Craig,  Geoff the Robot and company head to the Old Country to shoot a series of special The Late Late Show episodes.

They're joined by Michael Clarke Duncan, Mila Kunis, Rashida Jones, Ariel Tweto, David Sedaris and possibly other surprise guests for shows which will be broadcast the week of May 14, 2012 on CBS.

Craig visits his hometown of Cumbernuld (and his old high school), Glasgow, Edinburgh, and Arbroath, where the famous Declaration of Arbroath was drafted and signed. There'll be stops at Edinburgh Castle, The Royal Mile, Calton Hill, Glamis Castle and Kelvingrove Art Gallery.

As with the Paris episodes, there is a Scottish flavored version of the show's theme song, this time with the assistance of The Imagineers, who are scheduled to perform on their own as well:

theimagineers_latelateshowtheme.MP3

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theimagineers_latelateshowtheme.MP3 (2.58 MB)

Out and about in Glasgow...

Chatting with photographer Wattie Cheung (snapped by Martin Shields of The Herald & Times):

Craig and Wattie again:

Back to the old stomping grounds - Cumbernauld High School:

And Michael with his lady, Omarosa Manigault-Stallworth

Mila Kunis after some indoor work at the Tron Theater in Glasgow:

Craig chats with Scotland's First Minster, Alex Salmond. The topic was perhaps the Independence Referendum? ;)

Looks like Mila Kunis, Craig, and Ariel Tweto are boogieing down, while Michael Clarke Duncan is trying to hitch a ride outta there!

Craig at Edinburgh Castle - who has the more formidable weapon? ;)

Craig strides manfully out of Edinburgh Castle. The Latin motto above the gate is that of the Order of the Thistle, and of several Scottish regiments within the British Army. It reads "Nemo me impune lacessit" - "No one attacks me with impunity." Hm, some have come to grief with Craig when they forgot that.
 

Craig, Ariel, and Mila take a daytime stroll through a renowned cemetery. Scotland, especially Edinburgh, is populated by ghosts too numerous to tackle in the dark!

After a chilling day (figuratively and literally), this intrepid pair settle down for some refreshment in a cozy pub.

Crag and Geoff on stage at the Tron Theatre, scene of some of Craig's early show-business success.  The now-familiar folding table, with its special placard, the big cash prize at Craig's feet, and the Saltire proudly displayed alongsde the Stars & Stripes. To the left appears to be a swatch of Ferguson tartan, to the right, we see Craig's Americanized Eiffel Tower.

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ScotlandWeekPromoSm.avi (97.37 MB)

Full version of "Imagineer":

Imagineer.mp3

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Imagineer.mp3 (4.15 MB)

HD screencaps from the promo:

At the seaside with Mila, Ariel, Rashida and Geoff:

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Craig_Ferguson_Of_‘The_Late_Late_Show’_Visits_KCAL9_«_CBS_Los_Angeles.mp4 (24.23 MB)

Craig arrives at The Paley Center in Los Angeles for a preview screening of Scotland Week.

Thanks to some Canadian friends, a promo spot from Global TV Canada:

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CraigGlobalTVPromo.avi (95.9 MB)

Entertainment Tonight Web extra - Craig discusses Scotland Week, his memories of Scotland, and his thoughts on show preparation:

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Craig_ET_Interview_05_14_2012.mp4 (51.13 MB)

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ET_Scotland_05_14_2012.avi (60.39 MB)

Sneak peek at the Scotland Week opening number:

Craig visits Chelsea Lately, but is more taken with Handler's dressing room massage chair than promoting Scotland Week!

Scotland Week finally comes roaring in with this kicking cover of "Scotland Rite Temple Stomp" (by John Crozier of Ninian Hawick) as the musical opener. Craig (vocals), Steve Jones (lead guitar), Tim Mosher (guitar) and Stoker (drums).

And we come full circle - Steve Jones is the godfather of the musical cold open. Craig was an avid listener of Jones' radio show, "Jonesey's Jukebox". On the way to work one day, Craig heard a track from his childhood, and decided to lip sync it with puppets. That yodeling cold open led to the many lip sync numbers we've enjoyed so much.

More scenes from the Cumbernauld visit:

Craig and Michael Clarke Duncan stomp  the yard:

Craig updates his class photo (without his ferrets):

• Craig in front of Number 6, his first home.

Notes:

More info on the Scottish group The Imagineers:

http://www.the-imagineers.com/

http://www.youtube.com/user/TheImagineers1

http://www.myspace.com/theimagineers1

http://www.facebook.com/TheImagineers

https://twitter.com/#!/TheImagineers

http://itunes.apple.com/gb/album/see-as-i-say-ep/id451225117

http://www.amazon.co.uk/See-As-I-Say/dp/B005DKEZ8U

CBS Scotland Episode "First Look": http://www.cbs.com/shows/late_late_show/live/106847

CBS Press Release: http://www.cbspressexpress.com/cbs-entertainment/releases/view?id=31417

YouTube: Craig recounts his scar-producing tumbles:

My husband knows that one can expect understanding from me, but even he does not receive blind partiality. So he found the irony of the misconception completely hilarious. He laughed for hours over it.

I got home before him this evening, and found my tattered copy of a beloved childhood book lying on the dining room table. He must have come back during the day to find it. It was to let me know that though the mix-up was funny, he valued and encouraged my belief in the principle.

He left a note, marking the chapter entitled "The Cottonwoods". The note said "Even in a place where there are no laws, and despite any personal considerations, you would be just. It's one of the many reasons I love you."

My closest friend also thought the business uproariously funny, but ended her email with encouragement and wry affirmation, saying that if she were guilty of a crime she wouldn't want me as a juror - because hard as it might be, I'd still be fair.

I'm jet-lagged, exhausted, and I overslept this morning, rushing headlong into a very busy day. When my little dog jumped onto my lap, their faith in me, the feeling of love and good fortune I felt filling the quiet house, precipitated an unaccustomed wave of weepy sentimentality. I hugged her neck and tears trickled onto her scruff.

I have surrounded myself with friends and loved ones such as these; I have confidence in their quality, and they in mine. When this is so, even when it's hard, even when you fail, how can you not keep trying, always trying, to be your best self?

But MY name at the top of the page means it is not a democracy. I determine the limits of your "free speech", because the content reflects on me. My channel is a courtesy and a service, so you will adhere to my standards or go elsewhere, as I have no intention of conforming to yours. There will be no bar room brawling allowed.

When we got to the house, there were soft lights, little bowls of his parents' holly stood around, champagne from the cupboard was chilling, and a fire was lit. The new bed we hadn't had time to assemble after the wedding was set up and nicely dressed. Haha! It reminded me somehow of "It's A Wonderful Life".

So I thought I was imagining it when we heard people singing.

But when we looked outside, it wasn't Bert and Ernie, but some of our friends and family were out front, singing "I Love You Truly". Good gosh, harmonies and all. They sounded great, must have practiced for ages!

We went out to thank them, but they just blew us kisses, waved goodnight, and slipped away very pleased with themselves. Awww, how lovely was that! *sniff*

We decided to have a little of the wine and watch Craig Ferguson. He had a shiny new Twitter avi and an excellent yellow tie night. How nice, thanks Chief! And some talk about Georges Méliès! Aaaah! How we flailed!

We'd spent two full days and nights at La Cinémathèque Française, shrine of the 7th art, cradle of film rescue and preservation, studying about Fritz Lang http://www.cinematheque.fr/fr/expositions-cinema/metropolis/ - and Méliès! 

We even went to the Méliès conference and soirée, with rare clips and readings of his letters. http://www.cinematheque.fr/fr/dans-salles/rencontres-conferences/conferences/conferences-conservatoir/fiche-manifestation/melies-technicien,13513.html

Then the female guest wore a dress similar to the one the Sweetie had surprised me with in Vienna! He said I looked better in mine, which was of course a lie, but such a sweet and gallant lie.

Afterwards, the Sweetie said to bundle up, he had a surprise. We drove and drove, and he stopped at a spot we like, away from the lights. We leaned against the warm hood of the car and gazed up at our own stars again, our home skies.

Zip! A shooting star! He remembered what I had forgotten - the Geminid meter shower. We didn't see a lot of them, what with the moon and a few passing clouds. But we were happy with that, how many did we need really?

We got home and got ready for bed. When we pulled back the covers, there was a note from my grandparents. "This feather-bed was always lucky for us. Have twins, so you can name one for each of us. Love, Gramma and Grampa."  Holy cats, how fresh! Very funny Grands, veerrry funny! LOL! Awfully cozy feather-bed though. :)

It was a warm, wonderful homecoming, and it didn't cost anything really, not any of it. (OK, just a little gas for the drive.) But no MasterCard required - it was home, it was priceless, and to us our first night back was simple and perfect.

Gentlemen: Please be aware that certain mundane gestures and activities can trigger the inexplicable "unf" effect in women. I'm not referring to the act itself, nor do these necessarily lead to it, but you might call them atmospheric aphrodisiacs. For example...

Expertly doing up your tie without a mirror, or even looking, while we're deeply engaged in unrelated conversation. This is lethal unf.

Shaving. No idea why. But your concentrated attention to the contours of your face while avoiding injury fascinates me. If we are shaving you, your suspicious, suppressed fear is fetching and funny, especially since our fine motor skills are generally superior to yours.

Being grungy and triumphant after successfully working on some mechanical device or manual project.

Ripped clothes and messy appearance after physical activity. (A corollary to the above. This is brief unf. We'll hustle you off to the shower, while enjoying the mental image of you covered in dirt and glory.)

Tending to or tentatively cradling a small child or animal. Profoundly evocative combination of aww + unf.

Horsing around with other males when you think you're alone. We sometimes find you to be hilarious and adorable douches.

The sudden realization that you have screwed up and you droop into puppy eyes. We may remain icy, but unf is doing its work.

Instinctively diving to save us - from something entirely harmless. Lame and atavistic, but endearing.

Unconscious, barely audible "mm" sounds emitted while enjoying some food we prepared for you. (Conversely, loud unattractive noises negate the effect.)

Being unpretentiously clever, or seeking our advice because you genuinely trust both our instincts and our intelligence. This is the highly prized "thinking woman's unf".

Being startled and screaming like a wee girl. Being embarrassed about it adds greatly to the impact.

Blushing. Self-confidence is extremely unf, but occasional lapses are utterly charming.

Watching you struggle to master some "feminine" activity (diapering, running the dishwasher, cooking, folding small items of clothing, etc.).

On the other hand, a complete mastery of certain female accoutrements - dealing with a necklace, the buttons up the back of a dress, or releasing us from the confines of our undergarments - generates considerable unf. Bedding a thousand women is ho-hum. Knowing how to undress one is a show-stopper.

Absently holding our hands or draping an arm over our shoulders simply because you're enjoying our company.

Remembering something we thought you didn't even hear or give importance to.

That silent little smile when you think we look nice.

These are some of my personal examples. There are of course many more, which vary from woman to woman. But gentlemen, when they are natural and spontaneous, they are invaluable tools in your quest for, you know. ;)  

Halfway around the world, I'm following the Occupy events at home in NY. My home. My city. I know New Yorkers, I understand them and am one of them.  Here are my thoughts.

1. Many of the 99% who share the dissatisfaction of the protesters will however be alienated by riots in the streets. The working stiff agrees with you, but not with a mindless mob in the heat of an adrenaline, "us vs. them" rush. He takes his livelihood seriously and he loves his family. Disrupt or endanger that, you lose him. Enlist the moral, social, political and financial support of those who can't leave their jobs to sleep and play drums in a park.

2. Blocking subways, bridges and offices hurts the 99% most. It keeps them from getting to jobs they can't afford to lose. People like cabbies, office workers, security guys, porters, cleaners, delivery people, baby-sitters, messengers, bus boys, waiters, teachers - the ones who have two jobs just to have homes, food, medicine - many doing work no one else will do, including you.

3. Fighting a well-oiled machine is best done with a well-oiled machine. Get organized. Refine your message, your focus and your tactics. Intellectual elegance is persuasive, even to the ignorant.

4. Park closed to sleeping paraphernalia? Establish rotating shifts, thus maintaining an orderly 24 hour presence. Get any required permits; make the law work *for* your right to assembly and free speech, not against you by quibbling and splitting hairs about sleeping bags. Leave that to Congress, it's packed with jackasses expert at petty squabbling. *eyeroll*

5. Police *yourselves*. Keep every protest site scrupulously clean, safe and orderly. Crack down on and eject those who reflect badly on your gatherings or your message, or who engage in violence, vandalism or petty crime. Protect yourselves and the public. Preempt residential, business, and official objections by studying all possible consequences in advance. Mitigate negative impact whenever possible. Respect the rights of the 99% who live and work in the area, thus winning them over to your right to protest.

6. Everything, EVERYTHING, should be mobile. Put it on wheels, keep things like books and computers ready to whisk out of harm's way in short order, be able to "break camp" like you're rolling with Patton. Where was the logic of protesting against an inequitable Establishment, then expecting that same Establishment to respect your property? What the hell? Rely on you to properly look after things of importance to you.

7. Do every thing you can to demonstrate that the movement is not some scattershot, crackpot assembly of transient malcontents, but a genuine expression of national disgust and indignation. We're all fed up with scandal, corruption, greed, our dysfunctional government and the self-serving financial system which incestuously controls it.

8. Combine traditional tactics with the power of public protest. Use credit unions, not banks. Consume fewer of the shiny toys marketers dangle in front of you. Maintain steady, written pressure on your local elected officials to voice your displeasure - then back it up by voting them out when they don't serve you well.

9. Democracy is not for the mentally lazy. In other words, participate in self-government, or button your lip. It takes commitment to plow through boring statutes, budgets, and referendums, to write your representatives with every objection, to get explanations for every sweet deal, to really research every candidate, and to VOTE - in every election.

That's more commitment than sharing the camaraderie of the like-minded for two months. How many Zuccotti protesters actually made time to vote on Election Day, to have their say on "unimportant" local issues and candidates? A solid boot out of office resounds louder than banging a plastic bucket. You want to hurt them, hurt them. Chuck 'em out, with your constitutional right to vote. People across the globe die every day trying to secure that right for themselves.

If your know your history, you'll immediately recognize the significance of 1848. Similar wide-spread rumblings and upheavals, dissatisfaction with the status quo, a "that's enough of you" attitude towards those in power swept much of the world. But the changes took years to be realized. Study their mistakes; don't squander the enormous capital you have across the country.

To engage the American psyche across the political spectrum, study the American psyche. Left or right, many of them want the same things. You've accomplished the first step - you have the world's attention. So now, what? Any plan, any goal, any direction? No? You've thrown it away if you don't. Like little kids in the back seat, Americans are asking where are we going, and are we there yet? You either say "I'll stop this car right now if you keep it up!" Or give them an answer that makes sense to them.

Grassroots movements can be impressive, even effective. But they are worthless if they do not create long-term, positive change. Do it, Occupy. But do it right; make it clear, make it beyond reproach, and it will resonate. It will stick.  

The Sweetie and I were on a sunny terrace having a snack, engrossed in conversation and the spectacular mountain view (which is why Swiss ski people sit outside even in November).

Shocked and flustered, the Sweetie's wordless sputtering made me think of Cary Grant and I instantly cried "Gasp! Dr. Huxley, he's got your intercostal clavicle!" and started singing "I Can't Give You Anything But Love, Baby". We were paralyzed with laughter, nearly ending our honeymoon with the tragic headline: "Hapless Couple Killed In Fluke Alpine Attack."

References:

Pertinent clips from the film: 

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Bringing_Up_Baby_Excerpts.avi (99.05 MB)

The Chief makes the rounds back East, sporting silvery stubble and the Tom Ford suit.  (I still miss the old TLLS set, when he wore those becoming dark suits all the time. There was that nice Hugo Boss... Death to the black floor!)

We got two out of three charming interviews on this trip. ( I suppose Dave could have be more clueless, dismissive and snarkier - though I don't see how. Even Leno did a better job of being gracious.)

(Click screencaps to view full size.)

Craig heads to the hotel:

Here you get an fair idea of just how imposing the signet ring is in person:

Pow! To the moon, malice!

Today with Kathy Lee & Hoda:

Poor Craig! But his expression did make me laugh!

By the way "Davey", remember that there's more to The Chief then that sweet, cheeky exterior:

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Don'tEvenKnowYou'reBleedin_07_27_2011.m4v (5.35 MB)

He made me laugh at the story of Henry Ford coming to open a factory near his town. "I was just a kid, and boy was I excited. We just got our first car, a second-hand Model T, and I thought Mr. Ford was the cat's pajamas. He was just a mean old buzzard though, didn't like kids, wouldn't shake our hands or sign our autograph books. Yeah, after that, I hated that car, and fuck 'im I said, when Pops sold the T and got an old Hudson." A nurse walked by when he said that, so he added "Pardon my French, girlie." His voice still carried the sting of that little boy rebuffed, and I imagined his deep, satisfying feeling of automotive revenge, riding in that Hudson. ROFL!

He said his first movie star crush was on Greta Garbo. He saw Mata Hari when he was ten, and talked about it as if he'd just left the movie palace. "That woman didn't have to take off a stitch to make a boy's jaw drop. Nope. I didn't know what it was then, but I knew it was something only girls could do to you." And he laughed his head off at the thought of ever being so innocent.

When we talked about the sex scandals involving Anthony Weiner and Dominique Strauss-Khan, he shrugged. "Nothing new, just easier to find out about these things now." He told me that his uncle was a waiter at the old Madison Square Garden, working the night Henry Thaw shot Standford White. "Uncle Mike said it was a real mess to clean up too. Could at least have shot him outside." It didn't seem right to laugh, though his focus on the purely practical aftermath of a scandalous New York homicide made it hard not to.

We talked a little about the Second World War, his war. He'd been in the European Theater, and said he'd often wondered if he'd end up dying in some place his father had fought during The Great War. He thought himself lucky though, and seemed more affected by the experiences of the previous generation of vets. "Pops and those boys had it a lot tougher. Pops came through alright, but as a kid, some of my neighbors were vets, been gassed or blown up, missing all kinds of body parts. Some folks lost their men to the influenza too. Now there's a thing, eh? You go to fight the Kaiser and end up dead from something you could catch at home."

"Even the fellas who seemed OK, my Pops could always tell a guy who'd been in the trenches. Spot 'em every time. One guy had real trouble with chipmunks, chipmunks for Christ's sake, couldn't stand 'em. Pops said it was probably because the way they scurried reminded him of all the trench rats. 'Nother guy would go clear off his head if somebody mistreated a horse. Just go plain batty. People don't think about all the dying horses in the field, but those guys grew up around horses. Real tough to see 'em end up even worse off than the men. No Red Cross for horses. Just leave them to whinny and die."  He shook his head sadly at something he himself had never even seen. I didn't tell Jack I'd recently gone to War Horse, a play on exactly that subject. Somehow, it wasn't at all odd that I'd been just as profoundly affected by a time and place I'd never experienced either. We were a young woman and a very old man, but the horrible follies of war touching every living thing seized both our imaginations and wrenched both our hearts.

I look forward to seeing Jack again. Such a man holds not only his own memories, but the memories of people before him, and those before them. He knows pleasures and trials that are completely beyond us now, as the world continues to irrevocably change, faster then ever. But as much as the world changes, people don't. Old folks have experienced all the joys and the sorrows a human being can know, they've fallen into nearly every trap, or have seen others fall into them. We young ones can learn not only the real-life history we missed, but prepare for a lot of the ordinary, unavoidable ups and downs of life itself, just by asking them what their lives were like.

From the promo clip of Craig as guest on "Ce Soir Avec Arthur".

The clip, with screencaps following (mouseover for download link, click to view full size).

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Click here to download:

CraigFergusonAvecArthurSaison2Promo.mp4 (18.66 MB)

My other grandfather taught me all he knows about the earth - plants, animals, the land, the sea. This grandfather filled me with knowledge of the skies - the winds, the weather, stars, planets, galaxies.

I popped in for a minute one morning to see my grandparents. My Grandmother was preparing seedlings for Spring, and Granddad and I sat down for coffee. It was Einstein's birthday, and we talked about how pure knowledge must always be accompanied by foresight. He saw that I had something else weighing on my mind, but I said we'd talk later when we had more time. Then I kissed them both and rushed away. I left my Granddad as well and happy as a man has ever been. That night, my mother called to tell me he was gone. Vibrant at breakfast, dead at bedtime. It felt as though the world had been upended. There was no 'later' left.

Yesterday was The Skyskipper's last flight. It was Fathers' Day, and Granddad's birthday. Even that early in the morning, the family gathered together to say goodbye. We took Granddad's ashes up in The Skyskipper, with his closest friend Bill as pilot. We fired up, lifted off, and after a bit, we caught a good current and altitude. And Bill said it was time. I hated it, I hated the idea of letting go of the only tangible thing left of my grandfather.

When I tipped out the urn, we caught a little updraft, and I lost the lid. But the drift carried Granddad upwards, along with The Skyskipper. I hugged my Grandma and we watched him spiral and float away. I don't remember anything Granddad said that first flight of ours, but it was probably what he'd said to me all my life. "Look up, Jilly, up. Never aim low, ALWAYS aim high."

She'd carried him high and away into the clouds, and then we dismantled The Skyskipper for the last time. Fair winds and Godspeed to you, Granddad... I love you and miss you.

Though I am referencing a Twitter incident, my readers may profit from this, as they are sure to encounter equally nefarious Netizens in their travels.

The recent 'Earache' will be back with a new Twitter name. But you will recognize his technique; it is always the same.

He times his assaults for particularly happy occasions. Milestones, birthdays, etc. This time, it was the Paris event.

Trolling and personal/professional insults are garden-variety Internet rubbish - there are no new CF slurs under the sun.

However, this type will play you with his "sooper sekrit" catnip. The longer he dangles it, the bigger his audience, especially on Twitter, where he can use tags to entice the unsuspecting.

Once something is out there on the Web, no damage control is possible. The instant he finds it, the unscrupulous twerp will misuse it. Sadly, you cannot prevent this, whatever you do - or do not - say. He ALWAYS intends to post what he has. He does it every time. Even private individuals, if connected in any way to public figures, regrettably lose the free, personal enjoyment we all have a right to. The best they can do is learn to protect themselves. That is the miserable reality.

However, this deceptive conniver never, NEVER actually has private info, merely things that are not widely known - an obscure pap picture, a personal or professional connection, a post or photo by someone here or in the U.K. Even moderate search skills would make the same material available to anyone, just as in this case. The photo was personal, but never hidden. Anyone knowing the individual's FaceBook name could (and did) see it, even without an account.

His glee comes from manipulating your perceptions, like a car commercial, politician, or magician. Whether you are simply curious or genuinely concerned, he delights in making you *believe* he has something of value up his sleeve. And many of you DID believe him.

He is classified as a "tantilizer". Your best tactic is to force his hand as quickly as possible, saying you *don't* believe him. This will miff him; he will produce his "treasure" at once. You all yawn at what is already public knowledge, and it's over - instead of giving him DAYS to jerk you around like this and attract *more* readers to what he was planning to do all along anyway!

I did not 'stop' him. I merely alerted the victim and everyone else to the trick, breaking his spell. This limited his audience and deprived him of the fun of a gazillion ReTweets. Why bother; there's no kick once everyone knows it's not "exclusive". It lost all its value for him. That is the reason I became involved at all. He had already posted the photo; but even beforehand, no one could have protected the lady from her rightful, but unfortunate original choice. All I could do was show his cards, and cut off the inevitable, unending string of "Nyah, nyah - RT, RT, RT!"

If his agenda had been sped up from the outset, there would have been no need to even insult him. The whole unpleasant, inescapable business would have been OVER - in one damn day. Let such creatures babble on in a total vacuum; simply ignore them. But when they whip out a "teaser", then push THEIR buttons. End the charade with an instant challenge, and short-circuit endless RTs with a resounding *YAAAAWN*.

Please don't take it as rude that I never reply to public or private compliments. They make me uncomfortable. I don't trust them, I never did. If you believe either compliments or insults, you are allowing someone else to tell you who you are. And if you don't know yourself, you have a far more serious problem on your hands than an Internet jackass. ;)

To 'rejoice' at death is barbaric, I am revolted at the sight of it. I hope his body was treated with the respect he never showed his victims. But yes, it's well that Bin Laden is gone.

Many of the soldiers sent to fight have died, or been physically shattered. Sometimes, they turned into monsters themselves, capable of the most brutal and inhuman behavior. Even when they maintain their humanity, they return changed forever by the experience. The efforts to combat him and others have killed thousands of Muslims as completely innocent as those on 9/11. They are callously called "collateral damage".

He brought death, inflamed hatred, disgraced Islam, shamed peaceful Muslims who are bewildered and angry at being unfairly associated with him. He resolved nothing. He did not leave his world or mine better in any way for having lived in it. May God judge him harshly for what he has done. But Bin Laden did not start this chain reaction of destruction.

His influence was only possible because the people he appealed to had been dominated and demoralized for so long by the overwhelming power of the West. Any defiance, any small victory was to them David's stone being thrown at Goliath's head. No, Bin Laden was not the origin, only the latest agent. Sykes-Picot were the authors of the life we are living now.

Thinking that Bin Laden's end brings an end to anything else is to be naive, and ignorant of history. Because blood begets blood, this event will almost certainly unleash more misery and sorrow. Today only turns a page, with many, many tear-stained chapters yet to go, joining those already behind us.

As a New Yorker, 9/11 is personal for me, I felt the effect of that cataclysm, I feel it still. Today, I feel no joy, no "closure". What I feel is profound sadness that this bloody, bloody man ever existed. And deep concern for what lies ahead of us, all of us. I can't be one of those dancing in the street; I find that simply appalling. And no one who genuinely understands what came before, and what is to come, would be either.

Destruction is not a thing to take pride in. A nation is not great because it can find and destroy anyone it wishes. A nation is great that treats justly with all, so that no one has reason to wish it harm. I cannot even foresee a time when we are safe from harm, because it is not the way of men and nations.

The phone rang before the sun was up. My closest friend, sounding slightly panicked, was on the other end telling me to turn on the TV.

Young trees lining the aisle? Check.

Gown - matte satin; fitted bodice with heart shaped neckline; buttons the length of the back and at the fitted sleeves; full skirt with petal folds; short oval train; long-sleeved V-neck applique of lace, repeated at the hem? Check.

Simple, single layer, graduated elbow length tulle veil, edged with floral lace? Check.

Hair, front swept back, flowing and loosely curled behind? Check.

Diminutive tiara, oval drop earrings, no necklace? Check.

Compact, tapered bouquet with myrtle and Sweet William among the flowers? Check.

The Royal Wedding? Actually, no. From the 'Truth Is Stranger Then Fiction Department', these are details from my own upcoming wedding. You know, the one I've been planning for almost a year?  *headdesk*

Every bride from now till forever will be wearing a similar dress, carry a similar bouquet, wear her hair in a similar style, and use potted saplings as part of her decor.

*Sigh* Back to the drawing board. It's comforting at least to know that I have good taste. LOL!

I'm glad we weren't planning on an  Aston Martin convertible with a "Learner" plaque; my prince would have been so let down! :D

Before the pixels were even dry on my previous post, I encountered a splendid example of the Web stupidity I referred to. A Scots Guard at Buckingham Palace has successfully sabotaged his future by making highly inappropriate remarks on Facebook. Did he somehow succumb to the illusion that he was chatting up his chums alone, rather then the entire Internet? Hardly the kind of thing that will put one in a current (or prospective) employer's good graces. *eyeroll*

Buckingham Guard Fired for Calling Kate Middleton a "Stupid Stuck Up Cow" on Facebook
http://www.mediapost.com/publications/?fa=Articles.showArticle&art_aid=149273&nid=126080

Scots Guard removed from Royal Wedding duty for making vile slurs against Kate Middleton
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1380100/Royal-Wedding-2011-Scots-Guard-removed-duty-Kate-Middleton-slur.html

There is a bitter history that understandably fuels many a Scotsman's disdain. And an individual certainly has the right to express his opinion. But why would an anti-Royal Glaswegian choose such an entirely incompatible career, then deliberately blow it to smithereens? What is more disturbing, Mr. Reilly also appears to be racist, xenophobic, anti-Semitic, and extremely volatile. The man was inordinately enraged - by an unsatisfactory royal wave?!  

One who espouses these prejudices, displays incredibly poor judgment and self-control, and has an unnaturally short fuse, is legally armed?

How will he behave under the stress of combat in a foreign country? Worse yet, what will he be like when he returns from a intense tour of duty in a war zone? Does anyone imagine he will suddenly be transformed into a calm, responsible citizen by that experience? Or will he one day shoot up a fish and chips shop because of some imagined social slight by its Pakistani owner?

Mr. Reilly is quite young, and may yet learn to amend both his attitudes and his self-destructive impulsiveness. But there have been many who fled their homelands precisely because they encountered so many adult Reillys. There was no way for them to co-exist with that kind of violence and negativity. The very atmosphere was contrary to their natures.

Perhaps it is a good thing people are so careless about what they say on the Web. The disturbingly weird, the dysfunctional, the anti-social, and even the dangerous openly advertising themselves should ideally elicit some remedial response.

But we as a society take notice only after people have done irreparable harm. News reporters, psychologists, office workers, neighbors and netizens tirelessly analyze in retrospect the "warning signs" that a person was a walking time bomb. No one noticed the loud ticking emanating from conversations, Facebook pages and tweets  - before the explosion?

Damaged persons are responsible for the damage they inflict, even if they might not be solely responsible for what they have become. On the other hand, are readers of venomous posts free of all responsibility if they do not respond or even react?

After I leveled some criticism on a social networking site, I was sardonically asked if I were "slumming". That is not at all the correct metaphor. Sometimes witnessing the things that go unchallenged on the Internet is better compared to suddenly being ringside at Dachau, and being the only one saying "Stop!".

Every man-made global fiasco is preceded by the requisite rhetoric. I personally find it inconceivable that people miss so many of the clearly marked signposts along the way. Even more unacceptable to me is the pretense that they do.

Dismissing Mr. Reilly from wedding guard duty is of course the expected first response. More important however is that he receive the help he clearly needs to safely and successfully navigate both the online and real world social waters. It's bad enough when naive proponents of clearly destructive "free speech" end up shooting themselves in the foot. It's perfectly outrageous when innocent people end up being shot as well.

In addition, is it any secret that behavioral targeting is a common marketing practice, and has been for the longest time? Being oblivious to it reflects the same naiveté so many users exhibit about their privacy on the Internet.

The very first thing I do with any new "connected" device is learn how to disable tracking whenever possible. I enable it on an "as needed" basis only. In fact, the inability to do this has disqualified any number of devices from my consideration. Yet I harbor no illusions that my activities continue to be monitored in some way, and yes, logged for future marketing purposes.

Tracking is an essential feature of mobile phone use. How do you think your monthly call log is compiled? The 911 service must necessarily use tracking in order to be effective. And one has only to watch a few episodes of any TV crime show to understand that a perpetrator can be located by triangulating the cell towers used. GPS makes the process even easier. These are valid and valuable uses for the feature. However selling that information to advertisers, or exposing private activities to employers, even some deranged individual, are completely unwarranted and outrageous abuses.

Yet many of the same users who are up in arms about these recent revelations are blithely unaware of how much information they freely and routinely volunteer on sites such as Foursquare, Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, blogs, and the like. This wholesale disregard for one's privacy is the logical extension of the "fifteen minutes of fame" obsession, the same disorder that drives reality shows and shoving one's face into a newsman's location shoot.

I am entirely at a loss to understand this attention whoring. I have relatives who are minor celebrities, and much as I love them, I dislike spending time with them in any public setting. We can't even have a meal or hold a conversation without some intrusion. Once lost, privacy cannot be regained, particularly in the Internet Age. How is it possible to forget that public messages in a public thread on a public site are visible to thousands of people? It is an illusion that you are interacting only with selected individuals in such settings. The reality should be patently obvious to even moderately intelligent persons.

Prudent use of technology is highly desirable, so long as one is aware of the downsides. How essentially moronic it is to tweet invasion of privacy by Apple, using your iPhone with GPS engaged, Twitter locator activated, and marveling aloud at the free WiFi offered at Java Joe's Coffee Shop to do it. Oh and be sure to mention how long you'll be away from home. You wouldn't want to inconvenience the burglars eager to deprive you of all the shiny tech toys scattered around your house.

Imagine a fictional social site named Featherbrain. We will, for convenience sake, call some of the netizens of this site Anarchists.

The Anarchists always vigorously declared that there are no rules on Featherbrain, and vehemently condemned any suggestion that there should be. This is a common Internet philosophy you've certainly encountered before, and may in fact share.

However, say there is a certain long-standing practice on Featherbrain, considered by many to be undesirable. Some Anarchists have begun feeling the negative impact of this practice. They now declare with equal vigor that this practice is "unfair".

But clearly, "There are no rules on Featherbrain." and "This Featherbrain practice is unfair." are mutually exclusive statements. If the first statement is accepted as true, the only logical conclusion is as follows:

Proposition: Given the parameters, there is no "unfair" on Featherbrain.

Arguments:
A. Define the concept:
unfair, adjective (Oxford Dictionary)
1.not based on or behaving according to principles of equality and justice
2.unkind, inconsiderate, or unreasonable
3.not following the rules of a game or sport
B. State the conditions:
There are no principles, standards, or rules on Featherbrain.
C. Determine whether the concept can exist in those conditions:
Unfairness is a violation of some standard, principle or rule. If these do not exist, they cannot be violated.

Conclusion: If there are no rules on Featherbrain, then nothing can be unfair. Q.E.D.

Corollary 1:  Denying the need for a thing logically negates all objections if the thing is lacking.

Corollary 2:  Only those who advocate a thing, explicitly or implicitly, should protest its absence.

The aphorism is "Be careful what you wish for." And don't whinge when you get it.

The multi-talented Terry Gilliam, Monty Python alumnus

co-wrote, co-produced and directed the 1981 cult classic Time Bandits. 

A prominent feature of the story is of course the time portal map,

a replica of which was created by graphic designer Jon Heilman, with help from the also multi-talented Mythbuster, Adam Savage:

Craig is of course a huge fan of Mythbusters,

as well as an ardent admirer of Sean Connery, who played both Agamemnon and the Fireman in Time Bandits.

To this day, he is Craig's idol

But another young Ferguson is something of a Time Bandit himself,

Adam gifted Chris Harwick (the Nerdist) with one of the maps, so it's possible he also gave this one to Craig. :)

In a footnote connection, the end credit music from the film was composed by George Harrison, co-Beatle of both Ringo Starr

Reference links:

http://www.techrepublic.com/blog/geekend/buy-a-time-bandits-spacetime-map-fro... 

http://www.boingboing.net/2007/10/16/time-bandits-map-rep.html 

http://www.nerdist.com/2011/02/adam-savage-gave-me-a-time-bandits-map/ 

1.    To be courteous and show respect, even in the discharge of a difficult duty.
 
2.    To uphold the dignity of all, as all are born free and equal in dignity and rights.
 
3.    To maintain a manner of living as an example to the young, leading no one into wrongdoing or harm.
 
4.    To at no time act outrageously nor be cruel in any way to man or beast.
 
5.    To respect and defend the rights of all persons to hold and practice their own religious beliefs.
 
6.    To take no part in wrongful quarrels, but at all times to support the lawful rights of all.
 
7.    To give one's word as a true bond.
 
8.    To be honorable in all things and know good from evil.
 
9.    To be modest and not seek worship of oneself.
 
10.  To protect the oppressed and never fail in Charity, Fidelity, and the Truth.
 
11.  To speak false of no man. A slanderous or lying tongue brings shame and disgrace.
 
12.  To never betray a trust or confidence.
 
13.  To contribute by word and deed to greater peace, tolerance and safety for all peoples, near & far.

Sometimes nine years seems like a long time ago, like an open paper fan, spread out, with year one well separated from year nine. But this morning, the sky was cloudless and blue and there was that same fresh autumn breeze. The fan suddenly folded, the years compressed, it seemed like yesterday. The sky in 2001 was bluer; we'd had ripping thunderstorms the night before, so the sky and the air were scrubbed crisp and breezy. But it was pretty much like today, one of those rare, perfect September NY days.

I had just started my first year at university, my first time living away from home. I'd been to the city a lot of course, but everything was a little strange, not the leafy northern suburb I'd lived in all my life. This was a bit scary, though exciting. I really liked my roommate (who became and still is my best friend), and I loved the city and college life. I had an early class that morning, so I was awake to hear the noise and see the smoke in the sky. We weren't far from the WTC, so students were going outside to see what happened. I watched on TV as the second plane sliced into the South Tower.

My Dad was still with the Associated Press then, and I got the stupid notion he'd go to the WTC. I'd been trying to call him, but cell & landlines were completely tied up. I got all worked up, I didn't want him there, so I left the dorm and started walking towards the Twin Towers. How dumb is this, he's still at his desk, coordinating reporters, besides, how would I find him, even if he did go there? Then I heard and felt a tremendous rumble, what I imagine an earthquake must be like, so I started to run. But people were coming the other way, covered in dust, saying one of the Towers collapsed, go back, go north. A lot of them were dressed like my Dad, suits & briefcases, they were probably Dads too. Then it sunk in that if a Tower collapsed, it took some Dads with it, maybe my Dad. I sat down right on the curb. Thinking of that, I couldn't walk or run anymore, I just started to cry.

My cellphone rang all of a sudden, it startled me, I didn't expect it to work, it was pure luck. It was my Dad. Jilly, where are you? Are you OK? All I said was "Dad" and cried even harder. Dad was very calm, but very stern. He said "Jillian, you start walking. Take Seventh, stay on the west side of the street, stay well clear of the Empire State Bldg. But you come here to me, right now." AP was in Rockefeller Plaza then, a pretty long way, but Dad told me to get up right now and start walking, so I did. Sometime after Penn Station, I saw my Dad coming fast the other way. Looking back, I realize he must have been so worried, or he'd never leave in the middle of a story.

But there he was, calm, clean and fresh, just the way he looked every day. He wasn't all dusty and he wasn't dead. We hugged really tight and he said "Don't cry Jilly, we're alright. We can't get home to Mom tonight, but she knows we're alright." Out of all the things I remember about that day and the days after, what stands out is my father hugging me in the street and telling me we were alright. I was young, and in that moment I really needed to believe that.