Ring

The question you may be wondering is, "How does it feel?" A little like Frodo Baggins, but without the homosexual undertones.

Some small shreds of sunlight managed to peek through the incredibly dense rainclouds to inform us that it was no longer the middle of Thursday night, and thus, wedding day. Having secured a venue in front of the dogwood and rhododendrons at Lisa's parents' place, the hourly forecast forced us to abandon it for their living room. In the end, it was a fine choice, having a small group of family, friends, a toddler, and an exceptionally spoiled beagle around us.

The ceremony went well. The only stumbling block was in the charge, and I quote: "Happy marriages are not competitive and they don’t keep score." Apparently that's funny.

Unfortunately, the couple was too busy murdering the local rhododendrons to notice that they had left the marriage certificate at the apartment, so a minor detour was needed to get to the dinner place, a highly-recommended hotspot named Fenouil, where great wine, champagne, and phenomenal food were had by all.

I wish the rest of you could have been here, so we could have shared the day. We can, however, share a few pictures. Until August, it'll have to suffice.

Promotion

I'm getting rid of my fiancee today.

Apparently, I misunderestimated the needs of my blog's demographic. This demographic is comprised of pretty female 18-35 Canadian sabre fencers.

Further polling data suggests that they like "popcorn" and "kitty pictures." Thus, in a blatant pander to my base, here is a kitty picture with popcorn.

Don't say I never did nothing for ya.

Vote or Die

For those of you who are USFA members, remember to vote!

I'd like to share a story about Tracy Hurley.

This is the one interaction I had with her, and it was at the 2003 NAC D in Saratoga Springs.

Courtney was fencing the Y14 women's foil semifinal match against Arielle Pensler. Every single action went a bit like this. Courtney would press and make a strong lunge. Arielle would break distance and begin a slow attack (we still called "Attack, No. Riposte." then.) Immediately, Courtney would redouble with a fleche into Arielle. Each time there were two lights. Each time, the call was the same.

With each call, Courtney got more and more agitated. I get that; good fencers don't like losing. However, with each touch, Mrs. Hurley also became more and more agitated, and more and more directed at me, at one point screaming, "THIS IS WHY WE FENCE EPEE, COURTNEY!!" (Way to encourage mastery and responsibility, mom!)

I briefly flirted with the idea of awarding a red card (old school, as I said), but figured that the offender's personality would probably be encouraged by the attention. After all, the bout wasn't going to last particularly long.

Upon the loss, tantrums ensued. I don't take that personally, it's part of the game. The Fencing Officials' Commission rep assured me that my calls were spot-on and some armchair quarterbacking was done on the type of cards that could have been thrown (red or black would have been acceptable).

As I walked away from the piste, I heard Mrs. Hurley remark to a cohort, "...and no student of Buckie's will ever lose a bout when Buckie's standing here."

So we've got interesting behavior problems, avoidance of responsibility, and paranoid accusations of partiality. This is the person you want controlling the direction of the USFA? No - it's Kalle Weekes, Mark Stasinos, Jerry Benson, Ro Solbavarro, Greg Dilworth, and Brad Baker.

Airborne Corpulence

The gentleman in Seat 31E on the April 20 8pm flight from ORD to PDX, should be paying for part of my seat. Here's how I see it:

I understand that airline travel is not supposed to be comfortable or luxurious. You pay airlines a few hundred dollars. For this number you get to deal with sub-human customer service representatives (with a few wonderful people sprinkled in...just to keep you hoping!), forced to stand in no fewer than three long lines, poked and prodded by TSA primates who seem able to miss handguns aplenty, but will sniff out every last four ounce bottle of shampoo. If you survive this, you get crammed like sardines into a flying tin germ trap. That makes sense.

But here's the problem; these seats have a maximum width. Unfortunately, some of the people who inhabit them do not. And lest you think I'm being harsh, Gentle Reader, we're not talking about folks who are "overweight", or "carrying a few dozen extra pounds", or even "obese." If an NFL lineman gave any advice to the gentleman in Row 31, it would be, "Dude, you need to lay off the double-thickburgers!"

Here's where we get into the unique properties of fat. You see, in copious amounts fat behaves like a liquid, spilling over the cusp of whatever is feebly attempting to contain it -- in this case, an armrest. And because one can't pull one's scapulae together for an entire cross-country flight, occasionally one's elbow relaxes and sinks ... into a sea of simple carbohydrates only barely covered by sweat-damp polo.

This, my friends, is not a healthy feeling.

As such, about 25% of my seat was uninhabitable. I feel that the gentleman in the middle should definitely pick up the tab.

We passed Italy!

Thanks to superb team performances at Junior World Champs, we just passed Italy in the medal count! Congrats to the Women's Epeeists!!

Tomorrow's event will be tough; Italy is deep in both Women's Foil and Men's Epee, and they will likely pass us. The tableaux have us meeting them in the Gold medal match in ME, and the semis in WF.

Medal counts are silly. Italy is already ahead with 3 gold, 7 silver, 2 bronze compared to our 4 gold, 1 silver, 1 bronze, but the FIE site prioritizes gold. Thus, we win! Gold medal for Amy!

I believe your formal complaint is lodged...

"Could you please write a memo..."

These are words I didn't think I'd ever hear after leaving the cubicle world.

This weekend was the National Championship Qualifier, being held at NWFC. Since I'm a good host, I drag my nocturnal self out of bed at 8am, and open up the club. Cadet Men's Sabre...no big deal, I've done this before. The fencers are fine, there's about the usual level of tempo questioning and the typical answers. Tournament runs smoothly, the fencers don't really want to be there, just need to get the number of qualifiers done.

And then, once I've moved on to a different event, there's suddenly an uproar. One of the parents of a non-qualifying fencer is "filing a formal complaint" against the Division. Why? Because apparently there are anomalies with the strip used to run the sabre tournament. This is un-expletive-believable.

First, I'm a referee. I'm good at it, clear, unbiased, friendly, and unlike many won't lazily parse actions if I believe the fencers are "beneath me." You paid your money, you deserve to be treated like everybody else.

Second, we've got a certified armorer in the house. If there's something that looks strange, I call L and get a caffeine break. What's not to love?

At no point during this whole tournament, or the events run on the previous day, did anything bizarre come up on this strip. Every time an athlete asked to test, the equipment performed properly. Even an elite athlete (but let's not be too kind here) is prone to thinking they hit when they didn't; the game is that fast. Of course, if this had become a concern during the actual running of the event, it should have been brought to our attention immediately, and we could have performed diagnostics, but why should I deviate from standard procedure if the circumstances are completely and utterly ordinary?

Ah, because it's Johnny Superstar Athlete, who's the proud son of Mrs. Entitled Bitch III.

Accountability is the first thing that we should teach athletes; if they are not accountable for their actions, how can they effectively control their environment? If their every mistake can be rationalized, how can they submit to a process of continuous improvement?

Parents are not protecting their child by letting them fail and then having a temper tantrum. In the case that the young Mr Athlete, Esq is in need of an advocate, they should do it immediately. If there is an injustice, you fight it immediately, not only after a losing outcome. I've asked fencers to refuse to fence because of a rule violation, and never lost a bout committee appeal.

So now, I'm writing a memo in which I talk about doing my job. So is L, who's done due diligence with her multimeter.

In short, I very much hope this woman files her complaint. The extraction process from where it's currently lodged will be quite painful.

Early April

Good morning, east-coasters!

Life is settling down a bit, enough that I actually kicked back and watched a movie on the big screen desktop. The normalcy of a television will elude me until K insists on getting a Wii.

I'm not quite in a rhythm yet - we've been busy trying to change a bunch of stuff at the club, and as such, doing a bunch of minor construction projects. Marx time is similar to Jewish Standard Time, so have to adjust my schedules appropriately.

Everybody has discovered my schedule is malleable, and I keep finding new lessons penciled in on my calendar. Boredom might be the single outlet for spending money, so I'm appreciative of the extra work; it removes that opportunity cost, and since my salary is augmented by extra lessons, that's good. Plus, there is no shortage of events to referee on the weekends.

The center just got a 501c3, which means they're a non-profit. This is a good thing; it means that anything donated to the club is tax-deductible. I've got my wishlist...if anybody has any prosumer HD cameras or non-linear editing systems they're looking to get rid of, and really really want to support one of our national training centers, you can Google my phone number. We'll produce amazing training DVDs and send them to you.

Speaking of training, my legs feel like rubberized pain. A little background -- since there are only 10 Olympic medals for fencing, we have 6 individual events and 4 team events, rotating which two team weapons get screwed every Olympiad. This year, Men's Foil is one. The FIE is having a team World Championship and individual test event in Beijing, and Ariel was selected for the event. He leaves in a little over a week and is cramming, which means being in here and training every day, including weekends. Basically, if there are no other competitive fencers there, it means we're on the finals strip for 45 minutes, bashing away at each other. This may be the best way to get back into fighting shape, but it requires the emotional capacity to shrug off losing 10 hits in a row.

The new Roger Clyne & the Peacemakers album is merely excellent. One of those "if they were anybody else, this would be brilliant" efforts. 11 songs recorded in 8 days in Rocky Point, Mexico, and it's got a smooth groove that makes me want to sip tequila and chow down on a steak burrito. (Astute readers will note that this is common-enough-behavior and probably has nothing to do with the music.) That said, I miss the ironi-country of Honky Tonk Union.

Wedding planning feels somewhat behind, which I've been told is how you feel until it's over.

Loki's adjusted quite capably. He's enjoying having an apartment all to himself, chatting with his buddy (a male grey tiger who lives next door but is let out every day), and getting lots of attention whenever I'm home. He's a decent conversationalist, although after the bustle of the fencerhaus, it's a little weird to come home to a quiet place.

Delayed onset muscle soreness, you are my bane. Back to fish oil, vitamin i(buprofen), asanas, and bed.

becoming less binary

One of the things I've found it hard to do is alter the difficulty of a fencing lesson; in a very controlled lesson, with set cues, it's far simpler. Currently, I find it's easier to give an extremely concentrated lesson (with beginners, everything is structured around getting repetitions of the correct motor habit) or a lesson to a highly-skilled athlete, where I might have a limited range of responses, but movement is generally antagonistic.

Student: Starts preparation w/ absence of blade, fast step. Emphasis on hitting the first action (although if parried, they should counter-riposte)
Coach options:
- Counterattack. Student must finish.
- False counterattack, Parry-riposte. Student should hit open line (either by disengage, cutover or holding absence until parry has opened line)
- False counterattack, Counterattack. Student should finish.
- Searching parry. Student should compound the attack by making a feint into the open line, and then a second change of line.

Factors influencing the difficulty of the action:
- Action Timing: Actually attempt to steal tempo with the counterattack vs reacting to the incoming attack.
- Action Speed: Self-explanatory.
- Distance at which action is initiated: Executed immediately with a single retreat is easiest. Take multiple retreats to make it harder. Use check steps and change of tempo to make it more difficult.
- Noise: Multiple false counterattacks or false parries.

Things to work on:
- If altering difficulty via speed, it has to be modulated throughout the action; an explosive false counterattack followed by a slow parry is unrealistic.
- Don't facilitate the hit; even if the student gets the correct response they might not be accelerating to hit, so make a second parry.

by popular demand...

By popular demand, photos from the ROC->PDX roadtrip.

Too Long Between Posts

Yes, it's been too long between posts. Here's what's happened since the end of Feb.

I moved in. Naturally, the apartment was ready the day after Kathryn left, which was unfortunate. Still, there wasn't much heavy-lifting to be done, so everything got moved between the shipping container and the apartment.

Loki moved in last Friday night. The clerk at Delta Cargo looked at his screen and said, "Woo. There's a pit bull on that flight. Hopefully he's not too aggressive." Naturally, the flight was delayed, and around midnight, a crew member brought in a terrified little pit bull puppy, who couldn't have clocked in at over 10 pounds. 5 minutes later, the same crew member came in lugging a 20lb carrier, heaved it down on the counter, and said, "That's the biggest goddamn cat I've ever seen!"

He spent the first two days hiding under the bed, coming out only for some food. But he seems to have gotten comfortable. He's quite a happy kitty now.

Work is exactly what I want; I'm being challenged intellectually and physically. I'm sure I'll have more to talk about in the future, but suffice it to say that nothing seems more fun than going to the office.

Friday

Quick analogy, for you SAT whizzes: Starbucks is to Every Other City in America what ______ is to Beaverton.

The answer, of course, is ethnic grocers. No, really. They're on every corner. You expect the usual generic Asian markets, but here they've been broken down by country. ("Ooh, Korean!") The generic ones are mega-marts the size of your average big-box supermarket which carry such good-for-body-and-soul items such as sushi-grade fish.

Mediterranean. Halaal. Ethiopian. Kosher. I need a Mongolian grocer so I can find a good hot pot.

It's ironic -- Despite moving from the city to the suburbs, my ability to live a 100% walkable existence has increased dramatically. (Of course, I reserve the right to throw up my hands, say, "It's drizzling!" and drive the 150 yards between apartment and work, but somehow that seems doubtful.)

Nothing much happened today; coaching staff meeting over lunch, Kathryn got a sabre lesson, and we went to see Juno. Which fulfilled the high expectations we had for it.

Beaverton

First off, if you ask "How's Portland?", my response will be "60 degrees and sunny." You're welcome. An ex-co-worker who lives out here told me that she was amazed that spring comes 3 months earlier than in Rochester, and based on her n=2 years out here, this is normal. Nice.

Technically, my employment starts tomorrow, March 1st. Ri-ight. I've been in the fencing center all day Wed and all evening on Thu. I'm learning a bunch, and as thoughts get organized, they'll probably crop up here.

My phone/email was ringing off the hook from Previous Day Job; I'm doing consulting / emergency work for them, and they had a week's worth of emergencies that needed tending. Naturally, my laptop died. In a way that I can't quite diagnose. It may be a faulty hard drive, or it may be a fried processor, in which case Previous Computer Repair Place that Screwed Up a Fan Replacement should be paying for the privilege. Given that Previous Day Job shouldn't be forced to wait, I went out and bought a desktop.

I tentatively have an apartment; a 2BR / 2BA place about 150 yards from NWFC. It's a bit 70s-chic, but it's a ground-level corner apartment. The sliding door overlooks a little brook. Hopefully the background checks won't be an issue, but given the property manager's reaction ("Do you have any debt?" "No." "Like a car?" "I own my car." "How about credit cards?" "Pay them off every month." "Do you have any friends we can rent to?"), great success seems assured. Naturally, the apartment will be ready as soon as K leaves, so moving will be a solitary affair.

At some point, I realized that continuing the previous health insurance via COBRA wouldn't work, because the Preferred Care network doctors are all in New York. New insurance has a 90-day waiting period. I'd rather not be uninsured for 3 months, so I was scrambling to figure out what to do. Welcome to America, where every person can experience the joy of being their own health care administrator! (Ah, but unlike those Communists everywhere else, we have choice! As long as you choose somebody that's in-network, or pay out-of-pocket anyway.) Fortunately, Preferred Care seems to be taking care of business and is faxing me a new plan for perusal ... my doc calls them Deferred Care, but they've been pretty good.

It's off to lunch now! Stay in touch!

Arrival!

That was quick! We made Beaverton last night, and are very VERY happy to be out of the car. More to follow, but there's much to be done (read: K wants Internets. Darius is being bitten.)

Apologies

Sorry for the lack of updates; my laptop decided to die, which means that I didn't have the ability to write overnight, and I've been doing the lion's share of the driving, so no synopses from shotgun. Still. We're in Mountain Home, ID. We have pictures.

A few musings, to keep you jackals satisfied:

• Vail Pass is neat. You'd think 2" of ice on the road, and any acceleration making you go sideways more than forward would be kind of scary, but it's not really, because we had many distractions of the "How do you think that car got upside-down?" kind.
• Illinois, why do you hate us so? If the slippery descent into Grand Junction, CO can have a 75mph speed limit, why can't the long stretch of boring between such markers of civilization as Terre Haute and St Louis?
• The Blue Springs Cafe may or may not serve "Foot-high Pies." Kathryn was asleep, so we were not obliged to visit. The resulting lack of sugar-driven manic-depressiveness is the only thing keeping us alive so far.
• What, exactly, is "God's Oasis of Love"? And why does the sign for it display a dancing leprechaun? We were tempted to visit, but the sign was right before the exit. Apparently "God's Oasis of Love" is only for people with extremely fast reaction speeds.
• We can see why the COJCOLDS (Church of Jesus Chris of Latter Day Saints, you heathens!) is growing so quickly. They have a good sales pitch, really cool architecture, and COSMIC JESUS! I believe the decline of mainline Christianity is due to the lack of Cosmic Jesus.
• This Salt Lake City adventure has made me want to learn more about the COJCOLDS. We bought a Book of Mormon and, more importantly, the Book of Mormon Battles Card Game.

We'll be in Portland today. We have pictures, I promise.

Leaving

Charlotte was very good; Ben made finals in both Cdt and Jr. The Cdt was expected - the Jr was a reach, but he has those sorts of performances in him, he just needs to capitalize on more opportunities. Liz made top-32 in both, which is the cutoff for receiving points towards your national ranking. "Making points," in the parlance of US fencers, is a big deal.

On the way back from Charlotte, we had a 30 minute layover. Fortunately, the connection was delayed 30 minutes, but then our plane was about 40 minutes late. There were ten fencers on the plane, scattered throughout. The gate, naturally, was a train ride and then a quarter-mile run away. The three boys up front were told to run and hold the gates, and I'd stay behind and collect parents. While on the train, Ben called my cell phone -- "They say five minutes and they close the door." "Lay in the door if you have to. Or have health problems."

Amazingly, not only did we make it, but so did our bags! Good job, Detroit ground crew!

On Tuesday night, Jess and I went for one last garbage plate; mid dinner, our favorite counter-lady brought out candles, flowers, and a balloon, and pronounced, "Now THERE. That's romantic!"

Dear Daniel Snow,

During your time in Brussells, I have inadvertently taken
your girlfriend on the best date ever.  Please bring your
A-game when you come back to America.

Love,
Darius.

And then, on Wednesday morning, I said goodbye to the past 1/3 of my life.

roundabout trip

So here we go - I'm currently sitting in the Atlanta airport, en route to Rochester from Vienna. This is the segment of the season that alternates between Europe and the Deep South -- Atlanta GA, Germany, Austria, then Charlotte NC. Two North American Cups, two World Cups, all in five weeks.

T-minus three days. In that three days, I need to:
- Make my entire life fit (with the exceptions of cat, bike and fencing bag) into my Pontiac Vibe.
- Do a week's worth of work, and figure out a future of contract work with my employer.
- Attend two going-away parties, one of which is 2.5 hours away.

No sweat. And if that gets accomplished, I'll roadtrip back from Hamilton Ontario at 4am on Thursday, hop a plane to Charlotte, coach at the Junior Olympics. My plane arrives back in Rochester at 5pm on Tuesday. If I'm back in a timely fashion, all my worldly possessions go into the back of the car, and I'm off!

The timetable looks something like this:
- Drive until I can drive no longer; hopefully this means I get to Indianapolis on Wednesday morning.
- Spend Wed/Thu/Fri with parents and Indy friends.
- Leave Sat morning (early). Make it to Lawrence, KS by evening.
- Leave Sun morning (early). Make it to Denver, CO by evening.
- Get K from the Denver airport.
- Drive to Portland!

As previously mentioned - no sweat!

I suspect this segment of life will be heavily powered by Brawndo, and thank the intelligent designer that my caffeine tolerance should be way down at this point. The over-under on all-nighters this week is 2, but I can't see Vegas being willing to play -- after that "Super Bowl" debacle, I suspect the house's appetite for risk has to be way down.