Taking Chamblee the Strait Way!

The Strait Boys (Doug, Benjamin, Greg) find the anime store, Pica Pica, at Sugarloaf Mills Mall.  This is one of the best kid-friendly malls I've ever been too.  Of course, two of these "kids" are in their thirties, but they are all still kids to me.

It was a great joy for Alison and me to spend the weekend in the Atlanta area with these three fine young gentleman.  Doug has a condo unit in Chamblee, a very nice loft-style place, and he is fitting comfortably in the community, even attending a city council meeting.

We had great pizza from Vintage Pizza, a local place just a couple of blocks from his residence, and a wonderful Greek meal at a Greek restaurant at Sugarloaf Mills.

There was mucho playing of games, including Apples to apples and Settlers of Cataan.  The boys loved the Settlers game.  I enjoyed watching them play, as I tried to participate, but mostly served as fodder for others and as comic relief.  Here, Benjamin is showing the new robot he built from Legos.  I am very grateful that they all have a natural ability at those things, because I have trouble even figuring out how to open the box.

All of us are huge movie fans, so we had to catch at least one movie together.  So what did we pick?  BIG EYES!  This Tim Burton movie bombed spectacularly at the box office, but it got our money!  And it was well worth it!  Yes, it was the most tame of all the Tim Burton movies, but it was an interesting story well told, with very good acting performances.  Alison and I loved the San Francisco scenes, and how they created a late fifties/early sixties feel to it.  I think many of my friends would enjoy this movie if they can find it and are willing to give it a chance.

All in all, it was another fantastic visit with my three sons!

History of the Trap: March Coup Part 5

5

"What were you thinking?" He paused and brushed his bright red hair back with a sweep of his hand.  Even though I was seated and he was standing, he was still barely taller than me.  Small as he was, the power and drive of his personality made him seem much larger.  "No, wait.  It's obvious you weren't thinking.  Why would you poke him that hard, especially when he's right there in the studio watching?"

"What are you talking about?" I sputtered.  I wasn't tied to the chair, but I felt like I might as well be, Davis Deen standing to one side of me, and Mickey Beacham (a rather large black kid, and close ally to David Izzner) on the other.  It was clear that I was to just sit and listen.

"I'm talking about your little stunt with that soap opera of yours," David Izzner said, pacing.  "I mean, it's all well and good when you're just telling a diverting story.  I understand that.  I mean, what do you think I try to do?  I provide diversions.  I provide things to help people feel better, to step away from the maddening reality of this...Trap.  But that wasn't enough for you, was it?  No, you had to make some sort of point, didn't you?  You had to advance your odd little theory about what happened to your girlfriend, Lisa, because you just can't let it alone, can you?"

He paused again, but I said nothing.  I didn't know what to say.  Yeah, I had the power of the pen to say something and I did, even if it was obscured and indirect.

"I mean, I get it.  Reddy Pulvey was your dig at Robert Pelley.  You think he killed Lisa.  I get it.  We all get it.  But you couldn't leave it at that, could you?  You had to go farther, didn't you?"

"Farther?" I asked.

"Yes!  You had to drag Dr. Ronald Scott into it, didn't you?"

"Sorry," I replied.  "I didn't know you were such a fan of Dr. Scott."

David Izzner laughed.  "Oh, trust me; I am definitely not one of his fans.  But I'm smart enough to have to deal in the real world.  And I know exactly what you were implying with the 'Dr. Scott as mastermind' plot line.  And whatever else he is, he's not stupid.  Don't think for one second he didn't understand what you were accusing him of."

"Fine!" I spit out.  "Let him think it!  Let him know at least one person doesn't think he's St. Athlete!"

David Izzner rushed towards me.  I thought he was going to smack me in the face.  Instead, his face was only an inch away from mine, and he said, "You idiot!  You think he's scared of you, or anything you do?  You have no idea what's about to come down!"

I felt a twinge of anxiety, but mostly I was angry.  "He helped cover up Robert Pelley's murder of the girl that I loved!  He had to have known that Pelley killed her!  And he still helped Pelley by lying to the court, and getting his buddies to do the same!"

David backed up a bit.  "But your little story implied more.  Your story implied that Dr. Scott actually directed the murders that occurred.  That Pulvey was just his 'hitman'."

"You're right.  I wanted him to know.  I wanted to shake him up. So what?" I said defiantly.

"So what?  So what?  Are you serious?  You have no idea what you did, do you?  You have no idea...," David continued getting close to me again, "...how close to the truth you got."

I cocked my face, puzzled.  "What?"

"You know, for what I do, I really like the status quo.  It's true.  Your father put limits on me.  But I think he understood my services, and the need for someone like me, and I was able to thrive in the parameters he gave me.  Sure, I had to forego some of the cigarette trade, but that supply was dwindling anyways.  You want your product to be rare enough that people seek you out, but not so rare that people are willing to kill for it.  I operate with stealth, with manipulation, with negotiation.  I want all sides to be winners, and if that stays true, I keep making my profit, for as long as we're here.  I gain for myself when I make things better for other people.  Violence should never be used first.  It should be used, at best, eleventh or twelfth, or not at all."

He backed away, pacing.  I felt like I was in World Humanities, getting a philosophy lecture, the philosophy of the black marketeer.

"So when forces come along, forces that believe in violence above all else, forces that upset the apple cart, that make the business environment and it's relationships uncertain, I get worried.  Very worried.  I mean really, Lance, what do you think happened in that trial?"

"Mark Granite and his buddies lied to prevent Robert Pelley being convicted, and my overly proper father did not challenge them.  He just rolled over for them, and helped set free the scum who killed Lisa," I grimly answered.

"Really?  Your father?  You blame your father?  I hope I never have a son as faithless as you.  Think again.  Who had control of that trail?  Who determined how aggressive the prosecution against Pelley would be?"

I thought for a second, and then slow recognition permeated through.  "Mr. Tate, the prosecutor."

David briefly rolled his eyes.  "No kidding, Sherlock.  Mr. Larry Tate, prosecutor extraordinaire."

"B-but why?  Mr. Tate is a strong disciplinarian.  He hates Robert Pelley, and all the juvenile delinquents like him."

"Ah, yes!  But you know what?  Jesus was right.  Love is stronger than hate.  And there's something that Mr. Tate loves more than his hatred for kids like Robert Pelley."

"Love?  What are you talking about?"

"The thing ol' Larry Tate loves?  Why, the Principal's office, Lance!  He wants to be Principal.  He's wanted that for years!  Ever since he was passed over by the School Board and your father was named instead of him."

My heart was racing faster.  That was true.  I remember my father talking to my mother when it first happened.  He was worried whether he should even take the job, that it wasn't good for him to jump ahead of Mr. Tate.  But the School Board wouldn't see it any other way, and he was finally persuaded to take the position.  People thought Mr. Tate would leave when he was passed over, but he stuck it out.  And apparently had been stewing about ever since.  "That may be true, but I don't understand how letting Robert Pelley off would help with that."

"It wouldn't.  Not in and of itself.  Robert Pelley is a terrible scumbag, not worth the time of day.  But Mark Granite?  That's a different prize altogether.  And if the price of Mark Granite's help is to let one scumbag go free, then Mr. Tate thought it might be worth it."

I shook my head.  "No.  I don't believe it."

"Think, you thick headed Martian!  What's happened since then?  The Student Council is now in the hands of Mark Granite and his Grani-Kinghts."  David chuckled coldly at that name. "Grani-Knights.  What a ridiculous name.  They have some real creative geniuses on their side, don't they?  And Mr. Tate has been moving as many of his supporters into place as possible as well, on the teacher and administrative side.  They create artificial disputes and slowly move towards a vote deposing your father.  And what do you do?  Bemoan how your father betrayed you in the trial, and take misguided potshots in your little soap opera."

"I - I didn't know," I said in despair.  "I didn't think..."

"No. No, you didn't.  And now we may all pay the price.  Mr. Tate thinks he'll be in control, but he won't be.  It'll be King Jock Mark Granite, and his brutal lackeys.  And you think what happened to Lisa is the only thing they've done?"  David came close and stared at me again.  "That's just the tip of the iceberg, Marty Martian.  You need to come back down to this planet before it's too late!"

"I- I have to get with Artie.  See what we can do to stop this!"

"Yes, Artie.  I've seen him operate.  Now that is a real leader.  You need to get out there with him, and your sister, and Lindsay and Jan, and Mr., Bruchow and Mr. Branch, and whoever else you can muster, and form a plan to combat this.  But anybody you confer with, you must let me know who they are, so I can give you the all clear as to what side they are really on.  Like don't include Mr. Charles Stein, the new Vice-Principal, because he's not on your side."

"Are you sure?  I thought he kind of liked my Dad."

"Good lord.  You've never met a sycophant?  A suck-up?  Trust me.  He harbors secret resentments, and he'll turn on your father when the time comes."

"How can I trust you?"

David Izzner gave a grim smile, scrunching some of the freckles on his pale face.  "You can't.  But you gotta start somewhere.  And at least I'm telling you to turn to your friends."

The door burst open, and another of David Izzner's crew came in.  It was Max Schickler, whom I barely knew.  He was a mathematical whiz, and ran the accounting side of David's operations.  He was of medium height, and had long stringy black hair.  A large nose highlighted an otherwise bland looking face.  "David!  It's starting!" Max said.

"Already?" David seemed startled.  "My sources said that wouldn't happen until next week!"

"They moved it up!  Soap Opera boy here spooked 'em!" said an irritated Max.

"Moved up what?" I asked.

David looked at me with contempt.  "The meeting to depose your father.  It's happening right now!"

I jumped up out of my seat.  "I have to go!  I have to do something!"

"Haven't you already done enough?" David sneered.  "Oh, just go.  Do whatever you want.  It's too late, though.  The damage has already been done."

I raced out.  I raced out to try to stop a train that was already crashing.

The Imminentable Arrisal of Christmas

As of this writing, it is the day before the eve of Christmas.  Although not officially started, the Christmas season is close enough that our decorations have begun!  Here is our Christmas tree, dutifully guarded by Coca Cola Santa.  Alison's grandfather, on her father's side, was a Coca Cola delivery man, so there is a great nostalgia in her family for Coca Cola collectibles.

Stuffed Dog World has been transformed into Patriotic Christmas Tree Stuffed Dog World Guarded by Star Santa.

Our china cabinet transformed into a Christmas Wonderland.  This is not as much trouble as it looks, as we really didn't have any china in there in the first place.  We're not really a china kind of family.

So Christmas is really very close.

Maybe I should start thinking about gifts and stuff.

Here We Go A-Wassailing and Other Monday Musings

Benjamin and Alison stand in front of the Christmas Tree in the Parish Hall. preparing to be part of the group that goes a-wassailing (Christmas Caroling brought right to someone's door).

Here we are at our first stop.  The lyric book being held up, that says Jingle Bells is mine.  That's because I can't remember the words to virtually any song.  I tend to make up words, and starting to sing "Jingle Bells, Batman Smells, Robin Laid an Egg" somehow didn't seem appropriate.

Benjamin belting out a tune at Baptist Village (a retirement center).  In addition to going to the homes of  our parishioners who are unable to come regularly to services, we went to retirement centers, visiting individual residences and singing at dining halls.

We than came back to the Parish Hall and ate Brunswick Stew prepared by the Pinckneys.  There was also a layout of desserts that was truly an embarrassment of riches.

For those among you who have been following my commentary on Christmas, it's true that Advent is not quite over,  But the last Sunday service of Advent had concluded, and no Christmas decoration or expression was done in the sanctuary - anything done was in the Parish Hall.  Decorations and Christmas Carols in the sanctuary won't occur until Christmas Eve.

At our own home, we have finally decorated the house.  We don't have much outside, but I'm not a big fan of outdoor displays.  We did get a burlap Frosty the Snowman that lights up.  He looks real good, but he had an accident, taking a dive to the ground and breaking up a bit (you try to keep a snowman together in South Georgia), but we think we can put him back together and have him back out tonight!

Usually by the second to last pro football game, Alison and I have written off our team's disappointing seasons, and hoping for better luck next year.  But this year we'll go into the last weekend with the Detroit Lions IN THE PLAYOFFS, and finishing first in their division if they beat Green Bay in Green Bay (miracles happen, but I'm not holding my breath).  And the 6-9 Falcons can earn the playoff by beating the Carolina Panthers next weekend.  Who woulda thunk it?

Yes, America, it is possible to oppose police brutality and support the police at the same time, and to condemn the monstrous behavior of the evil animal that killed two cops in cold blood. Using this incident as a platform to attack the President, Attorney General and others is offensive and way off anything decent on the political spectrum.  Morons and the insane get inspired by all sorts of things, like the two that left the Bundy Ranch and killed cops in Vegas.  We cannot mute political protests and discussions based on the insane actions of a few.  Nor should mega-corporations decide what movies we get to see based on the whims of a dictator.

History of the Trap: March Coup Part 4

4

The next morning I was in the cafetorium early, sitting by myself, scratching out some notes, trying to outline where The Sands of Loren would go next.  I had concluded an important plotline, embedding something important to me (whether others understood it or not), and now I needed to take it in a different direction.  I wasn't sure what that was going to be.  Maybe somebody would try to wrest control of the hospital from Andrea Goldman.  Maybe bring in a new love interest for Dr. Brenda.  Maybe have the hospital invaded by blue aliens.  I just didn't know yet.

As I was musing over these momentous decisions, Ginny Estill came by and sat next to me.  I had not seen or talked to her much without Artie by her side.   She was still beautiful to me, her Diane Keatonesque looks, and her imaginative, flighty personality just made her more attractive.  But I had long since reconciled that she was my best friend Artie's girl.  I would not interfere with that.  And falling as hard as I did for Lisa made me realize that I could move beyond my obsession with Ginny.

Even though Lisa was gone, the memory was still too strong for me to move on to anyone else, and if I did, it wouldn't be Ginny.  Whatever my attraction to Ginny was, her attachment to Artie was something I would not interfere with, under any conditions.  You set up these barriers, and you try to stay strong, and then the Trap just goes on and on, and you realize....well, that's for later, Doctor Duncan.

Ginny punched my arm playfully.  "How are you doing, Lance?  I haven't had much chance lately to talk to you one on one."

Yeah, in maybe like half a year.  "I'm okay, Ginny.  Like everybody else, just trying to find a way to cope with things each and every day."

Ginny looked at me, empathy dripping from her wide, expressive hazel green eyes.  "I know it's hard.  I miss her, too.  I miss so many of them.  So many from our group.  Tom, Sue, Jim, Lisa; it's just too much sometimes."

"It is a hard thing.  It's made even harder when your girlfriend's killer walks free," I answered, swallowing the pain, trying not to break into tears.

"You have to let that go, Lance.  At least stop blaming your father.  He did the best he could."

I looked at her coldly.  "Well, his best wasn't good enough, was it?"

Ginny was miffed.  "I am so sorry that you are so wrapped up in this that you can't see his side.  If you want to blame someone, why don't you blame Mr. Tate for not building a more solid case?  He was completely blindsided by the witnesses Mr. Branch presented, completely unprepared for what they were going to say."

I had enough.  "I don't know.  I don't want to talk about it."

"Don't you understand?  You have a father here, and he loves you.  You know how many of us don't?"

Many people had reminded me of that.  I knew it was true, but I got tired of hearing it.  But something in the way Ginny said it struck a nerve.  And I didn't know, in her case, if she was bemoaning the fact that her father wasn't here, or that he didn't love her.  My impression of her pharmacist father was not good, that he dipped into his own pharmacy supplies and was neglectful if not outright abusive.  "I know.  I'm sorry, Ginny.  I just can't think about that right now."

Ginny nodded her head that she understood.  We were quiet for a moment.

I broke the silence with a new topic.  "I see they have posted a list of the first couples applying for a marriage contract."

"Yes!  Did you see that Carol Dietrich was on the list?"  Carol was the first girl who let me date her more than once, and Ginny was aware of that (we used to talk to each other about all kinds of things).  My serious, romantic nature at the time led me to tell her on the third date that I loved her.  She laughed and told me she was no where near ready to be that committed to someone, and never dated me again.

"Yeah, I saw that.  She certainly changed her mind from when I dated her."

"Women do that sometimes," Ginny said, laughing.  "Bob Short and Pam Kordowski were on the list."

"Yeah, I think everybody saw that coming.  But you know what names were not on that list?"

Ginny looked excited, like I was going to tell her some really juicy gossip.  "No!  Who?"

"You and Artie."

Ginny laughed.  "What?  Are you kidding?  You didn't seriously expect me to be on that list, did you?"

"Well, you two seem to really like each other."

"Of course we do!  Artie is pretty cool.  I like spending time with him, for sure.  But marriage?  Ha!  I mean, I know we may be trapped here for the rest of our lives, I'm not naive, but I always felt like if I got married, and that is a big if, it would be well past when I got out of college, much less high school."

"Does Artie feel that way too?"

She paused for a minute, as if it was something she hadn't thought about before.  "I'm not sure.  He really hasn't said.  But it only matters if both of us agree to it, and I don't, so his opinion only matters when it matches mine."

"Okay.  If you say so."

She huffed up a bit.  "What do you mean, if I say so?"

"Well, you said it yourself. Women do that sometimes."

"Do what?"

"Change their minds, like Carol did," I said, smiling slyly.

"Well, not this woman!"

Somebody came up to us and stared at me.  It was Davis Deen, someone from our class who lived in my neighborhood but had little to do with me since being part of the boys who came over to my house to humiliate me at basketball.  He was taller than me, and had brown hair, slightly longer than normal, covering most of his neck.  Most of the time I had seen him he was sneering and snotty, but he just looked businesslike as he stared at me.  "Come with me," Davis said.  It was not a request.  It was a command.

Ginny didn't like that.  "What's your problem?  You can't just come up to somebody and just say that?  Who are you?  What do you want?"

Clearly, Ginny didn't recognize him.  But I did.  And I knew who he was an associate of.  It had been awhile, but I was not afraid to go see him.

"It's okay, Ginny," I reassured her.  "I'll go with you, Davis."

At least this time I didn't have a bag over my head.

History of the Trap: March Coup Part 3

3

The hallway of Huron General.  Dr. Marr and  Hospital owner Andrea Goldman are clutching each other at one end of the hallway.  Standing with them is Detective Linn Sharpton, with a gun pointed at Reddy Pulvey, the hospital janitor who is at the other end, with a knife to the throat of Nurse Rackett.

Detective Sharpton:  Put down the weapon, Reddy!  This can't end well for you.  The best thing for you to do is to let her go, and we can talk about this at police headquarters.          

Reddy Pulvey:  Stay away from me, Copper.  I know you got the goods on me, but I ain't coming quietly.  Back away or I gut her like the squealing pig she is. 

Nurse Rackett squeals.

Reddy Pulvey:  Shut up, you sniveling cow.  You treat me like dirt, and even though I'm nice to you, you don't give me the time of day.  This is what you deserve!

Enter Doctor Ronald Scott, Chief of Surgery.  He stands behind Detective Sharpton.

Dr. Scott:  What is going on here?  Reddy, have you lost your mind?

Reddy Pulvey:  No!  I've just found it!  I'm not covering for you anymore Dr. Scott!  It's over! 

Dr. Scott turns to Detective Sharpton, looking baffled.

Dr.  Scott:  You see?  The man is obviously insane!

Reddy Pulvey:  No, I'm not.  You're the one who told me to kill Judge McKenzie!  You didn't want Dr. Marr to know that you were her real brother and that it was you that set fire to their house and killed your parents!

Dr.  Marr:  What?  That can't be!  You're Frankie?  I thought you had died in that fire as well!

Nurse Rackett:  At one time, weren't you like his...girlfriend?  Yee-yuck!

Dr.  Scott:  I'm no such person!  I deny everything!

Reddy Pulvey:  Do you deny that you told me just yesterday to kill Andrea Goldman?  That you didn't like her rejecting your advances and the way she was looking into your expense account? 

A light went on in Andrea's head.

Andrea Goldman:  Oh, my stars!  That's who I overheard you on the phone with yesterday.  'Take care of it for me.  I'm tired of dealing with the no's and the meddling'!  And I had just figured out that you were having the hospital pay thousands to a Ready Medical Supplies!  (She points to Reddy)  That's him!  You were paying him to...murder!

Dr. Scott growled at Reddy Pulvey.

Dr. Scott:  You!  You worthless scum!  How dare you drag me into your criminal madness!

Reddy roared and threw Nurse Rackett to the ground. He charged down the hall towards Dr. Scott, flailing his knife.  Detective Sharpton shoots and Reddy crumples to the hall floor, just a few feet away from Dr. Scott.

Dr. Scott:  Thank goodness you shot him, Detective!  Who knows that madman would do next?

Detective Sharpton turns and points her gun at Dr. Scott.

Detective Sharpton:  You're under arrest!  As an accomplice to the murder of Judge Adam McKenzie, Duncan Rheinz, Amelia Proust and conspiracy to murder Andrea Goldman, I hereby order you to surrender.

Deputy Billy Dodge entered and handcuffed Dr. Scott.

Dr. Scott:  My lawyer will have your job, you pathetic excuse for a detective. 

Detective Sharpton:  I guess that would be from whatever lawyer you haven't had killed yet.

Dr. Brenda Marr gently grabbed Dr. Scott's arm as he passed by.

Dr. Marr:  Frankie, I promise you.  I'll do whatever I can for you.  If you're my brother, I owe you that.

Dr. Scott leaned over and whispered in her ear, before he could be pulled away.

Dr. Scott:  The fire should have got you too.

A pair of medics rushes to Reddy Pulvey to see if they can resuscitate him.  Dr Marr does not.  She is shocked by what Dr. Scott has whispered to her.

A wobbly Nurse Rackett joined Andrea and Dr. Marr.

Andrea:  So, really, he was your boyfriend for awhile?

Dr. Marr:  Briefly.  And, I'm telling you, we never got past first base.

Nurse Rackett:  Still....yee-yuck!

History of the Trap: March Coup Part 2

2

"Three!  Two!  One!  Open Camera One!"  Sammy Holland, our director in training, pointed at Phil Irman, who operated Camera One.  Phil's Camera light came on, and he focused on Ronald Housely, who gave his usual opening shtick, "Hey, everybody!  It's time for the Lookouts!  The Loren High Variety Hour of Power starring the incredible Bob Short, and featuring interviews with Council leaders Wilbur James and Loren's very own superstar track champion, Mark Granite!  Then we have some incredible live music performed by The Huron Mountain Boys Trio!  And we wrap up with a pivotal, not to be missed episode of The Sands of Loren!"  He paused for the applause track.  We didn't have the room for a live audience.  "And now, here comes.....the Bob!"

Switch to Camera Two, operated by Jason Wagner.  This was he camera that been operated by Randy Fitch, before he was crushed in the horrible tunnel collapse.  Jason, after months, was now almost as efficient as Randy was.

"Good to be back on the air, everyone!  It's been a long week as we have fine tuned and repaired our equipment"  Soon we would have to face that we were running out of the basic supplies, bulbs and such, to keep going, but we had not quite got there yet.  Bob Short smiled broadly at the camera.  He was back together close to his girlfriend, Pamela Kordowski, and everyone was betting they would be first in line to apply for a marriage license.  "We have a great show lined up.  Let's get right into it, shall we?"

Bob brought on Wilbur James and Mark Granite, and they began talking about the changes to the council, and the proposed changes as to how it governed.  Wilbur talked fairly eloquently about the changes, and how it would help the whole school operate better.  He talked so pretty, that when he was finished, I wanted to say to him, "James, you're crazy!", like he did to me after my campaign spiel.  But I was a better person than that.  Or just more cowardly.

Bob didn't seem to but all of it.  "Well, Wilbur, I'm grateful that students will be able to marry, at least to be able to apply for it, but I am unsure of this cutting back of Mr. Martin's authority."

Wilbur shook his head.  "Oh no, Bob!  You misunderstand!  This is simply to shore up his authority, give it the confirmation he needs.  It's all about checks and balances, you know.  You have to remember, there is no school board anymore, at least one we can access.   So it's just restoring some checks and balances, is all."

Wilbur turned to Mark Granite for confirmation.  Mark looked bored and just nodded his head a bit.  "Yeah.  What he said."

"I understand, yeah.  But I'm one who believes Mr. Martin has done an outstanding job of leading us.  Yes, there have been some disasters, but he has always been there to pull us through.  He has always encouraged the best in us.  I see him as more of a Captain of the ship, rather than a politician.  Somebody has to be in charge, particularly in an emergency.  And I can't think of a better person than Mr.  Martin."  A couple of crew members clapped at that, including Phil Irman and Franny Cranfield.   To my shame, I did not.  Mr. Resart quickly shushed them.  He did not approve of such expressions of opinion from his crew.

Mark looked a little disturbed at the way the conversation was going and I though he was going to offer a biting retort.  Instead he just changed the subject.  "You know, Bob, I am very excited to report that we are going to have a spectacular track and field meet in just a few weeks.  We'll have teams from the Graduates, Seniors, Juniors, Sophomores, and get this, even the faculty!"

All three laughed.  "Yeah, we may have to give that last group a break, let them start on the fifty yard line!" Bob chortled.

The conversation never did go back to Council politics.  When I saw Artie later, he was grateful for Bob's furtive defense, but though it would have been way better had they brought him or another pro-Martin Council member on.  I understood why he thought that way, but I don't think it would have made any difference.

The Huron Mountain Boys Trio came on next.  The name was a bit of a goof, as Huron is as flat as the rest of Eastern Michigan, and the group also contained one girl.  They were composed of a guitar, a bass, and a violinist.  The violinist was the girl, Maria Guevera, a talented girl of Hispanic descent.  They played together beautifully, with wonderful harmonies and rhythms.  The singing was pretty good too, led by Danny Hassan, whose mother was the choral teacher.  Their catchiest song, New Farmer's Rag, was an ode to the joys of having discovered the cows and goats, and a celebration of our more bountiful fresh food.

Then it was time for The Sands of Loren.  I had a more time than usual to prepare for it, and it was going to be a doozy.  Always dangerous to piss off the man with the pen.