Detective stories have been making a splash on European screens for the past decade. Some attract top-notch directors, actors and script writers. They are far superior to anything that appears over here -- whether on TV or from Hollywood. Part of the impetus has come from the remarkable Italian series Montelbano, the name of a Sicilian commissario in Ragusa (Vigata)who was first featured in the skillfully crafted novellas of Andrea Camilleri.

Italians remain in the forefront of the genre as Montelbano was followed by similar high class productions set in Bologna, Ferrara, Turino, Milano, Palermo and Roma. A few are placed in evocative historical context. The French follow close behind with a rich variety of series ranging from a revived Maigret circa 2004(Bruno Cremer) and Frank Riva (Alain Delon) to the gritty Blood On The Docks (Le Havre) and the refined dramatizations of other Simenon tales. Others have jumped in: Austria, Germany (several) and all the Scandinavians. The former, Anatomy of Evil, offers us a dark yet riveting set of mysteries featuring a taciturn middle-aged police psychiatrist. Germany'sgem, Homicide Unit -- Istanbul, has a cast of talented Turkish Germans who speak German in a vividly portrayed contemporary Istanbul. Shows from the last mentioned region tend to be dreary and the characters uni-dimensional, so will receive short shrift in these comments.

Most striking to an American viewer are the strange mores and customs of the local protagonists compared to their counterparts over here. So are the physical traits as well as the social contexts. Here are a few immediately noteworthy examples. Tattoos and ****** hardware are strangely absent -- even among the bad guys. Green or orange hair is equally out of sight. The former, I guess, are disfiguring. The latter types are too crude for the sophisticated plots. European salons also seem unable to produce that commonplace style of artificial blond hair parted by a conspicuous streak of dark brown roots so favored by news anchors, talk show howlers and other female luminaries. Jeans, of course, are universal -- and usually filled in comely fashion. It's what people do in them (or out of them) that stands out.

First, almost no workout routines -- or animated talk about them. Nautilus? Nordic Track? Yoga pants? From roughly 50 programs, I can recall only one, in fact -- a rather humorous scene in an Istanbul health club that doubles as a drug depot. There is a bit of jogging, just a bit -- none in Italy. The Italians do do some swimming (Montalbano) and are pictured hauling cases of wine up steep cellar stairs with uncanny frequency. Kale appears nowhere on the menu; and vegan or gluten are words unspoken. Speaking of food, almost all of these characters actually sit down to eat lunch, albeit the main protagonist tends to lose an appetite when on the heels of a particularly elusive villain. Oblique references to cholesterol levels occur on but two occasions. Those omnipresent little containers of yoghurt are considered unworthy of camera time.

A few other features of contemporary American life are missing from the dialogue. I cannot recall the word "consultant' being uttered once. In the face of this amazing reality, one can only wonder how ****-kid 21 year old graduates from elite European universities manage to get that first critical foothold on the ladder of financial excess. Something else is lacking in the organizational culture of police departments, high-powered real estate operations, environmental NGOs or law firms: formal evaluations. In those retro environments, it all turns on long-standing personal ties, budgetary appropriations and actual accomplishment -- not graded memo writing skills. Moreover, the abrupt firing of professionals is a surprising rarity. No wonder Europe is lagging so far behind in the league table of billionaires produced annually and on-the-job suicides

Then, there is that staple of all American conversation -- real estate prices. They crop up very rarely -- and then only when retirement is the subject. Admittedly, that is a pretty boring subject for a tense crime drama -- however compelling it is for academics, investors, lawyers and doctors over here. Still, it fits a pattern.

None of the main characters devotes time to soliciting offers from other institutions -- be they universities, elite police units in a different city, insurance companies, banks, or architectural firms. They are peculiarly rooted where they are. In the U.S., professionals are constantly on the look-out for some prospective employer who will make them an attractive offer. That offer is then taken to their current institution along with the demand that it be matched or they'll be packing their bags. Most of the time, it makes little difference if that "offer" is from College Station, Texas or La Jolla, California. That doesn't occur in the programs that I've viewed. No one is driven to abandon colleagues, friends, a comfortable home and favorite restaurants for the hope of upward mobility. What a touching, if archaic way of viewing life.

The pedigree of actors help make all this credible. For example, the classiest female leads are a "Turk" (Idil Uner) who in real life studied voice in Berlin for 17 years and a transplanted Russo-Italian (Natasha Stephanenko) whose father was a nuclear physicist at a secret facility in the Urals. Each has a parallel non-acting career in the arts. It shows.

After viewing the first dozen or so mysteries of diverse nationality, an American viewer begins to feel an unease creeping up on him. Something is amiss; something awry; something missing. Where are those little bottles of natural water that are ubiquitous in the U.S? The ones with the ****** tip. Meetings of all sorts are held without their comforting presence. Receptionists -- glamorous or unglamorous alike -- make do without them. Heat tormented Sicilians seem immune to the temptation. Cyclists don't stick them in handlebar holders. Even stray teenagers and university students are lacking their company. Uneasiness gives way to a sensation of dread. For European civilization looks to be on the brink of extinction due to mass dehydration.

That's a pity. Any society where cityscapes are not cluttered with SUVs deserves to survive as a reserve of sanity on that score at least. It also allows for car chases through the crooked, cobbled streets of old towns unobstructed by herds of Yukons and Outbacks on the prowl for a double parking space. Bonus: Montelbano's unwashed Fiat has been missing a right front hubcap for 4 years (just like my car). To meet Hollywood standards for car chases he'd have to borrow Ingrid's red Maserati.

Social ******* reveals a number of even more bizarre phenomena. In conversation, above all. Volume is several decibels below what it is on American TV shows and in our society. It is not necessary to grab the remote to drop sound levels down into the 20s in order to avoid irreparable hearing damage. Nor is one afflicted by those piercing, high-pitched voices that can cut through 3 inches of solid steel. All manner of intelligible conversations are held in restaurants, cafes and other public places. Most incomprehensible are the moments of silence. Some last for up to a minute while the mind contemplates an intellectual puzzle or complex emotions. Such extreme behavior does crop up occasionally in shows or films over here -- but invariably followed by a diagnosis of concealed autism which provides the dramatic theme for the rest of the episode.

Tragedy is more common, and takes more subtle forms in these European dramatizations. Certainly, America has long since departed from the standard formula of happy endings. Over there, tragic endings are not only varied -- they include forms of tragedy that do not end in death or violence. The Sicilian series stands out in this respect.

As to violence, there is a fair amount as only could be expected in detective series. Not everyone can be killed decorously by slow arsenic poisoning. So there is some blood and gore. But there is no visual lingering on either the acts themselves or their grisly aftermaths. People bleed -- but without geysers of blood or minutes fixed on its portentous dripping. Violence is part of life -- not to be denied, not to be magnified as an object of occult fascination. The same with ****** abuse and *******.

Finally, it surprises an American to see how little the Europeans portrayed in these stories care about us. We tend to assume that the entire world is obsessed by the United States. True, our pop culture is everywhere. Relatives from 'over there' do make an occasional appearance -- especially in Italian shows. However, unlike their leaders who give the impression that they can't take an unscheduled leak without first checking with the White House or National Security Council in Washington, these characters manage quite nicely to handle their lives in their own way on their own terms.

Anyone who lives on the Continent or spends a lot of time there off the tourist circuit knows all this. The image presented by TV dramas may have the effect of exaggerating the differences with the U.S. That is not their intention, though. Moreover, isn't the purpose of art to force us to see things that otherwise may not be obvious?Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com | www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses

cool. lightly scented. i sit alone in the reception of a spa. tranquil tones soothe the atmosphere. i lean against the wall, and wait. a fear of physical contact roots me to the spot; they will not touch me. impatiently. silently. i wait.

grey, cloud-tinted sunlight blankets the day. it was blistering heat earlier. i think of the way sweat pooled in the hollow of my chest as your tongue dipped over my collarbone. my back in damp grass. hoodies abandoned. who cares about a little mud when the things we do to each other go beyond *****? somebody might see was a quiet worry drowned out by rough breaths and guilty little whimpers.

now, i am thousands of miles away from you. six hours of time difference. phone vibrations. my unshakable conviction that you might leave me be if i ignore you, even as i miss your touch. sitting alone in a spa reception, too uncomfortable with the idea of hands on my skin. but i miss the pads of your fingertips digging into my sides. palms clamping my wrists either side of my head. pinned in place by ocean eyes that drown me.

we will leave for the secret garden soon. coffee will be placed between my palms. maybe hot. i'm feeling a chill in my bones that wants to be chased away. my mind's eyes conjures an image. memory. you sit across from me on four hours of sleep. your body vibrates on caffiene overload. you are like me sometimes. but my poison is bitter, coffee beans; your poison is an attack of fizzing sugar on your cardiovascular system.

maybe. maybe that's the answer. why you're sweet. why you escape confined spaces (read: relationships. you are like me sometimes.) like bubbles leaping from a can. maybe it's why i'm dark. with an aftertaste almost everybody is determined to chase away.

something tangy hangs on the air despite the spa's best attempts to provide aroma therapy. my mind pines for your natural scent. light washing powder. a little musky, like faint sweat. not the sweetest, but real and warm. i can find it. i reach for it, fingers finding warm skin. we press chest to chest and this hardly feels real. motorbikes and scooters rumble by. your voice is a ghost in my ear. too quiet to be present.

eyes open. receptionists wander. you are far away. my eyes glaze over anyway. sleepless nights and busy days. i slump into scenery: green grass, wrangled trees, a brick wall decorated with poison berries and stinging nettles, a blue sky with white clouds. your body above me.

MOVING ON
From here I stroll into the darkness,
From the land of known knowledge and ready made friends,
I'm walking on air bubbles,
I have friends I never thought I had.
I kiss outpatients goodbye with big hugs.
I take my gifts home in a plastic bag,
all full up with memories.

And now I'm reflect on my colleagues,
sorry guys,
you all fit my jigsaw of reflection and recollection.
I have no favourites in my team.
We all work in unison.
I have Mandy and Karen who don't want me to go,
but you know, I have to move along,
I have Rose and Terri who steer the team,
now that our dear Sister Diann left,
Allison left and came right back,
she must have known on which side her bread was buttered,
Aga, my friend is going,
will be bouncing back in a nurses dress,
Tracey, was the first colleague,
I saw when I was interviewed,
the first person who said "hello", you see I remembered.
Erline and Gill are both angels,
Maggie's much the same,
George and Charlotte,
I met you the first day that you came to stay,
two doctors in the making...good luck to both of you.
Mark is off to train,
off to find a new career, a proper little life saver,
he'll be great at that,
most definitely he will!
I am graced with knowing Lauren Dean,
she wants to be a midwife,
I know that she'll succeed.
Louise, well she is learning loads,
I was so delighted to find Julie S, had come to join our team,
I was touched by your cute little special gift..
and also the gift from the eye lady who made me cry.
Dr J, thank you for my flowers,
you made my day, thank you
We have a collection of newbies come to play,
don't know them that well but, I hope they stay.
Min and George, I appreciate you buying my silly books.
Kirsten and Kayla, I'll miss you both.
I'll miss you all as much as I can,
the receptionists and medical records,
especially Adam (LOL, winks at Kayla),
you all play a crucial part.
If I forgot to mention you,
Then I'm sorry,
you're all great,
all part of a memory well spent.
I'm getting tired.....
several patients asked me if I was retiring tomorrow,
Good God,
do I really look that old.
Been a long day.

Thank you all for your good wishes and gifts,
It's going to be another river to ride on,
I'm sure that I can swim.
Time for me to love and learn.
(C) Olivia Kent

Whilst there is no 'Devil', which the Roman Catholic Empire needs to, and projects, exists,
while that's just them dictating their notsee/totalitarian control over the world, there is
the closest thing that has ever existed to it, the united **** of assassin's gov't's '****',
as it's called on the street, specifically the republikan conspiracy's psychic-terrorism.
This 'devil', which is dictating their 'final solution' for humanity is the only game in town,
like ******'s was (though they did a slower blitzkrieg by dividing and conquering the country
into a baskin 'n robbins of 23 flavors of supremacy), as well as a plethora of conspiracies,
which 'gotherdone', all feeding on the genocide of heterosexual, Caucasian, non-republican
newborns to men, this notsee dictatorship's 'Jews', which includes some of them too, ends all.

Climate crisis and our king-kong sized terrible-two, ****'s playing his keystone President
act for two months has determined his, the republikan conspiracy's, global oligarchy's
agenda, which they couldn't get done politically for the last 2 decades, the stealing of
social security from the elderly, infirm.  Instead of privatizing S.S. they're exterminating
recipients through the purposeful spread of corona virus, which kills the elderly, infirm,
predominantly.  Also, daily domestic notsee attacks by the republikan party has numbed the
populace to them, so their doing terrorist attacks before the election won't have the same
effects of determining a polity vote more right-wing, ergo, plausibly deniable extermination
by pandemic, incompetence, is happening instead.  Will dreamers awaken before their ******?  

This is nothing new, the republikan conspiracy led Gov't, it's **** and millions of minions,
Neuter newborns, anatomically destroy toddlers, kids, teens, adults constantly, also doing
all crime, spreading all disease, pestilence against and to them, shoving it down their
throats to further their ****** of those non-republikans.  How could you not know their the
devil.  Every republikan uses their jobs they supposedly do to exterminate non-republikans
instead.  That's the same as ******'s minions did, for it wasn't generals, admirals, etc.,
who realized his and his ***** rise, it was the file-clerks, receptionists, cab drivers all
destroying, committing treason every moment, instead of doing their jobs, like the serial
murderers who masquerade as cops, exterminators ..., as doctors, judges ..., as justices.  

**** and his admin. were informed by 17 intelligence agencies about corona in january, he
lied about it extremely, pathologically and still is, as recently as March he was saying
"we have 5 cases and by the end of the week we'll have one, then it'll disappear", in order
to determine as many people were infected as possible before the states jumped in to try to
stop it, the highest of treason.  Simply because the quickest spread will be in the largest
metropolitan areas, specifically Cali and NY, where most voters are democrat or too sane to
vote ****.  Also, the predominance of infections and mortality will be in the lower-middle-
class to poor, 60 % of the nation, who can't defend themselves as well, and will die from
it more, price of living skyrocketing, people have less $ than ever, class war by pandemic.  

His latest, "the cure's worse than the pandemic", everyone should die by criminally insanely
putting them all back to work 'til death, to get Utin's **** more $ sooner from his corps.
I told you during the campaign that if he won we'd be lucky if he doesn't pull a Caligula,
that's only three steps from his current hitlerian positions.  The "Stimulus bills", the
Dems are pushing back but the Repubs are getting the edge as ever, 1/2 a trill to bail out
big businesses and they kept his criminal cuts to food stamps, still stealing food from the
mouths of babes and handing it to billionaires.  Pharma, medical supplies corps making hand
over fist from bidding war between States, federal agencies, Bush, **** klans kafknchinging.  
The 'big fix' is in, if it ain't fixed don't break it, stop criminal insanity, vote Bernie.

It’s good, but not what we’re looking for right now.
Oh, but it stings. And how!
The position’s closed, better luck next time
Your lips are bruised purple from that smile.

We loved it, but it doesn’t fit with our current line-up
You take a bitter sip of the salty tea-cup.
It’s good, dear, just not for me
You nod, you understand, ‘cause it ever is.

Your throat stings from not screaming loud enough,
Frustration the itch of a swallowed cough.
You’ve heard it a hundred times, and yet the hundred-and-first
Burns like every regret thrice reimbursed.

But while they wound, they aren’t nearly as bad,
As the radio silence of indifference ironclad.
Refreshed inboxes and double-checked call logs tell
The sordid tale of a dream drowning in the wishing well.

Vacancies disappear and resumes languish
Receptionists pout in parodied anguish.
It’s never you, it’s always them,
It’s never you’re-not-good-enough, it’s always not-the-right-fit.

It’s all the same, yet unique every time
Nobody’s got a minute, but asking’s not a crime.
It’s self-flagellation with a calling card
We don’t give a ****, best regards.

Your name’s not on this list, or the next one
And yet you walk, ‘cause you can’t outrun
The ghost of a dream, of a hope long gone
Of finding the happily-ever-after in life’s lexicon.

We are the weird recepcionists!
Sassy, strange flair - for your clean office!
Wild flowers - in a vase
Shape-shifting - for the day

Thinking about God,
thinking about it all
when I am in my own
Your chit chat makes me mad
But I am a mingling alien lass

Yet - can you see me?
see me glow?
Between these post-its and receipts
The fireflies around here

Shape-shifting - wearing a disguise
it doesn't **** me under because I know
what it does
can you feel me? not that I care
Flowers tamed - for a portion of the day
Tamed? More like paused, in the make
Waiting to be released, to come out and play
(This is a disguise, the most comfortable
I could find, I don't dislike it. But it's not who I am)
watch me off duty, committing to myself
watch me in the desk, a confetti bomb
ticking away!

We live in a territorial state
Where doctor’s receptionist
Wear chainmail and carry axes
To save guard their sovereigns
From interference.

Responses  sound like an offensive
Battling against imprisonment
I am polite, ask kindly
Tread lightly.

I am a poor, weak patient
I pay for your services
We are unequal as I am ill
You are healthy and fit.

What has happened
To make you so unkind
Disrespectful, blind
Your turn will come .

Love Mary .

When I was a boy, and on the days I didn't have swimming club,
I exited school sprinting
and I waited,

in my parent's medical practice.
The waiting room was white and reflective,
with artificial LED lights and worry,

the cream carpet was scratchy on my always naked toes,
clashing with the too-big chairs, red like blood, soft like hope,
hardwood arms with fingerprints pressed deep, still unbroken.

The child's corner was complete, with toys and comics and waiting kids,
only for babies though, not me.
Still, I was forbidden from the office,

where nurses, receptionists and secrets roamed,
seen over top the unassailable counter
and by poking my head around the corner of the grey-stamped door.

Sometimes, when I simpered and smiled enough,
the nurses would pat my head and unlock the password protected corridor computer,
where I would play online games on Miniclip.com.

It always smelled so very clean at the hospital,
and I wouldn't want to leave when Mum or Dad finally finished;
“I'm nearly done, I've nearly won”, but no, no, time to go home.

i can still hear the plane taking off.
i can still hear the busy people rushing around the airport.
i can still hear the doors to the shuttle closing.
i can still hear the friendly receptionists at the hotel.

i can still feel the air sweeping past me while waiting for the metro.
i can still feel the wooden banisters at the library of congress.
i can still feel the cool october breeze.
i can still feel the awe of seeing the washington monument.

i can still see my smile while watching bobby flay's cooking show.
i can still see the intricate floral pattern on the hallway floor.
i can still see my smile fade when you approach me in the hallway.
i can still see your black eyes as you force your hand down my pants.

i can still smell your cologne on my pajamas.
i can still smell my chai tea latte and cake pop.
i can still smell the old air in ford's theatre.
i can still smell the mini burgers i ate that night.

i can still taste the cold concrete in the stairwell.
i can still ******* dinner coming up as you choked me.
i can still taste the salty tears dripping onto my tongue.
i can still taste the bitter mucus that i vengefully spat at you.

i hate you.

[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                            Reality Will See You Now

I am a student of medical waiting rooms
The same Motel 6 paintings and decor
Receptionists giggling behind rippled glass
About weekends and boyfriends and inadequate husbands

Patients waiting as patiently as Russians
Tattoos and ball-caps lined up in plastic-chairs
Clutching bills and lab reports in nervous hands
Or greasy year-old copies of Reader’s Digest

Or bending over their MePhones in a servile bow -
“Mr. Hall? The doctor will see you now…”