Ξ May 31st, 2006 | → Comments Off | ∇ General |
Ran into some very cool guys this afternoon at Nan’s Games and Comics. One of them is part of a local team for Steve Jackson Games — he does demos of games at cons and events. If ever I had time, now I know where I can go to get my ass handed to me in Ogre / GEV. He ran into an acquaintance of his while we were talking, which acquaintance turned out to have published a translation of the Poetic Edda through the SJG rep guy. So we all geeked out about Old English and Icelandic for a while. The second fellow also seems to have had some considerable exposure / experience in metalworking. I extended a tentative offer to keep in touch, and when the gods permit us sufficient time, to get in some shop time together one day.
Ξ May 27th, 2006 | → Comments Off | ∇ Philosophy, School |
Doug and Teresa are in town for Rice’s final baseball games, and I stopped by their hotel. I kinda wish I had a place to offer them, but that’ll come in its own time.
(more…)
Be interesting.
Be excellent.
Be not there.
(more…)
Ξ May 24th, 2006 | → Comments Off | ∇ Fitness / HEMA, SCA |
Whatever they may say about auriculotherapy, being punked in the side of the helmet by a stiff rapier thrust is probably not the gentlest way to go about it.
I showed up to practice and actually fenced for-real for the first time in about a month-ish. I was somewhat satisfied with my distance and timing work (got sniped in the hand only twice), and was really happy with my sentimento di ferro or maybe I should say the sentiment of the entire fight situation, and not just the blade. Field awareness, call it whatever.
Point control and endurance blew chunks though. I was laying down my shots with a spread to make a shotgun proud. As for the other part, I think I need to take up rollerblading regularly again. But as much as I’d love to try out some 84mm or (gasp!) 100mm wheels, I can’t justify $300+tax for a new set of boots and frames. So I’ll keep truckin’ along with my totally serviceable 78mm’s. Just as with rapiers and gold-plated banana clips for audio equipment, the techno-weenie race can help but doesn’t win the race. Yes, I mostly believe that. :P
So back to the point… I have to think carefully every time I face Adam, b/c against him I need 1-2 times of the foot against his single time of the hand. And he’s gotten quite good at using his interp of Fabris to control my sword or deny me control of his. So I experienced two majestic failures to control his blade, and on the first one, he rocked my helmet so hard it smacked me in the side of the head. Right on the ear. Fsckin’ hurt. Eh, the lacerations are minor. Though I did forget myself and consequently regretted rubbing my ear earlier. :) But his shot on that one and on the final point were beautifully clean.
Now if we can only get him to keep his heel on the ground and to pivot on the balls of his feet instead of rising up…
My few points were much messier. One that stands out is when I controlled his blade on the outside long enough to enter and seize the blades at the cross, from which point it was all over. I’m not sure I’ve ever managed to use that in a bout before..!
Ξ May 19th, 2006 | → Comments Off | ∇ Food |
Last night, I used a pair of tongs to snag some olives. Mark chided me for contaminating the olives with chicken (cooked). “Yeah, thanks a lot, dude. Why don’t you use your fingers instead?” So I did.
For lunch today, I was in the kitchen, fiddling with some pasta. I was just smooshing the feta cheese with my thumb (freshly washed) to crumble it. I’ve always liked to get kinda personal with my work.
So my mother comes down just as the smooshing action commences, and I’m caught with cheese all over. She scolds me the same way she has for 28 years. “Why are you touching that with your hand?! Use a fork!” The hand is clean, the unused cheese is unsullied, but those sights are unseen and of no consequence, alas.
So this harrowing juxtaposition of culinary gaffs made me wonder why I did what I did. Far as I can guess, my mother’s harridan ways have taught me to use serving utensils when in front of other people — except that certain other people prefer that I use my hands (or get a clean utensil, but that would have been oh so trying last night! [pbbt!]). As an ongoing form of rebellion, I like to use my hands (washed) when I’m alone — and then I get caught b/c I’m in my mother’s kitchen instead of being in someone else’s (finger-friendly) kitchen.
Frankly, I find it amusing whereas a dog — Kibo, for instance — would be greatly confused by these conflicting signals. So I shall gleefully continue to use utensils and my hands in other inappropriate ways.
For cooking, you perverts.
Ξ May 17th, 2006 | → Comments Off | ∇ General |
Woke up this morning.
Felt out of sorts due to late night out.
Went to a museum and lunch with a famous artist and a very cool girl.
(more…)
I was singing along with ol’ Louie when I got to practice. He understood that all one needs is a kiss to build a dream on. :)
So Tristan looks at me kind of funny, and says with a half-smile, “You know, you’re going to make some girl very happy.” He was serious. I was totally caught in the wrong gear. You could hear the teeth clashing as I fumbled for a reply. “Huh? What, the singing?”
Thanks, Tristan!
Oh, and I have a bald patch on my wrist where I confirmed that my new knife (medieval utility / dining type) was sharp enough to shave with.
Mark has a matching bald patch, b/c he had to confirm his freshly sharpened knife edges too.
Ξ May 14th, 2006 | → Comments Off | ∇ General |
On my way home from a party last night, I thought I’d stop by Kroger’s and pick up a few things. They led to a full-scale late-night grocery run. Rice Dream, tomatoes (roma), goat cheese, stuffed olives, red onion, basil, peppercorns, hot Italian sausages, thin spaghetti, and feta cheese. Already had olive oil, kosher salt, balsamic vinegar, and garlic at home.
In the course of picking up all this, I kept running into other people who were also buying stuff… At 1:40 in the morning. Two girls kept intersecting me across different aisles, and a regular stream of guys drifted through clutching bouquets. On any other night, it’d be just me, one or two other stragglers, and the stockboys.
Every single last one of them (us) couldn’t have been much over thirty, and were closer to early 20s.
So in case there’re any marketing researchers out there, take note that the semi-considerate 20something demographic makes its Mother’s Day purchases approximately 8-12 hours prior to morning.
Fast forward to this morning at 9:30. Woke up to a quiet house. My parents and youngest sister had gone to Truong Hung Vuong at St. Thomas as usual (Vietnamese culture / language classes for kids).
Rinsed all my ingredients off. Minced the garlic, chopped the basil, sliced the roma tomatoes, goat cheese, and olives. Prepped the vinaigrette, pots of water, and saucepan.
Checked my mail, had 3 brownies for breakfast.
Around 11:40, I went down and did final assembly on the wossname Italian appetizer stacks, sauteed the garlic and leftover onion, and boiled the pasta and sausages. I anticipated the fam coming home about 15 minutes early, but no biggie.
They came in just as I drizzled the vinaigrette on the appetizers, and were suitably impressed. It seems that my ninja chef skills had successfully managed to conceal my plan until the trap was sprung. I’m just glad my father didn’t spring his own surprise and take my mother somewhere for lunch (a negligible probability approaching zero, b/c my mother and younger sisters really dislike going out). :) We had lunch, and it was good. Just the right amount to make us quite full.
Mark and his mother get most of the credit for this — I learned the appetizer thing from her, and how to judge timing / portions from Mark’s dinner soirees. The pasta dish was sort of my usual lunch pasta thing, with diced roma leftovers and chopped basil for garnishes. Presentation counts for a lot — I swear it mentally / emotionally satisfies us even as the food fills our bellies!
Hell, I even set the table with dishes and chopsticks. :) It ain’t 4-star, but it was serviceably classy.
Huh.
Didn’t know I had a Mistress.
Hey, it’s more entertaining than Googling for “Rick James” or “Dakao Do”.
This came up b/c I ran into a guy I’ve worked with, and he said he Googled my phone number. Saw I was the Houston contact person for Schola Saint George (which study group web page really needs to be updated, but it’s currently not within my convenient control). Turns out that he’s Etienne in the SCA, with a cadet named Delphina. He played for something like 17 years, was cadet-brothers with Conner, knows David, attended KWAR 2004 (same as me), and with his wife is big into the humanistic aspects of Renaissance history. We talked about things like teaching classes, dealing with politics in order to achieve our ends, and etc. I mentioned Iolo’s book tip on On Killing, and Etienne said it sounded just like Iolo’s sort of thing. He then recommended Geoffrey Charny’s Book of Chivalry, which sounds like it gives a medieval perspective on Grossman’s points in On Killing. In a time when nobles still composed a vital and active core of any military endeavor, how did such men and their retainers confront battle and death?
Which brings up a big “Why?” Why am I so fascinated with military history, soldiers’ accounts, martial art, shooting (itself a martial art) — the study of violence in all its myriad forms?
I’m not crazy or traumatized, I’m not a particularly strong gun ownership advocate, or obsessed with building a shelter and stocking it against the day when the revolution comes. I enjoy doing theater and still-life photography, reading romances, and watching sentimental movies with good writing.
There was a young man from England who wrote a letter to a World War II veteran. The Englishman wrote, “You make me want to be a better person.”
And that’s it, really. I’ve thought that to myself, in my more concise moments of private contemplation (which does not include now). When I’m mired most deeply in chickenshit, I try to remind myself that each incident is so much less troubling than being splattered with the brains and shit of guys I’ve known closely for three years. If they got it done instead of whining, why can’t I? To do the job, big or small, without excuses but also without becoming crushed by guilt when things go sideways… That’s all there is. I, of course, do not follow this perfectly — or even fairly well. But the 101st Airborne Division got its job done on D-Day with only 10-15% of the men landing anywhere even vaguely close (within 20 miles) of their objectives. So I too can embrace and cope with the inefficiencies of being human (they are parameters, not obstacles).
The danger, of course, that many veterans then and now go through is, to take Guy Sajer’s example, why bother? For a man who learned to drive by double-clutching on a poorly-maintained 17-ton German tank without synchros and mired in the autumn rasputitsa, putting up with some puffed-up French driving instructor’s chickenshit pales in comparison and yet frustrates to no end.
So once we’ve gained perspective, the trick is to not become lost in perspectives too large or numerous.
I think I was first exposed to these ideas in high school. I didn’t recognize this Grand Unification of Perspective theory for what it was at the time…
People don’t think about the universe much. Heck, how often do we really think about what it means to live in a country with a quarter billion other people? We run in our little circles of hundreds or thousands of coworkers, friends, and etc. We certainly don’t think about the inconsequentiality of our 80 years (plus or minus) on Earth compared to 5000 years of recorded history, much less the 100,000s or billions (depending on your sources) of years the planet has been around. And when my classmates and I pondered this in high school, we all got this feeling of helplessness. What is one little organism against the tide of stars and planets which expand and collapse in eternal, fiery cycles of birth and rebirth?
It wasn’t until college that I learned the antidote for our reaction: My time on Earth matters to me. When people say, “Who cares? What does it matter?”, the answer (or just one of many) is, “Well, my life damn well matters to me!” A little selfishness combined with a little oneness with the infinite multiverse.
Tying back into personal responsibility, that means that I should take care of what’s set in front of me, then keep on completing new tasks that arise, until the overall job is done. Be aware of, but don’t obsess over the big picture. If other things happen (screwups, etc.), deal with them and don’t let them sidetrack my work.
And, of course, as soldiers have done since time immemorial, we can bitch about it after it’s over. :)
I know this got repetitive. Just wanted to put down all the ways I’ve learned this lesson since high school, before senility steals any more of my memories away. :P
Ξ May 8th, 2006 | → Comments Off | ∇ General, Metalworking |
There are just those times when it seems like all we do is move. Relocate crap. Store stuff. Put things away and take them out again.
David’s house is done. Huzzah.
The shop (primarily my stuff, with lots of Adam’s and some of Mark’s stuff) has been relocated, so the major hell of it is over. Now it’s the multitude of lesser hells that come with organization and layout, but you don’t need more than one strong back at a time or a truck for that. I’m totally impressed that all our stuff fit into 2 pickup and one midsize SUV loads.
Steph’s workspace is still in progress. Don’t know I have much to do for that from this point on. It’d be nice to help if I can.
My parents’ cultural center just had the first open house. Yay. (still lots to do, but it’s marginally presentable)
My room (and our house) — so not done. We’ve been here 13 years, and now we’re downsizing to a more reasonable townhouse. I foresee some intense triage action ahead.
My grandmother’s place is also not done, but will be by Memorial Day (or bust!).
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