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<!--Generated by Squarespace Site Server v5.11.5 (http://www.squarespace.com/) on Fri, 03 Sep 2010 12:49:22 GMT--><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/"><title>The Franklin Chronicles</title><subtitle>The Franklin Chronicles</subtitle><id>http://www.franklinchronicles.com/chronicles/</id><link rel="alternate" type="application/xhtml+xml" href="http://www.franklinchronicles.com/chronicles/"/><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.franklinchronicles.com/chronicles/atom.xml"/><updated>2010-09-03T02:51:55Z</updated><generator uri="http://www.squarespace.com/" version="Squarespace Site Server v5.11.5 (http://www.squarespace.com/)">Squarespace</generator><entry><title>Speaking Plainly</title><id>http://www.franklinchronicles.com/chronicles/2010/9/1/speaking-plainly.html</id><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.franklinchronicles.com/chronicles/2010/9/1/speaking-plainly.html"/><author><name>Roosevelt Franklin</name></author><published>2010-09-02T02:26:12Z</published><updated>2010-09-02T02:26:12Z</updated><content type="html" xml:lang="en-US"><![CDATA[<p>&nbsp;</p>
<div style="padding-left: 30px; text-align: center;"><span class="full-image-block ssNonEditable"><span><img src="http://www.franklinchronicles.com/storage/speaking.gif?__SQUARESPACE_CACHEVERSION=1283444172404" alt="" /></span></span></div>
<p><br /><span id="internal-source-marker_0.13390563684515655"> </span></p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p>Years ago I was trapped by the thought that everything I say is a lie. Well not an exact lie. More like, I couldn&rsquo;t trust that the words coming out of my mouth were an accurate portrayal of my true thoughts. I believed my ego was always getting in the way and distorting what I really meant to say. Even if only slightly. As a result I went through a period where everything I said was extremely measured. When asked a question, I would stare blankly, trying to choose the exact words. Many times I could find no translation for my thoughts and so I would continue staring blankly:</p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p style="padding-left: 60px;">Say something!&nbsp;</p>
<div style="padding-left: 30px;">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span>Crap! </span></p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span>I can&rsquo;t think of what I wanted to say! </span></p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span>What was the word I was trying to find?... </span></p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span>Fructose! </span></p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span>No, that&rsquo;s not it cuz I don&rsquo;t even know what that means...</span></p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span>Good grief, I still haven&rsquo;t said anything yet...</span></p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span>This pause has been much too long! </span></p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span>Has my mouth been open the entire time?... </span></p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span>Crap, crap, crap! </span></p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span>Wait I think it was, Flagnon!</span></p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span>No that&rsquo;s not it either cuz that&rsquo;s a word I just made up...</span></p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span>Sweet baby Jeebus help me...</span></p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span>I&rsquo;m going the hell OOOWWWWT!!!...</span></p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><span><br /></span></p>
<p><span>As a result, I think my boss at the time thought I was an idiot.</span></p>
<p><span>Really, I think I was just reading too many books. So let that be a lesson to you boys-n-girls, books will fill your head with way too many ideas. Eventually, your brain won&rsquo;t be able to handle them all and it will stop working.</span></p>
<p><span>Now you know.</span></p>
<p><span>After that I tried mental telepathy.</span></p>
<p><span>That didn&rsquo;t work.</span></p>
<p><span>Since telepathy, (Or flight. Or laser eye beams for that matter), didn&rsquo;t seem to pan out, I got into the habit of speaking my thoughts indirectly. I couldn&rsquo;t quite tell you what I was thinking, but I could tell you what my thoughts were &ldquo;like&rdquo; by describing adjacent thoughts. Through the use of  analogies and stories, I would outline the contours. My real thoughts though, lie somewhere in the middle of what I wasn&rsquo;t saying.</span></p>
<p><span>My wife was the first of a select few to understand my cryptic way of speaking. I would often ask, &ldquo;Do you know what I&rsquo;m saying?&rdquo; And she would say, &ldquo;Yes. I do.&rdquo; I would then ask, &ldquo;O.K., What am I saying?&rdquo; (Mostly cuz at that point I wasn&rsquo;t quite sure.) She would go on to describe perfectly what I was only able to hint at.</span></p>
<p><span>She calls what I do, &ldquo;circular talking&rdquo;. &ldquo;You start out at one point and at first what you&rsquo;re saying sounds absolutely ridiculous, stupid and dumb.&rdquo; &ldquo;Whoa!, ridiculous, stupid AND dumb?&rdquo;, I protested. &ldquo;All three? At once?&rdquo;. &ldquo;Yes. All three. At once.&rdquo;, She said assuredly. You do eventually make your way back around to where you started and somehow it all actually makes sense. Now that I'm used to it, I can tell by how you start, where you&rsquo;re going to end up.&rdquo;</span></p>
<p><span>&ldquo;Really?&rdquo;, I said. &ldquo;I guess that&rsquo;s comforting cuz sometimes I have no idea where I&rsquo;m going to end up... </span></p>
<p><span>Did I say sometimes? </span></p>
<p><span>I meant a lot of times.</span></p>
<p><span>Did I say a lot of times? </span></p>
<p><span>I meant always.&rdquo; </span></p>
<p><span>After successfully mastering &ldquo;circle talking&rdquo;, I hit upon the idea of saying exactly the opposite of what I really think. Rather than simply hinting at my ideas, I figure if I speak perpendicularly, my true thoughts will be revealed in sharp contrast. I mean, anyone can say exactly what they&rsquo;re thinking, right?</span></p>
<p><span>BORing!</span></p>
<p><span>Some people call what I do, &ldquo;lying.&rdquo;</span></p>
<p><span>I prefer to call it, &ldquo;speaking at right angles&rdquo;</span></p>
<p><span>To people who know me, my true thought is at the endpoint. Others though, end up chasing the ray of my opposite-thought off into infinity. If you don&rsquo;t know me well, I WILL send you off in the wrong direction. The only problem with this is, most folks tend to ignore about 80% of what I say. </span></p>
<p><span>Audwin The Black Belt said, &ldquo;If you&rsquo;re not careful, everyone on facebook is going to think you&rsquo;re an a%&amp;hole, which couldn&rsquo;t be further from the truth.&rdquo; There are two things I think about his statement: One; what is &ldquo;truth&rdquo;?; And two; That&rsquo;s what they get for being dummies. Ironically, this might actually prove the point that I may be an a%&amp;hole. </span></p>
<p><span>Recently I read a book called, Satan; An Autobiography. I have to admit, I did get a bit worried when I found myself identifying with everything the character of Satan was saying. I read a particular passage out loud to my wife. &ldquo;Does that sound like me?&rdquo;, I asked. &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;, she said, &ldquo;That sounds exactly like you.&rdquo; &ldquo;Flagnon! that&rsquo;s the Satan character!!!&rdquo;</span></p>
<p><span>My wife gave me a, I-don&rsquo;t-know-why-any-of-this-is-surprising-to-you, kind of look.</span></p>
<p><span>Like I said, the book alarmed me. But not enough for me to stop doing what I do.</span></p>
<p><span>My wife said, &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t come crying to me when you end up in hell. I&rsquo;m not coming to get you out! After this life is over, I will have fulfilled my tour of duty.&rdquo;<br class="kix-line-break" /></span><br /><span>I suppose there is a bit of danger in continuing to speak as obliquely as I do.</span></p>
<p><span>Then again who knows. Everything I just said is prolly one big lie.</span></p>
<p><span>It&rsquo;s hard to tell anymore.</span></p>
</div>
<p>&nbsp;</p>]]></content></entry><entry><title>Smarticles</title><id>http://www.franklinchronicles.com/chronicles/2010/7/10/smarticles.html</id><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.franklinchronicles.com/chronicles/2010/7/10/smarticles.html"/><author><name>Roosevelt Franklin</name></author><published>2010-07-10T23:17:18Z</published><updated>2010-07-10T23:17:18Z</updated><content type="html" xml:lang="en-US"><![CDATA[<p style="text-align: center;"><span class="full-image-block ssNonEditable"><span><img style="width: 300px;" src="http://www.franklinchronicles.com/storage/smartness.gif?__SQUARESPACE_CACHEVERSION=1278804491460" alt="" /></span></span></p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p>Tricia: Wow! What you just said was actually pretty smart!</p>
<p>Me: Was it?</p>
<p>Tricia: Yes. It was extremely cogent and insightful.</p>
<p>Me: Oh&hellip; You'll have to forgive me. I wasn't trying to be smart, I was only trying to say what I thought&hellip; And I wish I knew what cogent meant.</p>]]></content></entry><entry><title>Wolverines in the classroom</title><id>http://www.franklinchronicles.com/chronicles/2010/4/9/wolverines-in-the-classroom.html</id><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.franklinchronicles.com/chronicles/2010/4/9/wolverines-in-the-classroom.html"/><author><name>Roosevelt Franklin</name></author><published>2010-04-09T16:53:42Z</published><updated>2010-04-09T16:53:42Z</updated><content type="html" xml:lang="en-US"><![CDATA[<p style="text-align: center;"><em><span class="full-image-block ssNonEditable"><span><img src="http://www.franklinchronicles.com/storage/post-images/WL001370.jpg?__SQUARESPACE_CACHEVERSION=1270835351297" alt="" /></span></span></em></p>
<p style="text-align: left;"><em>This is a conversation I had with my son this morning. He is nine and he is in the third grade.</em></p>
<p style="text-align: left;">Morgan: We have a new pet in our classroom. Guess what it is.</p>
<p>Me: A wolverine!</p>
<p>Morgan: No...</p>
<p>Me: A jaguar!</p>
<p>Morgan: No...</p>
<p>Me: A mongoose!</p>
<p>Morgan: No, it's a bunny rabbit and...</p>
<p>Me: A gazelle!</p>
<p>Morgan: No Papa, I already said it's a bunny rabbit. So anyway, we were trying to decide on a name and...</p>
<p>Me: A hyena! An elephant! A crocodile!</p>
<p>Morgan: No. It's a bunny rabbit.</p>
<p>Me: A bunny rabbit? That's what I said the first time!</p>
<p>Morgan: Ok yes, you said that the first time. Anyway we were trying to decide on a name...</p>
<p>Me: Hah! No I DIDN'T say that the first time! I said wolverine the first time. You're just saying that to humor me so I'll be quiet.</p>
<p>Morgan: Yes I am. So anyway we were trying to give the rabbit a name...</p>
<p><em>It is now clear to me that my ENTIRE family is conspiring against me.</em></p>
<p><em>Even my nine-year old son.</em></p>]]></content></entry><entry><title>Pot Pies</title><id>http://www.franklinchronicles.com/chronicles/2010/4/1/pot-pies.html</id><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.franklinchronicles.com/chronicles/2010/4/1/pot-pies.html"/><author><name>Roosevelt Franklin</name></author><published>2010-04-01T14:07:09Z</published><updated>2010-04-01T14:07:09Z</updated><content type="html" xml:lang="en-US"><![CDATA[<span class="full-image-block ssNonEditable"><span><img src="http://www.franklinchronicles.com/storage/pot-pie.jpg?__SQUARESPACE_CACHEVERSION=1270131933327" alt="" /></p>
Me: I need a hug.</p>
Tricia: OK</p>
Me: (*sigh*). Y'know, if you had hugged me like this in high school, 25 years ago, I would have been a different kid.</p>
Tricia: I know. That's why I didn't hug you.</p>
Me: What!?? Why!??</p>
Tricia: Cuz, you would have followed me around like a little puppy dog?</p>
Me: True, true… Well, what about now?</p>
Tricia: Now? You could give a rat's a**. In fact in about 15 minutes you're going to say something rude and misogynistic and then you're going to end it with, "Where's my pot pie woman!"</p>
Me: Ha ha... Yeah. Pot pies are awesome.</p>]]></content></entry><entry><title>Bread and Bricks</title><id>http://www.franklinchronicles.com/chronicles/2010/3/11/bread-and-bricks.html</id><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.franklinchronicles.com/chronicles/2010/3/11/bread-and-bricks.html"/><author><name>Roosevelt Franklin</name></author><published>2010-03-11T16:55:14Z</published><updated>2010-03-11T16:55:14Z</updated><content type="html" xml:lang="en-US"><![CDATA[<p style="text-align: left;"><span class="full-image-block ssNonEditable"><span>&nbsp;</span></span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img style="width: 400px;" src="http://www.franklinchronicles.com/storage/post-images/bread-and-bricks.gif?__SQUARESPACE_CACHEVERSION=1268327241231" alt="" /></p>
<p style="text-align: left;">Sometimes the fact that I'm in my forties worries me a little. Audwin the Black Belt said, "The reality is man, we've got more years behind us than we do ahead of us."&nbsp;</p>
<p>Great pep talk ATBB.</p>
<p>I have a nagging feeling that I may have neglected something in the years behind me. Kinda like when you walk out of a room and suddenly think, "Wait... I was supposed to do something&hellip; What was it?" So you go back into the room hoping whatever you were supposed to do will come back to you. It's as if somehow your memory has fallen out of your head and when you go back it will surely recognize you, saying, "Oh there you are! I was looking for you. I've been wandering around this room bumping into things because it turns out, I am a memory and I have no eyes." And with that, it will jump back into your head.</p>
<p>The funny thing is most of the time this works. But sometimes it doesn't and you wander around the house, searching for what you've forgotten. Then you suddenly remember it a week later as you're about to drift off to sleep. Apparently whatever you had forgotten was hiding under the covers the whole time.</p>
<div>
<div>Like I said sometimes I worry that I've forgotten something I was supposed to do in my twenties or thirties, back when I had a lot more energy. I'm not sure what it was exactly. Was I supposed to start my own business before the added weight of a marriage, mortgage and children? Was I smarter back then or just more fearless because I didn't know any better? I certainly don't feel dumber. Then again, I don't feel much smarter either. If anything I think I'm just a bit more shrewd.</p>
<div>
What would have taken me an hour of sheer effort in the past, now takes me fifteen minutes of thought and five minutes of effort. I think that's mostly cuz I know I no longer have an hour of sheer effort in me anymore. Before I would have just leaped headlong into a problem, solving it with nothing more than will and brute force. Now I sit and think about the problem, attacking it from all angles in my mind. I don't make a move until I think I've figured out the simplest way.</div>
<br />
<div>If I find there is no simple way to solve my problem, I hire someone. Thereby making it simple once again.</div>
<br />
<div>Physicists have a theory that likens the universe to a big loaf of bread. Our particular universe is on one slice of that loaf and there is an alternate universe sitting next to us on another slice. In that other slice, I have made completely different decisions than I have on this slice. On yet another slice, maybe I don't even exist. (Clearly that world is a dark and desolate place). It goes on like that throughout the loaf, different decisions create different realities and different slices. (Those familiar with comics will recognize this as being similar to the D.C. comic book universe. Physicists could have saved themselves a lot of math and just picked up a copy of Superman).</div>
<br />
<div>My friend Kevin the writer says he wishes he could open a hole and see how the alternate Kevin lives. He's afraid though that the other Kevin will tell him, "Remember that expensive sports car you always wanted? Well looky-here! I got it! Oh and by the way, I'm rich and date nothing but supermodels! Life here is great! How are things in the wife-mortgage-two-daughters-universe?" Alternate Kevin would just piss our Kevin off. He would have no choice but to throw a brick at his head, killing him instantly, thereby de-stabalizing all existence throughout the entire loaf of reality.</div>
<br />
<div>Which is probably why it's a good idea that Kevin the writer doesn't have the power to open a hole into all the different universes.&nbsp;</div>
<br />
<div>He's an idiot. He would definitely f*ck everything up.</div>
<br />
<div>Here's the thing, I've actually thought about every different iteration of me that could exist in all the different realities. The versions of me that married different women; The ones that didn't marry at all; The ones that had different children; The ones that have no children; The ones that started a business and are independently wealthy; The ones that started a business and are independently broke; The ones that wear corduroys. Everyday. Even in the summer. I've thought about all of them and you know what? Almost all of those guys turned out to be a**holes. Trust me all those other versions of me f*ck everything up for everyone so you're lucky to be here on this particular slice of bread with me. (It turns out, all the different versions of me are kinda like Lex Luthor). The notable exception being the guy who became filthy rich from writing The Franklin Chronicles.&nbsp;</div>
<br />
<div>That cat is&nbsp;<em>deliriously</em>&nbsp;happy.</div>
<br />
<div>I keep a brick with me at all times specifically for that guy. Just in case I ever get the power to open a hole in the universe.</div>
</div>]]></content></entry><entry><title>George and the Best Day Ever!</title><id>http://www.franklinchronicles.com/chronicles/2010/2/10/george-and-the-best-day-ever.html</id><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.franklinchronicles.com/chronicles/2010/2/10/george-and-the-best-day-ever.html"/><author><name>Roosevelt Franklin</name></author><published>2010-02-10T23:15:45Z</published><updated>2010-02-10T23:15:45Z</updated><content type="html" xml:lang="en-US"><![CDATA[<p>Did I ever tell you this story? It's actually one of my favorite stories and I tell it a lot. In fact, usually after I meet someone for the first time, I shake their hand and tell this story. For no reason whatsoever.</p>
<p>I like it that much.</p>
<p>Which is why I'm surprised I've never told it to you.</p>
<p>Anyway, this story takes place, centuries ago in China. There was a widower, horse farmer who only had one son. For the sake of this story we will call the horse farmer George. Times had been hard for George, in the horse bidness. All of his horses had died, except for one. His prized mare. The villagers in the nearby town were kinda gossipy. Which isn't that strange, most villagers at that time were kinda gossipy. There was no television or movies, so gossip was their only form of entertainment. The villagers made a trip out to George's farm so they could be all gossipy.</p>
<p>"George!" they all said in unison. (Little known fact about ancient China, all villagers spoke in unison. It sounds cool, but it was actually kinda spooky.) "We were all thinking how jacked up it is, that all of your horses died, except this one. Dude! How jacked up is that?!!" (Another little known fact: People in ancient China really liked the phrase, "Jacked-up" and they used it all the time. It was kind of annoying). George had never really gotten used to the villagers speaking in unison, which was why he had moved out to the farm in the first place. The whole thing just creeped him out. Despite the acute and sudden case of the heebie-jeebies the villagers had given him, he managed to maintain his composure. He answered their question simply:</p>
<p>"I don't know. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't."</p>
<p>All of the villagers left thinking George was a re-tard. But it took them 15 minutes of practice before they could say it in unison. (Keep in mind this is early century China. They didn't realize calling someone a re-tard was politically incorrect).</p>
<p>The next day George woke to find out that his last horse had fled it's enclosure. He blinked at the empty pen for a few minutes before going back into his house and making himself a nice cup of tea.</p>
<p>The villagers came back to the farm later that afternoon. "George this is jacked! You have lost your last horse! How will you make a living now? Surely you can see how jacked this situation is?!!" George looked at the villagers and said,</p>
<p>"I don't know. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't."</p>
<p>The villagers left again stating that George was a re-tard, but this time they didn't have to practice in order to remain in unison. They already had it down pat.</p>
<p>The next morning, George was awakened by a sudden commotion. He went to the horse pen and found that not only had his favorite mare returned, but she had returned with five additional wild horses. George blinked at the full pen for a few minutes before going back into the house and making himself a nice cup of tea.</p>
<p>That afternoon the villagers returned but this time they all sang his praises, "George, George! You now have six horses. You are indeed a rich man! Good fortune shines upon you! Clearly this situation could be classified as the opposite of jacked!" George simply said:</p>
<p>"I don't know. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't."</p>
<p>George went back into the house. Sipping his tea he thought, "I wonder if those villagers realize just how creepy they sound when they talk all unison-y like that? I mean you'd think they could hear themselves when they do it." Thinking about it sent a shiver through him.</p>
<p>At that exact moment, the villagers were rehearsing the different ways they could sing, "George the re-tard" as they walked back to the village.</p>
<p>The next morning George asked his son, Jeff to try to tame one of the wild horses. In the attempt, Jeff fell off the horse, breaking his leg. No sooner had George helped Jeff into the house when the villagers appeared at his farm. Startled, George thought to himself, How the hell did they get here so fast? "Goodness George! Clearly even you can see that your son, breaking his leg, is jacked up! There's no other way to put it, George. It's just jacked up!" George started but before he could even get the words out of his mouth the villagers interrupted, "We know, we know. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't!" George blinked at them,</p>
<p>"Yes&hellip; But it's just creepy when you guys say it."</p>
<p>The villagers left but this time they didn't say a word. They had concluded that George was too much of a re-tard to even bother calling him a re-tard.</p>
<p>The next day an envoy from the king came to the village, conscripting all able-bodied men to fight in a far off war. All except for Jeff. His broken leg meant he was neither able nor bodied. Sadly though, none of the men who went to war were ever heard from again. The next season the villagers came to George's farm extolling his good fortune since his son had been spared from the war.</p>
<p>George didn't say a word.</p>
<p>He simply went into his house and sipped his tea.</p>
<p>Yesterday was just like that for me. Apparently what I had thought was the worst day of my career, was actually the best day ever!</p>
<p>It turns out I was just looking at it the wrong way.</p>
<p>There's that and I should prolly start drinking more tea.</p>]]></content></entry><entry><title>Pangong Lake video</title><id>http://www.franklinchronicles.com/chronicles/2009/9/13/pangong-lake-video.html</id><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.franklinchronicles.com/chronicles/2009/9/13/pangong-lake-video.html"/><author><name>Roosevelt Franklin</name></author><published>2009-09-13T13:52:50Z</published><updated>2009-09-13T13:52:50Z</updated><content type="html" xml:lang="en-US"><![CDATA[       <div style='padding: 5px 5px 10px 5px; margin-top: 5px; border: 1px solid #ddd; background-color: #fff;line-height: 16px;'>       <div style="float: left; margin-right: 5px; overflow: visible;"><a href='http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/franklinchronicles/5KFMY2tHZvw8RcGmf1eBhanVfdrQPv8WMfTUfvcOE7qbjPFPtYS6eeMFfkel/Pangong_Lake.mov' style='color: #bc7134;'><img src='http://posterous.com/images/filetypes/mov.png' style='border: none;'/></a></div>       <div style="font-size: 10px; color: #424037;line-height: 16px;">Download now or <a href='http://franklinchronicles.posterous.com/pangong-lake-video-0' style='color: #bc7134;'>watch on posterous</a></div>       <b><a href='http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/franklinchronicles/5KFMY2tHZvw8RcGmf1eBhanVfdrQPv8WMfTUfvcOE7qbjPFPtYS6eeMFfkel/Pangong_Lake.mov' style='color: #bc7134;'>Pangong Lake.mov</a></b> <span style="font-size: 10px; color: #424037;">(12160 KB)</span>       <br style="clear: both;"/></div>            <p style="font-size: 10px;">  <a href="http://posterous.com">Posted via email</a>   from <a href="http://franklinchronicles.posterous.com/pangong-lake-video-0">franklinchronicles's posterous</a>  </p>  ]]></content></entry><entry><title>Pangong Lake</title><id>http://www.franklinchronicles.com/chronicles/2009/9/13/pangong-lake.html</id><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.franklinchronicles.com/chronicles/2009/9/13/pangong-lake.html"/><author><name>Roosevelt Franklin</name></author><published>2009-09-13T13:12:18Z</published><updated>2009-09-13T13:12:18Z</updated><content type="html" xml:lang="en-US"><![CDATA[Pangong Lake is in the Himalayas, at about 14,000 feet. It is 83 mi. long and 30% of the lake is in India. The other 70% is in China. Rumor has it that the Chinese patrol the lake in a submarine. Not sure I buy it. How would they get a sub that high? Then again, crazier things have happened. What the hell do I know. Anyway, the lake was pretty. <p /><p /> <p /><p /> <p /><p /> <p /><p /> <p /><p /> <p><a href='http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/franklinchronicles/ZFSbjinOpHon4Zei57tLzJnnNpvc9jUuh9l0ut7Qi7mbfCdRtzgQhTMZvOSX/photo.jpg'><img src="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/franklinchronicles/6jEsU27AWFalfVNeig0xXDbohlbnIdOv4zkq6GtCAVhfSSDlTRFSvrwAl2h2/photo.jpg.scaled.500.jpg" width="500" height="500"/></a> <a href='http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/franklinchronicles/BTXy1wKAPlj3J7V1OYwJjKcwTWPFJE0R3ovYjVCQfD8AnK52F9U8dOLKMxxC/photo_2.jpg'><img src="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/franklinchronicles/ZW4BxpVDTnzqNDicLf7MQhwwIt4GYJngdwvWKB86KP2akwVnrPaEvpagQw4w/photo_2.jpg.scaled.500.jpg" width="500" height="500"/></a> <a href='http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/franklinchronicles/t8USGEpW8gV6qlxd1SMYKRxWRNRk2zOgziy1CVdqFrqw1aINfPwtgPeC1Ejj/photo_3.jpg'><img src="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/franklinchronicles/mupbwoMS8XVvOLoWZq0z84uhXRMDD6mIiiUlmCuza1jEU9nUnX82R2F4OgQF/photo_3.jpg.scaled.500.jpg" width="500" height="500"/></a> <a href='http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/franklinchronicles/3c7nDabhobX9H7qvUEqpcE1toViKxwRGTOHXyyZWFs5YoCLMEbco42orDKzA/photo_4.jpg'><img src="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/franklinchronicles/dH0q4hAqxXMkPpugYJaHDUaW9WhDz0X57XObj1KH96fzxDla5ALZ2sPwVxjG/photo_4.jpg.scaled.500.jpg" width="500" height="500"/></a> <a href='http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/franklinchronicles/UdCJjuiPkt2CvlXpXioATDpBht6nisKSxlVzuRESIQWr1RBB4FInkGTDa83r/photo_5.jpg'><img src="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/franklinchronicles/qkVJbP5zCUhlHtlyoOLMMXX5zhDZVVOioPGeXPgehpzXWfnGX754XkVTf27R/photo_5.jpg.scaled.500.jpg" width="500" height="500"/></a> <a href='http://franklinchronicles.posterous.com/pangong-lake'>See and download the full gallery on posterous</a></p>      <p style="font-size: 10px;">  <a href="http://posterous.com">Posted via email</a>   from <a href="http://franklinchronicles.posterous.com/pangong-lake">franklinchronicles's posterous</a>  </p>  ]]></content></entry><entry><title>Road to Pangong</title><id>http://www.franklinchronicles.com/chronicles/2009/9/13/road-to-pangong.html</id><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.franklinchronicles.com/chronicles/2009/9/13/road-to-pangong.html"/><author><name>Roosevelt Franklin</name></author><published>2009-09-13T12:11:57Z</published><updated>2009-09-13T12:11:57Z</updated><content type="html" xml:lang="en-US"><![CDATA[<p>Pangong is a lake in the Himalayas, about 3-5 hour drive from Ladakh. To get there you have to drive along the cliff face on a narrow road up to over 17,000 feet and then back down the other side of the mountain to about 14,000 feet. There is an outpost at the top called Changla and the air is so thin, there is a sign that says "Humans should stay no longer than 20 minutes."</p>
<p>OK, technically the sign didn't single out humans per se.</p>
<p>But it prolly should have.</p>
<p><a href="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/franklinchronicles/sWgQ98BjHdOxwgx9uYQiL5pSUPgPwLS3nVtrCAbNM4fIcP7QndzW7EzoxoR7/photo.jpg"><img src="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/franklinchronicles/k2K364ROKEvtPpBc56m2ObhUpqpQxPxknS4QI1TXidLQwQDUQRloXcAevYE3/photo.jpg.scaled.500.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="500" /></a> <a href="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/franklinchronicles/yu1DnIMfT0ZtMKqgpoODE54lqmugqZXy96ywaChjJAvpp2GhGcVDnyRzryMn/photo_2.jpg"><img src="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/franklinchronicles/wA1ML2IucKNXby38vGTUAV3GjWQNPpB1aiEb21gqabTlocMeTuv4zV4QfKEN/photo_2.jpg.scaled.500.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="500" /></a> <a href="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/franklinchronicles/1uqjfyN7ULv7z1JfYwg5j8qsZk1cosXYxjCHiQUgH3vJSaWvMwlczVLDJ2PE/photo_3.jpg"><img src="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/franklinchronicles/fGvVsP79JswWODbjzWK6IzOICJ0wJNeGgXrZSaCbfKFDW21wAxjEdtlXmujG/photo_3.jpg.scaled.500.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="500" /></a> <a href="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/franklinchronicles/c0yaZREcUHNxUa5w8Yktr8HrxBtCxg3wd1B4Nn5SafIEE8aO2HlLWGKHW53L/photo_4.jpg"><img src="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/franklinchronicles/BSaqIqdcGlWe0gnW1ioftCmMoTyxF5jcbd0qfJ2b6FxOd0md9iuu67CuPkuY/photo_4.jpg.scaled.500.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="500" /></a></p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p><a href="http://franklinchronicles.posterous.com/road-to-pangong">See and download the full gallery on posterous</a></p>
<p style="font-size: 10px;"><a href="http://posterous.com">Posted via email</a> from <a href="http://franklinchronicles.posterous.com/road-to-pangong">franklinchronicles's posterous</a></p>]]></content></entry><entry><title>Ladakh kids playing cricket 2</title><id>http://www.franklinchronicles.com/chronicles/2009/9/13/ladakh-kids-playing-cricket-2.html</id><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.franklinchronicles.com/chronicles/2009/9/13/ladakh-kids-playing-cricket-2.html"/><author><name>Roosevelt Franklin</name></author><published>2009-09-13T11:46:37Z</published><updated>2009-09-13T11:46:37Z</updated><content type="html" xml:lang="en-US"><![CDATA[       <div style='padding: 5px 5px 10px 5px; margin-top: 5px; border: 1px solid #ddd; background-color: #fff;line-height: 16px;'>       <div style="float: left; margin-right: 5px; overflow: visible;"><a href='http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/franklinchronicles/Ss8cirJhfbHjImeX7JFJogj1w0muXZLLwXsvHFi3Nh0ofcK0uBxQalo6cTPL/Ladakh_kids_2.mov' style='color: #bc7134;'><img src='http://posterous.com/images/filetypes/mov.png' style='border: none;'/></a></div>       <div style="font-size: 10px; color: #424037;line-height: 16px;">Download now or <a href='http://franklinchronicles.posterous.com/ladakh-kids-playing-cricket-2' style='color: #bc7134;'>watch on posterous</a></div>       <b><a href='http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/franklinchronicles/Ss8cirJhfbHjImeX7JFJogj1w0muXZLLwXsvHFi3Nh0ofcK0uBxQalo6cTPL/Ladakh_kids_2.mov' style='color: #bc7134;'>Ladakh kids 2.mov</a></b> <span style="font-size: 10px; color: #424037;">(2004 KB)</span>       <br style="clear: both;"/></div>            <p style="font-size: 10px;">  <a href="http://posterous.com">Posted via email</a>   from <a href="http://franklinchronicles.posterous.com/ladakh-kids-playing-cricket-2">franklinchronicles's posterous</a>  </p>  ]]></content></entry></feed>