INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRESS 1.1

"I'm Frazzi." I replied. I nodded upward. "From out there."
"An alien with an Italian name and British accent." She giggled. " And do you know what a vampire is?"
"A mythical undead creature that feeds on the living."
"I'd take exception to the word "mythical.""
"Point taken."
"And tales of our feeding are way overblown." She was sounding positively friendly now. I had the feeling I was being accepted as an equal of sorts. " We rarely kill, except in self defense. Just take what we need and go our merry
way. "
I still had her covered with the destabilizer
"And you came at me with fangs and claws because you're a member of my fan club."
"You resisted my glamour, " she replied. "That doesn't happen often. So, since I thought you were an imp, I thought I'd just beat the answers out of you. I had no idea you would be far more interesting. Look, your arm is going to get tired pointing that thing at me and, honestly, I don't find green goo at all appetizing, so why don't you put that little toy away and let's chat?"
I reflected and had to admit that I had work to do here. I decided totake a chance. I put down my arm, but did not let return the destabilizer to my pocket.
So, are you invading the planet, or what?" she continued.
"No," I replied, deciding half the truth would do, at least for now. "Glore and I are xenosociologists. We're here strictly to study human society. "
"Ah, a research project. Why?"
I had the sense she didn't fully believe me. Time to tap dance a little.
"We're part of a galactic confederation. Eventually Earth will get into space and want to join. We need to gather information on the dominant life form so we can make an intelligent decision when that time comes."
Marchell smirked. "Sounds more like a threat assessment to me. So if you're studying the dominant life form, why are you studying humans? They're simply the most numerous."
"Simple," I explained. "We don't normally negotiate with mythical creatures. Anyways, at the moment I'm mostly concerned with who killed Glore." I nodded toward my fellow scientist.
Marchell bit her lip and stepped forward to examine the body. A cursory glance of the messy remains, replete with great, clawing wounds, seemed all she needed.
"Probably a shifter," she noted. "Most likely you've got a werewolf on your butt."

FIGHTING BACK

Glore was now a smattering of gooey organic polka dots splattered across the room. Our cover was blown. A monkey girl monster was about an inch from sinking her claws into my nexk.
I was definitely having a Jack Bauer kind of night.
Under the circumstances there was no point in holding back.
I shot out my tongue and wrapped it around the monkey girl's neck. Then I spun her like a yo=yo, sending her crashing into the wall by the sliding door.
We xenosociologists aren't big on weapons. They tend to be counterproductive to our purposes and all sorts of havoc could arise if they fell into the hands of a curious species with a love of reverse engineering. I did, however, have my molecular destabilizer with me. I reached into my pocket, slid the power control to high, and brought it forth as I came up to one knee. The female was coming to her feet, fazed perhaps just a touch by my last manuever.
"Nice trick, " she complimented with what sounded like sincerity. "What's next, tentacles?'"
I brought the destabilizer to bear.
"How cute!" she exclaimed, noting the metal rod. "A demon with a wand! You don't really think you can hurt me with that, do you?
She thought I was a demon? A mythic beast with a magical weapon? I decided the best way to avoid another attack would be with some nuclear testing, so to speak. I pointed the destabilizer
a few inches down and to the left, at a potted plant next to the entryway. I pressed the activator. As I said before. the laws of the universe break down as space decreases. The molecules of the plant, pot and all, seperated as the space within twisted. A little "poof" and the plant vanished harmlessly into subatomic flotsam.
It's not a wand," I corrected, as I trained the destabilizer on her once again. "And I am not a demon.
The she ape seemed less certain of her imperviousness to my "weapon."
"So I see," she nodded. "That's some pretty impressive technology and nothing born of this world
has a tongue like that." She nodded up. "Out there?"
I nodded in confirmation.
She had by now come fully to her feet. "My apologies. I thought you and your friend were some piddling little imps out on some pointless rampage." She pulled the curtain closed across the sliding door. "Perhaps we should start over. My name is Marchell. I'm a vampire."

ATTACKED

I turned to face the owner of that voice Illuminated by the light from the room a monkey girl could be seen just outside, leaning against the exterior frame of the sliding door. She stood maybe 5' 6'' tall with short cropped coal black hair. Her body was of slender frame, sheathed in a sleeveless black top and slacks. From here, in this light, her skin seemed terribly pale and enhanced the glow from eyes that were clearly violet, even at this distance.
"May I come in?" she half purred.
The question seemed out of place. My fellow scientist was art deco splattered about the floor, walls and ceilings, I was here having broken in, and she was asking permission to enter like an insurance salesman. Any ordinary monkey girl would be running like a cheap stocking, calling for the cops.
There was little to do, I decided, but go along with the gag.
"Sure, come on in," I invited.
She walked, one might almost say flowed, into the room. Her eyes were fixed on me like rivets. "Thanks," she acknowledged. "Now how about telling me what you and that..." she nodded toward Glore..." are?"
I felt an urge come upon me to comply with her request as she continued to stare at me, locking her eyes on mine.
It was, as I said, an urge, but hardly a compulsion. A thought came to me that she must be using some kind of pheronome to weaken my will. I'm sure it would have been quite effective on an ordinary monkey boy. But I am not that, and it had little effect on my Flavnoid physiology.
"Again, " she demanded with some force, her eyes turning to lavender flames, "what are you?"
This time the urge had a kick to it, but not nearly enough to budge me.
"Ladies first," I replied with some flippancy. " You don't seem quite as you appear yourself."
I am not sure which set her off the most, my resistance or my attitude. Either way, I was stirring up a hornet's nest.
"Okay, we'll do this the hard way!" she hissed.
She was the quickest thing I had seen since my days in the jungles on Candlia. Almost faster than I could follow she leapt, not at me, but at the wall to my left. She struck five feet up the wall, feet first, and carommed back down and into me. A normal monkey boy would not have been able to meet this vectored attack effectively. Flavnia is a world with a gravity 1.75 times that of Earth, however. Not to brag, but a Flavnoid is stronger and faster than an ordinary earthling.
So it was that I was able to turn and grab her wrists as she slammed into me. sending us sprawling on the thin carpeting. I was stunned to see her fingers had now transformed into 6 inch claws. She howled at me and I was horrified to see her canines had turned to 4 inch fangs. Her eyes were aflame like the purple fires of Hell.
What's worse, strong as I was by earthly standards, she was stronger.
Slowly, she was winning and those razor sharp claws edged ever closer to my throat......

THE HOUSE

It was close to midnight when I pulled into Glore's drive. He had rented a ranch home at the end of a cul-de-sac. White. plain and undistinguished. The lights were out in the other homes, save one where a dull glow shone through drawn curtains on the first floor.
A mailbox stood at the end of the drive. I checked that first. Opening the flap I pulled out a small stack of sales flyers. Even aliens get junk mail.
Obviously, he had not picked this stuff up for a day or two.
I went up the drive and a short walkway that led to the front door. I expected an exercise in futility, but tried the buzzer anyways. From inside I could hear a chime. No response. I tried one more time with the same result.
I began next to circle the house, glancing into the windows as I went. The interior was completely dark and nothing of note seemed discernable.
Around some bushes and to the back. I noted now that the this cul-de-sac ended next to a parkland area. A small rear yard, maybe fifteen feet deep, ended in brush and bushes that soon expanded to a light woods. Nothing was visible in the moonlight in that expanse.
I returned my attention to the house. There was a sliding glass door, closed, leading into darkened depths of the interior. A dark curtain was drawn, preventing any attempt to make out the interior.
With a light touch I tried the door. Silently and with ease it began to slide open. I pulled a little more, expanding that crack into a viable entryway. I stepped though the portal, parted the curtain, and fumbled along the wall next to the door. I found a light switch and engaged it. Light flowed from track fixtures embedded in two rows that were embedded in the ceiling along opposite walls.
I was facing to the right. I was clearly in a living area. A red couch, 2 matching chairs, A television,a wall hung plasma (Blurbos are not noted for their frugality) , and some endtables, highlighted the decor. I turned to take in the rest of the room. Three stairs led into the depths of the home's interiior. Along the left wall was a desk and chair.
Glore was seated in the chair. And spread on the carpeting and across the desk and splattered across the wall. Green gore was everywhere.
Something had torn the Blurbo to shreds.
I pushed down the sickeniing feeling rising from my stomach. I stepped forward for a reluctant closer look. Glore's syntheskin had been shred in a dozen places, his true self underneath raked into a gooey mass. The tears were in rows of four and five, like giant claws had grabbed him and sundered him mercilessly. An animal, I wondered? There was no sign of his having been bitten or eaten.
The thought occurred to me that an animal would not know to turn off a light switch or close the door behind itself.
This was not at all good.
Worse followed.
"You're friend wasn't human," came a voice from thr entryway. " I don't think you are, either..."

THE WHEELS

I waited until dark to head out. With me I took several gizmos that might be useful. My molecular destabilizer, a multi species first aid kit, a subscopic analyzer and such. Everything you're supposed to need in the wilderness of a backwater world.
My wheels were a '97 Buick Century. a common enough vehicle. At least it looked like a Century.
This was actually a replica put together by the boys in Retro-tech, designed to fit in with the local technology. Of course, it has options you just don't get on a factory model. Not the least of which was the power source, a magnetic field containing a miniature black hole, held motionless relative to the vehicle, that was slowly degrading.The radiation emminating from the minuscule event horizon gave her all the power she needed.
I engaged the autodrive, turned on the radio, and began to muse about my selection of options. The windows were tinted and, at night at least, I was confident no one would notice the car was driving itself.
A news item came on the radio. Seems the Chinese were going to be drilling on the continental shelf in the Gulf of Mexico for oil. That was something the United States refused to let it's oil compamies do. (How exactly does that work, I wondered. The waters were international. not owned by anyone. so how could a country stop someone from drilling there? I filed the question away for another time.)
The xenosociologist in me took over at the point, submarining my intent to consider my course of action vis-a-vis my Blurbo compatriot.
Let's see if I have the picture completely understood.
Fossil fuels are running out.
The U.S. is paying through the nose for oil.
Most of that money is going to countries that loathe the U.S. Some seem to be actively intent on destroying it.
The solutions seem forthright and implementable individually or in tandem. Of course, harnessing miniature black holes or tapping directly into the zero point energy field are well beyond the capabilites of this primitve technology, but they could....
Drill for oil in Alaska.
This, as I understand it, is desired by Alaskans. But environmentalists in California don't like the idea. The carribou might have to walk around the facility to get where they are going and the scenic stone and ice shelf might get disturbed. So Californians get to tell Alaskans what they can or cannot do on the land in their own state..
Drill in the continental shelf.
Might bother the fish? Are politicians serving the fish or the populace?
Convert coal to oil.
A vaguely discussed but doable option that no one is doing.
Fission power, called here nuclear power.
Spreading throughout the rest of the world, but here everyone says"Not in my backyard!"
Wind Power
Windmills off the coast could provide electrical power. Unfortunately some of the desirable sites would spoil the view of some wealthy people and powerful politicians. Can't have that.
Solar Power
In limited use, but I don't see any real attempts going on to advance the cause.
Nuclear Fusion
A prototype plant is on the drawing board, but ten years off. No one seems to see a pressing need to move forward, despite the fact that this would be cheap and clean, with no dangerous irradited wastes.
Thermal Depolymerization.
With heat and pressure any carbon based material can be broken down into oil and other byproducts. The various landfills coiuld be dug up and all those wasted organics converted to power.
Geothermal.
The U.S. sits on the only supervolcano not under the ocean. Yellowstone National Park. A limitless source of heat that could be converted to power. Any takers? Nope.
Achieving energy independence by any of these means would have the added benefit of weakening greatly the power base of many countries hostile to the U.S. A number of them have nothing but oil to back their power. Strike at the demand, render their export useless, and these countries would fold like an accordian.
Sometimes the best weapons are neither diplomacy or a gun. Nothing. I've heard. succeeds like success.
And the path to follow seems abundantly clear.
A disturbing side thought.
The so called bad guys seem long on action, short on talk.
The so called good guys seem long on talk, short on action.
Democracy in action. Democracy Inaction.
My line of thought was interrupted as I noted I was approaching our destination.
Back to work....

RECOMMENDED

THE DRIVE HOME

"Third!" I bemoaned. "I can't believe he ran third!"
"Hey, it happens," Jim shrugged. "Ya win some, ya lose some."
We were about halfway back to the house. I had been lamenting the loss of my 2 bucks the whole way. Can't say I was getting much in the way of sympathy from the monkey boy.
"We've gotta go back," I said with some insistance. "They've got my money. I want another chance."
"Can't. The kids will be getting back from school soon. I have to meet the bus."
I was, if you can't tell, a little more then peeved. The big ape had won money. I lost. I'm smarter, I'm sure, than any ordinary monkey boy. It simply wasn't tolerable.
"Hey, Frazz, I think you're a little too wrapped up in this. It's 2 bucks, after all. Maybe horse racing isn't for you.
"Hrrmph," I pouted. Not for me? Jim had said earlier it wasn't about the money. I had more than a glimmer of insight into that now. I had been defeated.
I wanted to win.
"There's always tomorrow."
Just what I needed. Cliched truisms.
I sunk down in my seat and stared blankly out the window. I had never felt like this before. I began to think these monkey boys were rubbing off on me. Perhaps I was, after immersing myself in a bit of their culture and ways, getting too close to the natives? Was this the beginning of going native?
I began feeling a bit corrupted.
We turned into the drive and exited the car. Jim bade me farewell and I headed for a new little place I had found, Mama Renee's. The latkas were really good at Abbas', but were even better at Mama Renee's. And right now all I wanted to do was indulge myself.
9 latkas and 2 Cokes later I returned to my quarters. The message light was blinking on my computer. I sat down at the desk and fired up my box. Opening the communique from Research Prime, the research and science wing of the Confederation, I received some disturbing news:
"Frazzi, Glore has missed 2 check-ins, Probably just a machine malfunction, but you must contact him and render any assistance ncessary."
Great. Glore was another xenosociologist, a Blurbo, assigned to the planet. He was stationed on the west side of town and had taken residence in a little suburb called Olmsted Falls. We hadn't had contact since landing here save to exchange contact numbers for the monkey boy's communication web. A precaution in case we needed to reach each other and our normal linkages were unavailable. He hadn't contacted me about any problem.
This was not good.
I responded back to Research Prime that I was investigating. I got out my local communicator and dialed Glore's number. There was n9 answer.
I had a bad feeling Glore had a serious problem.
And that meant I had a problem......

RECOMMENDED

THE PREAKNESS PART 2

oops

tTHE PREAKNESS

Jim's Preakness selection:
Brother Derek

THE BIG "T" PART 3

The first post time approached at some of the simulcast tracks. Jim reviewed odds on the telescreens for several tracks, referred back to his racing form, shook his head. and muttered, "No bargains here." He slurped some of his coke.
I watched as lines started building at the clerk's windows. Few people seemed interested in the autobetting machines. "I'll be right back," I told my monkey boy.I got up and went over to the windows and listened to some of the hopefuls giving their betting instructions to the clerks.
" First at Calder, daily double, first race, 1-3-7 slash 2-4 and exacta box 1-3=7."
"$5 dollars win the 3."
"Superfecta 2 over the 3-6 pver the 3-6-7 over all."
And on and on. Money exchanged hands for little slips of paper. The variety of ways to invest, and I use that word with some trepidation, were legion.. I returned to our table.
"How come you're not betting? " I asked Jim.
'The odds aren't right, " he replied. "Most of these people are playing the game wrong.
"How so?"
"Look," he went on, "most of these people think it's about picking winners. They make their selection then bet, despite the odds. That's just plain stupid. What you can do is make an intelligent estimate of a horse's chances to win. This is what makes the game playable. It's about picking wagers. not winners."
"You see the house doesn't make the odds. The other bettors do. The track takes a huge 18 % cut of the pool then returns the rest to the winners. The lucky. The smart. So you need to be able to estimate the true likelihood of a horse winning and compare that to the odds the other players are giving you. add a point or two for safety and bet only when you're given a bargain."
" With an 18% cut coming out it doesn't happen often. But when it does, " his eyes narrowed and a predatory grin crossed his face, " you pounce. You have an overlay, you bet to win."
"I see," I nodded. " What about these other wagers. Superfectas and doubles and such?"
"Mostly sucker plays. The track take goes up to 25%, an even bigger nut to crack. And you need multiple things to go right, not just one. What's worse, if you hit a biggie the IRS takes a 20% cut. Yuck! For fun I might try an occaisonal double or exacta, but when you play for keeps, bet to win."
We stayed for several more hours. The form, I noted, had information on horse running at 6 tracks, 61 races in all. The big monkey boy left the table a total of 7 times, always with just a couple minutes to post. Each time he bet one horse, $2 dollars to win.
7 horses, 7 wagers, 5 losers, 2 winners. A $6.40 profit. The form cost $5, the hot dogs and coke $7. Then their was the time spent. It didn't make sense.
As we left I mentioned that the money won didn't meet the expense."
"It's not about the money," replied the ape. " It's about playing the game and winning."
I pondered the attitude. Somehow, in so many ways, it seemed to pervade monkey boy society.
As we headed for the exit I took a final glance at the telescreens. At Belmont the 5 horse was about to go off at 8 to 1. I estimated it's true chances at 3 to 1.
"Just a minute," I said.
I headed for a betting window....

RECOMMENDED

THE BIG "T" PART 2

We pulled into the parking lot of Thistledown, an asphalt expanse in need of much repair. The grandstand was a large rectangular structure of glass and brick. Several satelite dishes of various sizes dotted the grounds around the building.
Jim grabbed a tabloid paper from the back and we crossed to and entered the building. The interior was cavernous, with several eateries, rows of what I discovered later were automated betting machines, and televison sets strung to cables throughout. At a stand an elderly monkey boy was selling tabloids to a line of patrons. The trackside wall had doors spaced about leading to the track itself. Between the sets of doors were mammoth banks of TVs. A variety of races, replays of the prior day's events Jim informed me, were being shown from all around the country. . Long rows of tables. bettors seated sporadicly about, were placed before the televisons. Clerks mulled about behind counters, occaisionally chatting with the customers or, more commonly, amongst themselves.
"We've got an hour 'til the first race from Calder," observed my monkey boy host. Let's invest in some hot dogs."
We got some weenies and cokes at one of the stands. Another delicacy I had yet to try. Jim added some mustard to his and I did likewise. We grabbed some seats, Jim took a bite of his dog, and unfurled his tabloid. "Daily Racing Form" was emblazoned in an antique script across the top.
I took a bite of my hot dog. Bliss. Sheer bliss. Where did monkey boys come up with this great food?
Jim opened the tabloid and I saw it was filled with a variety of data-numbers, letters, words and symbols--jammed together into barely readable lines. Hand written near each horse's name were some additonal numbers added by the monkey boy.

The big ape pointed to one of the horse's names and explained that this was a record of his past performances. Patiently he reviewed what all the numbers and symbols meant. It was quite a bit to absorb at once and a little confusing, but fortunately I'm a bright Glannoid and caught on to most of it pretty quickly.
You'll notice, by the way, how clean the race track itself is?" asked Jim, referring to the dirt oval the races were run over.
"Ah, yes. It is rather neatly kept."
" It's so clean 'cause all the horses' hienies are in the stands"
As the big ape chortled over his own joke I was off to invest in more hot dogs.

RECOMMENDED

THE BIG "T"

We trudged from the Wal Mart back to the car and the big monkey boy dumped his goods in the trunk. We headed off from there.
"Say, Frazzi, " began Jim, "you like the horses?'
A bit perplexed by this out of left field question, I shrugged. "I suppose."
"I mean racing. Ever go to the races?"
Ah, gambling. Monkey boys are just about unique in their propensity to try and defy odds. They all seem to believe that the laws of probability apply to someone else, that somehow "I" am immune. It was an activity, I thought, worthy of some investigation.
"Actually, no, but it sounds interesting. Afraid I'm not into gambling much, though."
"Racing isn't gambling.," asserted Jim.
"It's not?"
"Not like roulette or the slots. There the house takes your money and pays out to winners based on set odds. There is no real skill involved. The wife gave me ten bucks to play the slots once on our honeymoon. You stand in front of the machine, drop in your coin and pull the handle." He switched to a song for a second, " The wheels on the box go round and round...," then back to speech.
The lights flash... Ding! Ding! Ding! ... whirrrrr. Two cherries and a pickle. Oh, well." Mock glee entered his voice. 'Drop in a coin, pull the handle and do it again. Wheee! "
With some disdain he added, "Never felt more like a dumb monkey in my life."
Since i was here on Earth to study monkey boys, I found the comment a bit ironic.
"And horse racing is different?"
"Yep, he asserted. "It's a tough game, but it's a game of skill. I've got a little free time today and was going out to Thistledown. Interested?"
A chance to watch a monkey boy gamble close up? I thought only our researchers in Macao and Vegas were going to get to do that. I could hardly say no.......

RECOMMENDED

INSIDE WAL MART

We entered the Wal Mart through a double set of sliding doors. An elderly monkey boy in a blue vest greeted us with a nod. To our left was a dining area, to our right aisles of registers. Ahead were rows of merchandise, clothing being closest.
"I'd like to wander around a bit," I said. "How about I meet you back here in a bit?"
"Okay", replied Jim and he took off into the maze of goods.
I began by exploring the men's clothing. Jeans, slacks, tees, shirts, socks. and more. All the labels indicated they were from overseas.
I moved on.
Kid's toys, hardware, cooking utensils designed to do strange and abusive sounding things to ones food. It was all the same. All from overseas.
I made my way to the food section. Here most items were unmarked as to point of origin. I presumed most of the foodstuffs were packaged here, though I did spot canned meats labelled "A product of Brazil."
Finally I made my way to electronics. Televisions from China, recorders from Korea, DVDs from factories in Mexico.
"Not like when I was a kid," came Jim's voice from behind me.
I turned. "Oh?"
"When I was a kid we had a T.V. and stereo. You had that, you were good for years," he went on. " Now ya gotta have the latest T.V., stereo, cell phone, computer, ipod, gaming system, cable or satellite, notebook and God only knows what else. Not to mention all the services you end up buying to go with them. And it all gets upgraded every few years so ya feel like you gotta get more or get left behind. Used to be families got by on one income ok. Now both parents work, kids get shuffled off to strangers( yet another expense) and still have trouble making ends meet." He shook his head. "Just seems to me we're spending more of our lives and money supporting our things than anything else, is all."
"Colored lights that hypnotize," I mused.
He nodded, turned his cart, half full of cleaning supplies and food, and headed toward the checkout.

RECOMMENDED

THE WORLD'S LARGEST RETAILER

Serendipity happens.
This mormimg was cloudy, raining. I had thought of staying in and occupying myself with the cultural panacea called television.
Self inflicted wounds are not my forte. however.
So I set out to continue exploring the world around me.
As I exited my quarters Jim emerged from the downstairs.
Hey, Frazzi," he called. I'm heading over to Wal Mart. Wanna come?"
Wal Mart. The Mecca of American shopping. To date I had confined myself to the local merchants. A trip to the largest retailer in the world sounded like it would be enlightening.
"Sure," I replied. "Actually, I've never been in one."
"Well, come on. We've got to do our part to keep the Chinese economy from collapsing."
We left the house and got into Jim's car. I used the drive to broaden my perspective.
"The Chinese econonmy ?" I asked.
"Yeah, " replied Jim. "most of what they sell is from China."
"Why?"
" 'Cause it's cheap. Heck, most of what we buy these days is from overseas. This shirt was made in Thailand, my shorts in Malaysia. My underwear's from Pakistan, made by Muslims who would probably as soon kill me as take my money."
" All these places produce things more cheaply than you can make it yoursselves?'
"Yep. Seems we don't make nuch anymore."
"America is the largest economy, the richest nation. How do you manage to stay that way?"
The monkey boy thought for a minute. "Intellectual property. We make the best movies and T.V. shows. Sell them all around the world."
Ah! Now i began to see why the United States was looked down on, even despised in many places. Jerry Springer as an export would have that kind of effect, I reasoned.
A ten minute drive, mainly on twisting little side streets, brought us to a drab looking strip mall. Anchoring one end was the Wal Mart, it's presence declared to the world in oversized white letters.
"Here we are," announced Jim. We got out of the car. "The world's largest retailer."
"Where else are they?"
"Heck, they are trying to get in everywhere. Even China. They're going to try and sell cheap Chinese goods to the Chinese themselves."
Sounds like a plan.
We headed for the store..........

RECOMMENDED

INVESTING

A day watching the news whores, er, hounds was quite sufficent. The trumptimng of perspective over substance was quite disconcerting. Surely such a self serving people would be disruptive if allowed to prosper in a galactic environment. An argument, to be sure, that we should let disaster befall, I think.
I did notice one channel with a different focus. Perhaps there was some hope.
One channel devoted itself to business and investing.
I had spent some time watching these shows. I must say that I found the monkey boys very creative in the various things they concocted. I suspected it was so investment managers could charge fees to handle, what is that phrase, Other People's Money.
Stocks, bonds, real estate investment trusts, exchange traded funds, mutual funds, closed end funds, spiders, index funds, funds of funds, cinvertible bonds, hedge funds, covered calls,naked calls, covered puts, naked puts, options, futures, going long. short selling, baskets of stocks (popular around Easter?).
It sounded like one big casino. Colored lights that hypnotize.
I decided to see what my monkey boy host thought of it all.
I went to see Jim. As usual during the day he was the only one home. He had been putting things up for sale on a site called Ebay. Selling on this electronic garage sale was how he earned money.
"C'mon in," he invited. " Have a seat.What can I do for you?'
I settled into the couch while he took his big chair.
"Actually,I need some advise,' I comfided. " I have some money I would like to invest but there are so many options that i'm not sure what do to. Thought i'd see if you might have some advice.
"Well. a lot depends on your time frame," he explained. If you're looking short term, say one to twelve months, I'd recommend CDs. They are safe and you can always get your money in an energency."
CDs. no one had mentioned those on the investment shows I had watched. Since no one had any they wanted to sell me on the hyped business shows I suspected they might be just the thing.
We chatted some more, I thanked him and returned to my quarters. I got online and researched CDs. There wer many, as it turned out, to choose from.
I decided I would experiment with investing like a monkey boy.
Soon winging my way were Shania Twain, Eric Clapton, 50 cent, Carrie Underwood and many many more fine CDs.
Soon, my inexhaustible expense account notwithstanding, I would be rich.

REDOMMENDED

kentucky derby. part 2.

oops

the derby

jim's longshot selection: number 6

THE RIGHT OF RIGHTS

A day's worth of blathering of the news. Except it wasn't really the news. Oh, there were newsy things all right. But the emphasis was on the packaging, all bright and shiny. Looking less, I think, to inform as captivate.
The News Entertainment Business.
I noted one theme ran through many stories.
Rights.
Everyone claimed rights. Everything was a right.
Right to speak
Right to vote
Right to life
Right to choose
Right to work
Right to property
Right to exist
Right of returm
Right to bare arms
Right to medical care
Right to life, liberty, and the pursuit if happiness
God Given Rights
The thinking here is a bit more than a bit fuzzy. Unless we intervene the monkey boys on this planet will soon be facing an infernal cataclysm from the depths of space. Each day a 2,000 foot piece of cosmic flotsam hurls nearer.
Proof of one thing.
In this universe you have but one right. To survive as long as you are strong enough, fast enough, smart enough, lucky enough....
All these other "rights" are not inherent. They are items negotiated, intellectualized, invented and fought for.
They are items which, in one fashion or another, are won.
They should be thought of as REWARDS, not rights.
If the monkey boys change their perspective someday I think many truths will become clear to them about their world and society.

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MORE NEWS SPEWS

I paused in my viewing of the news long enough to get something to eat. I decided I would sample the chocolate chip mont ice cream. I scooped a healthy portion into a bowl and plopped back into my chair. As i resumed viewing I globbed a spoonful into my mouth.
What latkas are to crispy ice cream is to sweet! What a wonderful confection! The creamy goodness melted with an icy delectability.
These monkey boys sure know food.
As I ecstacized over my nrw found delight I returned to the news.
The talk was on battles. Wars. Altercations of cataclysmic fury.
The talk was on Washington.
Two main sub tribes exist amongst the monkey boys. The Democrats and Republicans.They had been at odds for some time, polically speaking.
And the news spoke of the Battle for the hill. The War to control congress. the Blows being struck.
Reps had leading questions designed to instigate tossed in their faces. Statements decades old were thrown back at those who made them when there was the slightest change in a position. "Engrave yourself in stone " was the message.
"And never." blared one commentator, "has the country been so divided!"
And no ownder, thought I. From my vantage I could see plainly that the media was fueling this rift. Bombastic, warlike language. Always looking for a way to hang somebody. Doing their best to divide and keep everyone at each other's throat.
Compromising the possibility of compromise.
I had the distinct impression that the country was polarized because it was told it was polarized.
A form of self fulfilling prophecy.
The news channels were far beyond reporting the news. To a great extant they were creating the environment and shaping the world around them Far more so than the politicians they "reported" on.
Whether this was a deliberate attempt to control a society by the spewing of a message (and make no mistake, each of the news services seem to have it's own philosophical agenda) or simply an attempt to create drama and glue butts to the seat I could not tell.
But it does show, as always, that there is no true seperation between the observer and observed. They are a system and this system seemed winging far out of control....

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THE NEWS CONTINUES

Wanting to see more of the important stories of the day, I continued watching the telly, flipping from time to time between channels.
A car was being chased by police in Los Angeles. I watched, getting a bird's eye view as the scene was broadcast from helicopter. Across roadways. over bridges, thru twisting labyrinths of side streets. At times everyone slowed and it was like watching a movie in halftime.
Why was he being chased? Did he kidnap some imprtant official? Commit a mass murder? Steal some vital secret or technology?
"I hope this turns out safely," chortled the announcer. "You never know."
A voice over of a retired cop came next. "These guys never get away," he bragged."It's only a matter of time." The cop droned on about about police methodology.
"Word just in," interrupted the announcer. The driver apparently got into an altercation with another patron in a diner. When things looked like they might bubble up into a fight the owner called the police. As the cops arrived this guy took off speeding and has been going ever since."
This was national news? I couldn't comprehend why this warranted attenjtion on a national news broadcast.
Then came the end. The car, speeding on a freeway, came to a traffic jam. The driver tried to get around the mass of cars, moving across the berm. The roadway here was elevated up on a grassy knoll. The driver miscalculated. and went too far.
As the announcer screamed "Oh my God!" in mock horror, I watched as the car rolled over and crashed down the hill. Over and over and then coming to rest at the bottom. In seconds police were swarming the car and pulling out their prey.
I think i was beginning to get it. In a society raised on cartoon violence and action heroes, this real life drama, as small as it was, constituted emtertainment.
Train Wreck T.V.

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WARS

Fortunately there was an automated teller machine in Marc's. I cleverly followed the instructions and withdrew enough cash for my purchase and some walking around money.
I completeted my purchase and carted the bags 2 blocks home. I refrigerated the cold, stuffed the frozen in the freezer and shelved the rest.
Then I plopped into the old, springy chair that had been provided and clicked on the television. I dialed around to one of the news channels to see what important events might be transpiring.
Illegal aliens.
huh?
Had we been found out? One of our number observing this world discovered?
No, much to my relief.
It seems instead the tribal nature of this specoes was asserting itself.
Millions of people from the tribal area called Mexico have moved into this country without following the rules and procedures. Now they wanted to stay. others wanted them to leave, others wanted some to stay and some to leave.
All very peculiar.
If the monkey boys of this tribe, the United States(which seems a bit of a misnomer as they seem rarely united on anything) wanted to keep out monkey boys from Mexico why did they not simply devote more resources to policing the border?
Seemed simple enough.
Of course, there would be the problem of dealing with the people who had already entered the country.
11,000,000 million people by some counts.
Sounds more like an invasion, or, perhaps some type of migration?
My musings were interrupted as the story changed.
Liberals, a term I would have to research, were calling for the U.S to intervene militarily in some tribal area called the Sudan. Seems a tribe called Mus;ims were killing members of another tribe called Chrisitans. A precursor to a one world government called the United Nations was supposed to be policing the situation, but was mbotching the job.
I flipped opoen my computer while watching and tapped into the internet(an unregulated Wild West of commerce, information, rumor and inuendo.
Flying through the history of the last several wars the U.S. had been involved in was enlightning.
The Liberals has been in favor of a war to oust a dictator who had been slaughtering part of his people. The Comservatives had opposed this war.
Almost everybody in the tribe had been in favor of eliminating a threat in Afgahnistan, where bomb happy monkey boys had been clearly resposible fpr killing Liberals and Comservatives alike.
The Conservatives wanted to take military action in Iraq where members of one Muslin tribe were oppressing another. The Liberals opposed it.
The Conservatives wanted to take more stringent measures on the border. The Liberals oppose it.
The Liberals are starting to mount a movement, still weak, to intercede in the Sudan. The Conservatives oppose it.
In truth there is no overriding moral position in this country's decisions to fight or not fight.
What seems to be important is who's idea it is.
Us versus them in an intratribal battle for supremecy.
Ruljng the roost, not freeing or protecting the world.
Or themselves.
Very disconcerting. I would have to watch this further.......

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