Northern Sanctuary

My saints are down

2010-04-08T08:24:00.002-04:00

Life's so long, or short should I say?
I am here to get it on with you today

But I gotta tell ya that my
My saints are down

Revisionist History? Or honoring a dictator?

2010-03-18T19:28:00.000-04:00

Imperial Spain, which financed Christopher Columbus' trip to the new world, and eventually settled predominant stretches of the region began to fall in the 17th century, and fell further still to Bourbon France.

Spanish loyalists set out on a path not unlike our own revolutionaries. They vowed not to respect the rule of France, developed a forward thinking constitution in 1812, and developed an insurgent movent to offer a grass-roots fight against the organized Bourbon forces. France was defeated the following year and King Ferdinand was restored to his throne.

Many Spaniards embraced the liberal changes to their restored country. Ferdinand and his loyalists did not, and the country descended in to civil war. The war ended in an atmosphere not of calm, but of tension. Queen Isabella eventually lost control of her nation, with the liberal revolutionaries establishing a Republic in the 1870s.

The monarchy fought back, selling or ceding its foreign territories developing insurgent movements of their own, bankrupting the country. The following decades brought movements toward a liberal Republic, that was often met by bloodshed of conservative loyalists. The liberals pressed forward against the bankrupt dictatorship. The monarchy fled the country. The liberals established another Republic in the 1930s that greater autonomy for the Basque and the Catalonians, the right to vote for for women, and democratic elections.

The move angered the conservative Nationalists, fearing that the democratic liberals would exacerbate Spain's decline both as a culture and as a world power. The country fell in to a civil war yet again in the 1930s. The elected liberal rulers were attacked by conservatives, anarchists, coalitions of staunch Roman Catholics. The liberal Republicans fought back fiercely, establishing democratic strongholds in key cities, receiving help from the USSR and from international brigades.

The success was short lived, as the nationalists commandeered support from the fascist regimes in Portugal, Italy, and Nazi Germany and pressed onward under the command of General Francisco Franco.

Hundreds of thousand lives later, the Republic fell, and the dictatorship of Generalissimo Francisco Franco began.

Franco issued strict conservative mores, establishing the Roman Catholic Church as par the government and requiring workers to obtain a priest's bill of good character before being able to work. Roles and behaviours were defined along societal bounds, including gender. Politics became starkly isolationist and tyrannical. Mass media was developed for the purposes of state propaganda Democracy abhored, opposition was exterminated, culture stood at a standstill....for 40 years. Yet he levvied his control to push the Spanish economy further from bankruptcy and more in line with his European neighbors.

When Franco's health went in to decline, democratic uprisers and national loyalists organized yet again, each prepared to jockey once again for the power of Spain. Progressive ideas seeped in to government cracking at Spain's isolation and tyrrany, leading to tensions yet again paralyzing the country. When Franco passed away, a parliamentary monarchy took hold, re-establishing a democratic process and writing a constitution. Spain had, finally, joined the modern world.

Franco's critics decried his oppression and human rights abuses. Yet many of his supporters praised how he brought Spain out of bankruptcy and more in line, economically with his European neighbors. Others praised championing of traditional values.

Now, Generalissimo Franciso Franco...is still dead.

Many want his statues to be next. Others, who have a prouder memory of Franco dercy the act as revisionist history.

Is it revisionist history? Or is it moving on from a dark, painful past?

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB123594813501604681.html

Stevie Ray and Jeff Healey...together!

2010-03-04T01:44:00.002-05:00

3/3

2010-03-03T05:57:00.000-05:00

Rememberance

2010-03-02T05:56:00.000-05:00

Within the past several weeks I received word that a woman that I knew passed away. Her death was a surprise, but not entirely unexpected. I was saddened by this, even though I did not know her very well. I don't even know if she had extended family. But now that I've had some time to reflect on her loss, I've found that her passing moved me in ways that I wasn't expecting.

She was someone that I respected, for several reasons. While she wasn't a close friend of mine, she was near enough to be someone that made a positive difference in my life. When I felt that I was stuck at a crossroads, she helped me find my way. When I found my way, she helped me stay steadfast.

Her wisdom stuck with me. Upon reflection, I am realizing that I put her insight to good use perhaps more than I realized. And now, it is too late to thank her, to reach out to her again, or to try to get to know her better. This disheartens me a bit, although it is not something that leaves me devastated, either. Instead, it leaves me with a curious sense of inspiration.

Why did I not reach out to her more before? Unfortunately I'm not that good at telling people how I feel, and I am not that good at reaching to people to let them know that they are important to me. Hell...I'm not even good at keeping in touch with people...people that want to be in touch with me, people that want to be my friend.

Perhaps her departing gift to me to remind me of something lacking in myself...

Rest in peace, M. Thank you for everything.

Chemistry

2010-03-01T12:00:00.000-05:00

Yes, I'm still mad that Rush did not play at the Olympics.

Probably my favorite Rush song, for many reasons.

What those reasons are...I'm not sure if I'll share online. ;)

Signals transmitted
Message received
Reaction making impact --
Invisibly

Elemental telepathy
Exchange of energy
Reaction making contact --
Mysteriously

Eye to I
Reaction burning hotter
Two to one
Reflection on the water
H to O
No flow without the other
Oh but how
Do they make contact
With one another?

Electricity? Biology?
Seems to me it's Chemistry

Emotion transmitted
Emotion received
Music in the abstract --
Positively

Elemental empathy
A change of synergy
Music making contact --
Naturally

One, two, three --
Add without subtraction
Sound on sound
Multiplied reaction
H to O
No flow without the other
Oh but how
Do we make contact
With one another?

And now that the winter olympics have come to a close...

2010-03-01T01:10:00.000-05:00

I'm feeling a bit down, as I always do when these games come to a close...although the throat infection doesn't help...LOL.

Random thoughts:

NBC's coverage sucked, but they should be drawn and quartered for cutting off the closing ceremonies!!

I reaaaaalllly wish I had a recording of the closing ceremonies. The Moscow Chamber Chorus singing the National Anthem of the Russian Federation in the thundering acoustics of that stadium was...fierce. That captured the power, finesse, darkness, and mystery of Russian classicism like nothing else I've heard.

Someone somewhere on line referred to a broadcaster that I have never liked as "bewildered news anchor Tom Brokaw". I thought that was a fitting description, although I have to bregrudgingly give him props for his Gander story.

Canada is just damn cool.

The games were AMAZING.

THE BEST HOCKEY GAME EVER PLAYED, BAR NONE.

Oh yeah, there was other stuff too.

The Chinese pair that won gold after skating together for...18 years, or something like that? Bode Miller actually grew up. Lindsey Jacobellis f---ed up her snowboarding again. Ski cross and snowboard cross are insane. Julia Mancuso still wears a tiara. We actually beat a Russian in figure skating (how did that happen?). Shawn White's snowboard tricks...lemme just say I hope that guy doesn't end up with a broken neck! Apolo Ohno has gotten even easier on the eyes. A blind U.S. bobsleigh driver can see again. A Czech skier falls off an embankment, breaks ribs, messes up a lung.....and somehow wins bronze..give her a special award for that! A Polish skier wins her country their first Winter Olympic gold in a very long time.

But the question weighing on my mind....

WHY WASN'T RUSH IN THE OPENING OR CLOSING CEREMONIES????????

Sigh...only the best band ever...and they happen to be Canadian...

A certain measure of innocence
Willing to appear naive
A certain degree of imagination
A measure of make-believe

A certain degree of surrender
To the forces of light and heat
A shot of satisfaction
In a willingness to risk defeat

Celebrate the moment
As it turns into one more
Another chance at victory
Another chance to score

The measure of the moment
In a difference of degree
Just one little victory
A spirit breaking free
One little victory
The greatest act can be
One little victory

A certain measure of righteousness
A certain amount of force
A certain degree of determination
Daring on a different course

A certain amount of resistance
To the forces of the light and love
A certain measure of tolerance
A willingness to rise above

1 month in

2010-02-18T04:32:00.000-05:00

One month in to the 2 month challenge:

I've lost 7 pounds. My goal was 8 pounds off in 2 months...it looks like I will beat it. I'm eating better. I'm exercising more. My back isn't acting up. All good stuff.

I'm also getting sick, which is not related to my diet or exercise.

*braces for a bout of winter bronchitis*

I wasn't devious enough...

2010-02-15T17:09:00.000-05:00

...to post this Gene Pitney song on V-day. ;)

Hint: it's not about truck driving.

Happy Valentines Day...

2010-02-15T01:27:00.000-05:00

...if you celebrate it.

Nodar Kumaritashvili

2010-02-13T04:15:00.000-05:00

May his memory be eternal.

Vancouver 2010!

2010-02-12T03:55:00.000-05:00

I love the Winter Olympics!

My favorite sports event...period.

When I was growing up in Buffalo, I recall begging my parents to take me to the Lake Placid games in 1980. That wasn't possible, but I remember being glued to the TV. I especially remember the Miracle On Ice, even though I didn't fully understand the politics behind it all until later.

May the games be great for everyone.

Cabin Fever. I has it.

2010-02-10T03:56:00.000-05:00

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

New England gets winter. I don't mind winter. But I wanna be out climbing the Monadnocks again. I want to go taking pictures of waterfalls during the spring...

Next year, I *must* get some mountaineering boots and some better outdoor gear so I can climb in the winter as well.

May I please borrow the Workingman's Jazz Band of Maynard, Mass...

2010-02-08T03:01:00.000-05:00

...to say CONGRATULATIONS to the New Orleans Saints!

The band is damn good too.

http://www.youtube.com/user/WorkingmansJazz

The holidays are too early.

2010-01-29T05:31:00.000-05:00

From Halloween to New Years, it seems like there's this big crush of activity. We start preparing for the holidays, we plan family visits, we go to parties, we buy gifts, we send cards, blah blah blah.

Its all good, but...its too soon!

Most holidays are based on the Winter solstice and the vernal equanox. But, at least in this climate...the solstice just marks the beginning of winter. Sure the days get longer, but the weather gets nastier. I wish Christmas was at the end of January or early February. I'd rather have a big celebraion that breaks winter up a bit. ;)

I have to eat my words, do they have calories?

2010-01-19T04:45:00.000-05:00

OK, I have to take back my self-indulgent whine...LOL.

Just as I was complaining that I feel like I'm alone in my efforts to lose weight, someone (who I'm sure has not read my blog) and offered company. A martial artist that I recently met online put forward an idea of a challenge. Not a contest, a challenge...with a plan.

He said what he wanted to do, and how he was going to do it. He spelled out his dietary changes and his fitness ideas, and asked for others to join him. THe challenge is going to be two months long. So I joined him. Hopefully some other online folks will as well. But even if they don't...at least I am not alone (for the next 2 months.) Kewl. I'll post the results in mid-March.

Who knew classical piano could be so damn cool?

2010-01-17T21:03:00.000-05:00

Migod...

Lola Astinova piano like she's on drugs that haven't been invented yet.

Yeah yeah yeah, this year, no excuses, blah blah blah....

2010-01-15T17:34:00.000-05:00

OK. I'll admit it. I (raises hand sheepishly in the air) am one of the eleventy gazillion Americans that need to lose weight, and haven't and made a resolution blah blah blah...

There are reasons/excuses. Yeah my thyroid burned out. Yeah I screwed up my back badly a couple years ago and its only been since October that I've been able to go through my day and even get in some exercise without a lot of pain...and therefore haven't been able to train the way I want to. That's getting me...nowhere.

The approach for this is the same way I approached my back therapy. I'm going to do what is right...for me. Its exercising on a regular basis, however I can work it in. Its eating a lot of leafy greens.

I wish I wasn't "alone" in this, but I feel like I am. Many Americans are looking for shortcuts. Many others are ridiculously judgemental of others, especially when it comes to weight. There doesn't seem to be enough knowledge and support of helping one another do it the hard way (through exercise and eating realistic foods).

Ah, well, if ya want it done right, do it yourself...LOL.

Well the Patriots are out of it....

2010-01-12T04:02:00.000-05:00

So....GEAUX SAINTS!

Migod I'd love to see them pull off a Superbowl victory.

The Day The Music Died - 50 years later

2009-02-03T12:00:00.000-05:00

I still can't believe he was only 17...

http://www.nydailynews.com/entertainment/music/2009/02/03/2009-02-03_the_day_the_music_died_didnt_kill_music_.html

"The music didn't really die on Feb. 3, 1959, the day a four-seat airplane carrying Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and The Big Bopper (J.P. Richardson) crashed into a cornfield eight miles north of Clear Lake, Iowa.

Five years and six days later, the Beatles, who learned their craft from Buddy Holly records and whose name is a shoutout to Holly's Crickets, played the Ed Sullivan show.

No, the music lived. It just got bigger than anyone in 1959 could have imagined.

Still, that plane crash deeply affected a rock 'n' roll world that in 1959 was still in early adolescence.

The term "rock 'n' roll" itself had only come into widespread use about three years earlier, though it had floated around the blues world at least since the 1920s as a thinly camouflaged synonym for fun under the sheets. When you're young, you don't think about death.

Before Feb. 3, 1959, rock 'n' roll's idea of a loss was Elvis Presley going into the Army or Little Richard announcing he was going to sing only for he Lord. John Lennon later would remarks that rock 'n' roll died when Elvis went into the Army..."

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Day_the_Music_Died

""The Winter Dance Party" was a tour that was set to cover 24 Midwestern cities in three weeks. A logistical problem with the tour was the amount of travel, as the distance between venues was not a priority when scheduling each performance. For example, the tour would start at venue A, travel 200 miles (320 km) to venue B, and travel back 170 miles (270 km) to venue C, which was only 30 miles (48 km) from venue A. Adding to the disarray, the tour bus used to carry the musicians was ill-prepared for the weather; its heating system broke shortly after the tour began. Drummer Carl Bunch developed a severe case of frostbitten feet while on the bus and was taken to a local hospital. As he recovered, Buddy Holly and Ritchie Valens took turns with the drums.

The Surf Ballroom in Clear Lake, Iowa was never intended to be a stop on the tour, but promoters, hoping to fill an open date, called the manager of the ballroom at the time and offered him the show. He accepted and the date of the show was set for February 2.

By the time Buddy Holly arrived at the ballroom that evening, he was frustrated with the tour bus and told his bandmates that, once the show was over, they should try to charter a plane to get to the next stop on the tour, Moorhead, Minnesota. According to VH-1's Behind the Music: The Day the Music Died, Holly was also upset that he had run out of clean undershirts, socks, and underwear. He needed to do some laundry before the next performance, and the local laundromat in Clear Lake was closed that day.

Flight arrangements were made with Roger Peterson, 21, a local pilot who worked for Dwyer Flying Service in Mason City, Iowa. A fee of $36 per person was charged for the single engine Beechcraft Bonanza B35 (V-tail), registration N3794N (later reassigned). The Bonanza could seat three passengers in addition to the pilot.

Richardson had developed a case of the flu during the tour and asked one of Holly's bandmates, Waylon Jennings, for his seat on the plane; Jennings agreed to give up the seat. When Holly learned that Jennings wasn't going to fly, he said, "Well, I hope your ol' bus freezes up." Jennings responded, "Well, I hope your ol' plane crashes." This exchange of words, though made in jest at the time, haunted Jennings for the rest of his life.[3][4]

Ritchie Valens had never flown in a small plane before, and asked Holly's remaining bandmate on the plane, Tommy Allsup, for the seat. Tommy said "I'll flip ya for the remaining seat." Contrary to what is seen in biographical movies, that coin toss did not happen at the airport shortly before takeoff, nor did Buddy Holly toss it. The toss happened at the ballroom shortly before departure to the airport, and the coin was tossed by a DJ who was working the concert that night. Valens won a seat on the plane.[3]

Dion DiMucci of Dion & The Belmonts, who was the fourth headline performer on the tour, was approached to join the flight as well; however, the price of $36 was too much. Dion had heard his parents argue for years over the $36 rent for their apartment and could not bring himself to pay an entire month's rent for a short plane ride.[5]"

Thank you, Veterans

2008-11-11T15:13:00.000-05:00

They fought and some died for their homeland.
They fought and some died, now it's our land.
Look at his little child; there's no fear in her eyes.
Could he not show respect for other dads who have died?

Take two minutes, would you mind?
It's a pittance of time,
For the boys and the girls who went over.
In peace may they rest, may we never
forget why they died.
It's a pittance of time.

God forgive me for wanting to strike him.
Give me strength so as not to be like him.
My heart pounds in my breast, fingers pressed to my lips,
My throat wants to bawl out, my tongue barely resists.

But two minutes I will bide.
It's a pittance of time,
For the boys and the girls who went over.
In peace may they rest.
May we never forget why they died.
It's a pittance of time.

Read the letters and poems of the heroes at home.
They have casualties, battles, and fears of their own.
There's a price to be paid if you go, if you stay.
Freedom's fought for and won in numerous ways.

Take two minutes, would you mind?
It's a pittance of time,
For the boys and the girls all over.
May we never forget, our young become vets.
At the end of the line,
It's a pittance of time.

It takes courage to fight in your own war.
It takes courage to fight someone else's war.
Our peacekeepers tell of their own living hell.
They bring hope to foreign lands that hate mongers can't kill.

Take two minutes, would you mind?
It's a pittance of time,
For the boys and the girls who go over.
In peacetime our best still don battle dress
And lay their lives on the line.
It's a pittance of time

In peace may they rest,
Lest we forget why they died.
Take a pittance of time.

Ahhh...ahhh...ahhchooo!!

2008-10-24T23:27:00.000-04:00

My, it's gotten dusty in here.

I'm going to have to do something about that.

Exhaling...

2008-05-25T16:45:00.000-04:00

After struggling through something challenging (regardless of the outcome), my martial arts teacher would sometimes say "So? What did you learn?"

Pause.

Well...I learned that...you can be really careful with your life and still have fate kick you in the knees. Nothing to do other than grit through it. I (re)learned that, when I have too much to do and not enough time to do it all...I get short-tempered. I don't know if that's a natural reaction or not, but its not something I'm proud of. And I (re)learned that even a seemingly impossible task can be accomplished with steady, competent, efforts. It seems as if both translations of Lao Tzu's quote apply: The journey of a thousand miles begins on your feet, as well as with a single step.

My intention was to chill out with some tunes...only to find that my iPod had gone on the fritz, and would only play one track. This lead to several annoying hours online stepping through the support pages, and then on the phone with tech support. It was a nice reversal of luck. I was expecting to hear that it was out of warranty as I bought it about a year ago. The phone tech said it was under warranty for 3 more days. The Apple store replaced it on the spot. Sweet...

My iPod has been refilled with music. The sky is a gorgeous shade of blue, Jim Nabors once again exquisitely sang "Back Home Again In Indiana" at the start of the Indy 500. All is right with the world again.

Take me away, I know I could use the rest.

Goodbye Drama.

2008-05-24T15:28:00.001-04:00

It's over!

For the most part...the stuff that's been mucking up my personal life...is over!

The Great Siege of Malta

2008-05-19T02:58:00.000-04:00

And on this day in history..the start of the Great Siege of Malta.

(The what?)

One of the bloodiest, most fiercely contested...and surprisingly, most overlooked battles in history.

Here are the words UK author Mr. James Jackson:

A hot and fetid June night on the small Mediterranean island of Malta, and a Christian sentry patrolling at the foot of a fort on the Grand Harbour had spotted something drifting in the water.

The alarm was raised. More of these strange objects drifted into view, and men waded into the shallows to drag them to the shore. What they found horrified even these battle-weary veterans: wooden crosses pushed out by the enemy to float in the harbour, and crucified on each was the headless body of a Christian knight.

This was psychological warfare at its most brutal, a message sent by the Turkish Muslim commander whose invading army had just vanquished the small outpost of Fort St Elmo - a thousand yards distant across the water.

Now the target was the one remaining fort on the harbour front where the beleaguered, outnumbered and overwhelmed Christians were still holding out: the Fort St Angelo. The Turkish commander wished its defenders to know that they would be next, that a horrible death was the only outcome of continued resistance.

But the commander had not counted on the mettle of his enemy - the Knights of St John. Nor on the determination of their leader Grand Master Jean Parisot de la Valette, who vowed that the fort would not be taken while one last Christian lived in Malta.

On news of the grotesque discovery of the headless knights - many of them his personal friends - Grand Master Valette quickly ordered that captured Turks imprisoned deep in the vaulted dungeons of the fort be taken from their cells, and beheaded one by one.

Then he returned a communiquè of his own: the heads of his Turkish captives were fired from his most powerful cannon direct into the Muslim lines. There would be no negotiation, no compromise, no surrender, no retreat.

We Christians, the Grand Master was saying, will fight to the death and take you with us.

The Siege of Malta in 1565 was a clash of unimaginable brutality, one of the bloodiest - yet most overlooked - battles ever fought. It was also an event that determined the course of history, for at stake was the very survival of Christianity.

If vitally strategic Malta fell, the Muslim Ottoman Empire would soon dominate the Mediterranean. Even Rome would be in peril.

The Muslims had hundreds of ships and an army tens of thousands strong. The Christians were a ragtag bunch of just a few hundred hardbitten knights and some local peasant soldiers with a few thousand Spanish infantry. Malta looked doomed.

That the Hospitaller Knights of St John existed at all was a minor miracle. They were a medieval relic, an order established originally to look after ailing pilgrims to the Holy Lands during the Crusades 300 years earlier - other orders of the Crusades, such as the Knights Templar, had been extinct for two-and-a-half centuries.

They came from countries all over Europe: Germany, Portugal, France, Spain. All that united them was a burning desire to defend Christendom against what they perceived as the ever-encroaching tide of Islam. Yet by the 16th century, an age of the increasing power of nation states, these trans-national zealots were viewed as an embarrassing anachronism by much of Europe.

Already the Turks had forced them from their earlier home, the island of Rhodes. Now the knights had moved to Malta - and were threatened once more.

So savage was the fighting, so mismatched the two sides and so important the moment, that I chose the Siege of Malta as the subject of my latest novel, Blood Rock. It was the stage, as we thriller writers say, for epic and mind-blowing history.

But as I researched for my book, I came to realise that what happened on Malta more than 400 years ago is salutary in today's context. For as we know only too well, religious extremism, terror tactics and barbarism still exist.

Malta was no mere siege. It teaches us many things: the need for courage and steadfastness by an entire populace in the face of threat; the fragility of peace; and the destructiveness of religious hate.

Suleiman the Magnificent, Sultan of Turkey and pitiless ruler of the Ottoman Empire, stared out upon the glittering waters of the Golden Horn estuary of Istanbul. He was the most powerful figure on the planet - his titles included Vice-Regent of God on Earth, Lord of the Lords of East and West - and Possessor of Men's Necks on account of his habit of beheading servants who displeased him.

His realm and absolute remit stretched from the gates of Vienna to the gardens of Babylon, from Budapest to Aden. He was one of the richest men of all time who never wore the same clothes twice, ate off solid gold plates encrusted with jewels, and took his pleasure in a harem of more than 300 women.

An octogenarian, he was utterly ruthless, employing an assassination squad of deaf mutes to strangle traitors. (The reasoning was that they could never be influenced by the pleas for mercy of their victims, nor tell any tales.)

Suleiman had used them to dispatch both his Grand Vizier (his prime minister) and his favourite sons. Less worthy subjects could be executed by pouring molten lead down their throats.

Yet by the standards of the day and his own dynastic line he was not especially violent. Other sultans had done worse: one, tiring of his womenfolk, had drowned his entire harem - some several hundred strong - in muslin sacks at the bottom of the Bosphorus; a second had written into the royal prerogative that he could shoot ten or more citizens a day with his bow and arrows from the roof of his palace.

Suleiman controlled the greatest fighting force in the world. Before him lay an armada of 200 ships ready to sail, an army of 40,000 troops on board. He planned to wipe the barren rock of Malta and the Knights of St John from the map.

These knights lived by raiding and disrupting his Ottoman shipping routes. The last straw had been their capture of the prized ship of his powerful courtier the Chief Black Eunuch.

Because all his "parts" had been cut off by a clean sweep of a razor - a metal tube had been inserted into his urethra and the wound cauterised in boiling oil - the eunuch was also entrusted to look after Suleiman's harem.

The Sultan did not expect undue trouble exacting his revenge. A mere 700 knights stood in his way. Such a rabble would be quickly cleared.

The Turkish fleet headed across the Mediterranean in March 1565. Aboard the ships were the elite janissary shock-troops - the "Invincible Ones" - who had carried Islam across Europe with the slashing blades of their scimitars.

Accompanying them were the blackplumed cavalry corps and the infantry as well as the drug-crazed Iayalars who wore the skins of wild beasts and whose raison d'etre was to reach paradise through death as they slit infidel Christian throats in battle.

In late May 1565, the invasion force arrived at the island. The knights awaiting them enjoyed good intelligence of their plans and had asked for assistance from the Christian armies of European nations. Every kingdom spurned their request - other than Sicily, which said that if the knights held out, help would eventually come.

You have probably never heard of Fort St Elmo. It is a small star-shaped structure sited at the tip of what is now the Maltese capital Valletta on the north shore of Grand Harbour.

In late May 1565, it was where the full might of the Turk artillery was unleashed, a hellish crucible that would forge the future course of our modern age. For days the invaders pounded the tottering and crumbling edifice, reducing its limestone walls to rubble, creating a dust cloud. The knights refused to yield.

At night, Valette sent reinforcements from St Angelo by boat across Grand Harbour, in the knowledge they were heading to their deaths.

After the artillery, the attacks went in, wave upon wave of screaming and scimitar-wielding Turks, trampling over the bodies of their own slain, laying down ships' masts to bridge the debris-filled moat into which the walls of St Elmo had slid.

Each time they were met by the ragged and diminishing band of defenders, fighting with pikes and battle-axes, firing muskets and dropping blocks of stone, throwing fire-hoops that set ablaze the flowing robes of the Muslims and sent them burning and plummeting to their deaths.

The fire-hoops - covered in flax and cotton, dipped in brandy and coated with pitch and saltpetre - were the knights' own invention. Dropped blazing over the bastion walls, they could engulf three Turks at a time.

For 30 days, cut off and doomed, the soldiers of St Elmo prevailed. The Turkish general had expected the fort to fall within three.

Late at night on Friday June 22, 1565, the few hundred survivors from an original garrison of 1,500, sang hymns, offered up prayers, defiantly tolled their chapel bell and prepared to meet their end the next day.

Those unable to stand were placed in chairs behind the shattered ramparts, crouching low with their pikes and swords to await the final assault.

When it came, and the entire Turkish army descended as a howling mass, the handful of Christians still managed to fight for several hours. Eventually the Ottomans took their prize. The crescent banners of the Grand Turk flew above the ruins, the heads of the knights were raised on spikes, and the crucified bodies of their officers were floated across to Fort St Angelo on the far side of the harbour.

The Turks had lost time and up to 8,000 of their crack troops.

Summer heat was rising, disease and dysentery spread throughout the Muslim camp, and the dead lay piled around the blackened remnants of the seized fort. deserted the knights - the princes of Europe had abandoned them. But Grand Master Valette was not about to quit.

Scenes of heroism and horror abounded in the terrible days that followed. There were extraordinary characters: Fra Roberto, the priest who fought on the battlements with a sword in one hand and a cross in the other; the two English "gentlemen adventurers" who arrived belatedly from Rome to take part in the action; Valette himself, who stood unyielding in the breach and used a spear to battle hand-to-hand against the foe.

Others had led desperate sallies against the Ottoman, harrying their labour corps, sniping at commanders, spiking their guns. But the enemy, too, had their brave and vivid figures. Among them was Dragut, the most feared corsair of his day, whose skill and dash had served the Sultan well. A cannonball splinter did for him.

Yet the siege continued, the target now St Angelo, the final and fortified enclave of the knights on the southern side of Grand Harbour.

The Turks tried every twist and tactic in their military manual. They tunnelled beneath the Christian defences to bury gunpowder and blow the knights to bits. The Maltese responded with their own mines to blow up the tunnels and there were terrible skirmishes below ground.

Next the Turks drew up siege engines, giant towers designed to pour their infantry direct on to the battlements. The knights removed stones at the base of the battlement walls so that they could run out cannon through the openings they had created, and blast the siege engines apart.

On several occasions those walls were breached, the Turks rushing through eager to slaughter all in their path. Triumph seemed at hand but they found too late that the knights had improvised an ambush, creating a killing zone into which they were funnelled and slaughtered.

Success for the Turks was slipping away. The furnace temperatures of July and August sapped morale and strength; the sense of failure clung as pervasively as the surrounding stench of death.

The Turks' commander, Mustapha Pasha, marched inland to take the walled city of Mdina, only to withdraw when scouts informed him of its substantial and well-armed garrison. It was a trick. Mdina was largely undefended, its governor ordering women and children to don helmets, carry pikes and patrol the walls.

Frantic, with casualties mounting and autumn storms looming, the Turks rolled a giant bomb - a fiendish barrel-shaped object packed with gunpowder and musketballs - into the Christian positions.

The knights promptly rolled it back and it blew a devastating hole in the massed and waiting Muslim ranks. It rained. Believing the gunpowder of the knights to be damp, their muskets and cannon useless, Mustapha Pasha again sent his troops forward.

They were met by a hail of not only crossbow bolts but gunfire, for Valette had anticipated such an moment, setting aside stores of dry powder.

Finally, relief reached the knights in the form of a small army from Sicily. Believing the enemy reinforcements too weak to be of any consequence, Mustapha Pasha angrily ordered his troops - who had bolted on hearing of the new arrivals - to turn back and march towards them. It was the last of his many grave blunders.

The cavalry of the relief force charged, then the infantry, tearing into the Turkish centre, putting it to flight. Rout turned to bloodbath. The once-proud Ottoman force scrambled in disarray for its ships, pursued across the island, cut down and picked off at every step. Thousands died and the waters of St Paul's Bay ran red.

Of the 40,000 troops that had set sail in the spring from Constantinople, only some ten thousand made it home. Behind them they had left a scene of utter devastation.

Almost the entire garrison commanded by Jean Parisot de Valette - after whom the city of Valletta is named - had perished. Now, after 112 days of siege, the ragged handful of survivors limped through the blitzed wreckage of their lines.

Malta was saved, for Europe and Christianity. The Knights of St John had won.

History has moved on - the island withstood another siege which played a key role in the saving of civilisation in the 1940s, this time against Hitler's forces. Today, the hotel and apartment developers have moved in. Rarely is the 1565 Great Siege of Malta mentioned. Hardly ever do visitors to the island dwell on such an ancient and forgotten incident.

But I have stood in that tiny chapel recessed in the walls of Fort St Elmo, the very place where defenders took their last holy sacrament on a June night long ago. We owe those knights.

Their sacrifice was immense, their effect on our lives more profound than we may know. Yet religious fanaticism continues, and global powers will still fight over a piece of barren rock. Perhaps we never really learn.

• Blood Rock by James Jackson is published by John Murray at £11.99.

Source:

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/news/news.html?in_article_id=466818&in_page_id=1770

Hello Drama

2008-05-04T09:25:00.000-04:00

Hello Drama, Hello Drama, Hello...

I happen to like Kaila Yu's music. Yes it's a guilty pleasure ;) But...I never expected that her music would make an eerily appropriate soundtrack to my own life, even temporarily.

I've always been a passionate person...something that I sometimes have to fight in check. Too much passion can lead to unnecessary drama, and I hate drama. Except, I'm in the thick of way too much drama. Unexpected drama. There is more going on than I have control over, which is incredibly aggravating.

What I can control is a set of tasks. Cumulatively, however, they are an enormous amount of work. It all needs to be done, and done soon...but I don't know what the deadline is. Its a ticking time bomb but I don't have the luxury of knowing how much time I have to diffuse it.

The Friday before Memorial Day is the goal I set for myself. I hope I have that long. It will be a stretch for me to complete everything by that time, but school starts up right after Memorial Day weekend and I really don't want to go in to my next semester with this hanging over my head.

Its rare that I take vacation time, but I've put in for several days off to take care of this. Which...is really infuriating. I'd rather spend my vacation time in a secluded spot on the Maine shoreline than to spend it running around Massachusetts, but I don't have much of a choice. I'm glad I have the time banked but this sure wasn't how I wanted to spend it.

Enough moping...time to get back to work.

I want my 'normal' life back, dammit.

query += ( 2B || !2B )

2008-05-01T02:37:00.000-04:00

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?

To die: to sleep; no more;
and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to,
'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd.

To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream:
ay, there's the rub;

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause:
there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong,
the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love,
the law's delay,

The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin?

who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

Soft you now!

*sigh*

Yes, Hamlet please...

in thy orisons

Be all my sins remember'd.

Random thoughts of a novitiate C developer

2008-04-20T03:05:00.000-04:00

Are semicolons fragile? I sure hope they aren't because I tend to drop a lot of them.

New levels of geekdom are reached when you develop a mathematical subroutine that you seriously ponder running overnight.

496 is a perfect number, as is 8198. I did not know that.

9991 is prime. I did not know that, either. Actually, I had no idea there were as many prime numbers as there are. I wrote code to calculate all the prime numbers under 1,000,000 and I'm watching numbers fly by like I'm falling in to the matrix.

The quality of my code is directly proportional to the quantity of Advil Migraine that's within easy reach.

I hate finals, yet for some reason my final seems easier than the midterm. It's still kicking my ass but its not quite the horror show I exected. Or maybe I've just gotten broken in to being a student again.

99999989 is prime.

I get an odd sense of satisfaction when the application I wrote spikes my CPU. Heh. I made my computer think. A lot.

Piet Hein was simply amazing. One of these days I'm going to have to do a tribute to him on my blog.

999,999,937 is the highest prime number below 1,000,000,000.

I really, really, REALLY want to earn an A in this class.

Trying

2008-04-19T07:52:00.000-04:00

The gravity of the situation started to weigh on me as I left work tonight. I was definitely bothered and distracted. I realized when I left I had to make a slight detour going home because I was supposed to go down one of the side streets and look to see if a particular house is for sale.

I did...and...it wasn't, but the home next to that particular house was for sale. I made a mental note of that, and dug through my computer bag to write down the phone number off the sign. I didn't find a pen. I did see my checkbook....and I realized that I had to go back to the office. I owe my colleague R some fund raising monies and I was way overdue in paying.

I'm really trying to be optimistic. I'm really hoping that I had forgotten my wallet for a reason, and the reason was to talk with my sweet neighbor Mrs. F, who unbeknownst to her gave me a warning of the troubles to come. Had I not spoken with her, I might not have judiciously looked for the damning letter that was in with an ungodly large pile of junk mail. Had I not forgotten to check out the house....or had I not forgotten a pen, I may not had remembered that I really needed to pay R. And trust me, the few minute trip back to the office was nothing compared to the potential grief that I would risk from R had I not paid...again.

On the way home, I saw a shooting star. I made a wish.

In the past when I've been fraught with a difficult challenge, my mind sometimes drifts to a quote I learned a long time ago:
Problems worthy
of attack
prove their worth
by hitting back.
Burma Shave! (just kidding)

There are many times when I find inspiration in Piet Hein's words.

I'm not sure if I do now. It's hitting too hard!

On the way out to the car, I saw the full moon. I made a wish.

And just like that....it all rains down.

2008-04-19T02:55:00.000-04:00

Disturbing imagery is hardly a bellwether of something nice.

After a few unpleasant morning interruptions, I was finally able to catch a few hours sleep this morning. I woke up, a bit more refreshed, and a bit late for work. I pulled on some clean clothes and moussed up my unwashed hair. I dashed a quick apology e-mail to my boss, and advised him that I'd be in as soon as I could and that I had a quick stop to make along the way. I left the house. I was late. The traffic was horrible. I eased down the highway ramp and realized...I had forgotten my wallet. I had a checkbook on me but no one takes checks without ID. So I looped around the embankment, and headed back to my home. The weather was nice out...it was a shame I had to spend the day sleeping. I walked up to my door.

"Hi There!" I look up and see my neighbor, Mrs. F. She chatted for a second with me and then said "Did you hear..."

I listened. And I tried really hard not to look panicked. Because after my painfully realistic nightmare the other night, I drew a very unpleasant conclusion for myself. And here is Mrs. F, telling me how this unpleasant conclusion was not only valid, it will become reality very quickly.

Here I am with only one week of school left an an uncompleted final exam in front of me and I was just given news that is turning my life upside down.

Had the circumstances been different, the news might have been neutral, or even good. But now, with all I have going on...the news is woefully unexpected and bitterly surprising.

I went through my mail and found a letter that confirmed the worst.

When I saw my boss this afternoon, I should have had a chat with him then, but it will need to wait until Monday now. I'll have to take a vacation from work very soon and I sure as hell hope that I am still in one piece when I get back.

There really is something worse than waking up from a nightmare...its seeing something a lot like the nightmare come true in real life.

poisoned

2008-04-15T06:26:00.000-04:00

This was a lesson in habits. And how nearly-dropped bad habits and possibly-avoided bad choices are best dropped and avoided.

In the last 48 hours, I've done two things I don't normally do. And I've paid the price.

A couple years ago, I largely quit drinking. I was mostly a social drinker, and I'm not an alcoholic, I just...lost interest. I think because I discovered martial arts and realized that was a bigger buzz...LOL. Have I had a drink since then? On occasion, but its been rare.

A few months ago, someone I know was giving out small bottles of mix. It was a mix for a specialty cocktail, add your own booze. At some point I picked up two nips to add to the mix and tossed them in my freezer, largely forgotten.

Forgotten until Sunday night. I had done 16 hours of programming on Sunday, half of it for my class and half of it to help with a friend's project. It was a long day but I made two significant accomplishments, which I was thrilled about. I went to the freezer to get some ice, and saw the nips. Why the heck not, I thought to myself. Its about midnight now, and I don't have to be anywhere until 4PM tomorrow.

After digging up the mix from my cabinet, I pulled out a tall glass, filled it with ice, added the mix, added the nips, stirred it up with a straw, and took a sip. It wasn't bad. I sat down on the couch and my attention drifted between SportsCenter and the video games on my laptop. There were worse ways to unwind from the day.

The drink was never finished. I drank about a third of it. It just didn't seem that enjoyable, and I was getting bored with ESPN and my games. A bottle of SmartWater seemed a lot more appealing. I grabbed one out of the fridge and went off to bed.

I didn't have a very good dream. At one point I was someplace strange, the middle of a very odd city, and I sunk to the sidewalk, doubled over in pain. It was a terrible feeling. I woke up, relieved that it was only a dream. I turned over, tried to ease myself back to sleep, only to find that....it wasn't a dream. I won't go in to details except to say that the next few hours were rather horrifying. At one point, the thought crossed my mind that this was what it was like to be poisoned.

I didn't eat very much on Monday. Which, was a mistake, because by the time I got out of work I was starving. Unfortunately the only thing open at that hour of the night is a fast food joint and a gas station. I decided to try my luck at the fast food joint....which is another thing that I had largely given up doing. $2.31 later, I was on my way and settled in for my hour-long drive back home.

After arriving home, I felt very worn out. I sat down on my living room futon, and put on SportsCenter again, hoping to catch some Red Sox highlights. I felt unusually tired, and didn't even feel up for the walk to my bedroom. I clicked off the TV and pulled a blanket over myself.

Once again, I was met with a terrible dream. Instead of surrealistic images, however, this one seemed disturbingly real. I had gone comatose on the couch and something had gone terribly wrong. A rescue squad had entered my apartment, looking for me, but I had sunk so far under my comforter that the didn't realize I was there. I knew they were there, and tried shouting out to them but found that I couldn't make a sound. Most of the squad left the apartment, yet I felt like there was one person remaining. I felt the blanket being shifted about by my feet, then felt cool air when my toes were uncovered. I was then yanked by the ankles and pulled off the futon. As my head hit the floor I cried out, but I still didn't have control of my voice. "What is going on?" I asked in a slurred tone. No answer, as I was dragged towards the door of my apartment. "What is going on?" I asked again, as I was being dragged out the door, in to the hallway. I tried to fight back but my arms were useless. "Who are you?" I shouted, hoping to wake a neighbor up. The front door to the building opened, the cold air rushed in, and my ankles were summarily dropped to the ground...and I woke up, on my living room futon, still fully covered under my comforter.

For the next hour or so I thought about the imagery in the dream, and tried to do my own interpretation. I didn't arrive at a pleasant conclusion...naturally. Disturbing imagery is hardly a bellwether of something nice. I pondered for a bit about how the conclusion in my dreams could be escaped or avoided. It was clear that I wasn't going to be going back to sleep.

Esoteric imagery aside, there is a practical explanation to all of this. The mix that my friend gave me had gone bad over time, causing the (ahem) distress, possibly in combination with the alcohol. Going to sleep roughly an hour after eating probably isn't the best idea...especially after startling my body with stuff that I don't normally eat.

But it reminded me of the social situations when I've been around someone that was trying to cut back on something-or-other, and that person was met with resistance instead of support. "Just try it. Oh come on, one can't hurt you."

Two nights of sleep disrupted by a drink that cost less than $2.50 and a meal that cost less than $2.50. One can hurt you. Two nights of sleep in a row disrupted by something that could have been avoided had I simply stayed committed to a better choice. Migod I hate learning lessons the hard way.

Kids, stay in school...

2008-04-14T02:38:00.000-04:00

I mean college. It doesn't get any easier when you've already earned a degree and going back for more when you are (ahem) rapidly approaching 40 like I am.
Finals don't get easier, either.

For some reason I thought they would. Perhaps that was wishful thinking. *snicker*

Earlier this winter it felt good to be back in engineering school...I guess now reality has hit. 80% of my grade derives from two exams.

The school doesn't issue + or - with their letter grades. Instead, grades are A, AB, B...etc.

The class is online. I've taken online classes before at this particular Massachusetts university, they are mind-gratingly tough. Unfortunately there has been zero conversation in class which is a shame. Granted its been several years since my last online class. However...I had made some great networking contacts in the past. I even fell in love with someone that I met during a spring break gathering. Now? Silence. As a businesswoman, I believe very strongly that the benefits of college as being twofold...what you get to learn and who you get to know. Unfortunately there has been none of the latter, and that frustrates me.

I just hope that, some years down the road, I don't regret putting my tuition money in to my retirement fund. Somebody that I respect very highly said the most important investment that one can make is books, and the second most important is bricks. Meaning: education and buying your a home.

Maybe one out of two ain't bad...that's like .500 batting average, eh?

Teenage atheists, and organic produce

2008-03-13T06:35:00.000-04:00

Originally, I had met him through a business networking group. He was a very bright, ambitious young man, JT. He had an idea for a part-time web business and needed some help understanding databases. I gave him tips and pointers when I could, and in the processed learned that JT was a talkative young lad.

I unexpectedly met up again...at Whole Foods. He was his usual talkative self, and decided to gab a bit about how he now digs organic veggies. It seemed like a a perfectly normal thing to do at Whole Foods, and on an icy cold day like today, the company was welcome. Even when the company involves listening to a young person with a looping, teenage conversation style.

In some ways, talking with JT showed us how much we were alike...but it also underscored our differences. JT was not long out of high school, I'm nearly 40. He was rebelling from an extremely devout religious family, I was happy with with my own place in the universe. He was originally from the Bible Belt, I was born and raised in the Northeast. He loathed the idea of college, I was enrolled at UMass for the umpteenth time.

"I'm an atheist", JT said. There was something about his tone that smacked of posture. He paused, presumably waiting for a reaction from me. Perhaps he suspected that I would be shocked. Perhaps he expected something of a judgmental nature. I wasn't up for either.

"Hi there Athiest, I'm Freezing My Butt Off. Nice to meet you." I quipped.

"Cute," JT responded. "Real cute."

"So what kind of atheist are you, JT?" I asked. My question was met with confusion.

"Well you know...some atheists get on a rampage about people that are believers. Others could care less. Which one are you?"

Silence.

He talked a bit. He spoke of rejection from the community. He stressed being brought up in a culture that highly respects parents, only to find that "respect" meant not having an adult disagreement. He mentions a childhood friend back home that no longer speaks with him because he hasn't accepted Jesus. He spoke of people that say one thing and do another. And so on, and so forth...and then he said...

"Some people say their life got better when they found religion. I say, good for them. Mine got better when I divorced my god."

This time, I'm the one silent.

In Pre-Soviet Russia, Pictures....take you!

2008-02-25T13:41:00.001-05:00

This may be the most captivating photo collection that I have seen in awhile.

A chemist by the name of Sergei Mikhailovich Prokudin-Gorskii (1863-1944) had a dream to create color photographic images.

He made the dream a reality...more than 30 years before George Eastman would patent his KodaChrome film. He invented a system that would capture images on glass plate negatives. One negative would capture red, another green, the third was blue. The negatives would then be assembled in a projector that would, by alternating levels of luminosity, create a clear color composite of the image. His work would catch the attention, and the enthusiasm of Tsar Nicholas II.

With the support of the Tsar backing his work, Prokudin-Gorskii traveled throughout Russia between 1909 and 1915. He lived in a customized rail car that served as his living quarters as well as his laboratory.

After the Russian revolution, he fled to the west, eventually settling in France. After his death, his heirs sold his photograhic plates to the Library of Congress.

His work has been recreated through digital composites...I found this to be absolutely stunning.

Self-Portrait, from "On the Karolitskhali River"

"Portrait of Pinkhus Karlinsky, 84 years old" (Supervisor of the Cherigov Floodgate, 1909)

General View of the Nikolaevskii Cathedral from Southwest (St. Nicholas Cathedral, Mozhaisk, 1911)

Kareshka Boat Yards (Lake Onega, 1909)

Three Generations, A. P. Kalganov poses with his son and granddaughter who work for the Zlautist arms plant

Austro-Hungarian prisoners of war, 1915.

More info on source link: http://www.loc.gov/exhibits/empire

"Park Ranger? I got all nervous for a Park Ranger?"

2008-02-24T09:10:00.001-05:00

Back at during a (*ahem*) younger and slightly more rebellious time of my life, I was out with some galpals in South Boston. We had all piled in to a friend's car heading on to our...next destination. Inching up behind us was a black and white car with a rack of lights on the roof. My friend cursed and slowed down. The cruiser passed us without incident. We watched the car as it passed us. "Park Ranger," it said on the side, along with a splashy reference to the Boston Parks Department.

"PARK RANGER???" (Picture this being shouted in a heavy townie accent)

"I got all nervous for a Pahk Raynjah?"

A range of expletives and groaning laughter were shared between the driver and her passengers...and we continued on to the next...um...establshment....without further incident. Good times :D

It felt like I was reliving that day when I got to my engineering homework. The lecture notes from the teacher, the texts, all referenced some heavier math. The lecture notes mentioned taking our previous assignment and expanding upon it, also making sure we add in the corrections the professor suggested.

The project was basic, yet it incorporated powerful logic. Simple, but not simplistic. I was trying to figure out just how such a project like this would integrate higher math. I couldn't see how we were....unless the work was very complex, very quickly. I was dreading the assignment and getting panicked that I wouldn't have this one done in time.

I opened the assignment to see that it was rather basic. The class was doing the same thing only adding a loop. There were some other (optional) parameters to work with as well, but they were...optional. Natch I did them anyway even though the professor said that there would be no extra credit. The crux of the assignments was adding loops at the proper time.

A "for" loop.

I got all nervous over a Park Ranger...err...I got all nervous over a "for" loop?

Grrrrrr.....

Mmmkay. I feel stupid now. In cyberspace, no one can see you blush...but that doesn't prevent you from looking like an absolute dork. LMAO!!

panic

2008-02-22T01:55:00.000-05:00

On New Year's I made a pledge to myself to break some of my bad habits, such as drinking coffee...and not look back.

But can I? I spent all of the day...all week...working on work stuff...even at home before I came in. My office counterpart may have the day off tomorrow. My engineering homework is due in less than 24 hours and I haven't even started it. I'd think seriously about pulling an all-nighter but I'm too damn tired to do so.

FAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWK!

I'm so screwed...

Chinese New Year, part 2 - Gong Xi Fa Cai!

2008-02-18T09:40:00.000-05:00

Gong Xi Fa Cai! Mandarin for "Wishing you increased prosperity". In other words...Happy New Year! And who wouldn't want to become more prosperous in the coming year, eh? Mr. Tony Yee, a Chinatown business leader described how the rat was traditionally seen as the guardians of prosperity. The rat is also the first animal in the Chinese zodiac. The Year of the Rat...rebirth, hard work, activity, renewal. Mr. Yee spoke about how the different civic associations were starting to come together in ways they hadn't before, and that it was his hope that the Year of the Rat would bring a fresh start to the community working together. My thoughts flitted to my own goals of a renewal to my own life, by working to build better practices for myself. There seemed to be something amazingly wonderful in the air as he talked.

Mayor Menino even arrived and wished everyone well!

The lion dancing demonstrations followed, most of the dances were done by area martial arts schools. My friends really made the trip come alive, each sharing their knowledge of Chinese culture and history by describing the traditions of what was going on around us. As each group's lion dance came to a close, the leung would "chew" up lettuce and oranges, which would then be tossed in to the crowd as a wish of prosperity. The lettuce represented money, the oranges represented gold. I ended up catching an orange in one of the final dances. Yay!

After the dances concluded, some of the martial arts schools came out to do a demo. Unfortunately for me, my back injury started acting up. I told my friends I needed to sit down someplace for awhile. While I told my friends that they were welcome to stay, they decided to join me. One of my friends lead the way across Chinatown and we ended up sitting down at...

Um...we walked all the way across Chinatown to sit down at a Mickey D's? I soon changed my attitude as I heard the drums of one of the lion dance troupes going by...perhaps I'd get to take in more of the dancing from the window seat. I was totally unprepared for what happened next. The lion dancers actually came through McDonalds! The entire troupe came in, the leung moved slowly towards me...sliding right by my table...close enough to touch. They moved all the way up to the front, and performed an additional routine at the counter, then backed slowly out. It was an amazing sight to see!

My friends described how leungs often honor an important general in Chinese history. The individual general is signified by the colors of the leung.

A summer performance by Chinatown's Shaolin Hung Gar students

We wandered about for a bit more time, watching the leungs and the fireworks as they stepped from business to business. After that, we split apart...saying goodbye to our two friends as they headed off in their own direction. My colleague and I went to warm up with a noodle bowl at a Vietnamese restaurant. It felt incredibly good to take a few moments to let the heat, and the experience, soak in. He began to cheerfully tabulate the restaurants that he thought his gf would like the most.

As happy as he was, he seemed to be running out of gas. We made our final circuit through to do some quick shopping as we headed to the car. I picked up a suburi-to (a wooden practice sword used to help develop arm strength), some incense, a souvenir for my desk at the office, then made a final stop at a Chinese grocery that abutted our parking garage. We had to go...my colleague was tired, I had friends coming over later in the evening for dinner, yet so much of me was saying noooooo....I want to stay awhile longer!

The firecrackers were still going off as we left.

I didn't want the day to end.

Chinese New Year, part 1 - I can see Chinatown!

2008-02-18T00:45:00.000-05:00

I can see Chinatown through the windshield!

We passed a Shaolin school as we approached our parking space. The loud amount of drumming eminating from the school hinted that final rehearsals were taking place. We were the first to arrive at the gate. There would be two other friends that would meet us there shortly. A couple of cell calls later, I learned that everyone else was on their way. Normally, I would be patient and wait but.....it was cold. A relatively moderate day (38 F) was forecasted. As of this early hour, unfortunately, it was about...17 F. We made a quick walk up and down Beach street. While the walk did wonders to keep me warm overall, I could feel my feet starting to go numb. My colleague seemed to be shivering a bit, but denied the weather was bothering him. Unfortunately, neither one of us brought digis.

My companion is my newest colleague...a bright young man that my employer recruited away from one of our partners in the heartland. He really wanted to see the celebrations, and I was happy to have him along. He has a wonderful appreciation and perspective of Asian culture...his gf has been teaching abroad for a few months, and he has been able to take a couple of trips to visit her. With return date approaching in a few days, my colleague was in a jovial mood...anticipating the chance to share the sites of his new city with her. This was his first trip in to the city since moving here a few days ago...and what better way to celebrate?

The gate on Beach street, as seen from inside Chinatown

We returned to the gate. No one there. We were getting colder...so we slipped in to Hing Shing Pastry hoping to purchase some hot tea. One of the workers smiled hello to us. We wished them a good morning, they said good morning back. Despite the presence of some tasty delights in their showcase it soon seemed clear that they weren't really open and ready for business...however, the kind folks made no effort to kick us out.

After a few minutes of absorbing their heat, we decided to venture back outside. It wasn't long before we met up with the other two. Dim sum was suggested, we all agreed to it. We sat down for a wonderful meal. The conversation drifted about, mostly hovering on subject of martial arts...perhaps to the chagrin of my colleague, who doesn't practice the arts. Nonetheless, he seemed to be a good sport about it.

After a very good meal, we shifted outside, just in time to find a good spot within 30 feet of the the stage.

Happy Year of the Honorable Rat!

2008-02-16T17:05:00.001-05:00

Chinese New Year Celebration in Boston tomorrow!

I am really looking forward to this. It should be a wonderful time! The last time I was in Chinatown for New Year was college when a friend of mine and I stumbled on it quite by accident. I missed the parades and the lion dancing but had a chance to enjoy the confetti, and the street vendors. Its probably going to be crowded as hell...but I don't care. I just want to go!

Restarting

2008-01-02T01:57:00.000-05:00

Trying to get 2008 off to a good start, I'm getting back in to my workout routine. I was pulling some junk out of my storage space when I found my nearly-forgotten TorsoTrack. For a cheapo piece of exercise gear, that was actually a lot of fun to use.

10 reps of 10 on the torso track.
100 leg lifts (each), 45 degrees. Hard to keep form towards the end. I found myself speeding up to get through it faster.
100 leg extensions, 45 degrees.

Gotta make this a habit...

Damn, I remember her

2007-11-30T02:45:00.000-05:00

A healthy and sane Britney kicking ass in one of the best Superbowl spots ever...although its kinda spooky hearing her sing "The world goes 'round and 'round, but some things never change..."

It's a shame about Ray

2007-11-13T01:44:00.000-05:00

7AM. Phone rings. I was still having dreams about.....something.....something probably football-related considering I fell asleep while watching SportsCenter.

"Gooooood Morning!" the voice trumpets.

Ahhh yes. Mr. Way-too-cheery-for-a-Monday himself.

"Morning, Ray," I mumbled.

He wants to talk about work. I want to sleep. Funny how this guy appreciates the fact that I work nights but doesn't quite always get that means that I sleep during the day.

Ray knows I write about him. Why he knows is a story that could fit a few days worth of posts...but lemme just say....he knows.

He said he had some information for me. We talked for a minute and the crux of the conversation was...he was calling me to let me know that he was e-mailing me a bunch of documents. Ummm...and I needed to be woken up for this? Not that I mind talking to Ray, I would just rather do it after I've had a decent amount of sleep.

So...Ray...please, my friend, let me sleep...or I'll....I'll..,I'll blog about you! I swear it!

But, knowing Ray, he'll....blog back.

Thank you, Veterans

2007-11-12T01:05:00.000-05:00

I had never heard of Canadian songwriter Terry Kelly before recently. Now I can't wait to hear more from the man.

Here's to all the veterans for giving so much.......and here's to the folks still remember to remember them

Story behind the song from Mr. Kelly's web page

What does a million dollars look like?

2007-11-11T02:31:00.000-05:00

"Happy Monday, Carol!" exclaimed the voice that was waaay too chipper for a Monday morning. "Whatcha been doing?

Well, lets see. I've been wrangling with the insurance company because a woman using the breakdown lane as a travel lane side-swiped me. I've been running a fever, and I'm anxiously awaiting the results of some lab tests because I'm afraid my 17 year old cat is dying.

"Haven't been doing much, Ray," I lied. "And you?"

"Well we're finally breaking some ground on the new organization..." he describes, as my guard goes up. I wait till he pauses.

"Ray, I'm not really interested in changing jobs right now," I explained.

"We don't have a job to offer you my friend, I wish we were that far along. But I was wondering if you'd be in to doing some process-improvement consulting?"

Hmm...Demming cycles. It's nothing that competes with my current industry. Nothing that would interfere with my work, or my training, and nothing on weeks when I'm on call...and likely wouldn't be a lot of work at all because Ray still only has three employees even though he's been at this for 6 years.

There was a part of me that said "Why the heck do need me?" but I be quiet.

There was one caveat.

"In order to be an independent contractor in the building where we are located, you must have a million-dollar geneal liability coverage.

Oh great. No its not that expensive, but what a PITA...especially for an individual like me.

"I'll fedex you some stuff," Ray promised.

"I'll believe that when I see it," I mumbled.

I received three Fedex envelopes in the mail a few days later. One was a draft of a statement of work. Another was a kitschy insurance policy, complete with a certificate done in fine green looping lines that said $1,000,000 in the center. The third was a request to join the business consortium that Ray belongs to. I'm guessing its an entrepreneur's group, but I really don't know. Some group of miscellaneous Americans and Canadians that do heaven-knows-what. The membership fee was pricey...but membership just happens to come with a million-dollar liability policy.Ray isn't known for being a shyster but...sheesh...how convenient to have these policies close at hand.

Today, I called Ray back up. "You're putting me on here," I sighed

Ray chuckled, telling me that if he was an insurance salesman, he'd probably be in nicer digs than the co-lo. He's got a point there. He then explained, it wasn't his rules, it was the big parent corporation that owned the space where they have their co-lo.

Ray nodded, and explained the bigger picture. It was a project that Ray had been hoping to land for over a year. "I don't need you to do the project, Carol, I don't even need you to do all of what I'll hand you. If you can't do it you can't do it. But I was hoping you might have some time to help me a little." I grinned. I love working with Ray. In addition to being friendly, he's amazingly intelligent and loves to have people pick his brains.

We agreed to meet at Starbucks. I handed him the boring, black and white paperwork for his consortium. Small type on the last page described the details of the insurance policy...which looked almost like an afterthought.

"So why did you pick me, Ray?" I asked, the curiosity getting to me. He put a hand on my shoulder in a friendly manner.

"You know why I like you, Carol, you know your stuff, you work hard, you get things done, you don't need a babysitter." Ray smiled.

After being in the corporate world for 15 years, isn't that a given? "You could say that about a lot of people you know, Ray. Good, smart, hard-working people."

Ray bent down towards my ear and whispered "Yeah, but you work nights..."

Aha! The truth comes out!

"At least you were honest," I chuckled.

Ray guffawed....and...spit...coffee...out...of...somewhere on his head, and got half of it on me. A couple people stared and...we tried to shuffle out nonchalantly. Ray mentioned something about his wife and dry cleaning, but it was right then that we realized that the consortium paperwork got drowned in coffee.

What does a million dollars look like? Mocha brown stains on white paper with blurred black ink.

A possible part=time gig. A rekindled professional friendship, several good laughs, and a coffee stain as a badge of honor.

I left for my car with a grin on my face, the cool air biting against my wet sleeves.

I roll my sleeves back, turn up the heat, and the iPod, and head for home.

There just aren't enough days with experiences like this.

RIP Alex, aka Lexicon

2007-11-07T00:38:00.000-05:00

Today my beloved grey kitty Alex had to be put to his final peace.

He was 17 years old, and unbeknownst to anyone, he spent his last months by my side bravely fighting lung cancer. Today, he suffers no more. I love him, and I miss him. He has been my furry companion since college.

I'll write a better tribute to him soon

Sleep well, sweet kitty, you've earned it.

In a corner of nowhere, surrounded by too many people

2007-10-09T02:42:00.000-04:00

If exhaustion had a color, what would it be? Something...empty.

The world passed me by for a bit.

2007-10-05T02:12:00.000-04:00

Every so often I get reminded of the cost of my occupation. I love what I do for work. I enjoy my job and the folks I work with. However, I work nights and most other folks...don't.

My sleep schedule is erratic. I tend to get run down a lot more easily than I did when I didn't work nights. So I fight through what I can...with my body occasionally shutting down for all or part of a day. Some people fight through illness to burn out whatever ails 'em. I've tried that before, it tends to make me worse instead of better.

Yesterday was one of those days. Unfortunately it was a training day for me as well. Going to training represents a double challenge: not just the challenge of training but an extremely long drive there and back. Unfortunately I wasn't up for both, which leaves me a little depressed.

I'm back at my pushup routine, however. A set of 7, 90 seconds break. Another set of 7, then 90 seconds break. Then 5, break, then 4, break, then another try for my maximum. This time, I make it to 18 before my arms start shudder and give out. The victory feels diminished by my own frustration over my (lack of) output over the last couple of days, but at least, its another step forward.

And it's root, root, root for the Red Sox...

2007-10-03T01:01:00.000-04:00

Caught up with my colleague R today and asked him how he was doing with his challenge. He stammered a bit. Uh oh, my question made him uncomfortable. He quickly changed the subject to the Red Sox.

Haven't been following sports that closely over the last few years...probably because I find getting out and training to be more fun than sitting in front of the tube watching a game. However, I've been to a lot of games...including a lot of terrible games. But...the tickets were usually comped. The companionship was usually good. At the time, was all that mattered.

Fenway Park the way I remember it. Without the Green Monster seating

I left thinking about the goals I set out. I felt foolish. Here I've gone and made grandiose plans and set aggressive goals for myself...partly because I was caught up in a friend's enthusiasm. Now, I think I'm going to be alone in this. I went and drove off to a quiet corner and pondered a bit. Some people talk a good game, I'm going to get in and play a good game.

Then, the idea hit me. I felt so focused on the numbers, I've forgotten that the numbers really weren't the goal at all. It's the training and the fitness that is the real goal. Are the aggressive? Hell yeah. But, as long as I don't do something stupid (like work out so hard that I get injured) they're worth pursuing.

I stepped out of the car, and did light calesthenics, forms practice, self-defense technique practice, and kicking drills for an hour. Aggressive goal? Bring it on. :)

98 practice hours, 98 class hours, and 88 pushups to go.

One...Two....Three...TWELVE?

2007-10-02T02:05:00.000-04:00

Now that I've completed my test with my whopping three pushups, I was ready to begin the pushups program. It looked sensible enough, and straightforward enough. The pushups are done in 5 sets, pausing for a minimum of 60 seconds between sets. There was a notation stating that the rest period could be longer if needed.

My level...4 sets of two pushups, then for the last set, do as many as I possibly can, with a minimum of three. I start dreading this. It's embarrassing enough to admit that I can only do three in a row....it will be even more embarrassing if I can't make the three at the end.

But...martial arts is about overcoming fear, right? Or...so I tell myself.

I begin. One set of two. I verbally count off 60 seconds. My cat starts circling around my prone body...as if he is laughing at me. "Hey, what are you doing down here?" he says with his feline eyes. "Its usually me that lies down on the floor."

Second set of two. Count off. The cat retreats to a safer distance. 3rd set of two. I can feel a difference in my arms. Count off. Fourth set of two. My arms are starting to burn. Count off.

Fifth set. Inhale.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight...nine.....ten......eleven.......twellllve...flop.

TWELVE? I just went from three to twelve? I stretch out on my back and stare at the ceiling. I start second guessing my form. I know I don't get as low as I can when I do pushups from the knee.

An idea comes to me. I flip back over on my belly and start doing pushups from the knees. I can do fifteen. I do three more sets of 15, each with a minimum 60 second break in between. My fifth set...I get all the way to twenty.

I'm really feeling it now...across my arms, chest, and back. I grab a bokken and run through some Iaido cuts and Ocho-Ocho patterns with each arm. My left arm feels particularly stiff, but by the time my bokken gets put away, both arms feel more invigorated.

99 practice hours, 98 class hours, and a surprising 88 pushups to go.

If only you could see the stunned look on my face......

One...two...three. Three.

2007-09-30T23:36:00.000-04:00

First step in the "100 Pushups" routine was to take the test. The test was to see how many pushups I could do at one sitting. This would determine where I would begin. I knew the answer, but tried the test anyway.

"Mr. Owl, how many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll pop?"
"Well...let's see. One...two-hooo...three (crunch)." "Three."

Which was pretty much how it went. I went prone on to the floor, put my hands in the classic pushup position and...one, two, three........three. Three pushups, and my amrs were shaking on the last one.

Three pushups down, 97 to go.
2 class hours down, 98 to go.
0.5 hours practice down, 99.5 to go.

Boy do I have work to do...

A "300" challenge

2007-09-30T02:11:00.000-04:00

100 Pushups By Christmas was the headline on the message board. I clicked open the post, and started reading. The fellow posting was a gentleman about my age, who had just begun his martial arts journey. His enthusiasm was infectious. He enclosed a link to a training regimen that was supposed to bring nearly anyone to the level of being able to do 100 pushups a day. The plan looked simple. Others liked the idea and were jumping on board.

"Nice," approved my colleague, R. I grinned. R often spoke openly about his battles with weight loss and fitness. The "100 pushups" idea seem to inspired him.

"Try layering it with something else." he pondered...as if he was saying it to me as well as himself. "One hundred pushups plus a hundred....jumping jacks. A hundred...miles on a bike. A hundred..."

"One hundred hours of instruction..." I wondered. "Yes, before the end of the year. 100 hours of instruction is what I want to reach for."

"Can y'get all that in between now and New Years?" R asked.

"Only one way to find out," I winked.

"And, one hundred hours of practice....or exercise....on my own...outside of class" I stammered, trying to express the racing thoughts flying through my mind. I was thinking of the times my instructor was trying to urge me to practice on my own...and all the times I sheepishly avoided his eyes, knowing I hadn't done as much of it as I should.

"So, 100 pushups, 100 class hours, 100 practice hours, all by the end of the year. One hundred, one hundred, one hundred. That makes...300," I commented dryly.

"Like the movie," R chuckled knowingly.

Ummmm...maybe not quite like the movie...

R described a plan of his own, one that involved getting to the gym more with his wife, and playing more ball with the kids. "And...100 g-ddamn pushups," he finished with a trace of disdain.

"If only I can do that without this job getting in the way," I muttered.

"Only one way to find out," he nudged.

I grinned back and we touched knuckles like boxers.

-------------------------------------------

I made my drive out to my school...and joined my teacher on the mat for an impromptu two-hour class.

2 hours of class time down. 98 hours of class time, 100 hours of practice time....and 100 g-ddamn pushups...to go.