The Weekend Escapades
Hello dear readers, it is high time I tell you all about this past weekend and the various things I pulled from it.
Thursday night at practice was one of those few times where I've had to actually act like a responsible adult *smiles, "Yeah, go figure"*. Sascha, one of our fencers got sick to the point where she was just sitting around on the ground. At first, I didn't think it was anything to worry about. I figured she was tired and would get up to fence soon or just call it a night, but I was wrong. She was nauseated, she vomitted, and she was unable to stand. After our local EMT, one Vincent Carbone, had a look at her he strongly suggested that we take her to be checked out. By the time this finally got around to me, as I was getting a bruise pattern in the shape of a pentagon (upside down) by one, Damien *grins, "fitting, eh?"*, Sascha's friends were already at the salle. After waiting for her friend to get the medical card (yeah, ALWAYS take the med card with you . . . they'll most likely turn you away if you don't have it and don't look like you're about to pass out or die or are leaking blood. Gotta love hospitals *grins*) I took one of the girls and Killer took Sascha and the other. Vinnie and TC made a report to the FARC crew (ok, seriously, does it take more than 30 minutes to send someone up to take down the volleyball court? *narrows his eyes and spits venomous words* incompetence, utter incompetence and a lack of respect). Killer and I both agreed that it was indeed the best course of action to take both of her friends along (gotta love the pros and cons of having trucks). Well, after some hours of waiting around the Health Clinic in North Davis (the one near the 76 station on the way to my hiking spot) Sascha was walking out of the room. They ran an IV into her and gave her a pregnancy test. Pregnancy test? Yeah, it caught me as strange at first, but after a while it sunk in. An attractive, college female comes into the clinic complaining of nausea and vomitting . . . hmmm, those symptoms sound familiar. It turns out that she was just dehydrated and her body was weakened by the flu she was getting over. In talking to Sascha afterwards she thanked me and told me how much it sucked to be a freshman without a car. When relating this story to a friend of mine I threw in the words, "She's a fencer, one of my fencers at that, and we take care of our own." I hope that our successors will act with the same mindset.
Friday turned out to be more eventful than I had expected. After going to the FARC and not finding one Dave Dunham to gripe to I went to DFA to ask about the tournament the following day. Hrmmm, well, well, apparently Simon doesn't work on Saturdays. So be it, I'll go and buy myself shirt!!! Yay!!! Off to Sactown I went . . . then the fun began. It went something like this:
Clerk: *walks up and says with words dripping with snooty attitude* So are you here to buy or just browsing?
Me: (if it was a Japanese cartoon my eyes would be glowing with blue fire and crackling lightning) I'm just here to get a shirt
C: *more attitude* That's it? (OMFG, is this guy serious?) . . . *looks at me up and down* You're just like all the others
Me: (Oh, HEEELLLLLL no, now it's on, biz-otch!!!) What? You mean because I'm not wearing some collared shirt, a tie, and slacks that I'm just not "worth your time?" *pause to check reaction* I mean hell, I don't need a clerk to help me find things most of the time, and when I do, I'm not afraid to ask. I honestly don't know what your problem is, sir.
C: *dumbfounded look*
Me: OK, well, let's look at you, shall we? Your shoes are covered in dust, no shine. Your shirt's out of alignment, the folds should match those on your pants. Your belt is not even straight, and fuck, look, you even missed a loop . . . I could go on and on, my good sir, but I'll leave it at the fact that you would be better off wearing a clip-on tie rather than the abomination of a knot you tried to make.
C: *with a meek voice* Who the hell are you?
Me: (by now I was on a roll and paused a few moments to think about a response *smiles in a coupe de gras kind of way*) Aliguyon, eldest son to a respected family from a mountain province in the the Island Nation, and I do not enjoy condescension . . . boy. (OK, so I used "poetic license" to spice up my words, but it felt right at the time *grins*)
C: *stares blankly*
Me: *walks away and turns to one of his female co-workers listening to my raging against condecscension* See, now SHE dresses well *wink*
I went and got my shirt somewhere else. No, I won't disclose the name of the store where the clerk *coughs*asshole*coughs* works. I also went and bought the DVD "Chasing Amy." *sighs* Upon watching it I noticed how much like my mom I was getting. I really wanted to just jump up and point at the screen while screaming, "IDIOT!!! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!!! NO MAN, NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!" For those of you who haven't seen it, I won't comment any further. For those of you who have, if I EVER get into Holden's situation and even look like I'm going to set off a "clusterfuck" like that, DRAG ME BACK TO RATIONAL THOUGHT, please *smiles*.
Saturday was spent directing a novice foil tournament for Simon over at DFA. I walked in just as they were handing out pool sheets *grins* much to Simon's relief/dismay. I DID wear a tie like Sharon suggested, full Windsor knot; the half Windsor feels unbalanced while the 4-in-hand is just a "no." There is indeed a great deal of respect called to a fencing referee dressed up, especially from novice foilist kiddos. Only one kid started to act up and cry when he got hit on the hand; I got the parents laughing with my "connect-the-dots" bruises story when I had to go and fetch him to act as a line judge. Apparently the Fez got a great deal of whining from his pool, *smiles* but only looks of "awww, fine" were given to me. I'll need to grab myself some blousters (sp.) next time to make sure the shirt doesn't floof out and be all Renaissance-like. While my pokèmon, Ryan, didn't win first he did look pretty, damn spiffy all decked out in white at the tournament. "The kid's got moxy!!!"
The Fez and I had a bit of cross-Covell travelling in finding out what to get from Safeway or Albertsons for Killer's party. We finally ended up at Albertsons to buy up some ice-cream and soda . . . along with a rack of ribs for Killer *smiles widely*. Happy Birthday, here's some ribs!!! It was a fitting present *nods knowingly*. I had fun at Killer's party. I've said so before, but I figure I'll restate that I enjoy the parties where it's just a group of friends hanging out more than I enjoy some raging, club-like party where you end up just being a face in the crowd. A number of the fencers were there, along with Killer's roommates and some friends. TC showed up bearing gifts, and he gave me a bottle of Porto for my 21st *smiles, "Thank you again, TC"*. *shakes his head* Also, the Game of Mao is one WHACKED out game where it pays off to be an asshole. *smiles viciously* I think I found myself another Ching-I; apparently Sharon (*addresses a certain reader* different Sharon, you know who you are) is "side-ticklish."
I'll continue more when I get back from lab . . . wait for the [edit] later . . .
[edit . . . post commentary by "young royalty"]
You made perfect sense *smiles*.
Sunday was the day of tournaments over at Davis Fencing Academy. It started off alright, but then a series of unfortunate incidents *grins at the allusion* led me different directions. All geared up and ready to go, the sabreists were ready to face off in the pool bouts. In my first bout I went up against my friend Johnny-boy. I took an early lead and made it 2-0; I chased him down the strip, let him do his stop-cut, and allowed my blade to continue its path to his head. Then came the crunching change of events as his heel landed on the middle toes of my right foot. At first it was just a spasmodic thing, but then it became a matter of me not being able to feel the toes causing me to fumble my footwork *shakes his head*. Johnny took the bout 3-5. Now acting director I continued to wiggle my toes to one, make sure they were still all there, and two, make sure that they didn't go numb when I stopped moving (it was a recurring problem throughout the afternoon and night). Second bout in the pools placed me against Will, who is primarily and epeeist. Last point, he comes in for a headshot, I make parry and riposte. Then I hear Matt Brown's voice and the dreaded words, "Did one of you guys lose a tip?" *starts shaking his head* Slowly I raised the blade and noted that the last 3 inches of my sabre were indeed missing . . . BLOODY, FRIGGIN' HELL!!!
Well, it left me with my back-up blade, who I haven't given a name to yet. Now I had to get used to the feel of the sabre I had used only one time before. It's lighter, but the guard is much more maleable than Alarumis. It's of the same make as Windalus was. Screw it, you do what you have to, no? Next I went up against Leveque. I had fenced Dave before, but that was only on Saturdays for fun. I knew he was a bruiser and unorthodox, but don't get me wrong he's a great guy and a fellow Boy Scout, technically EX-scout. He had his hand back in HUGE preperation actions so I soared forward to victory . . . at the expense of being hit full-force by a counter-attack to the arm. Oi, and damn those did leave a number of bruises and welts. It was akin to what Yergovich felt against Batoog; I'll have to take that Pinoy down again just for being a bruiser. I went up against Cardman next, Cardman's got some air of arrogance about him. I took him down at la belle with a one-lighter, slow down the retreat, hit, run.
In the direct elimination rounds I was still continuously having to wiggle the toes a bit to keep them from being numb though the problem was getting better. My right arm still throbbed like it was stung by multiple wasps, and I could feel my heartbeat the full length of my arm. You know when you get bruised in sabre because the sharp pain doesn't go away after a few seconds. Well, I fenced with Leveque in the first direct elimination round and earned myself renewed throbbing. We went to 15 points instead of 5, and I picked off points where I could. I was impressed by my ability to see and act, moreso with my attacking the larger target area when I have the clear right-of-way attack. It's always been my problem to go for the wrist instead of the larger target when I have the clear initial attack. I've also been extending the reach of my lunge; another problem of mine is that I don't lunge as far as I know I can.
In the finals bout with Cardman it started off pretty bad with him leading 1-4, but I clawed my way back after *gasps* parrying!!! What a novel concept, a sabreist parrying; it is, after all, one of the BIGGEST parts of fencing. Where distance fails, my blade must be my shield. As I was discussing with Matt Rock just now one of my MAJOR flaws to my reckoning has been that I lack the confidence in my parrying. There's always this thought that the blade will not reach the correct place in time to block; again it's me selling myself short. I'll have to work on that too. I digress, the match dragged on, and Cardman gained the lead again at 11-14. Here's where I made my push to try and take victory and brought it to 14-14; one point away from victory!!! . . . also one point away from defeat *smirks*. He charged on, I brought forth the point after building distance and . . . missed *sighs*. My initial attack no, his counter attack yes, then my continuation yes, counter attack has priority.
Ahh well, it was indeed a great bout, and I took home a dagger for a trophy. First place was a sword but more importantly, a ranking. There is another tournament in February, and I plan on making that one. Even though it is in Sac Fencing, and I strongly feel that the directors are biased towards their fencers. Screw it, bring it on. It will be an open tournament, so yeah, I expect to have my head handed to me with a side of parsley, "WITH CHIPS!!!"
I also think that I lack confidence in my ability to direct fencing. There are just so many different rules and protocol that I'm unaware of that it makes me not want to direct. It's a lot like going into an oral examination, knowing enough of the material to get you by, then having the examinators pick at your brain while you try to pull together what you DO know. With novice foil fencing it's sloppy, but I can get it down. With advanced fencing when the blades start flying and you're on the counter-counter-counter-counter-parry-riposte it gets to be a bit more difficult to see the motions of the "ball of right-of-way" as it gets passed back and forth. TC says I did a great job directing though, only really missing out on a few points. There were some points where I knew I screwed up BIG *sighs*, but that's part of directing. If a call's been made, and you realize it was really bad after a while there's not a whole lot, if anything, you can do about it. Suck it up, move on, and try to be as fair as you can be the next point.
That's about all I have to say for now. Next week is going to really REALLY suck with a lab practical on Wednesday, 2 midterms on Thursday, and another midterm on Friday. Oh yeah, I'm looking at a raging herd of tests out looking for my blood next week *makes the sign of the cross and begins preparations, "Lord have mercy"*.
Thursday night at practice was one of those few times where I've had to actually act like a responsible adult *smiles, "Yeah, go figure"*. Sascha, one of our fencers got sick to the point where she was just sitting around on the ground. At first, I didn't think it was anything to worry about. I figured she was tired and would get up to fence soon or just call it a night, but I was wrong. She was nauseated, she vomitted, and she was unable to stand. After our local EMT, one Vincent Carbone, had a look at her he strongly suggested that we take her to be checked out. By the time this finally got around to me, as I was getting a bruise pattern in the shape of a pentagon (upside down) by one, Damien *grins, "fitting, eh?"*, Sascha's friends were already at the salle. After waiting for her friend to get the medical card (yeah, ALWAYS take the med card with you . . . they'll most likely turn you away if you don't have it and don't look like you're about to pass out or die or are leaking blood. Gotta love hospitals *grins*) I took one of the girls and Killer took Sascha and the other. Vinnie and TC made a report to the FARC crew (ok, seriously, does it take more than 30 minutes to send someone up to take down the volleyball court? *narrows his eyes and spits venomous words* incompetence, utter incompetence and a lack of respect). Killer and I both agreed that it was indeed the best course of action to take both of her friends along (gotta love the pros and cons of having trucks). Well, after some hours of waiting around the Health Clinic in North Davis (the one near the 76 station on the way to my hiking spot) Sascha was walking out of the room. They ran an IV into her and gave her a pregnancy test. Pregnancy test? Yeah, it caught me as strange at first, but after a while it sunk in. An attractive, college female comes into the clinic complaining of nausea and vomitting . . . hmmm, those symptoms sound familiar. It turns out that she was just dehydrated and her body was weakened by the flu she was getting over. In talking to Sascha afterwards she thanked me and told me how much it sucked to be a freshman without a car. When relating this story to a friend of mine I threw in the words, "She's a fencer, one of my fencers at that, and we take care of our own." I hope that our successors will act with the same mindset.
Friday turned out to be more eventful than I had expected. After going to the FARC and not finding one Dave Dunham to gripe to I went to DFA to ask about the tournament the following day. Hrmmm, well, well, apparently Simon doesn't work on Saturdays. So be it, I'll go and buy myself shirt!!! Yay!!! Off to Sactown I went . . . then the fun began. It went something like this:
Clerk: *walks up and says with words dripping with snooty attitude* So are you here to buy or just browsing?
Me: (if it was a Japanese cartoon my eyes would be glowing with blue fire and crackling lightning) I'm just here to get a shirt
C: *more attitude* That's it? (OMFG, is this guy serious?) . . . *looks at me up and down* You're just like all the others
Me: (Oh, HEEELLLLLL no, now it's on, biz-otch!!!) What? You mean because I'm not wearing some collared shirt, a tie, and slacks that I'm just not "worth your time?" *pause to check reaction* I mean hell, I don't need a clerk to help me find things most of the time, and when I do, I'm not afraid to ask. I honestly don't know what your problem is, sir.
C: *dumbfounded look*
Me: OK, well, let's look at you, shall we? Your shoes are covered in dust, no shine. Your shirt's out of alignment, the folds should match those on your pants. Your belt is not even straight, and fuck, look, you even missed a loop . . . I could go on and on, my good sir, but I'll leave it at the fact that you would be better off wearing a clip-on tie rather than the abomination of a knot you tried to make.
C: *with a meek voice* Who the hell are you?
Me: (by now I was on a roll and paused a few moments to think about a response *smiles in a coupe de gras kind of way*) Aliguyon, eldest son to a respected family from a mountain province in the the Island Nation, and I do not enjoy condescension . . . boy. (OK, so I used "poetic license" to spice up my words, but it felt right at the time *grins*)
C: *stares blankly*
Me: *walks away and turns to one of his female co-workers listening to my raging against condecscension* See, now SHE dresses well *wink*
I went and got my shirt somewhere else. No, I won't disclose the name of the store where the clerk *coughs*asshole*coughs* works. I also went and bought the DVD "Chasing Amy." *sighs* Upon watching it I noticed how much like my mom I was getting. I really wanted to just jump up and point at the screen while screaming, "IDIOT!!! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!!! NO MAN, NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!" For those of you who haven't seen it, I won't comment any further. For those of you who have, if I EVER get into Holden's situation and even look like I'm going to set off a "clusterfuck" like that, DRAG ME BACK TO RATIONAL THOUGHT, please *smiles*.
Saturday was spent directing a novice foil tournament for Simon over at DFA. I walked in just as they were handing out pool sheets *grins* much to Simon's relief/dismay. I DID wear a tie like Sharon suggested, full Windsor knot; the half Windsor feels unbalanced while the 4-in-hand is just a "no." There is indeed a great deal of respect called to a fencing referee dressed up, especially from novice foilist kiddos. Only one kid started to act up and cry when he got hit on the hand; I got the parents laughing with my "connect-the-dots" bruises story when I had to go and fetch him to act as a line judge. Apparently the Fez got a great deal of whining from his pool, *smiles* but only looks of "awww, fine" were given to me. I'll need to grab myself some blousters (sp.) next time to make sure the shirt doesn't floof out and be all Renaissance-like. While my pokèmon, Ryan, didn't win first he did look pretty, damn spiffy all decked out in white at the tournament. "The kid's got moxy!!!"
The Fez and I had a bit of cross-Covell travelling in finding out what to get from Safeway or Albertsons for Killer's party. We finally ended up at Albertsons to buy up some ice-cream and soda . . . along with a rack of ribs for Killer *smiles widely*. Happy Birthday, here's some ribs!!! It was a fitting present *nods knowingly*. I had fun at Killer's party. I've said so before, but I figure I'll restate that I enjoy the parties where it's just a group of friends hanging out more than I enjoy some raging, club-like party where you end up just being a face in the crowd. A number of the fencers were there, along with Killer's roommates and some friends. TC showed up bearing gifts, and he gave me a bottle of Porto for my 21st *smiles, "Thank you again, TC"*. *shakes his head* Also, the Game of Mao is one WHACKED out game where it pays off to be an asshole. *smiles viciously* I think I found myself another Ching-I; apparently Sharon (*addresses a certain reader* different Sharon, you know who you are) is "side-ticklish."
I'll continue more when I get back from lab . . . wait for the [edit] later . . .
[edit . . . post commentary by "young royalty"]
You made perfect sense *smiles*.
Sunday was the day of tournaments over at Davis Fencing Academy. It started off alright, but then a series of unfortunate incidents *grins at the allusion* led me different directions. All geared up and ready to go, the sabreists were ready to face off in the pool bouts. In my first bout I went up against my friend Johnny-boy. I took an early lead and made it 2-0; I chased him down the strip, let him do his stop-cut, and allowed my blade to continue its path to his head. Then came the crunching change of events as his heel landed on the middle toes of my right foot. At first it was just a spasmodic thing, but then it became a matter of me not being able to feel the toes causing me to fumble my footwork *shakes his head*. Johnny took the bout 3-5. Now acting director I continued to wiggle my toes to one, make sure they were still all there, and two, make sure that they didn't go numb when I stopped moving (it was a recurring problem throughout the afternoon and night). Second bout in the pools placed me against Will, who is primarily and epeeist. Last point, he comes in for a headshot, I make parry and riposte. Then I hear Matt Brown's voice and the dreaded words, "Did one of you guys lose a tip?" *starts shaking his head* Slowly I raised the blade and noted that the last 3 inches of my sabre were indeed missing . . . BLOODY, FRIGGIN' HELL!!!
Well, it left me with my back-up blade, who I haven't given a name to yet. Now I had to get used to the feel of the sabre I had used only one time before. It's lighter, but the guard is much more maleable than Alarumis. It's of the same make as Windalus was. Screw it, you do what you have to, no? Next I went up against Leveque. I had fenced Dave before, but that was only on Saturdays for fun. I knew he was a bruiser and unorthodox, but don't get me wrong he's a great guy and a fellow Boy Scout, technically EX-scout. He had his hand back in HUGE preperation actions so I soared forward to victory . . . at the expense of being hit full-force by a counter-attack to the arm. Oi, and damn those did leave a number of bruises and welts. It was akin to what Yergovich felt against Batoog; I'll have to take that Pinoy down again just for being a bruiser. I went up against Cardman next, Cardman's got some air of arrogance about him. I took him down at la belle with a one-lighter, slow down the retreat, hit, run.
In the direct elimination rounds I was still continuously having to wiggle the toes a bit to keep them from being numb though the problem was getting better. My right arm still throbbed like it was stung by multiple wasps, and I could feel my heartbeat the full length of my arm. You know when you get bruised in sabre because the sharp pain doesn't go away after a few seconds. Well, I fenced with Leveque in the first direct elimination round and earned myself renewed throbbing. We went to 15 points instead of 5, and I picked off points where I could. I was impressed by my ability to see and act, moreso with my attacking the larger target area when I have the clear right-of-way attack. It's always been my problem to go for the wrist instead of the larger target when I have the clear initial attack. I've also been extending the reach of my lunge; another problem of mine is that I don't lunge as far as I know I can.
In the finals bout with Cardman it started off pretty bad with him leading 1-4, but I clawed my way back after *gasps* parrying!!! What a novel concept, a sabreist parrying; it is, after all, one of the BIGGEST parts of fencing. Where distance fails, my blade must be my shield. As I was discussing with Matt Rock just now one of my MAJOR flaws to my reckoning has been that I lack the confidence in my parrying. There's always this thought that the blade will not reach the correct place in time to block; again it's me selling myself short. I'll have to work on that too. I digress, the match dragged on, and Cardman gained the lead again at 11-14. Here's where I made my push to try and take victory and brought it to 14-14; one point away from victory!!! . . . also one point away from defeat *smirks*. He charged on, I brought forth the point after building distance and . . . missed *sighs*. My initial attack no, his counter attack yes, then my continuation yes, counter attack has priority.
Ahh well, it was indeed a great bout, and I took home a dagger for a trophy. First place was a sword but more importantly, a ranking. There is another tournament in February, and I plan on making that one. Even though it is in Sac Fencing, and I strongly feel that the directors are biased towards their fencers. Screw it, bring it on. It will be an open tournament, so yeah, I expect to have my head handed to me with a side of parsley, "WITH CHIPS!!!"
I also think that I lack confidence in my ability to direct fencing. There are just so many different rules and protocol that I'm unaware of that it makes me not want to direct. It's a lot like going into an oral examination, knowing enough of the material to get you by, then having the examinators pick at your brain while you try to pull together what you DO know. With novice foil fencing it's sloppy, but I can get it down. With advanced fencing when the blades start flying and you're on the counter-counter-counter-counter-parry-riposte it gets to be a bit more difficult to see the motions of the "ball of right-of-way" as it gets passed back and forth. TC says I did a great job directing though, only really missing out on a few points. There were some points where I knew I screwed up BIG *sighs*, but that's part of directing. If a call's been made, and you realize it was really bad after a while there's not a whole lot, if anything, you can do about it. Suck it up, move on, and try to be as fair as you can be the next point.
That's about all I have to say for now. Next week is going to really REALLY suck with a lab practical on Wednesday, 2 midterms on Thursday, and another midterm on Friday. Oh yeah, I'm looking at a raging herd of tests out looking for my blood next week *makes the sign of the cross and begins preparations, "Lord have mercy"*.