Dobar (Bodar) Z. Bent ("Unsensefullness," "Contrivance of Kruuzer Hrtuu,"
etc.: jpt Outer Provinces). Your wits and telepathic faculties must serve if you seek the meaning behind the eyes of Dobar Zundertrout Bent. For our sporting editors, it was enough that they had found fresh curiosa with which to field a novel presentation for the Great Museum. —ed. "Our trade is that of creator ferris contraptions and fossil excrement extermination, purveyor of philosophical intuition and experiential bruise-ed-ness. We have carried the wrench of the knight and calipers of sheer size, the blade of samurai and flit. We inspire dragons of speed and observe their competitions for fair maiden. We share tale with scholar and fool, and find true definition in one God, family and friends."

Marjorie Hunt (“The Appreciated Mechanic”) entered our sphere as the subject of such majestic legends that we have conducted unprecedented investigation to put a personal face on our feature. Our research dept. files this: "...organized/ran the Richmond, Indiana, Earlham College, Clear Creek Quaker Mtg nursury school; editor of The Earlhamite, the Earlham College award-winning alumni magazine (who awards prizes to alumni mags?); Rodale Press editor and book writer; widow of the Chairman of the Earlham English Dept. and Humanities Academic Dean of Lehigh University, etc. etc.; mother of three successful children (but that's another hundred stories); fancy French cook; supreme hostess and funny person; oldest woman to climb the highest peak in the Andes." Ms. Hunt responds, "...I'd also said not to believe everything M. [S.] said about me when she first wrote to you. I've been an editor and writer for both Earlham College and Rodale Press, but I didn't found, fund, or run either of them. I also garden. Both Schafers were my late husband's students and I admire them to this day and even Martha can't exaggerate that." As for buzz about scaling Aconcagua, Ms. Hunt explains: "My son and I walked four days and three nights, with porters and guides, over Dead Woman's Gap (my son wouldn't translate the name until we'd passed it) and down to Machu Picchu. On the last day, I asked our guide if I had been the oldest person he'd led and pushed. He told me that he'd once taken a 78-year-old man, but no woman my age or older. I was 75 at the time. Of course, there were other guides, though ours was pretty senior. In other words, the tale is a good one, but verification lacks. I did receive a summit ovation from about twenty teenaged Argentines, which will have to do for my proverbial 15 minutes."

Professor Lawrence Jones (“‘Why’r ya always playin’ that n****r music?’: Confessions of a Jazz Fan,” 3d installment) of Dunedin concludes the world-class jazz memoir he dedicated to the memory of his fellow enthusiast, teaching partner and friend, the late Professor William Schafer. Herein lies a fascinating view of the encyclopedic mind that seemingly engulfs the world of jazz instead of vice-versa; and yet, it is a mind perceptively attuned to the nuanced life-implications of the music and its culture, with their revelations of the past, relevance to the present, and whispers of the future.

Herman L. Parsons ("Manifesto and Founding Document - 'A Nest of Reds' Collective") "obscure washed-up radical bohemian socialist - eking out a living selling art supplies somewhere in the appalachians of ky ex social worker ex research writer ex classically trained professional cook former organic farmer stints as fbi fugitive cocaine addict surrealist maniac caretaker of demented parents currently zen train wreck"
To free the artist mired in modesty was old Thaddicus van MacProvincial's wildest, wettest dream. Our august forefather Tv McP would have toasted us today, for Behold this liberating verse and celebrate with us the soaring freedom of Herman L. Parsons... poet. —ed.

Pilgrim ("Pilgrim's Excellent Adventures") will be the first to tell you that an excellent adventure often has some rough edges, whether they take the form of harsh weather, mechanical failure, overbearing authorities or the common jerk. The Little Sturgis 2010 motorcycle rally served up its share of roughage, but as always, Pilgrim brought back some memories worth framing.

John Rice, Esq. (“Hatari It Isn't,” installment 2) is still spinning his wheels in South Africa— motorcycle wheels, that is, and we're along for the scenic tour as the attorney on a journey narrates with wit and erudition, expounding the exotic as naturally as a native born to the soil. If you're taken with John's passion, talents and style, or need some legal assistance of the highest caliber, or if you're nothing but nosy, you'll want to explore his professional website at http://www.johnricelaw.com.

Dr. Owen Scott, III (Double Take: A novel of the post-'60s, jpt session 2), drawing upon insight, contemplation and experience from two lives—the profession of psychology and a little thang called rock 'n' roll—adroitly conducted us last issue into the foyer of a dream-reality that left us intellectually agog. What, we ask, is what, and who, who? This tour has but begun; and we promise, you have nary an inkling of the myriad marvels of the mind awaiting play around each corner and behind every door. Session two absorbs us deeper into the construct, but if you hope to transcend the zone of unknown, you'll have to keep after this one. Pure fun, that. BTW, you can get your rockin' at the Dr. Morpheus webpage.

Martha Q. Schafer (“Advice From Mom”) is recognized as a vital jpt force and by now is well known to you. Her regular Rogue's Gallery listing and bio blurb will be superseded beginning with this issue, which sees her induction into the cover-page roster of royal staff, although in fact Staff Writer is but one of her indispensable and yet widely dispensed services.