Personal

I now own two walking sticks. They have sharp metal spikes at the bottom, and nice curved handles. One of them — the one my great-grandfather used as he hiked across Germany — has “Interlochen” carved into the shaft. I don’t know if he did that, during sunsets and sunrises, or if it came that way when he purchased it. Both of them, both my great-grandfather’s walking stick and my grandmother’s walking stick, have little metal badges attached to the shaft every inch or so. He apparently hiked more places than my grandmother, because he has more badges. Each badge is a new town, or a new sight on the horizon. If I took the time, which I will, I could trace their paths from the top of the stick to the bottom through the mountains of Europe. ...

That was kind of an exciting Mother’s Day. My brother, my sister-in-law, and I had a nice trip down to the Cape to visit Mom, dined on fish and chips, and headed back up north. Right before the Sagamore Bridge, some guy in a Dodge Ram rearended us at around 40 MPH. Dodge Ram 2500s (original) are huge — I’m six feet tall and the hood of this thing was up to my chin. My brother’s Volvo is probably totalled; the Ram has a big dent in the bumper and that’s it. Impressive. ...

The Neighborhood Diner has opened up their patio and, apparently, closed their inside dining area. Or something, but anyhow they wouldn’t let me in, so I had the patio experience under somewhat more breezy conditions than I was prepared for. Less wordily: it was a little chilly and I had no sweater. But the food was good as always and it’s nice to be outside. Next time I’ll bring my laptop down and check for wireless. ...

I was wandering through work today prior to some network maintenance, and happened to notice a copy of GURPS Prisoner on someone’s desk. I really like my coworkers. And my company, for that matter.

For the first time in years and years, I’ve registered for Gen Con (original). That’d be the Indianapolis version, not the London one, although if anyone wants to pick up my plane ticket I’ll certainly hit the latter. In a surprising display of competence, I even preregistered for events. Woot!

My dear friend Kit is biking for clean air, which benefits the American Lung Association. I gotta recommend sponsoring her, even if she’s pretending to be some kind of a wacky Alaskan hobbit in the first chunk of that entry. Um, wacky Alaskan mutant hobbit pursued by Sentinels, I think. Don’t ask me. And now that I’ve highlighted a good cause, I’ll highlight a selfish one: I’m gonna go ahead and get that Stratfor subscription cause hey, why not? I have six bucks in the donation fund right now (someone else sent me five bucks), and I am not in any way dependent on donations to get the subscription, but if you wanna kick in some cash then go right ahead.

I got another bit of spam today, entitled “bryant, mountain view lender with 4.5% low interest rates”. The body of the spam was this: Envy, spit thy gall; Plot, work, contrive; create new fallacies, Teem from thy Womb each minute a black Traitor, Whose blood and thoughts have twins conception: Study to act deeds yet unchronicled, Cast native Monsters in the molds of Men, This is an excerpt from A most pleasant comedy of Mucedorus the King’s son of Valentia, and Amadine, the King’s daughter or Arragon, Act V Scene II. It is attributed to Shakespeare, but this is apocryphal. I must say, my spammers choose interesting texts. ...

I’m in Harvard Square, near the Pit, listening to a not bad band pound out the Rolling Stones at full electrified volume. I walked through the Yard just now, and looked up at the third floor of Weld, and realized I wanted to record it. It’s odd; I remember Weld so distinctly, but that was onlu Harvard Summer School, and freshman year in the Yard has faded. I blame Jeanie and Fern. How else? ...

The other day, I was debating the legality of entering my apartment without prior notice with my landlord when my neighbor got home. My neighbor is French; I don’t know the first thing about him other than that. He’s quiet. My landlord gave up on our conversation, and started haranguing my neighbor about speaking French. “Don’t go speaking French around here! I don’t like what France has been doing!” I wimped out; I didn’t tell him that my neighbor had every right to speak French if he wanted. ...

Despite it all, I took some time this weekend to have a nice quiet breakfast and so forth, and since I broke away from my Neighborhood Diner obsession I thought I’d take note of it. Also, I wanted to write about something peaceful. I went down to the Rosebud Diner in Davis Square, since I needed to pick up comics anyhow. I hadn’t been so impressed by it last time I went there, but this time I got the steak omelette and man that was the right choice. Fairly tender steak and lots of cheese, and I’m sure it says something about me that meat and cheese together make up most of my ideal meals. The coffee, well… the great thing about the Rosebud is that you don’t so much have to worry about the coffee, cause when you’re done with the meal you can saunter on down to the Someday and veg out for hours on comfy chairs drinking quality black manna. Very nice. ...