Ok, HERE’S a damn fine mash up video. Don’t drink anything, there are moments that catch you off guard.
Month: February 2008
Non Timetis Messor.
I finally had this Paul Kidby print that Sweets gave me for Christmas framed. It’s of Death from Terry Pratchett’s Discworld series of books, and it’s more or less Death’s coat-of-arms, and the print is signed and numbered. I had it double matted with black and indigo (to match the colors in Death’s cloak), and the frame is antiqued black with a scrolling pattern with the raised areas worn to reveal a dark red/brown color beneath.
The banner up top reads “Tempus Fugit” (Time Flies) and the banner down below reads “Non Timetis Messor” (Don’t Fear the Reaper).
Skeewats!
So, I’m about to begin my last set of squats… sumo squats. I’m standing there with the bar across my shoulders, feet spread as far as the rack will let me go. My legs having been already rendered near to jelly by a really good workout, and I’m wondering if I’ll make all the reps — or puss out a few shy of completion, when all of a sudden my iPod ticks over to Avenged Sevenfold: Bat Country. The lead guitar rumbles out a chord that sounds like a Harley reaching critical mass as it plummets off a cliff, and the singer growls at me…
“He who makes a beast out of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man!”
“Jesus… fuck!” I say as I start to dip into the squats, my body responding to the heavy, fast bass and drum line that follows. My brain had nothing to do with it, it sat there useless, whining about how tired the body seemed to be. I snapped out a few reps above and beyond what my goal was.
The music can make the difference, and put you in the right frame of mind — even for a few minutes. Grant you, I don’t listen to what GonzO does when he works out… the kind of music that eats guitars and shits pure evil. But I have some nicely fast paced, serious rhythm stuff in my arsenal. Bat Country does it for me every time, and it has the side benefit of being (more or less) a tribute to Hunter S. Thompson — the weirdest sonofabitch to come out of modern American journalism. The song is a nod to the book Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, which opens with the same quote as the song, and does a pretty good job or representing the chaotic, drug induced roller coaster trip that propels the book.
And on that note, I’m going to drag myself along the carpet and get some dinner. My legs seem to be experiencing technical difficulties.
Foreign Stupidity For Our Amusement.
Holy crap, I damn near blew an o-ring, I was laughing so hard while watching THIS VIDEO. You must watch it with when you can hear the audio, and despite the fact it’s in Japanese… the music, the crowd reaction and intensity of their voices makes all the difference.
The last two dudes on the red team just about did me in.
Thanks Dooce.
Delayed Reaction.
Ok, this may be too late — nigh ought two and a half years too late — but it is still worth a read. Likely some of you have read this, and you’ll have a nice smile at reading it again. Likely some of you haven’t read this, and it ought to make you feel like I did, having just read it for the first time… I laughed, it warmed my heart, I nodded in complete agreement the whole time, and it made me terribly homesick all at the same time. And for those of you not natively from South Louisiana, this ought to give you fantastic insight in us, your friends from that hot, sticky, wonderful part of the States (and that goes double for you, Sweets, seeing as you’re starting from a whole different part of the world).
Enjoy.
Dear America,
I suppose we should introduce ourselves: We’re South Louisiana.
We have arrived on your doorstep on short notice and we apologize for that, but we never were much for waiting around for invitations. We’re not much on formalities like that.
And we might be staying around your town for a while, enrolling in your schools and looking for jobs, so we wanted to tell you a few things about us. We know you didn’t ask for this and neither did we, so we’re just going to have to make the best of it.
First of all, we thank you. For your money, your water, your food, your prayers, your boats and buses and the men and women of your National Guards, fire departments, hospitals and everyone else who has come to our rescue.
We’re a fiercely proud and independent people, and we don’t cotton much to outside interference, but we’re not ashamed to accept help when we need it. And right now, we need it.
Just don’t get carried away. For instance, once we get around to fishing again, don’t try to tell us what kind of lures work best in your waters.
We’re not going to listen. We’re stubborn that way.
You probably already know that we talk funny and listen to strange music and eat things you’d probably hire an exterminator to get out of your yard.
We dance even if there’s no radio. We drink at funerals. We talk too much and laugh too loud and live too large and, frankly, we’re suspicious of others who don’t.
But we’ll try not to judge you while we’re in your town.
Everybody loves their home, we know that. But we love South Louisiana with a ferocity that borders on the pathological. Sometimes we bury our dead in LSU sweatshirts.
Often we don’t make sense. You may wonder why, for instance — if we could only carry one small bag of belongings with us on our journey to your state — why in God’s name did we bring a pair of shrimp boots?
We can’t really explain that. It is what it is.
You’ve probably heard that many of us stayed behind. As bad as it is, many of us cannot fathom a life outside of our border, out in that place we call Elsewhere.
The only way you could understand that is if you have been there, and so many of you have. So you realize that when you strip away all the craziness and bars and parades and music and architecture and all that hooey, really, the best thing about where we come from is us.
We are what made this place a national treasure. We’re good people. And don’t be afraid to ask us how to pronounce our names. It happens all the time.
When you meet us now and you look into our eyes, you will see the saddest story ever told. Our hearts are broken into a thousand pieces.
But don’t pity us. We’re gonna make it. We’re resilient. After all, we’ve been rooting for the Saints for 35 years. That’s got to count for something.
OK, maybe something else you should know is that we make jokes at inappropriate times.
But what the hell.
And one more thing: In our part of the country, we’re used to having visitors. It’s our way of life.
So when all this is over and we move back home, we will repay to you the hospitality and generosity of spirit you offer to us in this season of our despair.
That is our promise. That is our faith.
Aberystwyth Bound — Part 8.
Huzzah! These are the final journal entries. Life can go on now.
Journal Entry — September 21st: The National Library of Wales
Friday found us completely ignoring the alarm (the first time we set it all week, too) until the last minute. Had showers all around (and the absolute coldest shower I’ve ever has… these folks don’t fuck around when it comes to cold water) and then a walk into town for lunch at the Varsity.
After lunch we made an impressive uphill hike to the National Library of Wales to visit Sweet’s work friends, and to be shown off too. Really nice folks, Sam especially — she’s loud, forward, unashamed and would fit in quite nicely with the rest of the tribe back home. Had coffee, caught our breath and started for home.
Worked our way through back-paths and strange pathways, had some nice quiet times along the walk and crossed through a churchyard… complete with a cemetery. Took some pictures of the headstones (purely for research, of course).
Here I am, back at the house, catching up on days of missed journal entries and making my hand hurt. Blech, I need to keep up with this nonsense.
Journal Entry — September 22nd: Ceredigion Museum
We slept in Saturday, then made our way into town for some lunch. After eating we went to the Ceredigion Museum. Fun and fascinating local history… learned that parts of Aberystwyth didn’t have electricity till the 1950’s and later.
Made our way back home and relaxed with the gang. Watched O Brother, Where Art Thou, and realized that the old-tyme deep south accent was as bad if not worse to understand than the thick Welsh accent.
Journal Entry — September 23rd: Homeward Bound
Turned in early… yeah, right! Woke up early, though, and Andrew drove us the three hours to the Manchester airport on Sunday so Sweets and I could have some more time together. Spent a long time on little winding country roads and got to watch the sun rising over the mountains. It was beautiful countryside and definitely a trip back to an older portion of the world, a place with more history and heritage than I’ll ever know.
Spent ages saying goodbye at the airport, and I damn well didn’t want to leave — I miss Sweets something fierce! Breezed through security (after a “meh” full English breakfast in the airport), made the gate with time to spare and the plan took off on time.
Had an uneventful flight, and coach seating wasn’t horrible. Was fed and watered lots, watched movies, etc. Made it to Atlanta OK, cleared customs, had a bite to eat and got some coffee. Made my gate with time to spare. Scant minutes before boarding I hear the announcement about a mechanical delay.
Fuck Delta. Fuck the Atlanta airport. I’m tired of this shit, man! So here I wait.
Flight finally took off, late of course. The flight between Atlanta and Austin was the roughest stretch of the entire trip, and the crosswinds in Austin were so bad that the plane was coming in at an angle. Bounced once, twice and then settled down onto the runway… not too bad considering how briskly the air around us was moving.
Home at last. Alone. That’s the part that sucks. A piece of me is still 5000 miles away. I miss that girl more than I can ever put into words, and I love her so much, that my heart is fit to bust it’s so full.
Aberystwyth Bound — Part 7.
So, um, yeah. I think I should likely finish this account of my trip before I make the next one in June. We’re nearing the end folks, bear with me.
Consider this a peek into how my OC brain works… I simply must finish this up before I allow myself to progress forward with new posts, I have a lot to talk about, such as my hunt for a house of my own in Austin. So, here we go. Likely only one more post after this one.
Journal Entry — September 19th: Postcard-O-Rama
Wednesday we really did a good job of sleeping in. We showered, bundled up and started out walk into town in the rain. I optimistically brought out my travel umbrella, and ten minutes later folded it’s battered body back up and resigned myself to walking in the gentle rain. Regular umbrellas, much less small travel ones, are not up to the task of surviving the Welsh wind. Fortunately the rain wasn’t so bad the my jacket wasn’t enough to hold it off.
We made our way to Jackabouts, a pancake restaurant of sorts. English pancakes are closer to crêpes in texture and thickness, and what I’m used to — American style — are sweeter, thicker ones. The menu offered a Scotch breakfast — two Scotch pancakes (closer to the American variety of silver-dollar pancakes), scrambled eggs, a sausage patty and sautéed mushrooms.
After eating I sat and wrote out all of the postcards I had for everyone. Damn, I hate writing longhand… which is why I spend so much time writing in this damned book. Sweets, ever so polite, didn’t point out that she was bored out of her skull watching me. After what seemed like an eternity, I finally wrapped up and we went to the post office for postage, and to drop them in the mail.
Returned home, relaxed and visited with everyone. Ate dinner at home (shock!) and eventually we found our way to bed.
Journal Entry — September 20th: Devil’s Bridge
Thursday we planned a trip to Devil’s Bridge, a journey taken by steam train. Walked to the station, stopping to pick up snack and sammich fixins for the trip. The train, while smaller than I was originally expecting, was still pretty cool. We climbed aboard and the trip began.
The train was bumpy, noisy, and utterly fantastic. Lots of beautiful countryside and sheep (again… shock!) along the way. After an hour we made it to Devil’s Bridge, disembarked and had an hour to go exploring. Had a peek at the three generations of bridges built one on top of another, the oldest dating back to around 1200 AD.
My inner tourist came out again as we then started down the path. It takes a lot of effort not to inadvertently kill yourself on the path, made mostly of stones and slate (or slate-like stone). The hand rails were our friends! Took pictures of the waterfall and valley along the way.
We stopped and turned around when we reached the steps that came with a disclaimer — basically “proceed at your own risk, moron”. Yeah, very narrow and shallow treads with an amazingly tall riser height… and rails placed across the path every 60′ or so to stop the falling and tumbling idiots who lost their footing. No thanks, I like my skull the shape it is right now.
Climbed back up the path (ugh!), sweating and puffing the entire way. But we had ice-cream at the top, so there’s a happy trade-off! Made the train with time to spare, and we started back home. I managed to only nod off a few times — the bumping and swaying of the train was rocking me blissfully to sleep.
After returning to the station we started back home with a quick stop-off at the grocery to pick up dinner and provisions. Made it home, relaxed and visited a bit, ate dinner and relaxed some more. Played some Cell Damage on the X-Box… did horribly but had fun all the same. We retired to the room and watched some Black Adder before bed.