Victims, Villains, and Wanderlust

8/1
Saw the Yankees. It was just about everything one could ask for in a trip to Yankee Stadium. They set the stadium record for home-runs with eight. The crowd was electric. It was about the loudest I had ever heard a crowd at a baseball game, though my background as a Royals fan is a handicap in that category. I think if I had been born in New York I would be a Yankee’s fan myself. There is something a bit magic about being in a stadium with so much tradition and energy, and seeing a team that fields half a dozen future hall-of-famers every game. But, alas, I am a Kansas City boy and hate the Yankees. Maybe even more so after today. Views of the Stadium, and A-Rod at the bat, going for number 500.
In the afternoon I walked to Ground Zero. It was powerful, as if the grave caverns stretched out and over the surrounding block, creating still sanctuary amid the energy so palpable throughout the rest of the city.
I was overcome with sorrow as I peered through the chain link fence and into the hole left where the towers once stood. The last time I was here was ten years ago with my family. We had bought lunch from street vendors, sat in the inter-tower pavilion and watched a big band play old standards. Now it was debris, and men in hard hats, and onlookers, still reverent after nearly six years.
What I felt more than anything else was that sorrow. Not a surprising feeling to be sure, but what followed was another, more painful type of sorrow. Where the first wave of sadness came in response to those who lost lives and loved ones in the attacks, the second came with the acknowledgement that this was small potatoes compared to attacks in the like of Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and Dresden, the campaign in Vietnam, to mention only the worst of those we inherit and must account for.
There is a fine line between “terrorism” and “war.” That is not a new idea. Neither is the fact that the victims and the villains each draw their own line. What troubled me is how quickly roles switch, and villains and victims exchange hats without a second thought.
Religious fanaticism is one of the most destructive, detestable, and obtuse forces on this planet. The second place entry is nationalism, and it is a photo finish. Both are diseases of the worse kind.
Across the street was the Church of St. Peter, undamaged in the blast and unofficial mission hub of the aftermath of the attacks. Workers came to the church to be ministered to mentally, spiritually, and physically, with the church feeding people, and offering the services of volunteer masseuses. Inside is a memorial to the post 9-11 ministry of the Church, which previously had simply been known for being George Washington’s home church.
The placards and signs described the efforts the parish had taken. I was struck when I learned that the church became an ecumenical worship hub in the truest sense, its worship services, prayer vigils, and Eucharist offerings being open to and attended by people of all faiths and denominations. What a beautiful image: all God’s children coming together, despite the different lenses through which they search for and view God, and, apparently, finding Him. Human beauty of the most profound type, of connection in the deepest way, of overcoming rifts so traditionally terrible and so seemingly impassable – especially when it was in the wake of violence triggered by the same rift.It was an exhausting day, but a good day. I needed it.

8/4
We’ve had good winds, finally. It had been hot and windless for the past month, with hardly a break. We had put in our time and were finally being rewarded. We made 11 kts coming into Nantucket Island yesterday. The blow is just as strong today. We have a shallow reef in our mains’l and are clipping along at seven kts.
Yesterday morning I spent three hours in Nantucket. It was plenty. What once had been a good, strong, working-class whaling hub had been systematically corrupted and robbed of anything resembling charm or spirit. As the whaling industry died out (a good thing to be sure,) the sailors and blue collar workers moved off the island and followed work elsewhere, leaving behind the wealthy ship owners to do with their private heap of rock and grasses as they saw fit, which meant creating a soulless vacuum of insular consumerism, pastel polos, and a general atmosphere of homogenous, lily-white financial exhibitionism. The ice-cream was good though.

8/5
Last night our watch underway was nearly perfect. We were on duty from midnight to 4am. Shooting stars were streaking through the black crystal skies, humpback whales were spouting and singing all around us as we clipped along in a fresh breeze, cleaving the black ocean beneath us and leaving a trail of neon phosphorescent krill behind us. All of this lit by a brilliant half-moon bright enough to read by.
I had a good conversation with Adam, the director of the Rocking the Boat program we have onboard right now. We worked ourselves up into a youth-worker fervor talking about all the intrinsic lessons tall ship sailing offers.
I think Nantucket topped me off. I am ready for a change of scenery. I miss the Caribbean. This summer, though it has been fantastic, many of our ports of call, minus Gloucester, parts of New York and Boston, and New Bedford, have seemed like places where the wealthy go to enjoy being wealthy without inconveniences like poor people. I’m tired of seeing a show made of the most meaningless of successes. I’m tired of seeing people work so hard and spend so much to insulate themselves from the rest of the world, and I am tired of feeling insulated from everything myself. I am ready to leave again, though I wish I could bring my friends with me.

7/31
Car alarms, sirens, helicopters, gigantic slices of pizza, I am in New York. We arrived two nights ago and dropped anchor right next to the Statue of Liberty. As the sun went down, the lights of the city behind us blinked on, and the statue was flooded in an angelic glow.

I had one of those moments I so often have had in these past months and was a bit dumb-struck at the places my job takes me, and what an unbelievable blessing every day at sea has been, even the tough days.
I have the day off today, and am planning on wandering around, seeing things, watching people, and hopefully getting to a ballgame in the House that Ruth Built. I will be avoiding F.A.O. Schwartz completely. Knowing myself, I would not be able to leave without buying some Star Wars Legos and my bunk is cluttered enough as it is. Star Wars Legos are sweet, though. I'd probably buy an Optimus Prime action figure too.

Regardless of what I do, I am maintaining one firm goal for my day in New York: don’t go broke. We will see. I want to get a photo of me at Yankee Stadium where I am handing the cashier a $20 for a hot dog and then not getting any change back.

Should be fun.

Gloucester: One of my Favorite Places

7/26
Today we are back in Martha’s Vinyard, stopped over in the afternoon to give the kids some beach time and a break from the ship. They had been onboard for three full days and done very well, but were excited nonetheless for a return to civilization (something greatly lacking onboard the ship, apparently).
Last week we got to spend the day in one of my most favorite places in the country, Gloucester, MA. It is about as soaked in schooner history and east coast maritime flavor as anywhere, yet it is without tackiness or that tourist friendly candy coating, and it is a bit off the beaten path. It has a salty history and is just as salty today.
Along the shoreline drive there are monuments that commemorate the impact the sea has had on the town.
The Gloucester Schoonerman is a memorial to all the men from Gloucester lost at sea from the town’s inception in 1623 to today.

A bit further down the road is a monument to all the wives and families of the men lost at sea. Most of the men who lived in Gloucester were wrapped up in the fishing industry, and it was up to the wives and children to take on the role of breadwinner in the wake of each lost sailor.

Another cool thing in Gloucester is the Church of the Blessed Voyage. It is a small Catholic church and all the Virgin Mary icons are holding schooners, the traditional fishing vessel.

It is incredible how much the lives of the people in Gloucester have been wrapped up in the sea. The sea is their livelihood, their source of food, their platform for greatness, and the prime author of their tragedies. They are so holistically intertwined with the sea that not even their quest for relationship with God can escape it. As a sea-sensitive soul myself I appreciate this heartily. I have been in love with Gloucester since I came here the first time ten years ago. Glad to get back. Everyone needs to go. If I ever get married I want to have it in this church. If you notice in this last picture, the walls are lined with models of fishing vessels, schooners, and other kinds. Just like all those wrapped up in crossing waters, it is impossible for me to separate seafaring from spirituality.

Been Gone for a While, Big Chunk to Catch Up

6/24
Today, while in New London, we had a day off. Kirk, Carrie and I took out the ship’s sailing dory, Gecko, to play in the busy waterway of the river. Gecko is about 12 feet long, has a homemade sail, and the tiller has broken off, so we steer with one hand in the water holding on to the rudder.

We were a bit of a sight. Prince William was in New London for the weekend and docked downwind of us, so we reached out our sail and skipped over to say hello. A friend of mine from the 2004 Voyage of Understanding was working on board as a deckhand, and she gave a big wave as all the other PW crew stood and stared, bewildered, at our stupid little craft.
Then the adventure started. We had to get back to the Gamage, which was directly upwind though only about 1/8th of a mile away. We left the PW on a starboard tack, across the traffic lane to nearly the other side of the harbor. We tacked across the channel three or four times, and being a vessel under sail, had right of way over all the other vessels. At one point, when cutting back across the channel towards Gamage with small fishing boats zooming past, we were caught between two gigantic incoming and outgoing ferries. We were making about one to one and-a-half knots. The ferries go 15 to 20. It was a bit disconcerting at first, but according to the rules of the road they had to yield and they did, slowing down, allowing us to amble by. We made it back after the better part of an hour at this, laughing at how ridiculous (inconvenient) we must’ve seemed to the other boaters. Being out in the channel with Gecko was like trying to go down the freeway on one roller skate.

6/29
Last week we had a group of boy scouts on board, a total blast. They took to the ship and ship-life immediately. When ashore they were a bit of a spectacle, though. They would hoot and holler at every young-ish, attractive-ish female they came across. Ridiculous. All the crew and chaperones would shake their heads and shush them, but it was no good. They were boy scouts, and were dead-set on repelling any and all women in the vicinity. Fun group, though.
During the trip we passed by Newport, RI, where ships were gathering for the tall ships festival this weekend, which will be followed by a parade. As the ships were coming in we saw Marine 1, the presidential helicopter, carrying President Bush to the festival. We continued on.

7/1
Today is my birthday. I am 24. We were in Newport, RI, for the tall ships parade. Spirit of Massachusetts came close alongside and my Uncle Bert, who was on board Spirit, bellowed, “Happy birthday, Ben!” I had been working on something on deck, and was surprised to hear his voice, as I had not seen them coming up, nor did I know he was out with them. We shouted greetings to each other across the water, and then he directed both ships in singing “happy birthday.” They veered off to get into their parade position, and I got back to work.
As all the ships were milling about in the Narragansett bay, waiting for the parade to begin, we got a glimpse of what the coast of New England might have looked like a century ago, minus the power boats and motor yachts of course.
While in the parade we passed right by the Picton Castle. I was aloft on the main mast at the time, and sent my greetings to the deck of my former home, which were received by smiling friends and returned in kind. Blue skies, Beautiful tall ships everywhere, friends and family, one of the best birthdays ever.

Pride of Baltimore II

Bluenose II, skippered by the one and only Phil Watson, onetime 1st mate of the Picton Castle.

Love to you Phil.

Schooner Virginia

Barque Gloria, the flagship of Columbia

A view of the bay as it once may have been. Picton Castle is the small black barque in the center.
7/4
Yesterday we were anchored in Vineyard Haven of Martha’s Vineyard, MA. We toured the Gannon and Benjamin boatyard, one of the more renowned boatyards on the coast. We got a good glimpse of why, too. We saw a 60 foot schooner in the shop, being mostly assembled, and even though unfinished, it was one of the most beautiful looking boats I had ever seen.
We bumped into Mary Ann from the Picton Castle while on shore. They were anchored in New Bedford for the night, and she and a friend took a ferry to the island for the day. She gave me a big Nova Scotian hug and we laughed and caught up while the kids went on ahead. She said yes, she had seen me aloft at the parade and was waving, and that so and so say hi, and nobody will believe that we bumped into each other, and we must have our picture taken together as proof. She is such a fantastic lady. Not a sour bone in her body. It was good to see her.
I have never been to Martha’s Vineyard before. It is very nice. It’s a great place to be white. There is absolutely zero cultural diversity. They have mastered the art of the traditional white-American lifestyle. It looked like the set of Leave it to Beaver, or The Truman Show, or something. It was jam packed for the 4th of July.
Cheyenne, Shayma, and I went out to dinner with Cheyenne’s friend, Max, a former Ocean Classroom student and native of the island. He started working at the Gannon and Benjamin boatyard at age 11, sailed with Cheyenne on the Gamage as a high-schooler, and has been around the sea his whole life, a natural born salt.
I listened as they shared stories about old shipmates, mates and captains, about people with names like “Snark,” “Sterling,” or “Bobby Blood.” Sailor names. We ate and talked for the better part of three hours before parting ways; us back to Gamage and Max to his girlfriend.
Today we have set sail, headed out to Provincetown, being pushed by a beautiful, warm breeze.
Storms expected for tonight. 30 knot winds, 12 foot seas, a nice fresh blow. Right now we are making five knots with our main, fore, and stays’l set
Dolphins came and played after dinner, meinke and humpbacks this afternoon. We saw a family of humpbacks breach a good dozen or so times a few hundred yards off our port side. It was beautiful to see it, but almost equally fun was watching the kids ooh and ahh and squeal each time the gigantic black head would shoot up out of the water, exposing the grooves of its mammoth grey underbelly before splashing back down into the seas.

7/5
The squalls came. Cheyenne and I were on watch for the worst of it. We had sustained winds of 35 knots with gusts over 40. Pretty lumpy. We lost a lid to one of our deck boxes when the starboard rail went under water.
Most of the kids sat on the deckhouse, shivering in the stinging rain while Cheyenne and I stood on the quarterdeck, eating pb&j sandwiches, grinning.As the wind reached its highest point we struck the stays’l. I went out to get a quick stow of the sail and prevent it from flapping to shreds or dragging in the ocean. To do this I had to lean over the stays’l club (essentially a small boom) and gather up the whipping sheet of canvas. I balanced my hips against the club, hanging out over the starboard side, as waves and foam were washing over the rail and nothing separating me from the ocean besides my balance and fistful of sail.
After getting the thing under control I went back to the quarterdeck, big smile on my face and said to Chey, “that was fun.” It was one of those times where I absolutely love doing what I do. I never once felt overwhelmed or frightened, just filled with adrenaline and the thrill of working comfortably in conditions that six months prior would have scared the snot out of me.

7/7
I have moments while onboard ships. It’s hard to explain them without sounding corny or selling them short.
Yesterday evening I was lying on top of the deckhouse looking up the main mast, at the junction of timber, rope and tar; all shrouds, all lines, all canvas met at this point, the pinnacle of the rig.
I felt then as I have in other moments a brief loss of self. My worries and desires faded out and all I cared about was being on the ship and being part of the ship, and working the ship, because as I worked the ship I made her better and in turn make myself better too.

7/10
Finished with another program. We are in Maine and will spend the next three days here doing maintenance. I love Maine. Mountains of pine forests punctuated with sheer cliffs and ocean. My family is meeting me here. I am excited about getting some quality time with them. As we grow older, it’s great to see how we all can have so much fun together. Should be good times. Also, I plan on seeing Transformers. I haven’t been this excited about a movie in a long, long time.

Owl's Head Light, outside Rockland, ME.

7/14
Saw Transformers. Probably the coolest movie I have ever seen.

7/18
Humpbacks everywhere.
“We’re surrounded!” Shayma was yelling, giddy.
They were breaching and bubble feeding and playing all around us.
Bubble feeding is when the whales circle their prey from below while blowing bubbles. The circle of bubbles rises up and traps all the fish and krill and then the whales lunge upwards, mouths agape, and swallow their meals, much like an inverse bobbing-for-apples type of exercise. It’s really a rare thing to see whales bubble feeding in the wild. Luckily I got some pictures of them as they breached the surface with their gigantic mouths opened wide.

Also, some good fluke (tail) shots:
As the afternoon wore on the whales approached closer and closer, getting braver and taking curious looks at all of us. At one point there were three or four humpbacks right next to the boat. I wanted so badly to jump over the side and ride on one of their great broad backs. Some more pictures:

6/23
Finished with another week. The schedule has been insane. We get up at 0715 and are on deck and working, for the most part, until 2100, with at least a 90 minute anchor/dock watch interrupting the night’s sleep. I end each trip exhausted, thankful for the quiet days of maintenance at the dock.
However, in no way do I loathe the time out with the kids. It’s the exact opposite. I love it. Last week we had kids from disadvantaged backgrounds and I saw a lot of my kids from Chicago in them.
The program they were in was phenomenal. It was everything that INTRSCT would have loved to do had we had the financial connections and staffing, and it showed in the kids. I was sad to see them go because they had so much potential, and their school was clearly showing them how to grow into the best men and women they could. It’s always exciting to see kids that pliable, with that much potential, and showing them how to unlock it. Had we had them all summer, I think they would have learned some powerful and unique lessons. They sure seemed ripe for it.
Our last night of the voyage we were planning on sailing through the night, but an incoming thunderstorm, coupled with the so many of the kids’ predisposition to seasickness changed our minds pretty quickly. So instead we ducked into a cove on Fishers’ Island and were soon joined by the famous Schooner Amistad, on her way back to Mystic Seaport.
The night was nearly biblical. It started at sunset. The neon orange sun was setting behind thick, purple cumulo-nimbus thunderclouds and looked like a watercolor painting that had bled through. At twilight, the fireworks shifted from celestial to electric, with spirals and spikes of lightening coursing through the clouds. The kids cheered and hollered until we sent them below for safe shelter as the storm moved closer. The winds howled steady and we were pelted with cold bb’s of rain for the better part of two hours before it had passed overhead and left behind it a calm, cool, windless night. For a minute though, it was the kind of apocolyptic display that makes Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins drool.
In what little spurts of free time I’ve had, I’ve been reading some fantastic books. Before heading off for the Gamage in May I made a run to Borders and dropped $150 on some books I’ve wanted to read for a while but haven’t gotten around to. I started out the summer with Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises, moved on to Slaughterhouse Five, by Kurt Vonnegut, and am in the middle of On the Road, by Jack Kerouac. Though my writing time has been virtually nil, my reading time has been legendary. 30-45 minutes here or there doesn’t lend itself to much of a creative process, but it’s been working out perfectly for cruising through other people’s work. And besides, they say that one of the best ways to become a better writer is to read, read, read. So at least I am learning from some of the masters of our century.
I suppose I could say the same of my sailing endeavors as well. It’s a fairly invigorating thing to be learning from the best in the things that make me catch fire with ambition and desire.
We are docked back in New London for the weekend. As soon as we finished our day’s work today the Prince William, the same from Charleston and my 2004 Voyage of Understanding, was hauling tight her dock lines at the same pier, a few hundred yards away from us. Better yet, one of my crewmates from the ’04 voyage was onboard as crew. Hopefully this weekend we can get some catch up time.
That’s it for this week. Prayers to the O’Sullivan’s, and drinks to life and loved ones all around.
Peace and Much Love,
Ben

Mystic Grey-Water

6/12
Some good sailing. I am getting familiar with schooner life. Lots of different tricks. At times I feel like a total beginner again. Thankfully though I don’t feel that way often, but it’s still more than I would like.
We have been skipping up and down the Narragansett Bay and Block Island Sound for the past couple weeks, taking different groups around on short trips. This week we have our kids, all in middle school, for six days. I have been enjoying getting to know them. It’s especially fun to get the ones who show what a friend of mine calls “sea-sensitive souls.” You can tell as soon as they walk on board. Their eyes get wider, they look up at the rigging slack jawed, they can sense the potential for magic in the ship’s wooden beams.
Last night we anchored at Tarpaulin Cove near Martha’s Vineyard, next to a simple, attractive lighthouse. We shuttled the kids to the beach for some exploration and shell collecting, did some work in the rig, and then relaxed until they got back.

When we pulled up the anchor and got underway, the front edge of a nor’easter had crept up on us and blew us fair, making our 36 nautical mile passage to Dutch Harbor, CT, in under four hours. Fast.

6/13
Today has been energizing. The morning brought with it gale warnings from the weather man. We gave the kids some time hiking around Dutch Island. After some salty boat runs back to the Gamage (all were in their oilskins as waves crashed over the windward gunwale with whitecaps all around), we hauled up the hook and made our way west, still riding the nor’easterly winds, bound for the historic seaport in Mystic, CT. The main is reefed, the winds are fresh, and we are making eight knots. Occasional waves make their way over our windward rails and keep us damp. The girls squeal, the guys all yell “whoa!” and the crew just stand there, stoic, collected, salty. If the spray gets us we catch an eye of a fellow sailor and quick smiles are flashed in quiet exhilaration.
After lunch I went over the lines on the ship with some of the students. There are about 40 lines in all. The kids were sharp. Some of them got the majority of the primary lines without being prompted, and almost none needed more than one reminder of a line’s name. Right after finishing my last go around the deck, Captain called for hands to take in the mains’l preventer. My guys handled the line themselves masterfully. I was very proud. It is energizing to have a group that is on long enough to begin to plug into the ship and how she works. The baffled and overwhelmed kids that came on four days ago are beginning to look like sailors. It’s a beautiful process. I know because I am a participant myself.

6/15
We arrived in Mystic, CT, yesterday morning, coming in with the tides up the Mystic River, docked in the historic seaport next to fellow Ocean Classroom schooner, the Spirit of Massachusetts, and the Charles W. Morgan, at one point the last working whaling ship in the United States, though it’s retired now and lives here at the dock. We leave first thing tomorrow.

Today has been warm. The sun came out, the winds were gentler, and it finally feels like summer. It has been cold and overcast for the past two weeks. I think all are thankful for the break in the weather.

Today we had a pin chase, where the kids divide into watches, a crewmember calls out a line, and the kids have to race to the pin where the line is made fast. My watch won.
This group has been fantastic. I am going to sad to say goodbye, but it has been a lot of fun seeing them develop over the past few days. The difference in them even in this short time is remarkable.
I have spent the last two days working in the rigging while the kids are off in Mystic exploring the museums and terrorizing the ice cream shop. It is always a good day when your feet are planted firmly on footropes and ratlines. Our starboard topsides got a fresh coat of paint yesterday, and today I finished off the bowsprit and then tarred the head rig and fore port shrouds.
At this point, I think it’d be in line to address what is known as grey-water. The Gamage, like all ships, has a grey-water tank/bilge. The label of “grey-water” itself leads one to imagine water that is less than pure, if not downright nasty, and one would be correct in assuming as much. Basically, grey-water is this: all food scraps and water run-off from the galley goes into a big tank and sits there, fermenting and rotting. Black-water, if you’re interested, is second-hand toilet water.
Yesterday while I was sanding the bowsprit, Cheyenne, the second mate, and Carrie, a deckhand, were in Odie, the smallboat, painting the topsides. Kirk, the engineer, was tinkering with the grey-water tank pump. He was putting the finishing touches on the refurbished pump and asked Carrie and Cheyenne to tell him if it was working properly. As soon as he flipped it on Cheyenne answered with a horrified wail, “SHUT IT OFF! SHUT IT OFF!” and so on, as gallons of stagnant grey-water were discharged directly into her mouth. Her helpless wailing prompted not a sympathetic off-switching of the pump, but rather rolls of uncharitable and wild laughter from Kirk and Chief Mate Shayma, who was also witness at the scene. For my part, I was wrapped tight around the bowsprit, giggling, trying not fall in the water.
Eventually the pump was shut off – we didn’t want to swamp Odie, after all – and Cheyenne temporarily suspended her painting duty to smoke a cigarette in the hopes of killing any remnant tastes of grey-water. I’d like to think I would have been quicker to jump up and switch off the pump than Kirk or Shayma had I not been at the other end of the ship, but then again I’d also like to think I could bench press 500 lbs and outrun mustangs. Oh well. It was funny.
Another glimpse of life at sea I suppose.

Wintry Summer, James Blunt Sucks

6/8
Frustration. Not much time to write, trying to furl sail with kids on a daysail who couldn’t care less, small glories and victories on deck interspersed with a sailing brain fart (Coiling a line counterclockwise. Twice. Stupid. Ridiculous.), getting turned down for a second time by the same senior editor, both times with the basic caveat of, “I love it, the pub board voted it down despite my efforts, but keep sending in things of this caliber. Sorry.”
Frustration.
As the summer begins, so does my first professional winter. It is the first, and I am learning to handle it. It won’t be the last.
Chief Mate Shayma, and I were in the local New London area newspaper. A photographer took a picture of us while we were tuning the headrig.


Also funny, while at the Laundromat doing ship's laundry we found a Jehovah’s Witness’ tract with a picture of a man beating his wife, and the man looked uncannily like our fearless and domestically docile captain. If I had a scanner and a photo of Cap, you would be in on the joke. But for now, take my word for it, it’s funny. We all laughed a lot. Wish you could've been there and so on. Also, one of the ladies in the tract looked like Peggy Poteat, the head head of the English department at SNU, except in her picture she was in agony from being slaughtered by our loving Jehovah’s merciful angels. This particular tract followed the basic Bible tract formula: comic book + theological dogma – logic = inbred evangalism. I took it home.
On the car ride back from the Laundromat I reclined in the bags of clean laundry, reflecting on how frustrated I've been the past few days, though the cold beer and ice pressed up against my quickly numbing calf reminded me that it hasn't been that tough. I still have been learning a lot and improving as a sailor every day. Plus I have great crewmates and I get to see my Uncle Bert a lot. I just need to learn to adapt to the lack of routine, and make my own rhythm within the chaos.
At the risk of plagiarizing Donald Miller, I need to be like a good jazz musician, find the hidden melodies and harmonies, and play a song that was under the surface of the other elements. Jeez it sounds corny, but that’s what I was thinking on the car ride, and it brought me some peace of mind. Sometimes it pays to be corny. Just ask James Blunt. What a filthy wanker. Do not follow this link and read his song lyrics. You will be worse for it. Also, don’t go to his MySpace and listen to the song. Heaven may conveniently “lose” your file.
Ok, love to all, thanks for reading.