An Honorable Death

For many years our people had lived by the sea in relative peace. They farmed and fished while we, the chosen few, handled the occasional minor skirmish that arose with the neighboring Bjorkman Clan of Romans. Our Samurai grew fat and old during this time, and recruits became fewer and fewer. Only the rumors of a strange mountain people far beyond the river kept enough fear in the minds of the people to allow us to continue the old ways of the Ninja. The Shogun was pleased with our methods, and we were allowed to live and train amongst the ruins of the old hill fortress.

But then things changed. A new clan appeared and began constructing a fortress along the river. It was massive. It threatened our farmlands along the river. It threatened the Bjorkman Clan's access to the northern lake. It threatened the foothills of the mountains. As the fortress neared completion a banner was raised on it ramparts emblazoned with the letter "P" and a star. Sentries with muskets, robots, and an elf with a bow were seen patrolling the walls. All emissaries to the fortress were fired on. This was unacceptable. Soon messengers came to offer an alliance with the Bjorkman Clan. Strange men came from the mountains representing "Thurstan." These negotiations did not go well. Thurstan and Bjorkman did not respect our people and they mocked our traditions. They saw our ways as old and slow. It required great humility to hold the alliance together. We could not defeat the fortress alone.

There was much discussion on tactics. The other clans wanted to hold back, attack from afar, and settle into a longer siege. This is not how our people wage war. Shogun Rover thought it best to send the Ninja at night to kill the enemy in their sleep, and end the war before it began. The other clans did not agree and distrust grew. While the debate raged the Samurai grew strong and numerous once again. During this time ships appeared on the horizon, the English had come to trade again. With them came Sir Hawthorne, The Black Knight. In his country there were many large fortresses, and he had waged many battles against them. He united the alliance, and while he didn't fully understand the ways of our people, under his leadership we felt that the war could be won. His battle plan was simple, and respected all of the clans. The others would hold back and fire from afar, while Rover's Samurai and Hawthorne would charge the fortress gate. The Ninja would be held in reserve.

The day of the battle dawned, and the plan unfolded. Secret Krav Maga Agents descended from the mountains into the foothills at night. Early in the morning Bjorkman's Roman Archers were deployed on the plane by the northern lake. Almost in unison the Archers and the Agents opened fire on the fortress. Only the elf manned the ramparts, but he exacted a deadly toll on the Archers before the Agents cut him down. As he fell, the robots appeared on the looming walls of the fortress. Sir Hawthorne deployed the Samurai to assault the gate. A third of them were cut down as they crossed the river. The remainder charged under the shadow of the fortress and began to damage the massive door. Thurstan's Krav Maga continued to fire into the gate over the heads of the Samurai, but they were too far away to do much damage.

The battle looked to be a stalemate. The Archers were not able to inflict as many casualties as they received, and the Krav Maga Agents were killing the defenders on the walls, but were unable to damage the gate. The Samurai alone threatened the integrity of the fortress, but were quickly being cut down by the remaining robots above. At last only one small unit of Samurai remained at the gate. Sir Hawthorne himself ran towards the fortress to bolster the assault, but slain as he crossed the river. Colonial Musketeers appeared beside the robots on the walls and exacted even more harm on the Bjorkman Clan. Without Sir Hawthorne the attack appeared doomed to failure.

It was now, when things appeared darkest, that Shogun Rover remembered his original plan. He came to the Ninja and chose three. Lin, Kenjei, and I were to enter the fortress, slay its inhabitants, and hold it "for the honor of our people." It was a great plan that would be remembered for generations, but it was foolhardy. Alas, the Ninja exist to fight, not to argue. We set out across the plane in eagerness and soon arrived at the base of the fortress unnoticed. The Krav Maga were pushing their attack and large creatures began to appear from the mountains behind them. A lone paratrooper from the Bjorkman Clan had circled the far side of the fortress and was near to joining the Samurai at the main gate when we arrived. The defenders were either feeling bold, or had greatly underestimated the forces outside, because they opened the gate. We three Ninja quickly stole inside and Kenjei closed and barricaded the gate behind us, much to the surprise of the Samurai outside.

The robots had all been destroyed and the ramparts were manned by two Musketeers alone. However, they were able to fill the courtyard below with a hail of shot that required all of our skill and cunning to avoid. Lin quickly flew up a ladder and sliced one of the Musketeers in two. Then came the biggest surprise of the day. Our silent work was interrupted by a loud bang, and the final Musketeer crumpled to the ground. There, atop the rampart, stood Bjorkman's paratrooper, smoking .45 in hand. Somehow he had scaled the outside wall. Lin was the first to react and front flipped over the paratrooper's head while he buried another round into Kenjei's abdomen. The last thing the trooper heard was the tune of my singing Katana. With that the fortress of P Star had fallen.

As we removed the P Star banner it became apparent that betrayal of the alliance was not unique to the Clan of Rover. Our Samurai at the gate were easily slaughtered by by Thurstan's forces and the Krav Maga once again opened fire on the fortress. Lin and I had no ability, or desire, to defend a fortress against the large force outside. The failure of the Samurai to hold the gate sealed not only the fate of the battle, but the fate of our people. The Bjorkman Clan's army was destroyed, and handful of Ninja could do little to hold back Thurstan's forces if he chose to march out of the mountains and enslave our people. Rover's greed was the demise of all. In the end we could not give our people freedom or hope, but we could give them honor.

Recognizing that any attempt to hold the fortress would be idiocy, Lee and I decided to decimate the Krav Maga before the day was out. Prepared, we flung open the gate again, and were shocked to find the Krav Maga lined up on a hill behind and massive troll-like creature wielding a steel claw for a hand. Lee and I charged the beast and eluded its initial blows. I struck first, glancing my Katana off of its leg. I had done no damage. The beast caught me with a quick backhanded blow that sent me flying for yards. As I landed I felt my chest begin to collapse. fighting the coming darkness, I watched Lee thrust her sword towards the beast's chest. It shattered on impact. The beasts steel claw closed about her and crushed her body. All light faded away.

For those of you who weren't there, this is my account of a Heroscape battle that occurred at Protienstar's last night. If he lives up to his end of the bargain, we should have his take on things posted in a few days. That will be interesting because he played poorly, and as a coward.

I'm Back. . .Again

Since proteinstar has yet again demanded a post, here it is. Sorry I haven't been around lately, but things have been a tad busy, and I haven't felt like I have anything to offer. Here's today's dilemma though. Roverine and I are making a commitment to get in better shape over the next few months. Step one was having a goal. We chose the Five Boro Bike Tour in NYC. We are still hammering out a training program, but I was initially concerned with where I would find the time to fit a training program into my already "busy" schedule. Today I came to the realization that I actually have a ton of free time. I just don't manage it very well. I have a whole list of things that I would like to do "if I had the time." Among them are more reading, more exercise (specifically cycling), and more "good husband" time (which equates to more cleaning). So what exactly eats up my free time? Three things. Playstation, TV, and work. It isn't that I work all that much, but I do work a fair amount of bizarre mid-day shifts that eat up all of the daylight hours during the winter. I can't really do much about work (although I am working on a plan). That leaves TV and Playstation. Due to my Formula One obsession, I am unwilling to part with cable TV at this time. Playstation now falls under my crosshairs. Roverine and I use my PS2 almost daily for exercise videos, and we have also discovered the joys of Dance Dance Revoltution. So I think the console will stay, but I may sell off my game collection. Maybe not all of the games, but do I really need four different F1 games, a NASCAR game, rally racing, Gran Turismo 4, and Indy Car? I love my PS2 time, but I am pushing 30. Maybe it is time to move on. I think my life would be much more fulfilling if I found other uses for my time. So help me out here. PS2 games, stay or go?

Baseball, Hot Dogs, Apple Pie, and Toyota.

I seem to have this ongoing and tumultuous relationship with NASCAR. Ideally I would like to be able to say that I love all forms of motorsport, but NASCAR keeps holding me back. I really do have a diverse love for all forms of racing. I can get excited about everything from Formula One to off road rallying to dirt track sprint cars. For some reason I can't get excited about NASCAR. Each season I get all hyped up for the Daytona 500 and all the little races that surround it but then fall into a disillusioned boredom as the season wanes away into a legion of races that all appear to be identical. This season hold little hope of being any different, save one thing. This year, in an attempt to break out from their rural (read redneck) roots, NASCAR has allowed Toyota to enter the sport. This decision has sparked vigorous opposition from some of the established "rural" team owners. A barrage of ethnocentric idiocy has been thrown into the media. The basic argument appears to be that NASCAR is an "American" sport, and Toyota is not an American company. The funny thing is that the people levelling these accusations appear oblivious to the fact that in many facets Toyota makes more cars in the U.S. and employs more American workers than the "American" companies that the accuser represents. The secondary accusation that the established teams make is that Toyota will enter the sport with such a massive budget that they will buy up all of the good talent and build such high tech cars that they will effectively buy championships. This is also funny because, as I understand it, one of the appeals of NASCAR is that the cars are so tightly regulated that they are basically identical, therefore making it impossible to build a "high tech" car. A knowledge of recent history would also serve the NASCAR good old boys well. In 2002 Toyota entered Formula One with much fanfare. Their F1 team has spent an estimated $400 million each season (the largest budget in F1) and have yet to win a single race. That's right, they have invested somewhere around $2 billion into sport with no success for five years.

So it appears that the NASCAR boys have nothing to worry about, or do they? Toyota does have a massive amount of money to spend, and money sometimes leads to championships. Toyota also has a wealth of racing history and experience to draw from. The real concern for the NASCAR establishment has less to do with Toyota itself than it has to do with the idea of Toyota. The doors to the sport have been opened up to new companies, who knows who will come knocking? One company that is at the forefront of my mind is Honda. Honda has a huge market in America and has an even larger rivalry with Honda. Toyota's entry into F1 in 2002 was largely due to a desire to take on Toyota in popular forum. Don't be surprised if Honda decides to return the favor in NASCAR. That could mean serious trouble for the American teams.

While a Honda/Toyota NASCAR rivalry may be a pipe dream, I have found my point of interest for this year's NASCAR season. I want to see Toyota thrash the dickens out of those backwoods NASCAR boys. It probably won't happen this year, but a man can hope,

. . . And That Was Fun.

In High School I once told a Navy recruiter that I thought it would be fun to be a Navy SEAL. He asked me if I liked being wet and cold. I said "No." He told me to pursue other careers. I don't know why, but for some reason that conversation didn't pop into my head back in October when I was recruited for the Law Enforcement Eskimo Plunge. It seemed like a great idea at the time. It was October, almost seventy degrees outside, and the event benefited the Special Olympics. I thought it would be a good way to make up for all of those "short bus" jokes I've made in my life, and how cold could it get in February anyway? To add to the incentive, I would be participating as part of a team that had a designated Fund Raiser who didn't take the plunge, but raised money instead. I was all out of reasons not to go plunging. That was, of course, until last week when I realized that the Eskimo Plunge was no longer in the distant future. My enthusiasm was additionally lessened when I was told that the event location, Harrisburg's City Island, was in question due to "ice flow issues." Ice! I didn't sign up for ice!

At noon today I became painfully aware that our unseasonably warm autumn had turned into a seasonably cold winter. I stood on the northern tip of City Island and shuddered with my three teammates (and McGruff the Crime Dog) as we listened to the ice crackling by us as it flowed downstream. I was already cold and I hadn't even stripped to my swimming trunks yet! Side note: If you ever undertake an Eskimo Plunge, Corona board shorts and a Navy watch cap will not be appropriate attire. A least it was a dry cold, that humid cold really drains you. After groaning and mumbling for a few minutes we all trudged to the section of the "beach" designated for our endeavor and began to disrobe. Apparently we were a tad slow in our preparation because, without warning, a stampede of nut jobs sprinted past us and into the water while hooting and hollering along the way. We timidly began to follow behind, but gradually got caught up in the hoopla as we approached the river. The water was shockingly cold. My legs numbed almost immediately as we charged forward. It really was a bizarre scene, a mass of humanity charging forth to the waterfront, only to experience shock and pain. It was like Melville and Poe had collaborated to create some sort of sadistic tale. As I waded deeper and deeper into the water I felt a thousand ice fragments bumping into my legs. Fortunately, I had been advised to wear shoes on this adventure. As the water passed crotch level, myself and two teammates decided that we would like children to continue to be a future option, and turned back. The fourth team member charged forth, not content until an official in a dry suit turned him back.

Leaving the water, I was beginning to think that things hadn't gone all that bad. I could have stayed in longer (thus the genius of hypothermia)! Then the wind hit me, and the real race began. The three of us charged through the crowd, laughing, as the most extreme cold I had ever felt assaulted my body. Why were we laughing? I have no idea. There was nothing funny going on. As I returned to where Roverine was awaiting with warm clothes she pointed to my legs and cried, "What happened?" My lower body was covered in small trickles of blood, cut by razor sharp ice that I had barely felt. It wasn't just me, three of our team suffered the same fate. The fourth? The one who charged neck deep into the abyss? Unscathed. Fortune favors the bold.

Upon grabbing my clothes we (now down to two) ran for the heated changing tents, only to find them full. This was to our fortune, as we later discovered that the overcrowding had led to a heater igniting the clothes of some poor soul, who escaped uninjured. Instead of waiting in line we chose to hide "behind" an RV to change. I say "behind" because it was only so to humans. To the wind it was "along the way." Naked except for a beach towel, my numb fingers struggled with shoelaces that had frozen as stiff as electrical cable. How I got my trunks off before my shoes I still don't know, but I soon found them frozen to the ground beside my backpack. I eventually managed to get some warm clothes on in a haphazard manner that included an inside-out shirt and unzipped blue jeans. A stranger was kind enough to point out the open fly, but only after mocking my bloodied feet. He later also pointed out that I was eating my napkin along with my hot dog. What would we do without strangers? After getting fully dressed, fed, and filled with hot chocolate the team gathered again to laugh at our stupidity, and make plans for next year's event.

At the end of it all the Eskimo Plunge was exactly the type of adventure I've been yearning for. A few months back I realized that I hadn't had any really good excitement for awhile. A body goes stale if goes without bruises for a time. I needed a good knocking about. like the time I tried to learn to play rugby, or the time it tried to ride my bike down four flights of stairs, or the time I wrestled a Marine. You get the point. Though I dreaded it, and always will dread it, I really enjoyed the Eskimo Plunge and might just make it a yearly event. On with the pictures.

The Team

I hate McGruff the Crime Dog.

The River.

The Ice.

The End (I'm the shirtless guy behind Scary Elvis).

Wating For Audrey.

Last night Roverine and I watched Just My Luck, the latest offering by Lindsay Lohan. I was surprisingly entertained, but still disappointed at the same time. Several years ago I was very impressed by the remake of The Parent Trap that Lindsay starred in. As she aged and burst into the Hollywood spotlight she was touted as the next Anne Margret. I never really liked Anne, but saw in Lindsay the potential for the next Audrey Hepburn. In my opinion Audrey Hepburn was the ultimate movie star, she embodied grace in way that others only aspire to. Granted, Audrey wasn't perfect, but she left us with the feeling that perfection just might be attainable. I wasn't alive when Audrey was in her prime, but I live in the hope that someday another star will rise that oozes class like Audrey did. As I said, several years ago I had hopes that Lindsay Lohan might be that star, but sadly I've sat by and watch as her life has spiralled into a nightmare of drunken parties and drug use. Her acting has suffered because of it. The Parent Trap remains the highlight of her career, which is pretty sad. Granted, she is still young and can turn it around, but I'm not holding my breath. My hopes for the next Audrey Hepburn remain unfulfilled.

In the Formula One world Renault has released their 2007 contender, the R27. You may view it below, but may need to shield your eyes. It looks like a Cadbury's Cream Egg had a bad encounter with Willy Wonka. It's a shame that the color scheme is so bad because they've done some really neat aerodynamic work with the rear view mirrors.


Adding to the 2007 field is Honda's RA107 (pictured below). I love the all black scheme on this car. It looks like something from Speed Racer. Sadly the team only uses the black for winter testing and revert to a white base with brown and red highlights for racing. Despite having only been out in public for a few days, the RA107 has already set an off season record. It exploded after just three corners, beating McLaren's record of just under one lap. I'm still waiting to see the new Red Bull.

Different

I don't like weddings. I think I've established that pretty well over my blogging history. I find it sad that we express our sincerest hopes for the future by engaging in our most materialistic tendencies while paying little more than lip service to the big guy that makes it all possible, but off of my high horse right? I spent the better part of this weekend in Baltimore for a wedding that, no surprise, I wasn't looking forward to. It was for one of Roverine's cousins, it was out of state, I had to rearrange my work schedule, and it was a wedding. It isn't that I don't like Roverine's side of the family, I do, but I don't feel the same connection that I do with mine. I realize that attending family events like weddings will increase our common history together and foster stronger relationships, but knowing that and wanting to put effort into that are two different things. What can I say? I'm kind of a grump. Anyway, considering all of this you can imagine my surprise when I realized that I was actually enjoying myself. As the bride walked down the isle my thoughts drifted back to that beautiful summer day when I watched my own bride coming toward me. I couldn't help but smile. It was actually a surreal experience. I had had a little bit of a rough day at work when we were called to assist at the death of a local woman. It made so much sense to take a day that began in death and end it with two people beginning a new life together. The reception was nice and, aided by some red wine, I was able to further my relationship with the extended in-laws. Unfortunately, I also had to further relationships with two very bizarre strangers that were seated with us. Anyway, when I awoke this morning I was mystified by my enjoyment of the past evening. I had just attended a wedding and liked it. All was not right with the world. I mean, I had liked my own wedding. It is actually one of the highlights of my life, but liking other weddings seemed to go against my rover "-ness." Even more bizarre was that this wasn't the first wedding I had been to since my wedding. It was wedding 2.5 since my big day (I was late for one so I only count it as half), so it wasn't like being married had suddenly transformed me into a wedding lover. At the end of the day I am left with this undeniable fact, I went to a wedding and enjoyed it. That is very different. There isn't another wedding on the schedule, so I won't be able to see if this was a freak occurrence or not. I'm not sure that I want it to be.

He Never Stops

Yesterday I was sitting at my desk minding my own business while my coworker was perusing some internet news site. He came across a story about Muslims requesting to use the Qur'an when being sworn in to testify in court. He promptly exploded yelling, "Those (insert random string of profanities) Arabs! We should take them all out and (insert any profanity not already used) shoot them! They don't have any respect for the Bible!" Seriously, where do the Arabs get off with spreading their message of violence and hate? We really need to appreciate people, like my coworker, who are willing to kill people of differing viewpoints to defend the message of the Bible. Today he informed me that he doesn't like Jehovah's Witnesses because they try to tell him about God. How dare they force their religion on him! I really need a new job.

Ha!!!

I don't usually post on Ferrari's opposition, but I thought this was pretty entertaining, especially after a conversation I had with proteinstar about this car. Below is the new Mclaren-Mercedes MP4-22. As usual, there has been a large amount of hype around the release of the new Mclaren, especially since it will be driven by the reigning world champion, Fernando Alonso. So why is this entertaining? Yesterday Alonso got his hands on this shiny little trinket, and just prior to completing one lap in the car it exploded. Complete engine failure. Looks like those boys a Mclaren have some work to do. While that was going on in Valencia, Fisichella managed to launch the new Renault off of the track in Jerez. If this is any indication of how the rest of the year will go we should be in for quite the show.

I Am In Love. . .

In an attempt to keep their noble lineage pure, the British monarchy has become a bit fruity, if you know what I mean. Purebred dogs and horses suffer from genetic defects rendering them unpure. But do not fret my friends, one line shall always remain pure and today the protectors of that line have introduced the world to the 53rd descendant of the that noble name, the Ferrari F2007. View upon her with awe.

Somewhere in France a Renault is trembling.

The Dread Pirate Roberts Is Here For Your Soul!!

Last night Roverine and I ran across a Princess Bride marathon, and I had a sort of Princess Bride mental revolution. I've always assumed that the plot went something like this, Prince Humperdink needs to get married, so he chooses Buttercup since she's the most beautiful commoner in the land. This is unfortunate for both of them because Buttercup was planning on marrying her long lost (and presumably dead) love, Westley. On his end Humperdink doesn't really want a wife, he wants a war with the neighboring country, Guilder. He attempts to achieve this through a series of elaborate plots to either kidnap or kill Buttercup in a manner that can be blamed on Guilder. Much to Humperdink's consternation, each plot is ruined through the efforts of the Man in Black (aka The Dread Pirate Roberts, aka Westley (back from the dead)). The movie ends when the Man in Black, aided by Inigo the Spaniard and Fezzik the Giant, storms Humperdink's castle, rescues Buttercup, and leaves Humperdink tied to a chair, "wallowing in freakish misery, forever." Westley and Buttercup live happily ever after, Inigo becomes the next Dread Pirate Roberts and Fezzik dies at an alarmingly young age.

That is generally how I remember things. The good guys (minus Fezzik) end up living the good life while the bad guys' plans are ruined and they end up either dead or destitute. Unfortunately, last night I realized that things don't go that way. At the end of the movie Humperdink is left unscathed and tied to a chair in the castle. Buttercup has disappeared after a daring raid by a mysterious pirate and his band of miscreants. Humperdink has gotten his way. He has his war. Granted, Count Rugen, Humperdink's evil henchman, is dead, but the kingdom is intact, the prince is alive, and the Princess is missing. It's time to assemble the seige works if you ask me. You might wonder what happened to Westley's whole "wallowing in freakish misery" thing. In fact, he never actually did anything to Humperdink short of threaten "freakish misery" and then leave him "alone with his cowardice."

So what am I getting at? The Princess Bride is widely regarded as one of the best fairytale movies out there. In light of my revelation you might think that I would disagree. I don't. In fact I think that my revelation only increases the fairytale value. It's a win-win situation! Westley and Buttercup get each other, the Prince gets his war, and Inigo becomes a pirate. It is perhaps the greatest fairytale ever written. Granted, Fezzik's heart does explode, Count Rugen dies, and Miracle Max is probably hunted to the death for helping the "rebellion." I didn't say it was perfect, just the best ever.

On a side note: I've seen my fair share of TV movie marathons in my day, but last night was a first for me. As soon as the movie ended the screen was split horizontally about a third of the way from the bottom. In the bottom third of the screen the credits rolled and at the top of the screen The Princess Bride began to play again immediately. It was genius! Fair play to whoever thought that one up!

Christmas Review

Although I still have one family gathering pending, I have decided to officially declare my Christmas season over. My official Christmas motto for the year was "Christmas is going to be awesome this year. Why? Because its awesome every year!" This year didn't disappoint. I was able to get some really good family time in with my side and Roverine's. Food was piled as far as the eye could see and presents fell from the sky like paratroopers in Market Garden. The highlights of the gift receiving were a pocket watch, a torque wrench, and a first edition copy of Through Gates of Splendor. But none of that really describes how great the holiday was this year. It was almost good beyond belief. On Christmas day I got the whole family to agree to a viewing of Bridge on the River Kwai(also a gift). That sort of holiday magic only happens once in a decade!

However, it must be said that there were a few low points. The first being Christmas Eve when I was convinced to go to Catholic Mass. I don't really know much about the Mass, but isn't it supposed to be a celebration? It seemed to me like it was more of a "Well, if I have to." sort of thing. I'll be the first to admit that I have been through my share of bad Protestant services in my life, but this service was not only boring, it was strangled by bizarre, and apparently meaningless, traditions and performances. Needless to say, I won't be converting anytime soon. The second low point was one of my extended family gatherings that occurred this past Sunday. There wasn't anything explicitly bad about it, I just didn't get to spend enough time with all of the people that I would have liked to. We get together again this summer, so I'll have to give it another shot then.

Some of you may not have had the wonderful holiday experience that I did, and are wondering how you can improve things in the future. The answer is simple. Preparation. You need to set the tone early. This year I chose to officially start the season by reading Dicken's A Christmas Carol. I highly recommend it to get you in the mood, and you can easily burn through it in a few hours. After the mood has been set, you need to decide on a gift buying strategy. Using the old gift checklist each year turns gift buying into a repetitive chore. Shake things up! My strategy this year focues on spontanaiety and collaboration. Whenever possible I collaborated with other family members to get people larger gifts than they otherwise would have gotten. when those options were depleted I switched to the spontaneous method. I went to my local shopping center, got a cup of coffee, and began to roam. When using this method, don't select stores that you think would have good items for your intended recipients. Just relax and go with the flow. This method scored me a nice painting for Roverine and a board game for proteinstar. Neither of them were at stores that I normally would have checked.

Anyway, at the end of the dayit was a great Christmas. I look forward to next year.

I Was Waiting For Pictures, But. . .

I've been battling my digital camera over some pictures I took on my recent visit to Wilmington, DE. I was waiting on them to post, but Matt has forced my hand with this post. In case you don't want to read the whole thing I can summarize it with one quote. "I know what Christmas is truly about, but it seems that it means more than just that." What? You know I love you Matt, but I think that Alpine air has gone to your head. If Christmas is about anything other than "just that," I'm not interested. What else could Christmas possibly be about? Is it about gathering together with loved ones? We only do that about eight times a year. Is it about giving gifts to family and friends? Maybe! The giving of gifts signifies. . . never mind. What about Santa! Surely a fat man sneaking into my house at night and eating my cookies is a metaphor for. . . nothing. The Christmas tree! Now we have it! Here is the greater meaning of Christmas! Kidnapping a plant from its native habitat and adorning it with gaudy trinkets and flashing lights must mean that we are. . . bored? In the end Christmas is about one thing, Christ. I understand that we (humankind) have pile an unfathomable amount of crap on the day that seems to make it much less significant than it actually is. I think that this is because of one simple fact. The impact that the birth of Jesus had on the world was far too great and complex for any of us to fully understand. The part that we do understand has meaning enough, but we can't help but realize that we don't really get it. The result is that we pile on the crap. Granted, there are some who are so offended by the little that they do understand that they need to twist the meaning to fit their own world view. Apparently the "idea" of a holiday still appeals to them. Anyway, Matt, there is no "more" to Christmas beyond Christ, only "less." The day that the "less" becomes more important I will arbitrarily select another day to celebrate on.

Science Hates Me.

Last Saturday Roverine and I went on a fossil hunting excursion in Swatara State Park. I have vague memories of visiting the park's fossil pit in Elementary School. It was an exciting time. The pit, back then, was more of a low cliff, the face being made up of sedimentary rock. The rock was compacted in thin layers and with the help of a hammer and chisel could be pulled out, almost like books stacked vertically. With those memories fresh in my mind I was bitterly disappointed when we arrived to find not a cliff of rock, but a hill of broken stones. It was then that I realized that Elementary School had in fact been 20 years ago. That moment of clarity didn't help my mood any.

Regardless of my disappointment, I pounced on the pile of rocks in earnest. Underneath the loose rubble there actually was a layer of rock that I chipped away at. I proudly proclaimed to Roverine that I was perhaps only minutes away from finding the fossilized iPod that would turn decades of scientific theory on its ear. Maybe I shouldn't have boasted too loudly. Roverine soon found some plant remains. I found a baseball sized portion of mud. Roverine found a tiny impression of a spine and ribs. I found a small rock. Roverine found a shell. I discovered a whole new type of rage. Science was having its revenge for my boasting, and it was doing quite the job. Demoralizing me in front of my wife wasn't enough for Science, not enough by far. It was only a matter of minutes before an entire troop of Boy Scouts arrived, climbed about the pile like little monkeys, and began to announce discovery, after discovery, after discovery. Their troop leader came over to tell Roverine and I about the fossils he found last year that had been analyzed by the Reading Museum. I wanted to make him a fossil. I still hadn't found bupkis!

I began to wonder about Science. My iPod joke hadn't been that offensive. In fact I thought it was quite witty. Did that one joke warrant the misery that I was now living with? I thought not, but then thought again. Maybe it wasn't that one joke. Maybe this was the culminated revenge for the years of mockery I have put Science through. Maybe Science remembered the time I set fire to the sink in 10th grade Biology, or the time we removed the handles from all of the gas valves in the lab, rendering them useless. Maybe it had something to do with setting off the emergency shower in 12th grade Chemistry, citing "Chemistry sucks" as my sole justification. I certainly hoped that Science had forgotten about my eloquent treatise arguing that the scientific explanation for the origin of life fell apart when examined under the rules of scientific method itself. With horrific clarity the picture became clear to me. Through years of thoughtless mockery and ballyhoo I had established a pattern of contempt for Science. It wasn't intentional, but with that realization I came to one conclusion. Science hates me.

So there I sat, perched on top a pile of fossil bearing stones without one fossil to show for myself. Why? Because Science was having his revenge. Others around me gloried in ferns and shells and trilobites while my bag sat empty. It was now obvious that I would be making no discoveries today. In humility I gathered up Roverine and headed off to photograph the scenery, that seemed relatively secure from the scorn of Science.

I'm at a loss for what to do about Science these days. Initially I thought I would just go with it and continue to antagonize (referring to Darwin as a "ragamuffin island hopper" came to mind), but I now realize that that might not be such a good idea. As it stands I hold no hope of ever finding a fossil again, and I can live with that, but what if I push things further? Can I live with a meteor in my house? I think not. Science and I have settled into an uneasy truce. I will no longer find fossils and Science will let me live. At that's how things will stand. Until I think of something very witty to say, in which case it was nice to know all of you.

As It Turns Out, I'm Not Perfect.

I made a mistake at work tonight. It wasn't a little, "Oops! I spelled Saskatchewan wrong." mistake either. The consequences of my mistake could have put several of us into a very delicate situation. Fortunately, someone at another agency also made a mistake (I'm being generous there because it was more of a deliberate act of sloth). I was forced to take action in response to their mistake, and that action rendered the consequences of my mistake to be void, or at least significantly diminished. In the end I was very fortunate, but not off of the hot seat. I hate to make mistakes. They make me very angry with my self, and I wish that I could pretend that they never happened. At the same time I have a personal policy of always owning my mistakes. I think its what a person of integrity and faith does and I also think that it makes me a more trustworthy person. I have a coworker who never owns any mistakes and the result is that no one believes a word he says. So back to tonight, in the end I could have let things go. Several people knew that something had happened, but if I told them not to worry about it they wouldn't ask any questions, and I love them for that. Because I love them I told them the truth, and they were incredibly gracious about it. They were actually more upset about the deliberate act of sloth (sorry, "mistake") that followed. Somehow though I didn't feel any better. Tonight was a close as I get to "big time screw up," and although no perceived damage was done, I felt damaged. I pride myself on speed and accuracy, and I failed on both counts. That really bothered me. Thankfully I had the time to retreat into a good book for a bit before I had to get back into things. That helped. I eventually blew off a post-work social event (and it was a good one) and went home. For the rest of the night I felt as if my credibility had been ruined and I just wanted to get out of there. Anyway, I suppose I will feel better in the morning and I will get a fresh shot at making a mess of things then. For now I'm headed back into that good book.

Since Proteinstar Begged For It.

Here is a new post. I find it ironic that a man who goes months without posting feels free to criticize me after a matter of days, but whatever.

Some of you might remember that last fall I was excited about a new racing series called A1GP, but lost interest due to a difficult TV viewing schedule and lackluster performances by the U.S. Team. The basic premise of the series is that Formula One and the Olympics had a night of poor judgment resulting in a child, A1GP. The series is held over the winter months on circuits around the world, similar to F1. The teams represent nations, rather that multi-million dollar corporations. The principal team member must be from the country the team represents. It is actually a pretty cool concept, but like I said, TV coverage here in the states was poor and the U.S. Team wasn't exactly awesome. The cars are not the wonders of technology that F1 cars are either. However, this year I am determined to give A1GP another shot. I'm beginning to see the beauty of the series. The drivers are either F1 hopefuls or has beens and the cars lack the downforce of their more famous cousins. This makes for some very interesting racing. A1GP also webcasts their races and has signed a contract with Speed TV for U.S. coverage. To add to my excitement the are also in negotiations to have a seasoning opening street race in Washington DC next September. That would be a must attend event. Here's some Youtube highlights from last season if your are interested.

Wahooo!!

After a long absence, Superswede appears to have returned yet again! You come and go more than Michael Jordan buddy, but you are always welcome here. I understand that you are currently in a bit of a difficult spot, and I'm not referring to your upcoming wedding. I hope things improve for you, but I hope that this means we will be seeing more of you around here for now.

Goodbye Old Friend

On Sunday, Michael Schumacher raced in the final Grand Prix of his glittering career. Last week I envisioned that this post would go along the lines of "Michael won!" or perhaps "Quick, but not quick enough." I would have then followed with an eloquent summation of the most astounding career the sport has ever seen. I even would have given a nod to some of the darker moments over the year, and believe me there were dark moments. Instead, Michael has forced my hand.

Schumi's championship prospects going into this weekend were bleak at best. If he were to claim his eighth World Driver's Championship he would have to win the upcoming Brazilian Grand Prix. That in itself wasn't all that daunting, Michael has won over ninety Grands Prix. What was daunting was that Michael's rival, Fernando Alonso would need to fail to score a single point, meaning he would have to finish the race below eighth place, or not finish at all. Alonso makes it a habit of finishing races, and a practice of finishing them in the top three. As if things weren't tough enough for Michael, his Ferrari developed a fuel pickup problem in Saturday Qualifying that left him starting the race from tenth. Michael had never won a race from tenth, although he had won one from sixteenth.

Regardless, the flag dropped on Sunday afternoon and Michael bolted to the front of the field. In four laps he moved from tenth to fifth. It look as if a miracle were about to happen. Then disaster struck, Michael dove around the Renault of Giancarlo Fisichella, but misjudged slightly. His left rear tire nicked Fisichella's front wing. The contact was enough to puncture the tire. Michael limped back to the pits and rejoined the race in twentieth, dead last. There was a fifteen second gap from Michael to the next car, and a seventy second gap to the race leader. Then the miracle occurred. Michael put the hammer down. Over the next ninety minutes fan were treated to one of the greatest displays of driving ever seen. Michael passed over ten cars on the track, and a number more through speedy pit work. Critics of F1 lament the lack of on track overtaking, but they sat silent on Sunday as Michael downed rival after rival. His final pass of the day was against the McLaren of Kimi Raikkonen, "The Flying Finn." Raikkonen blocked Michael to the inside, but Michael squeezed in, dangerously close to the wall. As the two entered turn1 they were so close together that even the daylight between their tyres was getting nervous. Eventually Michael squeezed ahead to take fourth. He didn't win the race, but his status as the most talented driver in the sport will never be questioned. That seventy second gap I mentioned was reduced to less than thirty at the chequered flag. Michael's teammate, Felipe Massa, went on to win the race. In doing so he became the first Brazilian to win his home Grand Prix since the late Ayrton Senna did so thirteen years ago.

To fully understand the brilliance of Michael's drive we need to compare his lap times with those of his teammate. It is generally accepted in F1 that a team's two drivers will receive nearly identical cars, some changes are made to suit driver preference. Before the race on Sunday both Michael and Felipe were given permission to push the engines on their Ferrari 248 F1 racing cars to beyond 20,000rpms in an attempt to secure the Driver and Constructors World Championships. They failed in that attempt, but they did set some very fast lap times. Just before his final pit stop, the point at which a Formula One car is at its lightest and fastest, Felipe Massa set a single lap time of 1:12.3. Just after his last pit stop, the point at which an F1 car is at its heaviest and slowest, Michael set a single lap time of 1:12.1, the fastest of the race. The man is just fast. In case you don't believe me yourselves, please check out the lovely YouTube tidbit below. Especially enjoy the last pass over Raikkonen.

Brazilian Grand Prix Highlights

I will regale you with tales of his brilliant career some other time.

"It is nothing to die; it is frightful not to live."

Moments ago I finished Victor Hugo's epic Les Miserables. I'm a bit at a loss for what to say about it. Several months ago I attempted to read the complete, unabridged, version and got lost. This time around I inadvertently got ahold of the abridged version. The shortened text probably accounts for why I got through it so easily, but I can't help but feel somehow cheated. Despite being familiar with the plot thanks to Broadway and Hollywood my first attempt was tainted by a modern intolerance for any content that didn't advance the story line. That was a mistake. I guess that the pre-YouTube world was more into savoring things. The richness of the full text was more easily enjoyed when Lost wasn't on at 9. That said. I finished the book, all 600 pages, and felt myself looking for more. It wasn't that the story was incomplete, I just didn't want it to end. Hugo is one of the finest story tellers I have ever encountered. The work connects with the soul on several levels. Readers who approach it looking for the revolutionary feel they got from the Broadway show will be disappointed. It was revolutionary in its day, but only those very familiar with French history will grasp it's full political implication. Today I feel that it is so much more about redemption and integrity. I think we often view our lives as being effected by crucial moments in time, which they are, but Les Miserables shows that our actions in those moments are defined by the constant dedication to our moral values on a daily basis.

As far as the characters go I felt that Jean Valjean was perfect. Hugo beautifully depicted the sinner struggling with his past sins in light of his current salvation. Just perfect. Javert was both admirable and despicable at the same time. I was contorted over him until the end. Thernardier was disgusting, yet completely believable. I found myself wondering if there wasn't a real life person somewhere behind Hugo's character. My disappointment came with Cosette and Marius. I found Cosette to be spoiled, and if we were expected to love her, incredibly underdeveloped as a character (granted, I did read the short version). As a child she is heart wrenching, but almost immediately after her rescue I lost all sympathy for her. If I were Marius I would have chosen Eponine. She came across as a much more genuine and giving person, especially when you consider the parenting she received. As for Marius? What an ungrateful prat. Jean Valjean gives him his child and his fortune and Marius can't wait to show him the door. Only when he finds out what Jean Valjean has done for him personally does he accept him. I guess rescuing the love of your life from slavery and then raising her as his own wasn't enough, eh?

In short, I was enraptured by Les Miserables. After a short visit with Augustine, Steinbeck, and who knows who else, I think I might be ready to savor Hugo's masterpiece as it was intended.

Also, please celebrate in this post as it marks my 100th.

Discovering My Hometown

Back when it was warmer out Roverine and I took a walk around town and took some pictures. While parts of the area are aptly described as "ghetto," there are some interesting buildings and other points of interest about. Here you go.

The home of a local celebrity.

Perhaps the most famous business in town. Great old building.

Never ate there, no plans to.

Maybe he's been advertising in the wrong places.

No, it didn't stop for the sign.

The train station.

And some more of that.

Like I said, "Ghetto."

Use My Word!

Several years ago, never mind how many exactly, I was engrossed with the completion of a certain academic treatise. The completion of said work had me somewhat down in spirits because I felt that I lacked the proper terminology to fully describe the chaos that surrounded the Diet of Augsburg (1530). For those of you who aren't familiar with the event, it was billed as the ultimate showdown between Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, and Martin Luther, the indefatigable Bull of Wittenberg. The insane chaos that preceded Luther's arrival could best be compared to, but was probably far in excess of, a national political convention today. While official condemnation of Luther rang throughout the streets, secret messengers scurried back and forth in a final effort to avoid the inevitable showdown. Back room deals became commonplace. Bishops acted as pages. For a moment, the world was turned on its ear. All of this before the man of the hour, Martin Luther, even set foot into the town.
The excitement of the event is hard to deny, and cannot be ignored when addressing the life of Luther. However my friends, how was I to describe this vast spectacle within the confines of a collegiate work that was more concerned with the person of Luther than with the events that surrounded him? In the end I came to one conclusion. Necessity is the mother of invention. I created my own word.

Polympics- The chaotic jockeying for power and position that accompanies a political event.

The word suited my needs perfectly and allowed that portion of my work to be succinct, yet descriptive. After its initial usage I filed my word away in my mind, having no more apparent need for it. However, after dining with Roverine, Brechty, and Gen last night I have been convinced to share my word with the world. I have made it my goal to ensure my word's inclusion in Webster's Dictionary. I cannot achieve this goal on my own though. I need your help. Use my word! Make it popular! My argument for inclusion will be that much stronger if my word is in common usage (isn't that the Scrabble requirement?). If I succeed we can have a party or something.