JADB

As promised in my earlier post, here’s an update from my Picasa Album…

As you can see, I’m apparently still on track to my goal weight…

And, yes, being fit, lighter and much healthier does indeed feel very good!

Now I would hesitate to refer to myself as a professional when it comes to watershed moments, never having been paid for them, you see, but I certainly would have no issue referring to myself as an experienced amateur…

In the the last year much has happened to me, and only some of that had been good. Okay, to be honest; some absolutely awesome events had happened to me, along with some truly horrendous ones.

If nothing else, I have learnt a great deal about me; the person I used to be and the person I have since become.

I’ve learnt that I’m generally kind and gentle; I’ve learnt that children and animals seem inclined, to put it mildly, to be kindly disposed to me; I’ve learnt that I have drive and determination second to none. I have learnt that, when I put my mind to it, I can accomplish some utterly astounding feats; personally and professionally both.

I have also learnt that I still do not handle betrayal well at all. Of all the occurrences in my life, this one seems to gnaw at me, at my very being, most relentlessly.

Yet… Yet. I have also learnt that I have a much bigger heart than I had ever thought myself as capable of having.

Sadly, nearly all of these realisations have come at great cost; the cost of some heart-ache during moments of great self-doubt.

Yet none of these are what I would have considered real “Watershed Moments”. Critical turning points. I mean, make no mistake, all of them were part of the healing process, and in retrospect I embrace them all; they are all part of the history of the person writing this; all part of the experience that formed him and are all part of his strength…

No, the real watershed moment was the realisation I experienced when I managed to identify the source of the melancholy I had felt the whole morning.

You see, today is the birthday of a person who, until late last year, was the most important in my life; I used to go out of my way to make this day special. I know soppy, romantic, stupid… Call it what you like. That does not change the reality of it in any way at all.

The doleful feeling was my subconscious nagging at me for not having done anything special for today…

Once I had realised it, of course, the cloud mostly lifted. But more importantly, another cloud, one that had been lingering for even longer, also started lifting.

Before today I had been very anxious at the thought that I might never be able to fully trust again; never be able to give a girl a chance to fully come into my life and into my heart again. That the romantic in me had been killed off in a moment of brutal callousness.

I, now, no longer have that fear… The romantic in me is still here, very much still alive. He has merely been lying low, waiting for the right girl to come kicking down the doors to his hideout…

I’ve come to the realisation recently that, quite frequently in the recent past, I’ve allowed the words of others to express what I had felt.

While there is nothing wrong with that per sé, and in fact much of the thrust of this post is given by the same sword, it is something to smirk at in me.

I have recently been through a, to understate it tremendously, rather painful episode. Betrayal cuts close to the bone for most of us, and when that betrayal is perpetrated by the people you love the most, and would thus least expect it from, the pain becomes… difficult… to ignore.

And yet… And yet there comes a time when you take a walk one day and realise that it isn’t nearly as bad as you had thought, that sometime during the recent past, things had… changed. Things had stopped being so very awful.

Now there is realistically no way that the nearly insurmountable breaches caused can be repaired without a ridiculous amount of effort, but you know, sometimes, just sometimes, burnt bridges should damn well stay burnt!

So, it might just happen that one day, a day very much like today in fact, you might pause away from work during lunch, during a sanity break, and realise that we live in a beautiful world; a world full of wonder, a world full of joy…

For most of the afternoon then, I have had What a Wonderful World playing in my mind…

I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people going by
I see friends shaking hands saying how do you do
They’re really saying “I love you”.

I hear babies crying, I watch them grow
They’ll learn much more than I’ll never know
And I think to myself what a wonderful world
Yes I think to myself what a wonderful world.

Thank you Louis Armstrong… Much appreciated. Please take a bow to the wonderful audience…

Damn! I love being alive!

If “Cold Wind Blows” is the one side of the coin, this classic from Billy Joel ever so eloquently highlights the other…

While the former covers endings and that sense of loss when something wonderful dies, the latter — this one — is all about that sense of great joy and wonder with life being oh so magical when you are falling in love…

Oh, oh, oh
For the longest time
Oh, oh, oh
For the longest time

If you said goodbye to me tonight
There would still be music left to write
What else could I do
I’m so inspired by you
That hasn’t happened for the longest time

Once I thought my innocence was gone
Now I know that happiness goes on
That’s where you found me
When you put your arms around me
I haven’t been there for the longest time

Oh, oh, oh
For the longest time
Oh, oh, oh
For the longest
I’m that voice you’re hearing in the hall
And the greatest miracle of all
Is how I need you
And how you needed me too
That hasn’t happened for the longest time

Maybe this won’t last very long
But you feel so right
And I could be wrong
Maybe I’ve been hoping too hard
But I’ve gone this far
And it’s more than I hoped for

Who knows how much further we’ll go on
Maybe I’ll be sorry when you’re gone
I’ll take my chances
I forgot how nice romance is
I haven’t been there for the longest time

I had second thoughts at the start
I said to myself
Hold on to your heart
Now I know the woman that you are
You’re wonderful so far
And it’s more than I hoped for

I don’t care what consequence it brings
I have been a fool for lesser things
I want you so bad
I think you ought to know that
I intend to hold you for the longest time

Ah, yes. I remember now…

Soon. Very soon…

Sun don’t shine ’round here no more,
since my baby walked on out that door.
She broke my heart, make no mistake.
All I did was give.
All she did was take.
But don’t you know,
where she goes,
the cold wind blows.

Well, my baby told so many lies.
I couldn’t see through my blinded eyes.
She choked me up with her bad, bad seed.
Took the flowers I gave her
and strangled them with weeds.
But don’t you know,
where she goes,
the cold wind blows.

I ain’t gonna cry no more.
I ain’t gonna cry no more.
I ain’t gonna cry no more,
cry no more.

Sun don’t shine ’round here no more,
since my baby walked on out that door.
She broke my heart, make no mistake.
All I did was give.
And all she did was take.
But don’t you know,
where she goes,
the cold wind blows.
The cold wind blows.

I ain’t gonna cry no more.
I ain’t gonna cry no more.
I ain’t gonna cry no more.
I ain’t gonna cry no more.
Ain’t gonna cry no more,
cry no more.
Gonna cry no more.
Ain’t gonna cry no more.

Yep… ‘Tis o’le Gary from Dark Days in Paradise again…

What makes this interesting enough to post, though, is not merely because the sentiment expressed is indubitably true, but because it seems to hold true for a much shorter period than one would have though during the “Dark Days”…

I can still vividly recall the sentiment from the last couple of months — still remember the raw emotion — but the memory is becoming ever more distant.

Without even realising that it had happened, one stops “crying” and one start realising that the sun had never really stopped shining — that the gloom had lifted sometime while one was not really paying attention — and that it is now fast becoming a truly beautiful day!

Saturday became take 2 of the Cansa Shavathon 2008, and I decided to go orange for that one.

To be honest, I think I much prefer the green version…

Yes, yes… I’m very well aware that the real Cansa Shavathon Day for 2008 is only on the 16th… My company had decided, though, that today would be an opportune day for that.

I’ll post some more photos of the other poor victims when I get them, but some of me for the time being.

Of course, since I don’t have much that can be shaved off, I decided to go green…

I think green kinda suits me… Maybe I should stick with it? :-)

A friend of mine has heard that I’ve lost a kilo or two; and asked me for some photos… Well, here they are…

I’ll keep my Picasa Album updated as time goes by in case anyone else is curious…

It’s been a wild ride so far, but, damn, am I having fun!

He was just sitting there, staring at the sea. Nobody quite knew what to make of him, the strange old man. But they considered him harmless. He was there every morning. As regular as clockwork; sitting there sipping his coffee from his flask at dawn, having his sandwiches, always the same - brown bread with little butter and lots of jam, at tea and then leaving at lunch.

He was obviously waiting for something to come from the sea, obviously waiting for something or someone. Nobody wanted to ask him, not because they were afraid of him, but because he seemed to have an ineffable air of sadness; a need to to be alone with his thoughts.

One morning he wasn’t there anymore, though. That surprised everyone, as anything unusual happening invariably seems to. Nor was he the next day. On the third, though he was seen again; but not sitting watching the sea… He was standing on the patch of grass next to the bench that had been his point of vigil for so long. Looking at the people milling about, an occasional smile on his face and the sadness seemingly replaced with a quiet resignation and occasional flashes of optimism.

And to their surprise the regulars, those curious ones who had watched him but were too timid to approach the old man, realised he was not all that old; it was sadness that had drawn the lines on his face, not the years.

Eventually one of them, the one who had thought he knew the man the best, finally broke down and inched closer to the man, failing to note the amusement now shining in his eyes. “Erm…”, he started, “so it’s here? It came? Whatever you were waiting for?”

With a wry grin the no-longer old man’s reply was heard, a reply that really confused some of those around him; having no frame of reference for his thoughts…

“No friend. All that came in the end was realisation. Realising that if this wasn’t a Storybook Love, it was because it never was written into the story. Realising that if I want a Storybook Love, I might have to go read another book. And finally realising that there are actually other books that might be even more worth reading…”

When I initially decided to write this post, I had thought to keep it sweet and short, wishing both my friends and enemies the same thing: may 2008 bring to you what you deserve…

Up until a couple of weeks ago, that would still have been my stance, but one of my resolutions for 2008 is that I will attempt to forgive those who harmed or hurt me. Some of it was malice, some of it sheer callousness and some of it cowardice; but in the end it doesn’t matter. Sadly I can not forgive them yet, but at least now I can see that I will be able to in a while. That is a good change.

Strange things, resolutions. People seem to hide from them or ignore them. Yet the new year is the ideal time to make changes; though, to be honest, since every day is the first of the rest of your life, every day is the best day to make changes. New year just makes it easy to draw a line in the sand.

So, my resolutions for 2008:

1. Work towards and achieve being able to forgive those that had hurt me. Malice, Callousness or Cowardice makes no difference. I’m doing this for me.
2. Allow love and happiness to find me. Allow myself to go find love and happiness. Yes I need to get over some hurt first, but it is a whole damn year!
3. Make sure that my weight-loss keeps on track. I’m doing extremely well so far; I should reach the second-last of my goals in time for my next birthday…
4. Spend at least six hours a week in the Gym. This is going to be tough, since I’m way unfit and even further out of shape. I’m not even properly round anymore, fercrissakes!
5. Make my new company damn glad I joined them. Yes, I know I’ve already added more value than they had expected, despite the fact that I had been living under a very dark and heavy cloud, but in 2008 I’m going to astound them!
6. Get out and enjoy the countryside and nature more. Go and see and experience new things and new places. I’ve spent way too many hours inside in recent years.
7. Bring my friends closer again. During my time of pain I had rebuffed them, and it time to fix that. Sorry guys, I know you were there for me, but I could see squat through the pain.
8. Achieve at least some of my professional goals. I’ve put some of them off for far too long already.

Yes I know. Plenty. But fortunately most of them are in motion; they’re not here so I can start them, they’re here so my friends can hold me accountable if I stop working towards them…

And then my wishes. Relax, I won’t wish that everybody will get what they deserve…

Someone who used to to be my very best friend in the world parted from me shortly after saying these words: “Sometimes, love just isn’t enough”. To her my message is: “It certainly is… All that is needed is real love”. And thus I especially wish this for her with all my heart: that she will find somebody to truly love in 2008.

For the rest of you, I wish one of two things: that you realise that you have already found your true love and then make then extremely happy that you had, or that your true love gets fed up waiting for you and comes to find you… For in the end, as I had said, love is more than enough.

And then as a final, final thought: Love, peace and happiness to you all. Good Riddance 2007; Roll On 2008!

As Themba’s stentorian snores had lulled me to sleep the previous evening, so they not so gradually brought me to a none-too-gentle awakening. Yep. Still here…

With some caffeine fuelled enthusiasm I had decided that a shower was my first order of business. Alas, no, the miniscule alcove had not over-night magically assumed more generous proportions, no. Oh well, at least I got to leave it cleaner than I had entered it.

After dressing I wandered down to breakfast. And a surprisingly good one at that as well. The cynic in me immediately started wondering what the catch was… The place had not so far managed to fill me to the brim with confidence in their ability to play nicely.

Playing tourist time: Victoria Falls. Truly majestic. Or probably would have been if there was anything actually falling… Okay, that’s a bit unfair. The parts of the falls where there was falling water to be had (not an unfair expectation of some place proclaiming to be a waterfall I would have though, myself) was maybe excessively waterfall-y. Rather damp and everything. And quite high, at 100m plus… Okay. Effing high. 33 Storeys is a bit higher than I feel like falling down from. I did pick up on one thing though. Apparently I’m not really afraid of heights.

Then it was time to go back to the hotel for a blessedly cold beer. And the news that the airline’s licence had been suspended. We had to buy a new ticket. And we got to spend another day at Vic Falls. At our own expense. Oh. Joy.

Nothing but to do but continue with out event-packed afternoon. The elephant-back safari. Something I, as someone who had been reared on Kipling, had been quite looking forward to. And we were only half-an-hour late, too. An auspicious start indeed. We arrive in time for refreshments: anything from Lemonade, Sprite or Water. Unless you happen to want water, that is. But the tap’s in the loo if you would like to go get some…

Finally we were deemed ready for our great adventure; after we had been convinced to sign the indemnity form. It was at this point which an alarm started sounding in my head. Any venture requiring new clothes or indemnity forms are suspect by definition, in my opinion.

The real trouble started when one of the smallest elephants were brought closer and I was entreated to mount the bastard thing. All was fine till the denizen from the lowest of the hells started moving and the saddle started slipping to the side. “Now this,” I thought to myself, “is simply not going to end well.” Which I then promptly proved by valiantly holding on to the reigns which in turn was quite sturdily fastened to the saddle; which in turn decided that there was no way in hell that I would be staying on that damned elephant; it quite gracefully turned on the barrel of said elephant.

Themba and I, yes the very same Themba, now both got dumped, quite ungracefully and very damned hard, on the ground. From there we got to experience quite a unique view of elephants. An encounter I would have preferred to forgo and would really not recommend.

An earnest attempt now got made, after we had been patched up somewhat and the saddle had been actually cinched, to convince me to re-mount the elephant. Now I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but stupid ain’t really one of them. There was no way, on this green earth, that I was getting back on that damned elephant!

Limping, I made my way to the cooler box, and promptly did my utmost (with eventual success due to Themba’s kind assistance and thorough command of Zulu) to convince one of the rangers that we truly deserved a couple of cold beers.

Nursing a cold beer, a bruised body and my equally bruised ego we find that one of the rangers left to “baby-sit” us is the chief lion trainer for the safari-outfit. Apparently they become unmanageable at two years of age, so the oldest ones he had were all seventeen months old. If you had never seen a seventeen-month-old lion from close up, take my word on this: that’s one big pussy-cat!

Eventually supper-time arrives and I frantically try and find a reason to skip going to “The Boma”. I wasn’t at all too certain that I would survive whatever was in store for us now… In a way what we run into at supper was both better and worse than I had feared… The food was edible. The entertainment was fairly decent. But the “interactive drum experience” (just known as “drumming” to us ignorant South Africans) was a total wash. Well, for me at least. I was sitting at the table in too much pain to go fetch some ice-cream and some over-enthusiastic personification of evil (damn those extroverts!) expected me to be all eager and enthusiastic at the prospect of energetically beating a drum? I was so sore, I couldn’t even lift my beer to my mouth!

Later, with the pain mostly under control due to some decent painkillers (as opposed to my faculties, for much the same reason) I eventually stumbled off to bed; dog-tired and hoping like hell that I would I fall asleep before the painkillers wore off. In fact, I was also so doped up that Themba could have snored all he wanted, he could have started a fire-fight in the room for all I cared, that night I was going to sleep, damn it!

There were some upsides to all of that, fortunately. The day had been so “eventful” that I had little time to reflect on anything. I had been so busy wondering what new “adventure” awaited us, that there had been no time to think about “home”.

“Now, I’ve been to some dodgy places. No, I mean some really dodgy places. But that was behind me, I was convinced of that. I knew that that was history. Which doesn’t explain why I am here. No, it really does not.” These were some of my very first thoughts at seeing the Airport after landing…

It was bad enough when the Airline grounded all flights. Fortunately another Airline decided to honour the tickets. Sort of. After giving us a decent run-around for an hour, we’re informed that, instead of flying into Livingston in Zambia as we were going to, we would now be flying into Vic Falls in Zimbabwe. Ah well, close enough, I suppose. It then got a whole lot worse when the person organising the flight, the one with the transfer vouchers, with the paperwork, the money to pay for the hotel, managed to miss it… Not his fault really, since he would have had ample time to do all he needed had the Airline not decided to lose an engine a while ago, but still; it worried.

Here on the other side another, new, comedy awaited us though. Somewhere, somehow, one of the bags got lost. All got checked in together, and all, but that one, had made it. One managed to “get lost”. But of course it would… It was on Friday. Bag number X000013. It was doomed from the start…

Thistry we wandered to one of the shops. Paying a mil-and-a-half for anything freaks me out just a tad. Maybe a house is still okay, but a bloody ice-cream? Well, to be fair, that translates to just over R333 at the official exchange rate. For a bloody ice-cream? Now, I’ll readily grant that I haven’t bought any ice-cream in a while, but I would have considered R15 to be a tad expensive but understandable: I mean it is an Airport after all. But that’s no excuse for more than a 2222% premium, is it?

We finally got to the hotel, not at all certain of our welcome, since the person who had organised it all is the only one not available to explain to them that it all had, indeed, been organised. Thus it’s just another place, with another adventure awaiting us on this day from the nether realms. I get to share a room with Themba. Themba is okay. I like the dude, I really do. But not enough to share a bed with him okay?

Paying for beer at the local pub proved to be another adventure in itself. One pays in rands for prices quoted in Zim dollars to then get US dollars in change. Most unfortunately they don’t accept coins, ever so sorry. A nice little racket, of course, since it means that everything gets calculated in multiples of R6.77. And then rounded up. As I said, a nice little racket indeed.

Finally it was time for our first “activity”. A sunset cruise. Now it was time to experience the wilds of Africa with man in his natural habitat. On the deck of a barge with a cold beer in his hand. And I certainly experienced lots… Hippos. Crocodiles. Bottom of my beer glass. To be honest I saw way too many of the last for personal comfort; I got too close to the grim reality of it, if you will.

End of the day arrived, and we promptly moved on to Supper-time at “The Makuwa-Kuwa”. Which is great; that is, unless you feel at all uncomfortable at the idea of paying $25 US for a fairly common South African Cabernet. R100 I would’ve been able to justify to myself, but paying nearly R200 for a R50 bottle of wine was a lot, if you’ll excuse the pun, harder to swallow. Being forced to be honest, though, I would admit to the food being very, very, good. Deciding to simply avoid the wine, I’m starting to feel a bit better about this venture. Until, that is…

I went off to bed quite looking forward to a well-earned night’s rest after quite an eventful day. Fortunately it had taken only a modicum of brute force to separate the beds so I wouldn’t find myself sleeping close enough to Themba so that I would end up feeling obliged to make him an offer of marriage. Unfortunately, though, it soon became evident that Themba snores for the First Team.

Great. Just effing great…

It used to amuse me for the longest time that when I’m at my happiest I tend to be most quiet about it. It seems that I’m then so busy being happy, that I don’t want to waste any time on non-critical things like blog entries.

I used to think I was alone or unusual in that, that is till I listened to Harvey Danger’s Happiness writes white from their Little by Little album.

Ariella, 7:30 I don’t want to get up yet
Listen to the morning music cursing the alarm you set
As you know I’ve never been a praying man
I don’t need a God to make me feel alirght
But if you wonder why I never wrote you a song
it’s because happiness writes white

I also started paying attention to other blogs, and, while by no means a universal phenomenon, it does seem a lot more common than people would credit.

He had been quite happy in the aquarium, for quite a while. That was before, of course. But there was a time he’d been quite happy indeed.

He could remember a time before the aquarium, swimming free. It hadn’t always been fun, not always comfortable, but he could remember the feeling of swimming wherever he had wanted to. But but that was another life; before he had been caught.

He could remember what it had been like when he had first been put into the aquarium; remember how she would come and coo at him, looking so joyous at having him there. He now wasn’t sure but it could have been the novelty of him being there, but, still, he was quite convinced that she’d really been happy to have him in her life, in her aquarium, there in the beginning.

But that had been before: before she’d sometimes forget to clean the tank, occasionally not feed him, not clean the filter. Of course he’d forgiven her that; she’d been so loving in the beginning; surely it was all just an accident…

But then it happened; he saw a brochure for a marine aquarium! But he couldn’t live in one of those! And there was certainly no chance of another aquarium fitting into the room! Maybe, he thought wistfully, she was just looking. Maybe she was just curious…

Then the day came; he heard her say that she was going to release him… At least she wasn’t just going to flush him down the toilet; she claimed to still care for him too much!

Well that was all in the past, he thought, it was all behind him. Right now he is in mid air; he wasn’t back in the water yet but he was out of her hands. He doesn’t know what is waiting for him beneath the calm-looking surface, but he had no choice but to go find out.

Maybe it would be an adventure, maybe happiness awaits, maybe death, he doesn’t know.

But he does know that the next one will have to work a hell of a lot harder to catch him…

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

The Hollow Men, T.S. Eliot.

The station is ominous at Midnight,
Hope is a dead letter.
Time to change tracks
For something better.

No local train now,
long since departed.
No way of getting back
to where you started.

I read these lines so many years ago, that I can’t even remember which book I got it from. And yet they have stayed with me all these years and they continue to influence me till this day.

I finally figured why. Even as a callow youth I recognised an universal truth when I read it.

Every now and then, normally just before I get cocky, I’ll read some Shakespeare. There are people that get away with writing from time to time, and then there are people who are allowed to write.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

O’le William here most emphatically finds himself in the second category…

incongruous (Adjective)

Lacking in harmony or compatibility or appropriateness: “a plan incongruous with reason”; “incongruous behavior”; “a joke that was incongruous with polite conversation”

Similar to:

• (adj) discrepant, inconsistent (not in agreement)
• (adj) inappropriate, incompatible, out or keeping, unfitting (not in keeping with what is correct or proper) “completely inappropriate behavior”
• (adj) inharmonious (lacking in harmony of parts) “an inharmonious (or incongruous) mixture of architectural styles”
• (adj) ironic, ironical (characterized by often poignant difference or incongruity between what is expected and what actually is) “madness, an ironic fate for such a clear thinker”;

A tale of two (or more (conflicting)) thoughts

In the dark days of the Internet, when email was still pronounced “facsimile”, there circulated the image of frazzled guy with the following homily:

Stress: The state of tension created when the mind overrides the body’s desire to choke the living shit out of some arsehole who desperately deserves it.

Of course, in my case the overriding factor is not my mind — in all honesty I would enjoy nothing more than kicking the varmint’s arse (repeatedly) — the overriding factor is geography. Well for the time being, at least.

A WOPR of a tale

During said dark times a movie played on circuit, one of the more accurate renditions of how one would go about breaking into a remote computer system.

They covered a few of the techniques, including “Dumpster Diving”, “Social Engineering”, “Backdoors” and “War Dialling” in order break into the remote system.

The movie, for any of the geeks who hadn’t picked it up from the title from this section was WarGames, and the computer in the tale was Joshua.

Now you might be wondering where in hell I’m going with this. Wait, and I’ll tell you.

In the movie the protagonist, David Lightman (Matthew Broderick), manages to dial into NORAD’s “War Operation Plan Response” computer. Thinking he’s dialled into a Computer Game company’s central server, he kicks off a “game” of “Global Thermonuclear War”.

If you have never seen the movie but you think you might want to, you might want to avoid the following couple of chapters or even get back to the post after you have seen it. Don’t worry, I won’t mind. I’ll wait.

After finally getting access to one of the main consoles to WOPR, David realises that “Joshua” is going to play the game all out, including unlocking real missiles and blowing up real cities.

In desperation he and the designer of the system, Professor Stephen Falken (John Wood), manages to get WOPR to play Naughts-and-Crosses (Tic-Tac-Toe for those benighted people with no idea what that is) against itself. After he realises that the game’s futile, a perfectly played game of Naughts-and-Crosses will always end in a draw, he tries the same with “Global Thermonuclear War”. Seeing the same result (including from the “South African Gambit” scenario, amusingly enough) he makes one of the more profound statements to be seen in movies:

A strange game. The only winning move is not to play.

I find it very sad that I can relate to that excruciatingly painful truth. I doing my damnedest to get past that, but it is difficult.

It was a Dark and Stormy Knight

I have always seen myself as a romantic. Not one of those improbably fake and overly sugary ones from “Mills & Boon” novels, though there might be a slight dusting of that in there as well, but more one who might have been a character in one of Byron or Shelley’s works. A proponent of the romance of chivalry — a man of loyalty, of generosity, of bearing, of courtesy, of love, of honour. Especially a man of honour.

One who might remember the flowers and might remember the date, but also one who will be there when needed as a protector, someone who will be there when needed as bulwark against the world. Someone who might not always be perfect, but will be perfect for the task at hand. Not a bully, a guardian.

What happens then when your shield is not required anymore? What does a knight do, when he gets cast aside? Now the easy answer is “Just find himself another Lady”, but life doesn’t really work like that, does it? Emotions get invested, time spent; plans made. Visions of a long life with plenty of opportunity to prove his worthiness and dedication, again and again. The same it’s been up until now.

But sometimes, it seems, Love just isn’t enough. Now granted it should be, I mean what else is it good for? And when you find it might not be is when the very foundations of your world get shaken, That is when you realise that not all the romantic heroes died happily. Not all of them found their soul-mates and managed to keep them. And that trying to be one of the good guys are going to get you hit where it hurts more often than it’ll ensure happiness.

Just because you attempt to approach the world with honour does not mean that those in the world will treat you with honour. Just because you try and do the just thing, does not mean others will. This could easily lead to treating others in kind, and the temptation is near overwhelming.

Maybe honour’s for the birds.

Maybe I should be using some of the skills I’ve acquired, using words (one of the last magics left to man, I believe, allowing us to create thoughts, images and emotions, allowing us to control and manipulate, if we’re so inclined, to great effect) skillfully and honourably, to my own advantage. Maybe I should be using words to gain what I want from others, the same way it’s been used against mine. I mean, after all, turnabout is considered fair play after all…

Unfortunately I find the whole idea abhorrent, completely incongruous with my self-image. At times I so wish that wasn’t so, so I could at the very least face the bandits in my life at armed equally.

So like that silly battered knight from Monty Python’s Holy Grail, I keep on shouting out the challenge! “No, I assure you, it’s nothing but a flesh-wound.”

Foolish, I’ll grant. But sometimes Love, like Honour, might seem foolish from the outside.

From in here, right now, it is still very much worth fighting for.

The End?

So will he or won’t he?

Will they or won’t they?

What will happen? Damnit!

Well, the story isn’t over yet, you see… Happily ever after takes a lot of work. “Every pound of happiness costs at least an ounce of pain” the cliché goes.

But as long as I can pay that cost I will.

Hey guys, 2000 phoned. They want their browser-check back…

Meh… Idiots all over.

Why is it that most people will happily greet a Muslim with a “Happy Eid” at the end of Ramadan, or a Hindu with “Happy Diwali“, yet will insist on “Happy Holidays” instead of “Happy Christmas”?

I am not a Christian, but I have no issue with wising anyone a “Happy Christmas” during the season any more than I would have had a problem with wishing everybody a “Happy Eid” had I — Cthulhu forbid: Muslims don’t like non-believers in their countries much… — lived in a Muslim country.