« Archives in July, 2013

“LITTLE MAN ON THE COUCH”…On Weighty Issues and Political Poop-Heads

Back where he belongs.

TP: Come on in, Little. How’s your summer going?

LM: Pretty fair, doc. Kinda slipped off the diet wagon, though.

TP: Hmm. How bad?

LM: About a buck-fifty’s worth.

TP: Pound and a half? Ouch!

LM: Easy, doc. I’m working on it. Or I should say, dad’s working on it. Trying some new techniques to get me moving more.

TP: Like?

LM: Like taking me down to the basement before meals so I have to walk up the steps to get back to my food bowl.

TP: That’s a good idea.

LM: Yeah. Stairmaster 101. Unfortunately, the scale’s still refusing to budge for me. Dad dropped half a pound, though. Let’s see…what else? Oh yeah, he puts me outside more often.

TP: What do you do out there? »Read More


I have had the good fortune to travel all over the world—for both business and pleasure, not that those are mutually exclusive. This blog is about my unique experiences around the globe. It is not intended as a paean to the wonders of the locales themselves, as there already exist volumes that more than do justice to the magnificence of virtually every corner of this earth.  Here, I simply recount small, personal moments of surprise, embarrassment, stupidity, excitement, fear, heroics, and other stuff like that.

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Marrakech, Morocco…New Year’s 1996. Notwithstanding being ordered from our car at gunpoint on our way to a tribal village in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains, or the human feeding frenzy I engendered with an ill-conceived act of kindness toward some Berber children there, Sande and I loved Marrakech.

Had the best mint tea of our lives in a makeshift café on the edge of the walled city, prepared by a happy guy with no front teeth wearing a homemade Moroccan hoodie.  His refreshing recipe: stuff several large mint leaves, straight from the earth, in a small pot of warm water, add a block of sugar the size of a baseball, and have at it. Undoubtedly, his missing teeth owed something to his prodigious consumption of sugar, but he made a damn good cup of tea.

Visited the weekly Berber market, just outside the city walls, where the “parking lot” held not one car but nearly a hundred donkeys. Even more surprising, the pack mules were lined up in almost perfect order, as if some unseen donkey park attendant had organized them. Meanwhile, the only blonde head for miles belonged to Sande, making her impossible to miss and quite popular.

Decided to relax in the hotel steam room one afternoon. Attendant said, “Go in the first room on your right.” Entered a large space the size of a boxcar, lit by a single overhead light, the walls a magnificent mosaic tile, the floor poured concrete with a drain in the middle. To my right lay a hose about six feet long and a wooden bench like prizefighters sit on between rounds.  Turned on the hose; damn near scalded the skin off my feet. Spent the next several minutes effectively assuming the lotus position atop the prizefighter’s bench, steam slowly filling the boxcar. Strangest shvitz I ever had! »Read More