Freaks, Geeks, Cleavage and More

I went to a Renaissance Festival. It was the first one I had ever been to in my life. I have heard a lot of stories over the years, but nothing compares to the true weirdness of actually being there. Now don't get me wrong. I thoroughly enjoyed the day. We all had a great time walking around, talking with people in our really poor attempts at British/Irish/Scottish accents, watching the performers, eating the food, and in general people watching.

Honestly, I could not tell who was paying visitor from who was "working" the festival. In fact there were so many people who were dressesd in costume, you started feeling like an oddball in your jeans, tee shirt, and tennis shoes. While some of the costumes were very well done, most were mediocre attempts at getting into the spirit of the time period. And many were just downright dagnasty ridiculous. But I applaud those that got into costume and tried. I did not. For shame squire! Why dost thou wearest such foul clothing? Do thyself good and wear proper garments!

And what's more, just because you have boobs, doesn't mean you should smush 'em up as high as you can, barely cover them, and project them out there for the world to see. In fact, most of the cleavage I saw was more like watching women carry jello molds around in chest mounted trays. There was more wiggling and jiggling going on than you should ever see. I think I may have been blinded a couple of times today. If not from the sight, then from the poke in the eye as a boob poked me in the eye a full 30 seconds before the woman actually caught up with it. After a while, you began to think that those things were actually out to get you. And more than a few you would wish actually catch you ;-)

So there was cleavage on display from the nearly non-existent to the "Good Lord! Put those pigs back in the pen!" This begs the question, why? Why did so many women wear something that looked uncomfortable, was not attractive, and was so revealing? Why didn't some of the hotties I saw do it? Perhaps these questions are not for men to ever understand.

Then there were the geeks who brandished armor and weapons, wore period clothing, could speak endlessly without falling out of character, and in general were just trying to have a good time. Being a geek of the computer world myself, I saw no problems with this lot. In fact, I wished I could have joined them on more than one occasion.

And there were a good number of freaks. You can interpret freak as positive or negative. It just depends on your attitude. I leave it as neutral. But there were a fair number of freaks who went beyond the period attire and invented styles that could best be described as a goth beginning and a Wal Mart ending. Some were adorned with wings, some wore horns, some wore hooves - yes hooves, and still others wore things I would rather forget. You know who you are! No one really needs to wear leopard skin pants, especially a guy (extreme shudder).

Ah, but then there were the dancing girls. Now I have no complaints about most of them. Some should know better than to wear such revealing clothing, there were... well let's just say there were some that are not very attractive revealing so much skin (shudder). To the others, I thank you for a good day. There was one particularly cute girl in a dancing girl outfit I kept seeing throughout the day (sigh). Why aren't there more of her?

So now I am already thinking about what I will wear next year. Will I buy a sword or just carry my cell phone? Will I go as a common villager, a knabob, royalty, a squire, a knight, a corsair/pirate, a monk, or just wear jeans again? I think I should go dressed as some kind of soldier with a sword. That way I could talk to all those cute dancing girls in character. So instead of just talking to them wearing jeans and have them think I am an idiot, I could talk to them in full attire and remove all doubt of it.

[Note: This post is intended for nothing but fun. I thoroughly enjoyed my time at the festival and I thoroughly enjoyed the enthusiasm everyone had for it. I will be going to more of them in the future.]

Three words you don't want to hear...

And what are those three words? Cracked engine block.

You do not want to hear those words. When you hear them it costs money. When you say them it costs money. When you think them it costs money. Anyway you shake it, those three words cost money.

I hate cars. I wish this country would have a decent public transit system. I do. I am tired of having to buy cars, fix cars, keep cars, wash cars, rent cars, insure cars, and everything else that requires automotive effort.

Well I guees that is not entirely true. I don't always hate them. They have their uses. And I need one. But I hate having all the issues along with them.

Listen up auto-makers. I want a cheap, reliable car. One that is short on frills but is made as tough as Tonka trucks used to be. And I want it to not use gasoline. Figure it out. That is what you are in business for.

I saved 20 cents.

Yes folks, I saved 20 cents. I went to Walmart today to get groceries. I spent $83.67, but wait! I saved 20 cents! I know this because the register's user screen proudly displayed "You saved $0.20" in fluorescent green. And the receipt proudly carried the words "You saved $0.20" in receipt printer blue. Wow. My day is complete.

I write about that because, well, that is all that there was today that is worth writing about. I could write about how I started writing the software for a programmable state machine for protocol testing. Or I suppose I could write about the oil leak on my car. But no. I chose to focus on the positives in life. And there is my big positive. I saved 20 cents. I simply don't know what to say. I think I may cherish this moment forever.

May your day be as adventure filled and as profitable as mine.

Are you suggesting hair is migratory?

I got my hair cut today. Well, at least my remaining hair. That's the thing about being a guy. As you get older, hair moves. It disappears from the top of the head and comes out in the strangest places. I wouldn't be surprised to wake up some morning and find all my hair had migrated away from my scalp. So I guess I will just enjoy what is left of it for the moment. Maybe one day they will have a real answer to hair loss, and give it away free. Until then, maybe I should just keep my mouth shut about it. In fact, I should keep my hair comments to myself.

So a change of subject is in order. Let's talk about nanotechnology. Uh.. scratch that. Let's just say something positive about life. Hmmmmm... what can I say that could possibly be blog-worthy? Actually I can say a lot. Let me talk about kids. Specifically, my kids.

I love my kids. My kids are what keep me going when everything else drags me down. My kids are teens and teens can be a handful. But even with all the teenage issues, they are a joy. I am very thankful I have my kids.

The day is gone, and so is my brain. Time to rest my neurons and my remaining hair.

Wretched Isn't It?

"Marvin you saved our lives!"

"Yes, wretched isn't it."

Ever feel that way? You are alive, with all your working limbs, things are pretty good, and yet you feel somehow that everything is just wretched. Well that is today. Simple wretched. Or horrid. I can't tell. I know it feels like something obscure and not quite right. Perhaps I have been reading too much Vogon poetry. Or perhaps writing it.

Oh well. I can say that it is still hot. That much I know. So it's hot and wretched. Perhaps I need a point of view gun. Yes I watched Hitchhiker's Guide over the weekend.

To all those who say "the book was perfect, the movie sucked", I say too bad. The thing to remember is, that books and movies both start with a concept idea and then appear in two different embodiments. And sometimes two different story lines. Think "I Robot". To that end, just enjoy the damn movie and shut up.

Heat and Reheat

Its already hot here in Texas. Real, stinkin' hot. The kind of hot where you have to question why you didn't get the AC fixed in your car. The kind of hot where you wish you already did get it fixed. Yeah, it's that kind of hot. But it's a dry heat folks. Dry like a hair drier, an oven, the inside of a 100 watt light bulb, and any other really dry hot thing you can think of. So yeah, its dry, but it is still hot.

I guess it could be worse. It could be really humid and hot. You know, like Florida wet and hot. Where everything is just sticky and hot. The kind of sticky that makes it impossible to really cool down. You sweat, but it can't evaporate. It's like the air is just one big puddle that you are walking around in. A big sticky hot puddle. Yeah. It could be worse I guess.

So in all this heat I try to do as little as possible. Especially on a Sunday afternoon after church. Sit in the apartment in the air conditioning. Do nothing. Or at least nothing of value it seems. So I sat and surfed the Internet. Yeah. There was nothing of value there either except for one email from a friend, and that came this evening. So I guess I really did fritter away my afternoon.

Why not I suppose. The kids were doing their own thing. I sat in the living room and was mildly amused at some video game my son was playing. I really should have been cleaning up the apartment. But it was just too hot outside. And that affected me inside. I suppose. I don't know. Perhaps the heat is sucking my will to move. Or perhaps its the lack of someone to move for.

So on days like this, I drown in a sea of unspoken words. The only way I can stay afloat is to spew those words out. So here I spew. Not a pretty mental image is it? If I keep this blog up, maybe I will say something that is inspiring. Or at least not so boring. Or maybe just a little controversial. But then again. If no one reads it, I could use an auto-text tool to just fill it with latin cruft, right?

the beginning

Every story has a beginning. And there are many stories. They wind and twist and intersect and weave life together. This is the beginning of just one such story. My story.

Each story also has many views. We all view a story from our own peculiar life experience. My life shapes my view of the story, as well as the telling of it. Your experiences and your past shape your understanding of it. At times, the telling and the understanding intersect as one. Only then do you know my story.

My story is probably not useful to anyone other than myself. In reality, my story is probably not going to be very interesting to anyone but myself. Yet, I am compelled to record this story. It is only one of many of my stories. And I share only those parts of it as I can justify in time, thought, and action.

Whether anyone reads this story or not is irrelevant. This is an experiment in story telling. This is an experiment in life.

Time to begin. The actor is ready. The stage of life is set. My story has begun.