Pirates? In Colorado? Society's to Blame.

Ahoy, mateys! This weekend brought about one of the most nerdish rituals I have ever taken part in: I attended Baron's War with SCA. SCA is better known as the Society for Creative Anachronism and is essentially a role-playing renaissance fair in which everyone is a player. My friend Andrea and her family have been involved in this organization for about the length of her life. Baron's War was my second event and brought its own unique flavor to an otherwise drab weekend.

First thing we had to do was get to Cripple Creek, which is deeper into the heart of Colorado than one would normally venture, about 101 miles away. On the way we stopped by two llama farms (within .5 miles of each other) and tried to lure them to the fence by imitating their angry-baby-like cries. Andrea insisted they were territorial creatures but I found their long-lashed eyes and small faces reminiscent of Betty Boop; instead I experienced the much more territorial attentions of the small red ants whose hill I was standing on. Our girly bug dance seemed to amuse the llamas at least.

When we arrived at the Lost Burro campground the sun was just setting. The camp was full of contradiction! Top-of-the-line campers sat next to viking tents; people wearing medieval garb drove cars; golf-carts whizzed down the paths bearing pirate flags and water pistols...all nested beneath a beautiful cliff face at a cozy 9,500 ft. The first order of business was to change from tanks & tees into more lady-like garb.

The first night was a low-grade kegger with fire-lit jousting and much roasting of marshmallows. Even though we wore the flowing gowns of ladies our slack, staring faces were those of our generation...it was the end of a long day. Let me just say here that sleeping with Andrea is never without risk - it carries dangers of disturbance, assault, and unwanted spooning - that night though it was just terribly cold. Cold sweat sleep is one of the worst aspects of camping.

Another horrid aspect is waking up with the first idiot early-bird who wants everyone to experience the frigid morning air. Day two was filled with sun-soaked lounging, more jousting-watching, and freak rainstorms which induced a lovely nap nestled in the loft of a cabin. Just as well, really, because that was the night of the pirate party!

Andrea and I became bar wenches and served up a horrendous, rainbow concoction of rum and sugar drink. Got to say it was definitely the pirate party where the sense of unreality disappeared. Call me crazy but people wearing pirate clothes and drinking heavily seems almost natural...must be left-over college vibes. Of course more happened but what happens among the llamas stays there ;-)

(If you can't tell by the photo I am supposed to be a naughty pirate...I've been told that underwear on the outside of my clothes is a good look for me. Something to keep in mind for sure!)

If you can't tell by the photo I am supposed to be a naughty pirate...I've been told that underwear on the outside of my clothes is a good look for me. Something to keep in mind for sure!

The Quest for Gratitude: A Fool's Errand

One of the mantras I have formed since graduating college is: Don't do anything expecting gratitude. It is not the most poetic of phrases, to be sure, but it rings through my head with its importance. An action done purely in the pursuit of another's gratitude is doomed from the start; it relies on the most finicky of things - human feeling. If you've missed your mark you are left with nothing, and if, by chance, you succeed "thanks" is a fading reward. The main issue is that if you work for gratitude you are working for outside approval, when you really should be laboring to please yourself. But, the concept extends further now - beyond favors and surprises to basic self-worth.

So many in the world are constantly seeking approval for what they know themselves to be. The intelligent strive to have their wit acknowledged; the beautiful bask in the light of admiration; even the strong must lift the little to prove a point. I wonder what brings about this need for public acclaim...it's rather like the tree-falling-in-the-forest quandary: Does a beauty unseen still glow? Does a joke unheard lose its laughter?

One of my greatest goals right now is to separate myself from this destructive tendency. I will not act for gratitude and I will learn to value my positives without the need of an outside harrumph.

...HARRUMPH!

Loose First Names - How Scandalous!

I've come to the realization that I am famous. You're shocked. Don't worry, it took me time to get used to too. It seems like everywhere I go people know my name: Walmart, grocery stores, even the library! How did I achieve such world-renown? I blame society and a horrible practice among retailers to steal my name from any proffered plastic payment method.

Any retail experience nowadays is marred with what I view as an act of over-familiarity. I know these cashiers are only implementing a company policy, but I question the larger motive. This effort to personalize the shopping experience is a cheat: ignore the prices and services because we are your friends! I do not enjoy being addressed by my first name by strangers. If you consider how little first names are used even among familiars, it really is a remarkable breach.

But it works the other way too, with customers taking advantage of name tags to violate this boundary. Actually, I consider this a tad more unforgivable because of three things: 1) The name-tags are mandated and not a personal choice, 2) the customers are doing it by their own free will and not because of any job requirement, and 3) I am the constant victim of it! AGH!

The only solution seems to be changing my name to an expression of outrage beyond the bounds of modern spelling!

The Zen of Clean

The masters of clean are the masters of the universe. Watch in awe as they center their mind, body, and place-mat! Gasp, as they vacuum away the entropy of the universe! And let your mind boggle in the presence of their life-altering dusting regime! What is it about a tidy home that brings a sense of peace and purpose to life? The ruffle of a freshly vacuumed carpet and the quiet stack of clean dishes seem to speak of a rightness not often found.

The older I get (questionably wiser) the more drawn I am to order. I think that as the complications of everyday life accumulate, crowding just outside of my control, the appeal of things that I CAN affect increases. I remember cringing at the sound of my step-mother's Saturday morning vacuuming, but I begin to understand her motivation. To be able to craft a small portion of your world to your liking...that is something. To see tangible benefits of your work in a world where things are unquantifiable is satisfying. And while I do not aspire to such heights as my step-mother, my busy bee hours are more numerous by the day.

So! Out with the dusters and bleach! And onward with the battle against that which we cannot control!

Bzzz, Bzzz!