Random Stream of Consciousness

I did it! I really did it! “What?” you may be asking. I went to an event and did pretty much absolutely NOTHING! And ya know what? It was splendid!

This weekend, we wended our way down to San Diego for Calafian Anniversary. Well… that isn’t entirely true. Paul headed down early. I slept in and joined Caterucia for the roll-in-late caravan. By the time we got there, opening court was just ending, and we joined everyone for a gorgeous afternoon of happy times, fun conversation, food, and pretty much relaxing.

Part of me felt a pang of guilt for not jumping up to assist with the feast. But yes, I beat said pang into submission and decided to sit down and eat a feast having had no hand in the preps. And ya know what? OMG, it was DELICIOUS! I’m almost fearful – three weekends in a row, three separate SCA feasts in three separate areas – and every single one of them was stellar. I do NOT want to rock this boat!!!!!!! Caid needs more good cooks, and I can only hope this trend continues.

Heading back home after feast, we were both exhausted which really makes no sense since the day was pretty low-impact. All I can figure is that maybe we are both still trying to catch up on rest. So now, we face a short work week, holiday preps, and various and sundry house and other projects. For the most part, we’re not venturing far away from home over the Thanksgiving holidays. And ya know what? That makes me a VERY happy camper.

The AMA’s – um… seriously?

Tired from a day of Thanksgiving Day shopping and preps, I landed on the couch last night and gave in to pop TV. As luck would have it, the American Music Awards were on. Normally, I wouldn’t care. But, since my boyfriend Daughtry was scheduled to perform live, I figured I should watch.

Wow… pop music is… um… “interesting”. Of course, long gone are the days when music video channels actually, oh I dunno, play videos. Thus, getting the chance to put faces together with music seem to be few and far between. As act after act performed, I had the opportunity to say to myself, “Oh, so THAT is who does that song.” And with that, I have a few observations:

Lady GaGa – oh my. That woman is just a freak. Of course, this is not news to anyone. Her sense of fashion would make a fierce tranny mess say, “Honey, you’ve gone too far.” Coming out looking like an L.E.D. lit dinosaur skeleton reanimated, she performed a dance routine that finished off with her breaking bottles over a flaming piano. I guess, in a way, she really is no weirder than the glam-rock performers of the 70’s. How bizarre was Ziggy Stardust and Elton John back in the day when you think about it?

Taylor Swift – ok, seriously. Am I the only one out there who just doesn’t see what all the hype is about? Now don’t get me wrong, I think the gay has talent. She is beautiful. She is enthusiastic. She is young. But to sweep all the top honors in country and at the AMA? Seriously?

The Jacksons - It is sad that Michael died. But he won awards? Seriously? For concert footage of old stuff? And what was with his freaky family? Jermaine introducing his sone "Jermajesty"? Seriously? That is one f$*%ed up family.

Yes, there is a reason that we voted her in! Check out Ms. Thang (or should I say MISTRESS Thang) at the Realm of Venus site...

http://realmofvenus.renaissanceitaly.net/yourgarb/2009/Kerri.htm

Nearly a week after it happened, I am still really bothered by a particular incident. Thus, hang on tight… I’m gonna vent.

Sitting down at an SCA feast table with a mixed group of people, we began to chatter away, as people usually do over a communal meal. The company was a nice mix and the conversation perfectly pleasant. As the discussion evolved, we turned to the most recent event, Caidan Coronation. I asked the assembled folk if they happened to notice the scrolls that had been presented during court. While I myself was only able to contribute a small number of the scrolls overall this time around, I was particularly impressed by the effort and the quality of the Kingdom scribes – many of whom are very new to the entire world of scroll production, and demonstrating a truly impressive degree of talent! Most of the people at the table were impressed. But then, one particular individual decided to share her thoughts.

Rather loudly, she expressed her anger and disgust over how scrolls are done. In just a few short sentences, she managed to really offend me in at least three different ways – a mighty feat indeed! Now, understand, I don’t have a problem with someone offering criticism, venting, or bitching. Gods only know, I do my fair share. But as I have often said before, and not just in the SCA, the price of bitching is action. Think the process sucks and that you have a better idea? PROVE IT! Don’t like something about the way scrolls are done? Then sit your butt down and, oh I dunno, PRODUCE one! (Heck, you don’t have to be an amazing portrait artist to help. Anybody – ANYBODY can trace, or draw lines, or erase lines! And yes, such simplicity actually is indeed helping!)

As this particular woman bitched, she communicated very loud and clear her own ignorance. She very clearly does not know how they are produced. She very clearly knows nothing about the review and checking system. She very clearly knew nothing about just how much time and effort go into their production. She very clearly did not know that they are not simply placed on a “generate” list as an award is bestowed. She just wanted to rant and rave like a spoiled-brat child, unhappy because responsible mom wouldn’t allow the brat to stick scissors into the electric plug.

I’ll be honest. I was pissed. Her imprudent bitching insulted me and some very near and dear friends of mine, in addition to conveying her ignorance and tacky behavior. I *wanted* to just lash out. And part of me still wishes I had. She deserved to be smacked down and put in her place for such rudeness. But as I looked around the table, I pulled back. Despite the fact that this rude woman had just silenced the conversation, causing people to just look down at their plates in silent awkwardness, I was not about to make the situation even worse. So quietly, politely, and calmly, I addressed the table as a whole, giving a quick overview of the process and then moving the conversation on to something else. I wanted to calmly help ease the tension that she had just created, and also clear up any misunderstandings before anyone else at the table left with a negative impression about the work of the Kingdom scribes.

Before the event, I had not actually met this one particular loud-mouthed ass. I had heard her name before, but could not put a face to it. Now, based on this particularly memorable first-encounter, I HIGHLY doubt that I will ever forget her.

As the mercury begins to drop just a little bit in this dry and moderate land known as sunny southern California, it can be a challenge to even recognize a change in the seasons. Unlike the dramatic effect that blankets of snow impart across the northwest and New England, the most startling phenomena in these parts involves the government-imposed seasonal marker known as daylight savings time. Rather than a rich and vibrant hue of a nearly setting sun, the 5:00pm rush hour sky fades quickly to black, requiring headlights and the ritualistic digging out of my glasses from the central console. Yes indeed, such is life in SoCal.

Yet, as we approach my favorite holiday of the year (I’ll give you a hint. It involves a turkey,) I look forward to the smells of the holiday season. Unlike the scents of spring, marked by freshly mowed grass and the first blooms of the roses, and that nebulous time in-between known as spri-mmer-tumn, winter is signaled more powerfully by smell than anything else. Let’s face it, few things signal a warm invitation more than the sweet and spicy smell of cinnamon in apple cider, evergreen trees, and the many traditional foods of the season. Being a rather obsessive-compulsive, anal-retentive, sometimes-insane persnickety cook, there are few things I enjoy more than combining ingredients, and enjoying the sight, smell, and taste of the results. Add on some appreciative friends and the vision is complete.

I look forward to winter coming in to SoCal, and am happy to usher it in with a dash of sugar and spice. Happy holidays everybody!

OK, in all seriousness, I do not mean to offend anybody with this rant. I am registered as a Democrat. While it is fairly typical to see Democrats slam Republicans, and vice versa, I ultimately believe that people have the right to believe as they will. That is what makes this country great! If you happen to subscribe to the ideals of the Democratic party, that is great. If you happen to subscribe to the ideals of the Republican party, that is great as well. I believe everyone should register to vote, and cast their votes not upon what mommy and daddy told them to do, or upon what the preacher says, but upon what they really believe and upon what their conscience dictates. After all, your vote is just that – YOURS. And whatever you decide when you drop your ballot in the box, you need to look yourself in the mirror and you need to be able to sleep at night.

While I may not agree with many of the Republican party’s stances, I would like to think that I can at least respect our differences of opinion. But I have to draw the line when it comes to certain things. Overly conservative and preachy Republicans who try to dictate values and behavior piss me off. If you want to live your life a certain way, that is one thing. But as far as I’m concerned, you have absolutely no right to impose your lifestyle or values upon what I do or do not do within the privacy of my own home. What makes it worse is when one of these preachers-in-politician-clothes gets busted in a restroom stall, or in hotel rooms, or by discussing their pantyhose fetishes on live-microphones. Hypocrisy in any form is just pretty pathetic. But then, we have the ultimate in Republican party embarrassment – Sarah Palin.

Republicans – WAKE UP!!!!! Seriously?!!!!! Is she the best you have? Seriously?!!!

The woman is a moron. She has no success stories to her political career. She has based fame and fortune upon failure after failure, which I for one find to be a sad testament to the power of the American media. Just because she dresses in power-suits (which in and of themselves were not paid for by legitimate means), it does not make her qualified to hold any type of important political office. Right now there’s a huge hype because she wrote a book. Heck, I’d be impressed to learn that she had actually READ a book!

The only thing this woman has done successfully is to drag her 15 minutes of fame into overtime. To the Republicans out there who really are working towards building a sound and respectful party to make America a better place – seriously? Do you REALLY think she’s the best you’ve got?

Please find someone else good to shine the spotlight on. Right now, I am embarrassed for you. Frankly, I couldn’t care less if the person calls himself or herself a Democrat, a Republican, or anything else. If the person is wise, rational, calm, ethical, and a good leader, I will be supportive.

Palin’s 15 minutes of fame expired a while ago. Please, please, please… just let her go!

While I’m not particularly good at always remembering this, I have learned that in the SCA there is a huge difference between doing what you “Want to do” versus what you think you “Need to do”. By “Need to do”, I’m not talking about actual requirements. After all, one SHOULD always pay one’s site fee. One SHOULD always be responsible for oneself. These are the things that I believe everybody truly NEEDS to do. But then there are those other things that sometimes feel like a “Need to do” that really aren’t. What I’m talking about is stepping in to do a role because you feel guilted into it, or get the impression that nobody else is going to do it, and it just has to be done. Sadly, more often than not, when I have stepped in to take on an obligation that I did not really WANT to do, I have learned to regret it.

I recall one time when I arrived at a particular event. The person who was actually in charge of the main activity was not there, and nobody knew when to expect an arrival. With the clock ticking, I threw myself into the quagmire. We were already behind schedule, and I was one of the few people there who had an understanding of how to run this particular activity, having been involved in the process several times in the past. With limited supplies, a ticking clock, and impatient people arriving, I did the best that I could. I moved quickly. I moved efficiently. And when I had to fake things because we were missing items, I did so.

A few hours later, the person in charge arrived. With all of the grunt work done, this person spent the rest of the event walking around and acting “In Charge.” (which was easy to do by this point since all of the hard stuff had already been taken care of). I was furious. I felt used and abused. But there was no time to check into self-pity land. The event wasn’t over and I needed to finish what I had started. At one point in the middle of the afternoon, one annoyed woman came over and decided to chew me out. She was angry because things seemed disorganized (and they were). She was angry because she felt things could have been so much smoother (and they could have). Sadly, rather than screaming at the person who really caused the chaos, she chose to scream at me. Why? Because she didn’t even know that I wasn’t actually the person in charge. Many people didn’t. Why did she scream at me? Because she knew my face since I was the one doing the work. So lucky me – I was the object of her screaming hissy fit. If this same sort of thing were to happen today, I would very calmly but sternly set the banshee straight. But back then, I had no idea what to do. I was exceptionally naïve and pretty darned clueless. All I knew is that I took the time and effort to throw myself into the trenches to fix a problem caused by somebody else, and now somehow I was getting chewed out for it.

I was crushed.

Here, in an organization that praises courtesy and chivalric virtue, I had just been treated horribly. Nowadays, I would brush such a thing off and file it into the “wow… that was a sucky way to behave!” category. But back then, I just didn’t know what to do, and didn’t know how to handle it. It was, I think, the first time that “the dream” had been shattered at my feet. All through feast that evening, I sat quietly, stewing over what had happened. Exhausted and replaying the episode over and over in my mind, I found myself on the verge of tears. Finally, when a friend of mine asked me what was wrong, I began to cry. I vented briefly before getting up from the table and returning to my cabin, determined to pack up, leave, and never come back. It was then that a reversal of fortune came about.

As I began packing up my things, in strode a peer of the realm, announcing loudly that he was looking for me. “Oh criminee,” I thought to myself. “NOWWWWWW what?!!!!” I peaked my head up briefly and let him know that I was over to the side. In a hurried pace, he scooted over to me, and then sat down on my bed. In his hand, he held a bottle of mead. Very calmly, and very nicely, he told me that my friend had relayed the story of my experience to him. Even though he had nothing to do with the unfortunate activities of the day, he sympathized with me over the experience, thanked me for helping the event to run, and he handed me the bottle of mead in an attempt to make my day a little bit better.

Once again, I fought back the tears.

This is one of the most amazing things about the SCA. I have seen some people display some truly craptastic and inconsiderate behavior to others. And then, I have seen others who come along and display the best of the best of human compassion, virtue, and grace. Needless to say, I decided not to quit. And I decided that if the day ever came that I became a peer, I would aspire to be like that one particular gentleman on that one particular evening – kind, compassionate, and gracious – doing a really nice thing when he didn’t have to. Wow. Just… wow.

That experience taught me a few lessons. It taught me about human behavior. It taught me to start developing a thicker skin. It taught me of the importance of kindness. And it taught me that I don’t NEED to jump in and fix a problem caused by someone else.

Over the past few months, I have been running the engines at full speed. And now that Coronation is over, and some (although not all) of my projects and deadlines are complete, I have a moment to slow down, reflect, and make some decisions. And with that, I have drafted up a few new SCA goals for myself:

I will no longer over-commit myself to the point where I become soooooo stressed out that I don’t even want to be around me.
I will no longer take on so many intense jobs at an event that when all is said and done, I find myself having to seek medical attention. (No, not kidding. This has happened more than once – and quite recently, I am embarrassed to say).
In response to various requests, I will learn to say, “No.” without following it up with the word, “…problem.”
I will continue to be on my feet doing some activities – but only those that bring me joy (feeling that rush in the kitchen as we count down to serving time is just AWESOME to me. Yes, I know I’m weird.)
I will try my best to remember that the game is not a race. It is not a matter of “he who gets the most done by the weekend wins.”
When people come up to me and ask, “can I help?” I will fight back my natural inclination to turn them down, and allow them to help. Accepting help is NOT a sign of weakness. (Perhaps I should write that on a blackboard 50 times to get it through my thick skull).
I will remember that nothing – absolutely NOTHING – no King, no Crown, no Order, no commitment – NOTHING in the SCA is more important than my relationship with my husband.
I will remind myself each time that I stand in line to pay my site fee – this is a game. Enjoy it!
I should make a point to spend less time working at events, and more time walking around just being friendly. I know I must come across to some as a snob. But the reality is, I am painfully shy at times – especially with people that I don’t really know. I am much better working on a task with a small group of people than sitting around in a crowded social circle. Unlike my hubby, the absolute GOD of spontaneous speeches and well-chosen words, I get nervous easily and it causes me to mess up my words. I need to work on more ways to fix this, and to just walk around, be friendly, and encourage people to do good things.
I will try and find ways to relax more. An uptight Giuseppe is no good to anybody.

Wish me luck!

"That outfit is so hideous, it could suck the cute out of kittens."

Thank you dad, uncles, aunts, to the many other relatives of mine who have been in the service, and to the many, many brave and wonderful men and women out there now working their butts off so that I can sit down on mine in peace.

This is sooooo for you...

http://community.livejournal.com/ohnotheydidnt/39849010.html#cutid1

Now that it has been presented, here's some pix of Kerri's scroll...



Here we have a Persian dancer...



Here we have St. John



Here we have her device and tailor-supporters...



And here we have the capital.

 

First and foremost - thank the gods – its over!!!!!!

 

My greatest hope for this past weekend is that everything went off well and as memorably as particular people would have liked. As for myself, I’m just deliriously happy that everything got checked off of my “to do” list, and that everything was completed on time.

There are so many people and accomplishments to comment upon, I’m not even sure where to start.

 

Caterucia’s elevation was just beautiful. And in all honesty, there is very little more that can be said than those two all important words – “That DRESS!” Oh my god, she was just a true vision of 16^th century perfection – no other way to put it. If that didn’t show the entire world exactly why she is worthy of her new title and station, I can think of nothing else that could. (Oh yes… the scroll made her giggle. To me, that makes it worth it!)

 

The feast ROCKED! I consider myself very fortunate in that I happen to live in the middle of a group where there are a bunch of other period foodie-geeks. Even though I could not be in the kitchen for the full time, it was an honor to assist and to work with some die-hard fun people who love having a great time bring history alive to the senses. My Baroness did a really outstanding job. I gotta admit, I got a bit misty when TRM called out the feast crew, opened court, and presented her with a very well-deserved Lux for her cooking. Gods only know, she has to put up with the critical eye of her laurel momma and her laurel-grandpopi. If she can handle us, she can handle absolutely anything!

 

Scroll presentations – Wow! Our Scribe Armarius, Medb Renata, deserves tremendous kudos not only for working on scrolls, but for encouraging so many scribes to work on them in this reign. We had 43 scrolls presented in court – an impressive as hell amount. And frankly, there were several that just made you stop and drop your jaw. I am humbled to keep such company of artists. It makes me want to learn more, get better, and move to the next level!

 

The event staffs – did everything run 100% smoothly, in utter perfection, and without a hitch? HAAAAYELLL no. Does it ever? What I DID manage to see throughout the course of the weekend, though, was a heckuvalot of local folks who were willing to pitch in, lend a hand, and help make things work

 

But no, I don’t think I’m going to do this to myself again anytime soon – at least I shouldn’t. Several times as the weekend neared, and even a few times within the weekend, I hit a wall and slowly slid right down to the floor. The fact is simple – I’m no longer 20. Heck, I’m no longer 30. Scratch that, I’m no longer even 40. The fact is, my energy level and bounce-back is simply no longer equipped to keep up with my spirit of, “Oh, that sounds cool! Count me in! I’ll do that!” For my own good, and for my own health, I NEED to learn to step back a little.

I feel as sore as can be from an intense yoga workout last night that concentrated on muscle groups that I didn’t even know that I had.

 

I am on top of my projects (barely), on top of my time tables (barely), and ultimately, pretty happy with the results.

 

I have had to politely, yet sternly, assert to an acquaintance of mine that I did not sign up to be the recipient of her bad attitude, and will not accept the role as her whipping boy.

 

I have taken a look at errands yet-to-be-done, and tasks yet-to-be-accomplished.

 

And as I look at the clock, it isn’t even 10:00am.

 

At this point in the week, I must confess, my mind is wandering forward in eager anticipation for the weekend – and a very FULL weekend it will be, full of great moments, many, many friends, fun on the dance floors (both modern and renaissance), and more tasks and to do’s than I can shake a stick at (or would that be “schtick”?).

 

Me and my cohorts in crime have faced some interesting topsy-turvy challenges in getting ready for this weekend. And yes, I will admit, a few times I found myself staring up at the heavens, saying, “Oh, come ON already!” But ultimately I feel pretty confident that each issue has been handled well, and that we are in for a fun and memorable time.

 

I hope that Their outgoing Majesties are able to look back upon their reign with fond memories and with satisfaction.

 

I hope that Their incoming Majesties find Their coronation to be everything They have always dreamed it to be.

 

I hope that the wonderfully enthusiastic crew of Gyldenholt all work together as cohesively as I believe they will.

 

And when all is said and done, and Sunday night wraps up the weekend, I hope to be able to relax, smile, and dive into some good food, good beer, and good company.

 

Picture if you will a small crowd in the lobby of Starbucks. On average, my local java lounge attracts an interesting assortment of the population at large. We have large clusters of County employees. We have the occasionally homeless person. We have several artsy high school students, donned in high-priced yet cheap-looking retro jeans, shoes, and multi-colored hair. We occasionally have a City or County official holding some sort of brief power-meeting. And, of course, we have our various collectives of attorneys. You can always spot the attorneys – frequently wearing ties and business coats that probably fit them a little less snug at some point in time, they always have their briefcases in hand, and the look of forced-urgency on their faces. Also, sadly, there is often some sort of behavior that suggests an overly-assertive sense of entitlement. Frequently, these are the guys who shove their way through patient and polite people to get to their packets of sugar because THEY have somewhere to be. Or they are the ones who power-walk their way into line ahead of someone who is walking a little bit slower. Why? Because they don’t wanna be late to their trial, I suppose.

 

This morning, some of my co-workers and I witnessed yet another bit of tacky behavior that I had not previously seen. As we stood near the delivery bar, one of the attorney’s espresso orders stood there, having just been presented. From the other side of the room, he came barreling over through the line in the center of the shop. As he got to his order, he reached out with his very large hand, grabbing the drink firmly by the lid, with his hand completely covering the top. For whatever reason, he made the decision that he didn’t want the lid. OK, no problem. But did he simply remove it and throw it away? No. Instead, he put down the drink, pried off the lid, and threw it back over the counter onto the barista prep area, as if suggesting that the lid be reused. ‘scuse me? You JUST put your troglodyte hand all over the top of that. Maybe you think you are doing the world some sort of Green favor, but trust me mister, that is as icky as it is tacky. Do you use someone else’s used stick-stirrer?

 

Several of us, including the barista, just stared at the lid, and then at the attorney in surprise and disgust. He didn’t seem to notice. After all, I’m sure he had somewhere Very Important to go, and something Very Important to do. Again, barreling his way back through the crowd that stood in line, he disappeared through the front door, off on his way.

 

Common sense – not something that one can easily order.

The decision has been made. Next year, we are heading to Gulf War in March. Following Gulf War, we are spending a little while in New Orleans, and then renting a car to make the trek to Flaaaarida. I CAN’T WAIT! To make things even MORE fun, our buddy kdmorin will be going with us. She too lived in Tampa at a time, and we will be going through a collection of our old haunts. When we hit Florida, we will hit the bars for a bit, I will get to visit with my mom, and we will all have a grand bit of nostalgia before getting back in the car and heading up to attend Trimarian Coronation. Busy? Hell ya. But it will be a truly wonderful trip!

 

Did I also mention that I will be turning 42 during that very week? I think I’ll ask all of my friends to get me towels for that particular birthday. (If you don’t understand why, you need to read Douglas Adams). 

 

 

 

T’is the Season for Denial

 

Yes, I am in denial – purposely and intentionally. Now that Halloween has come and gone, I turn my holiday visions towards a beautifully polished dining room table, candles, decorative leaves and gourds, the scent of savory spices, and pulling out my Grandmother’s platter to bring out the bird for one helluva great Thanksgiving holiday extravaganza. So, for the next 23 days, I am in denial.

 

The red holiday cups that they begin using at Starbucks? Not happening.

 

The ads for the new Jim Carey “Scrooge” movie? Never seen them.

 

Holiday music on the radio? La-la-la-la… not hearing it.

 

Yes, in this regard, I’m an old-fashioned guy. Sure, one could argue that the message of Christmas should in fact be an every day thing. That whole peace and love and goodwill towards one’s fellow man – I’m down with that. Sure, that is a great message. But frankly, so is taking a moment to sit down with friends and family, break bread, and take a moment to just give thanks and voice appreciation for all of the wonderful things that have been happening in life. So don’t worry, freaked-out economy of America, Santa will appear at the end of the Macy’s parade again this year. And when he does, I will be right on board with the whole “Need a little Christmas, right this very minute”, sensibility. But for the next couple of weeks, my holiday focus will not involve shopping, candy canes, or how to keep the cats away from the trees. It will involve recipes, menu planning, and the enjoyment of friends.

Ya know how a trash compactor will crash, smash and smoosh loads of trash into a tightly compressed cube of, well… trash? In a way, that is how the weekend went – no, it wasn’t trashy. Just really, really, compact!

 

I am thrilled to no end that I completed everything on my “to do” list that I had scheduled for this weekend. Despite it being an aggressive list, somehow, someway, I managed to get in a few extras here and there on top of each and every cross-off – WOOHOO! Happy dance!

 

Highlights for my weekend included:

 

- Shopping and preps for the church charity brunch

- Gardening

- Preps for dinner party later this weekend

- Birthday/costume bash

- Execution of the church brunch

- Completion of my giornea

- Completion of another needlepoint badge for Giles’ heraldic mantle.

- Cutting of calze and capuccio to complete new outfit

 

Of course, I must admit, the absolute BEST part of the weekend involved going line-dancing on Friday. The variety of costumes at the bar cracked me up. Add on the snark-fest that developed between me and my gal-pals. The combination of dances that they played also really rocked. Finally, I am starting to feel somewhat confident about some of the dances – enough so that I am not (at least not every time) thrown by variations that other people do. Yet, the highlight of the evening came from a sudden revelation called to my attention by Kerri. “Hey Joe,” she said. “You know that tall dancer guy that you usually drool over?” “Ya,” I said, choosing not to argue that I do not actually ‘drool’ so much as… um… ‘admire his ability to move so gracefully on the floor’. “Well, he is on the other side of the floor dancing…and he is shirtless.”

 

HOW I managed to not get whiplash, I will never know. And yes, there, on the other side of the floor dressed as a Chipendale dancer, he performed. Tight black pants. Cuffs. A hat. A tie. And that was it.

 

ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWW!!!!!

 

Ah… the glories of Halloween.

OK, so if an older woman who goes for a younger guy is a couger,
what is the gay man's equivalent?

Maybe I should stop reading the newspaper and watching the news. It seems like on an almost daily basis, I learn things about the current mentality of this country that really, really manages to annoy the crap out of me. And this week is no exception. Yet, this time we have a theme – sports injuries.

 

Sports Injuries Happen. No doubt about it. If one chooses to strap on skis, the fact is that one MIGHT hit a tree, or go off a cliff, or have a nasty wipe-out. That is the risk that one takes. If one takes up scuba diving, one runs the risk of drowning. That “risk factor” is in many ways the very appeal to many sports. And let’s face it – many sports by their nature carry more risk than others. Should one enter a boxing ring and be surprised by a punch to the face? And then we have football. Who could possibly anticipate getting hurt in Football?

 

OH, but there’s the rub. There is now a movement to go after the makers of the football safety equipment because, they argue, the equipment does not properly guard against all injuries. ‘scuse me? WTF? How COULD it? Now, don’t get me wrong. We’re not talking about equipment that has an inherent flaw worthy of a safety recall. We are talking about a movement to completely sanitize a sport that, no matter what we do, is and will continue to be, dangerous.

 

Face the facts, people. Football is a brutal sport. We “civilized” folks pretend like we have come so far along in the lines of evolution. But all we have managed to do is sanitize our denial. We still have the same bloodlust craving that our Imperial Roman ancestors had. They gathered in coliseums to watch blood sport. Yet, at least they weren’t hypocritical about it. They knew what they wanted to see, and they didn’t sterilize it. Modern audiences in America are just as bad, if not worse. We love the crunch! We love the drama! We kinda feel bad that we enjoy it, and may even feel a little bit guilty about it. So what do we do? We try and cushion it with the notion that the players do not and will not REALLY get hurt. Um… yah right! And when a player really DOES get hurt? We seem to get this kneejerk reaction that it was such a shock, could not have been anticipated, and that someone else should be held accountable. ‘scuse me? That athlete is getting paid HOW much more than a hard working 9-5’er? Did anyone MAKE that athlete get into the ring? Did anyone FORCE that football player to take up that occupation? The ancient Christian didn’t have a choice when he got fed to the lions. Modern gladiators in today’s coliseums DO have a choice. And as responsible adults who make our own choices, I find it ludicrous how much blame we seem to try to shift onto others when injuries happen.

 

Then there is the news in the L.A. Times this morning.

 

“A jury found that the maker of Louisville Slugger baseball bats failed to adequately warn of the dangers the product can pose, awarding a family $850,000 for the 2003 death of their son in a baseball game.

The family of Brandon Patch argued that aluminum bats are dangerous because they cause the baseball to travel at a greater speed. They contended that their 18-year-old son did not have enough time to react to the ball before it hit him in the head while he was pitching in an American Legion baseball game in 2003.”

 

Again, WTF?!!!!!!!!!! I am sorry that the parents of this 18 year old lost their son. It was a terrible tragedy – no question about it. But to sue the aluminum bat maker? SERIOUSLY?!!!! Now, I could see a lawsuit if the bat itself shattered, injuring people around it. That kind of thing shouldn’t happen. But ultimately, the bat was made to hit the ball and send it far and fast. That is what it did. Anybody surprised by this? Anybody? And yet, the makers are being penalized.

 

Heck, why stop with the bat? How do we know that the ball wasn’t too hard? Perhaps we should sue the ball maker. How do we know that the ground wasn’t level, giving a slight advantage to the batter? Perhaps we should sue the groundskeeper. Oooh, did the mother of the batter feed him food as he was growing up that made him super-duper-strong? Perhaps we should sue the mother. Or could it be that Mr. Patch just frankly was not all that good a ball player, and his reaction time SHOULD have been faster in order to protect himself. GASP!

 

Whatever happened to responsibility for one’s own actions and choices?

 

Whatever happened to being an adult, and accepting consequences?

 

Why has our society made it ok for some people to not to be responsible for themselves while, at the same time, expecting someone ELSE to be responsible for himself AND for the “victim” of such an accident?

 

Nearly 20 years ago, I joined a weird and fun hobby group. Many of the people involved in the game choose to put on full body-armor and then go out into a field to hit each other with rattan swords. Early on, I made the decision that that looked dangerous. With my oddly-shaped ribcage and frame, I did not believe that would be a good idea for me to do. So instead, I got involved in other activities that would pose less of a physical threat. I took up dance. How dangerous could that be, right? Years later, I had to have two separate surgeries to repair nearly-identical complex tears in both of my knees. In effect, I have had to have more SCA-related surgery than the majority of fighters out there. Oh, the irony! I distinctly remember when and where I hurt myself the first time. I was teaching a class at Pennsic in that horrible barn with the uneven and pock-marked cement floor.

 

OOH! I should sue the Coopers! That’s it! After all, why should I accept responsibility for my own stupidity when I can blame someone else, right? They should have anticipated that the barn would be used for dance classes, and they should have replaced the big cement floor with a lovely and smooth hardwood floor in advance. Right?

 

Perhaps I am in the minority here, but I find this whole concept appalling. Freedom of Choice, one can easily argue, is one of the greatest liberties granted to American adults. Yet, some people seem to expect the freedom of choice along with a side-dish of freedom-from-responsibility. Sorry folks, you can’t have your cake and eat it, too.

 

Don’t like that? Sue the baker!

Every now and again, in between the shuffling of paperwork, and the analysis of spreadsheets, and the ever-changing nature of deadlines, I ask myself that eternal question – how in the world did I end up here? Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. In my 9-5 world, I have a successful career, a short work commute, and a combination of both challenge and the feeling of doing my part to help others. But that being said, at no point in time in my formative years did the idea of being a gub’ment employee ever enter the picture.

 

Au contraire! I had grand plans! I was going to be an oceanographer where I would be travelling the world on amazing dives to see the great coral reefs, and document species of undersea creatures never before discovered. I planned to find the final resting place of the Titanic. I planned to find lost treasure. I planned to unlock mysteries of the deep never before unlocked.

 

Then the plan changed.

 

I wanted to be an archeologist! Staying dryer and on-land, I planned to conduct digs in remote areas of the world to unlock mysteries of ancient civilizations undiscovered by modern scientists. I planned to put names to anonymous mummies. I planned to locate fabled temples, lost to the deep jungles of faraway places. I planned to bring to light ancient works of art that gave a face and emotion to cultures and societies that no longer walk the earth.

 

Then the plan changed.

 

I wanted to be a psychologist! Delving into the uncharted territories of the human condition, I wanted to help people help themselves. Pushing people to the brink of their coping abilities, I planned to be tough and aggressive, but always work with compassion and understanding to help them wrestle with their own inner-demons.

 

Then the plan changed.

 

Somehow, all these years later, I have a very dated bachelor’s degree in a field completely unrelated to the area in which I work. Yet, somehow, someway, that did manage to lead me to where I am today. I would say that I am very good at what I do Monday through Friday. I am efficient. I am thorough. I am detail-oriented. But am I PASSIONATE about what I do? Not particularly. Is that bad?

 

In my way of thinking, I would initially say that it is bad to be in a position and not have a passion for it. After all, why would one go that extra mile if one’s heart is not in it? Yet, from where I stand, I have noticed that when it comes to passion versus competence, I prefer the latter any day.

 

I don’t know if it is just in the nature of my workplace, or if this translates to other work-related areas, but it appears to me that passion often handicaps the owner. Invested in a program, heart and soul, the person who is passionate about an issue rarely seems to cooperate with others. Somehow, it is less about “what we all can do to work together”, and more about, “how you all can support my dream”. While I admire the drive and spark and determination of the passionate worker-bee, I find working with this personality to be an exercise in frustration. After all, a strong desire to see something work is not the same as knowing the best way to make it work, or knowing all of the individual parts. To put it into perspective, you can desperately WANT your car to start up in the morning. But how useful is your passion if the key doesn’t make the engine turn? Unless you are versed in mechanics, your desire alone will not get the car moving. Yet a phonecall and a credit card just might.

 

Part of me wishes that I had more passion for what I do. After all, when I am working on something that I passionate about, the hours tend to fly by. Then again, if I were, would that lead to newer and different frustrations that currently don’t exist?

 

In the sliding scale of competence versus passion, what do you think is more important? Why?