Author: DmentD

Fire Men.

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It’s always mildly disconcerting to be about to lay down for bed and hear the sound of a large vehicle’s air-brakes bringing it to a halt outside your window, then you look through the blinds only to see a firetruck parked there.

Suddenly, the nice men in their turnout gear had my full attention.  If my building was on fire, I’d kinda like to know about it.

They weren’t in a hurry, and they didn’t have their sirens a-blazing, but they were there.  Flashlights in hand they explored the breezeway on my side of building 4, and then went to the other side where it looks as if they were met by a woman and her dog.  They disappeared over there for about five minutes.  They then leisurely walked back to the truck, got in and disembarked.  The guy in the front passenger seat spotted me on my patio watching them, and gave me a half hearted wave.

I have absolutely no clue what the hell that was all about, but needless to say it was strange, and a little surreal.  As I was walking back to the bedroom, I knew in my heart of hearts I had to pause to blog about this.

Fuck.  I need to find a house to buy.  I’m very tired of living with the possibility that the residents of 15 other apartments could possibly burn my home to the ground.  I don’t like those odds, and frankly, I don’t trust that most of these chuckleheads could pour water out of a boot if the instructions were written on the heel, much less be completely focused on day-to-day common sense and safety.  All it takes is one asshole to leave a candle burning somewhere, or decide it’s perfectly ok to smoke in bed so long as the windows are open.

If I burn a house of my own to the ground, I have nobody to blame but myself.  I wouldn’t be rolling the dice with a mob of lowest common denominators.

*sigh*

*** ADDENDUM ***

During the next hour a number of Austin Energy (the local power company) trucks came and went through my parking lot.

Curious.

And then around 1AM I was woken from a dead sleep by the sound of chainsaws.  They went on for a number of hours, continually waking me on and off.  This morning there was a tree-service company disposing of lots of large branches.

I can only surmise that a tree was rubbing on a power line to the building and causing some trouble, specifically something that may have caused some sparks; hence the firetruck, power company and tree-service company.

I is tired.

Pratchett-isms, And WTF.

DmentD

It’s no secret that I’m a fan of Terry Pratchett’s Discworld series.  It has evolved and grown beyond just a mere collection of books, and into a realm that commands as rabid — if not more, and politely so — a fan base that the Harry Potter series.  It’s been around longer, requires no particular reading order to enjoy, and boasts such a wide variety of amusing characters that while you may not like all of them, I guarantee you’ll find a quite a number of them that you do (and generally, they character subsets switch around from book to book so you’re not inundated with a bazillion characters at once).  And having just said that you can just pick up at any book and read, it’s nice to start at the beginning and work your way through, as it’s nice to watch the characters evolve and become quite well rounded indeed.

Been re-reading a few of the earlier books, very purposefully, to gain a sense on how far some of the characters come in their growth.  Stumbled across a few quotes (of many) that struck me as worth repeating.  The first is from Granny Weatherwax in Equal Rites, and while short, speaks volumes and mirrors a small splinter of my personal philosophy:

“They say a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, but it is not one half so bad as a lot of ignorance.“

The second is from Reaper Man, and made me giggle for about a minute solid, while riding a recumbent bike in the gym, surrounded by sweaty people who seemed to have left their sense of humor in their lockers.  The context you need to understand this quote is this: it is between two wizards on the staff of Unseen University (a college of sorts for wizards of the stuffy, elitist, six-meal-a-day and do not much else type), and the Librarian is an orangutan who once was a human, was changed by an unfortunate accident, and refuses to be changed back as it suits his particular vocation.  He also communicates (quite clearly somehow) with a vocabulary that mainly consists of the word “oook“.

“Oook.”
“You? We can’t take you,” said the Dean, glaring at the Librarian. “You don’t know a thing about guerrilla warfare.”
“Oook!” said the Librarian, and made a surprisingly comprehensive gesture to indicate that, on the other hand, what he didn’t know about orangutan warfare could be written on the very small pounded up remains of, for example, the Dean.

And, as a final, completely unrelated note, THIS must be destroyed before it can reach the children! Seriously man, it’s freaking me out.

Non Timetis Messor.

DmentD

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).

Non Timetis MessorNon Timetis MessorNon Timetis Messor

Skeewats!

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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.

Delayed Reaction.

DmentD

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.

– Chris Rose of The Times-Picayune

Aberystwyth Bound — Part 8.

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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.

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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.