Arcadia Est Imperare Orbi Universo

Dear and faithful reader,

About fourteen years ago, my friend chordam7 and I wrote the libretto to a Jazz-age ragtime Cthulhian opera.

Well, mostly I wrote the libretto and mostly he worked on the music. But only mostly. It was a collaboration.

It was, sadly, a collaboration that we never really finished. The libretto is complete. The introductory material is sort of half-done, the musical themes and tunes are about two-thirds done, and the orchestration... well, the less said about the orchestration, the better.

We had talked over the years about kickstarting the orchestration, with a CD as the end result, but we agreed that more of the music needed to be finished first.

And then, as with so many things, life got in the way.

We had lunch today and decided that we needed to publish the libretto, with perhaps some of the existing music and orchestration as illustrative or supplemental material. It's just dumb that we're sitting on this.

So, there we are.

Yesterday I appeared for jury duty for the first time.

The County-City Building is only four or five blocks from Pistachio House, so I walked. Apparently they're going to pay me mileage at 50¢ a mile. I'm sure that will cover wear and tear on my shoes.

With bus fare at $2.00, I'm thinking of forgoing the mileage in favour of the transit ticket option.

For those of you who have not gone through this procedure, after the initial briefing it's mostly a waiting game.

There were about 200 of us in the Jury assembly room, and occasionally a jovial fellow wearing a Goofy® tie would come to the podium and read off a list of between fifteen and sixty names. That group would be given numbered badges and marched off to a court room for Voir dire.

Within half an hour or so, many if not most of the badged jurors, having been struck from the Jury for one reason or another, would return to the Jury assembly room.

At about 11:00, the Man With the Goofy® Tie called my name, and I became (according to my new badge) Juror Number 1. Our group was not marched off for Voir dire, however, as the judge and the attorneys in the case were apparently still working out the details of our appearance. Or something.

At noon, our group was told to go home for lunch and to come back at 9:00 AM.

If I actually become a Juror on a case, I can't of course discuss the actual case until the trial is over and we've rendered a verdict.

I find it extremely unlikely that I'll actually sit on a jury, however. I mean, if I were on trial, I wouldn't want me sitting in judgment of me...

Well, this is my first attempt to post using my "new" iPhone. It was a "lovely parting gift" from my ex executive producer, Larayne.

Larayne, please forget every argument we ever had, this thing is fantastic!

She purchased the new iPhone 4, so I inherited this one. It took me about three hours last night to figure out how to unlock it and get it to play nice with my T-Mobile account, but it was relatively easy once I worked it out.

I don't have a data plan (and won't until I'm employed), but it has wireless and I'm in Puget Sound - the land of open networks - so I should be fine.

I have already downloaded several apps (including lj of course) and fear I may never return to a simple telephone again. Unless of course someone makes a proper pocket watch model I can attach to a fob...

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

ETA: I should probably mention that the title of the post refers to today's feast, about which the lovely jaynefury had an interesting dream this morning.

My entire division was just laid off, effective 30 June.

No severance pay, 48 hours notice.

Anybody looking for a writer?

Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception
Seattle

It was 9° when I left for work this morning. That's 9°F, not 9°C.

The cold this year has been affecting me more than in years passed. Normally I'm a furnace, but I don't think I've actually felt warm since Saturday at this point (scalding showers notwithstanding).

I'm cold at home; I'm cold at the office; I'm always cold.

The constant cold distracts me from working, and believe me, I don't need that much of a push.

For someone who grew up in the American midwest, sensitivity to cold is a rather terrifying thing. I remember quite distinctly walking miles over drifted snow in the city after a blizzard with no hat or gloves. How have I gotten so soft?

Commemoration of Saint Placid
Seattle

Off to Vancouver BC until Friday. Sadly, it's for work and not pleasure so much.

Toodles!

Commemoration of the seven Holy Sleepers of Ephesus
Tacoma

Dearest Reader,

Saturday was spent at Tacoma's Ethnic Fest, an excuse for sampling foods from restaurants previously unknown and browsing through merchant kiosks of cultures entirely unfamiliar.

The weather has been beastly hot, though the nights have been cooling off. This is, no doubt, due to the angel of hot night time weather deciding he couldn't stand up to singingbarista's suggestions for defeating him; so he just threw in the towel.

Sunday was a surprise party for our pastor, Fr. Carmine Sacco, SJ. He was celebrating his 65th anniversary of becoming a Jesuit. No, that number is not a typo. He's baptising the grandchildren of people he baptised...

Sunday evening was a rousing splatter of Call of Cthulhu, just so Tristan would have one last game before his sentencing on Wednesday. Thanks to chordam7 for running the game and to Robin and Corey for hosting. And! most especially to sulky_girl and Robin for transportation to and from Olympia.

I took this morning off work for a last meeting with Tristan's attorney, followed by some time with Tristan to work on his statement to the court, should that be warranted. The words are his, though I did help by asking him questions and getting his thoughts put in order. Although what we wrote was very short, he could not read it aloud without tears.

Whether or not he actually reads it in court is up to his attorney.

I also wrote a statement for the court, which will be entered into the record during sentencing. I made Tristan's attorney cry.

( Statement of Thom Ryng in support of Tristan Ryng, his son )

I had planned to go into work after the meeting, but after speaking with Tristan's attorney I decided to call in. After sitting down with Tristan, I'm a bit shattered, so this was clearly a good decision.

Blathering just a bit now, dear reader, but I hope that you will forgive me. I'm good for very little else today.

Tristan's sentencing is on Wednesday at 3:00 PM at the Pierce County courthouse in Tacoma. It will be a melancholy affair, but please, if you wish to come out and support Tristan, please come down.

I've been trying to write this post for two days.

On Saturday, we went to the Sinfonietta through the magic of free tickets.

Francine and I were enjoying a lazy Saturday afternoon, and the day sort of got away from us. We completely lost track of the time until Mel called us to ask where we were.

It was 7:00, time to pick up the tickets, and were were still lounging around! Fortunately, we only live up the hill from the Rialto, so we were able to get there in short order.

We parked in the lot down the block and across the street. I sent Francine on ahead to meet up with Mel and James and the tickets while I mucked with the new auto-pay machine.

Back in the day, you entered the number of the space you were parked in and threw in some bills and you were good to go. The new system involves a printed ticket to put on the dashboard. I took the ticket and hesitated - they were waiting for me and I was running late. What were the odds that the car would get cited?

Was the chance worth the thirty seconds I'd lose? I decided not. I ran to the car, slapped the ticket on the dash, and ran back to the intersection to cross Ninth and Market Streets. There were knots of pedestrians crossing Market on both sides of Ninth, heading for the Rialto. There were even four of Tacoma's bicycle cops standing around, vaguely looking like they were supposed to be crossing guards.

As I started to cross Market, I saw a white pickup truck racing up Ninth, towards me. Without signaling or slowing, it turned left onto Market, across Ninth from me.

Pedestrians scattered and flew through the air like pins in a bowling lane. At least one of them thumped onto the hood of the pickup as it sped through.

The cops ran forward like they'd rehearsed it: three to injured pedestrians, one to the middle of the street to peer after the pickup. I assume he was getting the license number.

People were screaming.

I ran to the nearest group. A cop was already there, administering first aid.

The man had a neatly trimmed grey beard and short, white hair. He was twisted under and over a young blonde woman. His head was surrounded by a growing puddle of blood, a shocking scarlet against the grey asphalt and his brown topcoat. His hat - a brown Pendleton with what looked like a pheasant feather, was crushed nearby.

He was still wearing his glasses.

He lifted his head, and he kept asking, "Where's my wife? Is my wife all right?" The officer asked him questions as he applied pressure to the injury, but he ignored them. "Is my wife all right?"

The younger woman tangled around him told the officer she was fine, and she tried to talk to the older man. He ignored her. Clearly not the wife.

I looked about twenty feet up the street, where an older woman lay, unmoving, with an officer kneeling beside her.

A hysterical woman, screaming, across the street was being comforted by another, younger woman.

Somebody had already called 911. One of the officers was also on his radio.

Standing there in the middle of Market Street, I felt utterly helpless, unable to help.

Perhaps one of the Sinfonietta patrons was a doctor? I ran for the Rialto.

Somebody beat me to it. An EMT and a nurse were identifying themselves in the ticket line to another bystander. They were on their way before I had even caught my breath.

So I went to the Sinfonietta and told Francine and Mel and James about the incident.

And right then I realized for the first time that had I not run back to put the ticket on the dashboard, I would have been in that intersection when the pickup truck had run through it.

Something inside me shifted at that moment, and I've not quite come to grips with it. It's not survivor's guilt - nobody died and I certainly don't feel guilty.

But every time I look at someone, there's this profound feeling of "you could die in an instant - hell, you're probably already dead - and everything you are and were will be gone". I'm sure there's a single word for that in some language. Probably German.

It's hard to take anyone so terribly seriously, and yet there's also this awesome sense of individual importance in the sense that this person is a unique and fragile treasure in the world. And in these islands of individuality, I feel utterly unconnected and adrift.

Does that make any sense?

I passed the site today. It was raining hard, and the black stains on the street were melting at the edges and joining the muddy rivulets running down the hill to the sea.

The local paper's version

I've been trying to write this post for two days. I'm not convinced I've succeeded.

Although they were removed from the calendar, they remain saints. I intend to celebrate in the traditional manner - by purchasing a new pair of shoes.

If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.( Read more... )

First, your meme of the day, courtesy of literary_equine :


Am-I-Dumb.com - Intelligence Test

That's 24 out of 25 correct. I wonder which question I got wrong?

We'll move on now to the geeky Church news portion of today's entertainment. Never mind Catholic / Orthodox rapprochement (a thousand years of schism can't be wrong!), it seems the Russians are upset with Constantinople (that's Istanbul, for you young Turks out there). I blame Estonia. If they'd only converted to Unitarianism, none of this would have happened.

And as I've long suspected, the Pope really is crazy like a fox. I won't bore you with his other chess moves (they're mostly liturgical), but for those who thought this would be a transitional Papacy, Benedict is increasingly making Pope John Paul II look like he was the transition.

And when did BBC stop capitalizing God?

On a more personal note, my schedule has really screwed up my praying of the Hours. I'm trying to fix that, but it's been a struggle.

Meanwhile, wedding plans are the chaos that wedding plans apparently always are. Still, we've finally got another planning session put together, so that's a good thing.

My plans for continued employment with Catholic schools in Tacoma is collapsing like a startled soufflé.

Plan A is proving a difficult sell - a month I've been on-and-off working on a presentation to the Principals and Pastors, and it only started coming together yesterday in any meaningful way. Trouble is, the plan only makes financial sense if you assume that the goal is to (eventually) open several more schools. It's rather difficult to get these folks to that view, when their paradigm is built on "can we afford to stay open for another year?"

The demographics support twelve or more schools where we currently have seven, but I don't think I can get them to look that far ahead.

Plan B is increasingly looking unlikely. The Archdiocese just hasn't budgeted for the position I'd fill.

Plan C involves sending out résumés. This, I started yesterday. Looks like Frank Russell is looking for a FrameMaker guru. Why not?

Oh, and my laptop finally died. There went my savings account.

Cruenti Dei continues to stumble on towards the starting line. I'm very pleased with amphigori's illustrations. I still haven't seen anything from badhairs , which doesn't surprise me given his life situation, nor from starkad67 , which is quite worrying.

I'm still trying to get up to speed on Campaign Cartographer 2 - I'm was hoping to have these maps done pretty quickly, but it's proving more difficult than I thought. I may have to go with hand-drawn maps. Not my first choice, but I'm trying to work to deadline, here.

I did get the Preview PDF put together, complete with a couple of illustrations and a silly little sketch map. amphigori's Wenemet sketch makes the whole thing worth downloading, though for the final masterpiece, you'll have to purchase the rulebook when it's available.

Speaking of which, the rulebook is pretty much done, except for the tables and the illustration inserts. So that's something.

Did I mention I've been really busy?

I've also not been sleeping very well for the last few weeks, something that I seem to share with a number of people on my friendslist. I suspect that R'lyeh may be poking its wee head above the waves. I've also been having quite the surreal nightmares. Interestingly, I've not been to Carcosa in a while.

TTFN!

This is my first weekend since July 21, and I think I might actually be starting to relax.

I just posted the latest progress report to the Cruenti Dei forum. Work is humming along!

Today's plan is more work on CD, a nice long walk, some quick edits on a book project, cleaning up the kitchen, perhaps some weed-whacking in the front.

I think Francine might go grocery shopping.

Ah, the bucolic life!

Tomorrow, we've got to tackle some wedding projects. And laundry.

I'd like to share something I read recently:

In King Lear (III:vii) there is a man who is such a minor character that Shakespeare has not given him even a name: he is merely "First Servant." All the characters around him -- Regan, Cornwall, and Edmund -- have fine long-term plans. They think they know how the story is going to end, and they are quite wrong. The servant has no such delusions. He has no notion how the play is going to go. But he understands the present scene. He sees an abomination (the blinding of old Gloucester) taking place. He will not stand it. His sword is out and pointed at his master's breast in a moment: then Regan stabs him dead from behind. That is his whole part: eight lines all told. But if it were real life and not a play, that is the part it would be best to have acted. (C.S. Lewis, "The World's Last Night")

I've been ruminating over this for a couple of days now, and the idea appeals to me as a framing device for a story of this servant's life. Of course, if you buy the argument that Shakespeare was an underground Catholic, the life and death of the "First Servant" takes on a whole other light.

(... and therefore I believe the President and Vice President of the United States must be impeached.)

The madness that is the second-to-last week of school, with its graduations and field day gyrations, has given way to the collapsing soufflé that is the last week of school.

I'm feeling much better about life in general, and the stress level has noticeably dropped. It hasn't quite dropped to the Summer Holiday level, but it's hovering right near the Now, What I Was Supposed to be Doing? level.

Some time in the next month, I rather suspect it will be at the Sangrias on the Patio level, a state of affairs to which I look forward with no little anticipation.

The weekend was gardening in the rain, followed by gardening in the sunshine. The fig has been joined by an olive. In between, there were Irish (sic) pubs and gawdawful fish and chips at a place that should probably stick with pizza.

I don't think I mentioned it earlier, but I built fully half of Piazza della Pistachio on Memorial Day, just so we would have some place to put the grill.

Today is my last day of staying late at work.

Today I...

• Went to 9:00 Mass at St. Patrick's with Francine
• Stayed at church for about an hour, talking with friends. One of them is pregnant, which is just joyous.
• Put (yet another) coat of primer on the two bedside dressers
• Prayed
• Swung on the porch swing awhile in thought
• Dug in the garden for most of the afternoon (though it still looks like the surface of the Moon)
• Showered
• Did laundry
• Read a little

Now I shall go for a walk.

This evening perhaps I shall read some more.

Quite the exciting life, I know.

Yesterday, I watched our Junior High basketball team wallop All Saints, picked up a few little somethings at Half Price Books, and wandered about Tacoma looking for a place to write. And then I wrote.

I came to work yesterday, though once again there was no school due to ice on the ground. Growing up in Chicago, where an overnight foot of snow wasn't enough to close my high school, I am consistently amazed at how little winter is required to shut down western Washington.

There was no heat in the building. By noon, I was shivering so hard that it was difficult to work with Adobe InDesign - the mouse was just shaking all over the place. My Principal, the only other person working in the building, took me to lunch. We didn't get back until about 4:00PM. Fortunately, I'd e-mailed the advertisement to the newspaper before we left.

This morning, it snowed again. Initially, we were going to open two hours late. I got the cancellation call when I was already on my way to work. Today, though it was just me and the janitor, at least the building was heated. I updated the web site and worked on some more details for Catholic Schools Week - I'm assuming that we won't get another Ice Age between now and then.

The bus slid all over the road on the way here, so I stuck it out until midafternoon in hopes that it would get a little warmer. This strategy was only marginally successful. Home now, and desperately trying to warm up. Hmmm. Perhaps some tea...

In one bit of spectacularly good news, Senator Barack Obama has formed a Presidential Exploratory Committee. This can only be good for the state and level of discourse in this country. It's 1968 all over again (hopefully sans assassination this time).

cheers to bibliovixen

Three day weekend, starting today. Unsurprisingly, I'm mostly unpacking and cleaning and just generally puttering about the place. It's quite nice, actually.

I called in sick today because my body is in PAIN. I mean, my toes hurt.

I love my parents. Sure, we've had our disagreements (that was the early 90's, I think), but they've always been behind me, and they've always supported me, even if in my youth I didn't always agree with their methods.

When The King in Yellow premiered, my Mom sent me a yellow bouquet. I still have the funny little bee mug that came with. When The Resurrectionist (as awful as it was) premiered at the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival, somehow my Mom and my Sister were there to see it.

They've been a rock for me, and they still are.

Today is the feast of Saint Maximilian Mary Kolbe. I was reminded that, had my daughter Victoria made the mistake of being born a boy, his name would have been Maximilian Josef.

In other meanderings, I was pall-bearer at my grandmother's funeral. It turns out that the woman I knew as Florence Janowski had been born Slavomira Sufleta. Apparently her first grade teacher couldn't pronounce "Slavomira" and decided that she "looked like a Florence". So there you go. I could probably say something profound about the names we wear, masks, and identity, but frankly I'm not capable of such higher brain functions just at the momement.

I worked most of Saturday flogging the school, and we gave out over 500 helium balloons with brochures attached. Several were let loose into the air by the children (and adults) holding them, so I'm hoping that somewhere in south Tacoma, a brochure from our school has literally fallen from the heavens on to someone who needs the information. I've got 13 callbacks set for this afternoon.

My laptop is currently winging its way to Cuppertino for repairs, so several projects for work and pleasure (Hârn, anyone?) are on hold for the moment.

It's almost 1:30 - I should find some lunch...

Andrew thoughtfully sent me some photos of our paintball misadventure. This is my favourite.

Note the stylish "Digger" t-shirt.

Utterly exhausted at the moment. I've managed somehow to get all of the deadline items on my calendar finished, at least until next week, except for the school play. Right now I'm at 10 days work in a row, many of them 15 hours long or more. It will be 16 days by the time I'm through. After the Cinderella weekend, my days will be much shorter, and I'm off Friday the 5th to take jaynefury to Whidbey Island for a long weekend. I owe dinner to a fine band of Paladins, and an explanation of "Pod Parishes" to several snarky friends. Both will wait a bit longer, I'm afraid. At least a couple of days.

Today at the 7:30 Mass, I lectored for the second time. Thanks be to God we remembered to reset the clocks!

( A Year Ago Today )

O Blessed Trinity
We thank You for having graced the Church
with Pope John Paul II
and for allowing the tenderness of your Fatherly care,
the glory of the cross of Christ,
and the splendor of the Holy Spirit,
to shine through him. Amen.

Soon there will be coffee and walking down by Commencement Bay. Then writing. And stuff.

Snarky quote of the day:

If you cut out all the passages in the Bible where Jesus talks about the poor, you'd have the perfect container to smuggle Rush Limbaugh's drugs in. (Al Franken)

Another pointless meme, I suppose, though if anyone has any questions or requires clarifications, I'm sure I'd be happy to oblige.

Today was simply horrific. And I'm only exaggerating a wee. Yesterday was the school's Christmas Program, so of course I didn't get home until after 11:00, what with the buses and the missing of buses and the walking home from downtown in the freezing air bits.

So I was dragging a little today.

So far today I've: toted around Extremely Heavy Things, scooped ice cream to 150 or so students, witnessed a student have an allergic reaction so violent that paramedics were called and walls had to be mopped, helped with auditions for the school play, and watched several otherwise rational and together people have breakdowns due to assorted reactions (and lack of same) to projectile vomiting and assorted emergency medical procedures.

Oh, and I had to wash ice cream off of my sweater. Naturally, the blazing radiator in my office picked that very moment to shut off, so hours later the sleeves are still wet.

So yeah, one of those days. Exhausted and finding it difficult to concentrate or focus or much of anything. And I've got some serious housecleaning to accomplish before Saturday afternoon.

Right. So here's the Meme:

( Read more... )

Felt slightly better this morning and so made the mistake of heading into work.

By the time I got to Mountlake Terrace, I was feeling quite poorly again and was regretting my decision.

As it turned out, not a whole lot would have been accomplished today even had I been feeling tip-top. My e-mail was down all day, and the application I'm documenting spent the better part of the day randomly logging me out.

And then there was the fire alarm. I thought my head was imploding, but as other people were clapping their hands over their ears, I deduced it was, in fact, a klaxon sounding. Between waiting for the fire marshal to arrive, and then waiting for him to inspect the building, that was pretty much 30 minutes of billable time with me standing in the overgrowth watching employees denude a blackberry bush.

Left early. Home now. More sleep. Or at least nothing too exhausting.

I've gone and joined the dark side.

After being subjected to noisy gossip from cellphonelady on the #41 bus, I was terrorized by deepbassleakingfromtheheadphonesguy behind me on the #347 bus.

I was trying (and largely failing) to write.

Enough is enough.

I bought an iPod shuffle.