The Eagle and the Apple

Beat Assassin's Creed last night.


During one of the scenes where I was grappling with twenty or so pissed off Templars, I composed a haiku.

God's soldiers falling
Drops of blood spread on the streets
Red like autumn leaves

Next is an ode to Prince of Persia in iambic pentameter.

Married in a hurry!

So, three weeks ago, my youngest brother called me on one of my days off. He joined the SeaBees* this summer, so it's been some time since we've seen each other. He went off to boot camp in Chicago between June and September, and then spent several months in California doing some advanced training. Now he's stationed in Virginia.

This is what he said.
"So... I'm getting deployed next year, and I won't be able to take any leave after mid-February. You and Brian wanna get married while I'm up there?"

This is what I said.
"Sure!"

Little did I know what I was promising. I didn't know how much was involved in planning a wedding. You have to figure out the venue for the ceremony and the reception, what food is going to be served at the reception, who's coming, how everything will be decorated, music, gifts and registries, the list goes on. You have to reserve places, people, and times, making appointments for consultations, do all the legal paperwork, etc.

My only regret is, what with us being poor students right now, my wedding will not be as large as I would prefer. In a few years we'll be having a nice big vow renewal, where I can invite everyone I want. For now, though, we're sticking to twenty people. That's already more than enough planning, anyway!

Funny thing is... It's all going to be worth it. I feel so happy, so certain of my place in the world and the promise of future prosperity.


I still, however, fear that I will suffer a bad hair day.

*SeaBees- A division of the Navy devoted to the construction and maintenance of buildings and vehicles. Their motto is "Construimus, Batuimus" – translated into English as "We Build, We Fight." and they are classified as special warfare. Founded during World War II, the SeaBees contributed heavily to the landing on Normandy Beach, and have been kicking ass ever since.

Her blog is dusty from neglect...

IT'S NOT MY FAULT!!!

...

Okay, yeah, it really is. I admit, I got to replaying a few games... And rereading a few books... And I got lazy... Well, more lazy than usual.

Hah, that's a good (belated) New Year's Resolution! Not to be as lazy! And not to have any more resolutions.

Erm, in case you've not been informed, Herr Doktor and I kinna moved the wedding up a bit. A lot. My brother called not two weeks ago and informed me that he's getting deployed, and he'd love to be at the wedding if we could have it in time. We decided to give it a shot.

Friday, February 13th of 2009, we shall be married!

My shoes had better get here in time. >.<

More blabber later. For now, the bed calls to me.

Demon Electronics

Okay, first off-

Since I've become competent at the baking stuff, why the HELL is making chocolate chip cookies so hard? It's true I don't have a mixer, but I can't coax them to rise. You'd think mixing the dough by hand would be plenty good enough!

Second-

What's with all the MEAN computers nowadays?

When Liam graduated from Navy Boot Camp (CONGRATS, LITTLE BRO!) Brian and I flew out to Chicago to see him and celebrate. Denver International Airport was our point of departure. DIA has a neato little train network between terminals, and Brian and I were boarding one when the token late person tried to rush through the doors at the last minute. The doors closed on her suitcase, then immediately opened back up the way they always do. The usually placid computer voice that had been busy announcing which terminal we were at suddenly started PMSing at this point and admonished the late-comer with "YOU are DELAYING the departure of this train."

It sounded more like an angry mother telling her son that NO, HE CAN'T HAVE THE DAMN TOY than a recorded announcement. Brian and I burst out laughing in the middle of the train ride, thinking that the computer might need to change its tampon.

Then, we bought a Wii Fit. Lots of fun, and the Yoga feels wonderful, but... well... I get the feeling the little Wii Body Board is insulting me. After balance tests, it suggests that "Maybe the basic balance test isn't your forte." The trainer will occasionally mention that I "should keep working on it," or that I "could do better." The game picks tests "just for me" that are actually things I suck at. Oh, and I can't beat a supposedly 'Easy' game. Uh... Yeah. Screw that noise. I'm smarter than you, body board! YOU HEAR ME?!

Next electronic device that insults me is going to be doused in salt water...

Practice does make perfect!

So, before I run some errands and then play Go for the next few hours, I decided to post a blog! What better to talk about than what's on my mind today? Bunny presents...

The Game of Go

Originally called weiqi (pronounced way chee), Go originated in China around 2,000 BC. Like many old things, the origins are difficult to trace. It might have started as a method of fortune telling, tutoring, or a way for generals to map tactics and positions of troops.
Regardless of its origins, Go evolved into a deep and complicated game, then began to spread. Its movement into Japan and Korea resulted in several different sets of rules for counting points and scoring. In both Japan and China, Go came to be considered a skill of the upper class, and there are plenty of paintings and wood blocks depicting its patronage in the imperial courts. The tradition of Go has continued into our modern era, where professional players challenge each other in international title matches, and chess Grand-Masters stare in awe.

. . . [it is] something unearthly . . . If there are sentient beings on other planets, then they play Go.

Emanuel Lasker, chess grandmaster

The rules of Go are usually described as simple. The player places white or black "stones" on the board in an attempt to surround the most "territory," which is defined as the intersections of the vertical and horizontal lines on the board.



When a stone or group of stones becomes completely surrounded by stones of the opposite color, those stones are considered "dead." Dead stones are removed from the board.


Stones are not allowed to move into a position where they will be immediately captured. In other words, no suicide.

Despite having some fairly simple rules, Go is insanely complex. Aside from the basic stipulations listed above, every intersection on a 19 by 19 square board is a possible move. Even after decades of trying to program a computer to play decent Go, the computer can only beat a professional player if it's given the highest legal handicap. Deep Blue, eat your heart out.

I took up Go almost two years ago, and by complete accident. I stumbled upon a couple of guys playing a game, started watching, and, before I knew it, I was playing a game. The rest, as they say, is history.

I'm now trying to bridge the gap between 15 or 14 kyu and 12-10 kyu. That's not a bad rank, considering you start at about 26 kyu. I play a pretty good game with my roommate almost every other day, and I'm trying to get back to playing on a daily basis. Then, on Wednesday, I hit Go club and play until my head hurts. I can honestly say that it's fun, and that I enjoy the feeling of accomplishment when I start saving shapes or winning fights.

I feel like a genius, even with my head aching fit to burst. Now, if only I could get Brian to play.

The Proof

So, the world is totally ending. I have scientific, irrefutable proof of this.

I am learning to cook.

I can make cheese and spinach manicotti without a recipe. I can make pie from scratch. I can roast an entire turkey. I can make shepherd's pie, corned beef, and French Onion soup. Stews and casseroles might as well rain from the sky.

Today's accomplishment was a tasty apple tart with shortbread crust and cream cheese filling.



I used to be the person who didn't have to cook. This state of existence basically came about because of the colossal mistakes I made on a regular basis. I've messed up SOUP before. This wasn't condensed soup, either. This was open-the-can-and-stick-it-in-the-microwave soup!

So, yeah. The fact that I can make tasty dainties is obviously a sign of the coming Armageddon.

Damn, I feel accomplished!

Sticky wads of BAD!

Be forewarned, this is my brain unloading what's bothering me... Again. I wonder if I ever say anything else? Like, anything INTERESTING? Eh, probably not.

Well, it is my blog. I use it to, like, vent and stuff. You know, the sort of thing you can't throw your head back and scream because of? Or the sort of thing that nobody around you wants to talk about? This is where I put it. Don't like it? Stop reading.

I try not to be petty. But I do try to say when something hurts me. Not saying anything hasn't really gone all that well, before.

When I find I've hurt somebody, I pull away. I'm afraid to do more damage. What happens when they pull away, too? Do we just stop talking and call that the end of it? That sounds like kind of a lose-lose situation.

When a book is complicated enough to make my head almost hurt, but I still love it, does that make me a literary masochist? Or is literary masochism defined as reading something that you consider to be crap of your own free will? ~cough~ERAGON~cough~

I regularly have fantasies about quitting Wal-Mart. Does this mean I need a change? Then again, is it really wise to go courting a change when I've got about four months until what's probably the next one?

A week ago I couldn't sleep. This week, I slept entirely too much, and still felt exhausted. Tonight, I can't sleep. What the hell is this?

I think my step-dad is working himself to death. I think my youngest brother's fiance is getting cold feet. I know for a fact my mother's nuts. The middle brother is getting a free iguana. She comes with a cage and climbing branches, even. More weirdness.

My book had better end the way I want it to. So help me, if I don't like the ending, I'll throw it across the room. After I've thrown it across the room, I'll walk over, pick it up, and chuck it out the window. Once it's lying in the driveway, I'll get into my car and run over it a few times. I might get out and spit on it for good measure.

Ye gods, I wish I had more money.

It's been almost a month since the cops told him to leave me alone, and I still feel like my ex is going to show up out of nowhere and try to beat on me or something. Am I screwed in the head?

I just learned the coolest phrase! "Bad Buddhist! No Nirvana!"

May the nonspecific deity or lack thereof of your choice bless your favorite social/legal institution, and good night... Crap. Morning. Good morning.