The Steppes of Siberia

World Adventurer (September 19, 2003 Chautauqua)

    On the third day of my journey, I awoke at 8:00, just before we stopped at Amazar (7,012 km from Moscow). There is a graveyard of steam locomotives, but the very short halt does not give any time to explore. The countryside is now fairly well wooded and hilly, described as "taiga" in the "Lonely Planet" guide. Our train followed a river that flowed over icy-looking rapids next to the tracks.

   We were now about half-way through eastern Siberia, rolling southwest towards the junction with the Trans-Manchurian at Tarskaya (6,312 km from Moscow).

   About 10:00, we stopped at Mogocha and stretched the legs on the platform. When we got rolling again, I joined the three Aleks in my compartment for breakfast. They were already into the beer, and we all continued to imbibe off and on for the rest of the day. A very convivial atmosphere developed, and we played cards for a few hours to while away the time.

   I also managed to find the time to finish the book I had been reading, Thomas Carlyle's history of the French Revolution, when it began to warm up inside the train considerably. All that day, in contrast to the day before and the days following, it was like summer. It is possible that there may have been a forest fire nearby, as the air was hazy, as well. There were a number of grass fires in evidence as the hilly, wooded regions gave way to flat, bald prairie.

   There were stops at Anyireyshevsk (about 4:00 pm), Shilka (6:00 pm), and Chita (11:30 - 6,204 km from Moscow).  Just before Chita, the train had to slow down considerably, as there was work being done on the track. Just what sort of work is a mystery, perhaps they were clearing a rock fall. We passed the crew, taking a break from whatever exertions they may have had to endure.

   Between the cities, we saw log cabin settlements, which showed the abuse that the Siberian winter inflicts on the countryside and anything else that gets in its way. During the summer of 1998, this area was flooded in some places right up to the tracks, and all that was visible of the towns was the roofs of some houses and the tops of some haystacks.

   Our stop at Chita brought us a whole new batch of passengers, filling out the rest of the compartments in our car. Many of them were soldiers, including one officer with a really big hat. Some luggage was stored in my compartment, but I did not get a new room-mate.

   During the night, we passed through Bada (5,884 km from Moscow), a small town built around an airbase. There is supposed to be a view of the airdrome and some Mig fighters, but they were not visible at all that late at night.

   While I slept, we passed through Petrovsk-Zaibalsky (5,790 km from Moscow), known as the place where a lot of the Decembrist revolutionaries were jailed in 1830-39. There is supposed to be a large mural in the train station depicting this, but I was snoozing.

   Also while I slept, we passed through into a new time zone at the 5,771 km marker (time was Moscow plus 5 hours), and the town of Zaudinsky (5,655 km from Moscow), where the Trans-Mongolian joins. A little over 100 km south lies the capital of Ulaan Bataar, containing many interesting sights to see, not the least of which are museums dedicated to the history of the Horde, led by Ghenghis Khan, that conquered an empire stretching from one end of Asia to the other, and beyond.

The terminal at Ulan-Ude

   My fourth day on the train started at 7:30, and I had just enough time to get cleaned up for the stop at Ulan Ude (5,647 km from Moscow). Founded in the 17th century as a Cossack garrison on the Selenga River, it grew as a trading post on the tea route between Irkutsk and China. It began the 20th century with a population of 10,000, but this grew tenfold with the onset of Stalin-era industrialization.

   The weather outside had gone cold again as we passed down the Selenga river valley towards Lake Baikal, which we reached at 10:30. Our train passed by about one quarter of the lake's coast, but it took over three hours.

   The "Pearl of Siberia" slashes through the taiga for 636 km. In area, it is the world's sixth largest, but in volume, it ranks number one. It's bigger in size than Belgium, and sinks to a depth of 1,637 metres. One-fifth of the world's fresh water lies here, more than all five of North America's Great Lakes combined. The water is so clear, that any swimmers brave enough to try it (never warmer than 15 Celsius), can see down about 40 metres.

   As we passed by, all I could see was a great body of... ice. It was still frozen!

   There were a few ice fisherman along the way, and there were occasional open spaces where I could see some clear water. To the south, the Western Sayan mountains were visible. Pretty snow-capped peaks, very reminiscent of the Rockies.

   Our train was about a half hour behind schedule, so the stop at Sludyanka was very brief. There was no time to run down to the lake, and in fact, we weren't even allowed off the train. The elder Alek was looking forward to this stop most of all, as he intended to buy some of the local delicacies, including some smoked fish. He was forced to deal with the merchants at the door to the car. It almost developed into a frenzy of buying and selling, as the sellers tried to unload as much as possible to as many people as possible before the train pulled out.

   All that effort was worth it, as the fish turned out to be delicious.

The dam at Irkutsk

   After passing through Irkutsk (5,191 km from Moscow) at about 4:00 pm, we made a long stop at Zima (9:20 pm - 4,940 km from Moscow). It was here that we said goodbye to the elder Alek, who got off to a warm welcome from his family.

   I managed to get all three of the Aleks to pose with me. The photo turned out quite well, I thought.

   The train rolled on towards Tayshet (4,522 km from Moscow), and a new time zone. At the 4,484 km marker, the time became Mocsow time plus 4 hours.

  We had reached the halfway point in our journey, and celebrated this fact many times that night before retiring. The next day, we would be entering western Siberia.

The Train Kept A-Rollin'

World Adventurer (September 5, 2003 Chautauqua)

    My favorite comedy group is "Monty Python's Flying Circus." One of their sketches takes us to a university in Australia, where all of the professors are named "Bruce." When a new instructor from England arrives, the main question they have for him is:

   "Here, is your name not Bruce?"

  "No, it's Michael." he replies.

   "That's going to cause a little confusion. Mind if we call you 'Bruce' to keep it clear?"

"G-day, Bruce!"

   I felt a little like that English professor as I contemplated my travelling companions on the "Russia" train on the Trans-Siberian railway.

   I had met Alek I in the dining car. He spoke English. It turned out that he was a businessman who had just closed up shop in Vladivostok, and was going home to Moscow along with his mother.

   We enjoyed some Russian beer, and then some vodka.     There were quite a few other people in the car, enjoying the local spirits, as well. There were quite a few Japanese, as the Russian Far East is quite a business and recreation area for them. They got off the train the next day, lined up and led away by their tour guides like POWs.

   Alek II joined the train a few hours after we  left Vladivostok. He was an older gentleman, long retired. I was fascinated to hear (through Alek I) that he had joined the Red Army in 1944 (17 years old!), fought the Germans, and then travelled east (along this same route) to fight the Japanese.

   Alek III came into the compartment in the middle of that first night. He was a major in the Russian army, commanding a unit of tanks. All through this trip, soldiers were coming and going, on the way to their various assignments.

   Next door to my compartment, a young family was travelling. The parents stuck close to their compartment, but their twin girls were in and out of almost all the others in their search for something to do. Their names were "Katya" and "Nastia." I had left all of my teaching toys in Korea, but I tried to entertain them as best I could. They were more comfortable hanging out with Alek III, and were constantly imploring him for something or other, using him as a jungle gym, and so on.

   Just down the way, a young Japanese girl shared a compartment with three soldiers. Her name was Masako, and she was going to Moscow, St. Petersburg, and the Baltic countries before heading into Poland.

   The soldier that lasted longest in her compartment was named Sergei (What? Not "Alek?" That's going to cause...)

   Anyway, we were all travelling in the 2nd class, or kupeyny, carriage, which has nine enclosed compartments. Each has four berths, a fold-down table, and just enough room to turn around. First class compartments differ only in the number of berths - two. The lowest class of accommodation is platskartny, which is a carriage with no compartments, just bunks ranged along the walls. Privacy is out of the question, and as many as 60 people get used to sharing the space like one big, BIG family.

   In my own car, there were two washrooms (one at each end), with a light in the corridor to show if they were occupied. I usually rose at about 8:00, and had no trouble finding an unoccupied lavatory. There is no hot water in the washroom. It's  found in a samovar next to the  providnitsa's compartment. It was basically a medium-sized water heater. (The providnitsa was the attendant.) I would fill a thermos, and that would do for my morning wash. There is no plug for the basin, so I improvised one from a paperweight I had. My last month or so in Korea was spent haunting hardware stores, looking for a universal plug. No luck, though.

   The other indispensable necessity that you must not forget to bring is toilet paper. I had heard that the washroom smell could be a problem, but the providnitsa's kept it pretty clean.

   The train had begun its journey at 5:30 PM on Monday, April 28th.

   Time is a relative concept, and no more so than on this trip. There is a schedule posted in each car, but all of the times are Moscow time, which is seven hours ahead of Vladivostok. As we travelled west, we have to adjust to the different times almost every day (sometimes twice in one day). It makes it a little confusing, and if you are not careful, you can become disoriented.

   There is an amusing story in the "Lonely Planet" guide about how the writer tried to find out when a train would depart, Moscow or local time. The clerk was an example of a typical bureaucrat, who gave answers that solved nothing.

   Vladivostok is 9,289 km from Moscow, and we would be passing through 7 time zones. I would have to adjust my watch almost every day (sometimes twice) besides keeping track of the mileage. Knowing where you were comes in handy when you are looking forward to a station stop that would allow for some time off the train.

   112 km out of Vladivostok, we passed through Ussuriysk (9,177 km from Moscow). This town had formerly been named Nikolskoe, in honour of the Tsar's 1891 visit. At that time it was quite a bit bigger and more important than Vladivostok. There is a twice-weekly train to Pyongyang, the capital of North Korea, from here.

   The first major stop was going to be at 7:30 AM on the second day of our journey, when we passed through Khabarovsk (8,531 km from Moscow). The "Lonely Planet" describes the crossing of the Amur River as something not to be missed. The train passes over on a 2.5 km bridge, the longest such on the trip. I was up at approximately the right time, but I missed out on the bridge completely. Maybe we were early, or maybe the Russians changed the crossing. We did go through an inordinately long tunnel.

   Up until this time, we had been traveling north. We now turned west, skirting the Chinese border, sometimes coming within 50 km. In earlier, more suspicious times, western travellers would have their blinds drawn and secured so as to prevent any view into China.

   The countryside we passed through now reminded me quite a bit of Alberta, or maybe I was just homesick. There were a lot of birch and fir trees, and would be all the way across Russia. The land was still emerging from winter. There was a chill in the air, the grass was brown, and there was still a lot of ice on the rivers. There were also a lot of tussocks along the way. These grassy clumps were all over the land like a rash.

   44 km from Khabarovsk, we passed through Volochaevka (8,487 km from Moscow). This was the site of the final battle of the civil war, when the Soviets established control over the Far East.

   129 km further along, we made a short stop in Birobidzhan (8358 km from Moscow), the capital of the Jewish Autonomous Region. Stalin had tried to get the Jews to concentrate in this area, promising them a "homeland" of sorts. The place is a swamp, and many of the "settlers" refused to stay. Today they only comprise 7% of the population.

   173 km further along we passed from the Russian Far East into Eastern Siberia, and came one time zone closer to Moscow (still 8,185 km away).

   About 12:30, we made our first extended stop at Obouchbe, for about 20 minutes. It was my first opportunity to "raid" the locals for food and drink. There were quite a few set up along the side of the track, selling various packaged products, as well as local produce. I bought some grilled chicken and some dumplings. This was pretty much what I was going to live on. There was also ramen (Cup o' Noodles) and pozy, which are like meat-filled pastry. Besides bottled water, I also stocked up on beer, which came in plastic litre bottles. Very cheap, and very good.

The Belogorsk terminal, with locals selling their wares

   There was another long stop at Belogorsk (7,873 km from Moscow), at about 5:30 PM, and another at 11:30, at Mogocha. At this stop, I nearly froze my heinie off. It was COLD! but I did not hesitate to take advantage of the opportunity to get off the train. There was not going to be much of that on this trip.

The Trans-Siberian Railway

World Adventurer (August 15, 2003 Chautauqua)

   The Trans-Siberian Railway is the world's longest, and most impressive, train ride. It crosses eight time zones, covering 9,289 kilometres through taiga, steppe, and desert.

   There are three different main lines and numerous trains running on what is generically called the Trans-Siberian. I had chosen to ride from Vladivostok to Moscow, but you can also travel through Mongolia and China.

   The main line starts from Yaroslavl station in Moscow, departing every other day on a 6 and a half day journey. The Trans-Mongolian follows the main route as far as Lake Baikal, where it turns south to reach the Chinese capital of Beijing via Ulan Bataar, the capital of Mongolia.

   The Trans-Manchurian leaves the line further east, at Tarskaya, to reach Beijing via Harbin and northeastern China.

   Russia's initial conquest of Siberia was via its rivers, but the burgeoning population and the covetous eyes of neighbours pointed out the need for better communication links.

   The Americans had completed their railway in 1869, and we Canadians had done it in 1885. The Russians finally began theirs in 1891.  The right of way was cut through and across taiga and steppe with hand tools. The work force was made up of convicts, imported Chinese, exiles, and soldiers. Thanks to the terrain, climate, floods, landslides, disease, war, bandit attacks, and not to mention bad planning, it took 26 years to complete. It remains a brilliant feat of engineering. The railway was divided into six sections so that work could be done simultaneously.

   For the longest time, the hole on the track was around Lake Baikal. Trains were taken across by ship, and tracks were laid across in winter, when the lake froze. The initial test of this track met with failure, and a hole 22km long was left where there had been a train. The Russians merely disassembled the trains and pulled them across with horse power.

   It was finally possible to travel from one end to the other in 1904, via a line through Manchuria.  The last link was finished in 1916, a bridge over the Amur River at Khabarovsk.

   The railway came to be the major link that held Russia together through years of war and revolution. Even the rise of air travel and the demise of the Soviet system has not diminished its importance. There is still no road that cars and trucks can take through Siberia, and rail remains the only viable option for heavy freight.

   For the first four days travel out of Moscow, all three lines follow the same double-track main line through the Urals and into western Siberia, over the Yenisey River (which marks the border of eastern Siberia) and on to Irkutsk. The fifth day sees the train rounding the southern tip of Lake Baikal. This is where the Trans-Mongolian branches off, heading for the border 250 km away. The Trans-Manchurian stays with the main line for another 12 hours, until it too heads south-east for Zaibaikalsk, 368 km distant.

   Every carriage has a timetable in Cyrillic, the Russian alphabet. I got pretty good at deciphering the place names, so that I could tell when we were approaching any significant stops.  This is important if you want to eat and drink cheaply. The timetables are not set in stone, and a stop may be shortened if the train is running late.

   The provodnik or conductor, will usually keep an eye out for the passengers riding in his/her car, and herd them aboard when departure time rolls around.

   Usually the train stops for about 15 or 20 minutes, allowing time to stretch the legs and raid the kiosks for food. There are small white kilometre posts along the railway line, marking the distance from Moscow.

The Vladivostok Terminal

   My Vladivostok travel agent picked me up at my hotel, and took me down to the train station for the 5:30 PM departure time.

A local Vladivostok commuter train

The Trans-Siberian's locomotive

West-bound train on the left,

east-bound on the right.

   The train itself is very colourful. It is painted to resemble the Russian flag: white on top, then blue and finally red. Each car has the name of the train "Russia" (in Cyrillic) emblazoned at the top. My ticket cost 6, 045 rubles (about $200 US). I boarded car 20, and met the providnitsa, the two (female) attendants, who would work 12 hour shifts, turn and about, to look after everyone on the car.    I was taken to compartment VIII, which had four berths. It was fairly narrow, but there was more than enough room for my two bags in a bin under my berth.  Anyone trying to steal my stuff while I slept would have to lift up the place where I was sleeping.

   My berth was number 17, which was the lower one towards the front of the train. It meant that, while sitting, I would be facing towards the places we had come from. Jerry Seinfeld enjoys sitting like this. He says it's like going back in time.

   I was alone in the compartment when the train departed (bang on time), and I amused myself by watching Vladivostok pass by. Soon we were heading north, with Amursky Bay on the left, and rolling farmland on the right.

The train leaving Vladivostok

   The "Lonely Planet" guide warned me to beware of the dining car's high prices and poor quality, but I nevertheless made my way there for my first meal. I was seated at a table with another gentleman, who introduced himself as Alec (or Oleg). We chatted while I ate, and I counted myself fortunate to run into someone who spoke English. After a bit we retired to my compartment to imbibe a little of the local vodka. We found another passenger installed in the bunk opposite mine. He was an older gentleman, and his name turned out to be, coincidentally, Alec. He had no English, but the first Alec was happy enough to act as translator.

   Soon it was time to retire. The providnitsa had supplied sheets, a pillow, a blanket, and a towel (for a nominal cost). I had brought my own, but was unable to face up to the formidable "Russian" face when I was asked to fork over the bread.

   I was awakened during the middle of the night by the arrival of another passenger, who was making up one of the upper berths. In the morning he introduced himself as - Alec. I had met three Russian men on this train, and all three had the same name.  

   This was going to be a very interesting trip.

News

I don't really watch the news anymore. It's hard to take them seriously after a steady diet of "The Daily Show."
So I only half listen when it's on someone else's TV.
I overheard a real gem last week, when Global was reporting about the "Canadian Psycho," Luka Magnotta (and don't think we're not proud about THAT).
She said that he "was behind the discovery of body parts sent to Montreal schools."
Doesn't that mean he was helping out the police looking for the body parts?
And not responsible (or "behind") sending the parts?
I know, I know, she was just reading what was on the teleprompter, and not thinking about what it said. That's somebody else's job, thinking. And writing, that's not her responsibility, either.
Allan Fotheringham used to refer to TV newsreaders as "teeth and hair."
Heh.
The other interesting thing I heard last week was on Fareed Zakaria's show, when he was talking about the differences in Canadian and American immigration policies. He was suggesting that Canada was more open to accepting people from abroad than the U.S., and he pointed to the example of Calgary's mayor, Naheed Nenshi, a Muslim whose parents immigrated to Canada from Tanzania. The U.S. denied entry to a software designer from India, who went back home and came up with a program that made hime a millionaire.
So there.
Flint and I have written extensively about our experiences abroad, so it's obvious we know what it's like for somebody going to a strange country, looking for a better future.
This is something that I've thought about a lot when I consider what kind of teaching I want to do when I graduate next year. I'm focusing more and more on ESL issues, and I will be working in that field, either here or abroad, trying to help my students make a better life for themselves, and a better world for us all.  

Vladivostok: "Lord of the East"

     World Adventurer (August 1, 2003 Chautauqua)

   The home to Russia’s Pacific Fleet had been closed for more than 30 years, and these days the fleet is a rusting relic of the past. The city is open for business, though, and the tourist trade is picking up.

   Founded in 1860 during Russia’s colonization of the area east of the Amur River, Vladivostok became the fleet’s home after Japan seized Port Arthur during the Russo-Japanese war. Tsar Nicholas II paid a visit in 1891, inaugurating the Trans-Siberian railway line. Korean and Chinese labourers helped build the city, accounting for four out of five of its citizens. French, German, and Swiss speculators helped turn the city into a boom town. Japanese, American, French and English troops poured in during the civil war that followed the 1917 revolution, helping to support the tsarist counterattack. Soviet forces eventually gained the victory, marching in to establish control in 1922. Stalin got rid of the Chinese by shooting several hundred of them as spies, and deporting the rest. The northern part of the city became a vast transit centre, the way station for thousands sent to labour camps, never to be heard from again. The U.S. consulate was forced to close in 1948, and the city was closed off entirely in 1958.

   The city has reopened since the fall of the communists, and has been striving to establish itself as a cosmopolitan tourist destination. There are many Japanese and Korean cars on the streets. As I said in my last column, the ferry I traveled on had picked up a large shipment of vehicles. The Japanese drive on the left hand side of the road, and their cars have right hand drive. All of the cars the Russians bought had this feature, and you can see them all over the streets of Vladivostok. The thing is, the Russians drive on the right hand side of the road, which must make it very interesting, to say the least. I also noticed a complete absence of traffic lights. There were very few signs. I think each driver must have to rely on one direction only: “first come, first served.”

   I docked at 9:00 AM on Saturday, April 26^th, and made my way to the hotel I had decided on after checking the “Lonely Planet” guide. The hotel was named after the city, and turned out to be quite a bit more expensive than the guide had led me to believe. They were remodelling the place in an ancient Egyptian theme, with sphinxes and golden “King Tut” masks all over the place. I was happy just to relax after the trip, and the walk up from the ferry terminal. I got in touch with my travel agent, and made an appointment to meet the next day.

   After lunch, I walked around the downtown area, and saw a few museums. Down the block from my hotel is one of the central squares, featuring a statue of Lenin gesturing towards Japan. Across the street are the train and ferry terminals.  North of this square is the Arsenev Regional Museum, which offers a variety of stuffed animals and displays of city history, including one featuring one of its most famous sons, Yul Brynner.  In the gift shop, I picked up some old Soviet era pins.

   Next to the waterfront is the ploshchad Bortsov za Vlast Sovietov na Dalnem Vostoke, or the “Square of the Fighters for Soviet Power in the Far East.” Some kind of festival, featuring schoolchildren doing some folk dancing in colourful costumes was going on. There were a variety of citizens enjoying the show.

   Traveling further to the east, I came across a couple of museums dedicated to naval history. They had been established inside two naval vessels.

   An S-56 submarine, which sank 10 ships during World War II, lies on a grassy plot across the street from the Krasny Vempel, the Soviet Pacific Fleet’s first vessel. There is another military museum even further west, that is now undergoing extensive renovations.

   I was able to get a bird’s eye view of the harbour from a height above Sukhanova street. Normally, you can get there on the “Funicular,” which is a kind of trolley that goes up the 200 metre slope, but it was also under repair. Seeing the “under repair” sign can get to be quite a large part of any tour of Russia, and the seasoned traveler should be prepared.

   My last stop was the museum “Vladivostok Fortress,” which occupies a former gun battery. There are a variety of weapons and military vehicles on display outside the museum, including the guns which used to guard the harbour approaches from attack.

   Inside the museum are displays of how the battery and the city developed, from its early days to the present time. There is an English-speaking guide, and a lot of the displays feature English descriptions.  It reminded me a lot of a similar museum on Waikiki, in Hawaii. That one is run by the U.S. Army, and is very similar in its set-up. Both are very informative, but they have different surroundings. The American museum is right on the beach, with palm trees and sand all around. The Russian museum is on top of a hill, with a seedy run down neighbourhood all around. I wasn’t sure I was at the right place until I was right on top of it.  The sign directing the pedestrian is very small, and points the way between two derelict-looking buildings to a large, metal gate. There was no attendant at that time, so I pushed it open and walked on in.

   There are some other sights to see in Vladivostok, but I had no more time to take them in. After meeting with my travel agent, he guided me to the train station, where I was going to purchase my tickets for the Trans-Siberian express. He explained that I could leave on Monday, the 28^th, or the following Wednesday. Not wishing to delay my departure any more, I plumped for the Monday departure, and went back to my hotel to pack. I was about to spend six days doing nothing but watch Mother Russia pass by my window.

Unfriended

I've been pissing a lot of Facebook friends off  these days.
A little while ago, one friend posted a link about a burned baby. It said if you clicked on "Like" or "Share," Facebook would donate a dollar to help with her recovery. Well, I had previously been sent an e-mail with the same appeal for help from my aunt, who has never seen a chain letter she didn't like. I had looked up the true facts about this burn victim's case, which I found here: http://www.hoax-slayer.com/burned-baby-email.html
I attached this link to my friend's post, warning him it was a hoax, and sat back and waited for his profuse thanks.
Oddly, he wasn't happy.
A few days later, he posted a general appeal to all of his friends (no one person in particular being singled out), that asked them to take him off their list if they did not want him as a friend. He had certain beliefs that he was true to, and couldn't stand to have friends who questioned his commitment, and so on.
It was an amazing performance.
He really does have a social conscience, but I wondered why he was all bent out of shape about being shown that not all the causes he supports are genuine. Wouldn't it be better to support something real? Wouldn't it be better to direct your energies to the truth than some imagined, and indeed maliciously faked, cause?
I thought so, but it seems we don't share the same idea.
Oh well.
Another friend I pissed off was my niece's boyfriend, who is a big Fishhead fan. In regard to the Stanley Cup finals, I commented that it was the Devils and the Kings, and I wondered what other teams were doing?.
Oh yeah...

Well, I thought it was funny, but he went off on a rant about how the Fishheads had been President's Trophy winners (twice), had a coach who had brought them to the Finals, and blah blah blah.

Another amazing performance. 

I must say it is gratifying when someone shows you their vulnerable spot, and your efforts to tickle their vanity is rewarded.

Hee hee hee.

My latest transgression involves mine and Flint's mutual friend, Oz.

Lately he's been posting a lot of sports related stories, trying to show what he thinks are the best and most physically demanding sports. One of them rated them according to physical demands, etc. and said that water polo is the toughest sport. OK fine, but who watches water polo?

Another post showed the 10 Best Cricket Catches. The tough part comes in when you consider these catches are made without a glove, like in baseball.

Again, that's fine, but who the fuck watches cricket?

So I commented, "Yeah okay, but explain the rules in 25 words or less."

Oz posted, "stupid comment," and I replied, "stupid game."

A couple of days later, I noticed Oz was no longer listed among my Facebook friends. No explanation, he was just gone.

I've thought a lot about what it means to be a friend, mainly because lately I seem to be having a lot of trouble hanging on to them.

I think a friend accepts you for who you are, no matter what personal foibles you have.

Philo Beddoe's pal Orville went off on him once, and said, "You're allowed to be mad at your friends, you know! That's if they are!"

Philo replied that they can, and you are.

And look at the way Jay abuses Silent Bob.
I guess some people are too sensitive, but I can't do anything about that. I've always said that if somebody doesn't want to be my friend, they can fuck off.
I think those that remain show their quality.
Nuff said.