, and the young lady in question has my gratitude.

I first started drinking Bushmill’s when I discovered it during a rather rough trip to the Emerald Isle, years and years ago, in a past life.  This was in the days when being Catholic, or Protestant, in that specific city, was literally a matter of life, or death.  But the one thing that I discovered, was that the people in the city, in certain areas at least, were genuinely friendly to visitors.  And it was during a rather cold evening, driving along in a residential area, where I encountered this hospitality.

I was looking for a specific address, and a specific person.  Driving along, I gave up, and decided to ask for directions.  I saw a gentleman walking down the street, with his wife, and I rolled my window down to ask for help.  He listened to my question, and then answered me in the broadest Irish brogue I had ever encountered to date.  His wife saw my dumb founded look, and said to me, in a rather more understandable lilt, that if I gave them a lift home, they would show me where I needed to go, since it was on their way.

I agreed, and they got into the car.  A little ways along, they were where they needed to go, and I was within spitting distance of where I needed to be.  Conversation in during the drive was interesting to say the least, since they were really curious as to what someone like me, from a very far off country, would be doing in Belfast.  I answered them as best I could, trying to avoid mention of the fact that I was working for the devil.

As the gentleman got out of the car, he turned, and said to me, that since it was a cold night and all, would I be interested in trying out some Irish whiskey.  I shrugged my shoulders, and since I had time to burn, I said yes.

And tasted what was to become, for me, a life long relationship, with one of the best whiskies in the world.  But I will give you fair warning, for drinking Bushmill’s is an acquired taste.

Girl Friday. 12/22/2006

Today, there is no girl Friday. I’m moving office, and the office network isn’t set up yet. I’m typing this in a cybercafe with zero privacy, so I’m afraid I can’t start pulling pictures off my USB HDD and reviewing and cropping them. So, instead, I’m going to give you something which someone sent to me, via e-mail, which was written at a moment when, well, let’s just say seperation sucks.

I want to un-button your shirt, kissing a line down from the bottom of your throat down to your belt. I want to unbuckle your belt and slide your pants down to your ankles. I want to look up into your eyes as I reach for your cock and start to breathe hot air onto you. I ache to hear your moan when I finally use the tip of my tongue to draw lines on your cock before slipping you all into my mouth, sucking and massaging your cock. I want to feel you grow bigger in my mouth, feel your hands on the back of my head, pushing yourself to the back of my throat, gagging me.

I want your hands on me pushing me back roughly, tearing my clothes off and your mouth hot and wet all over my body. I want you heavy and urgent on top of me, both my hands pinned under one of yours, before you push yourself into me before I’m really wet, so I can feel you stretching me, tearing a little. I’m imagining the way you pound into me, the look in your eyes when they lock onto mine, the buildup of pressure in my stomach and deep inside my womb.

I want you to fill me, and to shudder deep inside me, with your breathe rasping in my ear as I lock my ankles behind you and grip your cock deeper with my legs, so that every last bit of you is inside me.

And after, when you’re lying beside me smelling of sweat and sex and me, I want to feel your gift slowly dripping out of me, making my thighs slippery.

Then I want to do this every night for the rest of our lives.

Prowling.

I’ve been walking through the shopping mall under the towers, waiting for someone to show up for lunch.  Minding my own business, looking for a last minute Christmas gift.  I found the gift, a yellow motorcycle, and paid for it.  As I walked out of the store, a lady, dressed very well indeed, was looking at me.

I smiled, because I wasn’t too sure what else to do, and she approached me.  Then she said to me, “I like your smile”, gave me her name card, and walked away.

I stood there for a moment, not sure of how to react.  I walked along the mall some more, window shopping.  And then I noticed that a fair number of women were paying attention to me.  I wondered if I had a hole in my shirt, or my zipper was down, or something.  A quick once over revealed nothing amiss. 

I’m sitting down here now, typing this out, and wondering why this should be so.  I’m just wearing a polo T, and a pair of pants, and very beat up old boots.  I shaved this morning, but nothing else.  Weird.

By the way, it took me a fair long time to realise this, but iPods rock.  Thanks Val. 

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