Warning: include_once(/home/mackillian/ohlookabutterfly.com/wp-content/plugins/wordpress-support/wordpress-support.php): failed to open stream: Permission denied in /home/mackillian/ohlookabutterfly.com/wp-settings.php on line 307

Warning: include_once(): Failed opening '/home/mackillian/ohlookabutterfly.com/wp-content/plugins/wordpress-support/wordpress-support.php' for inclusion (include_path='.:/usr/local/lib/php:/usr/local/php5/lib/pear') in /home/mackillian/ohlookabutterfly.com/wp-settings.php on line 307
…oh look, a butterfly! » 2004 » August

August 2004


31 Aug 2004 09:22 am

I recently aquired two fencing tshirt from Ebay. I couldn’t resist them, they were Too Me.

First shirt reads: I play with swords. I don’t play well with others. This is a warning because I don’t want to hear you crying when you can’t find your arm.

Second shirt reads: Fencing: Stab Your Friends.

Hahahahaha. :o)

I’m also reading a fencing history book, By The Sword. Overall, it’s a pretty good book and if you’re interested in fencing and its history, I’d recommend it. The author has a pretty good simple, tongue in cheek style and covers some interesting things. His prose sometimes lags, but other than that, it’s a good read.

Some interesting stuff:

tsujigiri: The Japanese word that means “to try out a new sword on a chance passerby.”

The Zen of Fencing:

Some think that striking is to strike:
But striking is not to strike, nor is killing to kill.
He who strikes and he who is struck–
They are both no more than a dream that has no reality.

Here we see the writer’s sense of humor after quoting Rouseeau’s account of why he hated fencing:

Rousseau: “I detested the whole business. I found it incredible that anyone could take such pride in knowing how to kill a man…When he [the fencing master who taught Rousseau] wanted me to make a feint attack, he would tell me to look out for a ‘dummy’…When he beat my blade, and my foil jumped out of my hand, he would say with a snigger that this was a ‘break.’…never in my life have I met such an insufferable pedant as this miserable creature with his plumet and plastron.”

Cohen’s comment: Rousseau’s antipathly to dueling may not have been fueled by moral disgust alone.

Photo a post-duel crowd rendering one man holding a saber standing over another man’s body and a foot away from the body…the dead man’s head. The caption reads: A late-nineteenth century saber duel, where one of the participants lost his head.”

Hungarian coach Csaba Elthes on having given his student Peter Westbrook a near-fatal neck injury: “Typical: I create champion; then I kill him.”

Elthes to a teenage student who apparenty offered no promise in the sport: “Go phone your mother. Tell her to come collect you now. There’s no point in teaching you. You never make fencer.”

Elthes on teaching an inept student in front of a small audience that had gathered: “I not only have to put technique into his body. I have to put a brain in his head!”

Student. “Sorry!”

Elthes. “Too late!”

If you are interesting in fencing or are a fencer, Read This Book.

31 Aug 2004 09:01 am

No, I haven’t been tripping. Actually, with my reaction to medications that are supposed to be “fun” I probably wouldn’t react at all.

The dreams.

The past three nights I’ve had nightmares, but not of the typical sort. Usually I can’t remember them–I just wake up in this horrid cold clammy drenching gross sweat with a high heart rate and Really Effing Scared. Not these dreams.

1. Russian Roulette

This one started off the Weirdness. Somehow, I end up back at my exwork. I’m shunned (I’ve informed Sarah that she is a bastard for doing so). I’m told I wasn’t good enough and aren’t good enough. Somehow, I fall asleep (in the dream, folks). I’m woken up 45 minutes later (I know this because I looked at a clock…in the dream) by my exsupervisor who is, rightly, pissed off. I’m berated for screwing up after being given One More Chance and that the director wants to see me downstairs (at my exwork, my exdirector had her office upstairs). I feel not awake and take a few sips of water from a glass that magically happened to be there. As I sip, my exdirector zooms into the room (which was my exoffice with my exstapler). Suddenly we’re in the huge room and there’s a circled audience sitting on the floor. There’s a boombox close to me. My exdirector is continuing the Yelling, that I’m a total screw up, that I couldn’t do any job, that others would never hire me. At the same time, the radio music (Rock the Casbah in case you’re wondering) is being turned up and down to the whim of the audience when they can’t hear the exdirector’s words to me. So exdirector tells me that they have a job where I Will Just Sit and maybe it will improve my concentration. Then I see release forms for this “internship” for my doctors to tell the exdirector just what’s effed up with me. Somehow, the job is sitting at a desk and maintaining a study center…with ping pong tables. Rules are posted: NO playing, NO not playing, NO honesty. In my dream, I now Feel Like Total Shit…then I’m in a corner, playing Russian roulette with a revolver (odd because I only shoot .9mm and have never shot a revolver). The first four shots are clicks (empty for those who don’t know anything about pistols). However, the fifth shot is not empty and goes right into my head. I could feel it moving through my brain and I saw a visual of it tracking diagonally from one side of my head to the other. It didn’t hurt but certainly felt very…odd.

Then I wake up, obviously quite out of whack.

2. Crashes Galore

The following night has a much shorter, less complicated dream (unlike the ADHD dream from the night before). In this one, I’m driving my car and make a lefthand turn. A car comes racing out of nowhere in the lefthand land and T-bones right into my car. BAM! I’m trapped and can’t move and thinking “Wow, my first Real Accident. Cool.”

Then I wake up. I’m disturbed because I have thoughts like this whenever I’m driving. Like, I’ll be going from one stop sign to another by going across a one way cross street and think BAM! a car plowing into me from going the wrong way on the one way. Or pulling out from my driveway. BAM! Or out on the highway, someone stopping suddenly. BAM!

3. Mosquitoes

In this one, I’m attacked by millions of freaking mosquitoes. Millions. Everywhere. They’d bite and bite and dammit, it’d hurt. They were All Over and I was at first wearing just shorts and a tshirt. I was rushing up and down stairs in this random house trying to find clothing that would cover my entire body. I kept finding one piece, putting it on (like finding pants or a sweatshirt) and I’d go looking for a bottom or top and put it on to complete the set and then the one I’d found first would be gone! All while these Millions of Pissed Off Mosquitoes Out For Revenge were biting the hell out of me. There were other people telling me that this was the worst mosquito invasion of all time.

No shit.

I woke up, feeling like stuff was crawling all over me. Ugh.

31 Aug 2004 01:59 am

There’s a shitload of crickets in my basement. It’s like a little chorus down there till I take a step down the stairway.

Then.

*silence* As if they be still and not chirp…I can’t see them. Except they’re fairly large and dark brown and/or black and are on a concrete floor…so they’re easily seen.

But it’s like childhood. If I can’t see or hear you, you can’t see me!

As long as they stay in the basement, I’m happy.

On another bug front, apparently in Manchester there’s infestations of ACTUAL bedbugs. Who knew? And these little bastards are MEAN. They bite the crap out of you at night and are harder to get rid of than hair lice. Unlike hair lice, who like clean hair, the bedbugs like dirty beds.

I guess I should change my sheets? …or is there a double meaning in that?

*scratch scratch*