This was actually a few days ago, but I haven't had the time to post it.

Had dinner with Shiri Appleby and Richard Burgi the other day, which is something I don't normally do, since actors can often be rather scary, sometimes.

But, a producer and director were there, so I decided to stop by. And I was asked to do so.

Both are very sweet. Shiri was still in some pajamas--well, sweats--since her luggage had been lost somewhere between Atlanta and Paris. Indeed, I was at the airport, waiting for her, and I was positive that she hadn't come out of the gate. But...if she had, and I hadn't seen her, well, worst case scenarios ran through my mind, most involving Shiri's kidneys.

No, it's not that bad.

Now Richard, on the other hand, was wound up and ready to rumble. So I offered him some Bulgarian beer, Zagorka, to help cloud his mind, and prepare him for dinner.

No, it's not that bad.

Actually, he loved the beer...and the wine, later.

Shiri had had enough, and stumbled back to the hotel, but Richard decided to follow us to the 1st AD's house--since he was throwing a birthday party. We arrived, and he met most of the crew, who were mainly the only people there. Crew. Everyone immediately liked Richard. Perhaps because he is likable.

It's funny, and I said so to Richard, as we talked (he drinking some concoction, I drinking Jamesons in a mug that said "Cup of a Soprano" written in Bulgarian), but I forget how much like a family the crew becomes, especially once you're doing so many shows, back to back, so quickly. Simply, 90%+ of the crew returns for the next show. This makes things much more efficient, if a little gossipy...possibly inbred...hey, there are men and women here. Hopefully, I didn't slur all that.

Anyway, the last I recall was hopping into a cab from a place called "Biad" some time in the morning, my ears ringing. One day till the shoot starts.

So I'm getting mocking soccer emails. Mostly because I pine for Amerikantsi football. Go Chargers!...Go...tackle the guy who just blew by you...Chargers.

Now my friends in the US are urging me to try fantasy football overseas. Via Sportsline, I guess.
This one is the best so far:

"ahhh. remember the old days. looking at your teams box score in the
newspaper monday morning.
I hope the game hasn't past you by.
maybe they have fantasy soccer in Bulgaria?

J: Hey Ivan, how did your team do last night?
IVAN: I scored 1 point.
J: Yeah, my team only scored 1 point as well.
IVAN: We tied again, this sucks. Let go get wasted and find cheap women.
J: Good idea.
Comedy : )

Gee, thanks.

My last Fantasy Football team was two years ago, and they were the "Glendale Pretentious Latte-Swilling Communists." They lost only one game, although they scored the second-least points.

For now, I'm thinking I'll just watch my Chargers. Hey, at least I can say that I'm not a bandwagon jumper, if SD ever does well. This is a record of my pain.

John Perazzo has a devastating critique on Amiri Baraka. Unquestionably, Perazzo has total disgust for the man, probably before his conspiritorial poem on the WTC and the location of various jews and Ariel Sharon on that day. He has total disgust for his plays as well. I've read a lot of criticism on Baraka, but I do have a great moment to relay that relates to him, and also might help reveal something positive that you don't often hear.
I met Amiri Baraka once. I was a naive young man, strapping, with stars in my eyes, having just moved to Los Angeles from San Diego. Through a friend of a friend, I got an apartment in Inglewood, by LAX, in what one might call an 'urban neighborhood.' Had two to four roomies, all struggling to make it in LA. I was in the process of elimination at the auditions for a Universal Studios tour guide (they have auditions). I worked as a valet during the day and was volunteering as a sound guy at the Theatre at the Improv on Melrose for the show, "Dutchman."
Personally, I thought the performances and direction were fantastic, as was the opening poetry by Sharlene Love Jones (that's not part of "Dutchman," but an addition made by the director--and a wonderful decision at that).
I remember the excitement in the director, who had just come from his therapy session (he did therapy; I think daily, like coffee, and from how he thought of it it seemed like he didn't have so many problems as he thought that therapy was simply was the progressive thing to do). Amiri Baraka was coming to see his show! Everyone was up. Admittedly, that's always exciting news.
As the sound guy, I wished I had the sound track to 42nd Street:
"Julian Marsh is doin' a show! Wow! He's the greatest! Julian Marsh is doin' a show! Auditions 10am tomorrah!"
That's what it was like, except that nobody lurched into a time-step.
...
Baraka came with an entourage of friends and associates. I remember thinking how small he was, kinda hunched and withdrawn. I said hello. He didn't shake my hand, but he nodded. He didn't point at me accusingly or spit on my designer jackboots or anything. Seriously, I don't know if he even saw my hand, a lot of people were crowding around him. And he looked so old.
Now, that really isn't the point of the story. The point is, despite the message Baraka wanted to convey in his play, a far better show occurred a couple days later, titled, "A Funny Thing Happened When High School Students From Inglewood Came To See 'Dutchman'"...

Thinking back, with a show so explicit as "Dutchman," I wonder if high school students would be allowed to see such a thing; my class was always steered away from the overtly controversial at my high school, just on language alone. One can debate that all day. Nevertheless, the Inglewood powers that be thought it would be great to bring impressionable young minds to the show, so they did it.
The house was packed with seniors (that was obvious), and were all black (and I found that odd at the time, since I assumed there would be a mix of different ethnicities in an Inglewood classroom--I know, I lived in the area).
One of the first things I noticed was how calm they all were. I mean, I recalled my field trips, and we were terrible, or at least a bit rowdy. I remember seeing "Aida" on a field trip...oh, what a mistake. They weren't jumping up and down and tagging the seats or anything.
Anyway, the show started, with the promise that there would be a Q & A period after the performance.
...and the performance was outstanding, as usual...
So...the director, a white guy, began talking about the show, how excited he was to do it, and talked about the playwright, and spoke of the show's relevance in applying to them, black kids, in these times, in America.
Oops.
A hand nervously raised in the crowd, and the girl spoke up after the director excitedly encouraged her.
"Well, the show was great, and the actors were great, but I don't...I think the show is a little dated."
The director explained that this wasn't true, but admitted that the role of Clay [the self-repressed black man] was the POV of the Baraka at that time.
Another girl spoke up.
"Actually, I thought the POV of Baraka was the white woman."
I fell off the chair laughing. Not because what the girl said was preposterous, but because it was suddenly so clear. She was dead on right.
The white crazy woman who antagonizes the black man in the subway, both despising him and loving him while hating and debasing herself, mocking him for his 'white-boy' suit and tie and haircut, telling him to break out and be 'black' through a sputtering array of trivially stereotypical slurs...Baraka tried to hide his views behind her, as if it were the POV of whites--and they were not pretty--and this high school girl caught him.
To his credit, the director was truly impressed at her insight, and missed the point entirely.
"That's why it's so relevant!" he said, "Lula [the white girl in the play] shows the racism behind every white person. Lula is a racist. White people are racists. It's how we are brought up, even if we don't realize it it's how it is." He was on a roll...
..."I'm a racist," he said, to the crowd of black high school kids...
...who laughed.
Flummoxed; that's the best word to describe the director's reaction.
At this point, the actor who played Clay spoke up, and said that the director was going overboard, and said something (I can't recall exactly now) far more moderate, and positive about society in general.
But the director insisted.
"No, I know I am. It was simply how I was brought up. I remember my neighborhood and we all were, even if we had black friends..." he went on and on. And on. It didn't help.
A guy got up, which took some time because he was so tall. There was something about him that was so extroverted, and I would lay odds he was a class clown, and well-liked. He had that look.
"You know, I know where you're going, but you're not a racist. [more giggling from the black kids, the way he said it was so...theraputic] And I have white friends. They're not racists..."
Giggles of agreement from the students, who apparently also had white friends, or maybe white boyfriends or girlfriends, or possibly even other friends of various diverse races. Makes your head swim just thinking of how normal and un-unhappy these black kids could all be.
"...I think that this show had a lot to say about the past, but a lot of things have changed since then."
The director countered, "But to say that you have never experienced racism in your lives, or won't ever..."
"I've experienced racism," the guy said, "but not much. I'm sure that there are problems, but they are nothing like the playwright's problems." He didn't mean it the way it came out, but it was funny nonetheless. More laughter.
Finally, "well, if that's your feelings, but I think that you'll learn the hard way later in life, when you get older."
Ah, yes, the perpetual escape route. Perhaps he meant, "wait until Freshman orientation..."
Still, it shows something you never hear except on possibly a Larry Elder program. These Inglewood kids obviously had a different perception of black life than the white director, and it was far more positive, far more heartening, and far less pretentious than the adult, who should have had his head on straight(er), what with all the therapy.
If only Mr. Baraka had come to that performance.
Undoubtedly, he would have been extremely happy to hear that life was better for those kids than it was, apparently, for him in his time.
Nevertheless, I must thank him for his show, and for the positive impact I got from it.

The above is indeed the name of the film. It causes all of the Bulgarians to start laughing: "Dark what light?"

Lots of news. Actually, it's more like a lot of important information being shouted from different people in the hallway.

We got Richard Burgi as the male lead, Shaw. Kudos to a Burgi fan named Debbie from Georgia who found out this information and mailed me mere hours after I found out about this, making that the quickest turnaround from casting to mailing, beating out Richard Grieco's fans from last show.

For all you quatloo-loving Star Trek geeks, I hear we have John de Lancie cast. He will not be a demi-god in this film, although...

Also, it appears that Shiri Appleby will play the tormented brunette demonette.

I'll bet she'd think this is the least flattering picture I could find, but since she'll have...alterations...for this show, I thought it'd be appropriate. And besides, I hate pictures that look 'fake.'

Locations are pretty much nailed down. I signed my name to some documents about something I can't remember (I ordered some HMI's...and something else, a vehicle, I think).

Yes, all the pieces are falling into place, or at least falling nearby, and I'm calmly gathering them and shoving them into place.

Our director is asking me about wardrobe sizes, cast iteneraries, how makeup supplies are being handled and who is taking care of making new scripts, etc...I'm a bit stunned; I've never had any director so innocently ask me about the status of wardrobe sizes before, or any of this other stuff. Hell, the Producers don't ask me this. I'm 99.9% sure the professionals whom I pay are handling it, as they have for 16 shows now. Perhaps he believes he should follow up on me (I'm new at a mere 10 features). Perhaps I should 'follow up' and ask if he's done a shot list or something.

Maybe it's cause I'm not a runner or a screamer, and he's very, very excited about his show. There's no doubt he'll bleed for it, kill for it, die for it. You gotta admire that. But this is just the prep. I hope he doesn't ask if I 'remembered' to have a craft service department on Day 1 or anything.
Update: The Line Producer suggested punching him in the stomach, then hitting him over the head in a Kirk-like elbow chop. That's no help. I actually like the director.

See, usually strolling into, oh, makeup and saying "well...?" will now get me all the answers I need. Usually leaving the office while pointedly holding my mobile phone in plain sight for others gets me phone calls if there is a problem. They know me. They know John, the Line Producer. They know what happens if they screw up. They're adults.
Running up and down the hall with my arms in the air, my hands stuffed with memos of all current activity from the Departments would make me look, well, unprofessional.
Still, if this is the biggest problem I have, then, in my wildly inexperienced opinion, it'll be a perfect show.

Sorry for some delays, but I'll reveal some info on the film tomorrow.

To those who are asking (and guessing, often remarkably well), I'm not a big jerk, I just like to see documents in my hand on these things.

As I've written before, they take their soccer very, very seriously here. So seriously, it's funny, from a distance:

" who ever wrote thise page [this page]
it is not true that every one in Bulgaria only likes Levski and eat tarator and not true that there was mustared gas and you dont need a gas mask and a fireproof blanket to go watch a soccer game in Bulgaria Becouse a have gone to every game CSK my favorite team vs levski has Played in Bulgaria
and never saw any of thise happen."

newWitch Magazine (not your mother's broomstick) has an interesting article on psychic vampirism. At least, the first part is good--seriously--then it gets pretty funny.

"What about hexing? A cautionary note.
In many cultures, so-called "negative" magics — like hexing — have been and continue to be used to address perceived psychic or physical attack. Often this was because there were no other options available. In some cases, there still might not be — injustice still exists and the system doesn't work equally well for everyone - but it is fair to say that today, for most people, most of the time, there are many non-magical roads to justice. Police, courts of law and self-defense classes are only a few, and we can use these resources as our first line of defense against being victimized. Before we attempt to use "negative" magic to solve our problems, we must ask ourselves: Have we done everything humanly possible to resolve the issue? If we don't ask those questions first, any aggressive spellcasting we undertake may be useless or may create an even bigger mess."

Shooting begins on the 28th here. It's getting progressively busier, as usual. And I'm getting more worried, as usual. The debate over prosthetics took over a week, the camera vendor is suddenly playing games, and there are some expendibles that have still yet to be ordered in the US.

We have news that Orville Redenbacher popcorn is now being sold in Sofia. A great day for capitalism! We have top men hunting down said kernels as I write this.

The Producer's Harley will show around the that week as well, so I'm sure to receive some extra special imported anxiety and panic over that. I think all the bases are covered, but you never know if they'll add extra bases.

The Line Producer just bought a car, and had his lights ripped out of the front in less than 24 hours. He's calmed down quite a bit since then, when he was yelling, "Savages!" and shaking his fist at people.

Some Fire Department guys came in today with their usual list of complaints about our operation that they insist will surely cause a disaster akin to a nuclear bomb. Everything from dust particles to a specialized coordinator to coordinate between us and the fire department (they had a few names of friends of theirs). Oh, yes. Very important. I nodded, asked for a list of recommendations they would perform to make our company fire-safe (that should take them a few weeks) and was generally pleasant.
Of course, I could have just given them the bribe money they wanted, but where's the sport in that?
My favorite part was the reissuing of evacuation procedures in English and Bulgarian that should be created for certain areas of the building. Since they--the firemen--are required us to actually physically create these routes and procedures (what, them, work?), I figure I'll write the proper one in Bulgarian, and then have the English translation something akin to:

"In case of fire, do not panic. Instead, incapacitate those around you, in order for oxygen to be saved for your escape. Women and children are generally slower than men, thus, having them lead the evacuation will delay or clog escape routes; more lives will be saved if the strongest exit first, and the evacuation occurs more naturally if performed in this manner..."

Changed the blogroll around a bit, adding some LA volk and assorted movie freaks.

Mean Mr. Mustard is retiring. A terrible shame, but grad school beckons.

Been kinda drowsy lately. Don't understand why. Maybe I should sleep. Or maybe I should have a coffee and some Pixie Stix.
Negotiations are tense right now between me and Starbucks. There is a Starbucks in Athens, and the fellow who owns the franchise rights to Greece owns them for the isles and Bulgaria as well.
Not that I want to open a coffee shop. I just want coffee. Starbucks coffee. American coffee! From Greece!
Not this grimy black jelly they push on you here.

What I'm aiming for now is the acquisition of one of the espresso ueber-machines that are in all Starbucks. They don't seem to eager to give it up, but I'm breaking the manager's will, albeit slowly.

If only I was Sauron.

See, the machines you buy here don't seem to be able to handle a large load of people (when the crew is in production, the thing runs all day for over a hundred people--especially on night shoots--like a Starbucks machine); they always break, usually after a few days. It's pathetic, then the crew gets mad. I could get one from the US, but:
1. I'll pay more
2. I'll have an incontinental shipping bill
3. I'll have duties and taxes
No, I'll drive this machine over, from Greece. It's genius.
Besides, there's some ego at work here. I don't remember failing to get something unusual done in some time (oh, I'll screw up the simple crap all the time). I have a reputation to protect. Of course I can get a Starbucks in Greece to give some American in Bulgaria their espresso machine!

(And if that doesn't work, I'll get my Italian DOP to bring one from Rome when he goes back.)

Once Operation Venti Nonfat Latte is complete, I'll teach Craft Service that there is more to coffee than simply smashing as much ground bean into a small filter and dripping hot water through it. Steamed milk will change Bulgaria, I guarantee it.

So I was at Victoria Pizza here in Sofia (actually, it's a pizza chain, and I was at one of them). Contrary to popular belief, Bulgarians make rather good pizza. In fact, it's delicious, when you can find a chain that serves what I call "Pizza Normal." That is, pizza with cheese, tomato sauce, mushrooms, pepperoni, olives. Maybe a green pepper.
Simple, eh?
Here...oh, god...here, you can get anything but on a pizza:
Eggs.
Corn.
Cucumbers.
Lettuce.
Mayonaisse.
Dill.
Feta.
Roquefort.
Peas.
Pickles.
Fingers.
These things can be found on a pizza from "Pizza Troll." That's another chain here in Bulgaria. Of all the cute mascots you can find to sell your pizza, these guys come up with a troll. Only:
-Ogre.
-McDonalds.
-Prostitute.
-Jew.
-Blix.
Are worse "Pizza-" names.
I digress.

Victoria has some good pizza, once corrected. And you must order the sauce seperately, and you must remove the kashkaval for mozzarella for a slightly higher fee. Once this is done, it surpasses most American pizza.

Anyway, I order the Tropicana, which is kinda like a Hawaiian, and a Corona, which is kinda like a Corona (it comes with a lemon here, instead of a lime--don't get me started).

I'm one of those 'people watchers,' so as the two girls I was with chat away, my eyes wander about the surroundings. The tables are clean, the waitress needs a haircut, there's a bee on window, the couple across the way are arguing, a pool in the back. There were kids splashing around, frolicking. The women are topless. There is a small jacuzzi.

Wait, Hudson, back up. Pan right.

Been here for a while now, yet I'm still surprised when, you know, I'm at a family restaurant chain and see topless women reading a book, telling their kids to not run, rubbing in sun tan lotion...

It's not like this at McDonalds Playland. Although, if it was...

A fine-looking non-mom specimen walks gets out the pool--three sheets to the wind, or maybe just two--wanders to a chair, and begins to towel herself off...

...I'm no longer eating (actually, I'm probably gawking). The girls notice (the one's I'm with). I become aware of this because they stop talking. It's that lingering silence that all men recognize, when you realize that they realize that you're not listening to them.

They turn in unison, blink, and start giggling.
"You don't have that in the States, huh?"
"What, pools? No, they're all over the place."
"No...nude women, in public."
"Generally, no."
More giggling.
"Do you want to go swimming?"
Anyway, the pizza was great.

It's a paradox. Men that walked by took great pains not to notice them, precisely because they were topless. I mean, in every other situation, pretty women will get stared at, except here, at this pool, topless. I know that if I saw some beautiful girl in a bikini, I would say hello, or at least smile. In this case, it was the perfect repellant, since you wouldn't want to be caught staring at her. Cunning, these Bulgarians are.
If Americans caught onto this, you would have less men acting like Johnny Bravo to women on the beach. Just a thought.

Angie Schultz has got her a science-fiction-B-movie-idea-worth-stealing...er...reading.

"An astronomer finds a faint, never-before-seen star cluster in a very unusual pattern..."

"...He goes to Europe to present this find at a conference. Meanwhile, an archaeologist is studying some newly-discovered relics which feature dots in, you guessed it, a very unusual pattern. He goes to Europe to present this find at a conference. In a train station, their briefcases become switched (original, eh?), which goes unnoticed until they arrive at their respective hotel rooms...

"...As each man examines the strange briefcase, light dawns in his mind, accompanied by creepy music as your neck hairs stand at attention..."

"...After they compare notes, the archaeologist decides to go in search of the lost civilization which made the relics, and the astronomer insists on going along. They start in the jungles of Brazil (or possibly Africa), searching for the man who sent the relics to the archaeologist: his old mentor. Old mentor is found, and of course has a daughter who used to be in love with the archaeologist..."

"...So they all go up on the plateau (of course there's a plateau) from which the relics came. After some standard adventures, they find a Lost Civilization, the survivors of Atlantis, who are in reality the remnants of a marooned colony of humanoid aliens. The Atlanteans know about the existence of the outside world, but they have been laying low, because they've been expecting a rescue ship any millennium now..."

"...Naturally, their time is running out, because they won't be able to hide from our technology much longer. Also, some elements of the Atlantean society are getting restless, saying that the rescue ship is never coming, and they ought to try to join the outside world..."

"...Also, there's a complication in that there's a slave revolt brewing. Yes, the Atlanteans are very advanced, and they have gadgets which use forces we've only begun to glimpse, but they still have slaves. There's a beautiful, heroic slave girl. Also an evil princess, slimy suitors, dinosaurs, a volcano, spaceships, man-eating plants, a fortune in gems, molten lava, ritual combat, fantastic architecture, beautiful sets, incredible vistas, rich colors, filmy costumes, and lots and lots of dancing girls..."

"...Ridley Scott to direct, David Duchovny and Halle Berry to star, with supporting actors John Rhys Davies, David Spade, Susan Sarandon, and Janeane Garofalo..."

Nicholas Packwood has about eleven eclectic, excellent posts in a row, from Wonder Woman to Stonehenge, Chess to the International Criminal Court.

If he were a baseball player, he'd wear the same socks or something. Or not shave.

Credit goes to Novinite, and this was written by Sarkis Garjarian:

"...At a corner on Fifth Avenue in midtown Manhattan, right in front of a church, the spirit of American liberty lives. Dozens of masks of the Statue of Liberty's face lean against a bicycle. Behind the masks, a middle-aged man is sitting and talking to people.
Pedestrian: "Liberty George is your name?"
Dukov: "George is my name."
People call him "Liberty" George, because he creates masks with the face of Statue of Liberty.
His real name is Georgi Dukov. He is a native of Bulgaria. He immigrated to New York State from Bulgaria 12 years ago. In 1999, Mr. Dukov moved to New York City and began making his masks.
"The Statue of Liberty I chose because this is the symbol of American Freedom," he said. "This is a connection with American spirit."
On the masks, based on the face of the Statue of Liberty, Mr. Dukov imposes a variety of colorful symbols such as international flags, New York City maps, and landscapes. The masks catch the eyes of people walking along the avenue.
"It reminds me of carnival," said Irma, who is visiting from the southern state of North Carolina. "I was brought up in Switzerland. We used to wear these masks."
"This has all the firemen on it," added Joann Siegler of Cleveland, Ohio, in the Midwest, who is particularly attracted to a mask that represents New Yorkers who died in the September 11, 2001 attacks. "I think that is quite unique," she said. "This is a nice memorial. And our freedom is the Statue of Liberty."
...
"Liberty" George transports the Statue of Liberty masks on a bicycle from his home in the borough of Brooklyn. His trip includes crossing a bridge to the island of Manhattan.
"Now I am coming in the middle of Queensboro Bridge," said Mr. Dukov. "So I cannot ride the bike, but I push a box with Lady Liberty mask. And I think I am so happy that I am Bulgarian and that I created the Lady Liberty mask, and I transport it to 55th street and Fifth Ave."
Georgi Dukov took part in a recent theatrical performance written and presented by immigrants.
He tells his story in Bulgarian about his journey to the United States more than a decade ago.
Another actor interprets his story into English.
Four of "Liberty" George's masks have found a permanent home at the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island Museum.
"I think his work is outstanding," said Diana Pardue, chief curator of the museum. "It is a different way to look at art that relates to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. But his work has been a very positive addition to the Museum collection."
Georgi Dukov is now working on a special project for the Ellis Island Museum. He is creating a 180-centimeter mask of the face of the Statue of Liberty."

Gallup Poll in Bulgaria finds...

No surprise here:

"...enthusiasts are mostly entrepreneurs, people with free occupations, university students and graduates. These are usually Bulgarians between 18 and 40 of age and supporters of rightist and center-wing parties."

"skeptics emerge pensioners, ethnic gypsies and electorate of the socialist party."

It is difficult to parody the UN.

At least we can be confident that, given the UN's competancy, this will lead to Hun Sen somehow smoking more, and probably dying sooner.

Creative juices flowed all night long, all over the carpet, and caused a metaphorical mental evacuation. It was declared safe to think about the script again at approximately 11:30 this morning.
Script rewrites kept the 1st AD, and the writer/director up until 4am. But they are pleased, I hear, this morning, with the result (I was sleeping like a baby by 1am).
Some location scouting today, and an afternoon meeting, and my day is done.

Oh, except...my boss has got it into his head to ship his Harley out here. Thus, it falls upon me to find out how to get a Harley into Sofia from Los Angeles.
"Think about it," he says, excitedly..."I could charge a rental every time they use my Harley in the shows."
--"But doesn't that mean you'll have to have the writer add a gratuitous Harley shot into each show?"
"Yes. I don't see the problem."
"Okay, then."
"And find me some insurance for it."

Insurance is a funny thing here. There are several Bulgarian insurance companies here, that will take your money (cash only, in advance) and give you some documents with stamps on them. There are few insurance companies that will actually reimburse you for damage or theft to the car they insure.
Thus, Sofia has the Thieves Guild, er, the Bulgarian Mafia, who have set up their own legitimate insurance company; it works like this:
You give them money, they give your car a flashy sticker, which shows that you are protected under their insurance. Your car is rarely stolen, apparently, and they send people to 'investigate' any theft of their protected car. They also get your car back (or a car that looks very similar to your car) with a considerable success rate. I know a couple people who have got their car back (or, a car very much like the car that was officially theirs) after a theft.
A novel concept, that works well for Bulgaria. Less paperwork, I hear, also.
Now I'll have to get the Producer on the idea of using this (more expensive) company for his one-of-a-kind thief-magnet motorcycle.

I'm wandering websites today, and came across...
The Condensed Dracula
I found this much better than the time I had to read the Boring, er, Classic version.
And it's in screenplay format, even. You have to admire that.

Then, via Brazos de Dios Cantina, via Electric Venom, I find The History of Boobs.

And the Illustrated Catalog of Acme Products, via The Presurfer.

The Dissident Frogman has some initial news from Normandy.
Once you get annoyed enough, you can write to the Museum (the email addy is on The Frogman's page).
For instance, if I were to write one, I'd write, ohhh...:

To Whom It May Concern:

It's important that you buy some US flags for display and sale for her coming Independence Day...and all the other days of the year, forever.

Obviously, these were sold out, due to pro-American sentiment in France. How much did the one on the flagpole outside go for?

The display of those flags are a sign of respect of the bravery exhibited by those nations liberating the other nation's flag on display. Don't forget that.

JKRank
Sofia, Bulgaria

Now...if I were the mean-spirited type, I would write down the address of the museum...

The Memorial Museum
Boulevard Fabian Ware - 14400 Bayeux

UPDATE: Looks like they really were sold out of US flags. Well whatdaya know? I'll send them some freebie flags anyway.