31 Merry New Year and Don't Make any Resolutions you aren't Willing to Break!

• I now care deeply about the plight of geezers. I walked most of my trip on sidewalk or asphalt and carried a pack. Add this to my ample gut and you (by which I mean me) end up with sore ankles and stiff legs. By the end of each day I had to race, if by "race" you understand me to mean "crawl painfully across" intersections. I grew to dread the 'short' walk-light because it meant I would have to jog the best I could the rest of the way. At 3:30 on a rainy afternoon, with a backpack on and the wind in your face? That sucks. The worst were the lights in Marina. Some sadist masquerading as a do-gooder (as most sadists do) actually put count-down timers on the lights. As I hobbled across the crosswalk I could seem my time quickly ticking away.
  
  I suppose there's some bigger message in that "time ticking away" image, but I am steadfastly ignoring it. Instead I'm feeling sorry for people who face that crosswalk thing every day.
  
  
• People seem less aware of their local geography than ever. This trip, like several other trips I have taken, made me realize people don't seem to pay attention to anything outside their own neighborhoods anymore.
  
  The bartender in Gilroy couldn't tell me anything about it's streets beyond the two bars he worked at and his house. He could say "here be dragons" about neighborhoods on the edge of his knowledge (he warnend me about a Mexican neighbohood to the East of the bar) but he wasn't even sure where the Motel 6 a mile down the road was. He thought it might be there, but that was all he knew
  
  The desk-clerk at the Motel 6 knew about 1 mile north into Gilroy, but nothing in any other direction.
  
  Gas station attendants, who I relied on almost exclusively many years ago on my bike trips, now seem to beam to their work from Mars. Not one of them knew anything except the name of the nearest Highway and how to get to it. I wonder if this is because gas-stations have largely stopped putting up a local map on their walls (no doubt to make us purchase maps) for travellers to look at?
  
  The 96 year old motel owner did not know, or would not admit to, what was on the other side of the freeway from her hotel. Now, being 96 she may not get out much anymore (probably intimidated by the short walk-cycle at local intersections), but she had owned the place for decades. Certainly she should have known something about the town she lived in?
  
  
• It is possible to have the wind in your face both going out and coming back in. Goddamit! Wind in my face as I walk up 183 towards Salinas. Wind in my face when I walk almost the exact opposite direction into Marina.
  
  I suppose it was a Y-shaped valley, but really, if there were a God would he arrange shit like that?

So, bored with San Jose and wanting to kick off my annual (fruitless) attempt at getting into shape, I decided to walk down to Monterey over this break. Well, more like Marina, because I have friends there, but for the purposes of description let's just say Monterey.

There are two obvious ways to do this. One is to go the coastal route, the other the interior route. Because there would be one hellishly long day on the coastal route (getting over the Santa Cruz Mountains) I chose the interior route which you see there to the left. Mapquest has this trip at almost exactly 60 miles, but since Mapquest normally has you travelling on freeways, which the ambler can't, Mapquest is dead wrong about the mileage for an ambler.

I estimate, in fact, that I went about 300 miles.. give or take several furlongs. In any case, the theme of the walk was bad hotels and getting doused. I kept a semi-journal during the trip, and this bit here is a distillation of that.

•••• Day One ••••

I woke up bright and early on the day after Christmas. I turned over and went back to sleep. Woke up again at about 9:30 and got out of bed. Looked at some depressing predictions about the weather on the intarweb and packed my backpack. I had the traditional breakfast of the wayfarer, two slices of apple pie and a beer left over from Xmas dinner.

Thus fortified I headed out at about 10:22 and, as is traditional, shortly got hideously lost. Found myself again after about an hour of wandering south San Jose near the foothills and headed down the San Jose Valley to Morgan Hill (don't drink the water!). This involved walking a substantial distance on Santa Teresa Road, from which the following pictures are taken.

Got there extremely wet and sore and shacked up in the Morgan Hill Budget Hotel. The name explains the hotel's approach to maintenance and not its prices. The pictures below are of its fire alarm, bathroom tank lid, and bathroom light.

Oh well, for being directly on Monterey Highway the place was remarkably quiet. And since I literally could not move for the first hour I was there (I made the mistake of taking off my shoes and lying on the bed, from which I could not rise.) quiet was what I was after.

Unfortunately my paralysis and the dismal selections of channels on the motel cable meant that I had the choice of watching the worst football game ever (Cleveland v. Miami, which almost went into overtime tied 7-7, though the game was nowhere near as interesting as the score might indicate. The only highlight of the game was when announcer Paul Something-Or-Other referred to Rickey Williams as currently attending "The University of Ganja") or watching murder mysteries two channels down. Unfortunately the channel that lay directly between these two poor choices was showing "Mary Poppins." Mary Poppins, as cineastes know, defeats the close competition of Henry Potter to be the worst movie ever made. Could Dick Van Dyke be any more smarmy with his atrocious Cockney accent, homespun 'wisdom', and bad dance steps?

Fortunately sleep came. Unfortunately with it came rain and wind.

•••• Day Two ••••

I awoke the next day very sore and looked out the window to see the inspiring scene you see to the left. Pissing down rain and wind howling exactly the opposite of the direction I needed to go. Sigh.

So, I strapped on my boots and headed down towards Gilroy. Stopped in downtown Morgan Hill for a bagel with everything and a cup of coffee. Had to be careful on the side of Monterey Road as once out of town I was walking on the shoulder and oncoming cars and trucks (particularly) were followed by a plume of water as they tore down the road. Fueled by the bagel and coffee I made it into San Martin in record time. I spent one moment of happy reminiscence at the Christmas Tree farm, which was just inside San Martin which I had never noticed while driving, from which we had purchased our tree. The next six miles, to Gilroy, were hellishly slow and sore. I might also note that the fuckers who mapped Gilroy gave it about 2.5 miles of green-belt, so that happy feeling you get when you finally hit the city limits is completely erased by the walk to anything acutally resembling a town.

And then when you get there it isn't much of a town anyway.

Did I say they were fuckers?

Fuckers.

So far along my little trip I had received three phone calls from friends offering me rides out of my journey. I'm not sure whether I am happy they are concerned, or concerned that they think I'd bail that easily.

Anyway, I hobbled in and stopped off in a bar I was familiar with from previous trips to the antique shops in Gilroy. I was completely soaked and also managed to completely soak three sections of the bar. I had a beer and called some friends (same ones I was walking towards the house of) who were up in San Jose to see a doctor. They said they'd stop by on their way back down to Marina. After I hung up with them I realized if I didn't tell the POSSLQ about all this, I'd be on a hit list. Called POSSLQ and low and behold, my second night on the road turned into a party at a bar and a dinner.

The girlfriend then drove me to the Motel 6 and I again dried out and slept. The discerning reader might note that this was technically cheating, since I shouldn't have accepted a ride over any territory I could walk. The discerning reader will be correct and will soon see that there is no cheating the Gods of Walking for their memories are long and their tempers are short.

•••• Day Three ••••

Next morning was much drier and I started off towards Prunedale at about 9 am. Got kicked off of 101 and went off the the side. Traveled some side-roads and railroad tracks but finally got to a point where I couldn't see any way to get through. So, turned back to Gilroy and was right back to downtown Gilroy by 11:45. In fact, I had been forced to walk, backwards, exactly the same road that I had driven with the POSSLQ the night before. Such do the Gods of Walking punish you when you trifle with them. Wandered around and found the train station. I didn't eat any breakfasts on the whole hike, so I grabbed a sandwich and a cup of coffee at a little shop at the train station. Looked at all my options and decided I needed to get a ride over the unwalkable section of the trip (NOTE: Because I had tried to walk this I did not feel I was risking the wrath of the Gods of Walking).

I called MST and said I wanted to get to Prunedale from Gilroy and was at the stop the #25 stopped at. The helpful woman on the phone told me I had just missed the #25 Monterey Shuttle which would have taken me to Prunedale and that the next one would come by at 5:40. Bummer.. a long time to sit in a bus station. Aaah.. but the helpful woman had apparently only heard "#25" because 30 minutes later, as I sat there bored, I looked out and another little shuttle was sitting there: the #26 to Salinas- which also went from Gilroy to Prunedale. My little bus phone-elf had not been able to make the leap that what I really wanted to do was get to Prunedale from Gilroy, not ride the world-famous #25 line.

Anyway, I hopped the shuttle that took me over the freeway sections of 101. This left me in a park-and-ride at Prunedale at about 1:00. I looked back into Prunedale and couldn't see a hotel. Decided to carry on. When I returned this turned out to have been a wise decision as Prunedale doesn't have a hotel or motel that I could see. That would have been a very depressing night. Also, as I look back on my 25/26 thing I'm actually glad I got on the #26 because who knows if I ever would have got off the Monterey shuttle. ;-)

This was the scariest section of the trip by a substantial margin. Highway 156 is very twisty, has a variable shoulder, and people speed like crazy on it (well, at least we did on our way back). I took to going offroad any chance I could, and pretty much ran the first two miles, which were the narrowest. Followed 156 till I was once again kicked off the highway with no apparent other road to travel. Went X-country for a half-a-mile over (and sometimes half-buried-in) a cowfield until I found some railroad tracks which I followed east until they hit a road. I had arrived in Castroville. I was also pretty much covered in mud from the waist down.

In the end, I figure the shuttle ride on this day chopped some 10 miles out of the trip. It essentially saved me one day, since I ended on a Wednesday instead of a Thursday.

I found a hotel with a 96 year old proprietress who insisted I look at the room because "I (she) don't give refunds." A slightly younger crone, but one with fewer teeth, came out of the back to show me the room. It was small, included a kitchenette, and had a working heater. I took it so I wouldn't have to walk any further. When I got back to the room I heard a weird whistling .. checked the door, which certainly didn't do anything to keep cold wind from blowing in, but soon determined the whistling was some weird auditory phenomenon caused by cars traveling on rainy roads past the U-shaped driveway. This noise bummed me out until I tried to turn on the lights in the kitchenette. Bingo, one of the switches turned on a reassuringly noisy fan which I kept on all night. The wall heater, on one side, and the leaky door, on the other side, fought for temperature supremacy.

By this time I had a whopping blister on my left little toe, so I stumped over to a nearby store where I bought needles and a couple of beers. The needles would be my medical tools, the beers my anesthesia. Grabbed a burger on the way back and had dinner at the kitchenette table as the heater chugged away in the background. The motel didn't have cable, so I watched NBC on and off between naps. Siegfried and Roy have an animated series, apparently, which features sexless animated lions and bad gay jokes (An animated critter looks at a traditional Greek vase in S&R's pad and, disgusted, says "those men aren't wrestling!" The laugh track goes mad, and so did I). The view from my hotel room was nice in desolate sort of way.

•••• Day Four ••••

Day Four was the day I was reminded of two lessons I had learned back in the days I was given to long bicycle trips. First, weathermen never actually do get outside so they don't understand what weather is. Second, any short day on a roadmap is only a short day if you are in a car. The weatherman said it "would be a great day to get out as we were between storms." By which, apparently, he meant it would rain on and off all morning. The map, on the other hand, showed a measly six miles remaining to get to Marina. I could be there by breakfast. Well, if I had a car. That six miles was all freeway. I looked at my map and closte to the highway was impasable by foot. I was forced to turn east on highway 183 and head towards Salinas. I trudged that road, very slick and muddy, all the while able to look across the valley to the road I was eventually going to get to. Long, boring and muddy.

Finally I found Cooper Road which was narrow and flooded in several spots, but finally took me across the valley. Looking at the map, I could see that I was getting very close, maybe four miles to go to get to the brewpub where I would finally meet my friends and POSSLQ. The gods apparently noticed that I was getting close to being done, because they no longer saw fit to force it to rain. It went from a nightmare to this in about 20 minutes. And I bet that sack-of-shit weatherman looked out the window just at that moment and said to himself, "aaah, right again!" I trust he will burn in the same section of hell reserved for United States Highway Makers and Cartographers who create roads that don't allow bicycles or hikers on them. And, yes, I am a bit bitter.

Anyway, I staggered into the top of Reservation Road in Marina, hungry and thirsty having had no breakfast at all and no water since the hotel. Was dissapointed to discover it was a 55 mph shouldered road, but wandered along it til I found a bike path and swiched to that. When the bike-path crested it revealed the part of Reservation Road I knew. A part that actually turend out to be far shorter than I remembered, which is a beautiful thing! Had breakfast in a Mexican restaurant, called all my peeps, and then staggered the remaining short mileage to the pub. Had two beers, POSLQ appeared, and we whisked off to our friends house where we spent the night. I, apparently, did not put enough pepper in my Soju, but I suppose that's an entirely different story. My long personal nightmare was over.

• Well, tomorrow I head off on my urban-hike to Monterey. There is certain to be an agonizingly boring photo-essay to follow.
  
• But with the New Year coming around I'm also working on what my motto should be for next year. The POSSLQ and I were sitting around eating ourselves iller than pigs could do, watching football and sniffling (we are both fluish) and I came up with, "I'll Kill You All."
  
  Which I really liked, but it seemed a bit agressive. Later, as the Raiders lost, I wordsmithed it down to "Why Don't you All Die?" which I also realized I could use without the question mark. Just slap an exclamation point at the end of it and it turns into the imperative tense.
  
  I like it...
  
  More work to be done, but for now I'm on the road..

• Just like men communicate better than women, they make xmas tree decisions better than women do..

• Hmmm... no terrorist threats this xmas? Re-electing our Chimp-in-flightsuit must have really a'scairt them terrorists. Well, that or last year was all a series of alarmist lies aimed at keeping the populace scared in a re-election year.
  
  One of the two.
  
  For sure...
  
  
• On a more personal note - I went out for dinner with the POSSLQ and the POSSLQ managed a feat I had never seen before on this side of a pie-eating contest. Leaned down towards the old pasta, slurped it up, looked up and had Alfredo sauce on the forehead. One little, perfect drop splashed beneath the hairline. I wouldn't have thought it possible.
  
  Or it's a third eye.
  
  
• Finally, yeah, I'm part Italian. But I could just look at the picture of former Gov. John G. Rowland and tell you he's guilty of something. The guy couldn't look more like John Gotti (down to the cheesy blonde on his arm) if Hollywood had done his makeup. Let's count it off. Beady eyes. Beefy frame. Hair by Pennzoil. Expensive suit. Tie off kilter. Blonde bimbo. It all fits.
  
  And, just like a mob boy he copped a plea to avoid the rather massive sentence he would have received had he continued insisting on his "innocence." If you want to know more about this cheesy piece of work, of course I have linked it. He actually sounds semi-reasonable elsewhere, but when you read this:
  

  To spur the state’s economy and create jobs, Governor Rowland reduced the corporate tax rate and improved the state's overall business climate. The state’ economy has transitioned from one dependent on insurance and defense to one more diverse and resilient, with a burgeoning technology sector. Key growth sectors are being nurtured through his Industry Clusters program, including manufacturing, financial services, telecommunications and information, and high technology.

  
  you realize he's just another piece of corporate shit. I mean, who could have guessed that "Industry Clusters" meant they were all giving each other economic blowjobs?

Still, why didn't one of his handlers tell him he shouldn't look like the Don?

Aaah.. the old stereo-speaker project. If you remember, I took some speakers from a friend and vowed to turn them into a piece of furniture. Now, months later, I have a pathetic little piece of junk to show for it. As a tease? I won't show it til tomorrow.

Also, for anyone who might want to track other lies I tell? Starting the 26th I plan to walk from my home (somewhere in cosmopolitan San Jose) to nearly Monterey. Or die trying.

21 Bad (Alleged) Blogger

Well, I've been a bit remiss here. And I won't take the easy way out and use excuses. Excuses like:

• The lads at my hosting company wanted me to upgrade my ptttttbbbb! client
• It takes a lot of bandwidth to bittorrent the complete Black Adder
• I've been really sick
• Work has been... er.... "interesting"

Although all that is true. Instead, I'll just say do what Bart Simpson does, admit I've been bad and tremble my upper lip enough that everyone loves me again despite the evil I do (wait, I just might be Bush or Rummy!)

Joan Ryan has a lovely column today talking about some of the damage done to soldiers in our Empire's latest war.

On my desk is the Dec. 9 edition of the New England Journal of Medicine. I have it open to a five-page photo essay titled "Caring for the Wounded in Iraq.'' The pictures were taken by doctors in the 274th Forward Surgical Team. They are as grotesque as anything I have seen

For obvious reasons she neither shows the pictures nor links them. The entire article to which Ms. Ryan refers can be found on the New England Journal of Medicine's site (in a pdf that is over a meg big) here in the pdf: Notes of a Surgeon: Casualties of War — Military Care for the Wounded from Iraq and Afghanistan.

I have also taken the liberty of clipping three shots from the pdf. All you folks who get hard when we talk about war? This is what war does to the soft tissue that is a human (if you really want to see the damage, click for larger versions).

Victorian England was as unaware of their status as empire as we pretend to be (are?). Exemplary quote: "the Empire seemed to have been acquired "in a fit of absence of mind".

A Hoover Instituter tries to make Eminem an argument for family values. Damn near succeeds as well if she wouldn't shoot herself in the foot with bizarre claims like "Another band that climbed to the top of the charts recently is Everclear". Well, if by recent you mean in the previous century and hanging on 1.5 months into this one halfway down the charts.. She does make a nice separation between what lyrics of violence and hatred do to people and what they mean though I'm not sure she could do the same for, say, a war in the Gulf. Aaah, I wax too wroth.

the apparent resounding victory of Bush by popular "mandate" was simply stupifying.

are just silly writing. Hey, commie, it was a relatively resounding victory (particularly compared to his last one) and it surely wasn't "apparent." It was real. And you might check out how "stupefying" is really spelled. Then, even sillier lines like:

The majority of the voting people in the United States simply preferred to vote for the most hated and frightening president the country has ever had..

just make you wonder.. "most hated and frightening?" it must be hard to get votes when you are the "most hated and frightening" president ever. Even harder to get an "apparent" and "stupifying" mandate. I have to assume that the idiot at the keyboard meant that Bush is hated overseas? No doubt that's true. But if that is what our politically correct victim of public schools means? The sentence should be at least two sentences and needs to introduce a couple more concepts than the writer seems capable of juggling. Or, perhaps, since Davis and Santa Cruz are metioned on the jpg, the authors are just expressing the pants-wetting fear of the rest of the US that Davis and Santa Cruz (where, or where, is Berkeley?) have always felt. Other pages are just as silly. Check out http://www.freethegoldenstate.org/about.html and see how many grammatical and logical errors you can find.. Over under is about five.

Just sad.

Hey man, it's Bill Hicks' birthday. If you don't know who he is, you should. You can find some of his wise/clever words right here at the wiquotipedia-athon thing.

• You ever notice how people who believe in creationism look really unevolved?
• I don't mean to sound bitter, cold, or cruel, but I am, so that's how it comes out.What do atheists scream when they come?
• (To an audience member) "How much do you smoke, sir? A pack a day? Why don't you just put on a dress and swish around ... I go through two lighters a day."

And moving down the foodchain a bit....

SEPARATED AS AFTERBIRTH?

I don't know what it is.. but the one on the left
just looks more loved by the troops.

Would you purchase "How To Good-Bye Depression:"? (Actual subtitle: If You Constrict Anus 100 Times Everyday. Malarkey? or Effective Way?)

"Besides shooting out a big blank from your buttock, you can feel as if your root chakra leaked sweet hot mucus."

Bush noted that in addition to the budget deficit, America suffers from a huge trade deficit."That's easy to resolve," Bush said. "People can buy more United States products if they're worried about the trade deficit."

Bush's comments came a day after the government reported that America's trade deficit hit a monthly record of $55.5 billion in October.

Or... uh.. maybe we have a deficit because people don't want to buy our products. And, er.. that .. uh.. "capitalism" thing you claim to be in favor of? When it works people buy what the want to buy. And now you don't want them to do that? So are you some kind of commie, or what? Nah, just a moron.Apple has no memory

Apple's most recent firmware update for the iPod, released last month, breaks Real Network's Harmony technology, which enable songs bought from Real's online store to be played on the device.

How stupid is that (Unless Apple really believes that online music sales will be a bigger profit center than ipods)? Don't the remember they lost the computer wars because, despite a superior computer, no one else's software would run on their computers?

I'm not that PC (or anti-PC, the definitions are weird now) but it occurs to me that it must really hurt some academics to attack dead white men when it is clear they really want live white men to dissapear. I assume it is some kind of cowardice since dead men don't hit back. With that Blue-state thought out there, I come today to celebrate the dead white man's canon.

• The Smith of Smiths "to do wrong, and gain nothing by it, is surely to add folly to fault"
He obviously didn't live long enough to watch Georgie Jr. wage war. And."There is more of misery inflicted upon mankind by one year of war than by all the civil peculations and oppressions of a century. Yet it is a state into which the mass of mankind rush with the greatest avidity, hailing official murderers, in scarlet, gold and cocks' feathers, as the greatest and most glorious of human creatures. It is the business of every wise and good man to set himself against this passion for military glory, which really seems to be the most fruitful source of human misery."He also gave me my middle-aged man's credo:
"Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable."More of his hippie bullshit (he was a middle-class clergyman who died of middle-class obesity) can be found here and a bit more here.

• Gore Vidal (Ok.. not dead yet, but really.... soon... soon) A man who normally writes about the decay inherent in our empire here writes about the decay inherent in power: Robert Graves and the Twelve Caesars

• Joe Orton Finally, a funny thing that appears to be years old. Joe Orton, one of the funniest modern playwrights, spent a lot of time cruising trade in public bathrooms. So in his honor? His hometown will be declaring one of the bathrooms he spent most time getting laid in a historical site:

Orton's Loo to be saved by Lottery Loot

well, I'm hungover just looking.

• You know, I love me some the guys at somethingawful. But sometimes wrong is just plain wrong.
I have found one of those occasions. The lads have a photoshop contest to make people into "ghosts."
But who.. who.. would ever take a picture of Angela Jolie that looked like this:
And spend any time at all turning it into this:
• And, just thinking of mental illness? As I often do? The problem with manic-depressive disease is that when you're really depressed you kill yourself; when you're really manic you don't become immortal.How fair is that?

• Finally, in truly sucky Metal News that is Too Heavy... Dimebag Darrel Dies (though it did lead to alliteration).

Nice name/subject combo on this Spam:
Nance Xgisireh
No Trick ... Literal Skill! Amplify your penis. As to the name? The "Nance" thing makes me wonder if he's on the same team as me. The last name makes me wonder if he's on the same planet (and of course I'm assuming this is a "he").And while my penis might well benefit from several changes, I'm not sure "amplification" is one of them. But I might be wrong. Imagine what your sex life might be like if women said you brought the bass. On the other hand, if my penis had "Literal Skill" I might be able to rent it out for piece work.

Literally.

The Economist runs an advert for some third rate watch company. It features a Sopranos star and looks like this:
great, he's flipping me off, apparently because they gave him a watch so big it could only be used as an ornament to a footstool.Who does this appeal to? What is an august joint like The Economist doing running an ad like this? Is this supposed to make me want to own a Kobold (is that the name of a retired computer language, or a demi-orc?) watch?

Decline and fall baby, decline and fall!

• A thought. Since (according to the nitwits in power) Iraq once sponsored terrorism but is now "free" and Afghanistan, once Al Qaeda's protector, is now "free" (at least if you're the "Mayor of Kabul") who is now responsible for funding Al Qaeda and who would we invade if they hit us again? Korea seems unlikely, though this adminstration has never stopped at constructing foreign policy upon the rankest of lies and most obvious dream-fueled speculation. All I see are our "allies" and Iran. Iran then. I suppose the drums are already beating.• I've read this several times and in several places since the election. It seems worth repeating and also reminds me so much why I like H. L. Mencken

"As democracy is perfected, the office of president represents, more and more closely, the inner soul of the people. On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart's desire at last and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron."

• Antifreeze kills dogs.. unless it cures their paralysis. Too bad Christopher Reeve didn't live this long. • K(ore)andy (y)Apple Grey(t)

• Random Elvis the Prophet Quote:

It's the force of habit
If it moves then you fuck it,
If It doesn't move you stab it.

After all, stabbing it might make it move.. and then you can.. well...

I gotta stop watching these Warriors games, they just make me angry. ;-)

Wow.. not only did I learn that there are underaged camel jockeys (which sounds like a bad joke of some kind), but check out the Sheik. He's animatronic!And when I look in the mirror I often ask the aged visage confronting me, "what are you high on?" Normally the answers aren't that clear.

And always remember you blue-staters (The blue is from lack of oxygen to the brain, or so I hear), public television is not a leftist conspiracy, instead it is controlled by "the agency". And I think we all know who they are!

Some morons actually care a great deal about Keith (Mr.?) Jennings and Jeopardy.Weird.And another thing. If a watch implies a watchmaker, if a watchmaker implies a maker of the watchmaker, what does the maker of the watchmaker imply?And how does it all relate to a brilliant poem about fleas?ad infinitum, ad nauseum.Coming soon...... If God don't get me.... or the watchingest of watchmakers.

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