Latest Update: September 6, 2002 by Ben Marcus

9:30 LOCAL TIME FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 6, 2002 INTERNET CAF° IN WEST YELLOWSTONE

Still raining, still dreaming.

It rained this morning so I didn't go fish but that was a mistake apparently as rain evens the odds between man and fish. They don't see as well and the water is full of noise and also a lot of bugs hatch at a certain temperature.

Oh well. I'll fish the Madison on the way up and back because I guess I'll come back and fish the Firehole this weekend.

Team G are gone and I miss them but that was fun.

Not sure where I'll go now. Wherever the Four Winds take me, I guess.

Gotta go get Ike. Putting those photos together last night made me miss the little rascal.

Check out

www.cinemasanfrancisco.com/jellystonephotos.html

Keep sending e-mails. They're nice to wake up to.

13:00 MT TIME SATURDAY SEPTEMBER 6, 2002 IN THE OFFICE OF KEN W. HALL ENNIS, MONTANA

To paraphrase Gorden Gecko: "Bathing is good. Bathing works."

This morning I bathed, after flogging the Burnt Tree Hole and Varney Bridge in the rain. I started at Burnt Tree Hole and went to the Varney Bridge and then drove back to Burnt Tree Hole and jumped in the water and shampooed and put on clean clothes and took the dirty, muddy ones to the Laundromat I passed on the way into town and I feel much much better, thank you.

It's raining and muddy and probably will be for the weekend, and I must admit that crummy weather takes the fun out of standing by a river flogging it for hours and getting nothing.

Bathing is good. Woke up this morning at the Burnt Tree Hole with Ike on the dashboard and the radio on and that was nice. It was raining and I fished a little and then drove a few miles down to the Varney Bridge where some guys from Pennsylvania were sitting in their car, waiting out the rain. There were drift boats passing by and that is definitely the way to do the Madison. Standing on the shore flogging is kind of silly. On one backcast I lost a fly and a rig in a tree. The guys from Pennsylvania said: "You won't catch much up there."

Good thing I didn't have Mr. Walther with me.

After leaving the Claim Jumper last night I fell asleep listening to the Giants beat the Diamondbacks on the midnight broadcast and I must say that second to the Stupid Cat, KNBR has been my best friend on the road. It's a voice from far away, keeping me company at night.

I just told Ken Hall that Pac Bell Park is a lot like Montana: Scenic, clean, orderly and the people are macho but they behave.

So now it's 13:10 and I have to send this to y'all good people and then send that proposal for Shark Season to Marc Conley and others to get that thing going. I shouldn't have to bend over backwards to get them to do all this, but I guess space and money are tight at the Sentinel.

I like Montana. It's the place where when you drive past someone on a country road, you always wave hello.

16:53 FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 6, 2002 THE CLAIM JUMPER SALOON, ENNIS MONTANA

Stupid Cat is now being promoted to Fricking Cat and we all know what comes after that.

This was a long, stupid, frustrating day of interruptions and missed connections and busy signals and just crap, all because that Fricking Cat jumped into a Yukon.

Woke up around 8:00 this morning and it was raining so I decided to skip the Firehole. I called Gidget around 9:00 and told her I'd be there by 11:00. First mistake.

I went to the internet cafÚ and worked until around 9:45, thinking that would give me enough time to make the 71 mile drive to Ennis. Don't know why I dilly-dallied so long, but it was a mistake.

I tried to call Gidget from three different pay phone in West Yellowstone to tell her I'd be late, but all three phones were dysfunctional so I wasted time there. When I finally did get through, no one answered.

By the time I got out of West Yellowstone I knew I was going to be late and I felt stupid.

But the speed limit was 70 MPH and even though it was raining hard I drove close to that on very clear roads, through lovely but cloudy Montana, with the Madison River off to the left.

And then I came upon yet another traffic jam, this one caused by a horse trailer that must have skidded in the wet and went broadside. It took at least half an hour to clear the thing, and by that time I knew I was going to be late.

It got worse from there. I made it to Ennis around 11:20 but there was no sign of Gidget at the Town Pump, not that I knew what she looked like or what car she was driving. I remember her saying that she would be leaving town around 1:00, so I was pissed when I showed up and she wasn't there.

I tried calling here and again ran into a bunch of dysfunctional phone booths.

I came into this place, the Claim Jumper Saloon and asked the bartendress if she knew Gidget. She said she did and let me use the bar cell phone to call her. The line was busy, and it stayed busy for the next hour and a half, blam it.

Well I ate lunch and kept calling here and worried about Ike and about inconveniencing people and finally I asked for directions to Gidget's house. I got a crudely drawn map and then set off a wild goose chase that had me screaming and uttering like a Mormon after half and hour. I ended up going around and around out in the sticks, with the clock ticking well past the 1:00 deadline she had mentioned.

After several mis-directions and wrong turns I finally found the House of Gidget. There were two cars in the driveway so I went through the latched gate, made sure to relatch it and approached the house. Nobody home. I was hoping Ike might be around and I called him and even went into the house to see if he was locked in a room somewhere. He wasn't.

This house was out in the middle of nowhere and the nearest neighbor was a half-mile away, so there's no reason to lock doors.

I used my phone card to call mom to see if Gidget had called her, and she hadn't.

So I screamed and yelled some more and left a note with $10 in it. There was a dog tied up on the porch and no food around which made me think they hadn't gone far.

So I drove back into town and made more phone calls and talked to Sue French at the liquor store who said Gidget might have gone back to West Yellowstone to work.

So I called the Totem Bar and they said Gidget might be at the Outpost and I called there and they said she wasn't working at the Outpost anymore but they had her mom's number. I called mom and she said she was pretty sure Gidget wasn't coming to West Yellowstone and she didn't really know where her daughter was.

So after that I said screw it and went fishing. I bought a two-day Montana license in Ennis and some big bugs and went and flogged the Madison at Valley Garden-which is the same name of the golf course Wingnut and his wife like to go to

I got some nibble and a decent strike along a beautiful stretch of river. Talked to a guy who caught a six-pound trout on a grasshopper. The Madison is meant to be drifted. Fishing the bank is like standing there with your finger in your nose.

But it was scenic and Montana and the sky became to clear and it was quiet but I was mostly seething about what a pain in the ass that cat is sometimes. I should just leave him with Gidget because she lives out in the sticks and there is a creek there and some bushes to run through, but I like Ike too much, even if he does cost me hours and days and dollars.

I guess I'll stay in Ennis until he shows up. No idea where Gidget is or how long she'll be going. If only I had left West Yellowstone a half an hours earlier.

Crud.

So for now I'm in the Claim Jumper which is clean and well lighted. There is a big scenic painting of Custer's Last Stand on the wall, and nice people chatting away in the bar.

In one of our stirring conversations back in West Yellowstone, George and I agreed that Montana was the West. Not the Midwest or the Southwest but very much the west and for that it was just about the best possible. Montana people are country people but in a sophisticated way. They are cowboys and ranchers and farmers without being hicks.

Gary Cooper was from Montana, so there you go.

Earlier today I bought some buffalo jerky from a butcher whose people came here from Norway back in 1912. I think that's why I might like the northern part of the west best, because the people are mostly German and Scandinavian descended, and that means they are going to have a certain braininess and sophistication to them.

I could be making this up, but others have noticed it, too.

Montana is the West, and the West is the Best.

17:34 I just called Gidget's number and it was busy so I guess she's there so I guess I might as well head up there.

This sucks. Stupid cat. Although I did just win $10.50 playing Montana Mania on the poker machine. And there are much worse places to be than Ennis, Montana and in some ways they are few better.

20:34 FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 6, 2002 IN THE PARKING LOT OF THE ECONOMY MARKET, ENNIS, MONTANA

Ike is up on the dashboard, happy as a claim, no idea of the trouble he caused. No notion that my throat is sore from shouting a certain word a million times while driving all over the Great West this afternoon, looking for his stinky self.

I got him, finally. After leaving the Claim Jumper I made a phone call and the line was clear and Gidget answered and she said she understood and she said to come on up.

After the phone call I saw a camera bag sitting by the side of the road and I thought it had been abandoned and then I saw a photographer and we struck up a conversation. He was from Dallas and then Houston and worked in the oil business and had a few things to say about Saudi Arabia and the Middle East, where he had spent some time.

He also said that in all the places he had been, Ennis was the place to be and he rattled off a bunch of famous families and corporate names who have houses in the Madison River Valley.

The sky cleared this afternoon and I began to remember where

I asked if he had considered doing a book of his photos and he said he was considering it and I suggested he self-publish. Well he gave me his card and I said I'd call him after I found my stupid cat and now that's what I'm doing.

I drove up to Gidgets and went through the gate and locked it behind me and met Gidget who had Ike in her arms and a black lab snapping at Ike.

She was nice and her husband was a little grumpy, probably not too impressed by some scruffy guy from Santa Cruz traveling with a cat.

But I apologized up and down and then we got out of there.

On the way back I fished the Madison a little bit at a spot I've already forgotten the name of. I got a couple of solid strikes but no fish. I was going to jump in and take a shower but it was too late and looked too cold.

Now I'm in his office and I'm going to send all this.

Stupid cat.

The name of the vet in this town is James Bond.

23:01 MT TIME FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 6, 2002 THE BAR AT THE CLAIM JUMPER

I just moved the computer from the bar of the Claim Jumper to a booth so I could hook into a wall power outlet. Now I'm looking at that painting of Custer's Last Stand again.

If I tried this in Georgia or Texas or Kansas-whipping out a laptop computer in a cowboy bar-there would be hell to pay. But this is Montana. Even the average Montana cowboy probably has a college degree and knows that computers are good for things other than porn.

Money by Pink Floyd just came on the jukebox. It's that kind of cowboy bar.

Just had a hamburger and fries and watched the Giants/Diamondbacks game. It's tied 0 to 0 in the eighth and I think Kirk Ruiter has a two-hitter going.

I can kind of see the TV screen from where I am, but I have work to do.

I talked with Ken Hall for awhile while sending e-mails from his office. He is a good photographer who wants to do a book and I was cluing him into how to do self publish it himself. I said I would connect him with Hal Belmont at Overseas Printers, who is organizing the printing for the Jim Phillips book.

I also said that if the Jim Phillips book does really well, I might attempt to self publish a book called, "Publishers? Who Needs them?" which would detail how The Art of Jim Phillips was paid for, written, illustrated, laid out, printed and distributed-and detail to writers what equipment and expertise and expenses are needed to do their own book. It could do well.

After leaving Ken's office I ordered a hamburger at the Claim Jumper and walked across the street to call Marc Conley, the Sports Editor at the Santa Cruz Sentinel, to nudge, no shove, this weekly surfing column into life.

He wanted test pieces so I've already written him one good week worth of Shark Season columns and I've written three more for three more Sunday columns but he is hemming and hawing.

I guess they ran my letter to the editor today about Santa Cruz reminding me of the Pottersville scene from It's A Wonderful Life: How downtown is now bars and drunks and hookers and Lost Children, and how Santa Cruz has been corrupted. It also said that Clint Eastwood filmed a Dirty Harry movie on the mall and that maybe Santa Cruz should quit pussy-footing around and find a Clint Eastwood to clean the place up, but do it all PC and with finesse. Jim Phillips sent an e-mail saying Dolly had read the letter out loud to him and he had laughed out loud. Someone else sent an e-mail saying they had read it. Sorry that I can't remember who it was.

Now I can go join the John Birch Society.

Anyway, I talked with sports editor Marc Conley and he was hemming and hawing and he said I needed to be there in Santa Cruz to hash out details and they needed a photo of me and I said I didn't need to be there to hash out details and we could do it over e-mail and it would be better to use an illustration by Jimbo Phillips than a photo of me and he agreed and said I was an "ugly motherfucker" and that stopped me a little bit and reminded me that I'm not young and pretty anymore but I kept pushing anyway. And that also reminded me of why I want to live in Montana. There's no one around to see that you're not young and pretty anymore.

I said we should start with the Shark Season column and start it on a Sunday and do one a week through the week and end it with a Sunday. I said that the surfing column would become very popular very fast and that I know every ripple and speck of sand and puff of wind in Santa Cruz and that I could have written the shark series from anywhere and I can write a weekly Santa Cruz column from anywhere and it would be as good or better than anything else in the Sentinel. He kind of agreed with that and I said okay then.

I said that instead of a photo of me maybe a Jimbo Phillips illustration of me and he said that might be better and I still said that a Jimbo Phillips comic illustration for every column would still be better than a photo or illustration of me even if I still were blonde and healthy and handsome like I was about 20 years ago and he said he'd think about it.

For example: I have already turned in an interview with Sean Moody of NOAA about the use of PWC in the Monterey Bay Sanctuary. To illustrate that, Jimbo Phillips could draw a frightened sea otter being pulled one way with a flipper attached to a rope that is attached to a WaveRunner, with the other flipper roped to an environmentalist who is hugging a tree.

That would attract attention, I think.

He said I needed to be in Santa Cruz to hammer out a final agreement and I said he should e-mail a list of his demands and payment and all like that and he doesn't even have to pay me he can pay Jimbo Phillips and that I just need something to do.

The Sentinel doesn't pay enough to worry about, and if pay is getting in the way of the column being run, then don't pay me.

I said the idea was pretty simple. I would write a regular Sunday column of 800 words and would do all I could to find illustrations and photos for every column. I said that once winter gets rolling it would be easy to do a weekly column and that there might be a little gossip column at the end of each column for things like Team Santa Cruz getting all their stuff thrown off a cliff in Alaska.

So I told him all that and now I'm going to compose a letter that will start the column and arrange for illustrations and photos and such.

Here is a draft of that letter:

Marc Conley
Jimbo Phillips
Sean Van Sommeran
Ralph S. Collier

September 6, 2002

Gentlemen
I think e-mail is the best way to do business and arrange this regular surfing column in the Santa Cruz Sentinel and the photos and illustrations for the Shark Season series and all the subsequent columns, because everything is down in writing and everything is agreed upon and nothing is unclear or forgotten.

After working for a magazine for 10 years, I've learned the Golden Rule: There's too much to remember. Write it down.

I think the surfing column should start on Sunday, September 15 with a week-long series called Shark Season: Myths, Legends, Rumors and Lies About White Sharks. The copy is already written and only needs a few fixes and a little trimming to get all eight parts down to 800 words a piece.

A PHOTO OR ILLUSTRATION OF BEN
As for a photo of me, I am going to Fed Ex my expired passport which has a photo of me about 5 years ago when I was still surfing and healthy and Orange County and SURFER Magazine and turning 40 hadn't sucked all the youth and energy out of me. It's a good photo and I still kind of look like a surfer. I'm sticking my tongue out a bit, but that's the Santa Cruz way, isn't it?

I think it can be blown up to fit the Sentinel. It's a good photo.

If that doesn't work then maybe a Jimbo Phillips illustration of me but I'm afraid of that because I'm always skulking around the Phillips house and he might draw me like that-all skulking around.

PHOTOS AND ILLUSTRATIONS FOR THE SHARK SEASON SERIES

As for the Shark Season column, here are some ideas for illustrations and photos to go with each part of the series.

1. INTRODUCTION (for the first Sunday column)

FIRST LINE: The dog days of summer are here, but the Great White Shark days of late summer and early fall are just around the corner.

ILLUSTRATION: This column introduces the whole series:

SHARK SEASON
Myths, Legends, Rumors and Lies about White Sharks.

So how to do an illustration that introduces all the different Myths, Legends, Rumors and Lies of the series. Maybe to illustrate "Shark Season" you could have a tree with leaves falling, and a shark circling underneath-but that would probably be better for the second part of the series.

Or a calendar turning from August to September with a shark lurking on the September page-still better for the second part of the series.

Hmm, what to do for an illustration to introduce the whole idea?

I'll do the others and then come back to this one, which could be a montage of all the illustrations for the rest of the series.

PHOTO: The introduction will hopefully include a chart of all the shark attacks from 1950 to now-with date, victim's name, victim's activity, attack location.

There could be photos from some of the attacks on the list: Craig Rogers and his chomped board. Lew Boren's chomped board. One of Alex Peabody's lifeguard shark photos. Or there could be a montage of photos that will be appearing in the rest of the series, to give people a taste of what is coming.

2. LATE SUMMER AND EARLY FALL ARE SHARK SEASON TRUE, BUT ALSO MAY

FIRST LINE: It's a long, long way from May to December, but as the days grow short when you reach September so do the odds of being attacked by a white shark.

ILLUSTRATION: A tree with leaves falling and a shark circling underneath ready to gobble the falling leaves might be good.

Or maybe a calendar turning from August to September, with that "shark under leaves falling" illustration on the September page.

PHOTO: Maybe a good fall surf shot of Steamer Lane or Waddell Creek with the caption. " After a long, dull summer, as the ocean begins to rumble, sharks stomachs' begin to grumble."

Or one of the shark-tagging photos from the Pelagic Shark Research Foundation, as that fits in with the shark-tagging info included in the copy.

Or a photo of white sharks swirling at Ano Nuevo or the Farallones in September/October.

Or maybe a graph of the routes of the five tagged sharks that were tracked from California to Hawaii. I've seen that somewhere. Sean?

3. YOU ARE SAFE INSIDE THE MONTEREY BAY. SORT OF TRUE, SO FAR

FIRST LINES: Of the 48 white shark attacks in the local counties, there have only been a few between Lover's Point and Lighthouse Point-within what most people consider the Monterey Bay, although the north tip of the Monterey Bay is actually point Ano Nuevo. Does that mean there are no white sharks within the Monterey Bay? Don't bet your life on it.

ILLUSTRATION: I don't know, but this one should kick the genetic Phillips sense of humor into gear. Senior would be all over this. Let's see what Junior can do.

PHOTO: Maybe send someone to photograph that photo of the shark fin cruising just north of the Cement Ship that is at the Chill Out Cafe on 41st Ave. mentioned in the article. Or ask Alex Peabody for one of the photos he took from the lifeguard patrol boat. (L29guard@AOL.com) Are there any other photos of white sharks within the Monterey Bay? Sean? Ralph?

4. EVENING TIME IS FEEDING TIME FORTUNATELY AND UNFORTUNATELY, NO.

FIRST LINE: We human beings are out of our element in the water and under the cover of darkness, and those two phobias might explain the persistent myth that as the sun is going down, the chances of getting eaten by a shark go up.

ILLUSTRATION: Somewhere in the copy I make a crack that shark attacks can occur at "Dr. Pepper time: 10, 2 or 4 o'clock." Maybe a watch face with a shark using its fins to point to the hours and minutes, instead of a Mickey Mouse? Or someone clanging a dinner bell with sharks circling as the sun is setting?

PHOTO: A photo of the sun setting with surfers still in the lineup and the caption: "The Theme From Jaws gets louder as the sun sets, but does the chance of shark attack go up as night falls?"

5. IN A GROUP, THE GUY WHO MOVES IS THE GUY WHO GETS HIT. APPARENTLY TRUE

THESIS LINE: Lee Fontan. Eric Larsen. Omar Conger: There seems to be a pattern here, and the pattern is: The guy who moves is the guy who gets hit.

ILLUSTRATION: Again, the Phillips humor should have fun with this. Show a group of six guys with five sitting quietly and one paddling furiously. The shark is beaming in on the surfer who is paddling and making all the vibration and noise.

PHOTO: You could use one of my photos of Lee Fontan's bitten surfboard, or him in his hospital bed. Or maybe a file photo of Eric Larsen or Jon Ferrara. Or maybe a photo of a shark attacking a surfboard off the Farallones.

6. WHITE SHARKS CAN'T JUMP: THEY ARE SLOW SWIMMERS AND POOR HUNTERS, WITH POOR EYESIGHT

YOU WISH

OPENING PARAGRAPH: Eric Larsen didn't see it coming. He was sitting out at Davenport alone, thinking about going in, when he felt himself being lifted up out of the water. "I hope that's an elephant seal," Larsen remembers thinking to himself but when he looked down, all he saw were teeth and eyes and his legs in the mouth of a great, big white shark. Larsen's shark experience was typical of all surviving victims. He all of a sudden found himself being thrashed back and forth in the jaws of an overwhelmingly powerful animal. He was helpless, and resigned to the possibility of death. He was surprised to be let loose and when he got to the beach, he was amazed and relieved to still be alive. And when all the shock was over with and he had time to think clearly about it all, Larsen was stunned in a way all shark victims are stunned: How could something that big and powerful be that stealthy? The answer to that is: White sharks are exceptionally good hunters combining decent eyesight with keen motion and ele! ctrical sensors to sneak up on even the smartest prey (humans) with short bursts of incredible speed.

ILLUSTRATION: Something about eyesight, swimming speed, hunting ability and jumping ability. Can you throw all that into one illustration? Maybe the white shark pentathlon? I don't know.

PHOTO: Sean Van Sommeran has a pretty chilling, three shot sequence of a huge white shark jumping completely out of the water. That could be good enough. If there is a photo of a shark with its head out of water and obviously looking around, that could be chilling also.

7. IF YOU'RE ATTACKED BY A WHITE SHARK, YOU WILL PROBABLY SURVIVE TRUE

OPENING PARAGRAPH: The worst part of the attack on Eric Larsen happened after the shark let him loose. The shark thrashed around and got snarled in Larsen's surf leash and began dragging the surfer out to sea. "I thought, 'Great, this thing is going to take me out to sea and eat me,'" Larsen said. But that wasn't what happened. If great white sharks really wanted to eat humans, there would have been a lot more than 48 attacks since 1950 and most of those attacks would have been fatal. Sharks and humans are in proximity all the time. A white shark can weigh more than two tons, and even the strongest human is little more than a rag doll in the teeth of all that power.

ILLUSTRATION: A surfer being carried away on a stretcher, bruised and bandaged and bleeding, as the shark waves goodbye? Or holds up one of those Charlie the Tuna signs saying, "Sorry. Thought you were a seal."

PHOTO: A photo of Eric Larsen cut to ribbons and bandaged up, but smiling and alive? I know I've seen it, but I wonder if the Sentinel has it.

8. HOW TO AVOID BEING ATTACKED AND/OR KILLED BY A WHITE SHARK

OPENING PARAGRAPH: Now you're all bummed out. The shark days of September are just around the corner, arriving at the same time the fog rolls itself up and leaves, the onshore winds are replaced by offshores and the north Pacific gets ready to rumble. You've spent the past week reading about shark behavior in local ocean waters and close encounters and attacks on local surfers and you're not sleeping well and your work performance is dropping because you want to go surfing but all you can think about is sharks. Well sharks are worth worrying about a little, but for those who can't resist going in the water, the experts have some Expert Advice. Follow these guidelines and you can spend the rest of your years enjoying local waters and not end up getting rag-dolled by a Volkswagon bus with teeth.

STAY AWAY FROM SEAL ROOKERIES ILLUSTRATION: A bunch of seals who have taken over a surfboard and are sitting high and dry on top of it while a worried surfer is bobbing in the water with a shark circling.

PHOTO: A photo of the seals at Seal Rock or at Ano Nuevo or out on the Farallones.

LISTEN TO YOUR INSTINCTS.
ILLUSTRATION: A surfer with an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. The angel is saying, "Feel that? Get out now!" and the devil is saying, "See that? One more wave!" PHOTO: Maybe a photo of Steve Guzzetta and Ernie Morgan?

FIGHT BACK
ILLUSTRATION: A surfer with boxing gloves squaring off against a shark with boxing gloves. Or maybe a sequence, with the shark taking both of the boxing gloves in its mouth, because this part suggests that fighting back is not such a good idea.

PHOTO: No idea.

SAVE YOURSELF
ILLUSTRATION: A surfer doing First Aid on himself: maybe using his surf leash as a tourniquet PHOTO: Eric Larsen is the best example of a victim who saved his own life by knowing First Aid. Maybe a photo of him holding up his bandaged arm.

So there it is. I don't know how I could be clearer and more concise and helpful than that.

We'll see if Marc Conley and Jimbo and the others respond.

It will be a lot of work, but the shark series will be popular and it will be a great way to kick off the column.

Now it's 12:23 local time. The bar is lively and Janis Joplin is on the jukebox. Reggie Sanders hit a single to beat the Diamondbacks and that was very needed, because the Giants are in a life-or-death struggle with the Dodgers for the wildcard and there is a far outside chance they could even win the division, but unlikely.

Last night the New York Giants played the 49ers in the first regular-season game, and I was torn. I wanted the Niners to do well, but because of that mistake in Reno I have the Giants at 20-1 to win the Super Bowl. The Niners won. It's a long season.

Guess I'll pack this up and find Ike (Yes, I let him out. I never learn) and go camp at one of the fishing pullouts for five dollars. I can crack it tomorrow and maybe get a few more nibbles and maybe even a fish and then come into town and try to use Ken's e-mail again and send this and try to hook Ken up with Hal Belmont at Overseas Printers.

I was playing the poker machines and watching the Sports Highlights when the waitress came over and asked why my computer was plugged into the wall.

I said, "To charge it up?"

And she said, "Well we pay the electric bill here."

What happened to Montana hospitality?

Now to find Ike and go find a place to sleep.

A drunk guy just started singing, "Paradise City."

What do you think of the "Publishers? Who Needs 'Em?" idea?

Anyone want to back it?

By the way, what I'm completely leaving out is how spectacular and quiet and quietly spectacular the Madison River Valley is. You shoulda seen it from the banks of the Madison River at the Valley Garden hole and from Gidget's house over the river valley and the light dusting of snow in the hills (already). This is the West, baby. And the West is the Best.

Again, maybe that is why Ike lead me here. This is the perfect place for him, and maybe for me.

I'll try to take photos that do justice to the place tomorrow, but for now there are some Gidget photos up at www.cinemasanfrancisco.com/jellystonephotos.html