Monthly Archives: August 2013

We Are Not Alone

Remember how I said I spend too much time in my own head? Well, let this blog serve as a lesson as to why it’s good to come out from time to time. Since I’ve started letting you root through my underwear drawer pile, I’ve told you things that I tend not to otherwise discuss; whether that’s because of nerves or the freedom to think things through, I don’t know. But I’ve let you all in to my brain, and let you see some of the (supposedly) unspeakable gibbering horrors that reside within the non-Euclidean halls of my psyche.

And you’ve responded with “hey, that looks familiar.”

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Cold. Calculating. Killer.

I think I need to me more of a sociopath when I fight.

Wait, don’t call the police just yet. Hear me out. At fighter practice this week, my knight told me he picked fights for me with the other knights there. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but he had an agenda. Turns out he had told them to really “take it to me,” and to not take my shots. Now SCA armored combat relies on the honor system, where it falls on one’s opponent to call a shot “good.” We do use marshals, but they are there to ensure safety, not necessarily to score bouts or act as referee. And as you can imagine in a game that prides itself on chivalry, this is usually enough. However, the reality is that sometimes people get a bit ramped up and worry more about winning than the spirit of the game. And since I’m fighting in next month’s Crown Tournament (the twice-a-year tournament where we determine our king and queen), this is something I’m going to face, and need to know how to deal with.

My knight was seeing if he could make me mad.

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Navel Gazing

It’s amazing how quickly the things I do can shift from “for myself” to “for others.” Take this blog, for instance. My first few entries were written before I announced my projec tto the public. I would say those entries were the closest I’ve been to writing purely for myself. I didn’t rightly care what I wrote, just that I was writing. The act itself was more important than the results. However, I’ve noticed a chance since other people started reading and commenting. I find myself thinking more about what I say, and if people are going to want to read it. I feel like I should write something interesting, which will hopefully spark discussion and commentary. I’ve started checking the stats daily, to see what kind of traffic I’m getting. In short, I’ve started writing for the readers and not the writer.

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Last Minute Panic is an Amazing Motivator

I have some interesting quirks when it comes to writing. For one thing, I don’t like re-reading my own work. I mean, really, really don’t like it. But luckily, I’ve discovered I write a pretty mean first draft. But in an academic world of “Outline → Draft → Edit → Draft → Final,” this left me in an interesting position. I found I could wait until the last minute, crank out an essay the night (or weekend) before it was due, and end up getting good marks on whatever I turned in.

Definitely a case of “I’m learning a lesson, but I’m not sure it’s the one you want me to.”

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Letting the Days Go By

Imagine if you will: a 14-year-old boy wanders the halls of a suburban high school in Aurora, Colorado. He wears large, tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses that seem to cover half his face, and his hair is unfashionably yet comfortably parted on the side (a style he’s worn for most of his life at this point, and can’t imagine wearing it otherwise). He drags a wheeled briefcase behind him, as the mass of textbooks he must studiously carry with him would otherwise be too heavy. Even if this results in ridicule from his fellow students, he is oblivious. He does not have many friends at school outside those he also knows through martial arts, as well as a few fellow misfits in the sci-tech department. He relates better with his teachers than his “peers.” He is smart, but this sometimes manifests as a tendency to finish other people’s sentences or to pontificate in minute detail on favored subjects. He dresses very formally, usually in a buttoned shirt, and even the occasional Hawaiian shirt is always tucked into his pants. In the cafeteria, he tends to eat his sack lunch by himself, often with the company of a book. His greatest annoyance is other students who loiter in the hallways during passing periods, disrupting the flow like blood clots. In class, he is a bit of an overachiever, finishing work early and eagerly asking for more.

I’ve changed a bit since high school.

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Webcomics I Read (Part 1)

It’s the weekend (for most of you), so I thought I’d link some of the webcomics read regularly, with a few comments about each.  I was originally going to link them in the order I read them, but it turns out it was a very arbitrary sorting (that generally is organized by when I started reading them, and is perpetuated by muscle memory).  Some are tagged NSFW (Not Safe For Work), generally for more… mature content.  Many can sometimes have colorful language, so if this destroys your image of me as a pure, innocent person, then I am truly sorry.

(not really)

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Hockey can be okay. Just ask The Arrogant Worms

This may come as a shock to many of you</sarcasm>, but I don’t like sports.

I have had to refine my opinion over the years, as I have come to be involved in things that could appear to be sport-like. So a more accurate statement would be “I don’t like team sports.”

Now I do have some experience with team sports: I tried baseball in sixth grade, and was on a soccer team somewhere around first or second grade. The fact that I spent most of my time as a goalie, keeping a book by the goalposts should not be held against me (I am a compulsive reader). I guess part of what I didn’t like was the pressure to perform, as I wasn’t very good (mostly from lack of drive and interest), and I was nice enough at heart that I didn’t want to let the rest of the team down.

But I was talking with my girlfriend the other day about how neither of us was particularly fond of sports (after all, she tells people she’s a Cubs fan to get them to change the subject), and got to thinking about why I don’t like sports. And this may be best illustrated by why I’m not a fan of that “All-American pastime” that is football.

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Hey look, I’m inspiring!

Feedback on this blog is trickling in, and I’m enjoying every bit I get. One reader, who wasn’t brave enough to respond in public (you know who you are. The wet ops squad is currently en route), mentioned they appreciated how honest and sharing I’ve been. That got me thinking, especially since I’ve been worrying that being too personal here may not be interesting: my experiences, opinions, and thoughts that I share here are what makes this blog unique. People can go anywhere to get commentary on the newest political or entertainment developments, but so far this blog is the only source my my brain droppings online. Besides, I should be writing for myself, and if people decide they like it, all the better.  I started this blog to have a place to air out my brain, and I would do well to remember that primary purpose.  Doing anything else, like stressing about writing something entertaining, or trying to have some sort of point or intrinsic value would be, well, see the title of this blog.

So thanks, you anonymous handsome devil, you. Your time is short; I’d serpentine if I were you.

I Write, You Read (if you want, no pressure)

It’s weird, knowing that people read your blog.  I mean, sure, it’s one thing to write a post and get comments, but having someone come up to you face to face and mention it is somehow different.  Kinda surreal.  One of my friends compared reading my blog to being able to root through my underwear drawer.  Sorry to burst your bubble, but my underwear had a tendency to live on the floor (don’t worry, clean clothes and dirty ones are separate piles).  How’s that for personal over-sharing?

But knowing that people read my blog has other consequences as well.  For one, I’m more conscious about whether I have anything worth saying, or if what I write is going to be worth reading.  It’s likely just Self Doubt starting to whisper again, but I seem to be a bit susceptible right now, seeing as I’m running low on sleep.

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