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EARTHFALL: Chapter 2
Hey crew,
Here's a sneak peek of part of Chapter 2 from the upcoming novel, Earthfall. Usual disclaimers apply: this is rough stuff, may be substantially changed prior to publication, might even be killed entirely…though I kind of doubt that last one.
Publication news: My editor bailed because he had enlisted in the Army (he became an MI guy), and his long-awaited MOS slot opened up. As such, Earthfall is being picked up by another editor, but she won't be able to spool up on it for a week or so. After that, there will be some back-and-forth, as there usually is in these things, so it won't be released in ebook format until at least the second week in February. But it's close! I just have to make sure the release doesn't coincide with the premiere of the new season of The Walking Dead, otherwise no one will notice.
Out here!
Major General Martin Benchley sat behind his desk and paged through the series of consumption reports on his tablet, reading them without even really seeing them. After years of doing so, he knew what the base's usual rhythms were, what readings were wrong, and what consumables were being wasted. It was not unusual for him to operate on autopilot. But when he realized he'd scrolled through to the end of the document without retaining anything, he knew he would be revisiting the data once again. Benchley sighed and rubbed his eyes. Other senior officers might have been content to review the executive summary and sign off but, as the commanding general of Harmony Base, he didn't have that luxury. If something went wrong or if some vital resource was being squandered, he was the last line of defense. His position mandated that he always remain vigilant—no matter what.
He regarded the array of flat screen displays that adorned the wall opposite his desk. He could view any common area inside the base from his office, everything from the engineering spaces to the dining facilities to the corridor outside. He had watched the arrival of SCEV Four on one of those very monitors. The dusty rig had made a gutsy run for the elevator despite a last-second mechanical glitch, even though procedure mandated they shut down and wait out the deadly tempest before trying to gain entry to the base. He'd already heard from Colonel Walters, the eternally dissatisfied head of the vehicle maintenance area, who'd ranted for some time about the fact that Andrews was obviously disregarding procedure and putting his crew and their precious, thirty-seven million dollar Self-Contained Exploration Vehicle at extreme risk. Benchley shut Walters down as gently as he could. While he was essentially correct—Benchley himself had mandated that procedures be followed to the letter, as they might be the only thing standing between life and certain death—the fact of the matter was, the general was eager to get his hands on the SCEV team's report. They had concluded the first long-range reconnaissance survey of the central United States since the Sixty Minute War, and Benchley was not alone in wanting to discover what they had learned.
The base was the last remaining holdover from the old Cold War. Originally initiated during the Reagan Administration, Harmony had been designed to restore the United States after a possible thermonuclear conflict with the Soviet Union. Full of seed stocks, cryogenically-suspended animal embryos, staffed with brilliant scientists, engineers, and competent military tradesmen, tacticians, and troops, the subterranean outpost had been designed to be self-sufficient for fifty years. And it was big, one of the very largest hardened sites ever created. There was enough room for almost a thousand people, and its warehouses were stuffed full of everything that might be needed: freeze-dried and vacuum-sealed foods, petroleum products that had been treated with long-term stabilizers to ensure their combustibility, thousands of books, in both paper and electronic formats, tools, building materials, even precious stones and gems and gold, should those become necessary items to whatever post-apocalypse society might spread after the bombs dropped. No stone had been left unturned.
Harmony had fared well, even during the tightest budget periods, where political administrations had been tempted to suspend money for the long-running budget. But the base had always had a surfeit of hardcore proponents to ensure its survival, inside the halls of Congress, in the military, in the private sector. But the base's most surprising benefactors turned out to be the terrorists behind September 11, 2001. They had helped renew interest in the multi-billion dollar installation during a time when America was more interested in the peace dividend caused by the dissolution of the old Soviet Union. The attacks on American soil had galvanized those holding the black project's purse strings into action, and the money had started to flow once again. Harmony was retrofitted and restocked with the latest technologies, a trend that continued and even accelerated once the diseased Russian Federation finally died, and the progeny of the old authoritarian Communists rose again. The cycle began anew, and once again, the United States of America faced a monolithic threat.
And the war finally came, the one that punished not just America, but the entire globe. It happened without warning, as far as Benchley could tell; one moment, he was contemplating his upcoming retirement, the next he was ordered the base sealed as the missiles tracked across the sky. As the mushroom clouds bloomed across the planet, Harmony was finally good to go on its mission.
For the past six months, the SCEVs had been setting off into the field, conducting their surveys. After a decade of isolation, it was time for Harmony Base to enact the second part of its charter: quando mundum finit opus nos incipiet.
When the world ends, our mission begins.
Benchley considered the motto once again, as he had done for years. Are we alone? Are we all that's left?
That's what Benchley and everyone in Harmony Base wanted to know.
It was all they cared about now, after almost a decade of isolation, biding their time beneath the Earth's surface and—
A chime sounded, and Benchley looked up at the bank of monitors again. Four hours after SCEV Four's arrival, Captain Mike Andrews stood in the corridor outside, flanked by two enlisted MPs. As he watched, a crowd of passersby tried to extend their congratulations to Andrews, so many that the big MPs stood no chance of holding them back. Andrews appeared to accept the attention as stoically as he could. Benchley noted the slump to the younger man's shoulders and the drawn, almost pained expression on his face when he acknowledged the presumably good tidings extended by the others. Benchley wondered if Andrews's expression held all the answers he would ever need.
He feared exactly that.
Benchley rose and walked to the office door, his powerful stride belying his sixty-six years. He had been ready for retirement before the Sixty Minute War, with only two weeks left on post before rotating out and ending his service with the United States Army. Of course, the launch of several nuclear weapons against the U.S. had put his retirement plans on hold—forever. He opened the metal door and it slid inward on well-oiled hinges. Benchley had no secretary. She'd been on leave before the war struck, and he hadn't seen any reason to replace her. He crossed the small outer office, opened the door to the corridor, and waved inside the three men waiting in the hall.
"Come in, Andrews. You men mind waiting in the outer office while I debrief the captain?" The two MPs shook their heads in unison.
"No, sir," the senior man said.
"Thank you. Go ahead and make yourselves comfortable." Benchley ran a hand over his close-cropped silver hair and motioned to his office. "In there if you will, Captain."
"Yes, sir," Andrews said. He carried a small nylon bag with him as he stepped into the office. Benchley followed him in and shut the door.
"Have a seat, son. Good to see you home safe and sound. Looks like Mother Nature threw you a last-minute monkey wrench, eh?"
"Yes, sir." Andrews settled into one of the visitor's chairs facing Benchley's desk only after the general had set himself. "But that's what happens when you try to keep a schedule."
"Indeed. All right, we'll keep this short. I know you've been away for quite some time, and you're probably eager to get back to life."
Andrews opened the nylon bag and pulled out a binder and two thumb drives. He handed the items over to Benchley, who placed the electronic devices on his desk. He opened the binder, which was Andrews's written log of SCEV Four's sojourn through the wasteland. The logs kept by every SCEV commander constituted the sole remaining paper in Harmony Base. Benchley flipped through it quickly, scanning the neat print.
"It's all collated, sir. Lieutenant Eklund's analyses are complete, and Engineer Spencer will have the—"
"Let's cut to the chase, Andrews. What did you find?"
Andrews hesitated for a long moment, then released a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry, sir. The mission was a wash."
Even though he had been ready to hear it—or thought he had—the news hit Benchley like a physical blow. He sagged back into his chair and looked across the desk at Andrews. For his part, the young captain returned his gaze with forlorn eyes.
"That's… damned disappointing, Andrews. I'd hoped a long range recon would turn something up. We can't be the only survivors of the war…"
"And we probably aren't, sir. We've just been looking in the wrong places." Andrews appeared more animated now, shrugging off the depressing reality of his report in a way that only the young could. "The Pacific Northwest is our best bet. Everywhere from Los Angeles to New York was hit with at least one nuclear device during the war, and anything that wasn't was covered by the fallout. The winds are still hot outside, even ten years later—the only place anyone could possibly survive outside of hardened bunkers would be in the northwest. You give the word, sir, and I'll have my rig ready to roll in three days."
Benchley smiled despite himself. Andrews was a true go-getter, perhaps the one SCEV commander he trusted above all others. He was thorough, meticulous, and smart enough to know when to flex the rules a little bit to get something done. Best of all, he was a keen motivator, a trait that years of being trapped underground, slaves to repetition and outright boredom, had almost been eliminated in the Harmony Base culture. Andrews still had it, however, carrying his enthusiasm like a badge. Even though he had little but bad news to report, the young officer was rallying himself to charge out into the field and try again. In the process, Benchley noticed his own sagging spirits being lifted by Andrews.
Thank God for this boy, and all the others like him.
"I appreciate your can-do attitude, Andrews. Really. I'll give your request full consideration, but my instinct is to stick to the schedule for now. In the meantime, myself and the rest of the command staff will go over your findings. Expect to be fully debriefed on Friday, which should give you enough time to get your personal affairs in order."
Andrews looked disappointed. "Your call, sir. But we're ready to jump out on this one. I mean, we're really ready and—"
Benchley held up a hand. "I get it, Mike. I get it. I have to consult with the rest of the command staff before I make any sweeping changes to the recce schedule, and you know that. I really will consider making the change, but I need to discuss it with the rest of the team. Trust me on this one, okay?"
Andrews smiled wryly. "Trust has never been a problem here, sir. But if you don't mind me saying so, you might be acting a little too… conservatively about this."
"Me? Conservative? Bite your tongue, Captain—I'm practically a flaming liberal regarding issues like this." Benchley rose to his feet and smoothed out the blouse of his Army Combat Uniform, the standard duty dress in Harmony Base. Andrews practically rocketed upright, instantly standing at attention.
"Anyway, congratulations, Captain. After thirty-three days in the field, I can absolutely and without reservation confirm that you and your crew have done well. Now go home. You look like hell."
Andrews saluted. Benchley returned the gesture, then held out his hand. Andrews took it, his grip firm. The grip of an adventurer, Benchley thought. If there was a post-apocalyptic Lewis and Clark, Cook, Perry, or even James T. Kirk, Mike Andrews was that man.
"Thanks, sir. Let me know if there's anything in the log that needs clarification," Andrews said.
"Of course. Now get out of here," Benchley said. "You have a young wife to see." He hoped his smile didn't reflect the heaviness he felt in his heart. If Andrews noticed, it didn't show. In fact, the reference to his wife seemed to rejuvenate him. To Benchley, it appeared Andrews couldn't get out of his office quickly enough. The captain stepped out of the office and allowed the heavy door to clang shut behind him, and Benchley slowly sank back into his chair. He put a hand on the logbook before him, palm down, as if he could somehow distill all the disappointment and thrashed dreams without having to actually wade through the reports.
He shook his head slowly. There was nothing to be gained by putting off the bad news.
What I Watched: REPLAY
I can't say I didn't know where this was headed, but a story well told is worth watching no matter what. I was surprised at how I was able to establish such a strong emotional connection with the characters, especially little Theo…who just like any other boy, wanted some friends to play with.
Very moving, I thought.
EARTHFALL: Chapter One
Well, here's a bit of my upcoming release Earthfall, for those who might be interested. No zombies in this one, but there are hard-bitten survivalists and one psionic freak that leads them–does this count?
As I wrote much earlier, this is a resurrection of a screenplay I'd written back in 1983, while obsessively listening to the scores for First Blood and Blue Thunder, so if you need to place any blame, Jerry Goldsmith and Arthur Rubenstein would be great starting points. Also trapped in my mind was the gritty, hard-hitting desperation of The Road Warrior, which I'd seen at a sneak preview in 1981 and thought to be far too violent (imagine that?) and the awesome Landmaster from the film Damnation Alley. So there's more than a nod to both in this book, though I hope you won't find it to be too heavy-handed.
As always, this is draft stuff, changes are not only possible, but probably advisable. And to quote Captain Mike Andrews in this chapter: "Embrace the suck."
Hopefully, he's not talking about the entire book.
The wasteland was as dry and barren as the surface of the Moon. Over the course of decades, the topsoil had been bleached by the sun's searing rays, the soil converted to chalky dust. No vegetation remained, for no life could exist in a land where the earth and air had been poisoned by nuclear weapons. Sandy ridges and wind-carved rock stood mute sentinel to the passage of time. Despite the fact the land was completely lifeless, the casual observer—had there been one—might still have considered the wasteland austerely beautiful.
Hidden beneath a pulsating brown-black mass, a vast cloud stalked across the forbidding wasteland like some hungry beast stirring after a long hibernation, the horizon but a memory. Tens of miles across, the ferocious sand storm grew larger by the second, illuminated by sporadic flashes of lightning. Riding the stiff breeze, the storm's top rose almost seventy thousand feet into the dry air, which no longer enjoyed the benefit of an ozone layer to strip away harmful radioactive particles emitted by the distant sun. The storm surged forward at more than sixty miles per hour, devouring the land before it, ravaging the wasteland even further with cyclonic winds full of debris that could strip a man's flesh from his bones in minutes.
Despite the hostile environment, the powerful storm, and the radiation—both man-made and heaven-sent—there was life.
A gigantic, eight-wheeled, all-terrain vehicle bolted across the gently rolling landscape, trailing a rooster-tail of dust. While the vehicle raced away from the storm, it became briefly airborne as it crested a small ridge before it slammed back to the parched earth, rocking on its heavy-duty suspension. The rig's turbine engines roared as they propelled Self-Contained Exploration Vehicle 4 along at almost sixty miles an hour. It wasn't fast enough. The monstrous storm continued to close, and the gap between its amorphous leading edge and the dirty vehicle slowly narrowed.
Strapped into the driver's seat, Captain Mike Andrews kept his eyes rooted on the desert landscape outside the thick viewports. His left hand kept the rig's control column pushed fully forward, and the system's drive-by-wire technology translated the action into full power to the rig's large, knobbed tires. The ride was far from comfortable, of course. Even though the SCEV had been designed to withstand harsh punishment in the field for months at a time, there was a limit to what suspension technology could dampen. Hurtling along at old highway speeds across broken terrain was one of the things it couldn't handle.
"Hey, listen, the temperature's going through the roof on number one," Choi said, squirming slightly in the co-pilot's seat beside Andrews. He was a few years younger than the vehicle commander, but his even temper and genuine likeability made him an asset in the field during the long reconnaissance runs they made four times a year. Now, though, Choi was obviously agitated, and not just from the SCEV's violent progress over the landscape that had once been western Kansas. It wasn't the close proximity of the storm causing him discomfort, either. Andrews knew the chance the vehicle might be forced to spend days waiting out the storm within only a few miles of Harmony Base was getting to Choi. Hell, it was getting to him as well. After thirty-three days in the field, all Andrews wanted was to get back to Harmony and soak in the small bathtub in his quarters. The SCEV's accommodations were fairly excellent, but confining eight people inside a vehicle that had less than four hundred square feet of living space for a month was enough to make anyone long for privacy.
Choi pointed out the temperature tape on the multifunction display set in the instrument panel between the two men. Andrews only glanced at it, but he could see the number one engine's temperature had spiked dramatically over the past few minutes.
"Listen, if you don't back off soon, you're going to blow number one," Choi said.
"Like hell, Tony. The computer'll shut it down first. But so what? That's why we have two engines in these things." Andrews patted the lip of the SCEV's gray instrument panel. "Hang in there, babe. Almost home, just hang in there."
"Yeah, that's gonna work."
Andrews looked at the weather radar display. "It'd better, man. That storm's a hot one, and if it catches us, we'll lose the base's homing beacon. No way I'm backing off now—this is our only shot."
"So what are we going to do if number one shuts down? The storm'll catch us for sure."
"Spencer!" Andrews shouted.
"What up?" A small, squat man appeared in the door that separated the SCEV's cramped cockpit from the not-so-cramped work area in the center of the vehicle. By regulations, the pressure doors separating the three compartments were supposed to be closed, but with the vehicle lurching and bucking across the terrain, Andrews just didn't have it in him to make what already felt like a coffin even smaller. If he was in the back, he'd have a tough time not blowing chow all over the place.
"One's getting close to thermal shutdown, but I need it," Andrews told the crew chief. "What can I do about it?"
Spencer looked at the multifunction display, then tabbed through the couple of screens. He grunted and returned the display to the main situation page. "Particle separator's shitting the bed, which means the engine's taking in dirty air. I can suppress the alert and raise the shutdown threshold, but the engine's gonna fry. Walleyes won't be happy about that," Spencer added, referring to the commanding officer of the base's vehicle section by his informal—and completely impolite—nickname.
Andrews considered his options. So far in his career, he'd been able to steer clear of Colonel Larry Walters's wrath, which he had visited upon every other SCEV commander over the past decade since the Sixty Minute War. Walters was a ticket-punching chump, one of the Old Guard, and Andrews didn't much care for him. But he was a superior officer, even if he was far too old to be a full-bird colonel. But there was no retiring to Tampa or Sun Valley or Bangkok anymore, which meant Andrews and every other SCEV skipper would have to deal with Walters's shit until he dropped dead from old age or was relieved of command.
In the end, Andrews figured that if he was going to have a run-in with Walters, it might as well be over something fairly major, like burning up the core of a precious SCEV powerplant.
"Do it," he told Spencer. "A direct order, and if you want me to use my code to access the vehicle engineering module, I'll be happy to do it."
"Nah, I got it. Just back me up when someone tries to nail my ass to the wall. Gimme a sec, I'll use the station back here." With that, the swarthy crew chief returned to the multipurpose workstation located only a few feet away. Choi looked back at him, then at Andrews.
"You're putting him on the line, Mike," he said softly.
"He's not doing shit, I'm the one who doesn't want to be out here in this storm," Spencer said. "You see the size of it? That thing'll last for a week before it blows out, and frankly, this thing smells like a can of farts. And I want out."
"The fart smell would be mostly your fault, Spencer," Leona Eklund said, her voice carrying to the cockpit over the roar of the rig's engines and the various creaks, groans, and scrapes caused by the vehicle's transit over the rough terrain. Andrews had to grin. It was true; one of the biggest drawbacks to crewing with Todd Spencer was the fact he emitted an exceptionally vile amount of swamp gas, no matter what he ate, and no matter what medication had been prescribed to prevent it. Whatever foulness lurked inside him, Spencer's body tried valiantly to eject it through his sphincter.
"Yeah, yeah, too bad all of us can't fart potpourri like you do, princess," Spencer said. "Captain, I've raised the threshold on number one, but listen, you've got maybe three, four minutes until it fails. Keep that in mind."
"Roger that, Spence. Thanks."
An alarm went off then, sharp and strident—the lightning strike indicator flashed in the corner of one primary display as the storm behind them fired off great discharges of electrostatic energy, one of the things that made the great sandstorms that plagued the former Midwestern United States such a terror for the SCEV teams to deal with. Not only did they pack hurricane-force winds, they also cast off powerful cyclones and great bolts of lightning that homed in on virtually anything metallic. Despite the vast amount of advanced technology that went into insulating the SCEVs, they were still comprised of a good deal of metal.
Brilliant light flared outside, and for an instant Andrews saw the SCEV's shadow grow remarkably long before the pulsing illumination. The lightning strike indicator blared again, and then the lights inside the rig dimmed momentarily. Andrews thought he saw whiplashes of the electrical discharge roll across the SCEV's blunted nose like St. Elmo's fire, spectral and wraithlike. The cockpit displays fluttered for a moment as they reset themselves from the pulsing effects of the charge, but it was the sudden BANG! and the sound of the number one engine winding down that held Andrews's undivided attention.
"Talk to me, somebody," he said. "I've got power falling off up here. Spencer, did that particle separator finally fail and take the engine with it?"
"Negative, it's better than that. Looks like that lightning bolt invoked a compressor stall in the same engine," the crew chief reported. "I'm looking into it. Choi, reset the ignition switches and secure the generator. I'll run the restart from back here."
Choi reached up to the overhead panel and did what Spencer asked. He missed a switch combination because the vehicle was rocking hard over uneven ground, but he managed to get it right on the second shot. Outside the viewports, thick dust began to swirl. The rig's speed was dropping past fifty miles per hour, and the storm was catching up to them. Andrews kept the sidearm controller fully forward, but the SCEV was delivering only as much speed as her remaining engine could generate.
"Spencer, talk to me," he said.
"Working on it."
"We're in max commo range," Choi said. "Maybe we ought to let the base know we're coming?"
"Still working on it," Spencer said. "Call Harmony, Captain. Spend some time chatting up someone else—I'm busy."
Andrews pressed the red transmit button. "Harmony Base, this is SCEV Four. We're inbound on a course of three-three-five magnetic. We're on a storm run, and we'll require immediate entry by north lift. Over."
Over static broken only by cracks and the whistling, sporadic pops that synchronized perfectly with the flashes of lightning outside, Andrews heard a tinny voice in his headset.
"SCEV Four, this is Harmony Base. Roger your SITREP. You're cleared for north lift. Over."
"Roger that, Harmony. Make sure it's lit up like a Christmas tree. Visibility's going to suck substantially by the time we get there. Over."
"SCEV Four, Harmony. Lift is on its way, and it will be fully illuminated. Over."
"Harmony, roger."
Andrews turned to Spencer. "I'm not seeing any torque increase on number one up here, Spence. No pressure, but that storm's right on our ass and we'll be losing the beacon pretty soon. After that, it's up to my Mark One Eyeballs and a compass to get us to the lift."
"Yeah, yeah," Spencer said. "Keep your shirt on,"
"Come on, man! Get that damn engine started!" Tilly Rodgers called from the back.
"Yeah, get it squared away!" Leona added.
"Blow me, both of you! I'm working on it!"
Choi paged through the system's status pages on the multifunctional display. "Engine's too hot, man. The computer's sitting on it like an eight hundred pound gorilla."
"Spence, what's the problem?" Andrews asked.
"It's too hot! The computer won't let it torque up enough to turn over," Spencer said, frustration evident in his voice.
"Point for me," Choi said.
"Spence, you said you could raise the thermal threshold so that it would keep on running."
"And I did, but the engine's got its own onboard computer, and it's getting in the way. The only way that's going to change is if I rip up the floor and yank the module from the side of the engine, but that means we'll have to stop." The SCEVs had been designed to allow even major repair work to be conducted from the inside, so that its crew wouldn't have to step outside into extremely hazardous conditions to replace a transaxle or computer chip. But that meant pulling up the deck, and doing so would invoke safety overrides that prevented the machine from moving. Either way, the storm would overtake them.
"Just do whatever you can do," Andrews said. "Including getting out and pushing. Choi, give me the numbers?"
"Electromag interferometer's pegged at two thousand volts. Distance from leading edge is one thousand meters, rate of closure one hundred thirty-four klicks per hour. It'll take us down in less than three minutes."
"All right, you guys, hang on back there. It's not going to get any smoother." Andrews patted the SCEV's instrument panel once again. "Come on, baby, come on…"
"Four, this is Harmony. Lift is up and illuminated. Over."
"Much obliged, Harmony. We'll be coming in hot. Over."
"Roger that, Four."
Daylight ebbed outside the viewports. Swirling dust blew across the thick glass, and Andrews glanced down at the infrared picture in the upper left corner of the functional display. The dust was thick enough to mute infrared images, which meant they would soon be blind.
So I guess this means all we'll have left is a compass.
An alarm chirped, and engine one suddenly came to life, its growling whine slowly building up to a crescendo. As soon as it began delivering power to the rig's transmissions, the SCEV suddenly felt more nimble—or as nimble as a forty-ton vehicle could.
"Spencer, you're the man!" Andrews said. "How'd you manage to get it started?"
"Busted into the engine's integrated computer and shut down the thermal module," Spencer said. "I did that because I'm brilliant and all, in case anyone was wondering."
From the back came a chorus of jeers. Andrews toned them out as he raised his voice.
"Listen, folks, sorry, but I'm segmenting the vehicle," he said. "Embrace the suck." As he spoke, the two pressure doors that separated the rig's three compartments slid closed. Andrews and Choi were sealed off in the cockpit.
"So how're we doing this?" Choi asked as the big SCEV swayed from side to side. The leading edge of the storm had caught up to it, and the winds were battering the slab-sided vehicle.
"We run like hell and hope we can make it to the lift before the storm shuts us out," Andrews said. "But if we screw it up and drive right into the side of the lift, then at least we won't be around to listen to Walleyes."
"If 'we' screw it up? Who is this 'we' you're talking about, white man?"
"Attaboy, Choi, back me up all the way."
The SCEV had lost too much ground to the storm.
Even as it accelerated forward, bumping and crashing over the dry landscape, the storm's leading edge enveloped the vehicle, shrouding it beneath a shifting, inky darkness that made Andrews think the rig had just been swallowed whole by some sort of land-borne leviathan. Choi activated the rig's infrared systems, but it was of little help; the swirling dust reduced the amount of heat that could be read by the high-tech device's super-chilled planar array, rendering it as effective as Andrews's eyeballs.
"The suck has arrived," Choi said.
"We're still on course, and the GPS says we should be at the lift in a minute or so," Andrews told him. "Keep your eyes open."
As he drove, Andrews flipped on the SCEV's array of high-intensity floodlights. They gave him an additional twenty or thirty feet visibility now that the sunlight was being pared down by the storm, but he still couldn't see comfortably. All he had to go by were the instruments, and even the military-grade GPS satellites that had been launched prior to the war were accurate only to within ten feet. If visibility was reduced much more, they could drive right past the lift without anyone noticing it.
"There!" Choi said a moment later, pointing out the diamond-matrix viewport. "Right there, I see the strobe! You got it?"
Andrews leaned forward. The straps of his four-point harness dug into his shoulders as he looked at the heads-up display. Sure enough, there was a very faint winking in the darkness ahead. Bands of dust would obscure it entirely, then lessen for just an instant to allow him to perceive more light. He compared the flashing with the GPS location on the multifunction display. If it was right, then he was nearly on top of the box-shaped lift.
He yanked back on the sidearm controller and stomped on the brakes. The SCEV slewed crazily as its wheels locked up, sending it skidding across the dry, sandy ground.
It came to a rest only feet away from the lift's open entrance. The lights inside the large cubicle gleamed dully, their tepid illumination no challenge to the storm's all-encompassing darkness.
"Yeah, I got it," Andrews said.
"Could you have stopped a little more, you know, artfully?" Choi asked.
Andrews released a long sigh. "Probably, but why make it easy?"
He coaxed the SCEV into the waiting lift. The vehicle bumped slightly as it crossed the threshold, its array of high-intensity fog lights illuminating the big cubicle's interior. A layer of dust already coated the floor, masking the yellow positioning circle painted on the elevator's flat floor. Andrews pulled the SCEV into position by memory and triple-clicked the TRANSMIT button on the sidearm controller. The pulses from the rig's radio were read by the receiver inside the lift, and the elevator's thick, double-pocket pressure doors slid closed, shutting out the dark, seething fury of the storm as it reached full force. Yellow strobes flashed outside the rig's viewports as the atmospheric scrubbers came on, venting radioactive dust and other airborne particulates from the air inside the elevator. After a few moments, an alarm sounded over the radio, three strident tones. At the same time, the strobes outside turned from yellow to red. The SCEV bounced on its stiff suspension for a moment as the elevator commenced its descent.
"Bay Control, this is SCEV Four. We're secure and on our way down for an in-and-out. Over," Andrews said over the radio.
"Roger that, SCEV Four. Welcome back to Harmony Base. Over."
"Roger that, Harmony," Andrew replied. "It's good to be back." With that, he and Choi finally relaxed, sinking back into the padding of their seats. Through the pressure door behind them, they could hear the rest of the crew applauding. It was good to be home—even if home was a windowless, subterranean fortress buried over a hundred feet below the Earth's surface.
What I Read: THE CONVERT
Here's the first chapter:
I wasn't born a cripple. That's something I did to myself two days shy of my sixteenth birthday. Drunk diving, I tell people when they ask, although technically speaking there was no real diving involved. Just a lot of drunk. I remember the day like it happened last week, even though it's been twenty-one years.
July in Mississippi is a godawful thing. The day starts heating up before seven in the morning, and by early afternoon the temperature is kissing-close to a hundred degrees. Humidity stays above eighty percent more often than not, and the still, hot air feels like a damp blanket draped over you. The pale blue sky is empty save the almost-white sun, glaring down like the eye of an angry god. The day I broke my back was one of those days.
Just a couple of miles outside of Starkville, where I grew up, the Old South Quarry cuts into the red clay cotton fields like an old battle scar. During the Great Depression the quarry did a booming business, harvesting limestone out of the bedrock to be crushed into gravel and powder for the concrete used by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the construction of structures all across the south. My grandfather was a down-on-his-luck welder and part-time farmer in those days, and spent two years building bridges for the Corps. It seemed like every time I went to church with them on a summer Sunday morning as a child, riding high in the front seat between them in their old green and white farm truck but still barely able to see over the dash, he had a new story to share about someone losing a finger or toe, hand or foot, during the construction of whatever bridge we happened to be crossing. Once he told me about a man buried alive in cement who, as far as he knew, was still encased down there at the base of the pylon holding up the bridge. He would've told me more, I think, but my grandmother shushed him up.
When the Depression ended and most people—my grandfather included—found permanent work, business fell off for the Old South Quarry. Limestone was cheaper coming out of Georgia, Alabama, and Tennessee, and even though demand was up because of all the post-war construction, the supply from the more mountainous states far exceeded need. By the time I was tugged from my mother's womb, red-faced and screaming from the gross insult of birth, the quarry had been closed for nearly eighteen years and Starkville teenagers had been swimming there for ten.
On that sunny July day there were four of us piled into Kenny Wilcott's piece of shit Chevy Nova, roaring down the dirt road that circled around to the back of the quarry where the hole in the security fence was. Trigger Foster—his given name was Jonathan but he'd been Trigger to us ever since he shot himself in the foot on a duck hunt with his older brother when he was twelve—had filched a case of Milwaukee's Best from the stash his old man kept in the garage, and we were ready for a party. As much of a party four guys can have with twenty-four piss-warm beers and no girls, anyway.
Russ Howard pulled the first beer out of the plastic ring and handed it over to me. It felt like a mug of the Russian tea my mom made for me whenever I was sick. Even with the windows down, the car was an oven, but that didn't matter. We'd be cool soon enough.
The car hit a pothole and the four of us bounced as one.
"Goddammit, man, watch the road!" Trigger cried. He was sitting up front with Kenny, gripping the dash with both hands. Not long after the duck hunting incident, his older brother had been killed when he thought he could pass an eighteen-wheeler on a two-lane road and lost control of his Trans-Am. The car rolled six times, throwing Trigger's brother some thirty feet headfirst into a sweet gum tree. Trigger told us later that his head had been split in half right down the middle and most of his brain ended up in the crook of two branches, almost fifteen feet off the ground. He'd been jumpy in cars ever since, not that anyone could blame him.
"Relax, princess," Kenny said, but he eased up on the gas a little. He rubbed at the top of his head, which had banged into the roof when the car dipped. Kenny was on the junior varsity basketball team with me, and played center because he was so tall. Being several inches shorter—but not short, mind you—I played shooting guard. Between the two of us, we helped the team make it to the quarter-finals the previous year.
Ahead, I could see the rusted chain-link fence surrounding the quarry, and beyond it, the emerald lake sparkling in the summer sun, its color undiluted by the heat haze clinging to the ground. Limestone dust in the water gave it the unique color, reminiscent of exotic Caribbean locations. As we drew closer, I saw schools of bream and sunfish swimming lazily around the shallow edge. The quarry had been carved into the side of a small hillock, and toward the far end where the deep water darkened to near-black, a white stone cliff towered almost fifty feet above the surface. All that was visible of the old office at the top was a glint of glass through the kudzu overgrowth.
Kenny brought the car to a stop just outside the fence and shut it down. Drifts of red dust swirled around us, stirred up by our jostling drive. The air smelled of honeysuckle and the pesticide farmers soaked their cotton plants in to keep the boll weevils down to manageable levels. Out in the open green field, a symphony of grasshoppers crackled and rattled. Trigger relaxed visibly and held his hand over the seat for a beer.
I popped the tab on my own and got it to my mouth before it foamed all over the car, then gulped it down as fast as possible. We didn't bring it to sit around and sip it like the people in beer ads, after all. Pitching the can through the window into the tall grass, I opened the door to get out, but before I could, I let loose a massive belch. The sound rolled across the water like the crack of gunfire.
"Danny Mac sounds off!" Russ cawed, and pitched me another beer.
Danny Mac. It's been years since anyone called me that, except for my old buddy Jake Conrad—more on him in a bit—who did it occasionally when he was worked up about something. Usually the government. Maybe the nickname was kind of lame, no pun intended, but hell, who isn't lame at that age? No matter how pitiful it sounds now, it was far better than my given name of Daniel Edward Mackenzie. Doesn't that sound stuffy and pretentious? Even now, as forty looms not too far around the corner, I'll take being called Danny over Daniel any day, though I prefer Dan. Nice, short, and simple.
But then? Then I was Danny Mac.
I drained the second beer almost as quickly as the first, and by the time we scrambled through the hole in the fence and down to the water's edge, my third was half empty. I was already starting to feel light-headed. We'd been down at the mall all morning, feeding quarters into games in the arcade and hanging out at Camelot Music, and hadn't bothered with lunch.
The dirt road we drove in on ended at a chained and padlocked gate, and turned to gravel inside the fence. It was the same one the loaded trucks used back when the quarry was in business, and it led right down into the water. Standing at the lake's edge, you could see the road continuing under the surface as it descended into the depths. To be honest, it always creeped me out a little to float over it and look down through my mask. It seemed so out of place down there, stretching into the murky darkness. A path to nowhere.
The pulverized gravel at the edge of the lake formed something of a beach, and that's where we spread out our towels. Trigger tied the remaining six-packs together with a piece of old clothesline from the trunk of the Nova and lowered them into the cool green water. We waded out four abreast, hissing reflexively first when the water touched our balls, then our armpits.
An hour later, snorkeling in the middle of the lake, I was as far from sober as I was from the shore. Through my mask I watched the fish and turtles glide far below me, dim dark shapes against the midnight green. From time to time I drifted over underwater meadows of some tall grass, gently swaying in the convection created by the sun's rays. Pale lime-colored tendrils reached for me out of the darkness like questing fingers, and I thought of dead things slowly rotting down there, just out of sight.
A scream yanked me from my quiet and morbid reflection, and I looked up in time to see Trigger twisting through the air halfway down the cliff. Though he grinned like a fool, his eyes were wide with terror. At the last second, he pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, hitting the water butt-first in a perfect cannonball. The plume must have shot thirty feet.
Even as the displaced water rained back to the lake Kenny sailed over the edge. He jackknifed and greased in with barely any disturbance at all. Behind me, Russ hooted, and I turned to see him swimming back toward the beach in an awkward stroke somewhere between a dog paddle and a butterfly.
"Wait up!" I called, and started after him.
Trigger surfaced in the distance, sputtering and flailing and bellowing, "My ass! I broke my ass!"
Kenny's peal of laughter bounced off the vertical walls and doubled, then tripled, until it sounded like a mocking crowd. At the shore, Russ veered over and pulled two beers from the last six-pack, and we drank them as we picked and stumbled our way around the lake to the upper end. From the top of the hill we could see for miles, nothing but verdant green cotton plants against the carmine soil stretching out in every direction. I set my snorkel and mask on a chunk of limestone the size of a suitcase near the precipice. M.C. Hammer's "U Can't Touch This" thundered from the boombox sitting with our towels, the sound surprisingly clear outside the enclosing rock sides. A gentle breeze blew in our faces, cooled by the water below. It carried a slightly metallic, clean smell. I gave Russ a dopey smile that was part indescribable happiness, part cheap beer.
"Last one in is queer," he shouted, and ran for the edge with me hot on his heels.
He sprung away from the drop, twisting around to look at me as he fell, a look of triumph on his face, an image frozen in my memory as the pure essence of summer and youth. I jumped after him, but just as I pushed off, my foot slid in the loose gravel, kicking out behind me like some kind of satirical ballet move, and I tumbled gracelessly over the edge.
The fall is imprinted in the archives of my mind as a series of snapshots taken as I somersaulted toward the water. White rock, speckled with black, far too close. The sky, impossibly blue. The lake, stretching off in the distance. Russ looking up at me, his mouth opening in a scream, Kenny and Trigger blurry smudges in the water beyond him. White rock. Blue sky.
When the workers carved away the hillside to harvest all that stone, they cut it away into a giant series of steps so that each one made a simple path across the face of the rock for them to use. One of those steps jutted out of the face of the cliff two feet below the waterline, forming a shelf six or seven feet wide. It's pure luck I didn't plunge headfirst into it and chum up the water with my fool brain. Instead, I hit the water on my back, part of me over the shelf and part over the abyss. Even through the roar in my ears I heard the brittle crack! of my spine as I impacted the edge just below my shoulder blades.
My eyes were open. I could see the disc of the sun through churning water turned cloudy by the lime silt, white and brilliant and uncaring. Even though I must have been going into shock, my mind was preternaturally alert and screamed for me to get to the surface before I drowned. It felt like someone had cinched a nail-studded belt around my midsection and was pulling it ever tighter, but compared to the pain that came later, it was nothing. I had a dim awareness that I no longer felt anything below that fiery circle.
I teetered there on the edge of the shelf for a second, then slipped over, pulled down by the weight of my dead legs. I sank in a dreamy kind of slow motion, desperately trying to use my arms to swim upward, but they didn't want to obey and merely flapped ineffectually. I grabbed at the rocky wall as it slid by, searching for purchase, but my fingers were twisted into claws and wouldn't open. I succeeded only in pulling loose a thick rubbery sheet of the pinkish fungal growth we called quarry skin. That stuff seemed to coat everything under the water, soft and slick like the sodden flesh of a bloated corpse.
Pressure built in my ears and lungs as I descended. I fell through a deepening green haze, no longer able to see the sun. No longer able to see much of anything but that single color, slowly bleeding away and leaving only blackness behind. I knew I was dying, but despite it all I felt a calming sense of peace build within me. I don't know if it was the beer, or God, or just my body starting to give up and shut down, but I found that I wasn't so concerned about making the transition. Even though I was technically still a virgin.
I saw something gliding toward me through the gloom, one of God's angels coming with open arms to lead me home to heaven. Hot joy rose in my heart. They told me later it was just Russ, swimming down to catch me by the hair and drag me back up to the shelf.
My recollection of what happened next is hazy. I remember bits and pieces, little snippets of memory spliced together like a movie trailer made with only the worst parts. Lying in the cold water on the shelf, cradled in Russ's arms, shivering and telling him to stop crying like a little girl, then crying myself when the belt of pain twisted a little tighter. The sun as it slipped out of sight over the cliffs. The flat whupwhupwhup of the LifeFlight helicopter sent all the way from Jackson to get me after a pell-mell drive back to Starkville by Kenny and Trigger to find help. Dizziness from the rotation of the basket as they winched me up, and the feel of the warm rotor wash on my face, upper chest, and arms. Wonderment over why I couldn't feel it anywhere else.
The next solid memory is of waking up in a recovery room in Jackson General Hospital with my parents on one side of the bed and a strange man dressed in white on the other. Mom's eyes were red and watery, and Dad kept clearing his throat. That was the first time they ever looked old to me.
"Welcome back, Danny," the stranger said. "My name is Dr. Feinbaum. Do you know where you are?"
My throat hurt like hell, dry and scratchy like someone took a steel wool pad to it, so I whispered, "Hospital."
"That's right, you're down in Jackson, in the intensive care unit. Do you remember what happened?"
I nodded.
"Good," he told me, and looked up at my parents. "Very good. Short term memory loss is always a concern in cases like this."
Reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket, he plucked out a pen and held it in front of my face. "Follow this with your eyes, please."
I tracked the movement of the pen and wondered why I wasn't in more pain.
Especially below that spot near my shoulder blades, where I landed.
Good stuff here, folks. I hope you'll check it out!
EARTHFALL (Near) Final Cover
Hey crew,
Attached is what I feel will be the final cover for my upcoming release, Earthfall. How do you like it?
THE GATHERING DEAD Film Update #8
Things continue to percolate with this project, and here I'll share with you some of the latest clips from the trailer. First off, a draft of the second scene, which shows the MH-60 McDaniels, Gartrell, and the others hope to use to escape New York City as it falls to the horde…
The Gathering Dead shot 02 v 003 from Stephen Knight on Vimeo.
This is pretty good stuff, but it's missing many elements: smoke, fire, general haze in the air from all the obscurants, important ground-level detail, and some necessary corrections (watch the guy at the bottom right run right through a car). Aviators, yes, I know–the rotors are spinning the wrong way. I've asked for corrections and enhancements, but I think all of you will agree, things are progressing a bit.
Here's a low-resolution draft where some more dramatic elements are added:
Draft Scene 2 from THE GATHERING DEAD trailer from Stephen Knight on Vimeo.
For some reason, the color temperature is off when I upload it to Vimeo–it doesn't pop as much as I'd hoped it would, but again, this is a very low res pass at a scene which has over fifty elements in it, so I'm willing to wait until I see a longer render.
All I have time for now, but do know that Earthfall is going through editorial now. Looking forward to a late January release, and I have a final cover to show soon.
Oh, one last thing…how would you guys feel about a prequel to The Gathering Dead? A book that captures the beginning of the zombie outbreak that culminates in McDaniels and Gartrell heading to NYC on their ill-fated rescue mission?


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Total Number of new apprentices registered: 553
Click here to see a list of all members and details of how many new apprentices each company have registered to date.
The outgoing NASC President, Kevin Ward's 'New Apprenticeship Challenge' to create 400 scaffolding apprentices in his two year tenure has been surpassed – with 553 new apprentices created by NASC member companies. And the initiative has also raised £58,057 for Teenage Cancer Trust.
This is great news for both the scaffolding industry and the TCT, and was announced at the confederation's annual ball at the Queen's Hotel in Leeds on Friday 27th November – two years on from the New Apprentices Challenge launch, following Mr Ward's inauguration as President in November 2013.
Mr Ward, who was once a scaffolding apprentice himself, said: "When I took on the role of NASC President, I challenged the members to achieve a couple fantastic goals during my two-year term – to create a minimum of 400 new CISRS apprenticeships and raise much needed funds for Teenage Cancer Trust. And I am very pleased to report that we have not only succeed in reaching the 400 target, but actually surpassed it, creating 553 new apprentices, and raised over £58,000 for TCT.
"I would like to thank all NASC member companies who took part in the challenge. They have not only given these enthusiastic young people a great career opportunity in the scaffolding industry, but in the process have invested in the future of their businesses. And special mention must go to NASC member companies, Seabro, Interserve Industrial Services and Connect Scaffolding, who created 92 apprentices between them.
"I'd also like to thank all NASC members who have donated money to this worthy cause (TCT), with additional thanks to the member companies who stepped in and directly sponsored the charitable side of the challenge."
NASC Managing Director, Robin James said: "We are very pleased by the response to the NASC's New Apprenticeship Challenge. The creation of so many new apprenticeships in just two years – boosting the scaffolding industry and raising money for a great charity simultaneously – is an absolutely superb achievement and a lasting legacy of Mr Ward's presidency."
NASC Training Manager and CISRS Scheme Manager, Dave Mosley added: "What an excellent achievement. It shows the commitment of the membership in relation to employing apprentices, whilst helping a very worthy cause at the same time. This really is a 'good news' story – particularly when the future of employer funding for apprenticeships is looking uncertain. It's great to be able to support such a positive initiative."
Michelle Aucott, Regional Fundraising Manager for Teenage Cancer Trust, West Midlands said: "We are delighted to have the support of NASC and its members. The money raised from the New Apprentices Challenge will help to support young people with cancer, so they don't have to face their diagnosis alone."
To find out more about the Teenage Cancer Trust please click here

subset: commoncrawl


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The weekend in Torquay was a great success, with ten of our fourteen awardees present, which was lovely. The Association AGM was well-attended, and I can announce some changes to the Committee: Jack Adams and Cliff Harrison both stepped down after many years of service to the Association. We will have tributes to them in the Summer Issue, in thanks for all they have contributed. We welcome on board our new IT Team Karen Bower and Ian Holmes, who will be managing our website and social media. Eldon Mackridge has taken over from Jack Adams as the new Social Secretary.
We also welcome Patrick Jordan to the Committee, and our honorary chaplain, Revd David King. I will include an introduction to these members in the Summer edition, but in the meantime, we welcome them and thank them for the benefit they bring to the Association.
Looking ahead, I've let the Committee know that I'll be stepping down as editor of QV? after the Winter 2018 edition. We are looking for a new editor to job-shadow starting from Spring 2018, so if you would like to take on the position, please be in touch with us!
Thank you to Kathryn Hough, who kindly wrote up an account of the latest Presentation Weekend and took the photos of our recipients. The indomitable Mr Neville Tetley also wrote me a letter of appreciation to everyone for the enjoyable time he had.
The first End-to-End trip is from Kevin Clements, who began at a run and ended on a bicycle; what a story of determination to finish the journey, no matter how the challenge unfolds! Shanks Pony Trophy recipient Patrick McGuinness also faced injuries on his trip, necessitating a hospital stop, bandaging and painkillers for a broken toe!
The next article is from walker Susan Liechti, winner of the Committee Cup, who wrote (not in her first language, but so beautifully-expressed!) about her amazingly-long trip from Zurich. She is already on another expedition this year and as I write, is near Rugby. You can follow her progress and thoughts at swissalpinesnail.com.
Richard Owen (awarded the Chambers/Hume-Spry Cup) cycled in June last year, and wrote an honest, heartfelt account of his solo trip, which you will enjoy reading.
|Katharine and Paul, November 2016
Nicky Watling sent me a great read about the JoGLE tandem cycle trip she and her husband Gary made. I've included the first half of her account, and you can look forward to the rest in the Summer Issue. Hats off also to Louise George who wrote a lovely article of her family's train and bus trip. Many of you will have met the Georges at the Presentation Weekend, as their daughter Sophie now holds the record for the youngest person to travel End-to-End; she was only two at the time.
We end off this issue with a 'vintage' account of a walk undertaken by Bob Carter in 1976, and some suitably orange-tinted photographs of his journey. Bob plans to walk again this year, and the intended fast pace he is planning has me crossing fingers for an injury-free expedition. All of the best!
The deadlines for QV? submissions will remain the same each year, and they are –
Spring Edition: 30th January for End-to-End articles, and 15th February for other submissions.
Summer Edition: 8th June.
Winter Edition: 30th September.
Our Association welcomes and includes all members equally and doesn't view one method of travel above any other. Our adventures, journeys, and efforts to raise funds for charities, or raise awareness of issues close to our hearts, are all meritorious and worthy of support. Our newest Committee member Patrick Jordan has proposed that in an effort to attract and retain more members, particularly those using motorized transport, we consider offering a range of certified challenges in addition to the End-to-End. To be clear, no one is suggesting we change our core requirement for membership – we remain the Land's End - John o' Groats Association – but that members who complete additional challenges, such as LEJoG plus the four extreme points of mainland Britain, for example, be awarded a certificate for this journey, once verified.
Patrick has written a thoughtful proposal here. Please read through it, and post a comment with your opinion so we can hear what our membership thinks of this idea. Patrick has covered all aspects including route advice, financial issues, verification, and promotion. He has volunteered to promote the additional challenges, if adopted, within the long-distance riding and driving communities, and is happy to write to walking and cycling websites and magazines. I look forward to a lively debate on the idea. Please share your thoughts!
As always, I would be delighted to hear from you with your news, stories and photographs of End-to-End trips, whether upcoming or completed, and any other travel articles you'd like to share with our members. Please be in touch!


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Good morning, Denali users:
This morning, some clients are experiencing an issue where Campaigns don't immediately advance to the next record after a user clicks a Disposition. The dev team is investigating and we will have an update available as quickly as possible. In the meantime, any users who are affected can click the "X" in the upper right hand corner of the box presenting the record to skip ahead to the next record:
UPDATE 10:30am PT: Issue is confirmed resolved as of 10am PT. The underlying cause was call quality logging on the backend interfering due to an unexpected outcome and the logging has been adjusted.


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Random Musings
Just a place to chat about things. Mostly music based. I like stuff, lets share.
Friday, August 29, 2008
So whats gonna happen when the fat hits the fan?
Forgotten Disc Friday awaits your visit.
Many of you will recognize this one.
Thanks as always for reading, or at least clicking over and of course thanks for the support! If you are in the States enjoy the long Labor Day weekend!
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
TV on the Radio set album, tour..
Right on! TV on the Radio will release a follow-up to their 2006 release "Return to Cookie Mountain" on September 23rd! The new record is called "Dear Science" and it comes out on DGC/Ineterscope.
The new track "Golden Age" is streaming on their web site site right now.
Check em out on tour, and their myspace!
This blog is a fan of the band..if you check out this search you will see a live show review as well as where Cookie Mountain came in for my favorite cd of the year....
TV on the Radio Tour Dates
05 Musicfest NW, Portland, OR*
06 Showbox, Seattle WA*
07 Commodore Ballroom Vancouver BC*
09 Macewan Ballroom, Calgary AB*
10 Starlite Room, Edmonton AB*
12 Knitting Factory Boise ID*
13 In the Venue, Salt Lake City UT*
14 Monolith Festival, Red Rocks CO
19 Street Scene, San Diego, CA
20 Treasure Island Festival, San Francisco CA
10 Electric Factory, Philadelphia PA+
11 Lupos, Providence, RI+
13 Wilbur Theatre, Boston MA+
14 Masonic Temple, Brooklyn NY+
15 Masonic Temple, Brooklyn NY#
16 Masonic Temple, Brooklyn NY^
18 Bogarts, Cincinnati OH+
19 Vogue Theatre, Indianapolis IN+
20 First Ave, Minneapolis MN+
21 First Ave, Minneapolis MN+
22 Riviera, Chicago IL+
24 Voodoo Festival, New Orleans LA+
25 Tabernacle, Atlanta GA+
26 Bijou Theatre, Knoxville TN +
28 Lakewood Theatre, Dallas TX+
29 House of Blues Houston TX+
30 Stubbs, Austin TX+
31 Diamond Ballroom, Oklahoma City OK+
02 Ogden Theatre Denver CO+
06 Wiltern, Los Angeles CA+
*Miles Benjamin Anthony Robinson to open
+The Dirtbombs to open
#Telepathe to open
^Dragons of Zynth to open
Friday, August 22, 2008
Don't look at me..you won't find me there....
Forgotten Disc Friday awaits your visit.
Many readers might say "who"? but read a little..and listen..that is what this is all about after all.
Thanks as always for reading, or at least clicking over and of course thanks for the support! Enjoy the weekend.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
In the News...
Police in Minnesota tried to bring an end to a highspeed car chase by calling the suspects cell phone..the suspect answered the phone and said "Dude I can't talk I am being chased by the police". He then hung up the phone and has yet to be found.
Barack Obama raised $52 million dollars in June may need to count all of them. He has hired 1,400 part and full time workers which is more than triple the number John McCain. Obama also has 2 million volunteers, thus creating the largest field operation in American political history. Boston Globe
Texas spends $17 million a year, more than any other stage, on abstinence only sex education programs. The rate the students are having sex according to statistics is 52.9% compared top the national average of 47.8%. Houston Chronicle
More people are willing to talk about their sex lives than their finances. - Roper Public Affairs
Almost 9 in 10 Americans polled believe they are working harder than ever just to get by. Time
Good news for Mick Jagger, he turned 65 and is now eligible for a state pension....$180 per week.
The city of New York is being sued for putting down rubber safety mats on playgrounds. The matting is getting too hot and burning children's feet.
China has 253 million citizens with internet access, compared to 223 Million in the US. Chicago Tribune.
Over the course of the average Americans life span they stand a 1 in 5,552 chance in dying in a plane crash. The lifetime odds on dying in a car..1 in 247. New York Times.
Did you know?
Losing your sense of smell is called anosmia. Ben Cohen, one of the founders of Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream suffers from it and suggested the ice cream have more, and larger chunks to their ice-cream, thus creating an ice-cream craze. Other celebrities that are known to have, or have suffered from anosmia: Stevie Wonder and the late INXS singer Michael Hutchence.
Labels: in the news
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Thinking...about the old days...
I have been sort of nostalgic as of late. I think we all are, or is it just me?
Back in July we went to see my in-laws. We split the time between Mrs Marches father and then over to her moms. Her mom is getting ready to do a major renovation to her home and when we were there the phone was ringing a lot with contractors and other folks checking in.
When the day came for us to come home we were packing that final bag we stood in what was once Mrs Marches bedroom growing up. This would be the last time this room would look like this. I paused and said "do you want to hang out for a minute?" and she just said "No, it hasn't been my bedroom for years". I have moved from my childhood home to the home I live in now. I never lived at school so I think I'd react a little different. I am not slagging her off but it has gotten me thinking over the last few weeks, at random times, why we don't remember the "last time".
Let me explain.
My mother grew up on Cape Cod. Each summer we'd do various day trips. We'd leave the house by 8:30 be down on the beach for a little, then eat lunch, go back to the beach..go back to the house, get changed, eat dinner and then head home. 12 hour day..tops. I remember a LOT of those days and a lot of those trips. As I got a little older I was able to bring some friends because my older brothers had taken on summer jobs or what have you.
What I remember most, was the few times it would be my mother and I. We'd eat dinner with her Mom and Dad and I'd ask if I could go back to the beach for 20 minutes or so before we left. It would be 6:45 or so. I'd walk down the street 2-3 houses then up the beach path to the most private beach you could ever imagine. (it took me until I was in my teens to see a "beach" in the sense that more than 10 people would be on it). I'd get to the beach and I'd just sit. I was no older than 15, and I'd sit. I'd listen. I'd watch. I'd smell. Even as a young teenager to this day when stuff is not going the best for me I think of days like that. After a few minutes I'd get up and walk back to the house, say good-bye to my grandparents and head home. The ride home would start off in dusk. My skin would be warm and tight due to a day in the sun. Salt was on my lips still, sand between my toes, but only a little. I remember those days very very well.
Then my grandfather fell ill and they moved off the Cape.
In 20 years I have been to that slice of beach ONCE. That one time was closer to the start of the 20 years that is for sure.
Where is all this going? Well I got thinking..with all the fond memories I have of it..why for the life of me can't I recall the LAST time I was there with my Mom and we stayed for dinner? Was a teen and just wanted to leave? Was there an accident that was going to delay us getting home so my mom wanted to get rolling sooner than later? I don't want to get all deep and ask myself or readers "If you knew this was your last time would you have done something different?" I think you can't go on day to day saying "This might be my last time here" as you'd be a wreck emotionally.
My thoughts extended even further to this whole idea of a "last time'. Mind you I am not being morbid. My brother recently came back from a trip with his two boys and wife. He was telling me a story about how they went to see Fireworks and it was crowded. He said the took his sons hand and they made it to their viewing spot. My brother then said he thanked his son for holding his hand...because someday this was not going to be something he'd want to do. His son wondered why would he never want to hold his fathers hand? I won't go in to all the details as it was a sweet father son moment..but it is the things like that. When is the last time you held your fathers hand? (Or mothers?).
I guess I will look further when I say "Oh it has been ages since i have been there..or ages since I have done that!" Sure we want to forget "last times" as well, like the last time you got yelled at, the last time you had a dental filling done. Should great memories have a "last time?"
I guess living for the moment really is a good motto to live by.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Sometimes it is good to be behind the time(s).....
I know it doesn't make sense as many folks want to be in the know and up on all things pop culture. (Not everyone, but many people I know would rather have some sort of idea of whats going on pop-culture wise vs. suddenly feeling out of touch..like our parents!!!)
Rather than talk of music I will actually talk of television shows.
We have cable television here at the Castle o' March but we do not have the "premiere" channels, such as HBO, Showtime etc.
What we do have is Netflix,which I/we love.
Soon after we got Netflix we decided to "catch up" on some of shows that we hadn't seen on these premium channels that people seemed to talk about. One was Sex and the City. It worked out great, we got thru all the seasons and actually were waiting for the final (second half) of the series finale. A bunch of years wrapped up in under 6 months was sort of nice. We have tried a few others, and have intentions of seeing others but we both can't wait for the rumored in October release of season two of Brotherhood.
Long story even longer I started Dexter last night. Disc one has 4 episodes and I went right through 2 episodes. I hope to wrap up DVD1 tonight..its good so far. I can see it not being for everyone. Mrs. March to begin with doesn't care for CSI type shows..then toss in a serial killer to boot..not sure she is gonna care no matter "how good" it is.
One show I'd like to get caught up on is Mad Men. It seems like season 1 just came out and season 2 is underway.
What are some of the shows (non network) that you follow, or had followed?
Friday, August 15, 2008
Please ..introduce yourself....
Forgotten Disc Friday awaits your visit.
Most of you should have heard of this band..or at least one of the songs "featured".
Thanks as always for reading, or at least clicking over and of course thanks for the support!
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
What comes to mind...
Just one of those posts..where I kinda go all over the place.
- I just can't get in to the Olympics. I kinda sorta try..but I get bored so quick..and i loathe the fact that much of it is on delay..yet they don't tighten up the editing some..show us the action and move on. Also, small favor..Littlest March wants to watch the gymnastics..can you NOT show 2 routines..then come back 2+hrs later?
- Littlest March went back to camp today..I think we are over being sick..although guess who has a sore throat the last few days, if you guessed little march you'd be right.
- Took a vacation day yesterday..we were supposed to go to an amusement park/water park yesterday but it hardly cracked 70 degrees so we bailed on that and headed in to Boston. We did the New England Aquarium (and about 100 million other people had the same idea) but it was fun to go. The kids like to ride trains and elevators and you name it..we could have just gone to the mall.
- Sunday I had some "me" time. I had over $100 in gift card value for a local record shop, which is not all that convenient to me any more so when I go, I tend to lose it. I went to $124..it was a blast. I wasn't rushed and I got some more Miles Davis as well as a live Slayer cd (there is some diversity eh?)
- Got the order form for the tickets I'd want for the Providence Bruins this coming season. Decided to get an addition game thrown in there so I'll be going to one game a month (in theory) for the entire season. I'll see opening night and the final night of the regular season, as well as a game vs. the Hershey Bears.
- The sun is out..great..i am in the office and the sun shows its face for the first time in what feels like 3 weeks.
- back in June I found a beer that I really liked that I hadn't been able to find in ages. it used to be called "Pete's Wicked Summer Brew". It changed names to "Rally Cap Ale" and it was delish...i went to buy more and was told the brewery had a fire and what I had was all I'd get until next year??!
that's it..just wanted to post...
Friday, August 8, 2008
I will never let your words be washed away
Forgotten Disc Friday awaits your visit.
This week we look at another solo effort from a guy that made more of a name with his band than solo.
Thanks as always for reading, or at least clicking over and of course thanks for the support!
Thursday, August 7, 2008
I have offically had enough...
Its time..time for this crap to come to an end..kids being sick that is.
Since last Tuesday we have been battling a sickness with Littlest March. He has been a trooper and Little March has been pretty good in dealing with all the attention being on the younger March.
Its now Thursday..nine days in and Littlest is spending the day with Grammy and Grampy. He is "better" but was advised to stay out of summer camp for the next two days (he doesn't like it very much anyway).
I was so fed up with it all, that last night I went to bed at 8:30 which is unheard of for me. It didn't last. The kids next door, who I haven't seen outside hardly at all, suddenly decided to be outside in the driveway talking to each other like they were in a crowded place. Then..they took it to the trampoline and the party continued.
I've had it..I am so beyond burnt out....
Monday, August 4, 2008
Eddie Vedder - The Opera House August 1, 2008
Eddie Vedder
The Opera House, Boston, MA
Friday, August 1, 2008
Support - Liam Finn
It seems like only a month ago now, well yeah in theory it was..just a little more actually, that I saw Eddie Vedder fronting Pearl Jam. A few weeks later it was announced he'd be doing a solo tour of the East Coast. Eddie had done this before on the West Coast so it was "our turn".
Having missed the fan club sale I was stuck trying my luck with Ticketmaster, and in the end it all worked out because I saved money...see I only wanted, or needed ONE ticket, and the fan club requires you to buy two. I was lucky to score 8th row seats on the isle. It was quite a seat.
The show was at the Opera House in Boston, a wonderfully restored building that has, in my opinion, far too few rock shows. As I was escorted to my seat I was handed what appeared to be one of those "Playbills" you get if you go see a 'Broadway' show. Upon further inspection it was one that was for this very show. I flipped through it to read bios of opener Liam Finn, as well as some of the causes near to Eddie, such as the West Memphis Three No sooner did I sit down and the lights came down. Walking to the stage was Liam Finn with EJ Barnes. The stage was set with a small drum kit, two mic stands and a few amps. Over the next 35 minutes Liam won himself a new fan. Liam, who is the son of Neil Finn (Split Enz/Crowded House) is quite the entertainer. EJ played various percussion and the autoharp as well as offering up some backing vocals. Liam was a lot of fun, he uses many looping samples and actually looped the guitar, then looped the drums, then came back to do a second guitar part over that. For god sake there was even a theremin! It was quite the set, but sadly they didn't have the latest cd for sale for me to continue with them on the ride home.
The curtain came down and the set turn over took place. It took about 30 minutes and just about 8:45 the lights came down and the curtain went up.
Eddie strolled to center stage and took a seat. A large backdrop behind him appeared like a back alley and Eddie surrounded by a reel to reel machine as well as guitars settled in.
Opening with a cover of Daniel Johnstons "Walking the Cow". The audience, who had stood for his arrival settled back in to their seats. Eddie was in fine voice and kept the banter at the outset to a minimum. The audience on the other hand took liberty with the silence between songs to shout everything from "Eddie" to song requests to silly lines like "Play some Pearl Jam songs".
The set was strong and when Ed finally mentioned he had been under the weather I was surprised. His deep rich baritone really found a home in the Opera House. He'd even poke fun at old bosses for jobs he had growing up..saying something along the lines of "Look at me now I am in the F'ing Opera house!". We were given some Pearl Jam songs, and a lot of the set was from Eddies work on the soundtrack for Into the Wild.
The show was not without its slight issues, Ed would forget a line and curse at himself, he'd botch an intro and then restart..it was refreshing honestly..and what I found most surprising..he played everything from guitar to ukulele to mandolin without missing a note. That is what impressed.
For most of the set the audience took the queue of silence to shout out anything and everything. From the "I love you's" to "You are a God" to whatever you can think of. Finally 55 minutes in to the set Ed said "I can't really hear you guys, and honestly..you have been great..but a little belligerent...i didn't think I'd have the assholes until New York".
Ed took a quick moment to poke fun at "traded the day before" Manny Ramirez by donning a make shift head dress and asking for 10 million dollars. It was a pretty funny moment that I am doing little justice to.
The main set wrapped with "Porch" and that brought people to their feet as Ed walked off the stage.
After a short set break with the roadies (dressed in lab coats) tuning and making the stage cleaner...with some Alien sweeping the floor, Ed arrived back on stage.
The audience, who would stand from this point forward began to clap and Ed made up a song on the spot. Basically it was sort of a stream of consciousness thing...just a few verses about the East Coast and West Coast etc. The encore would bring Liam Finn back out to do "Society" then the short blast of "Lukin". He'd perform "No More" to rousing call and responses and the audience was right there with him.
The encore ended with "Arc" which was very impressive. I am sure technical musicians wouldn't be impressed but it was cool none the less. Ed puts on a lab coat and says "lets try this out". He asks for the audience to quiet down and he starts off with some very baritone "ahhh ahh ohhhh's". He did this over and over to loop it all together. It took a few minutes to build and was really very very cool. As the song did its thing, he walked to the tip of the stage and the curtain came down. In the spot light he waived and was visibly humbled by the adulation. He disappeared behind the curtain and part of me thought that was it....but after a few moments the curtain rose once more.
A massive ocean backdrop and fog machines rolling, Ed with the help of Liam on drums and MJ on backing vocals performed "Hard Sun". It was a great version and the audience was hanging on every word. It was a great set closer and Ed actually used the Reel to Reel machine for the first time all night.
All in all I was pleased, the tickets were not cheap, but I am not sure how often something like this comes along in your lifetime. This is one of those shows that make me glad I am a taper of shows. I'll have the memories, as well as the music, forever.
Set list. (covers by Daniel Johnston, the who and James Taylor)
Walking The Cow, Trouble, I am Mine, Dead Man, I'm Open, Man of the Hour, Wishlist, Setting Forth, Guaranteed (partial), No Ceiling, Rise, Guaranteed, Far Behind, Millworker, Goodbye, It's Just a Broken Heart, Drifting, Hide Your Love Away, I'm One, Porch
1st encore: Untitled, Small Town, Society (w/ Liam Finn), Lukin, No More, Arc
2nd encore: Hard Sun (w/ Liam Finn)
Labels: live review
In the News...
48 year old Nepalese Shera has ascended to the top of Mt Everest 18 times, breaking his own record. Appa Sherpa reached the peak for the first time in 1990 and has repeated the feat every year since, barring 96 and 2001...but he went twice in 92 and 97.
A Nevada brothel has offered an incentive of a $50 gas voucher for clients who have purchased $300 in services. The vouchers sold out in one week.
Gas is so precious that prostitutes are accepting it as payment. (New York Post)
A first class passenger on a Delta Airlines flight from New York got so angry with the economy passengers let off before him, he opened the emergency door and slid down the chute. He was arrested.
The average American spends over $100 more a year more on footwear than vegetables. Washington Post
The federal government has announced that Southwest Airlines flight 2709 from Houston to San Diego was the most delayed flight...arriving late 100% of the time.
Atlanta officials have bowed to the pressure..."Men Working Ahead" road signs will be changed to "Workers Ahead" so as not to offend.
Flint Michigan has imposed a law to crack down on jeans falling off their owners rear ends. If the trousers are so low it shows buttock skin they should be arrested for indecent exposure.
5% of Americans spend 41 or more hours online at home very week, or about 6 hours per day. USA Today
26% of the Republican House members said they believe that "the earth is warming due to man made pollution". On the Democratic side 95% said human activity contributes. National Journal
A Wedding Hall in Tel Aviv has come up with a way to for wedding guests to leave something to the bride and groom. The couple pays $155 to rent an ATM like machine. Guests insert credit cards and put in the sum they'd like to give. The money is later transferred to the couples account. New York Post.
Lets talk Pets..
2 in 3 American Households have pets..1 in 3 have children.
In 2006 Americans spent $45 billion on their pets.
1/3 of women surveyed by the American Kennel Club agreed with the statement "If my dog was a man he'd be my boyfriend"
69% of pet owners allow the pet to sleep in their bed.
1/3 of pet owners buy their animals gifts for their birthday 2/3 for Christmas
Walt Disney World will open a pet resort next year that includes hikes and papering services from ice cream to bedtime stories.
In January the British prime ministers office rejected as 12 year olds petition to allow elephants as pets.
More than 650 billion "exotic" animals were imported to the USA between 2003 and 2006.
There are 5,000 Tigers in captivity in the USA...the same number as are in the wild worldwide.
Lets talk Music.
The operatic portion of Queens "Bohemian Rhapsody" contains 180 vocal overdubs..using 3 singers (Freddie Mercury, guitarists Brian May and drummer Roger Taylor..the highest note sung at the end.( a high B flat in the 6th octave) was actually sung by Taylor.
Not only did Elvis Presley not pen a single song he recorded, he never played a live concert overseas...part of the reason is that Elvis' manager "Colonel Tim Parker" was an illegal alien. When Parker died in 1997 he had less than 1 million of the estimated 100 million he had made during his lifetime...he had gambled it all away.
Also his hair was naturally a dirty blond, but he dyed it to look like Tony Curtis, and idol of his.
Elton John's middle name...Hercules.
The title of the Aerosmith song "Walk this Way" was taken from "Young Frankenstein"
Finally, the following is a list of people that are, or were banned from being on Saturday Night Live. Cypress Hill's DJ Mugs for lighting up a joint on TV. Sinead O'Conner..for tearing up a picture of the pope. Steven Segal, Martin Lawrence, Charles Grodin, Milton Berle and Adrien Brody. Some that have been banned and have been back. Elvis Costello and Chevy Chase.
Labels: in the news
Friday, August 1, 2008
Stale life, don't chew it.
Forgotten Disc Friday awaits your visit.
Sorry for the delay, a sick little one slowed wrapping this one up.
Thanks as always for reading, or at least clicking over and of course thanks for the support!


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December is so magical and wonderful! It's the greatest time for reflection than any other in the year and today I felt like writing about a little something I'm passionate about.
I love affirmations and read enough books to know that this is a constant theme in the steps to self-love. If you say these affirmations enough, you will believe and become them. Negativity fills so much of our days. We self-deprecate everything we do and don't acknowledge our full potential.
I try and read an affirmation every morning to really start the day on a high and repeat it constantly whenever my mind begins to wander out of the present moment.
Here are some that I found on The Mala Collectives Pinterest Board ♡
I've found you have to be very open minded with affirmations. In today's society where there is gossip, negativity and harsh realities, repeating these affirmations is where I tell myself that everything's okay, you're more than this time, you're full of so much love and fear will not control you.
I've had plenty of times where I've forgotten that lately but will get back on track starting from right now. I also hope you will be enlightened by this post to at least try and see how great you feel!
Katie ❀


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Empathy is the ultimate superpower.
It is what makes relationships last and entire communities flourish.
The problem is I think we're suffering from a major lack of empathy today. Worse- we confuse sympathy with empathy.
Empathy is putting yourself in the other person's shoes and feeling what they are feeling right alongside them.
Sympathy is saying it without actually putting yourself in the person's shoes.
A few weeks ago, we saw this in its cruelest display with the suicides of two beloved famous creatives- Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain.
If anything, this is a reminder that we all have our own struggles, setbacks and demons. Fame, money or success cannot alleviate all of our struggles. Yet the more of any of these things we get, the easier it is to try and rationalize internalizing all of our struggles and problems to the point where we feel completely alone.
We may think we're practicing empathy but the reality is we can only practice as much empathy and compassion with others as we first practice with ourselves.
Empathy is a lot like love. You can't possibly fully love someone without first practicing self-love.
I know the theme for this month's newsletter is heavier than usual. Instead of sharing my usual 4 recommendations for things I read in the last month, I'm going to share 4 great reads about compassion, empathy and yes mental health. The reality is they are all interconnected.
1. "The Internet has not just open-sourced information; it has also open-sourced insecurity, self-doubt, and shame."
This is a quote from Mark Manson's bestselling book, The Subtle Art of Not Giving A Fuck, that I can't stop thinking about.
2. Community builders as well as any creative type experience higher levels of anxiety and burnout than the average worker. If left unchecked, it can spiral into depression. In this post, Carrie outlines the core reasons for community builder burnout.
3. Empathy is a choice. When I think about empathy, Brene Brown is one of the first people who come to mind. This video talks about the defining qualities of an empathetic person.
4. I'm not the lone wolf. Mental health is so stigmatized in this country. So anytime a public figure is willing to talk about their struggles is helpful. The last person you expect to talk about battling their mental health woes is one of the most winningest college football coaches in recent memories. This longform article on Coach Urban Meyer's mental health struggles is not only hard-hitting but beautifully written.
What are you reading right now? Drop me an email, and let me know. The only thing I love more than reading is getting thoughtful recommendations for what I should read next.
*An earlier version of this post went out to my email subscribers. If you want to get first dibs on what I'm reading and the occasional update (I never send more than 2 emails per month), sign up here.


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Thursday June 4, 2020
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Bonnie King
Mar-19-2010 19:16TweetFollow @OregonNews
Man Arrested for Murder of Naturopathic DoctorSalem-News.com
The suspect is reported to have been with the victim the day of the murder.
(PORTLAND, Ore.) - Police say last Sunday, Dr. David Greenspan was found by deputies in his car dead from an apparent gunshot wound to the head. Initially it looked as if the death could have been a suicide, according to Sgt. David Thompson with the Washington County Sheriff's Office.
"The ensuing investigation led detectives from the Major Crimes Team to believe that Dr. Greenspan was murdered by Brian Bement in a drug related killing. Mr. Bement was arrested today for murder."
He says Sunday, March 14, 2010, at about 8:09 a.m., Sheriff's deputies received a call of a suspicious vehicle located at 1500 NW Cornelius Schefflin in unincorporated Washington County. A Sheriff's Deputy arrived and found Dr. David Greenspan of SE Portland, who is 46 years old, deceased in his car parked at the Emanuel Cemetery.
He had a gunshot wound to the head. Dr. Greenspan was a naturopathic doctor and has a clinic in the Tigard area.
Thompson says the initial investigation led deputies to believe that Dr. Greenspan's death may have been a suicide, but detectives were dispatched in the event it was a homicide case.
"On Monday, the Oregon Medical Examiners Office determined that Dr. Greenspan's death was caused by a gunshot wound to the head. Dr. Greenspan had two additional gunshot wounds that were not fatal. At the time deputies discovered Dr. Greenspan's body, they also recovered a semi-automatic handgun in the car that belonged to him. It appeared as if the crime scene was arranged to look like a suicide."
One acquaintance of Dr. Greenspan is 32-year old Brian Daniel Bement. Friends of Dr. Greenspan said he and Mr. Bement were together on Saturday, and they were alleged to have left to do a drug deal that afternoon. Mr. Bement had also been seen with a handgun that day.
"Detectives were able to obtain surveillance video from the McDonalds in North Plains that showed Dr. Greenspan and Mr. Bement in the restaurant together. This was in close proximity to the time when detectives believe Dr. Greenspan was shot," Thompson said.
Bement was arrested earlier in the week by members of the US Marshals Oregon Fugitive Task Force on unrelated charges from the Portland Police Bureau. Today Major Crimes Detectives charged Mr. Bement with Murder. He will be brought to the Washington County Sheriff's Office today.
At this time, detectives investigating the case are looking for other witnesses that may have useful information. Specifically, detectives would like to speak to anyone who has information about Mr. Bement's activities over the last two weeks.
Also, Thompson says it is likely that Bement was given a ride Saturday afternoon by someone who was unaware a crime had been committed. Detectives would like to talk to that person and stress that this could be anyone who saw Mr. Bement hitchhiking and picked him up, a taxi cab driver, a bus driver, or even an unwitting friend of Mr. Bement's.
Portland | Oregon | Tigard | Crime | Most Commented on
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Eric June 14, 2010 5:51 pm (Pacific time)
Dr. Greenspan was one of the nicest guys I have ever met. I am shocked that something like this could have happened to him. I know he is really proud of his son and wish his family all the strength and support to get through this. He was a really great man and he is missed.
Anonymous March 26, 2010 8:19 pm (Pacific time)
Oh so sad, the children are now needing more attention than ever from all the families.
tleeuw March 19, 2010 10:29 pm (Pacific time)
Rest in Peace David. My world was a better place while you were here.[Return to Top]
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Martha and the Redbud
My father's mother was not ashamed of revealing her favoritism when it came to her children or grandchildren. Different though we were, neither my father nor I were among her favorites. My mom supposed that was because we didn't need her as much as the other siblings or grandchildren.Read More