Travels

Two points: The current book that I picked up from a hotel lobby in Cairo is written by a 15 year old boy. 15 years!  I have loved fantasy books since I was a dork in elementary school, and Eragon certainly has the markings of a good (if not somewhat

Or maybe we think interestingness comes from the interests themselves.  I may not be into photography that much, but if I keep up with the photography blogs and social networks and e-mags, it can seem like that I really am into photography.

But then, we talked, out of bored neccessity. It trickled, then flowed, then swelled. "America?" Edan asked.  "How many women are there in American? I hear there are many."  Then moments later, "No tell me, forget the Mexicans and others, how many Americans?"

Beneath the balcony, the orchestral sounds of honks, beeps, screeches, skids, taps, groans, cries, whistles... knocks and rumbles and mumbles and songs – short and long, bursts of colors and smells – swelled.  Same instruments, but a different tune than New York.

Black & white soldiers attack and defend and scout in platoons and teams and solo and heroic maneuvers with each dice roll. Snake eyes. Twins.  Triple threat. Coming of the Beast. The more I play, the more obsessed I get...

Earth melded onto rocks, rocks perched atop pillars carved from fire, fire molded valleys into undulating folds, like, dare I say it, labia tissue of Mother Earth. It's an eerie landscape, something out of a B-movie.