Podcasts about evian

Sometimes when you speak to a consultant, you get consultant gobeldy gook. I can't tell you how many consultants I hired along the way at the WIne of the Month Club, but suffice it to say, most did not perform as expected. Why? Because selling wine is different than anything else in the world.   Courtney O'Brien is different. She knows wine, she knows branding and she brings corporate America along for the ride. If you're looking for a lighthearted yet informative take on this episode of Wine Talks with Paul K, here's a quick summary with a wink: This episode is like a masterclass in beverage branding—with a side of humor and plenty of entrepreneurial reality checks. Paul Kalemkiarian sits down with Courtney O'Brien, a seasoned beverage veteran whose resume runs the gamut from water (Evian) to soda (Coca-Cola) and finally to wine (Gallo). She's done it all—from “chief bottle washer” to innovator and now, consultant helping wine brands rise above the “product” level to become true brands. Key takeaways from their chat: Brand vs. Product: Courtney suggests most wines are “products”—not brands. A brand, she says, is more than the stuff in the bottle, it's an idea that people can connect with and rally around. (If your wine label just says “red,” you might want to call Courtney.) From Big Beverage to Boutique Bottles: Courtney shares laughs and learnings from corporate giants (Evian, Coca-Cola) to navigating the regulation-laden world of alcoholic beverages at Gallo. Spoiler: Half her marketing tricks from soda didn't work in wine because wine has A LOT more rules. What's the hardest for wine entrepreneurs? It isn't always what you expect. Sometimes longtime winemakers come to her saying, “Help! Sales are flat, my DTC costs are sky-high, and I don't even know who's drinking my stuff—other than my mom.” Courtney's advice? Before you chase TikTok fame or try to ride every trend, ask yourself what you actually want to achieve. (Pro tip: “Sell more wine” doesn't count until you know to whom, why, and how much.) Innovation means different things: Want to slap your fancy Napa cab in a can? Considering non-alcoholic offerings? Courtney says: it depends. Know your brand, your consumer, your goals—then you can decide if canned Merlot or non-alc Bordeaux makes any sense. The Experience Matters: Paul and Courtney agree that great wine is about more than taste—it's about the memories made, the story told, and the setting. (Whether that's a luxury tour in France or just a really fun dinner with friends and family.) There are laughs about management consulting, fun asides about industry legends fronting bottles in grocery stores, and a nice splash of advice for anyone dreaming of turning their wine project into a lasting, meaningful brand. In short: If you want your wine to be more than a commodity, make sure it tells a story, stands for something, and—above all—know who you're talking to and why. And maybe leave the TikTok dances until after you've figured that out. #winepodcast #winetalks #courtneyobrien #paulkalemkiarian #wineindustry #winemarketing #brandbuilding #winebusiness #corporatewine #wineinnovation #beverageindustry #winenews #entrepreneurship #brandstrategy #winelover #wineconsulting #dtcwine #winebrands #winestrategy #womeninwine  

It's a weak crowd of 7000 in San Diego the day after a holiday, and Snagglepuss Tony Gwynn just wants a turkey sandwich and some Evian. Join us as we discuss haircut etiquette, the wonders of pizza hut in the 90's, Harry V Harry, and Ron Reagan's alleged manslaughter charges - all here on The Whole Ballgame. Watch along with us :  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K1dM-0b8Pv8 Head to our website: www.thewholeballgame.comJoin us on PATREON:  www.patreon.com/thewholeballgameEmail us: thewholeballgame@mail.comFollow on Twitter/X : www.x.com/wholeballgameTiktok: https://www.tiktok.com/@wholeballgameInstagram: https://www.instagram.com/thewholeballgameFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/people/The-Whole-Ballgame/61576876146889/

L'EAU : QUELLE EST LA MEILLEURE POUR VOTRE SANTÉ ? L'eau du robinet, l'eau en bouteille, l'eau gazeuse, eau minérale ou eau de source ? Quelle eau choisir pour votre santé ? Calcium, magnésium, sodium... quelle eau choisir pour conserver une bonne santé ou l'améliorer ? Selon certaines pathologies, il y a certaines eaux à préférer et d'autres à éviter. Evian, Hépar, Cristaline, Perrier... Gazeuse ou plate... vous n'avez que l'embarras du choix alors avec cette vidéo vous allez enfin savoir quelle eau choisir selon vos envies et votre état de santé. Et d'ailleurs, il vaut mieux boire avant, pendant ou après les repas ? Vous aurez toutes vos réponses en regardant cette vidéo jusqu'à la fin bien-sûr ! Dites-nous en commentaires quel(les) eau(x) vous préférez et pourquoi :)

Dans cette édition :Emmanuel Macron s'adresse aux Français ce soir dans une interview de deux heures, où il devrait notamment évoquer la possibilité d'un référendum sur différents sujets comme la fin de vie, le travail ou l'organisation territoriale.Gérard Depardieu a été condamné à 18 mois de prison avec sursis pour des agressions sexuelles, une décision contestée par son avocat qui annonce faire appel.Une violente bagarre a éclaté au tribunal de Bordeaux lors d'un procès pour une fusillade entre bandes rivales, entraînant le renforcement du dispositif policier pour la suite des audiences.À Evian, la colère des habitants ne faiblit pas après l'agression d'un pompier volontaire par un conducteur lors d'un rodéo urbain, un acte qualifié de "honte" par les riverains.Trois ouvriers sont morts ce matin dans l'effondrement d'un mur sur un chantier en Côte-d'Or, une enquête pour homicide involontaire a été ouverte.Notre équipe a utilisé un outil d'Intelligence artificielle via les technologies d'Audiomeans© pour accompagner la création de ce contenu écrit.Distribué par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Tous les jours de la semaine, invités et chroniqueurs sont autour du micro de Pierre de Vilno pour débattre des actualités du jour.Distribué par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Au sommaire d'Europe 1 Matin :Le débat sur la fin de vie revient à l'Assemblée nationale avec deux propositions de loi, l'une sur les soins palliatifs et l'autre sur l'aide active à mourir, suscitant de vives inquiétudes chez les soignants.Le président ukrainien Volodymyr Zelensky annonce qu'il attendra personnellement le président russe Vladimir Poutine jeudi à Istanbul pour des négociations directes, alors que les Européens ont donné un ultimatum à la Russie pour un cessez-le-feu.À Evian-les-Bains, un pompier volontaire est dans un état grave après avoir été délibérément percuté par un automobiliste lors d'un rodéo urbain, choquant profondément les habitants.Le pape Léon XIV appelle à la paix et à l'unité de l'Église, alors que la chapelle Sixtine rouvre ses portes aux visiteurs après le conclave.Le ministre de l'Intérieur dénonce une "fabrique de barbares" face à la recrudescence des violences, notamment envers les forces de l'ordre.Notre équipe a utilisé un outil d'Intelligence artificielle via les technologies d'Audiomeans© pour accompagner la création de ce contenu écrit.Distribué par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Pour débuter l'émission de ce lundi 12 mai 2025, les GG : Didier Giraud, agriculteur, Flora Ghebali, entrepreneure dans la transition écologique, et Charles Consigny, avocat ; débattent du sujet du jour : Rodéo sauvage à Evian, le suspect aurait dû être en prison.

Aujourd'hui, dans la première heure des Grandes Gueules, les GG sont revenues sur "Rodéo sauvage à Evian : le suspect aurait dû être en prison", avant d'échanger leur point de vue dans le "On s'en fout, on s'en fout pas".

Aujourd'hui dans "Punchline", Laurence Ferrari et ses invités débattent de l'agression deux pompiers volontaires à Saint Cergues près d'Evian lors d'un rodéo urbain.Distribué par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Tous les jours de la semaine, invités et chroniqueurs sont autour du micro de Pierre de Vilno pour débattre des actualités du jour.Distribué par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Pascal Praud revient pendant deux heures, sans concession, sur tous les sujets qui font l'actualité. Vous voulez réagir ? Appelez-le 01.80.20.39.21 (numéro non surtaxé) ou rendez-vous sur les réseaux sociaux d'Europe 1 pour livrer votre opinion et débattre sur grandes thématiques développées dans l'émission du jour.Vous voulez réagir ? Appelez-le 01.80.20.39.21 (numéro non surtaxé) ou rendez-vous sur les réseaux sociaux d'Europe 1 pour livrer votre opinion et débattre sur grandes thématiques développées dans l'émission du jour.Distribué par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Stéphanie de Muru, accompagnée de la rédaction d'Europe 1, propose chaque midi un point complet sur l'actualité suivi de débats entre invités et auditeurs.Distribué par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Chaque jour, retrouvez le journal de 19h de la rédaction d'Europe 1 pour faire le tour de l'actu.Distribué par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

After foxes ransack Pete's nappy bins, Luke suggests a very DIY deterrent: peeing in an Evian bottle to mark his territory… not that he's speaking from experience. And if he was, he certainly wouldn't have been caught mid-stream by his wife. Definitely not.Meanwhile, Pete's overhydration saga hits rock bottom with a full-bladder emergency on the M25, resulting in an SOS wee right outside of a British Airways training centre. Dignity? Absolutely none.Plus, Luke solves a listener's cat poo problem.Email us at hello@lukeandpeteshow.com or you can get in touch on X, Threads or Instagram if character-restricted messaging takes your fancy.***Please take the time to rate and review us on Apple, Spotify or wherever you get your pods. It means a great deal to the show and will make it easier for other potential listeners to find us. Thanks!*** Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Send us a textAnother non-sport podcast. Just riffing, relaxing, grab a drink listen in.https://www.instagram.com/thereadytoriffpodcast/https://twitter.com/ReadyToRiffPodhttps://www.youtube.com/channel/UC_LyXcE3BfKuZdnk9l8uFqw

Im Gazastreifen sind palästinensische Rettungswagen unter Beschuss der israelischen Armee geraten – mehrere Menschen und Sanitäter des Roten Halbmondes starben. Israel hatt behauptet, die Fahrzeuge seien nicht als Rettungswagen erkennbar gewesen. Auf Videos ist aber Blaulicht sichtbar. Weitere Themen: · Die italienische Ministerpräsidentin Giorgia Meloni steckt im Moment in einem Dilemma: Sie hat gute Beziehungen zur Trump-Regierung in den USA, will aber auch die EU nicht verärgern – und jetzt, wo diese hohen Zölle im Raum stehen, wird es für Meloni besonders heikel. Denn auch Italien bleibt von den Zöllen nicht verschont und die EU droht mit Gegenzöllen. · Emmentaler, Evian oder Barilla sind bekannte Marken und sie sind auch in den USA beliebt, werden nun wegen der Zölle von Donald Trump teurer. Werden Sie dort trotz hoher Zölle und demzufolge höheren Preisen weiter gekauft? Wann ist der Markenname eines Produkts wichtiger als der Preis? Diese Fragen beantwortet Tabea Höllger. Sie ist Markenexpertin bei der Unternehmensberatung Brand-Trust. · Mit 31 Prozent Zöllen will US-Präsident Trump Importe aus der Schweiz belegen. Um das zu verhindern – oder den Schaden zumindest zu begrenzen – braucht es jetzt Diplomatie. Die Schweiz hat darum Helene Budliger Artieda (Staatssekretärin für Wirtschaft) nach Washington geschickt.

Esta semana, acentuou-se a crise diplomática entre Paris e Argel. A Argélia recusou a lista de 60 cidadãos argelinos que a França pretende expulsar e o ministro francês do Interior, Bruno Retailleau, prometeu uma “resposta gradual”. O que explica a degradação das relações entre os dois países nos últimos tempos? “A tensão não é de agora”, sublinha o historiador Victor Pereira, apontando para toda a violência do passado colonial francês na Argélia a que se somam, agora, “motivos eleitoralistas em França e políticos na Argélia”. Esta segunda-feira, a Argélia recusou a lista de 60 cidadãos argelinos que a França pretende expulsar, quase um mês depois de o ministro francês do Interior ter revelado que o autor do ataque que matou uma pessoa em Mulhouse, a 22 de Fevereiro, tinha previamente tido várias ordens de expulsão do território, mas foram todas rejeitadas pelas autoridades argelinas.Agora, o ministro francês do Interior, Bruno Retailleau, promete uma “resposta gradual”, que pode passar pela redução de vistos para os trabalhadores argelinos - segundo a ministra do Trabalho – ou até pelo fim dos “vistos diplomáticos” e pela convocação do embaixador de França na Argélia, na opinião do ministro da Justiça.O braço-de-ferro começou, no fim de Julho de 2024, com o reconhecimento pelo Presidente Emmanuel Macron da soberania marroquina sobre o Sahara Ocidental e teve novo episódio com a detenção do escritor franco-argelino, Boualem Sansal, a 16 de Novembro, em Argel e que continua preso.O que se passa entre Paris e Argel?  Victor Pereira, historiador especialista das migrações, aponta “motivos eleitoralistas em França e políticos na Argélia”, mas relembra que “a tensão não é de agora” e tem como base todo o passado colonial francês na Argélia.RFI: Quais são os motivos que explicam este braço-de-ferro entre Paris e Argel?Victor Pereira, Historiador: "Há vários motivos, tanto em Argel quanto em Paris. Em Paris, temos um governo dirigido por François Bayrou, com ministros muitos deles de direita. O ministro do Interior, Bruno Retailleau, é da direita republicana e sabe que para uma parte do eleitorado dele e do eleitorado do Rassemblement National, o partido de Jean-Marie Le Pen, o tema da Argélia é sempre um tema que funciona, entre aspas, na oposição à Argélia. Há uma parte do Rassemblement National que foi constituído por antigos colonos ou militares que não queriam a independência da Argélia e que acham sempre que a Argélia não respeita a França, que a Argélia devia ter continuado a ser um departamento francês. O Bruno Retailleau era pouco conhecido há seis meses e tornou-se um dos políticos mais conhecidos em França, ele sabe muito bem que temas abordar para ser conhecido e ele aborda isto. Como o governo está pouco seguro de si próprio, conseguiu passar o Orçamento, mas François Bayrou não parece um primeiro-ministro que imponha uma linha, então há já uma posição bastante importante do ministro de Negócios Estrangeiros, que é um macronista histórico, e o Retailleau joga agora a carta dele e já está a fazer ameaças e chantagens de sair. Depois, na Argélia, obviamente que a própria ditadura argelina não está muito segura depois das manifestações e protestar contra a França, a antiga colónia, falar dos crimes que houve durante a guerra e da colonização, é sempre um tema que pode esconder as tensões internas."Esta tensão então não é de agora. Tem a ver com a própria história e as relações entre França e Argélia? "Não, essa tensão não é de agora. Esta tensão vem de 130 anos da presença francesa na Argélia, uma presença colonial com violências, com guerra, com tortura durante a guerra da Argélia, com repressão, com o facto de a população ter sido colocada à parte no próprio país e ter uma situação subalterna. Desde a independência de 1962, as relações nunca foram completamente pacíficas."Houve pedido de desculpas? Houve "reparação"? "Nos últimos anos, o François Hollande e sobretudo o Emmanuel Macron que, no início do seu primeiro mandato, tentou pacificar as relações entre Argélia e França. Por exemplo, Macron disse que os arquivos deveriam ser abertos para se conhecer a história da colonização da guerra da Argélia, coisa que já tinha feito no fim dos anos 90 o Lionel Jospin, o que tinha permitido ter muitas investigações sobre a guerra da Argélia, nomeadamente sobre o uso da tortura durante a guerra da Argélia. Emmanuel Macron tentou, falando da tortura e do caso do desaparecimento do matemático Maurice Audin, admitindo que tinham sido as forças militares francesas que o tinham raptado e que ele tinha sido morto por militares franceses. Então, ele fez vários sinais. Entretanto, na Argélia, a ditadura argelina conheceu uma contestação muito forte há alguns anos. A FLN está no poder desde 1962, usa o combate contra a França como a principal legitimação, quando a própria população argelina, 60 anos depois, quer a liberdade, quer mais repartição das riquezas. O governo ao usar a colonização na Argélia é uma forma de unir a população à volta da memória contra a presença francesa."O ministro do Interior falou em “resposta gradual”, invoca-se a possibilidade de redução de vistos para os trabalhadores argelinos, por exemplo. Quais é que poderão ser as consequências para a população, nomeadamente para os emigrantes argelinos que vivem em França ou que querem ir para França?"Já há vários anos que o tema dos acordos que existem entre a França e a Argélia são um ponto no debate e muitas vezes num debate que é pouco informado e que é um debate político à direita. Há um ponto importante: para acabar com a guerra da Argélia, houve o Tratado de Evian que permitia o fim da guerra e as relações entre os dois países. Em 1962, franceses e argelinos concordam em pôr em funcionamento uma livre circulação entre Argélia e França. Nessa altura, a França tinha um pouco menos de um milhão de europeus na Argélia. A ideia, quando foi negociado o tratado, é que os europeus na Argélia iriam ficar - ou grande parte deles iriam ficar - na Argélia. O que não aconteceu. Logo em Julho de 1962 houve o regresso maciço de europeus para França e essa livre circulação ficou, mas ficou sobretudo em vantagem dos cidadãos argelinos que continuaram a vir para França. Em 1962, muitos pensavam que como a Argélia se ia tornar independente, a emigração de argelinos para França ia reduzir, mas isso não aconteceu. Então, houve várias tentativas, da parte francesa, de reduzir a emigração argelina para França. Houve um novo acordo em 1965, em 1968 houve limites quantitativos, por isso, os argelinos, que antes de 1962 eram franceses e podiam circular livremente entre a Argélia e a França, desde então, houve vários entraves à livre circulação dos argelinos em França."Quantos cidadãos argelinos vivem em França actualmente?"Teria de verificar, mas imagino que seja por volta de 500 mil, um pouco mais que os portugueses, mas por volta dos 500 mil."O que é que representa em termos de comunidade estrangeiras em França? "É uma das mais antigas. Mas só se conta as pessoas que têm a nacionalidade argelina, não conta as pessoas que também são francesas e os filhos de argelinos em França que tinham nacionalidade francesa porque os pais eram franceses porque a Argélia era francesa até 1962. Se incluirmos os argelinos e os franceses de origem argelina, o número é mais importante. O debate sobre os vistos é um debate antigo que a extrema-direita usa muito com esse discurso de ter um certo controlo sobre a imigração argelina em França, usando o medo que venham demasiados argelinos para França - há pessoas que poderiam vir porque têm tios, pais, primos, amigos. Isso é uma coisa que as autoridades francesas sempre quiseram tentar restringir."Como é que os governos de Paris e Argel estão a lidar com esta crise diplomática e como é que isso pode acicatar a xenofobia contra os argelinos que vivem em França?"Como eu disse no início, estamos num período em que em ambos os países há pessoas que têm interesse em acicatar o conflito. É o caso em França do ministro do Interior e mesmo do próprio Gérald Darmanin [ministro da Justiça]. Então, há uma ala à direita vinda do Partido Les Républicains que acha que é preciso ter uma posição dura contra a Argélia, sabendo que isso é um ponto popular, entre aspas, junto da extrema-direita. E há essa vontade de estar à frente do debate público, de serem conhecidos, como é o caso de Bruno Retailleau e de Gérald Darmanin, com essa ideia de que vão tirar votos ao Rassemblement National, com uma posição muito dura sobre a Argélia, devido a essa posição da Argélia no imaginário da extrema-direita francesa.Na Argélia, há um interesse do governo em mostrar uma dureza perante a França e mostrar que a Argélia é um país autónomo, que a Argélia não vai ter uma posição subalterna perante Paris. Então temos agora todos os ingredientes porque podemos pensar que se Emmanuel Macron tivesse um governo no qual poderia ter mais influência, talvez as tensões seriam mínimas ou menos importantes, mas a configuração actual pode fazer que isso se torne um tema candente nas próximas semanas e nos próximos meses por motivos eleitoralistas em França e políticos na Argélia."Na sexta-feira, no jornal Le Monde, um colectivo de cidadãos franco argelinos, entre os quais o reitor da Grande Mesquita de Paris, lamentou que se tenha “normalizado a ideia que alguns franceses tenham constantemente de provar que pertencem à nação”. Quer comentar?"A população argelina, os filhos de argelinos, os netos e bisnetos têm que provar que são franceses, mas são franceses hávárias décadas. Há um racismo anti-argelino, anti-muçulmano. Os argelinos concentram vários dos ódios que existem na extrema-direita francesa ou em parte da sociedade francesa devido à guerra e ao facto de serem muçulmanos ou vistos como muçulmanos. Essas tensões vêm alimentar esse ódio anti-argelino que existe em França e, obviamente, isso torna a vida de muitos compatriotas franceses muito mais difícil porque há sempre uma suspeição sobre a lealdade deles, a lealdade como franceses, mas também lealdade quando há casos de ataques ou de actos terroristas que envolvam pessoas com família ligada à Argélia. Essas declarações mostram bem a situação muito difícil que vivem pessoas que apenas querem viver pacificamente e trabalhar em França, onde nasceram ou os próprios avós nasceram."A 27 de Fevereiro, o primeiro-ministro falou na necessidade de um largo debate sobre “o que é ser francês” [com o lançamento de “convenções cidadãs descentralizadas”]. Este debate é sensato no contexto político actual? "Essa declaração do primeiro-ministro François Bayrou parece uma repetição do que já aconteceu durante o mandato de Nicolas Sarkozy, quando Nicolas Sarkozy promoveu um debate sobre a identidade nacional e até criou um Ministério da Identidade Nacional. Esse debate não serviu para grande coisa, a não ser alimentar uma certa xenofobia. Muitas vezes, o tema da imigração parece ser o tema usado por políticos em dificuldade. François Bayrou estava em grande dificuldade devido ao caso de Notre-Dame de Bétharram, que é um caso de uma instituição católica onde durante décadas crianças tiveram maus tratos..."E foram vítimas de pedofilia. "Exactamente. E com alegado conhecimento de várias entidades políticas, incluindo o próprio François Bayrou. Quando as situações internas são complicadas, o tema da imigração sempre permite tentar criar uma forma de fugir alguns problemas. Por isso, não sei se esse debate vai avançar e podemos duvidar muito da utilidade deste debate, a não ser o ser uma nova forma de expressão de uma xenofobia."Enquanto historiador, o que é ser francês? "Para um historiador, “o que é ser francês?” não é uma pergunta fácil porque há vários livros de história sobre este tema. Alguns historiadores dizem que é uma coisa muito simples: são pessoas que obtiveram a nacionalidade francesa e há várias formas de obter a nacionalidade francesa - ter nascido em França de pais franceses; ter nascido em França de pais estrangeiros, mas ter pedido a nacionalidade francesa. Isto é, muitas vezes é um falso debate porque há muitos actos feitos por pessoas francesas, netas e bisnetas de franceses, que são contra os valores que a própria República Francesa defende. Há franceses que defendem a monarquia. São menos franceses por isso? Não parece. Em França, há sempre um grande debate sobre a laicidade. Os homens políticos franceses muitas vezes confundem o que é a definição da laicidade e viu-se há pouco tempo com um caso sobre futebol e o Ramadão. Por isso, este não é um debate fácil, é um debate jurídico, mas, muitas vezes, os homens públicos falam de valores e eles próprios não são muito respeitadores e coerentes com esses valores. Por isso, acho que é, em grande parte, um falso debate para tentar não falar de outros problemas."

My wife is addicted to Evian water, and my big responsibility to keep the house at peace is to order at least two, sometimes three, cases of these two-liter bottles of Evian because she's convinced it's the best-tasting water in the world. But she has not tasted water from Watermill Express, and the CEO, Mike Gallagher, is in the studio right now.

Stövesand, Catrin www.deutschlandfunk.de, Andruck - Das Magazin für Politische Literatur

This week, the Shirleys kiss their 2024 bad habits goodbye, discuss overly-traumatising tales for children and respect the comic timing of one potty-mouthed preschooler! Also the long Shirley's been washing her hair with Evian. Link to aid Salam and Mohammed's family in Gaza:https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-salam-mohammeds-children-survive-and-evacuate-gazaEmail your questions to motherfunk@shirleyandshirley.com!Edited by Kez Sol Owens @kezsolmediaFollow us on Instagram @thetwoshirleys Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Tous les week-ends, à 6h51 et 8h20, évasion touristique et gastronomique avec Vanessa Zhâ et Olivier Poels. Ils nous font découvrir quelques pépites du patrimoine, et des bons plans en France et à l'étranger. De quoi vous faire voyager !

Today I get to introduce you to my friend, Evian Schindler. You'll hear a little bit about how the two of us got connected at the beginning of our conversation, but Evian is one of the sweet, faithful people in my life who keep reminding me, even 11+ years after Jackson's death, that I am not forgotten in my grief. She continues to send me Bible verses, songs, and prayers and it means so much to me! I believe that Evian has been really tuned in to my continued grief and pain because she knows pain herself. I called this episode “Fighting for Joy in Chronic Illness”, and I think that's a good summary title, but as Evian and I talked about what to name it, we also threw out fighting for joy when you don't have answers, or in uncertainty, or without a clear diagnosis, or as you wait on God, or when you want to give up, or when you are in pain. As you'll hear, Evian's fight for joy has mostly centered around her physical health, but it's complicated, because as it so often goes, one aspect of our life tends to greatly affect the other areas of our life. So, for someone like Evian, the fight for joy can be pretty hard to define. I am excited to have Evian on the show today because, first, she's an amazing joy fighter and I want you to meet her! She has persevered through really hard things and I am thankful for her willingness to share some of the practical ways she has fought for joy. But secondly, I'm confident that her story will encourage YOU. Even if your circumstances are completely different, you probably know how discouraging it can be to find yourself in the midst of a story that God has written for your life that you just don't like. And don't want. How do you press forward in hope and fight for joy when circumstances feel out of your control? I think Evian's story and all of the tender things that she shares around her personal pain will be helpful for you to hear and I pray that you find some takeaways from this episode - a few things that will help you continue to fight for joy yourself as you press forward IN HOPE in the midst of this broken world. *Don't forget that as a Fighting for Joy listener you can receive 10% off of your first month of counseling services from BetterHelp, my podcast sponsor. Check out my link at betterhelp.com/fightingforjoy. Christian counseling can be such a huge help in this broken world and a major tool in the fight for joy. ** If this episode was encouraging to you, I'd like to ask you to please consider rating the Fighting for Joy podcast, and even leaving a review. Once you find my show, scroll down to where it says “tap to rate” or “write a review”. Tapping to rate literally takes a second or two, and writing a review can be quick as well. Just sharing that you enjoy listening, or that it's an encouragement to you is enough. The longer I do this the more I understand how helpful those ratings and reviews really are, so thanks for considering this. It means a lot!

This week on Vietnam Innovators English edition, Season 5, Mathieu Rosenblatt, General Manager of Minthacare, discusses his remarkable journey in building a successful business in Vietnam. Arriving in 2019 to spearhead business expansion, Mathieu and his team began Minthacare from scratch. In just four years, the company has flourished, growing to 88 employees and successfully launching four major brands nationwide.Minthacare was established in Myanmar in 2017 by three French entrepreneurs with a deep passion for dermatology and healthcare. Their vision was to develop high-value brands for emerging markets, including Cambodia, Laos, Myanmar, and Vietnam. Entering the Vietnamese market in 2020, Minthacare quickly distinguished itself as the exclusive distributor for globally recognized skincare and healthcare brands, including BIODERMA, NUXE, EVIAN, and ROGER & GALLET.With a focus on dermatology and pediatrics, Minthacare not only introduces high-quality products but also connects Vietnamese consumers with advanced medical solutions. By collaborating closely with doctors and healthcare professionals, the company is committed to delivering safe, effective, and market-tailored solutions.Driven by a strategy of sustainable development, Minthacare continues to expand its presence, prioritize service excellence, and strengthen customer trust. The company actively contributes to the community through knowledge-sharing initiatives and health awareness programs, reinforcing its reputation as a trusted partner in enhancing the quality of life in Vietnam and across the region.—Listen to this episode on YouTubeAnd explore many amazing articles about the pioneers at: https://vietcetera.com/vn/bo-suu-tap/vietnam-innovatorFeel free to leave any questions or invitations for business cooperation at team@vietcetera.com—If you come across something intriguing, kindly consider making a donation.● Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/vietcetera● Buy me a coffee: https://www.buymeacoffee.com/vietceteraCảm ơn Minthacare Vietnam đã đồng hành cùng Vietnam Innovators. Minthacare - công ty phân phối độc quyền, chính hãng cho các thương hiệu dược mỹ phẩm đến từ Pháp: Bioderma, Nuxe, Evian, Roger & Gallet.Big thank Minthacare for making this podcast possible.

Our newest episode features Breanna Neff ‘16, founder and chief food scientist at brelixi, a company that makes drink mixes infused with nano-CBD or THC, as well as electrolytes, adaptogens and nootropics. Neff studied food science, technology, business, nutrition and health at Cornell. Before founding brelixi, she worked with Dannon and Evian, as well as in the startup world.

In January, we reported that a judge in the Southern District of New York refused to dismiss a class action alleging that ​“carbon neutral” claims on bottles of Evian water were misleading. The judge determined that the term ​“carbon neutral” was ​“unfamiliar to and easily misunderstood” by reasonable consumers and that Danone Waters' attempts to qualify the term with information on its website were insufficient. In a surprising turn of events, the Court reversed its position last week. Here are some highlights. https://www.kelleydrye.com/viewpoints/blogs/ad-law-access/sdny-reverses-its-position-on-carbon-neutral-lawsuit Gonzalo Mon gmon@kelleydrye.com (202) 342-8576 www.kelleydrye.com/people/gonzalo-e-mon Katie Rogers krogers@kelleydrye.com (202) 342-8455 www.kelleydrye.com/people/katie-rogers Subscribe to the Ad Law Access blog - www.kelleydrye.com/subscribe Subscribe to the Ad Law News Newsletter - www.kelleydrye.com/subscribe View the Advertising and Privacy Law Resource Center - www.kelleydrye.com/advertising-and-privacy-law Find all of our links here linktr.ee/KelleyDryeAdLaw Hosted by Simone Roach

In another player interview special I was honoured to be joined by one of the pioneers of the LPGA Tour in 7x LPGA Tour Winner, Major Winner & 6x Solheim Cup participant Angela Stanford as we discuss what led to the decision to retire from full time LPGA competition after 24 years on Tour as well as finding out about her incredible journey that has had lasting impressions with everyone on LPGA Tour! A self confessed late bloomer to the game Angela was born & raised in Texas and went to Texas Christian University (TCU) participating in 2000 Curtis Cup in England before turning Professional shortly after that. Angela would win her first LPGA title in 2003 at LPGA ShopRite Classic then follow it up with a 2nd place finish at 2003 US Women's Open at Pumpkin Ridge GC where she was narrowly defeated in a Playoff. Wins would also occur twice in 2008 at Bell Micro Classic & Lorena Ochoa Invitational (one of Angela's favourite ever players). In 2012 in Singapore Angela would win HSBC Women's Champions winning in a playoff. 6 years later at 40 years old after 76 Major Starts and 18 years on Tour, Angela's day of destiny was filled as she would win her first Major Championship at Evian-les-Bains for Evian Championship knocking off the tag of 'Best player never to win a major'. In 2020 Angela would win the last of her 7 titles in her home state of Texas with family in attendance at Volunteers of America Classic.  Angela made the decision to retire at the end of the season and now looks forward to the future with the possibility of still playing on Legends of LPGA Tour.  A perfect role model to the younger generation of Female Golfers and one of the most respected players on the Tour it was a pleasure to chat with Angela Stanford!    If you enjoy the player episodes then please listen, subscribe, rate and review on Apple Podcasts it all helps towards the growth of the show, also be sure to download on Podbean and Spotify. I hope you all enjoy! 

Promises To Keep. In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected.. Note to readers: There is a bit of mangling of the Iliad going on. My apologies to Homer and the countless singers before him who carried the Iliad down through the dark centuries until the Greeks figured out how writing works. “Never judge a friend by what they give, but of how much of themselves they give.” (From the floor of Katrina's office) First thoughts,  I was on the floor where I had fallen, surrounded and being manhandled in the tenderest way. That was a romantic means of relating to my mummification. Those little Band-Aids that had been applied when I woke up from my coma had failed the 'Cáel is a Smeckle-head' test. All the crud they had pumped into my system and amperage they had channeled through my muscles was not the same as eating and exercise. Having a sexual romp with two ladies? My Goddess made plans for my body that my caloric bank account couldn't afford, thus me passing out. Unlike my time with Miyako and Estere, I had a feeling my two sofa-buddies were ovulating. Fatherhood was on the way. How my infant would survive the continuous poisonous assault on the augur's lymphatic system was beyond me. Her guardian, let's just say I dealt with sneaky bitches/Dot on a regular basis and leave it at that. "He is awake," Tadêfi alerted the room. "You must leave so I can deliver my message to him in the privacy he requested." "I am almost done," a different Amazon voice stated. She was the medico dealing with my wounds. By the aroma, she had slathered on two coats of the healing goo that was becoming as comfortable to my nostrils as my soap-on-a-rope. A few more rounds of adhesive tape and the exodus from the room began. I hadn't opened my eyes because I was unprepared for the looks of anger, disappointment and concern surely leveled my way. The door shut and my eyes opened. "The Conqueror, the Champion, the Friendless and the Foe have all escaped the Land of the Endless Black Sands and returned to the Sunlit Realm," Tadêfi whispered upon my lips. Huh? That was it? Seriously, four freaking titles without, And here came the rest, faces. Faces with eyes and eyes with a purpose. Names, not names I wanted to hear at the moment. Bad fucking news all around. It couldn't be something helpful like the identity of the next High Priestess, No, that would be good fucking news. Okay, time to turn this frown upside down. I could make this work for me. How, I wasn't sure. "Thank you," I responded to Tadêfi's plea of understanding. Outside of having impregnating sex with me, the Sex-Master, Timothy was going to Nerf-shoot me for that, she'd endured spiritual, mental and physical grief and torment to be with me here today. She waited, kneeling beside my head. "Kiss me," I requested. It was a moist act, full of compassion and understanding. I racked my mind for the names and their importance. "Who was Shammuramat?" "I don't know, but this helps, right?" Tadêfi expressed her need to make the reward for the sacrifices to make sense. Five dead sister-augurs. They had to find that son-of-a-bitch! "Tadêfi, we are back in the fight," I grinned. "You and your sisters have given the Host a mighty weapon in the upcoming struggle." I knew that to be true because I knew who and where the Conqueror was, I knew he wasn't ready to be revealed, his enemies were closing in and he was ignorant of that fact. I was going to have to rain on his parade to save his life. The five augurs hadn't died futilely. The Weave of Fate had shielded the man and it took the augers' fanatical devotion to cut the threads and expose the truth the Host needed most. The Champion, hell, I knew who he was. I chuckled. Tadêfi was confused. The Champion was coming to kill me, me and a bunch of other Amazons, because blood feuds tend to run both ways. The Foe. He was easy enough. Granddad. The Bastard just wouldn't stay dead. I had a clue to what was going on now. I wasn't sure how useful that knowledge would be. Still, knowledge is knowledge. That thing crawling around inside my brain? No help there. That left Shammuramat. That name was familiar. Even when I finally placed it, I didn't understand her role in things. Why her? "Krasimira," I called out. I struggled to sit up and with Tadêfi's help, I did so. The Keeper and two guardians entered as well. One, Sikia, hovered over her companion/augur. "What is the link between Shammuramat and the Host?" I inquired. I saw no recognition in the Keeper's eyes. "She was the first ever "independent" queen of a nation-state, Assyria." Krasimira sat on the sofa and retrieved her tablet from inside her robes. She began working with the electronic history of the Amazon race. "9th Century BCE," I added. Slowly others migrated back into the room. Buffy, Katrina (not good and not happy), Elsa (really not good) and Desiree. Pamela leaned against the door sill, neither in nor out. Katrina sat behind her desk. The phone came out and whispered conversations began in earnest. I had shoved us straight into a war which looked like a free for all at the moment. No one trusted anyone. No one could afford to. I had to change that. The only saving grace was that it appeared no Secret Society had planned for the Protocols to abruptly end a week and a half ago. "Ah, I found it," Krasimira spoke up. Because I'm me, it was at that moment I finally realized that someone had put me in my biking shorts in an effort to provide me a modicum of modesty, with the benefit of blood being smeared on the inside. "She abandoned the Host, she was put under a death sentence for killing her twin sister who was chosen to lead House Anat over her." "Anat?" I queried. "The other dead First House," Krasimira sighed. "They were renowned for their berserkers. Some would drape themselves in the entrails of their enemies in the midst of battle to increase their ferocious appearance." "Oh, how sweet, what was Ishara known for?" I was surprised I'd never asked. "Ishara were the emissaries of the Host," Krasimira informed me. With the Amazon practice of killing embassies sent their way, the extinction of my house made much more sense. "What does this mean?" Desiree took charge of matters since Katrina was still busy on the phone. In a few short weeks, Desiree's prestige had definitely increased. Katrina was her sister in more than name now. "Where to begin,  Fine, why don't we refer to the Mycenaeans by their proper Amazon name?" Everyone but Buffy was glancing about nervously. "You used the name, didn't you?" Elsa rubbed the bridge of her nose, dreading the response. "Yes, " I answered. "Because no one warns him of shit," Pamela huffed. "You assume an Amazon education with no basis in reality. You act like he grew up with our fairy tales and phantasmal histories. Everyone in this room, but Buffy," she acknowledge my First, "knew he spoke our language and the accompanying risk. Still, no one warned him." "You didn't warn him," Desiree skewered Pamela with a glance. "Not my job, Buttons," Pamela chuckled. "I relish the rest of you being made to look like idiots too much to be useful to Cáel unless it really matters. So he invoked an ancient malediction. What is the worst that could happen?" "I'm going to make a huge deductive leap, am I the reason the Achaean hero Ajax and his boys are back from the dead and coming after us for some Ako-level vengeance?" I groaned. (That's the 47 Ronin for us Westerners) Silence. "That's not your fault, Sport," Pamela snorted. "Mano-man, was I a dumbass for doing nothing. I'll take the blame for that one ladies. Damn Cáel, you would have to pick the Unconquered One, wouldn't you?" "Who is this guy and why does he hate us?" Buffy interjected. Pause. "Our ancestors poisoned his wine so that, in his angry haze, he mistook his own men for his enemies and slaughtered them all, back during the Trojan War. Afterwards, he committed suicide in anguish over his crime, Death opened his eyes at the last, he saw our treachery and managed to curse us as he died," Krasimira informed the lot of us. "And my using that word brought him back? That sounds, weak," I grunted. "The word would not have been enough," Tadêfi comforted me. "There must have been some sort of rift in the curtain of Reality that allowed the others to slip through. I don't understand how, oh no," she gasped as the pieces came together. "I'm willing to believe that was the price of doing business," I petted Tadêfi's cheek. "Please enlighten us," Elsa grumbled. "I need to find the Earth  and  Sky ambassador and set up a new meeting. Using what Tadêfi has gifted me with and the sacrifice of her fellow augurs, I can secure an alliance for us if only I can make up for the whole stunt Troika played," I grinned. "Any ideas?" "We could call them," Pamela produced my phone. "Seems some lady named Hana Sulkanen has been trying for days to get in touch with you. She hunted down the owner of the necklace, they talked about your current physical state, courtesy of Odette, and the owner of the necklace has expressed a continued interest in meeting you, and only you. It would appear that they really don't trust the rest of our merry little band since your first disappearance." Hana, and here I had killed her step-brother, the one she despised. An unexpected benefit of civil discourse, my People's chance of survival had doubled. Pamela lobbed my phone and I caught it. "What of the other two?" Tadêfi pushed down on my euphoria. "Was the Foe dead as well?" A quick look at Pamela told me she knew the answer to that. "The Foe is complicated," I lied. "His return was an inevitability, so we count that as a draw. The Champion, bad news. Let's put Shammy in the 'maybe' column and the Conqueror is a win for our side." A Berserker Queen, fresh from the Underworld, who we were honor-bound to kill,  or the 'other lost heir to a dead House' that was going to make us cobble together some nonsense to bring her back into the fold. If I wasn't the male leader of a spiritually significant All-Girls social club/paramilitary outfit, I might have been daunted by my prospects of achieving the latter. "The thing going on inside your head?" Elsa asked. That explained her presence. My mental capacity was still suspect. Was I still me? Could I flip out with no warning? "It is still there. I still have no idea what happened to me, or what the results might be. This means I'm going into battle wounded and that's that," I stated. "Are you acting in the best interest of the Host," Elsa studied me. "I am not sure," I confessed after half a minute's introspection. "So many of you are fuck-nuts; I'm not sure what acting responsible is for this set," I added jokingly. "As it stand, you lack the authority to pass judgment on me, Elsa. I promise you that if I feel I'm losing control, I will turn myself in." "Saint Marie would feel better if you stayed here," Elsa insisted. "Is the SD declaring war on House Ishara?" Buffy rose to the challenge. "We (by that she meant my fellow Isharans) have discussed the matter and talked to our best neuroscientist. She cannot definitively tell us Cáel isn't Cáel, so there is no reason to constrain him." Whoa. In our best prospect's educated opinion I was not-not me. Legions of English teachers weren't going to like that. "I have the answer for that," Katrina spoke up. "I owe Cáel and I would pay that debt now. He expressed a desire to see my niece, Aya. Do you still wish that Cáel Ishara?" "More than ever, but the Council is meeting," I sighed. "Buffy is your (dead word spoken), your apprentice," Katrina suggested. "Appoint someone to stand with her." That was more than good advice. Buffy was a woman and, to those who knew of her, as fierce an Amazon as ever lived. That was what Katrina was telling me without telling me. "I choose Daphne Pile, if she will accept, to stand by Buffy's side," I announced. Buffy would need someone who was passionate for my cause and who spoke Old Kingdom Hittite. Buffy still didn't, and the chance of the Council speaking English on her behalf was non-existent. "That is Daphne of House Cotyttia," Pamela corrected me. Who Cotyttia was? I had no idea. I was stupid to think Daphne's actual Amazon surname was Pile. Daphne wasn't even around. Executive Services was functioning fine without me and that meant Daphne had a work queue. "The Thracian Goddess of Sex, Orgies, War and Slaughter," Krasimira gracefully filled in my ignorance. Another whoa, why wasn't she my matron goddess? Tadêfi hauled off and slapped me. The action seemed to take everyone, Tadêfi included, by surprise. "I don't know why I did that," Tadêfi wailed out in despair. I did. It didn't take telepathy to figure out what I had been thinking. To prove my point, Pamela laughed. I cupped Tadêfi's jaw. "Worry not," I cooed. "I had that coming, Dot Ishara," I dodged another one, "isn't happy with me right now." Recall, Tadêfi was hooked up to an old-fashioned party line with the Beyond. "Animaniacs," Pamela snorted. "I so love you. It is my deep and abiding pleasure to have you as my Grandson." "I'm not your grandson," I countered. "Well, I say you are. Now be quiet and accept the shame," Pamela's eyes danced with amusement. "That makes me, Daphne and Brielle incest," I pointed out. "Amazons don't have an incest taboo," Pamela retorted. Duh. They are all women, no chance of seven fingered, Cyclops babies. "Ah, women, misunderstanding and pain, Buffy, would you check out Quebec and see if I'm still wanted in that province for bestiality. It could be important later," I commanded. "Bestiality?" only one woman failed to mutter, sputter or exclaimed. "The complainant in question is not that pissed at you anymore," Katrina's rolodex mind kicked in. "I believe she expressed a desire to question you about some missing accoutrements though." My splitting headache meant I had to think about that, ah yes, her dress uniform. It was/had been Canada Day, thus her having an official function and thus me cheating with the girl from across the hall in the Mountie's bed. I'm an idiot alright and my ability to keep an eye on the clock needs improvement. My last image of her, frothing at the mouth (she was a tad more possessive than I had anticipated) as she screamed out insults in Quebecois French concerning my lineage, personality failings and the treasured parts of my anatomy. She punctuated various parts of that deranged episode by hurling articles of her clothing over the border at me as I turned (once I had good Ole US soil/pavement under my feet) and tried to get us back together. Yes, I had them, just not in my Box of Failed Romances. Acting on hopes of reconciliation, I had the uniform dry cleaned, placed in a dress bag, and the boots polished; both currently occupying space in my closet. At least the Alburgh-Noyan Crossing guards (it is a dual Canadian-American post) appreciated me evading/begging forgiveness long enough for them to see her in only her bra and panties. I imagine they didn't normally get much excitement there. "Katrina, " I began. "Yes, Maya forgives you too, though she scored an 'At Risk' for reliability. Anais sounded genuine," Katrina related. Anais was the Mountie. Maya was the Guyane Française university student from across the hall, the one I was caught cheating with. I had told her I was Anais's brother. Maya was also a super-exceptional cook. "Cáel Ishara, who are these women we are talking about?" Sikia demanded. 'We', that didn't take long. We were now a 'we', which in Amazon meant 'male, you're my property'. "I have a sideline job as an Amway distributor," I replied. "I give crappy customer service." "You give awesome customer service," Katrina riposted. "That's the problem." "Sikia, you are not the first Amazon Cáel has stuck his dick into. You are probably not the tenth," Elsa dripped with frustration. Quick count: Rhada, Buffy, Oneida and Gael, I was only going to count the penile-vaginal penetrations. "They are only numbers five and six, thank you very much," I defended myself. "So much for your 'intern, no sex' policy," Desiree muttered. "Cut me some slack, I work with stone-cold, Olympic level athlete foxes 24/7," I griped. "I am a sexual being too, I have needs." "What about the 'End of Internship' hunting shindig?" Desiree pulled a flawless 'Katrina'. "Oh, it is still on. With my 'do or die' learning curve, it is going to be so much more fun," I grinned. "And, okay, no more Amazon sex until then, sorry Rachel." "Except for house members," Buffy insisted. "No exceptions," Elsa demanded. "I'll keep an eye on him," Pamela resolved the issue. "No more Amazon boinking for him." She was such a liar. She was also a highly accomplished liar because everyone bought it. On with my life. Stage one: exit Katrina's office. Done deal, no problems. Stage two: set up meeting with the Earth  and  Sky. They wanted to meet on their ground. Since I was the uncertain factor in these negotiations, I agreed. I was bringing one, Pamela raised four fingers, four people with me. Who? Outside of Pamela, I had no idea. Stage three: going to medical and putting on my business suit, it was a new one and very, very nice. I was moving up into serious majestic magnate territory. I also picked up buddy number two, FBI Special Agent Virginia Maddox. Why had I chosen a federal agent to accompany me to a meeting between two secret societies? I hadn't a clue. Sometimes you have to roll with these things. In the lobby, I picked up number three, Delilah, Mom's MI-6 operative/baby-sitter. Compassionate, caring people were surrounding me all the time. It gave me this sensation of a 'down home' environment no matter where I went, if down home was Gaza, or Donetsk. I think my entourage/lifestyle observation teams had grown to encompass six cars. I was in no condition for riding my bike, so that recourse was denied me. Taxi? One, most were hard-working stiffs like my family who didn't deserve to be caught in a noontime, drive-by assassination attempt. Besides, with my luck I'd meet the guy from Qatar again, the one with the sister with cute eyes. That reminded me, I gave Nicole a call. "How are you doing?" she quickly inquired. "Good," I lied to a past master of shattering perjury. Pause. "I'm surrounded by girls with guns, tailed by your clients, some part of a Federal Task force and some people who I don't know yet. Hold on." I put my hand over my phone. "Delilah, are you packing heat?" I asked softly. She opened her jacket revealing paired revolvers in shoulder holsters. I didn't recognize them so the Brit gave me the 4-1-1. "Ruger Alaskans," she grinned. Bing! Now I recalled them. The girl who taught me to shoot once read some reviews of that beast on her laptop while I gave her a slow, passionate screw from behind. She became all hot and bothered, wiggling, squirming and generally having a grandiose time with my cock deep within. I repeat, this girl really loved guns, a huge cerebral G-spot for her. Oh yeah, the Ruger Alaskan is what you get if you are worried about Grizzly bears popping their heads through the tent flaps late at night. Delilah was probably packing 4 80's. Her guns would turn 250 kilograms of pissed off ursine into an excellent throw-rug in about two shots. In an urban environment,  well, maybe she thought the New York Giants were actually giants, or something like that. Two were overkill, unless you expected someone needing to borrow one. "Just checked. I remain the only one unarmed in my personal carnival of carnage, " my words trailed up to an unintelligible mumble. I was mumbling because suddenly four handguns were casually offered up for my use (Tiger Lily was holding one over her shoulder as she drove), in the same way you'd offer up some Nicorette to a man jonesing for a smoke. Rachel was kind enough to hand me my familiar Glock-22 and Ruger 38 caliber with their accompanying holsters. Two spare clips followed, then I stashed the lot. I scratched my calf. It took me a second to realize I was reaching for my pistol. No, not the one at my hip, or my ankle, but the one, in my boot? "Now that you've been handed firearms of dubious origin, can I get back to questioning you," the FBI agent intruded upon my ruminations. "We were discussing that list of people that are visiting a morgue instead of a court room. What can you tell me?" "Bye Nicole. Miss you. Being interrogated by a blonde FBI lady with a whips scar on her eyebrow and eyes that could scare a badger back into its hole. Later," I cut of my lawyer's fierce demand that I keep my mouth shut. "Nothing useful that wouldn't implicate myself and others in a criminal conspiracy," I answered her. "There is no way I'd name anyone else I suspect of involvement. I feel no guilt over what has happened, so no remorseful confession, and that is based on my belief that cosmic justice has been achieved." "You can't create lists of people for execution," Maddox persisted. "That negates the whole justice system and the principle of innocent until proven guilty." Wow! Except for the two of us, every other person in the car snorted their derision of Maddox's presumptive naiveté. "Do you even believe the tripe spilling from your pie-hole?" Delilah mocked Maddox. "I'm in law enforcement. That means I enforce the laws, not interpret them, or choose which ones I want to obey and which ones to ignore," Virginia fought back. "Love, that's crap and you know it. You are an agent of the US government. You bomb, drone-strike, overthrow lawfully elected governments and assassinate in your nation's best interests," Delilah countered. "You selectively enforce your Constitution when it suits you." "I'm law enforcement, not the military or foreign affairs. Know the difference," Maddox glared. "The pay master is the same,  you willingly collect your thirty pieces of silver; get off your high horse because you are in the shat now, Agent Maddox. I haven't known this crowd an hour and I know for a fact that you are the only US citizen onboard," Delilah chortled. "I don't know their bleeding nationality, but I doubt it is on the UN Charter." Maddox turned to me. "That was succinct and rather accurate," I murmured. "Special Agent Maddox, I have the sneaking suspicion that you are with us because FP (federal prosecutor) Castello feels you can handle this, Umm, unusual set of circumstance. I promise you this, it is going to get worse." "Why don't we test this quaint theory?" FBI Lass challenged us. "Jail, bail, and I'm waking up in Rio de Janeiro in two days," I sighed. "I have a few thousand in the bank, live in a hole and own my father's home, when it clears probate. Only you know I'm flight risk. A dozen people will vouch/lie about my character and that's that. All you've succeeding in doing is making enemies when you need friends." "There is still a matter of multiple people dead under suspicious circumstance," she said. "Imagine for a second that Cáel admits to creating a hit list," Pamela began. "He would never give up the names of the other people involved. He didn't kill anyone, or say 'kill them'. Now what? You still have an abysmal case to put before a judge. Add to that, the mitigating factor of a raped girl. You get to break her down until she's a cooperating witness because she's the only one who can provide you with Cáel's motive," my mentor continued. "Good for you and your team. She gets to betray the man who tried to save her. Cáel promised horrific retribution if any of those in the now-dead crowd hurt her. That is rather unlike him, he normally forgives when given the least excuse. I don't give a damn about women's rights, or the rights of rape victims. I really could give a shit about human rights for that matter. Wronging me is the surest way to early retirement. It is not a matter of strong versus weak, or right versus wrong. What matters to me is who I can trust. I don't know you, thus I don't trust you. I trust your government to be so much chicken shit. I base this on the lack of public torture and execution. I want the families of dying criminals paraded in front of those cock-suckers before the condemned finally perish in agony. I want to see thieves get their forearms hacked off, trial by combat, and respect for your elders. I want to see public officials being sacrificed upon the altar of Jehovah when they leave office. I want to see a system of justice with a soul, not law books thicker than an aircraft carrier's hull. A government 'of the People, by the People, for the People' should be the sole guiding force for your culture and we both know that's never going to happen. I admire your soldiers; not because they are brave and combat effective, they are. I admire them because they are fighting and dying for elected officials and a population that can't locate Afghanistan, or Iraq on a map, can't tell the difference between a Sikh and a Muslim, and thinks 'Pashtun' is an exotic piece of furniture. I admire them because they are better human beings despite you, not because of you," Pamela was coming to her crescendo. "Basically you people, by that I mean most of the human race, are dangerous in your idiocy, arrogance and pride in your ignorance. Not one of you should be allowed to use weapons, or play with fire. For you, unrestricted voting is a crime right up there with inventing, disease prevention, bilingualism and anything that perpetuates your educational system." "Lady, why are you so angry with the world?" Maddox studied Pamela intensely. I wished her luck with divining and then unwrapping that lady's mind. "I hold dear to my heart anyone's hunger to learn, honesty when it hurts and love no matter what the cost, so I find myself alone most of the time," Pamela grinned. "Above even those, I adore humor in the face of ridicule, condemnation and adversity. You can dodge bullets and parry knives. Humor always strikes home," she finished. "It is the perfect weapon." "Liar," I smiled. "You like high performance automobiles too." Did she? I didn't know. "Only with a 2X4 pressing the accelerator as it races toward the lip of a canyon," Pamela bantered back, "with Ursula K. Le Guin strapped in the back seat." "Who?" I inquired. "She's an author. I take exception to some of her work and unwillingness to appreciate the fusion of exceptional feminine characteristics with power positions," Pamela answered. "And your critique of her life's work is an exploding car at the bottom of a cliff?" I smiled. "Starting uncontrolled wildfires and littering, two of my favorite activities," she laughed. "I'll stick with blondes and brunettes, and red- and raven-haired, bald has its own appeal, green and purple have their own kink going on, " I joked. "Wait! We were talking about people being murdered and you two are cracking jokes?" Maddox rumbled. "I had a dream about tying them together with nylon cord and tossing them off the back ramp of a transport aircraft, and watching them fall, and fall," Rachel sighed dreamily. "Atta girl," I play-punched Rachel's shoulder. "What is your part in all of this?" Maddox turned to Rachel. "I'm the head of his bodyguard detail," Rachel gave her confession of the damned. "And you want to kill him, " Virginia struggled to keep up. "Given time, you will too," Rachel promised. "According to his pre-employment records, only one woman he's had a sexual relationship with hasn't wanted to at least hurt him," glaring at me, "badly." "The nun doesn't want me dead!" I vocally protested. "It is so wrong that you are proud that of over 200 women you've slept with, TWO have not, at some point in knowing you, wanted to maul you and one of those is in the 'forgiving' business," Rachel chastised me. Virginia had an answer for my madness. Her phone came out and she hit speed-dial, work. "Ms. Castello, this is Special Agent Maddox, do you have a moment?" Virginia calmly asked when she finally wrangled my current-favorite fed's attention. "You do now? Thank you. I'd like to know what the fuck have you done to me? This assignment is nuts. Either I'm part of some elaborate prank, or I'm in an S U V with escapees from the looney bin." Ten seconds later Maddox gave me the phone. "Stop it. I've upheld my end of the bargain, so behave," Javiera ordered. Man, she'd shot me straight to the core and we hadn't even slept together yet. Clever, clever girl. "Yes Ma'am," I swore. "I'll do my best to buffer Special Agent Maddox from the truth." "I'll have to accept that," Javiera conceded. "Give Maddox the phone back." A brief conversation later and Maddox was no better off than when she started. Thankfully we parked in front of the Kazakhstan Consulate in New York, giving us all an excuse to face facts. Maddox was feeling compelled to ask questions she didn't want the answers to, and that we didn't want to answer. Saved by work. "Kazakhstan Consulate? Why are we here?" both Virginia and Rachel asked. "Oh! This is going to be good," Pamela leaned forward excitedly. "Change the course of human history," I answered with a great deal of confidence I didn't feel. See, I had knowledge critical to the Earth  and  Sky. That knowledge was also something they wanted kept compartmentalized, so they might take exception to it being possessed by an outsider. Oh,  so that's why Pamela earlier insisted on four ladies being with me, so we could shoot our way out if things turned ugly. I hugged my mentor. "Thank you, Pamela." "You are coming along nicely, Mr. Potter," Pamela patted my cheek. "Your praise leaves me suspicious, Professor Snape. Besides, if I'm going to die, it helps me to know you'll go first ." "That was uncalled for," Pamela chided me. It was the 'Snape' role she rejected. "Snape gave up his life for Harry, Dumbledore died for Draco," I countered. "Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that," Pamela shone with joy and pride. "You act like I have a choice," I sighed. "Touché," Pamela nodded. "I see what you mean about these two," Maddox addressed Rachel. "Oh my God," Delilah laughed. "You wove Harry Potter into a life and death conversation and it made sense. I am probably going to die, but I'll die knowing I have lived." "Not you too?" Maddox glared at Delilah. Rachel just shook her head. We exited the car, settled ourselves out. Rachel took point, Delilah took one flank while Pamela took the other. By happenstance, I ended up in the middle, yeah right, with Virginia covering my back. "You stay here," Pamela put a hand on Rachel's shoulder. "You'll need to lead the team in if someone 'pumps up the volume'." Interesting euphemism for 'when people start killing people'. "What are we doing today?" Miyako 'appeared'. She'd been walking down the sidewalk toward us, the Kazak Consulate was a townhouse, but her presence hadn't registered. "I require your pledge of silence on what is to transpire. No death is intended," I stated calmly to Miyako. "I didn't know you were versed in ninja contracts, much less spoke Japanese?" Miyako responded. Blink. "I didn't know I spoke it either, " I mumbled. "No sweat," Pamela tried to hustle us along. "He's a quick study." Yeah. I didn't feel it apropos to point out I hadn't heard myself speaking Japanese, or understood that my words had some secret meaning. "How important is this to my people?" Miyako asked. Now that I was paying attention to it, I could make out that she was speaking in her native tongue. "If they don't think we can be trusted to not speak of what is to transpire for a week, they are going to kill us," I related my suspicions. "My mind and heart are joined in this decision." "I give you my pledge," Miyako nodded. She looped her arm in mine. "Does anyone care to enlighten me?" Maddox prodded. Whoa. It seemed that, beside me and Miyako, only Pamela spoke Japanese. "Special Agent Maddox, no matter what, don't give up your gun, when we say run, run, and shoot to kill because they will be trying to kill us," I informed her. "Does the term 'extraterritoriality' mean anything to anyone here?" Maddox snapped. Her nervousness was totally understandable. I stopped at the top of the steps, looking over my shoulder. I nodded. Pamela, Delilah and Miyako nodded as well. "Hold on, I can't believe I'm saying this. Does anyone have a back-up I can use?" Maddox groaned. Rachel quick-stepped forward and handed over a 22 automatic pistol then a spare clip with a smooth, practiced motion that suggested that SD swapped weapons all the time. Maddox didn't miss the casualness of the gesture. The firearm and magazine disappeared. "Fine, we will never discuss the laws we just butchered, ever, and if I die and any of you make it out alive, I will seek revenge at whatever cost FROM WHEREVER I AM," FBI girl growled. "One of us," Pamela smirked at me as I touched the doorbell. It opened promptly. We weren't on a crowded street, we were on their stoop and a security camera was pointed right at us. We were invited in and two rather Caucasian-looking gentlemen (Kazaks are a mixed bag of Turks and Cumans) were waiting with the doorman. They looked tough in that they took personality lessons from saddle leather. "You will place your weapons there," the more charismatic of the two spoke up. He was pointing to a side table that looked large enough for the task. "No," was the most courteous response I could muster. He didn't look surprised. He didn't look much like he was breathing, or blinking either. "Go," he pointed to the door. I looked to Pamela. "Well, that didn't take long," I grinned. I felt out the necklace under my shirt and pulled it over my head. "Please return this to its owner in the spirit it was given." He took it. The doorman opened the door and out we went. Rachel was back in our GL550, using the door as possible cover. She said we could take our seats and away we rolled. Maddox looked apoplectic. She had prepared herself for the Wild, Wild West, not a doe-see-doe at the door. In her mind, I had wound her up for nothing. My phone rang. "Cáel Ishara, there seems to have been a diplomatic miscommunication," a male native Turkish-speaker said in heavily accented English. "The person you are meeting must be approached in the spirit of peace." "No, I understood you perfectly," I assured him. "We aren't the Brownies, or the Girl Scouts, Buddy. I don't know, or trust you and you don't know, or trust me, yet. I will compromise though. I will respect your traditions. I will enter your home unarmed. In turn, everyone in the building will line up outside on the street except for the person I'm supposed to meet. Is that acceptable?" Pause. "Do you hate these people, or like them?" Maddox grumbled. "With you, I can't quite tell." "That would not be acceptable," the man finally responded. "Perhaps an alternative. You come in, alone yet armed." "Nope. Due to the efforts of people far smarter than me, I know pretty much who I am meeting, so I am either very rude, insane, or bear a message that is worth my life," I countered. "Your personal safety is guaranteed," was the counter-offer. "That is a false promise, not because you lack honor, or respect for me, but because you are from a wise and noble lineage with a historical propensity of cutting to the heart of any problem." By that, I meant they'd cut my heart out. "What I expect is for every one of you to hold the future of the Earth  and  Sky above any such concepts as personal promises, hospitality, and honor. I am even putting my faith in your willingness to put the survival of the Earth  and  Sky over your own well-being," I riposted. "If the message is so crucial, you should be willing to come alone," back at me. "It isn't important to me," I stated. "Listen, a war is about to break out. Unless we both want to be found all alone in the outhouse masturbating when the headsman comes, one of us has to blink. Today, it is you. Tomorrow you may be able to return the favor and mess with my head." Pause. "Your koumiss is getting warm." "We'll be right there. We apologize for the delay. Traffic is murder these days, or a close facsimile thereof," I gave a little back in the humility department. "Tiger Lily, " "On it, Ishara, Wakko Ishara. I've been circling the block," Tiger Lily had anticipated my antics. Sure, I acted like I had no game plan, but I never wasted people's time. Maybe if I developed an actual game plan I could do even better. "Wakko Ishara?" it was Delilah's and Maddox's turn to share a 'what the?' moment. "May I explain the sacred names?" Rachel requested of me. "I have a feeling these two might become a fixture." "By all means, Rachel. Our trust runs deep," I trusted Rachel with more than my life; I trusted her with my future. "Wakko, as in you're the nutty one?" Delilah made a stab at our arcane nomenclature. If you use small words does that make it gnomenclature? Pamela winked at me, psychic twin grandmother powers activate! "We need complementary rings," Pamela remarked. Sweet! "Cáel Ishara is differentiated as Wakko Ishara, Ishara, first of House Ishara, is Yakko Ishara, and, " Rachel began. "The Animaniacs? Your code names are the Warner Brothers and their sister Dot?" Maddox gasped. "You are beyond nuts." "And the Goddess Ishara is named, by House Ishara and House Ishara alone," Rachel made some warding appeal against divine punishment, "as Dot Ishara." Maddox's face shown with disbelief. "Following Cáel Ishara into battle has been one of my greatest pleasures," Rachel stared at Maddox. "I never knew insanity could be so liberating, or that laughing at death could be such an aphrodisiac." "When did you two go into battle?" Delilah wondered. "In a morgue, fighting to retrieve the body of his fallen father so that our enemies could not desecrate it," Rachel explained. Ah, the walls of Troy, fighting over the spoils of the dead. "You mean when I face-planted?" I grinned at Rachel. "Even without a weapon, your instincts were good, forcing our enemy to commit to multiple angles of coverage even though your efforts were foiled by a footing failure. Your rushing their leader was even more heroic in that you were unarmed and using your body as a decoy, knowing your enemy's superior skill would stop him from shooting you," Rachel smiled my way, sex. "Let me get this straight," Miyako finally spoke up. "You charged an enemy unarmed then stumbled and failed. They were armed?" "Yes, with a 3 57 Magnum revolver and a 10 gauge sawed-off automatic shotgun, in tight confines and close range, oh, and no cover." Maddox replied, then to me, "I read the report." "Then you repeated the action a few minutes," Miyako. "Less than a minute later," Maddox clarified. "A minute later, wow! You are as fearless as we've heard. Please don't die before we have a baby," Miyako gave me a quick hug. If you cover a zeppelin with uranium paint, can it still fly, or does it sink to the center of the Earth? Ninja babies, We had returned to the stairs at the Consulate. This time the door swung open upon our approach. "Is there some drug you are all taking to bask in this shared fantasy life?" Maddox mumbled. "One of us," Pamela retorted. "One of us." "One of us," I joined in. It helped cut the tension. The bodyguards were present right where we'd them last time. They ushered us up the stairs to a second floor sitting room that ate up half the floor. There were two men there; radiating that subtle assurance that a half-dozen killers were close by. The man standing was Iskender, the E and S emissary from Dad's funeral. I broke all decorum, strode to the man, locked arms, hugged him tight and patted him on the back. "Thank the spirits you are here," I whispered, "all this lack of dick is making me a bit stir-crazy." "Ah, yes, it is good to see you again too," Iskender imparted as we broke our embrace. His boss, the guy on the sofa, shot me and my Kyrgyz buddy a sharp look. The Main Man was clearly Mongolian and must have thought blank, white walls exhibited too much empathy. "Koumiss," the boss offered. I sipped it from a simple, yet regal drinking mug that probably hit the kiln 200 years ago. "Mare, or yak?" I inquired as I handed the cup around. Iskender came first, but it was clearly my intention that we all partake. It was more a matter of the host's pledge of sanctuary than me wanting to share the koumiss. It tasted like thin, lightly chilled, bitter beer with a vanilla-almond milk shake-chaser. "Mare, of course. Please sit," he offered. He defined the suggestion by slipping off the sofa onto the layered carpet rug. He was semi-reclined, so we followed suit. "We should pray for the protection of the spirits," was the suggestion that wasn't a suggestion. It was his itinerary. He clapped his hands and from beyond a curtained partition came this really sensual Mongolian chick carrying a large brass bowl. She flicked her eyes at me and an instant connection was formed. She liked to bark like a dog under the full moon, okay, I'm not sure where that came from. "Nice woman," I told the leader. "She looks like she has seen many winters." Whoa! Where the fuck did that come from? I got a shocked reaction from Iskender. The Leader looked pissed, if a flake of paint on the white wall indicated anger. The girl blushed like what I said was an incredible turn on. "She is my daughter," the Leader pointed out. Way past swallowing my foot. My ankle was tasty. "My name is Oyuun Tömörbaatar. My faithful Iskender, you know. This is my daughter T. Sarangerel. She is studying at N Y U and is not entertaining marriage proposals at this time," he slapped down his boundaries. Somehow 'I only want to sleep with her' didn't sound like the right response. Wait! Saying his 'daughter had many winters' was a marriage bargaining opening move. What the fuck! "What I meant was that surely many men have died trying to come before you," I back-pedaled. More happy looks from the daughter. More paint peeling from the dad. Pamela made sure more koumiss was going around. Getting drunk could hardly hurt at this juncture. Sarangeral placed the bowl between us. It was filled with clear, cold water undoubtedly collected from a mountain-fed glacier. "Let us cleanse our hands in the water so that we may speak with clarity," O. Tömörbaatar said. We dipped our fingers and, for a second, I saw him. Not 'O', but HIM. "It is good to finally meet you Ferko Ishara Cáel Nyilas," the man said. My Spidey senses told me he was feeling less 'good' about this meeting every second. "How can your people and mine better get along?" 'Let me impregnate your daughter', would probably get my skull split open. "No time for that," I replied. "I know where HE is. The Seven Pillars have found a way to search the Weave and are closing in. You must act with haste." Whether it was disbelief, or old schooled Ku Chun in the art of gambling, the older man gave no outward reaction. "Where is he?" O. Tömörbaatar asked in a gentle tone. "I can do you one better," I steeled myself for the unknown forces I was invoking. I put my hands on the bowl's lip and looked in. Several seconds later, he did as well. For a moment, nothing. It was like a ripple in reverse. The first earth tremor I barely noticed. The ripples grew and grew until I felt the whole row of townhouses would come crashing down. Wind snapped the locks on the windows, flinging them wide open and tearing at the curtains like streamers in a hurricane. Then we saw HIM clearly. HE stopped driving this old, beat-up Peugeot and was pulling to the side of a desolate stretch of highway. HE could sense something yet couldn't pinpoint the source of his unease. We definitely got the impression this wasn't his first taste of this experience, the Seven Pillars. He was young, maybe my age. He looked like an educated man turned vagabond/boundless traveler. HIS eyes, his eyes had a depth that were a microcosm of what I'd glimpsed in Ishara, Dot Ishara's unshielded glance when we first met. All lingering doubts vanished in my mind. "I know that place," O T muttered, his eyes fixated on the only feature in the vacant expanse, a road sign, in Chinese. Yikes. "I know that place." The image faded. Our meeting venue was intact. Whatever I felt transpire, I had shared with O. Tömörbaatar alone. "You have work to do," I stated as I cleared my throat. "I will leave you to it." I stood. "What do you wish for this gift?" O T reached out and touched my sleeve. "When the time comes, maybe you can help us," I replied. "A man who asks for nothing can expect anything," O T smiled for the first time. "Go." I did not take a fear-free breath until the cars started up and we pulled away. He'd let us live. Even with that priceless piece of magical insight, he'd let us live. "I'm still stunned we got out alive," I sighed. "I wasn't really sure he'd take the news as well as he did." No one said anything for a minute. "Why would he have killed us?" Delilah inquired. "You, I understand. I don't know what you communicated to that young lady, but the old guy wasn't happy about it. He was going to kill us over that?" Pause. "What did the rest of you see and hear?" I looked around the cabin. Pamela appeared worried. "I didn't know you spoke Chagatai," Miyako smiled at me. "You are full of surprise. I only caught a word, or two, and none of it made sense." "MRI," I groaned. "Magnetoencephalography," Pamela said in the same breath. "Mine is better, Boyo." "What is going on?" Rachel upped her alertness level. "We need to take Cáel to a hospital that has a Magnetoencephalography device," Pamela insisted. "He's spontaneously speaking languages he didn't know moments earlier, " Maddox put things together first. The rest nodded at her assessment. "We'll need to have his records from Havenstone sent over as a baseline." Poor Virginia, the absurdity of my life was sucking her in. "I'll call Katrina," Rachel informed us. I was a mental case once more. At least my input was still being solicited. "How many guns do you have on you?" Pamela zinged me. The answer was obvious, two. My Glock and my back-up. That didn't seem right. "Ah, two?" I responded. "Yeah, something is happening to your muscle memory as well," Pamela shook her head. "What exactly does that mean, and what's wrong with Cáel's brain?" Delilah studied the group. "It means he could spontaneously pull out his gun and start shooting us?" Pamela confessed her uncertainty. "I don't know. We'd better figure out which impulses are his guiding light right now before that happens." "I don't even know how to begin reporting this," Maddox muttered. "Cheer up. Our Cáel is still currently in charge. Did you appreciate how he lured in that young Mongolian girl? That's classic Cáel," Pamela comforted the crowd. I was saved from a straightjacket because I was a 'Playa'. (Meadowlands Medical Center in far off New Jersey) I'm not political. For me, that means I am completely and utterly dedicated to whatever doctrine that the cutest political campaigner in front of me endorses. Fifteen minutes on the internet and you can fake it like a pro. Be careful to be with the winning team when the results come in. Nothing makes a political chick go wild like sneaking into the candidate's office and screwing her on the newly elected/re-elected figure's desk. Let her scream out her idol's name. Odds are neither of you will be welcomed back afterwards anyway. Why politics now? Javiera called some people. I had a sneaking suspicion that someone I knew and trusted got in touch with my 'Aunts' as well. All I knew for sure was the Hospital's Administrator's phone began ringing off the hook and I'd become the hospital's number one priority. The hospital staff was visibly irritated with the clout raining down on their heads for about an hour. Once they digested my Havenstone records, all of that changed. Holy 'Published in The New England Journal of Medicine', someone had drilled a micro-surgical hole in my skull in the middle of a wrestling match with no resulting cerebral scarring. THEN this unknown device shot into my skull with pinpoint accuracy and pumped a ghastly amount of energy into my cerebrum. They were fascinated. They were so fascinated I heard two medical technicians mutter about where the Zombie Survival Guide could be found. They triple checked my vital signs, again. I was still as much alive as when I checked myself in. There was a rumor that a fire ax disappeared from a stairwell close by, but not one confessed to the deed. I was speaking in languages I had no reason to know? They were surprised I could contain my mouth drool. It was somewhat disheartening to hear three seasoned physicians discuss what probable scenarios could explain me still being in a non-vegetative state,  or alive for that matter. Some poor nurse had to ask. "Do you feel an unnatural, interest in human brains?" she whispered when she though no one was close by. "I'm not sure what you mean," I whispered back. "I always respect a woman's intelligence. Sex is a cerebral passion. What's the point if you can't communicate with your partner?" Pamela slapped me upside my head. That disturbed just about everybody else in the vicinity and my mentor was promptly exiled from the room. I was curious about what havoc she was perpetrating on this establishment. My condition had gotten her past all the heavy security and I knew without seeing that someone high ranking had misplaced their ID badge. Maybe Pamela was the love-child of Batman and Cat woman. Before you think that's comic fanboy talk, recall what my life was like at that moment. Tests ensued. The staff decided that Havenstone employed a bunch of quacks and snake charmers. Two hours later, they found out they were wrong. Larger battery of tests, same results. I was the second coming of Christ, back from the dead, or a zombie living in a convincing state of denial. Some folks wouldn't let that go. Pamela had proved to be prophetic. Her pet gizmo finally provided a new picture of what my neural pathways were up to. If there is any doubt, 'I've never seen that before' is not what you want to hear one of North America's experts in the field of neuroscience say. The first educated opinion was that I suffered from chronic traumatic encephalopathy, that meant I was hit in the head a lot. Normally that diagnosis comes in the midst of an autopsy. I was having paralytic seizures. They had me juggle a squeeze-ball, then two and finally three. My perfect performance frustrated them. Women find relatively simple carnival tricks to be seductive. Pluck a card from a girl's bra gets you both to some dark corner, hungrily looking for the rest of the deck, I speak from experience. Next up at bat: 'I was possessed', I shit you not. Holistic medicine was right on board with the team. Was I influenced by a supernatural power? Yes I was. So claimed the majority of people on Earth. Did I receive specific instructions? Yes, and so did practitioners of Voodoo/Vodun on three continents. I added that I attempted to evade said instructions when I could. Did I have 'evil' impulses to hurt myself, or others? Huh? For starters, my matron goddess was more of a 'fucker' than a 'fighter' and her instructions were always suitably vague, the same way a Philosophy professor would give you a ten word pointless sentence on Friday and expect you to have a 250 page doctrine on Monday morning. That hit home. Too many normally smart people take a philosophy class in college hoping for an easy-A. Some teachers love dissolving those delusion, sitting back and watching your hopes and dreams of task-free weekends go down the drain. The more obscure the discipline, the more perverse the desire. That is why you always pick a teacher of the opposite gender (if in doubt, use a gay/lesbian test) and keep 'sex for grades' on the menu. Was I suffering from optical illusions, or phantom noises? Straight to the point, yes, I saw and talked with ghosts. So did the Long Island Medium, the casts of Ghost Hunters, Paranormal Witness plus George Anderson and Chip Coffey. To my credit, I didn't do it for profit, or in order to influence people. Was I seeing ghosts now? I was in hospital, so odds weren't bad. I had every non-ghost raise their left hand. No ghosts. Was my paranormal dementia pre- or post-brain trauma? Did seeing a college student being called before his class and successfully accused of plagiarism on his senior thesis, turning him into one of the Restless Dead count? No? My 'disputed' abilities were all post-college employment, thank you very much. Did the ghosts possess me/tell me to do things? I was not possessed and, discounting sexual bondage and my current work venue, had never been possessed. From my limited exposure, ghosts wanted to not be alone in the afterlife, to be guided to a final resting place with others of their kind/family/friends. None had taught me languages, asked me to steal something, or kill anyone. Had any done so, I would have denied them. Such actions were immoral and I could still freely differentiate between right and wrong. I preferred to commit wrong on my own initiative and making me do good was a chore most sane people abandoned after a few days. I took a Rorschach test. The results were predictable because I had taken old 'R' several times before. Just like every other time, I'd mixed up sexual innuendo with a psychological test to seduce the test-giver,  everything reminded me of intercourse. I changed it up with this girl. I gave her numbers. Sometime after I was long gone, they were going to figure out the ink blots were numbered after whichever erotic positions from the Kama Sutra I was reminded of at the time. I knew that wasn't being helpful and I was certain I wasn't a brain specialist. I also knew Rorschach wasn't the key to solving my woes. Final remaining hypothesis, I was utilizing 30 % of my brain capacity with three independent patterns emerging, not the usual 5 %. For that to work, my brain had to be oozing out my ears because brains generate a terrific amount of heat. My temperature was a steady 37.3 C (99 F) and my ear channels were free of obstruction. Hey man, cleaning your ears is quick and easy. Don't risk turning off a date with misfortunately located ear-hair and wax. How was my brain shedding the heat? Their solution, let's do a Spinal Tap. No way. I'd seen that band and they were all extremely fucked up, even for old guys. I wasn't going down that road. They insisted. I suggested that I consent to the procedure with the condition that I received no pain killers/sedatives of any kind and I got to grab and hold onto the testicles of my two, current, least favorite doctors. When they realized I was deadly serious and immovable on the issue, they came up with a new plan, no Spinal Tap. Gutless sissies. Into this vacuum of information, a brainstorm emerged (besides my inexplicable one). They would talk to me, no more interrogations, an actual verbal exchange. They couldn't come over and start flapping their gums like some punk rock band with no talent. They were suddenly worried about 'concerning' me and 'agitating my unstable state'. I pray to Goddess Ishara that one day soon they play back the tapes of their early hours working on me and pay close attention to my facial expressions of shock, horror, fear and depression as they clearly and openly talked about me as if I was the Fiji Mermaid. But hey, a few of them were kinda cute, so in the final analysis all that emotional trauma worked its way out. Hospital highlights: (Understand, I was lying on a table while various specialists prodded and talked about me as if I wasn't there. To strike back at reality, I throbbed my penis every time this cute Parasitologist looked at it. Finally ) Female Chief of Neurosurgery: "Did anyone think to study changes in is body's nervous system?" (Guilty looks all around) Neuro Surgeon: "What are all these needle marks?" Havenstone Medico, "Those are muscle stimuli insertion sites. They kept his musculature from atrophying while he was in a coma." Neuro Surgeon: "Let me get this straight. This man had a lightning bolt go off in his head and part of your healthcare regimen was to run a constant current of electricity throughout the rest of his body." (Scathing looks at the Medico from everyone else, jackals) HM: "He has retained excellent muscle tone." Neuro Surgeon: "Have you even taken the Hippocratic Oath?" HM: (offended) "Of course not, he's Greek." Neuro Surgeon: "What does my patient being Greek have to do with anything?" HM: "Not him (pointing at me). Hippocrates, he was a Greek. Cáel is Magyar/Irish Gaelic." Neuro Surgeon: "Helpful, that's not. He seems to have a great deal of bruises and scarring, some of it certainly received over an extensive period of time. Is this your work?" HM: (in a positive note) "No. It has not been my pleasure to spar with Cáel yet." Neuro Surgeon: "Isn't he a bit, big for you?" &

Cáel's tombstone: For the love of women, women put him here.In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand.Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected..