People scare me.

One of my old posts is getting an ever-increasing number of hits on the Google Image search engine. I'm afraid it might soon surpass my _Restaurant at the End of the Universe_ movie post as the most searched page of mine. I know what you're thinking: it's the nude beach picture without anybody in it (or the beach that's not a nude beach but Google Image thinks it is), but you'd be wrong.

It's a _Green Desert_ chapter starting with a picture of Zhíno. (Well, not actually Zhíno, since he's just a character. It's a picture of some random model whose photo is on Corbis in the model-released, royalty-free section.)

I can't tell what people are doing photo searches for, since Sitemeter cuts off the end of the url (they only keep a certain number of characters) which is where Google Image keeps the search terms, but there are at least several searches to end at this same photo. I've seen "c" and "s" and "fu", which are just the beginnings of the words or phrases they were looking for.

And since that chapter begins with Zhíno cursing the most virulent string of invective I could reasonably produce without plagarizing the Lovett College cheer, I fear for what the searchers hope to find on my blog.

Oh well.

Half-tan

If I'm walking south to work in the morning and north to home in the afternoon, with the sun always on my left, do you think only half of my face will get tan? I'm not getting enough radiation at one time to get a burn, but I think it's enough to give me a bit of a tan. And if I do it all summer, two fifteen-minute doses of sun on the left side of my face and my left arm and nothing on my right, don't you think I'll be a bit off-balance, skin-color-wise, by September? Maybe I'll look like a Star Trek character. . .

Green Desert - Chapter 8.4.6 - Bhanar

“Sure. Let’s go.” The medic hopped out of the helicopter, his partner following close.

I shrugged off the blanket and jumped to the rocky sand. The helicopter blades rotated at a minimum. I ran crouched over, around the bushes. If Séara was dead, this was the moment. I saw the crashed helicopter. The standing cop held a flashlight pointed down. On the ground, Pí‘oro’s bloated corpse. Beside it, dwarfed by it, a policewoman. Dead.

My foot hit a rock and I stumbled, caught my footing again. Deep breath. Be strong. I walked forward. The medics lifted Pí‘oro onto a stretcher. Look at her. Her black uniform. Her beautiful–– Not her face. It wasn’t her. I laughed.

The cop stabbed my eyes with his flashlight. “What’s so funny, kid?”

I shook my head, still smiling. “I thought it was Séara.”

He was invisible behind the light. “No, not Séara. Deputy Sérıgí Sívıposoma.”

My smile vanished. Not Séara, but still a dead woman. Still a person who would have lived if not for Zhíno.

The medics lifted her onto another stretcher. One pointed at the handles, looking at me. “Grab an end.” He went back to Pí‘oro’s stretcher.

Right. I was helping them. I walked to the dead woman, the cop’s flashlight still uncomfortably on me. I knelt between the handles, my back to her, and grabbed ahold. The cone of light flicked around and disappeared as the cop grabbed the other end.

“On three,” he growled. “One, two, three.”

We lifted and began walking to the helicopter.

Green Desert - Chapter 8.4.5 - Vata

The young man released my arm and stepped toward the detective and the other two youngsters, who froze in tableau under Pí‘oro’s extra-bright lights.

Fírí blurted out, “They’re working with Bhanar, smuggling guns for that gangster, Gogzhuè.”

I glanced at the kid’s pickup, piled high with all sorts of boxes. He had pulled a gun out of there. And you never can trust foreigners.

“Stop right there, Raíngozé,” Sétıpímo rasped, one hand inside his suit, presumably on his gun.

Sévo took another step. “We can explain everything.”

The news crew had their camera rolling. I sidestepped toward them, out of Sétıpímo’s line of fire on young Sévo.

“Please explain, then.” The old detective coughed.

“Zhíno, no!” Sévo burst into a run.

A gunshot rang out. The horse screamed in fright, kicking his forelegs. Raíngozé waved his gun, diving for cover behind the cop car. Sétıpímo aimed at him and fired. Fírí ducked behind the car. Sétıpímo swiveled to point his gun our direction. Sévo skidded to a halt, empty hands outstretched. The horse jerked against the reins, nearly breaking the mirror off the door.

“Shoot him, Sévo!” cried Raíngozé from behind the police car.

I sent calming thoughts to the horse and he began to settle down.

Sévo didn’t go for his gun. Instead, the young man said, “Sir, I apologize for my associate.” He turned his head and barked, “Zhíno, put your gun on the ground and get your hands in the air.”

From in front of the police car, two empty hands emerged, slowly followed by the youth’s head, backlit by the floodlights. “I. . . I think she’s dead.”

Fírí was dead? My false accuser, my attacker, and yet I couldn’t smile.

Temple of Lettuce

The sandwich shop near my office (in the opposite direction from the Subway) loves to pile on the lettuce. True, they load up my roast beef sub with a lot of meat, too, but there's always a large portion of lettuce that falls out of the sandwich and is hardly missed in the overall sandwich experience.

The restaurant is named Sub Master, but to me it's always been the Temple of Lettuce.

Green Desert - Chapter 8.4.4 - Séara

Deputy Laparıpasamé breathed hard, brushed his hand through his dark hair. “Should we go back?”

Back to the crash site. Give up. Admit failure. I shook my head. “No. We must find Zhudıro.” Somehow.

Tépíto’s face fell and he started chewing a thumbnail, staring into the darkness. We’d be out here for Cycles before we found Zhudıro, and Tépíto knew that. But Zhudıro was my fault, my responsibility. I couldn’t let him kill any more people.

Bhanar. If the foreigner caught up with the fugitive, there was no way Bhanar would survive. I had let him run off and die. As good as shooting him myself. Pétíso take me now.

I rubbed my neck and groaned. I should hand in my badge, my gun. I should’ve been a teacher like Mom said. I was more harm than good out here.

Behind me, to the southwest, noises in the bushes, growing louder but still distant.

“Turn off your light,” I hissed. I clicked mine off, too, and we stood in darkness.

A person––or maybe an escaped farm animal––breaking through branches, getting closer but not directly at us. They’d pass us to the south, near the gully wall.

A cough. It was a person. A man, from the sound of it, breathing hard, running hard, not attempting stealth at all. I had to be Bhanar, running away from Zhudıro. I smiled, turned on my light, and jogged south to intercept him.

Green Desert - Chapter 8.4.3 - Fírí

I walked past the slow detective, stepping off the cement with my bad foot, then back onto the path. Bhanar’s pickup was blocked to the side by the deputy’s cruiser. And I wouldn’t be able to go back because of rocks and the news van. Maybe if I drove it forward, around the front of the police car.

“Hey, what are you doing with those keys?”

I turned, still moving slowly backwards toward the truck. Raíngozé left Sétıpímo and stalked towards me. I casually slipped the car keys in my pocket and looked innocent.

The flannel guy’s face snarled. “You better not be planning on stealing our boxes when you got us distracted here with this old lady.”

No, no,” I said, holding up my hands in surrender. Except that’s exactly what I planned to do. Wait a minute. Their boxes? “What boxes?” the detective whispered.

“No boxes,” I blurted and immediately cursed myself. The old man wasn’t that stupid. “Bhanar’s boxes. All his stuff.”

The detective stood and narrowed his eyes. I stepped back, around the front of the cop car. Raíngozé drifted my direction, his eyes on Sétıpímo.

The cop glanced between the two flannel guys. They worked for Gogzhuè. I was right the first time. Sétıpímo rasped, “Why did you and your friends come here today?” I could see the wheels churning in his brain. He’d figure it out.

Neither man answered. Raíngozé stepped back again. One hand on the car, I inched back, too.

Freedom in the World

In which of the following countries would you rather live:

Burma
Cuba
Libya
North Korea
Sudan
Syria
Turkmenistan
Uzbekistan
Tibet
Chechnya

These are the countries (and territories) ranked as the least-free places in the world by the Freedom House, with a maximum 7 score in both Political Rights and Civil Liberties. I guess the real question isn't whether you want to live there, but what should we do to improve democracy and freedoms in these lands?

Just so you know, the best countries (with a minimum 1 score in both categories) are:

Andorra
Australia
Austria
Bahamas
Barbados
Belgium
Canada
Cape Verde
Chile
Costa Rica
Cyprus
Czech Republic
Denmark
Dominica
Estonia
Finland
France
Germany
Hungary
Iceland
Ireland
Italy
Kiribati
Latvia
Liectenstein
Lithuania
Malta
Marshall Islands
Mauritius
Micronesia
Nauru
Netherlands
New Zealand
Norway
Palau
Poland
Portugal
Saint Kitts and Nevis
Saint Lucia
San Marino
Slovakia
Slovenia
Spain
Sweden
Switzerland
Taiwan
Tuvalu
United Kingdom
United States
Uruguay
Puerto Rico

Green Desert - Chapter 8.4.2 - Bhanar

Still holding the blanket tight around me, I got to my feet. I stuck my head through the cockpit doorway. The pilot didn’t notice me. Huge headphones. I tapped his shoulder.

“Aaa!” He jumped in his seat, then twisted to look at me, removing his headphones from one ear. “What do you want?”

“When we have the police, we must chase Zhíno. This helicopter is the only chance. Or he will escape.” I wished I knew Sarıman better, to present a compelling argument.

The pilot curled his large lips. “Sorry, dude. I’m only allowed to go back to the hospital. Now if––”

Behind me, the paramedics carried in a body on a stretcher. Just a body. No head. The medics strapped it to a fold-down bed and leapt out again, leaving me alone with the corpse. The headless corpse.

I slumped against the bulkhead and slid to the floor. How the hell had that happened? Decapitated by the spinning blade? My stomach rose in my throat. I cinched my eyes, a hand over my mouth. No, be strong. Be the emperor. I inhaled deeply.

The paramedics returned with another dead cop––but no, this one lived. A white neck brace stiff against his chin. The medics strapped him to another bed, hooked him to a computer.

I swallowed. “Do you need any help?”

The nearer medic sized me up. I straightened my back.

Green Desert - Chapter 8.4.1 - Vata

That idiotic newsgirl thought that just because she was famous, she could take our horse. I tried to get a good look at her, but young Sévo blocked my view with his chest. It was times like this that made me want powers of destruction and not just healing.

Sévo jerked my elbow, nearly dragging me down the driveway.

Here I was, being arrested from my own home––not officially, yet, mind you––and that little bitch acted like I was a piece of dirt.

I glanced over past Sévo. The newsgirl stood at the back of the van, completely ignoring me, looking inside. As if my illegal apprehension wasn’t newsworthy.

“Hey, Irézí Sıvíhí,” I called. “They haven’t charged me with any crimes, but they’re taking me away anyhow.”

That got her attention. They snooty girl snapped her head at us. “Nıléké, why aren’t you getting this?”

“My batteries are dead.”

“Plug it in, you fucking idiot!”

The cameraman scrambled behind the van doors.

Sévo stopped, peering back at the detective, hoping for direction from that doddering fool. I smiled. A little old lady being arrested by a civilian on the evening news. How would that look?

Still in Sévo’s grasp, I turned around. Fírí held up her hands in front of her, warding off the second young man.

Sétıpímo whispered, “What boxes?”

Blatant Age Discrimination

How old is too old to drive? 90? 85? 67? "Wait a minute," you say. "It should depend on the capabilities of the driver in question!" And indeed you would be correct. It should be that way. But the acting governor of Washington disagrees with you.

At last weekend's Daffodil Parade in Tacoma, Gregoire was planned to ride in a vintage car owned and driven by D.W. Brown, a 26-year veteran driver of the parade. But he was rejected by her office. The problem? He's 81 years old.

The governor's office was apparently concerned that an old person might have a heart attack or something. Because, you know, 40-year-olds never have heart attacks.

Mr. Brown joked about maybe suing the state for age discrimination. If I was a litiginous person, I'd definitely sue. The governor's office asked for names and birthdates of all drivers, not medical records or driving records (although, being the state, they probably had the driving records available to them).

The punchline? Gregoire walked the entire parade route.

Green Desert - Chapter 8.3.5 - Séara

No footprints ahead of me, but I kept on running. And Tépíto stayed right behind me, no questions asked. I couldn’t let Zhudıro escape.

But that’s exactly what I’d already done. He was gone. And I’d completely lost any trace of him. I had to keep on trying, keep on pretending to be in the hunt, but really, now, what hope did I have?

I ran between the trees and boulders, cutting left and right, heading constantly westward. But there was no point. I should turn around, go back to where I last saw footprints. But even those weren’t Zhudıro’s. They were Bhanar’s. I’d completely and totally lost the fugitive, if I ever had his trail at all.

And yet Deputy Laparıpasamé followed me. I only outranked him by a few months. Surely he knew we’d lost Zhudıro. Why didn’t Tépíto say anything?

The bushes and trees kept looming out of the darkness at us, an endless barrage of obstacles to our unattainable goal.

If Tépíto wasn’t going to say anything, I had to. I slowed to a stop, breathing deep to help slow my heart. I turned to my partner, careful to not shine my light in his face. In reflected light, though, I could still see his open mouth and furrowed, dark brow. He wiped his forehead with a sleeve. “What’s up?”

I sighed and winced. “We lost him.”

Company

The good thing about having company over is that your house is clean and tidy for days afterwards. And all the compliments about my home sure didn't hurt!

But when the first people to show up apologize for being late, you know something's not right. It was a games night. We were supposed to play games. I said to show up at 7:00. The first arrivals were at 7:20. We probably started the first game at 7:45 when we had most people there. Two others arrived at 8:00. At 11:00, when everybody was leaving, one of the late arrivals started chatting about flags and wall paint, and all I could think was that if he wanted to chit-chat, he should've arrived at 7:00!! And while I would've normally enjoyed a conversation about flags, even under the circumstances, I didn't enjoy one with someone who professed to know all the flags but didn't recognize the Greek flag and thought the Irish flag looked a lot like the Narakan flag but with orange.



See the similarity? Granted, my Narakan flag is hung vertically, but still.