Currently in Earphones: King Kong soundtrack by James Newton Howard
After reading the humorous and truthful article on maintaining Platonic relationships between male and female, found here, I came up with an additional observation, that kinda fits in with No. 10, but probably is in it's own catagory all together.
Males, by their nature, are competetive beings. In the reptilian portion of our brain, we know that it all narrows down to who is the biggest and best of us, because those guys (on a primal level) will be gettin' all the chicks, as it were.
Although we now have far more complex and varied criteria for instinctive mate selection, there's still some of that basic thinking underlying the whole thing.
Now, when it comes to inter-sexual friendship, we've also advanced, or at least I can say as much for the male portion. We guys can be friends with you ladies because we enjoy your company, and on some level or another, know that if we were to get serious things probably wouldn't work out. But, additionally we still have this idea that we're potential boyfriend material. Let's face it, we're friends because at some point or another we were hoping to be more than friends with you.
Again, guys are all different and depending on who he is, he could have that all behind him, or still be wishing for a lucky break, or what have you. No matter what, there will still be that grain in him, active or dormant, that wonders on such things.
With that in mind, we don't mind a whole heck of a lot when you start talking to us about your boyfriends/potentials/etc. because we want you to be happy. We're friends, also, because we care about you, and as No. 14 says in the article, we "fucking adore you."
However, do know that when you do talk to us of such things, you will always be triggering the primal spot that gets our competition going. Since we're friends with you, we won't let it get us down, but every time you mention how charming/cool/ripped/amazing another guy is to you, a little bit of us shouts out "What, and I'm not?"
Don't take it personally, because it's nothing against you, but our instinctual logic places us below the guy you're gushing about on the "fitness" ladder, and we start to wonder why it is that you're wasting your time with us, when this obviously superior guy is out there.
We know that you are friends with us for a reason, that we have redeeming qualities and that you like us all the same, but just know that our brains go off on that tangent if you start talking about the other guys. Once again, this is only the case in varying degrees, depending on the guy and the friendship, but I think it holds true in most cases.
As No. 10 says, "I am not your girl friend; I am your [...] man friend who officially hates all men that you date now or in the future."
Enough, More Later.
- James
Friday, December 29, 2006
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Cruzin' right along (100th post!)
Currently in Earphones: "O Cecita de misero mortale" Oratorio by Luigi Rossi
The new beta version of Blogger is nifty in that it tells you upfront how many posts you have, and this one will be the 100th. Happy number...reaching...thing, then.
Christmas was a good haul, I now have a FRIKIN' HUGE external hard drive (500 gb) to store all of my musical goodness and then some. Also got recordings of the above mentioned (and hard to find) Oratorio and the Levin Completion of Mozart's Requiem. Some good books as well, the informative (but dry) "Latin Sexual Vocabulary" and two of Ian Fleming's 007 novels (Casino Royale and Thunderball).
Hope to hang out with some more old friends before I leave. I'm a little saddened that a few of my friends haven't returned my calls, and hope that I'll at least be able to catch up over the phone while I'm still in the bay.
I haven't touched my Story of Swords for a while; I seemed to have lost the drive after drafting the initial duel for the final chapter. Rest assured, my creative juices will flow again, but I'm caught between wanting to finish a first draft and wanting to fill all the holes in what I have. Plus, I've got a mess of presents to play with/listen to/read, so my mind probably won't be on the story for a few days yet. I'll see if I can't flesh out the next chapter in the next few days, but don't be surprised if I don't have it up until the end of the break.
In terms of my own emotional well being, I find that merely having opportunities is enough to lift me from my foolish stupor. It's good to know there are still those who are interested in you, or at least are willing to talk with you after extended periods of no communication. Suffice to say, I've equalized a bit since my last post, but I'm still unsure where all of this will lead.
As a final thought, I've realized how much of a double-edged sword being cryptic is. On one hand, one disguises their words in order to not be blunt, and to not communicate to hidden eyes and ears that which you don't want spread around. On the other hand, in ensuring that your message is obscure enough to be discarded by the masses, you run the risk of it being misinterpreted, confused or discarded by the party you intend it to be for.
In the end, however, it is usually as Virgil says, "Audentes Fortuna iuvat" - Fortune favors the brave.
Enough, More Later.
- James
The new beta version of Blogger is nifty in that it tells you upfront how many posts you have, and this one will be the 100th. Happy number...reaching...thing, then.
Christmas was a good haul, I now have a FRIKIN' HUGE external hard drive (500 gb) to store all of my musical goodness and then some. Also got recordings of the above mentioned (and hard to find) Oratorio and the Levin Completion of Mozart's Requiem. Some good books as well, the informative (but dry) "Latin Sexual Vocabulary" and two of Ian Fleming's 007 novels (Casino Royale and Thunderball).
Hope to hang out with some more old friends before I leave. I'm a little saddened that a few of my friends haven't returned my calls, and hope that I'll at least be able to catch up over the phone while I'm still in the bay.
I haven't touched my Story of Swords for a while; I seemed to have lost the drive after drafting the initial duel for the final chapter. Rest assured, my creative juices will flow again, but I'm caught between wanting to finish a first draft and wanting to fill all the holes in what I have. Plus, I've got a mess of presents to play with/listen to/read, so my mind probably won't be on the story for a few days yet. I'll see if I can't flesh out the next chapter in the next few days, but don't be surprised if I don't have it up until the end of the break.
In terms of my own emotional well being, I find that merely having opportunities is enough to lift me from my foolish stupor. It's good to know there are still those who are interested in you, or at least are willing to talk with you after extended periods of no communication. Suffice to say, I've equalized a bit since my last post, but I'm still unsure where all of this will lead.
As a final thought, I've realized how much of a double-edged sword being cryptic is. On one hand, one disguises their words in order to not be blunt, and to not communicate to hidden eyes and ears that which you don't want spread around. On the other hand, in ensuring that your message is obscure enough to be discarded by the masses, you run the risk of it being misinterpreted, confused or discarded by the party you intend it to be for.
In the end, however, it is usually as Virgil says, "Audentes Fortuna iuvat" - Fortune favors the brave.
Enough, More Later.
- James
Thursday, December 21, 2006
The Riddle of Steel: Why the hell is it between my ribs?
Currently in Earphones: Gone with Leaves and In the Chess Court by Tan Dun, from the Hero Soundtrack.
We're Sorry, you were unable to connect to James at 128.161.1.9
He is currently under maintainance and should be back up shortly, if more affairs of the heart don't keep knocking him down. Rest assured, we have initiated the "Tubthumping" protocol to keep him semi-functional when he is intermittantly on his feet, so when you are able to connect, he will be mostly all there.
We apologize for the inconveniance and ask that you try again in a few minutes/days/weeks/years, or whenever this whole mess is behind him.
P.S. - If you are a female friend or interested female, contact with James will most likely speed his recovery and keep him up and about for longer periods. We, his personality and endurance, have had a hard time of it since his hope chickened out.
Thanks again for your patience!
Enough, More Later.
- James
We're Sorry, you were unable to connect to James at 128.161.1.9
He is currently under maintainance and should be back up shortly, if more affairs of the heart don't keep knocking him down. Rest assured, we have initiated the "Tubthumping" protocol to keep him semi-functional when he is intermittantly on his feet, so when you are able to connect, he will be mostly all there.
We apologize for the inconveniance and ask that you try again in a few minutes/days/weeks/years, or whenever this whole mess is behind him.
P.S. - If you are a female friend or interested female, contact with James will most likely speed his recovery and keep him up and about for longer periods. We, his personality and endurance, have had a hard time of it since his hope chickened out.
Thanks again for your patience!
Enough, More Later.
- James
Thursday, December 14, 2006
A Story of Swords, Part 1 (Revised)
Currently in Earphones: "The Venture Departs" from the King Kong Soundtrack, composed by James Newton Howard.
Righty, then, here's a second go round of Chapter 1 of my Story of Swords. Let me know what you all think!
Chapter 1: Justice (Revised)
From his perch on the grassy knoll, Touchstone could see far over the rolling hills into the distance. It was the beginning of spring, the chill winter colds having gradually been driven away and replaced with a balmy warm. It felt good to finally sit outside in the cool morning air while watching the sun rise, after months of being cooped up in the keep. The recent freedom wasn’t going to last, he reflected, conflict had been slowly brewing almost since the snows began to fall, and he was no less involved in the culmination that would come to the surface later on in the day.
The young Fool was a good friend of Ginndem clan, in whose keep he had been resident for the past winter. Having lost a life in one of the principates farther south, he had fled north with a single possession. A Sword, looking to be exactly a meter long, its black hilt un-mistakable: The white circle embedded in the smooth black had been a comfort as he had traveled north, its simple design soothing in comparison to the life he left behind.
Touchstone now fingered the midnight hilt, the cool morning wind rustling through his brown hair as he remembered how it had come into his possession. During his flight those many months ago, he had come upon a magician and his apprentice, the former a dark and wiry man. He had worn a strip of cloth tied about his eyes, and it was the sword at his side that had taken the young Fool’s attention.
“Who’s there?” said magician, as Touchstone had approached the fire.
“I….seek safety,” The young Fool stammered, his voice raspy with disuse, “may I rest here?”
The magicians’ eyebrows met together in a frown over the strip of cloth, and he rested his hand lightly on the black hilt at his side. Touchstone, though too tired even to ready himself for combat, thought he saw the sword vibrate ever so slightly. He blinked, and the effect was gone. The frown disappeared from the wiry man’s forehead and he relaxed, “Come, boy, there’s room around the fire for another, and we have enough food for three, do we not, Lo-Yang?”
The other man nodded, and though suspicion still was evident on his face, he began filling a third wooden bowl with stew from the small cauldron they had on the fire. Handing it to Touchstone, the three sat equidistant from each other and ate.
The meal was carried on in silence, and Lo-Yang gradually relaxed as it became clear that the young Fool really was seeking only shelter and not conflict. As they finished, the blind magician turned to Touchstone.
“My name is Keyes. Normally I wouldn’t be so open, but the Sword of Justice here is amply named. Its reaction tells me you are in a bad way, and I don’t need Doomgiver here to tell me you mean us no harm.”
“I’m Touchstone,” said the young Fool, “But…Sword of Justice? What do you mean?”
Keyes scoffed, “You haven’t heard? After we told that loudmouthed Bard about our little misadventure I figured the whole country would be filled with talk of the Swords.” At Touchstone’s confused look, he continued, “Here is what has come to pass…”
He told the young fool of the Twelve Swords of power, forged by the Gods as a game amongst them, and how he and Lo-Yang had thwarted the divine use of them and how the blades had scattered across the world. He also told of how Doomgiver had protected him further after their adventure with the Gods and as his eyes healed; a result of his experimentation with it. Touchstone asked many questions and clarifications along the way, and Keyes became impressed with the young Fools attentiveness, becoming more talkative and relaxed as the conversation continued.
When the story was finished, Touchstone asked, “If Doomgiver deals in justice, would it ever work against the user if his or her intentions were less than savory?”
Keyes smiled, “An apt question, but one I’ve not yet tested. I do know, however, that it won’t protect you from acts of stupidity. Though it kept me safe if my intention was to travel without the use of my eyes, it wouldn’t save me if I intentionally tried to walk off a cliff.”
“Indeed, master,” said Lo-Yang, one side of his mouth curving wryly upward, “had I not been around your experimentation with the blade might have fallen rather short.”
Keyes’ smile twisted to mimic his apprentices now mischievous grin and, addressing Touchstone more than Lo-Yang, said, “I’m glad my apprentice has only recently decided to become thick-headed, otherwise my story might have ended sooner than that, say at the mercy of Mars in that forsaken cave.” Lo-Yang chuckled and Touchstone smiled in spite of himself.
“Stonecutter is simple enough,” said the young Fool, looking towards the two black-hilted swords strapped to Keyes’ load beast, “But the Tyrant’s Blade…it would seem that that should be destroyed as quickly as possible, or given into wiser hands.”
Keyes nodded, “My thoughts exactly. I don’t plan to possess that Sword for much longer.” He then stirred the fire with the toe of his boot, and continued, “But what of you, lad? What exactly is it that you’ve left behind?”
Touchstone became more somber, pulling his knees up to his chin and wrapping his arms around them. “I don’t suppose I need to illustrate much when I say it was an affair of the heart.” The two men nodded in agreement, and the young Fool continued, “I lost something…someone…very dear to me. I don’t know if I will ever see her again. That element being gone, I had no real reason to stay where I was, and so you see me as I am now.”
“Such stories find their way into every man’s life,” said Lo-Yang, who then looked sheepish. “I would have been a Bard myself, if my Master hadn’t been the man he is. I’m afraid it was mostly my doing that the Song of Swords now exists.”
“Now that it is mentioned, I do recall hearing a verse of two of this Song of yours,” said the young Fool, eager to talk of other subjects, “I shatter swords and splinter spears, / None stands to Shieldbreaker…?”
“…My point’s is the fount of orphans’ tears, / My edge the widowmaker,” finished Lo-Yang, “Yes, that is the one.”
“And a particularly dangerous one, at that,” said Keyes, gruffly, “The Sword of Force is one to be reckoned with.”
“Could it destroy another Sword of Power?” asked Touchstone.
“In theory, yes, though once again we haven’t been able to experiment with it,” Keyes replied, and a thoughtful look began to cross his face, “but what do you think, boy? Which Swords pose the most threat, or the least?”
Touchstone thought for a moment, and then replied “Shieldbreaker, followed by Soulcutter and the Mindsword as the most dangerous. Shieldbreaker trumps all, while one could decimate many people with the Tyrants Blade or gain great power with the Sword of Glory. On the other hand, Stonecutter doesn’t have much of an effect on mortal mind or body, and Dragonslicer only works on those great beasts, so those two could be the least dangerous.”
Keyes leaned back, a satisfied smile growing on his face, “And what of Doomgiver?”
“Well, if it draws from Justice, then little would matter of its wielder. If the bearer were a good person, he could be in possession of the blade with little detriment, and if the bearer used it maliciously, I imagine it would turn back on him and deal Justice as it saw fit.”
Keyes nodded, and said, “Since that seems the case, it would matter little who was in possession of it. I’ve sensed you looking at this blade, lad, you like it?”
“I’ve loved swords since I was little,” Touchstone admitted, “And its power intrigues me.”
“Then perhaps you would like to have it,” Keyes concluded, and he held up a hand to quiet an objection coming from Lo-Yang, “You’ve got a good mind for this knowledge, and from what I’ve seen of you, you have good qualities enough for being the Swords bearer.”
Keyes undid the scabbard from his belt and held out the sword in both hands. Awestruck, Touchstone received it. When his hand touched the black hilt, he felt the slightest thrum travel through the blade, and a small part of him suddenly felt lighter.
“I imagine you’re now feeling a bit calmer,” said Keyes, “Doomgiver does indeed balance the pans. Though the extent of that power may yet be discovered, I believe it is safe in your hands.”
Belting the Sword to his side, Touchstone could only find a few words for the magician, “Thank you, for everything.”
Keyes bowed his head, and said enigmatically “May Demeter’s caution protect you.”
The sun had just started to crest a line of hills in the east when Touchstone said his last goodbyes to the two men. Without their company, his own situation had once again weighed heavy on his heart, but he had set out with new hope and the Sword at his side. After a week of traveling northward, he had reached the gates of Ginndem Keep.
To Be (eventually) Continued in Chapter 2 (Revised)
Enough, More Later.
- James
Righty, then, here's a second go round of Chapter 1 of my Story of Swords. Let me know what you all think!
Chapter 1: Justice (Revised)
From his perch on the grassy knoll, Touchstone could see far over the rolling hills into the distance. It was the beginning of spring, the chill winter colds having gradually been driven away and replaced with a balmy warm. It felt good to finally sit outside in the cool morning air while watching the sun rise, after months of being cooped up in the keep. The recent freedom wasn’t going to last, he reflected, conflict had been slowly brewing almost since the snows began to fall, and he was no less involved in the culmination that would come to the surface later on in the day.
The young Fool was a good friend of Ginndem clan, in whose keep he had been resident for the past winter. Having lost a life in one of the principates farther south, he had fled north with a single possession. A Sword, looking to be exactly a meter long, its black hilt un-mistakable: The white circle embedded in the smooth black had been a comfort as he had traveled north, its simple design soothing in comparison to the life he left behind.
Touchstone now fingered the midnight hilt, the cool morning wind rustling through his brown hair as he remembered how it had come into his possession. During his flight those many months ago, he had come upon a magician and his apprentice, the former a dark and wiry man. He had worn a strip of cloth tied about his eyes, and it was the sword at his side that had taken the young Fool’s attention.
“Who’s there?” said magician, as Touchstone had approached the fire.
“I….seek safety,” The young Fool stammered, his voice raspy with disuse, “may I rest here?”
The magicians’ eyebrows met together in a frown over the strip of cloth, and he rested his hand lightly on the black hilt at his side. Touchstone, though too tired even to ready himself for combat, thought he saw the sword vibrate ever so slightly. He blinked, and the effect was gone. The frown disappeared from the wiry man’s forehead and he relaxed, “Come, boy, there’s room around the fire for another, and we have enough food for three, do we not, Lo-Yang?”
The other man nodded, and though suspicion still was evident on his face, he began filling a third wooden bowl with stew from the small cauldron they had on the fire. Handing it to Touchstone, the three sat equidistant from each other and ate.
The meal was carried on in silence, and Lo-Yang gradually relaxed as it became clear that the young Fool really was seeking only shelter and not conflict. As they finished, the blind magician turned to Touchstone.
“My name is Keyes. Normally I wouldn’t be so open, but the Sword of Justice here is amply named. Its reaction tells me you are in a bad way, and I don’t need Doomgiver here to tell me you mean us no harm.”
“I’m Touchstone,” said the young Fool, “But…Sword of Justice? What do you mean?”
Keyes scoffed, “You haven’t heard? After we told that loudmouthed Bard about our little misadventure I figured the whole country would be filled with talk of the Swords.” At Touchstone’s confused look, he continued, “Here is what has come to pass…”
He told the young fool of the Twelve Swords of power, forged by the Gods as a game amongst them, and how he and Lo-Yang had thwarted the divine use of them and how the blades had scattered across the world. He also told of how Doomgiver had protected him further after their adventure with the Gods and as his eyes healed; a result of his experimentation with it. Touchstone asked many questions and clarifications along the way, and Keyes became impressed with the young Fools attentiveness, becoming more talkative and relaxed as the conversation continued.
When the story was finished, Touchstone asked, “If Doomgiver deals in justice, would it ever work against the user if his or her intentions were less than savory?”
Keyes smiled, “An apt question, but one I’ve not yet tested. I do know, however, that it won’t protect you from acts of stupidity. Though it kept me safe if my intention was to travel without the use of my eyes, it wouldn’t save me if I intentionally tried to walk off a cliff.”
“Indeed, master,” said Lo-Yang, one side of his mouth curving wryly upward, “had I not been around your experimentation with the blade might have fallen rather short.”
Keyes’ smile twisted to mimic his apprentices now mischievous grin and, addressing Touchstone more than Lo-Yang, said, “I’m glad my apprentice has only recently decided to become thick-headed, otherwise my story might have ended sooner than that, say at the mercy of Mars in that forsaken cave.” Lo-Yang chuckled and Touchstone smiled in spite of himself.
“Stonecutter is simple enough,” said the young Fool, looking towards the two black-hilted swords strapped to Keyes’ load beast, “But the Tyrant’s Blade…it would seem that that should be destroyed as quickly as possible, or given into wiser hands.”
Keyes nodded, “My thoughts exactly. I don’t plan to possess that Sword for much longer.” He then stirred the fire with the toe of his boot, and continued, “But what of you, lad? What exactly is it that you’ve left behind?”
Touchstone became more somber, pulling his knees up to his chin and wrapping his arms around them. “I don’t suppose I need to illustrate much when I say it was an affair of the heart.” The two men nodded in agreement, and the young Fool continued, “I lost something…someone…very dear to me. I don’t know if I will ever see her again. That element being gone, I had no real reason to stay where I was, and so you see me as I am now.”
“Such stories find their way into every man’s life,” said Lo-Yang, who then looked sheepish. “I would have been a Bard myself, if my Master hadn’t been the man he is. I’m afraid it was mostly my doing that the Song of Swords now exists.”
“Now that it is mentioned, I do recall hearing a verse of two of this Song of yours,” said the young Fool, eager to talk of other subjects, “I shatter swords and splinter spears, / None stands to Shieldbreaker…?”
“…My point’s is the fount of orphans’ tears, / My edge the widowmaker,” finished Lo-Yang, “Yes, that is the one.”
“And a particularly dangerous one, at that,” said Keyes, gruffly, “The Sword of Force is one to be reckoned with.”
“Could it destroy another Sword of Power?” asked Touchstone.
“In theory, yes, though once again we haven’t been able to experiment with it,” Keyes replied, and a thoughtful look began to cross his face, “but what do you think, boy? Which Swords pose the most threat, or the least?”
Touchstone thought for a moment, and then replied “Shieldbreaker, followed by Soulcutter and the Mindsword as the most dangerous. Shieldbreaker trumps all, while one could decimate many people with the Tyrants Blade or gain great power with the Sword of Glory. On the other hand, Stonecutter doesn’t have much of an effect on mortal mind or body, and Dragonslicer only works on those great beasts, so those two could be the least dangerous.”
Keyes leaned back, a satisfied smile growing on his face, “And what of Doomgiver?”
“Well, if it draws from Justice, then little would matter of its wielder. If the bearer were a good person, he could be in possession of the blade with little detriment, and if the bearer used it maliciously, I imagine it would turn back on him and deal Justice as it saw fit.”
Keyes nodded, and said, “Since that seems the case, it would matter little who was in possession of it. I’ve sensed you looking at this blade, lad, you like it?”
“I’ve loved swords since I was little,” Touchstone admitted, “And its power intrigues me.”
“Then perhaps you would like to have it,” Keyes concluded, and he held up a hand to quiet an objection coming from Lo-Yang, “You’ve got a good mind for this knowledge, and from what I’ve seen of you, you have good qualities enough for being the Swords bearer.”
Keyes undid the scabbard from his belt and held out the sword in both hands. Awestruck, Touchstone received it. When his hand touched the black hilt, he felt the slightest thrum travel through the blade, and a small part of him suddenly felt lighter.
“I imagine you’re now feeling a bit calmer,” said Keyes, “Doomgiver does indeed balance the pans. Though the extent of that power may yet be discovered, I believe it is safe in your hands.”
Belting the Sword to his side, Touchstone could only find a few words for the magician, “Thank you, for everything.”
Keyes bowed his head, and said enigmatically “May Demeter’s caution protect you.”
The sun had just started to crest a line of hills in the east when Touchstone said his last goodbyes to the two men. Without their company, his own situation had once again weighed heavy on his heart, but he had set out with new hope and the Sword at his side. After a week of traveling northward, he had reached the gates of Ginndem Keep.
To Be (eventually) Continued in Chapter 2 (Revised)
Enough, More Later.
- James
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Finals, which I should be studying for...
Currently in Earphones: "Non e gran causa," "Dum pater familias" and "Lux optata claruit" from Sinners and Saints
Quick interim post during finals week, yo.
For those of you interested, I've got a one-two punch classics on Tuesday (Tuesday, Tuesday TUESDAY!!) of Classics 3 and Latin 111. Then Philosophy 21 on Weds, then Geo 2 on Saturday, of all things. I've got a fair-to-middlin' amount of studying for the first two under my belt, but I need to go through the rest of Martials epigrams and give my notes from Classics and second over. It would probably behoove me to at least glance at the review sheet for Philo, but I don't know if I'll get to it before Tuesday night.
Chapter 5 of A Story of Swords is on it's way, I've re-written the first chapter so it's more connected temporally and flows a bit better. It looks like the first completion of the story will be about 6 chapters long, but count on it growing by about a chapter or two. There's definitely going to be some gear shifts on the currently posted chapters as well once I get the final installment penned. The main thing that I feel the need to include is a clearer reason for the big altercation at the end, and I'm guessing all you smart people out there can figure out what's going to happen.
One last note concerning my tale, for all those wondering. This story is not my life, as it might seem. It is drawn from my life, in that I've picked and chosen certain facets and altered them to fit. I will come right out and say that our main character is mostly me, as if it isn't painfully obvious already. Every other character is bits and pieces of people I know, so the clever ones will probably be able to find similarities. Rest assured, none of this story has any resemblance to my life, and if it may have seemed so in the past, the story has fast overtaken any concurrent parallels smart people may be able to draw from it.
And that's enough of that, back to the books!
Enough, More Later.
- James
Quick interim post during finals week, yo.
For those of you interested, I've got a one-two punch classics on Tuesday (Tuesday, Tuesday TUESDAY!!) of Classics 3 and Latin 111. Then Philosophy 21 on Weds, then Geo 2 on Saturday, of all things. I've got a fair-to-middlin' amount of studying for the first two under my belt, but I need to go through the rest of Martials epigrams and give my notes from Classics and second over. It would probably behoove me to at least glance at the review sheet for Philo, but I don't know if I'll get to it before Tuesday night.
Chapter 5 of A Story of Swords is on it's way, I've re-written the first chapter so it's more connected temporally and flows a bit better. It looks like the first completion of the story will be about 6 chapters long, but count on it growing by about a chapter or two. There's definitely going to be some gear shifts on the currently posted chapters as well once I get the final installment penned. The main thing that I feel the need to include is a clearer reason for the big altercation at the end, and I'm guessing all you smart people out there can figure out what's going to happen.
One last note concerning my tale, for all those wondering. This story is not my life, as it might seem. It is drawn from my life, in that I've picked and chosen certain facets and altered them to fit. I will come right out and say that our main character is mostly me, as if it isn't painfully obvious already. Every other character is bits and pieces of people I know, so the clever ones will probably be able to find similarities. Rest assured, none of this story has any resemblance to my life, and if it may have seemed so in the past, the story has fast overtaken any concurrent parallels smart people may be able to draw from it.
And that's enough of that, back to the books!
Enough, More Later.
- James
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
A Story of Swords, Part 4
Currently in Earphones: Casino Royale soundtrack by David Arnold
(Note about the change in the title of my Blog: I knew for a while that I wasn't using good latin in it, and it needed changing. I finally went back to my dictionary and found the right vocab and put it in the right form, but I'm still fuzzy on whether or not I can make up a modified praenomen as I did or if that form is a no-no. I like it though, so foo on the rest.)
Phew, my papers are finally all over with. I've got a bit of a breather between now and finals, and I've taken full advantage of the fact by vegging out and putting a bit more time into my Story of Swords. Having a boatload of time on your hands that you don't need to devote schoolwork to is a neat thing.
I went back over Part 1 and realized its in bad need of a re-write. I was basically trying to write a prologue to set everything up and include any pertinent information, so I was writing to get to the beginning and not nessecarily to set up anything secondary. My first task is to make Keyes a bit more believable in his motives for simply handing a sword over, and although I'd rather not make our protagonist a Mary Sue, I might have to emphasize his good qualities a tad more to accomplish it. Secondly, to expand the amount of time in order to really show that these men spent 8-10 hours with each other and didn't just meet in passing. My sticking point for fantasy is that the material reality of such stories can be anything you'd like, but there still needs to exist a human reality for things to hold an element of believability.
I've also noticed that my chapters tend to be about 3 pages long (that is, in a Word document), and part 1 falls short by about half a page. If I'm ever worried about my writing, I feel better taking the long way around to set things up and illustrate aspects of the story in more detail, so it's good to know that I have some wiggle room if I want to keep this stuff uniform. As an example, I originally intended for this story to be only a few pages long, but then I realized that I wanted to make these characters to be more three-dimensional and to have the readers care about them. In order to do that, I needed to make my story longer, and thus do you see it as it is coming along now.
And now, without further ado, Part 4.
Chapter 4: Pastimes
The Sun beat down from its apex and Touchstone wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. Feeling sufficiently limber, he sheathed Doomgiver, but kept it loose in the scabbard. Though the current situation weighed heavy on his heart, he began to recall the good times that had preceded the conflict.
During the middle of winter, both Touchstone and Helmrune were restless, and decided to sweep the snow from the practice yard in order to spar. Though they were chided by the arms master for attempting such a fruitless task, they would fence for a good part of the day. However, after a set of two or three bouts they had to continually clear away the newest layer of snow, for it was falling near constantly.
The yard would often have four occupants during the days that followed: The young Fool, the young Lord, Esther, usually wrapped in warm furs, and despite his grumpiness, the arms master himself. The only sounds that emanated from the yard, muffled by the falling snow, were the occasional clash of wood-on-wood, or the even more rare sound of steel-on-steel, encouragement or corrections from the master, and shouts of triumph or defeat from the young men.
During those times, Touchstone would lose himself in the dance of swords: The slow circling, the testing of defenses, the foiled attacks and the hasty defenses. Time was spent more in calm alertness and calculation, looking for the clear winning blow, than in actual action. Energy was still spent in maintaining an ever changing defense, feinting here and there, and constantly moving, though more than once the young Fool imagined that his sparring with Helmrune must have looked terribly boring. Regardless of his thoughts, Esther seemed constantly captivated by the two young men in their combat, and even learned a fair amount of swordplay herself. Touchstone enjoyed the atmosphere, the quiet of the snow like a soft cloth muffling his ears, and the cold weather that kept him alert and ready.
After a particularly fierce bout, which Touchstone had won (more by luck than anything else, he thought), Esther had run to meet the men from the small alcove in which she usually watched. Coming lightly toward him, she placed a small kiss on Touchstone’s cheek, and he smiled in spite of himself. As he turned back to congratulate his opponent on a well fought match, he saw jealousy in his eyes. It was an emotion familiar to the young Fool, and to see such green loathing caused pity to well in his heart for the young Lord. As he was thinking this, Helmrune said aloud, “Would that I had your luck.” He then closed his mouth quickly, looking somewhat ashamed of himself.
Touchstone smiled, approached the young Lord and clapped him on the shoulder. “I suspect if you had my luck, you’d feel differently.”
“And why would you?” said Esther, coming towards them, “You have an amazing skill with a sword, among other good qualities as well.”
Helmrune blushed slightly at Esther’s praise, and Touchstone noticed his face soften and warmth enter into his eyes as he chuckled, “I suppose I do.”
“Indeed,” Touchstone wryly quipped, “my 7 losing bouts out of 11 and a body full of bruises attest it. Let’s get something to eat, though, I’m starving.” The three, friends once again, left for the kitchens.
Warming themselves by the large fires, they helped themselves to a pile of warm breads that the cook had set aside for them, for the castle had grown used to the two visitor’s peculiar sparring habits. After they had eaten their fill, Esther pulled a sprig of round leaves from one of her pockets.
“It’s a new plant I’ve been working on,” she explained, “People are fond of the Quickleaf, which they either brew or chew on to recover themselves, as you two know.” She held up a leaf, which had the same shape as the plant she mentioned, but had a webbed pattern uncharacteristic of its usual smooth surface. “I’ve tried crossing one with Mint, to counteract the naturally bitter taste. I think it’s a moderate success.” She gave a few leaves to each young man, and each looked at them with equal parts wonder and skepticism.
Touchstone looked at Helmrune and gave him a mock-frightened gasp, “But what if this strange plant turns us into rabbits?”
The young Lord grinned, a fleeting appreciation of the young Fools odd humor that Touchstone found kinship in, and said, “Not that it would change much, anyway.” Touchstone shrugged and the two young men chewed on the leaves. The young Fool was pleasantly surprised to find the cool taste of the mint dulling the bitter tang of the Quickleaf, but he stifled a slight grimace at the potency of the latter.
Before he could prepare a fitting complement, Esther had caught their reactions and said “I know, I’m working on lessening the taste. I just need to find a milder form of Quickleaf…”
“It’s certainly effective,” said Helmrune, “I feel like I could spar with Touchstone for another day. It’s amazing what you’ve done with your plants, and to think about all you could do with your knowledge.”
Esther smiled shyly at his praise, looking up through her lashes at the young Lord, and said “Thanks, I’m glad you liked it.”
Touchstone, thankful for the ease that was settling into Helmrunes manner and replacing the stiff formality that had been there earlier, heaved an exasperated sigh and said, “If you two are finished, I have yet to finish telling you one of my stories. I believe there are a good fire and a good audience out in the great hall.”
“And will this be as good as your ‘Blind Mans Blade’?” teased Esther, “I’m not sure if anything else can measure up to the Swords of Power.” One of the first stories Touchstone had told by firelight was that of Keyes and the Swords, so popular had it been that only after a few days the whole keep could recite the verses of the Song by heart.
“All stories have merit,” responded the young Fool, “simply because some happen to be more fantastic then others shouldn’t lessen the value of the more mundane.” Helmrune nodded in agreement and offered Esther his arm. She took it, smiling, and they all began to make their way to the great hall.
At the threshold of the hall, a kitchen boy came running after the young Fool. “Touchstone!” he called out, familiarly, and the young man knelt to be at his eye level.
“Well, m’lad!” said the young Fool, “what have we here?” The boy’s eyes gleamed, as if holding a barely contained secret, a knowing grin on his face.
“It’s Coinspinner! It’s here! In the North country!”
The eyes of the young Lord and Esther widened, and Touchstone responded, “What? How?”
“There’ve been stories going around,” said the boy, breathlessly, “that a strange sword has been appearing and disappearing through the various Houses. Miraculous and strange things have been happening, but everyone says that, in some way, luck has been shifting around. It’s Coinspinner! How can’t it be?”
“You be careful with that story, lad,” said Touchstone, “Such things have an odd way of spreading to all sorts of ears, and not good ones like yours or mine.” The boy grinned mischievously, triumphant that he had drawn the same conclusion as the young Fool, but seeing Touchstone’ serious expression and unsmiling eyes, the expression fell from his face.
The young man’s face softened at the boy’s penitent expression and he ruffled the hair on his small head. “It’s not you I’m worried about, lad, it’s those Swords. Now run along.” The little one scampered off, leaving the three to ponder the situation.
“Coinspinner…” said Helmrune, his eyes unfocused, as if surveying the horizon for possibilities, “I wonder at what those stories have been like.”
“With the Sword of Chance as a force, they could be anything,” mused the young Fool.
“Well,” said Esther, with finality, “unless it arrives on our doorstep, there’s little good in worrying or thinking about it. Don’t you still owe us a tale yourself, good Sir Fool?”
Touchstone nodded, and, the dark mood dissipated, the three continued toward the great hall.
To Be Continued in Chapter 5
Enough, More Later.
- James
(Note about the change in the title of my Blog: I knew for a while that I wasn't using good latin in it, and it needed changing. I finally went back to my dictionary and found the right vocab and put it in the right form, but I'm still fuzzy on whether or not I can make up a modified praenomen as I did or if that form is a no-no. I like it though, so foo on the rest.)
Phew, my papers are finally all over with. I've got a bit of a breather between now and finals, and I've taken full advantage of the fact by vegging out and putting a bit more time into my Story of Swords. Having a boatload of time on your hands that you don't need to devote schoolwork to is a neat thing.
I went back over Part 1 and realized its in bad need of a re-write. I was basically trying to write a prologue to set everything up and include any pertinent information, so I was writing to get to the beginning and not nessecarily to set up anything secondary. My first task is to make Keyes a bit more believable in his motives for simply handing a sword over, and although I'd rather not make our protagonist a Mary Sue, I might have to emphasize his good qualities a tad more to accomplish it. Secondly, to expand the amount of time in order to really show that these men spent 8-10 hours with each other and didn't just meet in passing. My sticking point for fantasy is that the material reality of such stories can be anything you'd like, but there still needs to exist a human reality for things to hold an element of believability.
I've also noticed that my chapters tend to be about 3 pages long (that is, in a Word document), and part 1 falls short by about half a page. If I'm ever worried about my writing, I feel better taking the long way around to set things up and illustrate aspects of the story in more detail, so it's good to know that I have some wiggle room if I want to keep this stuff uniform. As an example, I originally intended for this story to be only a few pages long, but then I realized that I wanted to make these characters to be more three-dimensional and to have the readers care about them. In order to do that, I needed to make my story longer, and thus do you see it as it is coming along now.
And now, without further ado, Part 4.
Chapter 4: Pastimes
The Sun beat down from its apex and Touchstone wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. Feeling sufficiently limber, he sheathed Doomgiver, but kept it loose in the scabbard. Though the current situation weighed heavy on his heart, he began to recall the good times that had preceded the conflict.
During the middle of winter, both Touchstone and Helmrune were restless, and decided to sweep the snow from the practice yard in order to spar. Though they were chided by the arms master for attempting such a fruitless task, they would fence for a good part of the day. However, after a set of two or three bouts they had to continually clear away the newest layer of snow, for it was falling near constantly.
The yard would often have four occupants during the days that followed: The young Fool, the young Lord, Esther, usually wrapped in warm furs, and despite his grumpiness, the arms master himself. The only sounds that emanated from the yard, muffled by the falling snow, were the occasional clash of wood-on-wood, or the even more rare sound of steel-on-steel, encouragement or corrections from the master, and shouts of triumph or defeat from the young men.
During those times, Touchstone would lose himself in the dance of swords: The slow circling, the testing of defenses, the foiled attacks and the hasty defenses. Time was spent more in calm alertness and calculation, looking for the clear winning blow, than in actual action. Energy was still spent in maintaining an ever changing defense, feinting here and there, and constantly moving, though more than once the young Fool imagined that his sparring with Helmrune must have looked terribly boring. Regardless of his thoughts, Esther seemed constantly captivated by the two young men in their combat, and even learned a fair amount of swordplay herself. Touchstone enjoyed the atmosphere, the quiet of the snow like a soft cloth muffling his ears, and the cold weather that kept him alert and ready.
After a particularly fierce bout, which Touchstone had won (more by luck than anything else, he thought), Esther had run to meet the men from the small alcove in which she usually watched. Coming lightly toward him, she placed a small kiss on Touchstone’s cheek, and he smiled in spite of himself. As he turned back to congratulate his opponent on a well fought match, he saw jealousy in his eyes. It was an emotion familiar to the young Fool, and to see such green loathing caused pity to well in his heart for the young Lord. As he was thinking this, Helmrune said aloud, “Would that I had your luck.” He then closed his mouth quickly, looking somewhat ashamed of himself.
Touchstone smiled, approached the young Lord and clapped him on the shoulder. “I suspect if you had my luck, you’d feel differently.”
“And why would you?” said Esther, coming towards them, “You have an amazing skill with a sword, among other good qualities as well.”
Helmrune blushed slightly at Esther’s praise, and Touchstone noticed his face soften and warmth enter into his eyes as he chuckled, “I suppose I do.”
“Indeed,” Touchstone wryly quipped, “my 7 losing bouts out of 11 and a body full of bruises attest it. Let’s get something to eat, though, I’m starving.” The three, friends once again, left for the kitchens.
Warming themselves by the large fires, they helped themselves to a pile of warm breads that the cook had set aside for them, for the castle had grown used to the two visitor’s peculiar sparring habits. After they had eaten their fill, Esther pulled a sprig of round leaves from one of her pockets.
“It’s a new plant I’ve been working on,” she explained, “People are fond of the Quickleaf, which they either brew or chew on to recover themselves, as you two know.” She held up a leaf, which had the same shape as the plant she mentioned, but had a webbed pattern uncharacteristic of its usual smooth surface. “I’ve tried crossing one with Mint, to counteract the naturally bitter taste. I think it’s a moderate success.” She gave a few leaves to each young man, and each looked at them with equal parts wonder and skepticism.
Touchstone looked at Helmrune and gave him a mock-frightened gasp, “But what if this strange plant turns us into rabbits?”
The young Lord grinned, a fleeting appreciation of the young Fools odd humor that Touchstone found kinship in, and said, “Not that it would change much, anyway.” Touchstone shrugged and the two young men chewed on the leaves. The young Fool was pleasantly surprised to find the cool taste of the mint dulling the bitter tang of the Quickleaf, but he stifled a slight grimace at the potency of the latter.
Before he could prepare a fitting complement, Esther had caught their reactions and said “I know, I’m working on lessening the taste. I just need to find a milder form of Quickleaf…”
“It’s certainly effective,” said Helmrune, “I feel like I could spar with Touchstone for another day. It’s amazing what you’ve done with your plants, and to think about all you could do with your knowledge.”
Esther smiled shyly at his praise, looking up through her lashes at the young Lord, and said “Thanks, I’m glad you liked it.”
Touchstone, thankful for the ease that was settling into Helmrunes manner and replacing the stiff formality that had been there earlier, heaved an exasperated sigh and said, “If you two are finished, I have yet to finish telling you one of my stories. I believe there are a good fire and a good audience out in the great hall.”
“And will this be as good as your ‘Blind Mans Blade’?” teased Esther, “I’m not sure if anything else can measure up to the Swords of Power.” One of the first stories Touchstone had told by firelight was that of Keyes and the Swords, so popular had it been that only after a few days the whole keep could recite the verses of the Song by heart.
“All stories have merit,” responded the young Fool, “simply because some happen to be more fantastic then others shouldn’t lessen the value of the more mundane.” Helmrune nodded in agreement and offered Esther his arm. She took it, smiling, and they all began to make their way to the great hall.
At the threshold of the hall, a kitchen boy came running after the young Fool. “Touchstone!” he called out, familiarly, and the young man knelt to be at his eye level.
“Well, m’lad!” said the young Fool, “what have we here?” The boy’s eyes gleamed, as if holding a barely contained secret, a knowing grin on his face.
“It’s Coinspinner! It’s here! In the North country!”
The eyes of the young Lord and Esther widened, and Touchstone responded, “What? How?”
“There’ve been stories going around,” said the boy, breathlessly, “that a strange sword has been appearing and disappearing through the various Houses. Miraculous and strange things have been happening, but everyone says that, in some way, luck has been shifting around. It’s Coinspinner! How can’t it be?”
“You be careful with that story, lad,” said Touchstone, “Such things have an odd way of spreading to all sorts of ears, and not good ones like yours or mine.” The boy grinned mischievously, triumphant that he had drawn the same conclusion as the young Fool, but seeing Touchstone’ serious expression and unsmiling eyes, the expression fell from his face.
The young man’s face softened at the boy’s penitent expression and he ruffled the hair on his small head. “It’s not you I’m worried about, lad, it’s those Swords. Now run along.” The little one scampered off, leaving the three to ponder the situation.
“Coinspinner…” said Helmrune, his eyes unfocused, as if surveying the horizon for possibilities, “I wonder at what those stories have been like.”
“With the Sword of Chance as a force, they could be anything,” mused the young Fool.
“Well,” said Esther, with finality, “unless it arrives on our doorstep, there’s little good in worrying or thinking about it. Don’t you still owe us a tale yourself, good Sir Fool?”
Touchstone nodded, and, the dark mood dissipated, the three continued toward the great hall.
To Be Continued in Chapter 5
Enough, More Later.
- James
Sunday, December 03, 2006
With our powers combined...
Currently in Earphones: "Stella Splendens" from Sinners and Saints, The Ultimate Medieval and Renaissance Music Collection (a pilgrim song from the Llibre Vermell)
A Quick thought before returning to my Latin Paper:
Last night we watched one of My movies, on Phil's TV, through Toe's DVD player, with James M's 5.1 sound system (and if it had been Sophia's couch that we were all sitting on, it would have been a whole house effort).
For the Baroque Ensemble: Noli tonicum pulsare!
Enough, More Later.
- James
A Quick thought before returning to my Latin Paper:
Last night we watched one of My movies, on Phil's TV, through Toe's DVD player, with James M's 5.1 sound system (and if it had been Sophia's couch that we were all sitting on, it would have been a whole house effort).
For the Baroque Ensemble: Noli tonicum pulsare!
Enough, More Later.
- James
Friday, November 24, 2006
A Story of Swords, Part 3
Currently in Earphones: Danny the Dog by Massive Attack
A few quick things before the next installation of my Swords story. The first, I've re-enabled comments for anyone on this blog, seeing as I've been paranoid long enough. I do warn the potential flamers out there, all comments will be sent to me for clearance before they are posted, so don't try anything funny.
Secondly, I consider this tale as a work in progress. I fully expect to get input on how people think the story is and what could be improved. Everything that's going up is basically a rough draft, formed well enough to have people see but in no way finished. Let me know what y'all think!
Thirdly, I got to see Casino Royale a week back, and I loved the heck out of it. Le Chiffre is probably my favorite Bond villain of them all: I don't know if this was an invention of the script-writers, but to have him be asthmatic was friggin awesome. The funny thing, as I was telling Patrick a few days ago, was that for all the sucking on the Albuteral that the villain did, he was very rarely out of breath. Anyway, everyone go watch it, if you haven't already.
And away we go!
Chapter 3: Friendship
The sun had climbed slightly closer to it’s apex since Touchstone had last checked, and he stood up on the knoll in order to stretch his legs. Since he still had quite some time until the meeting was to occur, he unsheathed Doomgiver and began to practice his footwork on the gently sloping hill. After he had found his footing, his body naturally settled into the familiar sets of parry drills. His mind free, he continued to think about his recovery in Ginndem Keep.
Although he didn’t see Esther again after that first encounter, he was looked after by the matronly Lady Ginndem. She had clucked and fussed over the young Fool’s thin and lanky frame, bringing him hearty stews, meats, and breads for his meals. Touchstone was only too happy to oblige, though he was also weak enough to not be able to refuse. Lady Ginndem reminded him of his own mother; the round and solid frame, the quiet voice, and the care in everything she did. Under her care, Ginndem Keep began to feel like a second home.
A week after his arrival, he was up and walking again, if not quickly, and he had begun to explore the keep with Esther. The practice yard caught his interest, being a man of the sword, yet she was quick to point out that no-one used it during the winter, the weather being too harsh. They visited Esther’s sunroom as well, and Touchstone was fascinated by the system of oiled animal-skins that both let in sunlight yet maintained a pleasantly warm temperature within. There was also a small fire-pit in the middle of the room, “Mainly to keep me warm in the colder months,” she had explained, “most of these plants can survive the cold, but there are a few that I can lose if I’m not careful.” Touchstone felt a certain comfort resting in the sunroom, the green surrounding him lightened his thoughts and his heart, and he found himself spending many a time conversing with Esther among the plants.
Another week passed, and the young Fool felt strength returning. He found himself spending more and more time in Esther’s company, her friendship was invaluable, but he also felt the thrill of knowing that there may be more to their simple desire to wile away the hours with each other. Whenever they accidentally bumped into each other, whenever their hands brushed as each passed by, Touchstone felt a desire that he had not felt since his days of courting in the southern lands. He wanted to become involved with Esther because it filled the hole in his heart, but at the same time he did not want to, and when he felt the latter he would become quiet and twist the silver ring around his finger.
He was saved the trouble of dealing with his feelings when a new visitor arrived at Ginndem Keep. A young man, of similar stature as Touchstone, approached and kneeled before Lord Ginndem, while the young Fool and Esther watched from the side. “I am the Lord of Helmrune, sir,” the young man stated.
Lord Ginndem sat back in his throne, waiting for some further explanation. When none came, he asked “And what brings you to Ginndem Keep?”
Helmrune’s face, maintaining a blank passivity, said “My father wishes that I leave and explore the world, now that I have received Lordship.” Touchstone felt somewhat disquieted by the lack of animation on the young Lord’s face, and whether or not Lord Ginndem felt the same way, he could not tell, for he was busy smoothing his mustache out, much as he had the day Touchstone had arrived.
“I’m curious, boy,” said Lord Ginndem, and if Helmrune took offence at the diminutive, his face showed no sign, “Why here? Ginndem Keep isn’t full of any court intrigue, and combat or military training can be had better and more easily with some our neighbors.”
A shadow of thought passed over Helmrune’s face, but it came and left so quickly that Touchstone thought he might have imagined it. The young Lord took a breath, “It is the first step on my journey.”
Lord Ginndem paused, digesting this small piece of information, and then smiled at Helmrune. It was a friendly smile, but it lacked the warmth that Touchstone remembered from his own experience. “Very well. I daresay you’ll have some good company, what with another wanderer staying with us as well.” Lord Ginndem looked toward the place where Touchstone and Esther were standing, and Helmrune followed his gaze. The eyes of the two young men met, and the young Fool felt a clash of emotion. He saw in Helmrune many qualities of himself, which would otherwise inspire a growing desire to become friends. Yet, for almost the same reasons, he was repulsed, perhaps because he also saw his failings, perhaps for some other, unknown, reason.
Ignoring his opposing thoughts, Touchstone strode forward and introduced himself, warmly shaking the newcomer’s hand. Helmrune’s face remained impassive, but the greeting was returned with no less cordiality. The young Fool found himself having a hard time looking at the young Lords face as pleasantries were exchanged, and was embarrassed that he could neither meet his gaze nor hold it for very long. It was simply a feeling of dislike, but founded on no reason that the young Fool could think of. Upon Lord Ginndem’s suggestion, Esther led Helmrune to a room he could stay in, and Touchstone was left alone to mull over the new arrival.
Lord Ginndem had sat back down on his throne as Touchstone approached. The young Fool rubbed his stubbly chin, thinking, while in the Lords field of view, both of the current situation and his distaste for shaving. “What troubles you, lad?” said the Lord.
“I don’t know,” replied the Fool, “There’s something about Helmrune I find disquieting.”
“While he is decidedly less…animate, he seems to possess the same sincerity that I see in you.”
“That is the crux: I see no reason why I should feel so off balance.”
“You’ll find, lad, that there are people in the world who will make you feel that way,” said the Lord, “Sometimes, it’s as you say: there seems to be no reason for it. If you think time away from him would be best for you, the Keep is large.”
“I don’t know,” replied the young Fool, “I’ll have to see how this all plays out.”
Another week then passed, and the young Fool and the young Lord met each other sporadically. Touchstone would often join Esther and Helmrune at the hearth of the great hall, and the young Lord sometimes sat with the others in the Sunroom. Each man began to learn of each other as the three passed the time in conversation. Touchstone would tell of great myths and legends of old, bringing smiles to Esther’s and even Helmrune’s stoic face. The young Lord himself would tell of his life in the East, and the others would listen attentively, asking questions and relating similar tales of their own. Esther, by far, told the best stories, both of her life in the Keep and her knowledge of things that grow. Each of the young men devoured her words with hungry ears, and all would laugh or be silent as one when she held the conversation.
Though friendship grew between the three, Touchstone never quite became comfortable with the young Lord. Even during times when they felt like brothers, there was an odd detachment in the young Fool’s mind. Perhaps it was Helmrune’s inscrutability, the lack of response that would tell the young Fool how the other regarded him in his turn. Eventually it faded to the back of his mind and became a natural part of his life with the Keep.
While that situation eased into a sense of normalcy, Touchstone’s relationship with Esther remained mostly unchanged. Though the two shared time together, perhaps a few quiet words on the parapets at night, a few moments sharing each others warmth under the cold night sky, the young Fool couldn’t bring himself to fully explain his situation to her, or to fully begin to court her. As much as he desired change, he also felt the pull of the past, and the chance that he had to go back.
In addition to his own uncertainty on the matter, Esther also was spending more time with Helmrune. Whether in friendship or flirtation was something that Touchstone couldn’t tell, but he believed that his own reticence was most likely contributing to the whole situation. Such things became background occurrences to the cameraderie that they all shared, however, and life continued to go on within the stone walls.
To Be Continued in Chapter 4
Enough. More Later,
- James
A few quick things before the next installation of my Swords story. The first, I've re-enabled comments for anyone on this blog, seeing as I've been paranoid long enough. I do warn the potential flamers out there, all comments will be sent to me for clearance before they are posted, so don't try anything funny.
Secondly, I consider this tale as a work in progress. I fully expect to get input on how people think the story is and what could be improved. Everything that's going up is basically a rough draft, formed well enough to have people see but in no way finished. Let me know what y'all think!
Thirdly, I got to see Casino Royale a week back, and I loved the heck out of it. Le Chiffre is probably my favorite Bond villain of them all: I don't know if this was an invention of the script-writers, but to have him be asthmatic was friggin awesome. The funny thing, as I was telling Patrick a few days ago, was that for all the sucking on the Albuteral that the villain did, he was very rarely out of breath. Anyway, everyone go watch it, if you haven't already.
And away we go!
Chapter 3: Friendship
The sun had climbed slightly closer to it’s apex since Touchstone had last checked, and he stood up on the knoll in order to stretch his legs. Since he still had quite some time until the meeting was to occur, he unsheathed Doomgiver and began to practice his footwork on the gently sloping hill. After he had found his footing, his body naturally settled into the familiar sets of parry drills. His mind free, he continued to think about his recovery in Ginndem Keep.
Although he didn’t see Esther again after that first encounter, he was looked after by the matronly Lady Ginndem. She had clucked and fussed over the young Fool’s thin and lanky frame, bringing him hearty stews, meats, and breads for his meals. Touchstone was only too happy to oblige, though he was also weak enough to not be able to refuse. Lady Ginndem reminded him of his own mother; the round and solid frame, the quiet voice, and the care in everything she did. Under her care, Ginndem Keep began to feel like a second home.
A week after his arrival, he was up and walking again, if not quickly, and he had begun to explore the keep with Esther. The practice yard caught his interest, being a man of the sword, yet she was quick to point out that no-one used it during the winter, the weather being too harsh. They visited Esther’s sunroom as well, and Touchstone was fascinated by the system of oiled animal-skins that both let in sunlight yet maintained a pleasantly warm temperature within. There was also a small fire-pit in the middle of the room, “Mainly to keep me warm in the colder months,” she had explained, “most of these plants can survive the cold, but there are a few that I can lose if I’m not careful.” Touchstone felt a certain comfort resting in the sunroom, the green surrounding him lightened his thoughts and his heart, and he found himself spending many a time conversing with Esther among the plants.
Another week passed, and the young Fool felt strength returning. He found himself spending more and more time in Esther’s company, her friendship was invaluable, but he also felt the thrill of knowing that there may be more to their simple desire to wile away the hours with each other. Whenever they accidentally bumped into each other, whenever their hands brushed as each passed by, Touchstone felt a desire that he had not felt since his days of courting in the southern lands. He wanted to become involved with Esther because it filled the hole in his heart, but at the same time he did not want to, and when he felt the latter he would become quiet and twist the silver ring around his finger.
He was saved the trouble of dealing with his feelings when a new visitor arrived at Ginndem Keep. A young man, of similar stature as Touchstone, approached and kneeled before Lord Ginndem, while the young Fool and Esther watched from the side. “I am the Lord of Helmrune, sir,” the young man stated.
Lord Ginndem sat back in his throne, waiting for some further explanation. When none came, he asked “And what brings you to Ginndem Keep?”
Helmrune’s face, maintaining a blank passivity, said “My father wishes that I leave and explore the world, now that I have received Lordship.” Touchstone felt somewhat disquieted by the lack of animation on the young Lord’s face, and whether or not Lord Ginndem felt the same way, he could not tell, for he was busy smoothing his mustache out, much as he had the day Touchstone had arrived.
“I’m curious, boy,” said Lord Ginndem, and if Helmrune took offence at the diminutive, his face showed no sign, “Why here? Ginndem Keep isn’t full of any court intrigue, and combat or military training can be had better and more easily with some our neighbors.”
A shadow of thought passed over Helmrune’s face, but it came and left so quickly that Touchstone thought he might have imagined it. The young Lord took a breath, “It is the first step on my journey.”
Lord Ginndem paused, digesting this small piece of information, and then smiled at Helmrune. It was a friendly smile, but it lacked the warmth that Touchstone remembered from his own experience. “Very well. I daresay you’ll have some good company, what with another wanderer staying with us as well.” Lord Ginndem looked toward the place where Touchstone and Esther were standing, and Helmrune followed his gaze. The eyes of the two young men met, and the young Fool felt a clash of emotion. He saw in Helmrune many qualities of himself, which would otherwise inspire a growing desire to become friends. Yet, for almost the same reasons, he was repulsed, perhaps because he also saw his failings, perhaps for some other, unknown, reason.
Ignoring his opposing thoughts, Touchstone strode forward and introduced himself, warmly shaking the newcomer’s hand. Helmrune’s face remained impassive, but the greeting was returned with no less cordiality. The young Fool found himself having a hard time looking at the young Lords face as pleasantries were exchanged, and was embarrassed that he could neither meet his gaze nor hold it for very long. It was simply a feeling of dislike, but founded on no reason that the young Fool could think of. Upon Lord Ginndem’s suggestion, Esther led Helmrune to a room he could stay in, and Touchstone was left alone to mull over the new arrival.
Lord Ginndem had sat back down on his throne as Touchstone approached. The young Fool rubbed his stubbly chin, thinking, while in the Lords field of view, both of the current situation and his distaste for shaving. “What troubles you, lad?” said the Lord.
“I don’t know,” replied the Fool, “There’s something about Helmrune I find disquieting.”
“While he is decidedly less…animate, he seems to possess the same sincerity that I see in you.”
“That is the crux: I see no reason why I should feel so off balance.”
“You’ll find, lad, that there are people in the world who will make you feel that way,” said the Lord, “Sometimes, it’s as you say: there seems to be no reason for it. If you think time away from him would be best for you, the Keep is large.”
“I don’t know,” replied the young Fool, “I’ll have to see how this all plays out.”
Another week then passed, and the young Fool and the young Lord met each other sporadically. Touchstone would often join Esther and Helmrune at the hearth of the great hall, and the young Lord sometimes sat with the others in the Sunroom. Each man began to learn of each other as the three passed the time in conversation. Touchstone would tell of great myths and legends of old, bringing smiles to Esther’s and even Helmrune’s stoic face. The young Lord himself would tell of his life in the East, and the others would listen attentively, asking questions and relating similar tales of their own. Esther, by far, told the best stories, both of her life in the Keep and her knowledge of things that grow. Each of the young men devoured her words with hungry ears, and all would laugh or be silent as one when she held the conversation.
Though friendship grew between the three, Touchstone never quite became comfortable with the young Lord. Even during times when they felt like brothers, there was an odd detachment in the young Fool’s mind. Perhaps it was Helmrune’s inscrutability, the lack of response that would tell the young Fool how the other regarded him in his turn. Eventually it faded to the back of his mind and became a natural part of his life with the Keep.
While that situation eased into a sense of normalcy, Touchstone’s relationship with Esther remained mostly unchanged. Though the two shared time together, perhaps a few quiet words on the parapets at night, a few moments sharing each others warmth under the cold night sky, the young Fool couldn’t bring himself to fully explain his situation to her, or to fully begin to court her. As much as he desired change, he also felt the pull of the past, and the chance that he had to go back.
In addition to his own uncertainty on the matter, Esther also was spending more time with Helmrune. Whether in friendship or flirtation was something that Touchstone couldn’t tell, but he believed that his own reticence was most likely contributing to the whole situation. Such things became background occurrences to the cameraderie that they all shared, however, and life continued to go on within the stone walls.
To Be Continued in Chapter 4
Enough. More Later,
- James
Friday, November 17, 2006
Haec mala sunt, sed tu non meliora facis.
Currently in Earphones: Captain Blood Soundtrack by Erich Wolfgang Korngold
Alas, another interim post. I'm currently besieged by 3 papers (Philosophy, Classics and Latin) which has resulted in my dropping out of the Turkey Tourney. Hopefully I can finish the first and get started on the second this weekend, that is, when I'm not watching Casino Royale and making yummy food with my housemate, Sophia.
"A Story of Swords" is coming along, I'm partway into chapter 3 at the moment, but scholastic writing has to take precedent. Look for the next installment a week or two into December.
On the good news (yet somewhat poorly timed), a bunch of leisure items have collected in my room over the past week. A bunch of soundtracks must have all decided that after some crappy deliveries of previous items, they would arrive early and sequentially by day. In addition, Cindy is letting me borrow a bunch of fantasy novels, which are all turning out to be made of awesomeness. All of this would be excellent if I had more time to enjoy them, but as stated before, I've got a lot of academics on my plate at the moment.
That's all for now, tune in next time!
Enough. More later,
- James
Alas, another interim post. I'm currently besieged by 3 papers (Philosophy, Classics and Latin) which has resulted in my dropping out of the Turkey Tourney. Hopefully I can finish the first and get started on the second this weekend, that is, when I'm not watching Casino Royale and making yummy food with my housemate, Sophia.
"A Story of Swords" is coming along, I'm partway into chapter 3 at the moment, but scholastic writing has to take precedent. Look for the next installment a week or two into December.
On the good news (yet somewhat poorly timed), a bunch of leisure items have collected in my room over the past week. A bunch of soundtracks must have all decided that after some crappy deliveries of previous items, they would arrive early and sequentially by day. In addition, Cindy is letting me borrow a bunch of fantasy novels, which are all turning out to be made of awesomeness. All of this would be excellent if I had more time to enjoy them, but as stated before, I've got a lot of academics on my plate at the moment.
That's all for now, tune in next time!
Enough. More later,
- James
Saturday, November 11, 2006
A Story of Swords, Part 2
Currently in Earphones: Chocolat Soundtrack by Rachel Portman
The next chapter of my story feels fairly ready. I'm at a point where I've touched on all the places I want to, but I'm unsure if I want to add any more bits and pieces. I'll post it as it is now, and if I come up with any other ideas or additions, I'll add them later.
By the way, Lord Ginndem's line about goodness and humility is from Robert Louis Stevenson, taken from his excellent book Kidnapped. Just wanting to cite my sources.
Chapter 2: Safety
Shaking his head, Touchstone brought himself back to the grassy knoll and out of the reverie that he was usually wont to fall into. He still had time before the confrontation would occur, and thinking about it only made him think back as to how the whole mess came together. He found himself remembering the first time he had arrived at the Keep.
It had been a cold day, and the first snows of winter were beginning to fall. Having lived in the south all his life, snow was a novelty, and in spite of the burden on his heart, he found himself enjoying the simple pleasures of tasting the falling flakes. He was, however, near starving as well. His foolish pride made him only eat little from the few houses he stayed in during the last few days of his travel. Whether this fasting was caused by bravado or reduced sense of self-worth, he was near collapsing as he trudged the last few paces toward the drawbridge of Ginndem Keep.
The commoners in the area had informed him of the character of Lord Ginndem: a stern man, but also generous and good-hearted. Since the Fool had come from a good family, if not well known, his name if not his upright bearing would no doubt vouchsafe him with the Lord. Touchstone could barely stand as he was announced and brought before him. While kneeling and delivering salutations, he thought it better to stay on one leg as he explained his situation, fearful that he would faint and end up in the dungeon, much less a room, before his position was known.
After the initial greetings and when the young fool had given as much truth as he thought pertinent, Lord Ginndem smoothed his mustache with his thumb and forefinger: “Some time away from home, eh lad? I’m no stranger myself to needing time to collect ones’ thoughts.” Pausing, he heaved a sigh. “The snows are coming, however, and much of my people winter in the keep.”
Understanding, Touchstone quickly explained “If I am too much of a burden, I need not stay long. I will work and make myself useful, if it pleases you, and keep to myself. I don’t wish to be unwanted, and I would rather be of use than idle.”
Smiling, as if the young Fool had passed a test, the Lord rose from his throne and moved towards him with surprising grace for a man of his girth. “There are two things,” he said, his eyes still smiling though his mouth had adopted a more serious set, “that man should never tire of: goodness and humility; we get none too much of them in this rough world and among cold, proud people. You, my boy, seem to possess both, and for that, you are welcome here.” Touchstone bowed his head in thanks, and the Lord made a dismissive noise and clapped him on the shoulder. As Touchstone looked back up at the Lord, his vision sparkled with fatigue.
Lord Ginndem continued; “I daresay things will be more interesting about the keep now that we have a new visitor. My family often gets restless after they have met with their old friends, and I’m sure my daughters wouldn’t mind a young man to give their attentions to.” Although the boy caught the mischievousness in the old man’s voice, vision and hearing alike were becoming hazy, and he managed to look around the Lord’s shoulder to a new figure approaching the room.
She was a young woman, of middle height, with raven black hair and a pleasantly round face. Obviously one of the Lord’s daughters, judging by her dress, and the last thing Touchstone remembered was seeing her eyes widen as she caught sight of him kneeling in front of her father. At the end of his strength, he crumpled to the side and knew no more.
The next he remembered, he was lying in a soft bed with warm covers. A fire was crackling and snapping pleasantly in the nearby fireplace, and his clothes had been washed and folded on a chair next to him. To his relief, the black hilt of Doomgiver was visible over the chairs back, the scabbard and belt draped over the side. He idly rubbed his thumb over the side of his forefinger, and he felt the same comfort of seeing the sword as finding the small silver ring in its usual place. A simple knot design adorned it, and remembering that it had a twin to the south brought back his melancholy. The feeling was dull, however; his new situation and surroundings taking the majority of his interest. If he was to continue on, he mused, he couldn’t let the past shackle him.
As he was alternately marveling at the quality of the room and mulling over his thoughts, the Lord’s daughter whom he had seen earlier entered the room with a tray of simple food. Approaching the bed, she said “I’ve brought you some food, my lord.”
“Please,” said he, “I’m no lord. You may call me Touchstone.”
“A fool’s name?” she asked as she set the tray on the bed stand.
“For a Fool I am,” he replied. “If you don’t mind,” he added sheepishly, “I’m quite hungry…”
“Oh, of course!” and helped him sit up before placing the tray in his lap, for he was still weak with fatigue. As he munched on the warm meat and bread, she sat down in a chair next to the bed, “I heard your story from father. You’re from the lands to the south?”
“Indeed I am.” He paused, wanting to qualify his answer, but also anxious of saying too much. “I was in need of a change of scenery.”
She looked pensive, then laughed and said “Why did you really leave?”
Caught off guard at her frankness and insight, he thought for a moment. “I suppose you could say that things changed. Complications arose. I could no longer find my footing, and I needed to continue moving. So, in a sense, I really did need a change of scenery, if not for simply being bored.”
Smiling and seemingly satisfied at the further, if not clearer, explanation, she started and said, “I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself yet. I’m Esther, Lord Ginndem’s eldest.”
“A pleasure,” said Touchstone, then added wryly “and have you any equally obscure past?”
She shrugged, “I’ve lived here and around here all my life. There was a time when I wished to be somewhere, anywhere, else than here, but I found new friends and new activities to keep me occupied. The local naturalist taught me of plants and creatures a long time ago, and I’ve been fascinated by such things ever since. Father even let me keep a sunroom for growing herbs and the like.” She giggled and continued, “I daresay he can’t get by now without a little Rosemary seasoning his food, he loves the taste so much.”
Touchstone nodded. Since he had left the southern lands he had run into few young women, but he found their vapidity unappealing. Esther’s interest in things beyond court gossip and such things was refreshing, and even attractive.
As his heart stirred, old memories also came to the surface, and he began to twist the silver ring around his finger. Catching sight of this, Esther asked, “What is that?”
Collecting his wits, he replied, “A memento,” then added, almost without thinking, “of something, perhaps, long gone.”
Seeing the simple design, she tilted her head. “Perhaps…it’s closer than you think.”
Wrapped up in his own thoughts, Touchstone could only manage a small chuckle, even though her statement made him think harder. His eyes were partly on the ring and partly on Esther as she moved toward the door. “By the way,” she said, pausing under the lintel, “You talk in your sleep.” Startled by the remark, Touchstone lifted his eyes to see Esther closing the door, but still looking at him with an enigmatic smile on her face.
He was then alone, with only some food, the ring, Doomgiver, and his thoughts.
To be continued in Chapter 3
Enough. More Later,
- James
The next chapter of my story feels fairly ready. I'm at a point where I've touched on all the places I want to, but I'm unsure if I want to add any more bits and pieces. I'll post it as it is now, and if I come up with any other ideas or additions, I'll add them later.
By the way, Lord Ginndem's line about goodness and humility is from Robert Louis Stevenson, taken from his excellent book Kidnapped. Just wanting to cite my sources.
Chapter 2: Safety
Shaking his head, Touchstone brought himself back to the grassy knoll and out of the reverie that he was usually wont to fall into. He still had time before the confrontation would occur, and thinking about it only made him think back as to how the whole mess came together. He found himself remembering the first time he had arrived at the Keep.
It had been a cold day, and the first snows of winter were beginning to fall. Having lived in the south all his life, snow was a novelty, and in spite of the burden on his heart, he found himself enjoying the simple pleasures of tasting the falling flakes. He was, however, near starving as well. His foolish pride made him only eat little from the few houses he stayed in during the last few days of his travel. Whether this fasting was caused by bravado or reduced sense of self-worth, he was near collapsing as he trudged the last few paces toward the drawbridge of Ginndem Keep.
The commoners in the area had informed him of the character of Lord Ginndem: a stern man, but also generous and good-hearted. Since the Fool had come from a good family, if not well known, his name if not his upright bearing would no doubt vouchsafe him with the Lord. Touchstone could barely stand as he was announced and brought before him. While kneeling and delivering salutations, he thought it better to stay on one leg as he explained his situation, fearful that he would faint and end up in the dungeon, much less a room, before his position was known.
After the initial greetings and when the young fool had given as much truth as he thought pertinent, Lord Ginndem smoothed his mustache with his thumb and forefinger: “Some time away from home, eh lad? I’m no stranger myself to needing time to collect ones’ thoughts.” Pausing, he heaved a sigh. “The snows are coming, however, and much of my people winter in the keep.”
Understanding, Touchstone quickly explained “If I am too much of a burden, I need not stay long. I will work and make myself useful, if it pleases you, and keep to myself. I don’t wish to be unwanted, and I would rather be of use than idle.”
Smiling, as if the young Fool had passed a test, the Lord rose from his throne and moved towards him with surprising grace for a man of his girth. “There are two things,” he said, his eyes still smiling though his mouth had adopted a more serious set, “that man should never tire of: goodness and humility; we get none too much of them in this rough world and among cold, proud people. You, my boy, seem to possess both, and for that, you are welcome here.” Touchstone bowed his head in thanks, and the Lord made a dismissive noise and clapped him on the shoulder. As Touchstone looked back up at the Lord, his vision sparkled with fatigue.
Lord Ginndem continued; “I daresay things will be more interesting about the keep now that we have a new visitor. My family often gets restless after they have met with their old friends, and I’m sure my daughters wouldn’t mind a young man to give their attentions to.” Although the boy caught the mischievousness in the old man’s voice, vision and hearing alike were becoming hazy, and he managed to look around the Lord’s shoulder to a new figure approaching the room.
She was a young woman, of middle height, with raven black hair and a pleasantly round face. Obviously one of the Lord’s daughters, judging by her dress, and the last thing Touchstone remembered was seeing her eyes widen as she caught sight of him kneeling in front of her father. At the end of his strength, he crumpled to the side and knew no more.
The next he remembered, he was lying in a soft bed with warm covers. A fire was crackling and snapping pleasantly in the nearby fireplace, and his clothes had been washed and folded on a chair next to him. To his relief, the black hilt of Doomgiver was visible over the chairs back, the scabbard and belt draped over the side. He idly rubbed his thumb over the side of his forefinger, and he felt the same comfort of seeing the sword as finding the small silver ring in its usual place. A simple knot design adorned it, and remembering that it had a twin to the south brought back his melancholy. The feeling was dull, however; his new situation and surroundings taking the majority of his interest. If he was to continue on, he mused, he couldn’t let the past shackle him.
As he was alternately marveling at the quality of the room and mulling over his thoughts, the Lord’s daughter whom he had seen earlier entered the room with a tray of simple food. Approaching the bed, she said “I’ve brought you some food, my lord.”
“Please,” said he, “I’m no lord. You may call me Touchstone.”
“A fool’s name?” she asked as she set the tray on the bed stand.
“For a Fool I am,” he replied. “If you don’t mind,” he added sheepishly, “I’m quite hungry…”
“Oh, of course!” and helped him sit up before placing the tray in his lap, for he was still weak with fatigue. As he munched on the warm meat and bread, she sat down in a chair next to the bed, “I heard your story from father. You’re from the lands to the south?”
“Indeed I am.” He paused, wanting to qualify his answer, but also anxious of saying too much. “I was in need of a change of scenery.”
She looked pensive, then laughed and said “Why did you really leave?”
Caught off guard at her frankness and insight, he thought for a moment. “I suppose you could say that things changed. Complications arose. I could no longer find my footing, and I needed to continue moving. So, in a sense, I really did need a change of scenery, if not for simply being bored.”
Smiling and seemingly satisfied at the further, if not clearer, explanation, she started and said, “I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself yet. I’m Esther, Lord Ginndem’s eldest.”
“A pleasure,” said Touchstone, then added wryly “and have you any equally obscure past?”
She shrugged, “I’ve lived here and around here all my life. There was a time when I wished to be somewhere, anywhere, else than here, but I found new friends and new activities to keep me occupied. The local naturalist taught me of plants and creatures a long time ago, and I’ve been fascinated by such things ever since. Father even let me keep a sunroom for growing herbs and the like.” She giggled and continued, “I daresay he can’t get by now without a little Rosemary seasoning his food, he loves the taste so much.”
Touchstone nodded. Since he had left the southern lands he had run into few young women, but he found their vapidity unappealing. Esther’s interest in things beyond court gossip and such things was refreshing, and even attractive.
As his heart stirred, old memories also came to the surface, and he began to twist the silver ring around his finger. Catching sight of this, Esther asked, “What is that?”
Collecting his wits, he replied, “A memento,” then added, almost without thinking, “of something, perhaps, long gone.”
Seeing the simple design, she tilted her head. “Perhaps…it’s closer than you think.”
Wrapped up in his own thoughts, Touchstone could only manage a small chuckle, even though her statement made him think harder. His eyes were partly on the ring and partly on Esther as she moved toward the door. “By the way,” she said, pausing under the lintel, “You talk in your sleep.” Startled by the remark, Touchstone lifted his eyes to see Esther closing the door, but still looking at him with an enigmatic smile on her face.
He was then alone, with only some food, the ring, Doomgiver, and his thoughts.
To be continued in Chapter 3
Enough. More Later,
- James
Monday, November 06, 2006
A Story of Swords, Part 1
Currently in Earphones: Caledonia's Hardy Sons, by Silly Wizard
I don't know how many of you all are familiar with Fred Saberhagen's Sword series, but I reccomend that you all go read them when you get the chance. Though I find most fan fiction to be somewhat repulsive, I'm trying my hand at writing a story of my own within the Swords universe. I've gotten the first chapter done, in a rough form at least. I'm still working on a title, but here's what I think can be shown for the time being.
Note: This story assumes you have some basic knolwedge of the Swords universe. I reccomend those who are unfamiliar to check out the above link and at least get info on the swords themselves. The characters of Keyes and Lo-Yang are from the short story Blind Man's Blade, written by Saberhagen and included in a book of short stories called An Armory of Swords, which would also be useful to peruse if any of the events hinted at in this chapter are unclear.
Chapter 1: Justice
From his perch on the grassy knoll, Touchstone could see far over the rolling hills into the distance. It was the beginning of spring, the chill winter colds having gradually been driven away and replaced with a balmy warm. It felt good to finally sit outside, after months of being cooped up in the keep. The recent freedom wasn’t going to last, he reflected, hearts and minds had been warring, almost since the snows began to fall, within the walls, and his own were no less involved in the conflict that would surely come to the surface as the days warmed.
The young Fool was a good friend of Ginndem clan, in whose keep he had been resident for the past winter. Having lost a life in one of the principates farther south, he had fled north with a single possession. A Sword, looking to be exactly a meter long, its black hilt un-mistakable: The white circle embedded in the smooth black had been a comfort as he had traveled north, its simple design soothing in comparison to the complicated life he left behind.
Touchstone now fingered the midnight hilt, the warm spring wind rustling through his brown hair as he remembered how it had come into his possession. During his flight he had come upon a magician and his apprentice, the former a dark and wiry man by the name of Keyes. He had worn a strip of cloth tied about his eyes, yet had walked as any seeing man did. It was the sword at his side that had taken the young Fool’s attention, the very one that was in his possession now.
Though Touchstone had still been numb with grief, Keyes had been kind in sharing some of the stew that his apprentice, Lo-Yang, had been cooking when the three had met. The warm firelight was comforting to the young fool, and the quiet companionship of the two men eased his mind. After they had eaten, the young man could only stare in wonder at the magician’s sightless vision.
“You’re probably wondering about my eyes,” said Keyes, with a small smile, “When I acquired Doomgiver, here, I temporarily lost my sight. Thinking this blade to be the Sword of Mercy, I tried to heal myself, but to no avail.” As if sensing Touchstone’s confusion, he laughed aloud and said “Have you not heard of the Twelve Swords of Power, forged by the Gods themselves? Then I shall tell you of them…”
That night, the young fool learned of Keyes’ research and of the Swords and their powers. Lo-Yang told of a traveling bard to whom they related their adventure with three of the great weapons, and the resulting song the bard composed concerning the Twelve Swords had spread like wildfire through the land. Despite of his melancholy, Touchstone, familiar with the song, quickly learned the verses he didn’t know and contributed his soft but true voice to a recitation of it. He even told the two men of his own plight, and neglected little detail, so safe he felt in their company.
After they had spoken for a while and they had become familiar with each other’s stories, the young fool asked of Keyes, “If your blindness was of magical origins and lifted by the Sword of Justice, then why do you still bind your eyes?” Keyes rubbed his forehead and responded “We never did get our hands on Woundhealer, and it was better to let my lids heal while closed. I experimented with Doomgiver further after our escape, and found that it kept me safe if I was merely traveling without the aid of my eyes. Lo-Yang can tell you: If I tried to make a purposeful attempt on my life, as I tried to walk off a cliff during my experimentation, the Sword of Justice recognized my foolhardiness and would not intervene.”
Lo-Yang, who appeared to have once been meek and servile, chuckled and remarked “I doubt you would have lasted half as long had you not me to fix your foolish errors.” With a wry smile, Keyes turned back to the young fool.
“I’m glad my apprentice has only recently decided to become thick-headed, I imagine I’d be in a much worse position if he had done so while I was in the cave.” The Master and the student shared a laugh at the goodhearted jibe. “In any case,” he continued, “Doomgiver continues to keep me safe from harm as it seems to know that I am, genuinely, unable to see until I heal. I trusted and continue to trust in the Swords power, and thus have I been able to function as you see me now.”
“A Sword that balances the pans…” Touchstone half-recited.
“Indeed,” replied Keyes, “the Blind Man’s Blade.” The young man found himself liking Keyes’ epithet for the sword, and aside from the obvious connotation, wondered why it felt so fitting. Keyes took a deep breath and untied the blindfold, blinked in the firelight a few times, then looked at his new companion. “It appears I no longer need it,” he remarked, fingering the cloth, “and it also appears that I no longer need the Sword of Justice.” Both Lo-Yang and the young Fool started as if one person.
“But why?” asked the apprentice, “Surely Doomgiver would keep us safe as we continued to look for the other swords.”
“I’ve had it long enough, and it looks like it would eventually find its way to someone else more in need of balance than I. No doubt that if I had it long enough, I could misuse it, and its power would surely turn back on me. Besides, it seems our young companion here could benefit from it." He turned back to the young Fool, "I like you, boy. You’ve got a good mind for knowledge and have more honesty than I’ve seen in a great while. You grasp what the Swords can do, and I believe such a power would be safe in your hands.” Lo-Yang, who had joked and laughed with Touchstone as the night had worn on, nodded in agreement as he grasped his master’s intentions.
Amazed and humbled, the young man took the sword and sheath from Keyes’ outstretched hands, which had deftly unbuckled them from his belt. After donning it, and feeling a new sense of belonging even with these near strangers, Touchstone clasped Keyes hand in thanks, and embraced him in spite of himself. Keyes smiled and gave the boy a friendly clap on the shoulder. “I will live up to your trust,” said the young Fool, “thank you for everything.”
“I believe you shall,” said Keyes, and added, enigmatically, “May Demeter’s caution protect you.”
The sun had just started to crest a line of hills in the east when Touchstone said his last goodbyes to the two men. Without their company, his own situation had once again weighed heavy on his heart, but he had set out with new hope and the Sword at his side. After a week of traveling northward, he had reached the gates of Ginndem Keep.
To Be Continued in Chapter 2
Enough, More Later,
- James
I don't know how many of you all are familiar with Fred Saberhagen's Sword series, but I reccomend that you all go read them when you get the chance. Though I find most fan fiction to be somewhat repulsive, I'm trying my hand at writing a story of my own within the Swords universe. I've gotten the first chapter done, in a rough form at least. I'm still working on a title, but here's what I think can be shown for the time being.
Note: This story assumes you have some basic knolwedge of the Swords universe. I reccomend those who are unfamiliar to check out the above link and at least get info on the swords themselves. The characters of Keyes and Lo-Yang are from the short story Blind Man's Blade, written by Saberhagen and included in a book of short stories called An Armory of Swords, which would also be useful to peruse if any of the events hinted at in this chapter are unclear.
Chapter 1: Justice
From his perch on the grassy knoll, Touchstone could see far over the rolling hills into the distance. It was the beginning of spring, the chill winter colds having gradually been driven away and replaced with a balmy warm. It felt good to finally sit outside, after months of being cooped up in the keep. The recent freedom wasn’t going to last, he reflected, hearts and minds had been warring, almost since the snows began to fall, within the walls, and his own were no less involved in the conflict that would surely come to the surface as the days warmed.
The young Fool was a good friend of Ginndem clan, in whose keep he had been resident for the past winter. Having lost a life in one of the principates farther south, he had fled north with a single possession. A Sword, looking to be exactly a meter long, its black hilt un-mistakable: The white circle embedded in the smooth black had been a comfort as he had traveled north, its simple design soothing in comparison to the complicated life he left behind.
Touchstone now fingered the midnight hilt, the warm spring wind rustling through his brown hair as he remembered how it had come into his possession. During his flight he had come upon a magician and his apprentice, the former a dark and wiry man by the name of Keyes. He had worn a strip of cloth tied about his eyes, yet had walked as any seeing man did. It was the sword at his side that had taken the young Fool’s attention, the very one that was in his possession now.
Though Touchstone had still been numb with grief, Keyes had been kind in sharing some of the stew that his apprentice, Lo-Yang, had been cooking when the three had met. The warm firelight was comforting to the young fool, and the quiet companionship of the two men eased his mind. After they had eaten, the young man could only stare in wonder at the magician’s sightless vision.
“You’re probably wondering about my eyes,” said Keyes, with a small smile, “When I acquired Doomgiver, here, I temporarily lost my sight. Thinking this blade to be the Sword of Mercy, I tried to heal myself, but to no avail.” As if sensing Touchstone’s confusion, he laughed aloud and said “Have you not heard of the Twelve Swords of Power, forged by the Gods themselves? Then I shall tell you of them…”
That night, the young fool learned of Keyes’ research and of the Swords and their powers. Lo-Yang told of a traveling bard to whom they related their adventure with three of the great weapons, and the resulting song the bard composed concerning the Twelve Swords had spread like wildfire through the land. Despite of his melancholy, Touchstone, familiar with the song, quickly learned the verses he didn’t know and contributed his soft but true voice to a recitation of it. He even told the two men of his own plight, and neglected little detail, so safe he felt in their company.
After they had spoken for a while and they had become familiar with each other’s stories, the young fool asked of Keyes, “If your blindness was of magical origins and lifted by the Sword of Justice, then why do you still bind your eyes?” Keyes rubbed his forehead and responded “We never did get our hands on Woundhealer, and it was better to let my lids heal while closed. I experimented with Doomgiver further after our escape, and found that it kept me safe if I was merely traveling without the aid of my eyes. Lo-Yang can tell you: If I tried to make a purposeful attempt on my life, as I tried to walk off a cliff during my experimentation, the Sword of Justice recognized my foolhardiness and would not intervene.”
Lo-Yang, who appeared to have once been meek and servile, chuckled and remarked “I doubt you would have lasted half as long had you not me to fix your foolish errors.” With a wry smile, Keyes turned back to the young fool.
“I’m glad my apprentice has only recently decided to become thick-headed, I imagine I’d be in a much worse position if he had done so while I was in the cave.” The Master and the student shared a laugh at the goodhearted jibe. “In any case,” he continued, “Doomgiver continues to keep me safe from harm as it seems to know that I am, genuinely, unable to see until I heal. I trusted and continue to trust in the Swords power, and thus have I been able to function as you see me now.”
“A Sword that balances the pans…” Touchstone half-recited.
“Indeed,” replied Keyes, “the Blind Man’s Blade.” The young man found himself liking Keyes’ epithet for the sword, and aside from the obvious connotation, wondered why it felt so fitting. Keyes took a deep breath and untied the blindfold, blinked in the firelight a few times, then looked at his new companion. “It appears I no longer need it,” he remarked, fingering the cloth, “and it also appears that I no longer need the Sword of Justice.” Both Lo-Yang and the young Fool started as if one person.
“But why?” asked the apprentice, “Surely Doomgiver would keep us safe as we continued to look for the other swords.”
“I’ve had it long enough, and it looks like it would eventually find its way to someone else more in need of balance than I. No doubt that if I had it long enough, I could misuse it, and its power would surely turn back on me. Besides, it seems our young companion here could benefit from it." He turned back to the young Fool, "I like you, boy. You’ve got a good mind for knowledge and have more honesty than I’ve seen in a great while. You grasp what the Swords can do, and I believe such a power would be safe in your hands.” Lo-Yang, who had joked and laughed with Touchstone as the night had worn on, nodded in agreement as he grasped his master’s intentions.
Amazed and humbled, the young man took the sword and sheath from Keyes’ outstretched hands, which had deftly unbuckled them from his belt. After donning it, and feeling a new sense of belonging even with these near strangers, Touchstone clasped Keyes hand in thanks, and embraced him in spite of himself. Keyes smiled and gave the boy a friendly clap on the shoulder. “I will live up to your trust,” said the young Fool, “thank you for everything.”
“I believe you shall,” said Keyes, and added, enigmatically, “May Demeter’s caution protect you.”
The sun had just started to crest a line of hills in the east when Touchstone said his last goodbyes to the two men. Without their company, his own situation had once again weighed heavy on his heart, but he had set out with new hope and the Sword at his side. After a week of traveling northward, he had reached the gates of Ginndem Keep.
To Be Continued in Chapter 2
Enough, More Later,
- James
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Santa Cruz '06: Booze, Broads, and Ballestras
Currently in Earphones: Globus by Epicon, Various songs by Silly Wizard, Conan the Barbarian by Basil Poledouris
Well, it is now kinda noonish Sunday, and I've finally recovered enough to write up the events and anecdotes of Saturdays fencing tourney at Santa Cruz.
Preston was nice enough to give myself and a few other team mates a ride, and I invited him to sleep over the night before so he didn't have to get up REALLY crazy early to get to Davis from Sacramento. We all got up around 4:20ish in the AM in order to meet the other fencers at Starbucks in the U-Mall, and left from there around 5:15. The drive down was fairly uneventful, save for the fact that I got car sick in the exact same places that I did driving down last year. We even had to pull off in the same parking lot (when my stomach cried uncle) as last time. At least it was still on the right route to Campus, and we were able to get some snacks and take a bathroom break at the same gas station after I recovered.
Our car was not only the first there out of the Davisites, but also the first people there for the tourney as well. We had made excellent time and ended up hanging out outside and meeting with the rest of the team as they filtered in.
The tournament was scheduled differently than normal, perhaps for experimental reasons. The usual line up is this: The Novice Foil group gets going early, usually at something like 9 or 10, because they take the longest and should be gotten out of the way first. Then the Advanced Foil, Advanced Epee and Advanced Saber start, each in that order and each within an hour or so of each other. The idea is that there are a crapload of foilists, a mid range of Epeeists, and it doesn't matter how many Sabers there are because they go damned fast. The order was changed to Saber, Foil, then Epee for this tourney, the idea being that we'd get Saber out of the way first, which leaves more strips open for Foil and Epee. Saberists also get the lazy rap for being the guys that get to sleep in, come to the tourney halfway through, etc. etc, so I'm guessing they figured it would get their act together to have them (nearly) first as well.
In practice, it could be called a double edged sword. While the sabers did get done darn quick, there still wasn't a whole lot of open strips. And the Epeeists were sitting around with nothing to do both before they even began, which was closer to 2:00 pm than to the 12:30 (or rather, 1:00, since registration closed at 12:30) start time, and after they were finished doing pools, when there STILL weren't enough strips to go around.
I don't think the waiting around messed up my game much, but there were times when it felt like "Hurry up and go, already!" I think I prefer the original ordering in the end.
I don't have too many anecdotes in relation to my participation. I was in a pool with some nice fellows who I chatted and joked with, and we all had a fun time. The great Vinny Carbone was in my pool as well, and I was a little apprehensive about that, but I did managed to get him to La Belle before he got me. I finished the pools 2-3 (for the non fencers, I won 2 bouts and lost 3), but every bout I lost found me losing 4-5, so I had a fairly good indicator in the end: I seeded 17th out of 30. Oh, and Vinny managed to tear a hole in my old glove, which even TC was incredulous at: "That's like synthetic leather, how the heck did he do that?" I think my glove had just been through too many washings and tournaments, luckily I had a back up. Time for a new equipment run, though!
My first DE was against the cool, cool Tom Ellison. We were pretty easy about it, and he asked me to give the next guy hell if I should win (who happened to be the guy who seeded first, also a cool fellow). I was a little skeptical that I could do well against Mr. Ellison: not only does he do both Saber and Epee, but he's got all sorts of years of experience over me. We had a sad but fun bout, as we were both playing for the Davis team (and having to be in a DE with someone from your own team SUCKS, because no matter who wins, one of you is getting knocked out). Not only that, but we were right next to the Epee DE between Vinny and one of our new Epeeists Brian (a B-level fencer who shares a lot of similarities with Rock). We had a bunch of people from the Davis team cheering us all on, and we just had fun with it. I ended up beating Mr. Ellison 5-4, so at least we got more points for Davis, even if I knocked him out of the running. In my last DE I got steamrolled by Mr. Conor Bowman, the nice fellow who seeded first and who I also faced in my pools. I got one point off on him, but other than that it was pretty much no contest. Ah well.
As a team, we did damn well. Amy Chi pulled out a tied 3rd for Novice foil, which was awesome as all get out: She won her first DE...then her second....and we were all there for the third. She just racked up point after point after point, and this was coming back from a 0-5! We were all very impressed with her performance, and she walked away from it with a medal to boot. In addition, one of our new Saberists, Mike Jumper, pulled off First Place. Chris Wild, who did all three weapons, got into the top ten of each, Ande Huffman pulled some great bouts, and so on.
And now, for the anecdotes. Preston did some reffing for Advanced saber, and he cut a fine figure dressed all officially in a nice shirt-and-tie. His reffing was also of good caliber, being both professional and sticking with his calls. If there's one thing a ref shouldn't be, it is indecisive or apologetic for his calls. What he sees goes, and even if it was something else entirely, you go with his rulings. Of course you can debate a call, but that's only in the worst of situations, which, luckily, are not applicable here.
Concerning Preston and reffing, there was a certain Foilist and Saberist from the academy of Arts Fencing club by the last name of Bessell, and she was a piece of work. She clearly had the skill from competing at a national level, but man, what a personality. Not only did she huff and puff and swear (mostly quietly) when she got scored against, but she also did the "walk all the way down to the end of the strip and back to 'collect' yourself after every score against" so reminiscent of persnickety National fencers. Her hallmark trait was the habit of screaming whenever her blade managed to hit...anything. Or if she THOUGHT she hit anything. And she didn't scream once, oh no: If she did manage to get a point, she'd whip around, throw back her head and scream LOUDER. Much bleeding from the ears ensued (not literally, but it sure felt like it), and I think everyone in the venue developed a nasty twitch. The consolation we received was that all of her team mates didn't have a very good opinion of her. Concerning that bit of info, we all agreed on the car ride home that we felt it kinda unfair that we were painting her black immediately, because for all we saw, she did have some good qualities. In the end, we couldn't really decide one way or the other, after all, we'd only seen her once.
In any case, Preston had the fun of reffing a match with her in it, and a plus in her direction is that she did have legit concerns about calls, which Preston deftly and professionally dealt with ("That may very well have been the case, but that's not what I saw"). As she began to get behind in points, her swearing became more and more audible (which is, of course, a penalty for which you recieve a yellow card). Preston told her to cut it out, which resulted in her screaming a bit louder after every touch. To that, he merely replied "If you're going to do that, you might as well go back to swearing." That shut her up nicely.
The funny anecdote concerning her goes thusly: We were cheering on James M. in his second DE, and TC had developed a fun way for us to cheer. We've kind of adopted a pirate motif as a team, and whenever someone makes a hook sign with their index finger, we're all supposed to mimic the sign and let rip with a hearty "ARRRRG!" It's really fun to do that and cheer on a team mate, and it puts them in a good mood too. After James M. got a point, TC shouted "Hey, James! Do this! ::finger hook::" To that, Mr. Muehlner querulously put up his finger and we all rang out with a mighty "ARRRG!" I'm pretty sure we all caught the smile on Mr. M's usually stoic face (under his mask, even) as he turned back to the bout.
He was doing well, and Bessell was fencing a few strips over. We had let loose with a particularly good "ARRG!"s after Mr. M had scored, and in time with our outburst, and almost in defiance, we heard Bessell's trademark scream. I was standing next to Preston, and he had that look like he REALLY wanted to poke some fun at that, but his sense of decency and not wanting to cause a scene was causing his body to stiffen and to try not to smile. But despite of that, and because we'd endured plenty of accumulated screams from the girl, he let out with a very falsetto parody of her sonic assault. There was a kind of collected pause from the whole venue, and then EVERYONE burst out laughing. Preston was still kinda shocked at his own outburst and didn't immediately want to laugh and claim credit for it, but there was plenty of back slapping and handshakes going on among the Davis team who was near him. I heard afterward that her whole team fell over laughing when they heard it, and rumor has it that even Bessell herself cracked up on the strip. In the end, fun was (hopefully) had by all.
The more serious anecdote was that our star fencer, Chris Wild, went up against her in Foil DE's and, for the lack of a better phrase, schooled her. We were all on the sidelines cheering him on, and a fun by-product of calling someone by their last name led to the fun linguistic entendre of us shouting "Go Wild!" Which, of course, is exactly what we did when he evenly trounced her at the end. It was a very satisfying match.
What ended up seeming to come straight out of a movie was Mr. Wild's last foil match. After fencing bout after bout of all three weapons, he was starting to cramp up really badly. It's a rather unfortunate physiological trait he's got that he cramps like that, and believe me, we had stuffed him full of bananas and gatorade to try and counteract it. His last match ran exactly like something out of a inspirational movie. He was doing well, but after a few points, his sword arm crumpled and he clutched it in pain. After a few seconds and a concerned "you all right?" from the ref, Wild snapped back to attention and continued to fence. After a few more points, his entire upper torso was crumpling after every break in the action, and he would literally be doubled over in pain until the ref gave the "Ready, Fence!" when he'd lock back in and fence like a madman. I swear, I and every other team mate out there were itching to call "THROW IN THE TOWL!!" and run to his assistance, because it was just getting too painful to watch. After it all, we laid him out on the floor and massaged and stretched his poor muscles, but man, that's drama you can't get anywhere else!
After the tourney, we all filtered out and met at a pub for some late night socializing, and although I was feelin' a bit anti-social at the beginning, I warmed up and chatted amiably as the night went on (and no, not because I had anything to drink). The last little snag we visited upon was during the drive back, when Preston and I missed the exit from 880 north onto 680, and we started heading towards the bay. The ironic thing was that I could probably have navigated back to Davis from the point where we figured out that we had missed the merge, seeing that we were in the east bay and I was familiar with 880. However, we did turn back and managed to find the right exit (which was exactly the same shape I had imagined would be there for the traffic direction we were on). Needless to say we got back without too much of a hitch after that.
We ended up getting back in to Davis around midnight, though we had to go drop off our passengers and I chatted a bit with Preston before hitting the sack around 1:45. I'm very thankful that Daylight savings is today, because that extra hour of sleep was VERY much needed.
And that's about it. If I think of any more anecdotes I'll be sure to add them in later.
Enough. More Later,
- James
Well, it is now kinda noonish Sunday, and I've finally recovered enough to write up the events and anecdotes of Saturdays fencing tourney at Santa Cruz.
Preston was nice enough to give myself and a few other team mates a ride, and I invited him to sleep over the night before so he didn't have to get up REALLY crazy early to get to Davis from Sacramento. We all got up around 4:20ish in the AM in order to meet the other fencers at Starbucks in the U-Mall, and left from there around 5:15. The drive down was fairly uneventful, save for the fact that I got car sick in the exact same places that I did driving down last year. We even had to pull off in the same parking lot (when my stomach cried uncle) as last time. At least it was still on the right route to Campus, and we were able to get some snacks and take a bathroom break at the same gas station after I recovered.
Our car was not only the first there out of the Davisites, but also the first people there for the tourney as well. We had made excellent time and ended up hanging out outside and meeting with the rest of the team as they filtered in.
The tournament was scheduled differently than normal, perhaps for experimental reasons. The usual line up is this: The Novice Foil group gets going early, usually at something like 9 or 10, because they take the longest and should be gotten out of the way first. Then the Advanced Foil, Advanced Epee and Advanced Saber start, each in that order and each within an hour or so of each other. The idea is that there are a crapload of foilists, a mid range of Epeeists, and it doesn't matter how many Sabers there are because they go damned fast. The order was changed to Saber, Foil, then Epee for this tourney, the idea being that we'd get Saber out of the way first, which leaves more strips open for Foil and Epee. Saberists also get the lazy rap for being the guys that get to sleep in, come to the tourney halfway through, etc. etc, so I'm guessing they figured it would get their act together to have them (nearly) first as well.
In practice, it could be called a double edged sword. While the sabers did get done darn quick, there still wasn't a whole lot of open strips. And the Epeeists were sitting around with nothing to do both before they even began, which was closer to 2:00 pm than to the 12:30 (or rather, 1:00, since registration closed at 12:30) start time, and after they were finished doing pools, when there STILL weren't enough strips to go around.
I don't think the waiting around messed up my game much, but there were times when it felt like "Hurry up and go, already!" I think I prefer the original ordering in the end.
I don't have too many anecdotes in relation to my participation. I was in a pool with some nice fellows who I chatted and joked with, and we all had a fun time. The great Vinny Carbone was in my pool as well, and I was a little apprehensive about that, but I did managed to get him to La Belle before he got me. I finished the pools 2-3 (for the non fencers, I won 2 bouts and lost 3), but every bout I lost found me losing 4-5, so I had a fairly good indicator in the end: I seeded 17th out of 30. Oh, and Vinny managed to tear a hole in my old glove, which even TC was incredulous at: "That's like synthetic leather, how the heck did he do that?" I think my glove had just been through too many washings and tournaments, luckily I had a back up. Time for a new equipment run, though!
My first DE was against the cool, cool Tom Ellison. We were pretty easy about it, and he asked me to give the next guy hell if I should win (who happened to be the guy who seeded first, also a cool fellow). I was a little skeptical that I could do well against Mr. Ellison: not only does he do both Saber and Epee, but he's got all sorts of years of experience over me. We had a sad but fun bout, as we were both playing for the Davis team (and having to be in a DE with someone from your own team SUCKS, because no matter who wins, one of you is getting knocked out). Not only that, but we were right next to the Epee DE between Vinny and one of our new Epeeists Brian (a B-level fencer who shares a lot of similarities with Rock). We had a bunch of people from the Davis team cheering us all on, and we just had fun with it. I ended up beating Mr. Ellison 5-4, so at least we got more points for Davis, even if I knocked him out of the running. In my last DE I got steamrolled by Mr. Conor Bowman, the nice fellow who seeded first and who I also faced in my pools. I got one point off on him, but other than that it was pretty much no contest. Ah well.
As a team, we did damn well. Amy Chi pulled out a tied 3rd for Novice foil, which was awesome as all get out: She won her first DE...then her second....and we were all there for the third. She just racked up point after point after point, and this was coming back from a 0-5! We were all very impressed with her performance, and she walked away from it with a medal to boot. In addition, one of our new Saberists, Mike Jumper, pulled off First Place. Chris Wild, who did all three weapons, got into the top ten of each, Ande Huffman pulled some great bouts, and so on.
And now, for the anecdotes. Preston did some reffing for Advanced saber, and he cut a fine figure dressed all officially in a nice shirt-and-tie. His reffing was also of good caliber, being both professional and sticking with his calls. If there's one thing a ref shouldn't be, it is indecisive or apologetic for his calls. What he sees goes, and even if it was something else entirely, you go with his rulings. Of course you can debate a call, but that's only in the worst of situations, which, luckily, are not applicable here.
Concerning Preston and reffing, there was a certain Foilist and Saberist from the academy of Arts Fencing club by the last name of Bessell, and she was a piece of work. She clearly had the skill from competing at a national level, but man, what a personality. Not only did she huff and puff and swear (mostly quietly) when she got scored against, but she also did the "walk all the way down to the end of the strip and back to 'collect' yourself after every score against" so reminiscent of persnickety National fencers. Her hallmark trait was the habit of screaming whenever her blade managed to hit...anything. Or if she THOUGHT she hit anything. And she didn't scream once, oh no: If she did manage to get a point, she'd whip around, throw back her head and scream LOUDER. Much bleeding from the ears ensued (not literally, but it sure felt like it), and I think everyone in the venue developed a nasty twitch. The consolation we received was that all of her team mates didn't have a very good opinion of her. Concerning that bit of info, we all agreed on the car ride home that we felt it kinda unfair that we were painting her black immediately, because for all we saw, she did have some good qualities. In the end, we couldn't really decide one way or the other, after all, we'd only seen her once.
In any case, Preston had the fun of reffing a match with her in it, and a plus in her direction is that she did have legit concerns about calls, which Preston deftly and professionally dealt with ("That may very well have been the case, but that's not what I saw"). As she began to get behind in points, her swearing became more and more audible (which is, of course, a penalty for which you recieve a yellow card). Preston told her to cut it out, which resulted in her screaming a bit louder after every touch. To that, he merely replied "If you're going to do that, you might as well go back to swearing." That shut her up nicely.
The funny anecdote concerning her goes thusly: We were cheering on James M. in his second DE, and TC had developed a fun way for us to cheer. We've kind of adopted a pirate motif as a team, and whenever someone makes a hook sign with their index finger, we're all supposed to mimic the sign and let rip with a hearty "ARRRRG!" It's really fun to do that and cheer on a team mate, and it puts them in a good mood too. After James M. got a point, TC shouted "Hey, James! Do this! ::finger hook::" To that, Mr. Muehlner querulously put up his finger and we all rang out with a mighty "ARRRG!" I'm pretty sure we all caught the smile on Mr. M's usually stoic face (under his mask, even) as he turned back to the bout.
He was doing well, and Bessell was fencing a few strips over. We had let loose with a particularly good "ARRG!"s after Mr. M had scored, and in time with our outburst, and almost in defiance, we heard Bessell's trademark scream. I was standing next to Preston, and he had that look like he REALLY wanted to poke some fun at that, but his sense of decency and not wanting to cause a scene was causing his body to stiffen and to try not to smile. But despite of that, and because we'd endured plenty of accumulated screams from the girl, he let out with a very falsetto parody of her sonic assault. There was a kind of collected pause from the whole venue, and then EVERYONE burst out laughing. Preston was still kinda shocked at his own outburst and didn't immediately want to laugh and claim credit for it, but there was plenty of back slapping and handshakes going on among the Davis team who was near him. I heard afterward that her whole team fell over laughing when they heard it, and rumor has it that even Bessell herself cracked up on the strip. In the end, fun was (hopefully) had by all.
The more serious anecdote was that our star fencer, Chris Wild, went up against her in Foil DE's and, for the lack of a better phrase, schooled her. We were all on the sidelines cheering him on, and a fun by-product of calling someone by their last name led to the fun linguistic entendre of us shouting "Go Wild!" Which, of course, is exactly what we did when he evenly trounced her at the end. It was a very satisfying match.
What ended up seeming to come straight out of a movie was Mr. Wild's last foil match. After fencing bout after bout of all three weapons, he was starting to cramp up really badly. It's a rather unfortunate physiological trait he's got that he cramps like that, and believe me, we had stuffed him full of bananas and gatorade to try and counteract it. His last match ran exactly like something out of a inspirational movie. He was doing well, but after a few points, his sword arm crumpled and he clutched it in pain. After a few seconds and a concerned "you all right?" from the ref, Wild snapped back to attention and continued to fence. After a few more points, his entire upper torso was crumpling after every break in the action, and he would literally be doubled over in pain until the ref gave the "Ready, Fence!" when he'd lock back in and fence like a madman. I swear, I and every other team mate out there were itching to call "THROW IN THE TOWL!!" and run to his assistance, because it was just getting too painful to watch. After it all, we laid him out on the floor and massaged and stretched his poor muscles, but man, that's drama you can't get anywhere else!
After the tourney, we all filtered out and met at a pub for some late night socializing, and although I was feelin' a bit anti-social at the beginning, I warmed up and chatted amiably as the night went on (and no, not because I had anything to drink). The last little snag we visited upon was during the drive back, when Preston and I missed the exit from 880 north onto 680, and we started heading towards the bay. The ironic thing was that I could probably have navigated back to Davis from the point where we figured out that we had missed the merge, seeing that we were in the east bay and I was familiar with 880. However, we did turn back and managed to find the right exit (which was exactly the same shape I had imagined would be there for the traffic direction we were on). Needless to say we got back without too much of a hitch after that.
We ended up getting back in to Davis around midnight, though we had to go drop off our passengers and I chatted a bit with Preston before hitting the sack around 1:45. I'm very thankful that Daylight savings is today, because that extra hour of sleep was VERY much needed.
And that's about it. If I think of any more anecdotes I'll be sure to add them in later.
Enough. More Later,
- James
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Distractions
Currently in Earphones: Concerto No. 2 in G minor, RV 315 "Summer" by Antonio Vivaldi.
I really should be studying for my upcoming Classics Midterm, which I am, but blogging counts as a distraction.
My thought for the day is a discrepancy between English and Latin (so we think) pronunciation concerning the offices of the Cursus Honorum (CURSE-us [h]on-OR-um) or "Course of Honors."
Doubtless you've all heard of the titles of Consul, or Praetor, or Aedile, etc. These are all positions in the course, but some of them have weird English pronunciations. I suppose they stem from anglicized ideas of pronunciation, but I think they sound silly.
To begin, Consul sounds the same in both pronunciations (KON-sul or KON-sool). The next step down from that is the Praetor (English: Pree-tur, Classical PRAI-tor, and by the way the "ae" in classical always sounds like a long English "i," which I will represent by the closer English dipthong "ai" [pronounced like "eye"]). Now tell me that first pronunciation doesn't sound goofy! The small vowel sounds in the English fashion feel so diminutive, while the large vowels of the "ai" and "or" give it a more majestic representation.
The same goes for Quaestor (English QWEE-ster vs Classical QWAI-stor). The English sounds too much like the idiomatic term Keyster for my tastes.
The one I don't have too much beef with is the Aedile (English EE-dial vs. Classical ai-DEE-lay). Though the diminutive "ee" is still there, three vowels are a mouthful for an English speaker, and there's no similar sounding English word to mix it up with.
Back to Studying!
Enough. More Later,
- James
I really should be studying for my upcoming Classics Midterm, which I am, but blogging counts as a distraction.
My thought for the day is a discrepancy between English and Latin (so we think) pronunciation concerning the offices of the Cursus Honorum (CURSE-us [h]on-OR-um) or "Course of Honors."
Doubtless you've all heard of the titles of Consul, or Praetor, or Aedile, etc. These are all positions in the course, but some of them have weird English pronunciations. I suppose they stem from anglicized ideas of pronunciation, but I think they sound silly.
To begin, Consul sounds the same in both pronunciations (KON-sul or KON-sool). The next step down from that is the Praetor (English: Pree-tur, Classical PRAI-tor, and by the way the "ae" in classical always sounds like a long English "i," which I will represent by the closer English dipthong "ai" [pronounced like "eye"]). Now tell me that first pronunciation doesn't sound goofy! The small vowel sounds in the English fashion feel so diminutive, while the large vowels of the "ai" and "or" give it a more majestic representation.
The same goes for Quaestor (English QWEE-ster vs Classical QWAI-stor). The English sounds too much like the idiomatic term Keyster for my tastes.
The one I don't have too much beef with is the Aedile (English EE-dial vs. Classical ai-DEE-lay). Though the diminutive "ee" is still there, three vowels are a mouthful for an English speaker, and there's no similar sounding English word to mix it up with.
Back to Studying!
Enough. More Later,
- James
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Ruat Caelum, Fiat Justitia
Currently in Headphones: "To Isengard" by David Arkenstone, from Music Inspired by Middle Earth
Ganked from my sister's blog...
Whoa, image too big to fit on my template? I'd adjust it meself, the cool paper looking background only extends so far. Ah well.
Otherwise, Me likey!
Enough. More Later,
- James
Ganked from my sister's blog...
Whoa, image too big to fit on my template? I'd adjust it meself, the cool paper looking background only extends so far. Ah well.
Otherwise, Me likey!
Enough. More Later,
- James
Monday, October 16, 2006
Don't Laugh, this is Science!
Currently in Earphones: Sneakers Soundtrack by James Horner
Here's a Great lecture by the Amazing Randi. Warning: it's long, about an hour and a half, so try to watch it while having the time to see it all.
Enjoy!
Enough. More Later,
- James
Here's a Great lecture by the Amazing Randi. Warning: it's long, about an hour and a half, so try to watch it while having the time to see it all.
Enjoy!
Enough. More Later,
- James
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
(::fumbles::) My Panache!
Currently in Earphones: Cyrano de Bergerac Soundtrack, composed by Jean-Claude Petite
::sips Lady Grey tea:: Ahh, getting back into the swing of living in a house with a kitchen.
Classes are all pretty good so far. Prof. Rex Stem is one of the coolest: he's a new fellow to UCD and is teaching both my Classics 3 (Rome and the Mediterranean) and my Latin 111 ("Silver Age" Latin). He's also one of the most eminently quotable:
"Rome was a laid back cow town before Augustus."
"Rome Sacked Veii in 396 BC, then didn't really know what to do with it. Imagine if Davis one day charged north and sacked Woodland. What the heck would we do with all that wealth and land?"
"The Gauls were so impressed [by their noble and passive resistance] that they ALMOST didn't kill them."
"Afterward Scipio earned the honorary title of 'Africanus,' meaning, of course, 'the man who soundly whupped Africa's tookus.'"
And so on. A very cool fellow.
Both my Philosophy class and my Geology class aren't really anything to write home about. The only love/hate aspect I have is with the Geology portion. While I find the material fascinating and actually enjoy reading the textbook, my professor simultaneously blitzes through her powerpoints, doesn't explain things very well, and can be very difficult to understand.
My job at the Scene shop is chugging along nicely. It's fun to watch things take shape and form, and to almost-literally build things out of nothing. Though I'm getting more adept at using the various circular saws for the multitudinous wood cutting we do, I still shy away from some of the bigger daddies, like the metal saw and the grinders. I'm also getting over the vertigo of the giant Paint Frame that sinks to the basement, about 13 feet below ground level. Having to walk along next to the food-and-a-half wide by 60-70 feet long hole where the frame descends is a little harrowing, especially when navigating the various paint buckets in the paint corner where there's only 3-4 feet of clearance. Other than that, I'm really enjoying working there.
Missing Anja has kind of subsided into a dull ache that I can work around, but the few times I'm able to talk to her make me feel better. She's doing very well in Ireland, and I'm glad she's happy. I only hope that at the end of this all we can still emerge as a "we," or (dare I think it) perhaps an "us." My few female friends have been supportive, however; It's good to know there are others wishing you well.
And on to Soundtrack business. First off, I finally got my hands on a copy of the second-most well known Immediate Music album, "Abbey Road." It's just as cool as "Themes for Orchestra and Choir," and features some great cues. Around the same time, I discovered that a performing group called "Globus" had spun off from Immediate Music (with Goren of the Fayman/Goren duo responsible for most of Immediate Music's library) and, wonder of wonders, went on tour and produced a CD! For Consumer purchase! I was incredibly stoked as I did some research, and found that Globus had a myspace page with a few full-length samples. My high was diminished a bit when I realized that pretty much all the samples (and later, all of the album) were remixed versions of their more famous Production cues. One called "Preliator" was a redone "Lacrimosa" (of the Spider-Man 2 trailer fame), "Diem Ex Dei" was a remixed "Lucius Dei," etc. etc. The remixes were actually quite good, and a copy of the album "Epicon" is working it's way to my doorstep. On a final note, I finally have a genre for the type of music Immediate Music (and other production music libraries) put out: Cinematic Rock. The Myspace page made mention of it.
Secondly, in soundtrackville, I got a copy of Cyrano de Bergerac, or the music used in the 1990 version of the film by Jean-Paul Rappeneau. The fun bit of trivia there was that the composer was asked directly to freely adapt Danny Elfman's "Batman" theme into the soundtrack. Jean-Claude Petite did so, and Elfman naturally sued for plagiarism. The funny thing is that the "Batman" theme isn't even cleverly concealed: it's right there in a few of the tracks, honkingly obvious. What's even more funny (and interesting) is that Petite won, citing that some of Elfman's music was uncannily similar to his own, which, evidently, it was. As Preston said of this anecdote, "I'm borrowing it back."
That's all for now. I'll post about my continuing foray back into fencing at a later date.
Enough. More Later,
- James
::sips Lady Grey tea:: Ahh, getting back into the swing of living in a house with a kitchen.
Classes are all pretty good so far. Prof. Rex Stem is one of the coolest: he's a new fellow to UCD and is teaching both my Classics 3 (Rome and the Mediterranean) and my Latin 111 ("Silver Age" Latin). He's also one of the most eminently quotable:
"Rome was a laid back cow town before Augustus."
"Rome Sacked Veii in 396 BC, then didn't really know what to do with it. Imagine if Davis one day charged north and sacked Woodland. What the heck would we do with all that wealth and land?"
"The Gauls were so impressed [by their noble and passive resistance] that they ALMOST didn't kill them."
"Afterward Scipio earned the honorary title of 'Africanus,' meaning, of course, 'the man who soundly whupped Africa's tookus.'"
And so on. A very cool fellow.
Both my Philosophy class and my Geology class aren't really anything to write home about. The only love/hate aspect I have is with the Geology portion. While I find the material fascinating and actually enjoy reading the textbook, my professor simultaneously blitzes through her powerpoints, doesn't explain things very well, and can be very difficult to understand.
My job at the Scene shop is chugging along nicely. It's fun to watch things take shape and form, and to almost-literally build things out of nothing. Though I'm getting more adept at using the various circular saws for the multitudinous wood cutting we do, I still shy away from some of the bigger daddies, like the metal saw and the grinders. I'm also getting over the vertigo of the giant Paint Frame that sinks to the basement, about 13 feet below ground level. Having to walk along next to the food-and-a-half wide by 60-70 feet long hole where the frame descends is a little harrowing, especially when navigating the various paint buckets in the paint corner where there's only 3-4 feet of clearance. Other than that, I'm really enjoying working there.
Missing Anja has kind of subsided into a dull ache that I can work around, but the few times I'm able to talk to her make me feel better. She's doing very well in Ireland, and I'm glad she's happy. I only hope that at the end of this all we can still emerge as a "we," or (dare I think it) perhaps an "us." My few female friends have been supportive, however; It's good to know there are others wishing you well.
And on to Soundtrack business. First off, I finally got my hands on a copy of the second-most well known Immediate Music album, "Abbey Road." It's just as cool as "Themes for Orchestra and Choir," and features some great cues. Around the same time, I discovered that a performing group called "Globus" had spun off from Immediate Music (with Goren of the Fayman/Goren duo responsible for most of Immediate Music's library) and, wonder of wonders, went on tour and produced a CD! For Consumer purchase! I was incredibly stoked as I did some research, and found that Globus had a myspace page with a few full-length samples. My high was diminished a bit when I realized that pretty much all the samples (and later, all of the album) were remixed versions of their more famous Production cues. One called "Preliator" was a redone "Lacrimosa" (of the Spider-Man 2 trailer fame), "Diem Ex Dei" was a remixed "Lucius Dei," etc. etc. The remixes were actually quite good, and a copy of the album "Epicon" is working it's way to my doorstep. On a final note, I finally have a genre for the type of music Immediate Music (and other production music libraries) put out: Cinematic Rock. The Myspace page made mention of it.
Secondly, in soundtrackville, I got a copy of Cyrano de Bergerac, or the music used in the 1990 version of the film by Jean-Paul Rappeneau. The fun bit of trivia there was that the composer was asked directly to freely adapt Danny Elfman's "Batman" theme into the soundtrack. Jean-Claude Petite did so, and Elfman naturally sued for plagiarism. The funny thing is that the "Batman" theme isn't even cleverly concealed: it's right there in a few of the tracks, honkingly obvious. What's even more funny (and interesting) is that Petite won, citing that some of Elfman's music was uncannily similar to his own, which, evidently, it was. As Preston said of this anecdote, "I'm borrowing it back."
That's all for now. I'll post about my continuing foray back into fencing at a later date.
Enough. More Later,
- James
Sunday, October 08, 2006
"Shrines! Shrines! Surely you don't believe in the Gods? Where is your Argument? Where is your Proof?"
Currently in Earphones: "Abbey Road" Album from Immediate Music
Anja's post concerning her religious views have piqued me to explain my own. I was brought up Christian, but my parents were open minded and let me choose my own beliefs. From the time I was little, I always had the desire to learn the truth of things. My mom recalls the time that I asked if Santa was real or not, and she remembers me being pretty young as well. Though I don't remember the moment, she tells me that I was very worried about the whole concept, and very earnest to know the truth. When she did tell me, I was very relieved, either because the idea of a giant man in red breaking into our house was worrisome, or because I had a sense that things didn't really jive in a factual sense. I've always been a realist, not necessarily because I want to know the truth, but because I find that knowing the way things are is infinitely more comforting to me than something unproven but psychologically comforting.
As such, I find that the label Agnostic Realist fits me well. Anja does a good job of describing what an Agnostic is, and as Sam Harris said in his book The End of Faith, "Realists believe that there are truths about the world that may exceed our capacity to know them; there are facts of the matter whether or not we can bring such facts into view." Whatever higher truth there may be about the workings of the universe, it is still far beyond our grasp, if we are even able to comprehend it at all. It just may be that some giant, hoary Caucasian guy is sitting up in a celestial hall moving things about, but I think that is just as likely that it may be something else, and that postulating a human-like influence is rather presumptuous. As Mr. Harris continues to explain, "To be an ethical [or spiritual] realist is to believe that in ethics, as in physics, there are truths waiting to be discovered - and thus we can be right or wrong in our beliefs about them."
Concerning omnism, I think there is some merit in it, but from a different perspective. I don't believe that there are slivers of divine truth in every religion, but rather that there are bits of human truth in them. Each one has a few good things to say about the behavior, ethical or truthful, of people in general. Whether or not they are right about the workings of the cosmos (or otherwise) is something that I believe to be indeterminate.
Though religion may offer explanations that offer spiritual comfort, I find that I am much more in balance knowing the truths of the world as it is. I would rather believe in scientific discovery and inquiry, because its truths are tangible and provable. As the James Randi quote states at the top of my journal, I want to live in a real world. Like learning about Santa, I will be far more relieved to hear empirical study on the matter or to continue to believe that it is simply unknowable. Making up comforting postulations is all well and good, but to believe and act upon them like hard truth is more worrisome to me.
In my defense, I'm not trying to be a cold realist. I'm moved by comforting things, such as William Cullen Bryant's Thanatopsis (http://www.bartelby.net/102/16.html), it is just that I don't go around incorporating it into what I believe is true about the world. There may be human truths and comforts, but to dress them up and twist them into something divine doesn't bode well with me.
So there you have it, my beliefs as an Agnostic Realist out on the table. Hope that clarifies things.
Enough. More Later,
- James
P.S. - As Shepard Book says, "When I talk about belief, why do you always assume I'm talking about God?" Just as I talk about "truth," I'm talking about universal truth, not spiritual or divine truth.
Anja's post concerning her religious views have piqued me to explain my own. I was brought up Christian, but my parents were open minded and let me choose my own beliefs. From the time I was little, I always had the desire to learn the truth of things. My mom recalls the time that I asked if Santa was real or not, and she remembers me being pretty young as well. Though I don't remember the moment, she tells me that I was very worried about the whole concept, and very earnest to know the truth. When she did tell me, I was very relieved, either because the idea of a giant man in red breaking into our house was worrisome, or because I had a sense that things didn't really jive in a factual sense. I've always been a realist, not necessarily because I want to know the truth, but because I find that knowing the way things are is infinitely more comforting to me than something unproven but psychologically comforting.
As such, I find that the label Agnostic Realist fits me well. Anja does a good job of describing what an Agnostic is, and as Sam Harris said in his book The End of Faith, "Realists believe that there are truths about the world that may exceed our capacity to know them; there are facts of the matter whether or not we can bring such facts into view." Whatever higher truth there may be about the workings of the universe, it is still far beyond our grasp, if we are even able to comprehend it at all. It just may be that some giant, hoary Caucasian guy is sitting up in a celestial hall moving things about, but I think that is just as likely that it may be something else, and that postulating a human-like influence is rather presumptuous. As Mr. Harris continues to explain, "To be an ethical [or spiritual] realist is to believe that in ethics, as in physics, there are truths waiting to be discovered - and thus we can be right or wrong in our beliefs about them."
Concerning omnism, I think there is some merit in it, but from a different perspective. I don't believe that there are slivers of divine truth in every religion, but rather that there are bits of human truth in them. Each one has a few good things to say about the behavior, ethical or truthful, of people in general. Whether or not they are right about the workings of the cosmos (or otherwise) is something that I believe to be indeterminate.
Though religion may offer explanations that offer spiritual comfort, I find that I am much more in balance knowing the truths of the world as it is. I would rather believe in scientific discovery and inquiry, because its truths are tangible and provable. As the James Randi quote states at the top of my journal, I want to live in a real world. Like learning about Santa, I will be far more relieved to hear empirical study on the matter or to continue to believe that it is simply unknowable. Making up comforting postulations is all well and good, but to believe and act upon them like hard truth is more worrisome to me.
In my defense, I'm not trying to be a cold realist. I'm moved by comforting things, such as William Cullen Bryant's Thanatopsis (http://www.bartelby.net/102/16.html), it is just that I don't go around incorporating it into what I believe is true about the world. There may be human truths and comforts, but to dress them up and twist them into something divine doesn't bode well with me.
So there you have it, my beliefs as an Agnostic Realist out on the table. Hope that clarifies things.
Enough. More Later,
- James
P.S. - As Shepard Book says, "When I talk about belief, why do you always assume I'm talking about God?" Just as I talk about "truth," I'm talking about universal truth, not spiritual or divine truth.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Faber est suæ quisque fortunæ
Currently in Earphones: Conan the Barbarian Soundtrack by Basil Poledouris
I'm still here, just dealing with my lovey being quite a long way away. I miss her terribly.
First day of classes are today, luckily for me I don't have one until noon. And then, it's my only class of the day. Yay!
My new job at the Drama Dept. is going swimmingly. It's fun to work the carpentry shop and have the raw power of making things from the ground up. It was an interesting experience to have one of my overseers say "We need to make a box of these dimensions with x, y, and z..." and then get right to it. I wasn't yet equipped with the mind set to simply go get materials, cut them to size using the various giant, circular saws in the shop, and assembling them with carpenters glue and staples. There's something very Zen about physical work with your hands, and I found the majority of what I was doing quite calming.
Nothing much happening yet, and still getting back into the ol' school groove. I'll post more as my classes start up.
Enough. More Later,
- James
I'm still here, just dealing with my lovey being quite a long way away. I miss her terribly.
First day of classes are today, luckily for me I don't have one until noon. And then, it's my only class of the day. Yay!
My new job at the Drama Dept. is going swimmingly. It's fun to work the carpentry shop and have the raw power of making things from the ground up. It was an interesting experience to have one of my overseers say "We need to make a box of these dimensions with x, y, and z..." and then get right to it. I wasn't yet equipped with the mind set to simply go get materials, cut them to size using the various giant, circular saws in the shop, and assembling them with carpenters glue and staples. There's something very Zen about physical work with your hands, and I found the majority of what I was doing quite calming.
Nothing much happening yet, and still getting back into the ol' school groove. I'll post more as my classes start up.
Enough. More Later,
- James
Monday, September 18, 2006
Alea iacta est
Currently in Earphones: "Burning the Past" by Harry Gregson-Williams, from the Kingdom of Heaven Soundtrack
Ave Regina cælorum,
Ave Domina Angelorum:
Salve radix, salve porta,
Ex qua mundo lux est orta.
..Vale, o valde decora...
Hail, Queen of the heavens,
Hail, Lady of the Angels:
Hail, root, Hail, portal,
From whom Light has shone to (my) world...
...Farewell, o most beautiful (one)...
Enough, more later,
- James
Ave Regina cælorum,
Ave Domina Angelorum:
Salve radix, salve porta,
Ex qua mundo lux est orta.
..Vale, o valde decora...
Hail, Queen of the heavens,
Hail, Lady of the Angels:
Hail, root, Hail, portal,
From whom Light has shone to (my) world...
...Farewell, o most beautiful (one)...
Enough, more later,
- James
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
::CRASH::....I'm.....OK!!!!!!
Currently in Earphones: The Fellowship of the Ring, The Complete Recordings by Howard Shore.
So, the biggest news so far is my recent incident with a car and a bicycle. I was riding along 5th street after having lunch with Anja on the 26th, and I came to the intersection of 5th and Howard. The light being green and the walk sign on, I thought little of any oncoming cars, and indeed, there were none save one. There was a car traveling up Howard, perpendicular to me, and was making a right turn. I was on the left side of the street, and the car was going to turn across my path and continue in the direction that I came. The car appeared to be slowing down, so I sped up to make the light. As I approached the intersection, I noticed the car wasn't slowing down as fast as I had originally thought. "No problem," I thought, "I'll probably pass in front of it as it slows down before the turn." Only as I entered the intersection, and in the split second that I turned my head to watch the car come up beside me, that I realized the lady (as it happened to be) was still maintaining a good clip.
As this thought travels through my head, the front half of my bike (and my body) just squeeze by the front of the oncoming vehicle before the left side of her front bumper connects with my rear wheel. The bike flies out from under me, sliding down and to the right, while I fly (briefly) through the air and land on my left side, arms outstretched, and skid across the pavement, ending up belly-down about 7 feet from the car. I immediately do a damage check, surprisingly little damage on my right arm, some small abrasions on my right elbow. Nothing on my left arm, but I catch sight of a nasty scrape beginning above my left elbow juuuuust visible on the inside of my arm. That looks to be the worst of it, my right leg is unscathed, midsection is fine, my left leg has some odd scrapes around my sock level, and my left thigh is hurting from where I landed on my wallet. I stagger up and the lady gets out, with an immediate "Are you alright?" I reply wryly, "I'm wondering how my bike is doing."
No broken bones are apparent, but my left side is all sore and the scrape is beginning to sting through the adrenaline. The woman offers to clean off my wound, which I thankfully accept. She's calm and competent, a reflection of things to come. After swabbing my wound with an antiseptic wet wipe, she offers to patch me up, stating that she works just down the street. That happens to be on campus, and I wonder where exactly that might be at the location I'm at. My bike is similar to myself, some good whacks and bangs, but surprisingly intact. The front fork and my handlebars were out of whack; the front tire and the bars pointed in radically different directions. The chain had jumped both sets of gears but was intact. A hunk of plastic was taken out of my brake grip housing, but the grip and cable still functioned. The frame was still intact, but the worst of the damage was a bent back wheel, enough to hinder the rotation.
The lady mentioned her place of work as Hickey Gym, not too far from where we stood. Though she offered to take my bike for me, I played the usual guy and declined, choosing to limp onward with a bike that would no longer roll smoothly. Using the last of my adrenaline, I hefted the frame in my right hand and cradled my damaged left arm, setting out for the Gym. It's a short walk, but the bike got heavier as I went, and I was grateful to be able to put it down and lock it up. The woman led me to a small clinic on the first floor of Hickey, and it looked to be some sort of sports medicine/injury set up; lots of padded, long tables for people to stretch out on.
She had me sit down and immediately set to work, getting out gauze pads, antibiotic gel, numerous wraps and what I at first mistook for Iodine (eek!), but which the woman identifies as betadine (or some such), evidently not nearly as sting-y. Still suffering from the male syndrome and feeling cavalier (as there are some females in the room), I decided to belt out some Silly Wizard to distract myself from the pain of the wound cleaning. I don't know if I impressed anyone, but either the betadines mildness or my distraction was sufficient: the cleaning went without incident. She then slathered on a bunch of antibiotic, taped some gauze pads over the wound, and wrapped that further with some stretchy materiel and finally a bag of ice. Noticing my penchance for sweating profusely at nearly any exertion, the lady did ask concernedly if I was feeling faint, which luckily was not the case.
My innocent assailant and now helpful Samaritan helped me outside, and it was here that I finally got a cohesive whole of her character. I took comfort in our similarities that we both remained calm and cool in the face of the accident, an aspect indicative of her occupation as medic. While her stoic nature occluded any large emotion, I could still see her feelings of guilt and desire to make things as well as possible. I awkwardly conversed on the topic of my bike, hanging between thankfulness at the circumstances of my accident (her helpfulness and the luck of place and profession) and desire for just reparations. In the end, I accepted her offer to drive my bike to the shop and submit it for repairs. She naturally offered to pay for the repair, which I gratefully accept. After the shop, she then drove me home, and gave me some last notes and pointers for taking care of myself.
I've been doing fairly well since. My leg is mostly better while my arm remains sore and my scrape (which not only starts on the inside of my arm, but curves around toward the back) looks to take some time to heal. I am eternally grateful to have gotten out like I did and to have someone as kind, helpful, and opportune as that lady fulfill such an unfortunate role.
In other news, I got the Special Edition (or Extended Unrated, depending on what side of the box you read) of Enemy of the State to stave off boredom. Now, I won't go too much into how I thought of it, I'll only say that there's enough extra footage to almost garner an "Extended" in it's title, but I'd argue that "Special Edition" fits it better.
What's the difference, you ask? So glad you have done so...Here are the myriad titles given to DVDs.
DVD has become a fantastic medium for the Directors Cut. Now, the Directors Cut (referred to as "DC' from here on out) is an old form. As many of you may or may not know, the director does not get the final say in what form his film goes out to theaters. There are executives in the company funding the film that also get a say in what does and does not make it into the final cut. Some reasons are financial; they want the movie shorter so they can show it more often, some reasons my be personal or opinion oriented, but what you see in the theater sometimes isn't what the director intended you to see. Hence, the idea of a "Directors Cut:" the preferred edit of the film put together by the director without any outside influence. If directors are famous or lucky or what have you, it used to be that such cuts would be cleaned and released to the public, either in theaters or direct to video. With the advent of the medium of DVD, such cuts are easier to put together and release, and thus have they proliferated.
The DC is usually characterized by inclusions of small moments, entire scenes, and even whole plot points put back into the film, sometimes altering huge portions of the story in favor of the directors vision. The most recent example of a drastic and welcome DC was Ridley Scott's Kingdom of Heaven 4-disc set. In this case, there were many rumors beforehand that the original cut of the movie had been mercilessly edited by the studio executives and left a shell of it's former self. While this theatrical release did only middling well, word got out of the longer, better cut existing and perhaps being released. Sure enough, some time later the DC was released to large critical acclaim, though the lack of a proper theater run for it left its supporters mostly in the internet crowd. The Kingdom of Heaven DC is a near completely different movie, with large sub-plots included, numerous scenes that fully flesh out characters and more. From an opinionated standpoint, I would argue that this DC rivals even that of Scott's acclaimed Gladiator in terms of how good a film it is, but that is for you to decide on your own.
Speaking of Gladiator, that brings me to the form of an Extended Edition. An extended cut can have all the same attributes as a DC, but the noticeable difference is that it may or may not be approved by the director. As Ridley Scott mentions in his introduction to the Extended Edition of Gladiator:
"This is not the directors cut, the directors cut is the length that went out in theaters, the one that you've already seen, probably. This has a lot of scenes in it that were removed during the editing process and might be worth seeing."
An Extended cut with the approval of the director is usually a fun foray out, a gift to fans and movie-philes or an experiment, but not necessarily what the director intended. The Lord of the Rings trilogy is also a fine example of the Extended Edition. Peter Jackson and crew were perfectly fine with the theatrical cuts of each of the movies, but they put together extended cuts to see their other ideas breathe, and to allow people to see more of what they had up their sleeves.
An Extended cut without the directors approval usually is no different, though sometimes a cut can be released that is "extended" in that it has more scenes and such, but said cut was never put together by the original director. Who exactly does the cut isn't usually public knowledge, but if a director divorces him or herself from the cut, their name is removed from the directing credit and sometimes is replaced with "Alan Smithee," and anonymous penname that serves as a placeholder and flag that the director had nothing to do it. The recent release of the 1983 Dune in extended form is an example of this.
Then, at the bottom of the heap, we have the Unrated Edition. These cuts have very little changed in them, save for more blood, gore, violence, nudity, sexual situations and/or explicit language than the original cut. That's it. The only point is to re-introduce a movie that got heavily censored by the MPAA, usually to meet requirements for a certain rating. I have mixed feelings about Unrated editions, as they are usually released seemingly to garner more money for the studio than to show something different. However, there are good reasons to release Unrated editions. The only example I can think of was when the gory, unforgiving Alien and Predator series combined to produce the rather tame (in comparison) AVP. The unrated cut was more or less a boon to the gorehounds who loved the previous incarnations of the franchises.
There's also the weasel-y Extended Unrated Edition, which at base should be a combination of the last two types. More often than not, the studios (or whoever puts them together) include juuuuust enough extra scenes or footage to earn an "extended" on it's title, which makes the rather simple "unrated" version seem better by a longer name. There can be good extended, unrated cuts, and the recent release of Enemy of the State satisfies my definition of both titles.
Finally, there's the Special Edition, which may or may not have an altered cut, but is sure to include more extras than the standard release. Like the previously mentioned, the extras can be paltry or plentiful, depending on the decisions and resources of the studio putting it out.
So, there you have it. I hope this clears up any confusion you may have the next time you go out to buy a DVD.
I'll be at the SF Ren Faire this weekend, and I'm greatly looking forward to it and spending time with my Anja.
Enough, More Later.
- James
So, the biggest news so far is my recent incident with a car and a bicycle. I was riding along 5th street after having lunch with Anja on the 26th, and I came to the intersection of 5th and Howard. The light being green and the walk sign on, I thought little of any oncoming cars, and indeed, there were none save one. There was a car traveling up Howard, perpendicular to me, and was making a right turn. I was on the left side of the street, and the car was going to turn across my path and continue in the direction that I came. The car appeared to be slowing down, so I sped up to make the light. As I approached the intersection, I noticed the car wasn't slowing down as fast as I had originally thought. "No problem," I thought, "I'll probably pass in front of it as it slows down before the turn." Only as I entered the intersection, and in the split second that I turned my head to watch the car come up beside me, that I realized the lady (as it happened to be) was still maintaining a good clip.
As this thought travels through my head, the front half of my bike (and my body) just squeeze by the front of the oncoming vehicle before the left side of her front bumper connects with my rear wheel. The bike flies out from under me, sliding down and to the right, while I fly (briefly) through the air and land on my left side, arms outstretched, and skid across the pavement, ending up belly-down about 7 feet from the car. I immediately do a damage check, surprisingly little damage on my right arm, some small abrasions on my right elbow. Nothing on my left arm, but I catch sight of a nasty scrape beginning above my left elbow juuuuust visible on the inside of my arm. That looks to be the worst of it, my right leg is unscathed, midsection is fine, my left leg has some odd scrapes around my sock level, and my left thigh is hurting from where I landed on my wallet. I stagger up and the lady gets out, with an immediate "Are you alright?" I reply wryly, "I'm wondering how my bike is doing."
No broken bones are apparent, but my left side is all sore and the scrape is beginning to sting through the adrenaline. The woman offers to clean off my wound, which I thankfully accept. She's calm and competent, a reflection of things to come. After swabbing my wound with an antiseptic wet wipe, she offers to patch me up, stating that she works just down the street. That happens to be on campus, and I wonder where exactly that might be at the location I'm at. My bike is similar to myself, some good whacks and bangs, but surprisingly intact. The front fork and my handlebars were out of whack; the front tire and the bars pointed in radically different directions. The chain had jumped both sets of gears but was intact. A hunk of plastic was taken out of my brake grip housing, but the grip and cable still functioned. The frame was still intact, but the worst of the damage was a bent back wheel, enough to hinder the rotation.
The lady mentioned her place of work as Hickey Gym, not too far from where we stood. Though she offered to take my bike for me, I played the usual guy and declined, choosing to limp onward with a bike that would no longer roll smoothly. Using the last of my adrenaline, I hefted the frame in my right hand and cradled my damaged left arm, setting out for the Gym. It's a short walk, but the bike got heavier as I went, and I was grateful to be able to put it down and lock it up. The woman led me to a small clinic on the first floor of Hickey, and it looked to be some sort of sports medicine/injury set up; lots of padded, long tables for people to stretch out on.
She had me sit down and immediately set to work, getting out gauze pads, antibiotic gel, numerous wraps and what I at first mistook for Iodine (eek!), but which the woman identifies as betadine (or some such), evidently not nearly as sting-y. Still suffering from the male syndrome and feeling cavalier (as there are some females in the room), I decided to belt out some Silly Wizard to distract myself from the pain of the wound cleaning. I don't know if I impressed anyone, but either the betadines mildness or my distraction was sufficient: the cleaning went without incident. She then slathered on a bunch of antibiotic, taped some gauze pads over the wound, and wrapped that further with some stretchy materiel and finally a bag of ice. Noticing my penchance for sweating profusely at nearly any exertion, the lady did ask concernedly if I was feeling faint, which luckily was not the case.
My innocent assailant and now helpful Samaritan helped me outside, and it was here that I finally got a cohesive whole of her character. I took comfort in our similarities that we both remained calm and cool in the face of the accident, an aspect indicative of her occupation as medic. While her stoic nature occluded any large emotion, I could still see her feelings of guilt and desire to make things as well as possible. I awkwardly conversed on the topic of my bike, hanging between thankfulness at the circumstances of my accident (her helpfulness and the luck of place and profession) and desire for just reparations. In the end, I accepted her offer to drive my bike to the shop and submit it for repairs. She naturally offered to pay for the repair, which I gratefully accept. After the shop, she then drove me home, and gave me some last notes and pointers for taking care of myself.
I've been doing fairly well since. My leg is mostly better while my arm remains sore and my scrape (which not only starts on the inside of my arm, but curves around toward the back) looks to take some time to heal. I am eternally grateful to have gotten out like I did and to have someone as kind, helpful, and opportune as that lady fulfill such an unfortunate role.
In other news, I got the Special Edition (or Extended Unrated, depending on what side of the box you read) of Enemy of the State to stave off boredom. Now, I won't go too much into how I thought of it, I'll only say that there's enough extra footage to almost garner an "Extended" in it's title, but I'd argue that "Special Edition" fits it better.
What's the difference, you ask? So glad you have done so...Here are the myriad titles given to DVDs.
DVD has become a fantastic medium for the Directors Cut. Now, the Directors Cut (referred to as "DC' from here on out) is an old form. As many of you may or may not know, the director does not get the final say in what form his film goes out to theaters. There are executives in the company funding the film that also get a say in what does and does not make it into the final cut. Some reasons are financial; they want the movie shorter so they can show it more often, some reasons my be personal or opinion oriented, but what you see in the theater sometimes isn't what the director intended you to see. Hence, the idea of a "Directors Cut:" the preferred edit of the film put together by the director without any outside influence. If directors are famous or lucky or what have you, it used to be that such cuts would be cleaned and released to the public, either in theaters or direct to video. With the advent of the medium of DVD, such cuts are easier to put together and release, and thus have they proliferated.
The DC is usually characterized by inclusions of small moments, entire scenes, and even whole plot points put back into the film, sometimes altering huge portions of the story in favor of the directors vision. The most recent example of a drastic and welcome DC was Ridley Scott's Kingdom of Heaven 4-disc set. In this case, there were many rumors beforehand that the original cut of the movie had been mercilessly edited by the studio executives and left a shell of it's former self. While this theatrical release did only middling well, word got out of the longer, better cut existing and perhaps being released. Sure enough, some time later the DC was released to large critical acclaim, though the lack of a proper theater run for it left its supporters mostly in the internet crowd. The Kingdom of Heaven DC is a near completely different movie, with large sub-plots included, numerous scenes that fully flesh out characters and more. From an opinionated standpoint, I would argue that this DC rivals even that of Scott's acclaimed Gladiator in terms of how good a film it is, but that is for you to decide on your own.
Speaking of Gladiator, that brings me to the form of an Extended Edition. An extended cut can have all the same attributes as a DC, but the noticeable difference is that it may or may not be approved by the director. As Ridley Scott mentions in his introduction to the Extended Edition of Gladiator:
"This is not the directors cut, the directors cut is the length that went out in theaters, the one that you've already seen, probably. This has a lot of scenes in it that were removed during the editing process and might be worth seeing."
An Extended cut with the approval of the director is usually a fun foray out, a gift to fans and movie-philes or an experiment, but not necessarily what the director intended. The Lord of the Rings trilogy is also a fine example of the Extended Edition. Peter Jackson and crew were perfectly fine with the theatrical cuts of each of the movies, but they put together extended cuts to see their other ideas breathe, and to allow people to see more of what they had up their sleeves.
An Extended cut without the directors approval usually is no different, though sometimes a cut can be released that is "extended" in that it has more scenes and such, but said cut was never put together by the original director. Who exactly does the cut isn't usually public knowledge, but if a director divorces him or herself from the cut, their name is removed from the directing credit and sometimes is replaced with "Alan Smithee," and anonymous penname that serves as a placeholder and flag that the director had nothing to do it. The recent release of the 1983 Dune in extended form is an example of this.
Then, at the bottom of the heap, we have the Unrated Edition. These cuts have very little changed in them, save for more blood, gore, violence, nudity, sexual situations and/or explicit language than the original cut. That's it. The only point is to re-introduce a movie that got heavily censored by the MPAA, usually to meet requirements for a certain rating. I have mixed feelings about Unrated editions, as they are usually released seemingly to garner more money for the studio than to show something different. However, there are good reasons to release Unrated editions. The only example I can think of was when the gory, unforgiving Alien and Predator series combined to produce the rather tame (in comparison) AVP. The unrated cut was more or less a boon to the gorehounds who loved the previous incarnations of the franchises.
There's also the weasel-y Extended Unrated Edition, which at base should be a combination of the last two types. More often than not, the studios (or whoever puts them together) include juuuuust enough extra scenes or footage to earn an "extended" on it's title, which makes the rather simple "unrated" version seem better by a longer name. There can be good extended, unrated cuts, and the recent release of Enemy of the State satisfies my definition of both titles.
Finally, there's the Special Edition, which may or may not have an altered cut, but is sure to include more extras than the standard release. Like the previously mentioned, the extras can be paltry or plentiful, depending on the decisions and resources of the studio putting it out.
So, there you have it. I hope this clears up any confusion you may have the next time you go out to buy a DVD.
I'll be at the SF Ren Faire this weekend, and I'm greatly looking forward to it and spending time with my Anja.
Enough, More Later.
- James
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