I swear, this story started to come out the day AFTER I wrote the first of these posts this week. From the Bangor Daily News:
I love Maine. I’ve been to Maine. I have good friends from high school who live in Maine and good friends from my Pepperdine MBA class who went to college in Maine.
To the best of my knowledge, none of them have ever been attacked by a rabid raccoon.
It’s not lost on me that Bangor is also home of one of my all-time favorite FaceBook accounts, that of the Bangor Maine Police Department. If you don’t know about this account, stop looking like I’m pulling your leg and immediately go start reading. I recommend some “Got Warrants?” columns for starters.
Actually, first let’s start with today’s post from them:
I can’t help but think if we had a little more BMPD and a little less politics, this might be a much better place to live.
At the very least we would have the neighbors laughing more with us and less at us.
I’ve written about it before, but tonight it occurs to me, when I get tired enough and desperate enough to listen, that it’s the road that needs to be taken.
Suffice it to say it’s been a rough week so far as demands on my time and pressure to get things done instantaneously if not sooner. And not just one thing, but at least three, which means the other things I would have been doing, or at least would have liked to have been doing, will go on the back burner, in turn creating pressure to get them done later as this particular little train wreck just keeps piling up and derailing cars behind me as far as the eye can see.
After a bit of panic, anger, bargaining, and denial (I may be doing those in the wrong order) it occurs to me tonight that the way out truly is through, as Robert Frost taught us.
That’s going to be a hard road. I’m already tired, and it’s going to get a lot worse.
But it’s finally clear to me that I’ve done this before, both in terms of running and in terms of the analogy with life. I wasn’t looking forward to doing it again – but I can if I have to, and apparently I have to.
With that, it’s amazing how much better I feel, at least having a plan and a direction. It’s a sucky plan and the direction is way, waaay over the horizon – but I still feel better.
I found these up on the third deck of AT&T Park yesterday. All around there are jullions of tons of concrete & steel.
As an intellectual exercise it would be fascinating to stand there and see how it all behaves and holds together (or doesn’t) when the inevitable “Big One” hits.
On a more practical level, it might be much safer to be playing in Cincinnati that day.
It’s hard to be bored when you’re watching two guys sword fighting with real steel.
This is not your fancy pants Olympic fencing or epee – traditional European longswords all the way here.
The blades and points are dulled but there’s some serious aggression when they connect.
Lots of padding & protection, combined with a running commentary about how much damage and how fatal or maiming each individual blow might have been without it.
The five and ten and fifteen minute long epic sword battles of Hollywood? Total fiction. (This is my surprised face!!) At least in these battles, thirty seconds was a long time to spar before a fatal or crippling blow was landed.
Many rounds also ended quickly in stalemates. I suspect in the muddy killing fields of Twelfth Century Europe “break & start again” wasn’t the normal procedure in that situation.
But my thanks to St. Michael’s Salle d’Armes for the demonstration!