Well, in the evening, Sam IMed me asking me if I wanted to go to Ascension, the name for Goth night at Club Orpheus in Baltimore. So I said yes, because I didn't foresee myself having anything better to do, and dragged Jose along too, because I didn't want to be at a club without at least one person who I knew decently well. We went with Sam and Jenny, his cousin, who seemed nice, if chronically angry. It's a strange combination, but it works like this:

Jenny: Hi!!! I'm Jenny!!!! ^__^
Jenny: Will you hurry the fuck up, Sam??? >___<
Jenny: Nice to meet you guys!! ^__^
Jenny: Goddammit! I need a smoke!!! >___<

Sam and Jose don't mix well. Both Sam and Jose have their annoying mannerisms, and while sometimes two people's annoying mannerisms can enhance one another's, in this case they aggravated each other like a particularly volatile reaction, or like the physics textbook illustrations of sound wave interference. Some of the things though, I don't understand why Sam does. Like why wear Devil's horns in public? Hmm? You must have been asking for the jeers at 7-11.

Ascension itself is close to the Harbor, in a Fell's Pointy type place though I couldn't be sure. You unlatch the thick, wooden door of an unassuming townhouse, and lo! a Goth club. Upon seeing that door, I almost expected one of those scenarios where you have to knock three times and someone pulls back a creaking panel, squints out, and says, "What is the shadow of the five moon ghost?" It didn't happen though. We just had to show our IDs and pay $6.

Orpheus in general seems pretty shitty as a club. It has a basement smell, or maybe the backstage of a community theater smell, and looks somewhat like a garret with a sound system and tables in a corner. The drywall wasn't even completely painted over yet; I think that's why they keep the lights dim. We went at nine, and no one was there. Jose complained that we would have a private club, which I thought was more the better, because Goths hate people anyway. There were people, maybe a handful, and everyone was huddled around the bar, smoking. At any given point there were like maybe three people dancing. Dancing, because you're a goth, in as unenergetic a way as possible, like in that South Park episode on Goth kids. It has to match the operatic moaning soundtrack, after all.

I think I had fun though. Not dancing, of course. The people there were fun to talk to, and Orpheus is quite a successful lounge, if a shitty club. I met a few nice Victorian gentlemen with swordcanes, who gave me good advice on getting good plus-sized men's Goth clothes (cowboy re-enactor sites, surprisingly), and bondage clubs in D.C. It's a shame about its club pretensions, actually, since once you stop trying to be cool (and fail miserably) it's a good place. If we could actually talk without shouting and choking on secondhand smoke, it would be lovely. Overall, I'm glad to be out on a different social scene every once in a while.

Plus, they had free pecan sandies.

---

Came back with Jose. Around one at night, the weather was cool but the campus abandoned. We were on our way to Late Night when we were accosted by a guy yelling, "HEY!" at us. I thought he was drunk, and began walking faster, with my head down. In a very shady tone, he went, "Hey... you guys fileshare? Are you anti-government? Well we all know this school rips you off, and I think it's about time we give something back to the students. Just this year, five students have been arrested for filesharing." The slowness of our downloads is oppressive, the expense of the dining hall an outrage, and Kazaa a political cause. Apparently he runs some sort of private direct-connection filesharing intranet on campus and wants us to be in on it, though he couldn't provide us enough specifications about it to really satisfy our curiosity. Convo goes as follows:

"So, where do you live?" Jose says amiably.

"Apartments."

"Which one?" asks Jose.

"I can't tell you." The guy is dead serious. "You scare me because you're asking so many questions." The guy's eyes dart from side to side. "Stop asking so many questions."

"Hillside!" guesses Jose.

The guy flinches.

"Casselman!" I narrow it down. Me and Jose think of Kay, and laugh.

The guy goes rigid. "Are you laughing at me???" he demands.

"No," Jose says, putting his hands up to defuse a confrontation, "it's just an inside joke."

"Tell me what it is," he insists, demanding proof that we aren't mocking his anti-authoritarian revolution, "I need to know."

So we have to explain it to him, how Kay lives in Casselman and has his own ftp which he uses to share files and the rest. By the time we explain it to him, it's not funny anymore, which is, of course why you don't explain inside jokes in the first place.

The guy gives us the ip address and then, seeing two other guys walking towards the dining hall, yells towards them, "HEY! HEY YOU!"

"Do we know you?" one of the guys calls back in a knife-edge polite, conversation-terminating inquiry. They begin walking faster.

The first guy writes his AIM handle down, and hands us a slip of paper.

"Here," he says. "You'll find me online."
---

Can someone tell me what the fuck?

Weird Day

Had classes... Kay's in my Greek history class, as are Becca and Michelle, the punks of archaeology I knew from Greek Archaeology last fall semester. Apparently Becca and Kay know each other, due to him helping her with Italian during her trip to Rome. This school is so small (for a state college) it's basically like six degrees of everything. Had Creative Essays, with the coolest teacher, and then Women in the Classical World. Becca (and all her friends) warned me extensively against the professor, saying she was insane, literally insane, in ways inconceivable to the human mind.

"You're taking the Women's Studies course, right?" Becca said. "That's her specialty. You'll die."

The class was interesting.

Actually, I don't see what the big fuss is about. It does seem like fun, though I don't like the idea of group projects and oral presentations. Curriculum-wise I'm also not too hot on the fact that the course, as Ancient Studies 320, is also a Women's Studies class. There are only like two guys in the class, and more than half of the class has never taken an ancient history class.

Upon being asked what they knew about women in the ancient world, the students were generally like, "Um.. Athenian women were like.. oppressed .. and stuff."

God help me. It's like taking Bio for Non-majors. Science majors, you understand my sentiment.

After class, I had this weird AIM convo with Will, which I don't think I'll post here. But, if you knew what it was, you'd agree with me that it was weird.

Just nod to this.

Had my first classes today.

Roman history seems alright. I'm glad there's no paper, though there seems to be a bit of reading. My professor seems good, if unconfident and young, like an older version of Peter Parker, with Toby Maguire playing him.

Econ was fine, but it sounds like a hard class.

Advanced Exposition sounds annoying; it seems like a class where you just write essays on political and social views. Also, there are six papers to write. But I need it for my writing minor, so unless I hope for a better teacher (and though I've heard my teacher is a bit crazy, I don't know if she's necessarily bad) I should probably just take it anyway.

Have moved into my dorm, at Harbor North, 342. My roommate seems sociable but not in the cheerful, party girl breed of outgoing that was characteristic of my last two roommates. Weird getting into the hang of things, especially when you look at old dorm buildings that you reflexively think of as your or your friends' dorms, but of course you don't live there anymore. My roommate has a webcam, which she says is basically her only way to see her boyfriend in New York. Will M has one too, one of the fancy ones that tracks his motions. I think this is a good idea for me and Jeremy, seeing that I might as well put my T1 (or T3, is it?) and his cable connection to good use. Also, I'm reminded of Jeremy a lot more than I was at home; I keep thinking I see him out of the corner of my eye, and oddly enough, certain smells remind me of him, though I can't really pin down what they are. Just certain hallway smells (not the Sus smell, mind you, which is still even after that building was renovated). He may be coming to visit me this weekend, God willing. Conflicted as to whether I'm happier around him or no; I mean, it is a lot harder to find things for two people to do than one person to do on this boring campus, as I by myself am pretty easy to please entertainment-wise. Give me the net and peer 2 peer.

Have spent my time after move-in unpacking and decorating. My room is smaller than the one at Chesapeake or Jeremy's room in Erickson, but it does have its own common room and a bathroom that is, unlike Chesapeake, bigger than a closet. Both the bedrooms, the common room, and the bathroom are invadvertantly accessorized in pastel shades, down to the lamps and shower curtains. It looks nice, but I think my Aragorn poster ruins this effect.

Pat and Biting Chris (who should not be confused with Malfean Chris, or Chris K, aka "Brian's Chris") happen to coincidentally share an apartment, so I helped them unpack also, and move furniture around to optimize space in the apartment singles. This is like squeezing blood from a stone. Tagged around after Jose and Brian K, who share a room in Erickson, like some sort of heirs to the Kay-Niall-Jeremy Ericksonian throne. It is, of course, not the same room, but since all rooms in one building look alike, it certainly feels like they've picked up where Kay, Niall and Jeremy left off. Have made various other social calls, including to Will M and On My Hall Andrew (He no longer lives in my hall this year, but this is a name I've given him to distinguish him from Andrew D and P).

A funny story goes here; I was keeping Pat company as he was working the cashier at Late Night, and this girl came in, panicked to the point of hyperventilating, that she had accidentally taken bread from the dining hall, and wanted to pay us three dollars, (I suppose to salve her guilt over accidentally stealing). Pat reassured her by invoking the unwritten truce between the resident student body and the dining hall, passed down though oral tradition, generation to generation, from a time immemorial; that unless anyone saw her stealing, it wasn't actually stealing. I don't think she was very convinced even then, very desperately wanting us to not think her some sort of criminal. Eventually, we persuaded her to keep her three bucks.

Ahhh... freshmen.

Will go now: have class at 8 am tomorrow.

My classes tomorrow are Roman history, Intermediate Macroeconomics (which I've read ahead by about four chapters on), and Advanced Exposition. Tuesdays and Thursdays, I have Women in Ancient Greece, Creative Essay Writing, and Ancient Greek History. I'm majoring in econ, stealthily. Well, until I've got Intermediate Micro and Macro, the prereqs for the advanced classes, out of the way, there's not much I can do in that subject anyway.

Ancient Studies is my declared minor.

Lorica Plumata Americana

I wonder if it would be possible to make scale armor (scale mail, as incorrectly known among D&D players) out of military dog tags? I hope it wouldn't be disrespectful. Maybe you could use those fake fashion statement dog tags, as opposed to authentic ones actually issued to soldiers. In the fake ones, you could customize the text, so that each scale had a sentence of a short story, or a word in a song or poem, or maybe scripture, or the Gettysburg Address, Constitution, Declaration of Independence, of Bill of Rights. Or, you could simply have them be names, maybe names of soldiers in Iraq, or those killed in 9/11, or just names of random, everyday soldiers with no specific theme. In any case, as concept art, I think it'd make an interesting statement, though what it is, I don't know.

One possible interpretation, if you wanted to be cynical, is that it equates the American military with imperial Rome, since scale armor was used as ceremonial armor extensively among Roman officers. (It was too expensive for the everyday soldier.) Another, more patriotic, interpretation is that each serviceman is part of a greater, unified whole in the protection of our country. However, I think the latter statement would only work with ring mail, with the symbolism of interlocked links and such. I don't think the US military gives servicemen rings, do they? However, you could still make the dog tag scale armor, and have it backed by chain, hence becoming actual scale mail. That seems like a bit much.

On Friday, I STed for the first time for Exalted, in a one-shot with Doug, Andrew, and his brother James. We were all Solars, part of a traveling boyband of weaponcrafters called the ArrowSmiths. :P Name courtesy of Andrew.

Came up with the plot 10 minutes before, in the car.

Didn't get anything done plotwise, because we only had two hours. But apparently people had fun. I'm not sure if I'm satisfied with myself; obviously I could've done a longer session, and if I had more time I could've worked out more setting information, coordinated it to fit in better with the player characters, and other details, like NPCs. I didn't feel I got a chance to describe things very well; I have no sense of oral tradition. Example of me as an ST:

"You are in a city. It's pretty big and crowded. Um, yeah."

"I go to the merchant's district."

"After a little while of disorientation, you make your way in the general direction of the merchant's district, uphill. It looks like an open air market. There are stalls.. and people selling things on blankets.. and ... stuff. Yeah."

"I go to the local smith's."

"It's a smithy. Smoke rises up from it. Inside it is an anvil."

It's terrible. I can write much better than this, and I know more than this.

(The houses are made with clay and plaster washed white, with flat roofs accessible by external stairs. The city is built on a hill at the apex of which is a ziggurat with terraced gardens. As you make your winding way uphill, you notice that the streets become wider. Your honor guard leads you up a wide ramp through a pylon gate to the ziggurat's outer courtyard.)

I just can't narrate on the fly. After a certain point I gave up, and told the players, "You're in Messopotamia," to which Doug responded, "I've never been to Mesopotamia." Well, I haven't either, but I still have a rather specific atmosphere for my setting that I wish I could've conveyed. I may use the setting again though.. it's not bad.

I like my character also, a graciously classist aristocrat bastard: "Your retainers are quite skilled. Where did you buy them?" -regarding Doug's characters fellow party members. I'm also quite happy that the whole bell obsession made the cut: "By the time you are a few minutes into dinner, you've noticed that all the kitchen utensils have been tuned." (To E major, in case anyone was wondering.)

Doug and Andrew's characters were also great, doing the usual party bickering to comic effect, which really saved me a lot of effort since the game essentialy ran itself.

Andrew: "Yay, free food! What's for dinner?"
Me: "You're in the servant's quarters, right?"
Andrew: "Yeah.."
Me: "....Gruel."
Andrew: "Rolling... temperance..."

I noticed something that actually didn't come up in the session, but would've come up in a future session. I was talking to the group about what would've happened had the one-shot continued. My character will attempt to convince the party that he's following a set of tracks in order to lead the party in the wrong direction. There actually are no tracks.

Andrew's response: But you have no survival! Why would we believe you?

Which is annoying, because in character, I have high manipulation, so it's not as if Andrew's character would know I didn't have any survival. It's beside the point anyway, since Andrew's character has high survival, so in a contested roll he would probably have had a good chance at calling my bluff.* But if I'd made him do a contested roll, even if the character had failed, Andrew the player would begin to have out of character suspicions: after all, making someone roll a contested manipulation roll means that I have something to hide. It'd be annoying.

Note to self: Get ST screen. Hide ST character sheets. Roll manipulation checks, investigation checks, and other such sorts, behind screen.

Second note to self: Know what skills each character has before making a story. For example, stories that don't hinge on characters having low survival, and stories that hinge on people having investigate...

On Saturday, discovered a starter adventure on Kazaa. -_- Would've saved me some trouble.

But I would recycle the adventure, I really would. Make it a full, multi-session thing. Mostly regretable is that it just worked so well because of the specific chemistry between all the characters. I don't know if it would work as well for another set of chars.

*This is an example of my typical lack of system knowledge. Would that be Manipulation + Survival on my part vs. his Manipulation + Survival, or Intelligence + Survival? I would think that it would be Manipulation + Survival for him if he was using his skill in detecting bullshit, and Intelligence + Survival if he were using his vast tracts of knowledge to check for factual errors. Kind of like how if you were really gullible, but knew a lot about cows, you could still end up being skeptical of a guy's stories about growing up on a ranch. That kind of thing. In the end, I just kind of end up going, "Whatever," and let the players use whatever the hell die pools they want.

Bleeding Man Wins Saber Gold

From the Associated Press, an excerpt from the report on Men's Team Saber.

Quote:

---

After upsetting Hungary, the Americans trailed France 40-38 in the semifinals when Smart came in to fence Damien Touya. Smart rallied to tie it at 44. On the next play, no point was scored, but Smart's saber went through Touya's glove, piercing his hand at the webbing of the fingers, and exiting through his palm. The match stopped so Touya could receive treatment, while France's replacement athlete, Boris Sanson, started to warm up.

With the 10-minute injury timeout set to end, Touya chose to return to the match with his injured and bandaged hand instead of being replaced.

"He was especially courageous since we were tied at 44-44," said Philippe Omnes, the technical director of the French fencing federation.

The two fencers attacked two more times but no points were awarded. On each play, referee Jose Luis Alvarez of Spain determined that the fencers attacked simultaneously.

On the fourth attempt at a deciding point, Smart and Touya both recorded touches, but Alvarez ruled that Touya caught Smart while preparing to attack, giving the Frenchman the victory.

"France ... you know ... man, that hurt," Smart said. "Everyone was there, everyone saw it. For whatever reason the officials didn't want to help us out."

Smart stood in the middle of the strip, his helmet off and mouth agape, after the referee awarded the final point to Touya, who had bloodstains on the leg of his white suit.

---

Whoever says Frenchmen are wussy has it dead wrong. They just have better things to do than go to war.

Pictures, anyone?

Hearts of Fencing

Look! It's a Chinese high school romance fencing soap opera!

Proof that tv shows don't come in genres.

---

Also! Olympic fencing!

Tuesday at 6PM-8PM on Bravo (Women's Individual Saber. Go Sada!)
Thursday 2PM-4PM on MSNBC (Men's Team Saber)
Thursday 6PM-7PM on Bravo (Men's Team Saber)

I will tape, also.

Vivaldi

Fall makes me depressed, because it's when I go back to school, and the nippiness reminds me of oncoming winter. Winter makes me depressed because of the lack of daylight; oftentimes by the time I get out of class it's dark already. And walking anywhere at night the world seems lonely and deserted and quiet and bone-chillingly cold, while walking around in the summer or in springtime, it's never really quite dark because the sky is fully of clouds and never quite black, like purple or red, and it seems like the world is alive. The only time I like winter is during the muffled silence right before a snow.

I like spring and summer, though I prefer windy days where I can see the wind bending the trees and grass and hearing the rustling of the trees and of cicadas, and where there are high wispy clouds or no clouds at all, so the sky looks like a deep dome where the center is a blue deeper than the light blue around the horizon, and if you lay on the windy grass on your back and stare straight up it seems like you could fall forever up into the sky.

Lovely weather we've been having. The air seems crisp and clean again, even a bit nippy at night. Went to Brookside Gardens on Saturday, and was astounded by how much dedication is put into maintaining the place.

Went to Doug's house on Sunday. It was a rather anti-social social gathering. Spent the whole time either playing video games or talking to Andrew D over the phone as a conference call. Personally, I think the whole video game thing would've worked better if they were actually, you know, 2 player games.

Discussed ideas for Exalted characters, Solars. We gave Doug a little crash course through the history of Creation, but he seems shaky on setting information; he still thinks of things in terms of medieval Europe, the typical fantasy paradigm. I'll have to show him some Exalted-style art (not the official art, which often is rather amateurish ahd cartoony), and of course, "Hero," the martial arts flick. Andrew is psyched about getting a game started but would rather not ST. I may actually end up being the one STing, being the only one who's actually played Exalted before, and the only one with extensive setting information. We're probably going to do a small prelude that will take us to Jade City. Nothing world-shaking. It'll be a good experiment.

Powerpuff Girls Doujinshi

This rocks.. so.. hard..

Bush Attacks Kerry on Trigun Stance

Yes, this is a real campaign ad. Watch carefully.

Apparent Kerry is an enemy of Nicholas D. Wolfwood.

A Comprehensive Look at Why Bush Sucks

Now, I don't think that Bush is evil, I don't think he has some sort of vast corporate-military-oil conspiracy or anything like that. I just think he's wrong for this country.

a) Iraq. Bush said we were going in because there was a threat to national security because Iraq had weapons of mass destruction. There aren't any. So why are we there? I understand that Saddam Hussein was an evil dictator, violated human rights, etc etc, and I'm glad that we got him out. I don't think we did it the right way. We now have this chaotic mess on our hands. You'd think that if we were to overthrow someone's government we should at least get the clear support of their people first. We rebuilt Germany and Japan after WWII, so it's not like the US is incapable of rebuilding nations, but we have to do it with a willing populace. (Another thing that can be said of Germany and Japan is that they were already Westernized nations, with strong industrial bases and an educated middle class, which helps a lot.) Also, if we were truly so noble-minded, why Iraq? Why not Sudan, or Liberia, or East Timor? If we're trying to be the humanitarian police of the world, it's funny that we only help people when it's expedient.

b) Gay marriage. Ok, with the economy like this, and terrorism, and rising health care costs, our biggest problem is that two people want to get married? Sanctity of marriage what? We'll protect the sanctity of a drunk Britney Spears getting married overnight in Vegas, and Anna Nicole milking an old geezer out of his money? Unless the government has some magic powers to discern whether one marriage is abusing the sacred institution, and another is truly blessed, it should just butt out of the whole "moral authority" business completely. The government marriage license exists to help people planning to live together for life acknowledge their legal realities. Just because gay marriage is banned doesn't mean gay live-in lovers will suddenly stop having to worry about where their property goes when they split up, or how to file a joint tax, etc. The government marriage license exists for pragmatic, not moral purposes. A marriage license doesn't mean that you truly will love each other until death do you part, that God smiles on your union. It's just a piece of paperwork giving you certain legal rights and responsibilites that go with your new position. If your church, synagogue, mosque, temple, coven, cult, or family refuses to marry a gay couple on moral grounds, I respect that decision. But something like that is not the government's job.

I don't see what banning gay marriage is supposed to do, other than look good to religious conservatives. What, will gay people stop being gay because they can't get married? It's silly. Another thing, what about hospital rights? A gay man or woman is denied access to his/her lover in the hospital because he/she isn't technically "family"... now that's just ridiculous! A hospital patient should have the last say in who he/she wants visiting. It's a highly personal decision and the President, the Senate, the House and the Supreme Court can just stick their laws where the sun don't shine, for all I care. It's a free country, and if a dying man in a hospital wants to see, his HAMSTER, for God's sake, then no law, come hell or high water, should keep him from it.

Even if you did oppose homosexuality on a moral ground, which is a personal opinion, I don't see how this justifies amending the Constitution. The Consititution is what prevents presidents from gaining too much power, by setting a groundwork for what, except in dire circumstances, cannot be changed. I don't see the erosion of the Constitution as a good thing.

In conclusion: Bush is dead wrong.

c) Stem cell research: Guh? Suppose you believe that life starts at conception (which I don't). Fine. The embryos are already dead, though! It's not like you're killing them when you extract stem cells. If you are so pro-life, ban the fertility clinics that create and destroy unused embryos in the first place, not the scientists trying to do find ways to alleviate suffering. Besides, not all stem cells are embryonic; there are also bone marrow stem cells, for example. Anyway, I've posted my opinion on fetuses elsewhere.

Conclusion: Kerry rocks.

d) Tax cuts for the rich: In theory, this should work to stimulate the economy. In practice, it doesn't. It's extremely difficult for the government to time economic policies precisely, because first, once the information is available, the situation has likely changed. Then there's the time that it takes to pass legislation, and then there's the time it takes for the legislation to take effect. So by the time fiscal policy enacted, it won't help anymore. Besides, while I'm not a communist and actually like the idea of people who earn their money keeping it, rich people manage to worm out of many taxes anyway. For example, normal people earn a revenue, and then are taxed from that, leaving the remainder to pay their expenses. But if you put all your personal assets in a corporation, you're allowed to use your revenue to pay your expenses first, and then are taxed on the remainder. Also, if your personal assets are in a corporation they can't be confiscated to pay off debt. Or, if you trade a piece of real estate for a piece of real estate worth more, the tax on your gain on the sales of the first piece of real estate is delayed, meaning that if you keep trading for bigger pieces, you can delay paying your real estate taxes indefinitely. Sneaky! Stuff like that!

People who take the brunt of the conflicting 'tax cuts for the rich/ free market' and 'wealth distribution' ideals are the upper middle class. Kerry is going to cut taxes for the middle class, and it's about frickin' time.

e) Bush's policy of abstinence only education: Teens need to learn about safe sex. This is common sense. Teens will not stop having sex because you refuse to acknowledge that they are. They need to learn how to have sex responsibly. If they have it pounded into their heads that they're evil if they have sex before marriage, the ones that have already had sex won't listen to anything else you say, the ones that plan on having sex won't listen to anything else you say, and as adults if they actually do believe that sex is evil, they'll have a hard time surviving in a sexually responsible manner once they have sex. And of course there's the Christian overtones. Many of the abstinence only programs are overtly religious (nothing wrong with that, but not something that should be funded by public schools) and promote tired gender stereotypes, like, "Boys want sex but are less emotionally mature," or "Girls are more vulnerable." Not exact quotes, but you get the idea.

f) Military service:

Kerry won three Purple Hearts, which demonstrates courage, decisiveness and grace under pressure. It doesn't conclusively prove that he has the qualities of a president, but it certainly doesn't hurt. Bush joined the National Guard during the Vietnam War. Nothing wrong with that, but he never did his National Guard duty! Conveniently, the records went missing. Also, his family had an "understanding" with the Army. Bush got out of serving because he was going to business school, which is an excuse that won't appeal to all the men and women who joined the Army because they couldn't afford college. There's a reason most of the people getting shot are working class boys and girls. Using privilege to get out military service is a flagrant display of arrogance and elitism.

Also, if you promote yourself as a wartime president you should have credentials to back it up. If you didn't have military service, fine, but you shouldn't have tried to worm out of it and covered it up. And if you *did* do all that sneaking, you should at the least have the good graces not to criticize a rival who actually served his country the hard way.

g) Accessories:

John Edwards: Born in a working class family, first in his family to go to college, graduated 3rd in his class in college and within the top 10 in his class at graduate school. Great reputation as a trial lawyer in malpractice suits. Smart, ambitious, charismatic, and a fighter for the injured against giant corporations and organizations. (good) Singlehandedly raised health care prices in South (North?) Carolina with the cost of the malpractice verdicts. (bad... I guess? But if there weren't malpractice it wouldn't cost anyone.)

Dick Cheney: Tough as nails, smart as hell (good), CEO of Halliburton, a company which is (quite coincidentally, we're supposed to believe) the one contracted to export oil from Iraq and is making a killing (bad), supports amendment against gay marriage despite having a lesbian daughter who conveniently keeps very very quiet and out of the public eye and a wife who disagrees on that issue (v. bad).

Hmmm.

Teresa Heinz Kerry: Spent her early years in Mozambique and South Africa, would (technically) be the first African-American first lady. Doesn't take @#%$.

Laura Bush: Librarian. Ex-schoolteacher. Wallflower.

h) Dubya: Had an alcohol problem until age 40. Not.. during college or, "in my young days." Until he was 40.

---

Kerry is dumb because:

a) What the heck is that, "Keep jobs in America" crap? What are you going to do? Subsidize companies that don't outsource? That hardly seems like good incentive.. oh, and hurray for keeping prices artificially high and most likely causing many companies to go bankrupt because of the cost of labor. Hurray for discouraging investment overseas (creating job opportunities, modernization, training and infrastructure in countries that would otherwise be economic cesspools). Hurray for starting up another brand of "made in America" jingoism that will no doubt cause even more racism towards Indians and other Asians. GOOD FOR YOU, JOHN KERRY! -_-

---

I still think Kerry wins.

Otakon 2004

Went with T and Mehmet. Got lost on the drive to Baltimore on Friday, as T was trying not to take the highway. It took us several hours to get there, but fortunately the Baltimore Convention Center is not too hard to locate. Baking in a midsummer noon stew, you could smell the line of otaku stretching several blocks down Pratt Street even before you could see them, and you could see them from quite a ways. Stood in line for an hour or so, in air conditioning because I'd pre-registered, mercifully. It felt a bit like an airport (maybe what the UMBC Commons were supposed to be, with more success), from the lines to the row of registration booths, the cosplay security officers from some anime I've never seen pacing around like the real thing, and even down to the people holding arrival signs for other people they intended to meet up with.

Did not know what to do once I got in; ambled around for a bit, peering into panels and videos that'd already started. The panels are not that great. By the time I got in, the seats would be full and the mikes not working so that you couldn't hear the panelist. It didn't matter too much because the panelists, unlike your teachers, are offered the position because of their position in the anime industry, not great lecturing/presentation skills. So what you'd get is a response that's completely incoherent:

Panelist: *mumble mumble thump* Yes.. to answer your question, I'd like to refer back to what Yuki said, about orange eggs.

Audience: (laughter)

I don't get panels.

Sat in for some AMVs and a few fan-trailers. Some of these were pretty good, like a Fight Club trailer set to Pokemon, a Trigun AMV to "Ice Ice Baby," and some Furi Kuri AMV which actually, convincingly, managed to be wistful and sad. This is a miracle, considering the actual anime was loud, outrageous, and seizure-inducing. But most of the AMV's were bad. Little did I know that they were the "Overflow Videos," aka the Contest Rejects. This would be what I'd be doing most of the day, with the exception of getting lost and taking pictures of people in cool costumes.

The intimidating thing about Otakon is that, unlike Rennfest or Gettysburg or other nerd Mecca's, most events are screenings and so have set start and end times. At Rennfest you could drop in on a minstrel here, an acapella group there, a jester here, a juggler there, all punctuated by casual shopping that would bore the daylights out of Jeremy. Gettysburg was a big battle every four hours interspersed by long periods of nothing - mostly browsing, eating, stopping to peer at musicians as you walked by, and talking to re-enactors about 19th century "life." At Otakon though, if you don't get to a certain room by 11 o'clock, the screening starts without you, and the next screening is at twelve. Or, it would happen that you would make it in time and watch 10 minutes of the 11 o'clock screening, not like it, leave, and have nothing better to do for the next fifty minutes, since all screenings basically start at the same time (on the hour). Consequentially, Otakon requires a bit of planning, knowing what activities you will be attending, where you will be when. I did not, so I spent my time drifting from room to room patching together fifteen minute sequences like a cinemetic anime quilt. I'd move from a comedic moment from the middle of some 26 episode series to an action sequence in a 2 hour movie to a completely random scene involving high school girls in short skirts and robots. It's a bit like when you find you've killed three hours watching cable tv by flipping the channel every five minutes.

Went to the Dealers, a giant basement room essentially converted into a bazaar. Got myself a Slime from Dragon Warrior. Still, you can't spend a lot of time looking at merchandise because, unlike Rennfest where there's a lot of cool handicrafts, the extent of anime mechandise originality goes as follows: DVDs. Manga. Soundtracks. Action Figure of Anime Character. Plush Doll of Anime Character. Tote Bag with Anime Character on It. T-shirt with Anime Character On It. Mug With Anime Character On It. Wallscroll with Anime Character On It. Repeat.

I have certain series loyalties, but no loyalty to the big swarming entity that is "anime" in particular. It's like asking me if I like "movies." The answer would be.. yes. But I'm not going to buy a shirt because it has someone from a movie in it. And also, just because I like Full Metal Alchemist doesn't mean I'll buy some shirt with Edward on it. I don't even find those things particularly interesting to look at.

Watched Princess Mononoke at night on a lush silver screen, love it to death. Still, not a kid's movie, that.

Had dinner at the Inner Harbor food court, and on my way out, ran into Janis and Jessica sitting at an outdoor cafe. Small world.

Back at Otakon, went to the video game room, a giant basement room like a ginormous LAN party, with projecting screens everywhere, arcade consoles, and DDR. Played some Soul Calibur, got my butt kicked, decided it wasn't worth waiting in line to play a game I get owned at.

Saw some of Otaku Idol, which wasn't good enough to be good or bad enough to be funny, and some of the yaoi panel. Like all panels, it was boring, but maybe because we came in late, and there were no visuals, like powerpoint slides or videos, only handouts.

Bumped into some people Mehmet knew, and we decided to crash at their hotel, the Radisson not too far away. Me and T checked out the Otakon Rave, and then we stood in line for "I Dream of Mimi," a hentai. We butted in line with the people we knew, and talked about how astonishing it was that it was so easy to see familiar faces. During this time I was looking at the girl standing next to me, who turned out to be a Jennifer from RM, who took ceramics class with me in 10th grade and also was dating Matthew G. Small world.

The hentai was running late, so we in line started rioting and chanting, "Hentai! Hentai! Hentai!" until we were finally let in.

"I Dream of Mimi" is a hilarious hentai about this high school computer nerd who buys a supposed PC from a bum on the street (don't ask why) only to find out that it's a non-refundable sex android. Thus begins a string of "Insert your data in my front disk slot!" and "Oh yes! Enlarge my memory!" jokes that will procede for the next three episodes, including busty American "Nacintosh" virtual fembots who like "installing Japanese fonts."

I must admit though, it does get me thinking about Jeremy, a "hardware engineer," in a new light.

Stayed at the Radisson, eight people to a room. It was extremely hot with the air conditioning on, until we opened the window. The ice vodka with Red Bull chasers helped, but I still insist that chilled or no it tastes like rubbing alcohol. Did some dubious things in the bathroom that tasted like dirt. I don't see why people consider this to be their idea of a good time, except that we are young, and should do something subversive to show that we are alive. Some young people hitchhike across Europe, some climb mountains, some express their vibrancy through their music or art - but for the rest of us who haven't got their physicality and spirit, we sit in bathrooms laughing at things that aren't funny as shadows of people who actually live.

Got lectured on it by T, who said that since my mom had trusted her to be my guardian on this trip, I shouldn't do anything dumb because she'd have to bear all the responsibility. I thought about this more and decided that this was a breach of my mom's trust in me as well. It doesn't matter that nothing happened to me, but it was, in principle, a breach of trust, and I stayed up a while after that feeling guilty.

---

Woke up. Saturday. Ate at Burger King across the street from the Convention Center, stole T's hash browns, went back to Otakon. There are otaku everywhere. It must be terrifying to normal people. Apparently Burger King ran out of food a few years back when they didn't know that there was a con. Anyway, we went to the Convention Center and ambled around for a bit, hanging out in Charles Street Lobby, a beautiful windowed place surrounded by fountains, and a photographic agora for cosplayers. Cosplayers are extremely friendly, and most, if not all, are game to you calling them to pose for a photo. All about the Convention Center, otaku hang about everywhere, curled up in crevices, sitting on the floor leaning against walls, reading manga or playing cards, standing absently strumming guitars, or standing in corners holding up signs (Mostly, "Free hugs!" "Glomp me!" or some variation. There's also, "Death to Hugs!" as a counterrevolution). The pulse of activity procedes so naturally that you forget it's only a few days each year, a conglomeration of misfits, foreigners and tourists, and it seems instead, as you walk through the airy and open corridors, that you're in some giant nerdy city alive with hubbub, that this is one day of many in a teeming metropolis.

I tried to find a place to get a refund for the ticket Jeremy never used. In any case, I was interrupted by a bunch of people I've met online, namely Dr. Lighthead, Sakaki22, CyKairus, and Cookirini from Mobius Forum. Dr. Lighthead called me on my cell, and Sakaki held up a sign. These are all screen names. Real names are irrelevant. For those of you who've never actually met someone you knew online, I shall answer the great question: Yes, you still answer and address people by their screen names, even if it's something that you'd never dream to have someone actually call you by in person. It just seems more natural that way. It actually wasn't awkward at all.

Spent a bit of time with Sakaki (who was dressed up as Squall) in the Dealers, writing funny signs. By the yaoi section he wore a sign reading, "Looking for other MALE Final Fantasy Lead. Inquire within." A Black Mage asked, "Within what?" and then ran away, frightened, as Sakaki tried to give him a hug. So it went. I have pictures.

Met up with Cookirini, who was playing cards with her sister, and we all decided to eat at the Hard Rock Cafe, on the Inner Harbor. I was the only local, and I knew how to get there from the Convention Center (It's not that hard). Dr. Lighthead, despite being from Bowie, didn't. It took a while to guide him. I must express my admiration for Sakaki, who, dressed as Squall, slogged through the crowded thoroughfare of Baltimore in a leather jacket and leather pants, with straps and buckles. In July.

Hard Rock ended up being very loud and expensive, and the food wasn't great. Because we couldn't actually talk to one another, we took out a piece of paper, scribbled on it in pencil and passed it back and forth in a sort of proto-chat. Even after having met one another IRL, it seems that text is always the default.

I was terrified by how much money I'd spent. If you think about it, $50 is not a lot to spend in the course of two days, including hotel fees, but it was terrifying for me to suddenly discover that, out of my wallet, I was down fifty or so. It's not something that happens to me often. Even though I live "independently" at school, I still have rent paid for me, food paid for me, tuition paid for me. I spend money maybe once a week or so, on a movie or coffee, but I never calculate how much that is; just what I consider to be "reasonable" pocket change, and my wallet magically replenishes itself when I visit my parents. My parents had always complained I didn't know the cost of things.. I thought this charge was ridiculous, because I know that a movie is like $9.00 at night ($6.00 matinee), a meal is between five and ten, bus fare is $1.10... but in the end, the accusations turned out to be true. When I was given $60 to spend on everything it all disappeared and I don't know where it went. If you count and list and scrutinize, you see it, leaking out of your pocket bit by bit so you didn't notice. Gas money here. Money for a toothbrush. Money for dinner. Money for breakfast. Money for lunch. Money for a souvenir. Money for a hotel. And then you look in your wallet and say, "Where did my money go?" In my mind, though I know it isn't so, dental hygeine has always been free. Rides have been free. A place to stay at night has been free. A bed and a bathroom and someone to drive me places have been free for me so long that though I knew abstractly that someone somewhere pays, I never had thought about it all too much. It's a very cold shock. Though it's not as if I spent an unreasonable amount of money this year, next year, I shall plan.

Went back to Otakon, parted ways with everyone to wander on my own. Was depressed, went to the bathroom, somehow managed to clog it, felt terrible and fled the scene as water flooded the floor. Still feel badly about this, though nobody knows it was me. Ala anime quilt fashion, saw a bit of Lady Snowblood, a corny kung fu movie, and went to the first half hour of an anime doll panel. Then, went to see the first three episodes of Initial D, which cheered me up considerably. Went to see some of the Saturday Night fansubs, though I couldn't hear much in the echoing vault, and then went to the car.

Mehmet took the last of my money for parking and gas.

Lightning streaked across the sky horizontally, like the arcs of crawling electricity in Frankenstein's lab, and I had a feeling I wouldn't be coming back. I told T and Mehmet that if we weren't coming back that I'd call and find a hotel, and they could go home.

T said, "We are coming back tomorrow."
---

Due to thunderstorms, could not come back the next day.

The last full measure of devotion

I was reading this, which made me think of this. I'd read it before two years ago, but of everything I've read concerning the subject, this stands out most in my mind. It always makes me sad every time I read it, but I think I understand it better now.

---

Today I went and read through the Gettysburg Address for the first time.

---

What were you thinking in your last minutes? What were you thinking in that last desperate charge against the cannons? What were you thinking in that last desperate charge against the cockpit doors? What were you thinking when you donned your colors, blue or grey, and left your family waiting? What were you thinking, when you came off the phone, and left that blinking light one last time on the answering machine? What were you thinking when you died? What are you thinking now, at rest among your sacred bones?

New Oxford

New Oxford, Pennsylvania, in Adams County, is a town of 1,716 people and covers 0.6 miles, square. It happened to be that I was there because I happen to be dating a boy named Jeremy, who happened to be born there, and raised. With the pretense of viewing the Gettysburg battle reenactments nearby, I decided to go visit him.

Jeremy looks different when I first see him, as is the case with him after . He looks alien and unfamiliar to me even though I know exactly who he is; I have forgotten how he looks like. We talk and are awkward, not knowing what to talk about; most conversations have their base in continuity, but it improves with time.

Saturday, July 3rd, after our first stint in Gettysburg, we came back to his house, and I put my stuff away. I said hi to Amie and she said hi back and smiled, a sudden genuine warmness that seemed nothing short of miraculous. Natalie responds when I say hi too, but rather mechanically, and ignores me for the rest of the day. The lively conversation starts. "What do you wanna do?" "I dunno, what do you wanna do?"

We decide to go canoeing. Amie decides to come with us. Jeremy grumbles. Out back, in a wooded area there is a concrete pier, and we push this canoe off, and sit in it. I've never canoed before, but paddling is easy. The creek is smooth and runs deep, and when I pole my oar, probing for the creek bottom, I rarely reach it. Sometimes I leave my oar horizontal just above the water and watch it skim a tiny wake of water, like air over a plane's wings. Amie does this too, but Jeremy yells at her, and not me, for it. With his sister, Jeremy alternates between pushy, demanding, belittling and exasperated, and in general acts like the dad of a teenage girl. She, in turn thinks he's stodgy, boring and a killjoy, like a teenage daughter. Leaves, branches and shadows dangle over our heads. Occasionally, we sweep some overhanging branches aside, and pass by the pylons of bridges overhead, and concrete docks descending like stairs into the water from the banks, from people's backyards. Sometimes we lift the canoe out of the water and take detours on land around rapids, and sometimes we get out and wade through the water pushing the canoe, where it would be too shallow for us to remain in it, and sometimes we pole instead of row. Sometimes Amie gets out of the canoe and stands on a bank and waits for us while we maneuver the boat through rapids and turn around to pick her up. A blue heron lifts off ahead of us in flight, and I listen to the ambient sound as the creek murmurs, and Jeremy and Amie bicker. It goes like this:

**

Jeremy: You're stupid/incompent/ not doing this right.
Amie: You're a nerd.
Jeremy: You're stupid/incompetent/ not doing this right.
Amie: You're stodgy and boring.
Jeremy: You're stupid/incompetent/ not doing this right.

(Jeremy: *warning tone of voice* "Amie...."

Amie: "Oooh, I'm so afraid of YOU! What're you gonna do, hit me with your epee??"

Jeremy: "You always run us into logs! If you're going to sit there, why don't you actually paddle?"

Amie: "I am paddling! And who uses the word log anymore?"

Me: "Everyone uses the word log."

OR:

Amie: "Jeremmmyyyy! Turn us around!!!"

Jeremy: "Honestly! It's just a four foot waterfall..."

Amie: "*incoherent high pitched noises* Jeremyyyyyyy!!!!")

It'd kind of cute. Completely random fact: Amie can imitate her dachsunds.

**

We got quite wet.

We have dinner:

(Jeremy's mom: "I got the low fat chicken....")

Amie acts differently around her parents than with just us. She's withdrawn. I wonder if Natalie is like that too, (I know Jeremy is) and how much I'm missing.

.. and then me and Jeremy do a hundred piece dinosaur puzzle. Amie joins us. We talk. I tell Jeremy to stop being sappy. Amie picks this up, and now her new word is "SAPPAY!" She jumps out from behind corners and yells it, randomly. I think this is funny.

After everyone is in bed, Jeremy takes me down the back road to show me the grove where the fireflies are. He says it looks like a star field when it's dark. My eyes have not adjusted yet, and I only distinguish the darker shadows of the branches against the lighter shadow of the sky where the branches blot out the stars. In a world without color the fireflies seem to glow white. Off in the distance, someone is setting off fireworks prematurely, and I hear the high pitched whistle and crackle as the fireflies dance. Jeremy starts making out with me. I am with a strange man in the dark woods at midnight in rural Pennsylvania somewhere. The woods don't look like a field of stars, I think. They look like a bunch of trees, with chemically-active insects flying abou. That's all they are, trees with insects. I leave, and Jeremy flagellates himself over imagined wrongs. I tell him, as I have countless times, that he has done nothing that needs forgiving, but he will not believe me.

When I got home, I couldn't sleep. I was thinking it unexpectedly pleasant that Amie would smile at me, so I did a little prayer (and I never do) giving thanks to God in His boundless mercy that in one small unexpected instance people should come to be nice to each other.
--

Sunday is the fourth of July. We don't do very much on Sunday. While everyone is at church, we sit around the tv and watch a documentary on alligators while every half hour a wooden bird hurtles out of one or another of a pair of cuckoo clocks on the wall, and the painted wooden figurines inside the clock do a little hellish German dance. In the afternoon we go to Gettysburg again, where it rains. At home we walk about New Oxford, around dusk. There's not very much to see. It's a very pretty town. A postcard town. A Christmas ornament town, a snow dome town, with ivy covered walls and small houses with porches and American flags hung on rods by the door, and pots of flowers. At the center of town is a brick paved square, and at the center of a circle with paths and benches and small trees, is a fountain and flagpole. Down the street from his house is a horse farm and a track used for harness racing. Train tracks run through town, dividing it, and a little historical station sits by them, unused and ornamental, a former connection with the rest of the world. We walk by the turkey plant, which smells terrible, across the rail bridge, and through the newer neighborhood where the houses seem devoid of personality, and if you look in the distance, all you see is fields with nothing around anywhere, even trees, like some sort of insta-village. We go to Crosskeys, an intersection of two major country highways with several gas stations. It's on roadmaps, but nobody lives there, and it perhaps serves as the border marker of the bubble that is Jeremy's tiny world.

At night, Jeremy's dad drives the lot of us (except for Natalie who is doing something else), to Hanover so we can see the fireworks, and parks at the YMCA. We walk through the streets where from backyards we hear high pitched whistles and crackles and watch fireworks and rockets explode above roofs and behind trees and cheers of spontaneous joy, and people spill into the streets. We reach the field where the legal fireworks are planned, and sit down, watching people in the houses nearby set off fountains of fireworks in their front yards like pyrotechnic sprinklers, and little children run about, their sparklers hissing. A pre-teenage boy darts furtively past us; several minutes later firework after firework shoots into the air and erupts some distance away from us in the woods. In rural Pennsylvania, nobody is uptight enough to arrest you, and the place is happier for it. The official fireworks start to ooh and ahs, shooting stars in the air that divide and fall glittering, or bloom in an expanding circle of points. The amateur ones fizzle out, at least for a bit.

When we get back, we have pie and go to sleep.

--

Monday starts with Jeremy in the shower, and a phone call. Jeremy's mom got it. It was the YMCA asking if Jeremy could work a lifeguard shift from 6-9:30 PM. Jeremy had already canceled an earlier shift from 9:00 am to 12:00. Jeremy's mom asked Jeremy if he could take it. He said he could but would rather not, so his mom said he could. Jeremy came out of the shower and got pissed off because she said he could though he didn't want to. (I told him that when it comes to jobs, if you tell someone, "You can but would rather not," people stop listening after the, "I can.") In any case, though Jeremy's mom didn't so much misinterpret him as he made himself unclear, I was rather annoyed myself after thinking about it, because my parents were intending to pick me up in the evening, and I'd have liked Jeremy around for me to say my goodbyes. Really, what sort of shitty job doesn't call at least 24 hours ahead for a change in your schedule, especially on the day after a big holiday? Really, Jeremy should've just told his mom to say, "Sorry, but I've already made other plans," which is perfectly valid. I told Jeremy about this, and said I would tell Jeremy's mom nicely that I'd like for him to be around when I leave and if she had any ideas, except that Jeremy got to her first, and they had a yelling match. Jeremy then called the Y and canceled his newly appointed 6-9:30 shift. After his dad found out about this, they had a yelling match ("You know, there is such a thing as respecting your parents." "This is my life, I should be able to say what I do with it!" "And this is my house, so as long as you live under my roof.." ) and I hid. I could hear it anyway, so eventually I came out and said that for the love of God I'd just call my parents and tell them to come later, after Jeremy's come home, which seemed to agree with everyone. I call.

We take time to calm down for a bit. We do another puzzle and play cards some, and occasionally Jeremy wishes himself away from home. My dad calls, and though reception is bad we figure that he and my mom are stuck in traffic driving down from Toronto, and can't pick me up until Tuesday. If he'd've called earlier, we'd've avoided a situation.

We have dinner early, and go of to the Y.

Jeremy changes into his life guard uniform, a red wifebeater with black swim trunks, and looks silly. However, he has a nice whistle that, as his sceptor of authority, sounds out shrill and piping. I hop into the pool and get bored quickly. I also sit around in the sauna, and soak in the whirlpool, and then, bored, go back into the pool and bug the lifeguard every fifteen seconds. There are many little kids and sound carries across the water. Jeremy is hot and I splash water across his toes. 2 hours and thirty minutes to go. After a bit, the free swim closes so I get out and sit shivering on the bleachers. Jeremy tests the chemical properties of the water, like Ph and chlorine level. A woman in one of the water aerobics class gets a nosebleed, so I check up on her in the woman's lockerroom at Jeremy's behest to make sure she's okay and then we clean up the trail of blood with disinfectant, and file an injury report. This is about as exciting as lifeguarding gets. With nothing better to do, I play with the water aerobics class "weights" (they're actually foam so they float, providing resistance in the water) and do laps.

We come home and decide to play in the backyard pool, since we're in swimsuits anyway. The water is cool. The back porch lights are on so we see no stars. Jeremy takes my hands and I step on his toes and we waltz across the pool. He says he can't dance, but this is because he is only thinking of what other people think of as dance. He dances better than he knows.

When we get back in, everyone is asleep. We take showers to rinse the chlorine off. Jeremy is drunk, in a fashion. For many people, being drunk causes horniness. For Jeremy, horniness causes a semi-drunken state, in which his judgment is impaired, he speaks in monosyllables, cannot walk in a straight line, and should not be allowed to operate motor vehicles or heavy machinery. I toss on my clothes, pry myself away from him, slam the bathroom door between him and me and flee to the living room. After a while, he comes out sober, and we rest against each other on the couch in the dimness of the nightlight feeling the rise and fall of our breathing until we fall asleep.

--

Tuesday comes with Jeremy's morning shift, so I go off with him. There's not much different about this time, except that I am much more serious about doing laps, and giving Jeremy neck massages with water to cool him down every once in a while. Sometimes I sit on the bleachers next to him and we talk.

After his shift, Jeremy's dad takes us to the Utz Potato Chip Factory (the Utz factory) in Hanover so we can take a factory tour. We get free samples, and look through windows down on conveyer belts of potatoes and steam rising from fryers and rather frantic packers, and a giant warehouse. By each window is a red button. Jeremy's dad gleefully pushes each of them. When pressed, soothing music emits from a speaker in the ceiling, and a cheerful, phone operator-type voice narrates the fascinating process of how Utz creates its tasty, high quality products from only the freshest ingredients, etc. Jeremy's dad comments on how it would be great to have the job as one of the guys who picks out potato chips considered defective for being dark. You could eat a few here or there, but Jeremy disagrees and says the defective potato chips are simply sold to farmers and used for pig feed. In a for-profit company, not an ounce goes to waste. The process of making potato chips is not a revelation (slice, dip, fry, pack, ship) and Jeremy's dad says that it's a pity that the Snyder's pretzel factory is closed, but I find it fascinating that each room in the factory sequentially follows the accounting process: raw materials inventory, works in process, finished goods inventory. I ponder whether it would be calculated under job or process cost accounting and decided it was process, and which processes would be covered under joint costs (washing, slicing, frying, but not flavoring), and how since Utz is a manufacturer and not a retailer its Cost of Goods Sold (ending Finished Goods Inventory minus Beginning Finished Goods Inventory) would be based on Cost of Goods Manufactured (Ending Work in Process Inventory minus Beginning Work in Process Inventory). I may be wrong; it's summer. I took a little accounting field trip. I'm sure you don't care.

Plus, we went to the Utz outlet store and ate free samples of all different flavors. I asked Jeremy's dad if the turkey plant gave out free samples. He thought I was grotesque.

At home, after lunch, I went with Jeremy to an old abandoned train, by the old station, which had been converted into a coffee shop (the train, not the station. The station is a museum.) We ordered some chai and were ecstatic, realizing that a shelf to the rear of the train was stacked with all variety of board games and card games, and we especially enjoyed Mind Trap, a card set of groan-inducing riddles, mindteasers and puzzles. Nearby, a gaggle of elderly customers were talking about the joys and sorrows of living in Bethesda. Small world.

Apparently my parents got lost because Jeremy's house is out of the way, and people were none too friendly in pointing it out to them. But eventually we got home and my parents picked me up, and when I got home and my mom went to bed in a roadtrip-induced stupor, I was lonelier than before I left.

Gettysburg 2004

So over July 4th weekend, I went to Gettysburg, and by default, New Oxford.

Friday night, I stayed up til 4 am making pies. The banana creme pie worked out to be quite yummy, the personally I thought it tasted better hot than chilled, like you're supposed to. The latticed blueberry pie had a fatal collision with the kitchen carpet. Sustained an oven burn on my arm.

Saturday, July 3rd, went to Gettysburg to watch re-enactments. Met up with Jeremy, and presented him with a slice of banana creme pie. He left it in the car, and it melted. The Gettysburg re-enactments themselves have the feel of a country fair, with a rows of rectangular white tents set up with aisles in between them littered with straw, selling overpriced lemonade, hotdogs, funnelcakes, and other miscellaneous fair fare, and of course the line of ubiquitous blue porto-potties. There is of course Civil War merchandise unique to these types of events; the nightmarishly hot woolen uniforms of the Union and the more comfortable cotton ones of the Confederacy, sturdy boots, collectable weapons for ungrown-up adults and plastic guns and wooden sabers for children, prints, hair braiding services, wooden craft knicknacks, video casettes of previous battles or DVDs of old favorites, Civil War movies, CDs of folk music from Appalachia and the South. Women in gingham and calico hoop skirts and straw bonnets wander around fanning themselves, contemporary naval officers in full uniform stroll about looking at muskets along with brass-buttoned historical counterparts, looking rather dashing in gold and red piping, with their sideburns or muttonchops, and modern mounted policemen do slow patrols around. Gettysburg is a bit like Rennfest, except the accents are real. Bikers and other species of red-blooded American males display their Confederate pride, or perhaps simply a breed of country music patriotism in shirts emblazoned with things like, "God Bless America, " or "Freedom isn't Free." Pickup trucks, draped or painted in the blue cross on red of the South roll up the hill and squash the grass in the parking field, and closer by, pickups pass with Union or Confederate soldiers seated and dangling their legs out the back. Some of the trucks haul artillery.

We were a bit early for the battle, so we had a stroll around. Away from the glut of merchandise, we talked to a camp surgeon, who showed us various amputation procedures on his comical collection of plastic and rubber legs, complete with fake blood. We passed tents as men and women tended to smoky fires wafting the smell of frying ham, and a camp follower woman generously fed us hardtack, much to our misfortune. We ended up getting, in the commercial area, "Italian sausage," which is fair fare, not Civil War fare, but a lot better tasting.

Didn't get a very good view of the battle itself, though we were in the front row of the general "seating" (by which they mean standing, in a crowd) area flanking the (more expensive) grandstands. A man with a loudspeaker began to narrate from a platform, explaining the battle and its significance. I ignored him. From the Union Camp on our right, a mass of men, dark and buglike against the distance of the hills, snaked to the top of a hill, where the cannons already were. Further out, a line of men set up, in formation, hunkered down in the high grass at the crest of a hill, muskets pointed. Solo cavalrymen, on horses doll-like in the distance, charged back and forth, seemingly at random. A signal from somewhere, the line moved. All this setting up was interspersed by long periods of nothing, with the sun beating down upon our backs. Cannons fired, a blossom of smoke expelled from the barrel and a vortex cloud spiraled from the mouth visible, and half a beat later the boom of thunder like a loud clap, and gradually later, the rotten-egg smell of sulphur and the battlefield cloaked in plumes of smoke. Something was happening on the other side. The deceptively cheerful music of the fife and drum corp, escorting people to "kill" each other. Long periods of nothing. Being that it was a Union retreat, it ended with a bunch of people swarming spectacularly on our side. Then the battle "ended," by which they meant somebody won, I guess.

We were hot and a bit bored, so we left.

-----

Sunday, the Fourth, went back to Gettysburg for the last day of battle, which is supposedly the most intense. We got there pretty late, and so we couldn't find any seats. Apparently the last day is the most popular, and everyone had camped out in the general seating area with picnic blankets or lawn chairs. We spent the first battle, a cavalry battle, running back and forth behind the grandstands trying to get a peek of the action through the gaps in the bleachers. We did end up just standing behind the press photographers, which made for a good close-up, if limited panoramic view, and watched cavalry skirmish with fake sabrists wheeling about slashing at each other and shots of smoke puffing out from pointed pistols.

Spent some time going over to the Confederate and Union camps (Reb and Federal), where re-enactors actually lived for three days. Union camp was larger and seemingy better organized. It seemed quite normal, with tents, smoke fires and food, signs with rules and regulations posted, people sitting around talking, a group of rowdy young men firing their muskets into the air, and a more disciplined dozen or so doing drills, horses tied to lines stretched between trees, surrounded by a ring of horse trailers, patties all over the ground like mud, and plentiful piles of firewood. A black cavalryman on a prancing grey Arabian poses and parades for hoop-skirted, bonneted women and girls. "I was just in the Midwest, chasing Indians," he says, of his full-time hobby/job. Semaphore signalers stood a few yards apart and practiced, while having colorful conversations with a modern Navy signaller. As it started to rain, a boy with a tin whistle, a fiddler and a guitarist began to improv within one of the tents, a high and lovely music to the patter of rain on canvas, a dry place and home (at least for a bit) while the world stormed outside.

When we left, we could still hear the tin whistle from the stalls. a grinning trio of teenage boys beat snaredrums for loose change. We decided to get a funnelcake and lemonade and get seats.


The last battle was Pickett's Charge. We did get a good view this time, at the center edge of the general seating area, near the front. It began to pour, historically accurately, and umbrellas bloomed above the lawn chairs. It stopped, and the umbrellas disappeared. The boring, eternity of setting up, as usual, at least this time, without the heat. We had a better view of both sides this time. Cannons boomed their incoherent language to one another across the field, and short flashes flared up in the grass where the cannonballs "hit." A haybale exploded in flame and tiny firefighters in the distance rushed out to douse it, unspooling hoses. Through the smoke, the signallers motioned their troops into position; far off at Confederate camp I saw, waving around, a tiny white flag with a red square in the middle, in the distance almost appearing to be a dot. I was starting to expect samurai. Though you couldn't see them, the Confederate host down the hill far to the left took up a wild and undulating battle cry, and like the dramatic scenes in movies, became louder and louder until the sudden line of them rose, visible, above the hill's crest. Pickett's Charge. They began running, past and away from us, the flag held high, and threw themselves upon the Union barricates. With a sound of repeated, reverbing, popping, cracks, not one of which would end before the other began, like marbles being scattered to a hard surface, and a leaping line of muzzleflash ripping down the line, the Union formations let unload the contents of their rifles, again and again. Yelling, smoke, screams, people fell, from the Confederate camp, men and women with stretchers racing up at what seemed to be painfully slow pace. We, calm spectators, watched a man attempt to get up, and fall to the ground again. Clash, hand to hand combat.

"Where's the Confederate Army?" I asked, peering at the field of blue. A woman next to me handed me her binoculars, and I peered at all the Grey men scattered on the ground, and in close vision, saw smoke and broken lines and the surprisingly brief, frantic, animal struggle that follows and concludes after half an hour of setting up, boredom, impatience and waiting.

"This," announced the announcer solemnly, "is the true horror of war. You can buy this video for $7.99."

People in the general seating area began leaving. They decided to get lunch. Meanwhile, the Union and Confederate reenactors were shaking hands in the right field, and firing off their muskets in random celebratory round of a weekend well done, and the corpses picked themselves up off the ground. A group of re-enactors yelled, "HOOAH!" There came the review, where the soldiers would march from one side to the other by the audience, waving, saluting, grinning and posing in general for photographs, including a Union cavalry officer who looked remarkably similar to Mr. Hines.

The rain, having let up for the duration of the battle, couldn't hold it in any longer, and the skies opened. In the gaps between the rain, a couple of young boys pummeled each other with their wooden sabers and shot each other, proving that in every generation, children will always play soldier, and then grow up, and stop playing. The loudspeaker announcer wished the best of luck to those re-enactors about to leave for Iraq and Afghanistan. Me and Jeremy looked around, and decided to leave. We sat on the haybale in a tent listening to a brass band playing "Stars and Stripes Forever" with instruments they claimed dated from the Civil War.

They must have, because they sounded awful.

Things Made of Rock: Proof that I am Easily Amused



Ammonite fossil!



Big fossil..



Two fossils...



Swan carved out of quartz..



Fossilized sandollar necklace..



Obsidian turtle!



Lapis Lazuli necklace..



Look! A box!



Oh Jerrrrremy!!! ^___~*



*I kid. Actually, I think they're all very gaudy.*



*Except for the fossils.

Guess Who's Getting a Job Interview?

Jeremy!

Japanese LotR Cosplayers, Once Again Proving That Asians Make the Best Elves.

They also have some Pirates of the Caribbean, Full Metal Alchemist, Master and Commander, Troy and a ton of other random cosplays I can't identify.

Spam for the Blind

That'll be $95, please

Behold! Obsidian Phallus!

Generally I'm very apolitical, but then again, this isn't about politics, it's about someone who's very brave, and also a bunch of greedy scumbags.

Even if, and especially if, you support responsible gun use, let's fight to keep these shitty guns off the street!

Some really kickin' Naruto cosplayers

Remember to register for Otakon online. Tomorrow's the last day you can do it.

Boo!

Valedictorian Denied Diploma After Criticizing School

Something Nerdy This Way Comes

Went to see Harry Potter 3 with T. I've been suffering through driver's ed on weekday evenings (dear God, make it stop!!) so her driving amused me as I watched her attempt to eat, talk to me, and deal with her ringing cell phone at the same time. I love the MVA.

Great movie, though I do wish the actors had better enunciation, and the scripts wouldn't breeze through the important, expository dialogue. I found the part where Harry first confronts Sirius to be rather lacking in tension, but that isn't the climax of the movie, which is later. The movie has a wonderful, almost Gothic aesthetic that you don't get in the first two, as well as a slew of understated visual gags which will require repeatedly viewings to catch, but the CGI werewolf is rather disappointing. Camerawork emphasizing the mechanisms of clocks and pendulums, and Harry's reflection in mirrored surfaces expertly tie the movie together thematically, as does the uncanny ability to string scenes together organicaly through expertly-timed transitions, most notably irises and fades. The ending was well-done; thank God they decided not to go with that ponderous, ritualistic House Cup ceremony which always ends in everyone standing up and applauding to the swell of triumphal music, ala the end of Star Wars: A New Hope. I always thought that was a cop-out. Hermione, played by Emma Watson, is turning into a gorgeous young woman, with actual acting ability. Scenes are naturalistic, like someone just let the camera roll and forgot about it, and I really get a better feel of Hogwarts as a place, as well as Harry, Hermione, and Lupin as characters, though Sirius is kind of vanilla. Lupin, in his mentor relationship with Harry, is fantastic. I'd talked to Mary W (who would've gone with me to see Harry Potter, but is being shipped off to CTY in Lancaster), and she'd said that she found (and objected to) some slash friendly scenes in this movie, which I agree is a first. Yes, there are some slash-friendly scenes. Hurrah.

T is thinking about transferring to UMBC from College Park, and back from electrical engineering into computer engineering (she'd previously transferred from computer engineering into electrical). She thinks UMCP's academic environment isn't as good as UMBC's. It's considered a bigshot college already so it's not focused on helping individual students anymore, as opposed to UMBC which is trying to make a name for itself, she says, and that she prefers computer engineering as well as thinking many skills in that curiculum are necessary to survive as an engineer nowadays. I told her there is really absolutely nothing to do at UMBC, but she seemed undeterred. Well, at any rate, the dorms are much better at UMBC than UMCP, which I can attest to, and while I don't know about the quality of our computer engineering program I do know we throw fistfuls of money into it (shiny shiny!), so it must be decent.

Later went to Popeye's with T and Mehmet. Mehmet's growing his hair long so that he can donate it to charity. (For those of you who either don't know or have been hiding under a rock and are considering haircuts, many charities use donated hair to create wigs for cancer victims whose natural hair has fallen out due to chemotherapy.) I think this is very sweet of him. The ulterior motive is that whenever his dad complains to him to cut his hair, he at least has a noble excuse.

He and T are dressing up as Larva and Vampire Princess Miyu for Otakon. I'm in a hurry to get tickets, since online registration lasts only until June 30th (Wednesday!), and otherwise I'd have to get tickets at the door, which means winding queues that last for hours. I know I'm at least going with her, but if anyone wants to come with me you're more than welcome. This should be at least one summer activity that's going to work out; I have no driver for my trip to Gettysburg to watch the reenactments, which leaves me resorting to the Greyhound, and Andrew D bailed from my roleplaying camping trip at Little Bennett Regional Park, leaving me scrambling to see who has tents. Doug does, but not enough for six people or so, and Rob is uncertain as to whether he's coming. Organizing things is a mess.

Iron Chef Human

Hannibal Lecter vs. Iron Chef Italian Masahiko Kobe

Courtesy of the famous filker Tom Smith. Sadly, only Andrew D's aunt knows who he is.

Self Explanatory

The World's Largest Collection of the World's Smallest Versions of the World's Largest Things

Went to see "The Terminal" with Doug. When I got there, I didn't see him outside the theater, so I ended up buying a ticket for a later showing of Harry Potter in case I couldn't find Doug, since I didn't particularly want to see "The Terminal" and only agreed on that movie because I wanted to see Doug. Once I got past the guy who tears your ticket, I went inside the "Terminal" auditorium (with my Harry Potter ticket) to look for Doug. Fortunately, Doug was there.

Unfortunately, "The Terminal" isn't really a movie worth seeing. How you can take the real life story of a political refugee who's been trapped in an airport in France since 1988 due to a bureaucratic error and turn it into a heart-warming Hollywood romantic comedy complete with token minority sidekicks, I can't imagine. Really, I see it being rather Kafka-esque or Theater of the Absurd, not Steven Spielburg. I'd rather an indie filmaker have taken on the responsibility, and done Merhan Karimi Nasseri some justice.

On the day before I was to leave, I went on a biking excursion in Tai Po with Fish and his girlfriend and people from his fellowship. Riding 14 km is really fantastic. I discovered that one can maintain a fairly decent conversation with the group, since everyone is pretty much stationary relative to one another, even at high speeds, and I got a tan. Also, I'm a much better biker than city people from Hong Kong. ^___^ At the end, Fish said, "Why do you not look winded???" though I think my ease of travel had less to do with my physical condition (crappy) and more to do with the fact that I'm at least experienced enough a biker to not wobble or swerve all over the road. Also, early on in the trip, my hand slipped on the handle and changed gears (an accident to my advantage).

Tai Po is a city in the New Territories that was built around biking. Everybody bikes, from people transporting goods from one place to another to whole families in three-wheeled pedal-powered carts. We begun, after renting our bikes through the trail through an urban park and waterfront. Out away from the city, we rode past tidy, walled villages of colorful four-storey houses arranged tightly around narrow lanes at the foot of rolling mountains and the sea. They seem completely different from the gigantic scale of Hong Kong proper but still rather modern. It'd seem much of the economy revolves around selling drinks to bikers. At the last leg of our journey, the head of the fellowship convinced us to just, "ride across the lake," so we crossed a straight causeway across a great reservoir, which took over ten minutes to fully cross on bike. The blue mountain, cloaked in something of a haze with the sun shining bright, would always loom ahead, above the great expanse of calm water, never appearing any nearer. But we did arrive, zooming into a circular area where little kids were wobbling around on bikes with training wheels and flying kites (or getting the stuck in trees).

At dinner, for my birthday, I was presented with a basket of steamed buns shaped like celestial peaches, filled with lotus seed paste. I find this highly superior to cake, and a great end to a trip.

Excerpts, Edits, and Additions to/from E-mails from Hong Kong

(I've been home for a while, btw, since June 15th, just not posted.)

May 26

Saw Siddhartha's fingerbone. Kind of. It passed me by in the street, drifting slowly like a parade float in a golden reliquary presided over by some monks and guarded by an escort of policemen. People lined the road and the pedestrian bridge overhead to see it pass. To me, it wasn't a big deal once the "Walk/Don't Walk" light switched from the red standing man to the green striding figure.

I was in a traffic accident today, and by traffic accident I mean the bus I was on scratched the bumper of the compact car in front of us.

Had crabs today. Not the STD crabs, the seafood crabs. Wondered what I came halfway around the world for, if I'm eating crabs. They were softshell though, and pretty good. I'm a champion crabeater, but not as good as you.

Linkin Park is coming here on June 17th, but I'll be home by then. Apparently William Hung is pretty big here too, so maybe his success isn't too blatently due to racial exploitation. My cousins imitate him all the time, seemingly unaware that they don't sound much better, what with the same accent and all, but they can rest easy knowing they at least look better.

---
May 30

Cantonese food has a reputation for being bland for a reason. "Look! Food! Let's steam it!" Yarr... Did you know McDonalds is pretty upscale here? It costs about the same, but many other food places are cheaper so that it attracts a mostly middle-class clientele as opposed to the blue collar workers we get in the US, so that in HK while the food is the same the places are generally cleaner and there's better service. There actually
is service, for example; people will take your tray for you when you're done and give you menus and speak in very proper Cantonese, as opposed to even lower class or rural Cantonese.

Days are very long. Wish you were here, except, you don't like heat, crowds, or noise.

Went to Sai Kung, which is in the New Territories outside the city, and it's very pretty. It's got many villas by the sea along green mountains, and hasn't been too built up yet. By a pleasantly beautiful organic farm covering a series of gentle hills, Chinese herbal greenhouse, and insect museum,I went to the Shell Museum. Besides being a museum about shells, and it is also actually shaped like a partially opened clam shell, with windows at the opening, tapering in height into the clam "hinges," the entrance. The exhibits themselves are arranged in spiral corridors. It had all sorts of shells, and disturbing spiny, skeletal-looking cross sections. I will show you photos. Shells are very shiny. Did you know that they produce their own varnish? So it's not like you even have to polish them, just kind of wash them off.. and also there's no limit on their growth, they just stop growing whenever they die. So theoretically if there was a mollusk that was immortal it could keep on growing until it was the size of a small planet. And we could turn it into a space station and live inside the spiral corridors of its shell.

After a long walk through what can be described as jungle, I reached a Hakka (a Chinese ethnic minority) village by a stone pier, preserved from the 1900s. It's on a raised platform, accessible by stairs, but it's really tiny. The brochure says it housed 100 people but there were only like 8 rooms (not counting a room for pigs and other livestock) separated by walls and connected not by any interior corridors, but by an exterior walled courtyard. Most of the rooms had timber lofts reached by stair-like ladders, so there was a bit more room, but I couldn't bear living with the same 100 people in any case. But then again if you think about it I only interact with really 20 people throughout my life at any one time. Except that they never seem to be any of the same people that I'm with throughout my life except for my family; I don't really have any core of childhood friends, except for Christy but she's one and a half years older than me so ever since elementary school she's been in a different grade. In elementary
school it mattered in that we never had classes or lunch or recess together and now it's that we're at different colleges. So we've never really hung out together on a regular basis. I don't have someone who's been with me every single day, you know? If I think about it, the person I care about most in the world right now is you and I've only known you for 8 months and you already know me better than most people. I'm thinking about people I'd invite to my wedding or my funeral, and when it comes to friends, it's like for all of these years I've made none that really mattered. There are people I say hi to and talk to and maybe do things with when it's convenient for them, but there isn't anyone in the world, outside of my family which is there by accident of my birth, that would stick by my side except for you.

---
June 1

I went swimming yesterday. I still suck. My relatives were like, "Can you do anything else besides doggy paddle?" I was like.. -_-

Cafes here are ridiculously cheap, and they're also clean and delicious. I love them. I had French toast with peanut butter yesterday and it was great. You'd think that peanut butter doesn't go well with French toast, but you're wrong.

---
June 2

Went to the art museum today, the rather prominent pink building with upswept roofs in Tsim Sha Tsui, recognizable from anywhere in Hong Kong Island when one looks over at Kowloon. Two walls of the lobby are lined with parallel, floor-to-ceiling windows, so that straight ahead of you, unobstructed, like some grand photographic mural lays the harbor and the entire, signature skyline of Hong Kong Island. There's a promenade along the sea known as "The Avenue of Stars," an imitation of Hollywood where famous Chinese media personalities ("everybody who's anybody") each get a star in the walk and a slab of cement in which he makes his handprint. Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan, and John Woo's stars were there. Well, also Andy Lau, but he's not someone you've heard of. Jackie's hands are much bigger than mine, but Maggie Cheung, who won Best Actress in Cannes this year (which apparently is a big deal, and makes her the latest news darling in Hong Kong) and who played Flying Snow in "Hero," has the same size hands as me. Somehow, sticking your own hands into someone's handprints makes you feel closer to them, as if having the same sized hand makes them smaller and more human.

At the museum itself, I got to see all sort of gold artifacts, glowing softy in a dark room and the craftmanship is really amazing. Of course you can see the evolution of craftsmanship, from rather crude artifacts from the Neolithic era which looks like someone pounded on a yellow gum wrapper, to some incredible filigree work in the Qin dynasty, gold so fine that it looked like woven silk, except that it was, of course, gold. It looks pretty sturdy too; some of the Tang dynasty stuff looks like it would
bend if you so much as touched it, which is not to speak badly of it, per se; it's just a different aesthetic.

Also jade, which was less interesting, because there are limits to what you can do with stone as opposed to metal. Apparently though, nobody knows what quarry the jade in ancient artifacts came from, because they can't find it anymore; it's a soft, translucent white-ish jade known as "nephrite," (this is why in poetry beautiful women are described as having jade skin.. they're not Martians!) whereas modern jade is dark green and hard and known as "jadeite." It seems very mysterious, like something out of a novel, having a treasured material from time immemorial, that can no longer be found.

Saw some watercolor paintings too, which were unremarkable ink and colour landscapes of trees and misty mountains and such. Also some Qin Dynasty glasswork, but this was also unremarkable because really, we use all the same techniques even today so it looks like things you'd see in Pottery Barn, and some artifacts honestly looked like plastic, except for some really lovely snuff bottles which were made of frosted glass painted from the inside with tiny bamboo brushes.

And libation cups carved out of rhino horn, all in the tapered triangular shape, which is very manly. They are a nice, glossy shade of brown, like a polished hardwood. I think I'd like to get a piece of wood carved to look like a rhino horn, and if customs officials stopped me for suspicious contraband, I'd tell them it's actually wood, and it'd be true.

Btw, saw something really cool on the Metro. There was an ad on the side of the subway tunnel which was a series of consecutive billboards, so that as the train passed by and you looked out the window, it looked like an animated billboard, kind of like a flipbook effect, but in the Metro! It was hella cool.

---

June 3

Hey, if my feet are tired, does it help to lean against a wall? Does this take some weight off my feet by having my weight pressed into the wall, or does the normal force of the wall push into my back and into my feet, into the ground? Or none of these?

---

June 7

I had a dream too, that it was next year and you had a job and I was at school by myself and lonely. I think your dream was much better.

I went to the Gold Coast, a five-star resort hotel, over the weekend. There was a beach and stuff. It was fantastic. I went swimming at the beach because while I'm not a beach person, I felt it was something I should at least try. Now, the beach in itself great for actually swimming, which was what the swimming pool was for. It was salty and murky, and the sand had a lot of shell shards and little bits of rock in it so it hurt to step on it, but it was really fun drifting on the waves and being washed up against the shore. Also, I found a clam shell, with both shells intact and hinged. Wasn't too sunny, but it's better that way because then it isn't hot. And also I went to the outdoor dinner buffet and ate a lot, and I ate some grilled ostrich, wasabi cheesecake, and also there was sushi, except that kept getting attacked by a horde of tourists. ^___^ And also I went shopping at the little umbrellaed stalls on the boardwalk but you don't want to know about
that.. and then I spent the night being hyper and jumping between two beds. Literally.. it's the bed jumping game. It's quite dangerous and juvenile actually -the mattress can slip, causing you to lose your footing, or if you don't stop in time your momentum can take you charging right off the bed into the closet, which is why you have to play. And also UNO and junior Monopoly with my cousins. In the morning, I went into the sauna,
which is just like a small room with lots of steam in it, and it's very hot and wet but it feels nice to breathe in, like you're drinking gaseous soup or in some sort of womb. And I went to the jacuzzi which is just bubbling water, except that I was the only one there at 10 in the morning so I swam around in it like it was my own giant private bath tub and massaged my feet with the water jets. And also, I took an archery lesson for thirty minutes and ended up having the string thwap the the inside part of my bow
forearm, despite me wearing a bracer, and also the index finger of my arrow hand is rubbed raw. But it was fun still, if tiring, because it was a real, wooden bow, and I even managed to hit the target several times.

And today I went to the top of Victoria Peak which is just a big tourist spot and saw some dried pufferfish which were inflated and strung from the ceiling, like some sort of macabre Christmas ornaments. I thought about buying one, but I a) wouldn't know how to pack it and b) don't know if it'd get through customs. I also took the Peak Tram, which is a trolley up and down the mountain. The tram is set along a steep incline, with ridges along the seat aisles to prevent someone from sliding. It feels like a roller coaster when you are at the very top, and you can see a little bit of the track in front
of you before it drops steeply away out of sight, and it feels that if someone released the brake you'd go roaring all the way down the mountain. Fortunately, the method of travel is much slower.

At the bottom, threaded through Hong Kong Park, and took a path through a niche behind a waterfall where a man sat on the rocks reading. Revisited the tea museum which I had gone to a few years back, but the great inflatable teapot which had been standing on its grounds is now gone, which is a pity. Many things are still there, like the stairway over which a shallow current runs, and in which a braver person than I could walk up or down, and the cocktail glass shaped fountain accessible by a series of stepping stones across a pool, and with a bench running around the stem on which someone can watch the encompassing cylindrical curtain of water.

Oh yeah, I also got to the fourth level of Prince of Persia. Those swordfighting skeletons and slicing sheets that come out of the floor and ceiling are incredibly disturbing.

---

June 10

Not much going on... was sick for a while, but only with a sore throat. Think it may be the result of allergies; my nose is chronically congested.

Went and got a facial, which involves paying a lot to lay around for two hours waiting for the gunk on your face to try, and waiting for people to get around to you, and getting sprayed with steam and being rubbed with various creams. With your eyes closed. While you don't talk or move. Got a mask, which smells like chemicals, sort of like paint, but if you were there, you wouldn't go, "This smells like paint," but rather, "This has a chemical smell, which reminds me of the way paint smells, because they
both have a chemical smell, but it's not as if this actually smells like paint." It covers your eyes and mouth and is kind of heavy so it feels almost like someone's trying to cast you in iron or something. I felt like a Malfean.. you know, deep in my underground slumber or something. Except without the slumber part. Afterwards, I looked exactly the same.

I did go out for soft shell crab tempura though. Mmm! Delicious!

Also: got a haircut. Decided that since you were going to get a different haircut I ought to get a different haircut also, since it'd be hypocritical to tell you to change your hairstyle, and then be unwilling to do the same myself. Also, worse comes to worse, we can look stupid together and Bob's your uncle. Now my hair is wavy.

---

June 12

Well yesterday, I got to go to my uncle's (mom's sister's husband) decoration ceremony at the Japanese consul-general's residence, because he received the Order of the Rising Sun with Rosette (aka shiny shiny!). He likes calling it his 'bottle cap.' :P He used to be the head of the department of Japanese Studies at Chinese University and got it for
lifetime's service in promoting the study of the Japanese language in China.

The consul general's residence is at nearly the very top of Victoria Peak, which is the highest point in Hong Kong. For once, my ears didn't feel plugged. I don't know, maybe I just like low air pressure places, because "normally" in the valley it feels like every sound is dampened. I've tried yawning and swallowing and holding my nose and everything.. my ears don't "pop" like they're supposed to.

Anyway, it was kind of weird, because people kept bowing to us and I didn't know what to do, and you didn't know what language to speak to people unless you were good at that ineffable art of telling Chinese people from Japanese people, which according to World War II propaganda is possible, but very difficult for most normal, non-jingoistic people. The rule of thumb I used during the occasion was that apparently Japanese people are the more polite and better dressed ones. (As in, white gloves well dressed)

Anyway, in an impeccably neat reception room with a yellow carpet, there was a Japanese-style table with a photo of the Emperor and Empress each, with the Japanese flag to the left (respective photos of.. the prince and princess?.. were on the fireplace by another wall). Me and my family were close to the front, because we were family. There was the reading of the scroll "from" the Emperor (in Japanese, he probably didn't write it himself though), the ritual champagne toast by my uncle and aunt (his wife, my mom's sister), and the pinning of the medal, winking with its dark red stone, and a speech by the consul-general and an acceptance speech by my uncle in English (which I knew pretty well anyway because I'd proofread it). I have some pretty decent photos of the event since I was in front (with my digital camera) but they aren't great, about as crappy as the ones in the paper. You see how well you can photograph when you're jockeying for good shooting positions with the press.. they're pros at that kind of thing. There was a photo session afterwards, which was pretty tame too. There were some good catered snacks passed around though; very simple, but extremely classy things, like smoked salmon/shrimp/scallops on crackers... mmm, snacks. My aunt (mom's brother's wife) says she finds one of the consuls (in white gloves) to be "handsome, in a genteel way".. which I find amusing, because I think the word she's looking for is "bishonnen"... :P Anyway, when we left, the entire staff bowed to us simultaneously, in a synchronized manner. It was terrifying. I did bow back.. and they bowed again.. it freaked me out.

--