...for my woodworking. I saw on facebook that one person wanted to see more of my work, and the thought hit me that I should make that a bit easier for anyone who may still be coming by. My thanks to Puff, Alan and Teresa for linking to the post and getting some more traffic coming by to at least take a look.
So, for those who wish to see more of my woodwork, here is a link to the new page, and here is a link to a page I have (under another name) on another website. Scroll down and you will find a slideshow of some of my work, along with a few posts, with pictures, about stuff I have made.
13 June 2013
11 June 2013
It is finished
For comparison: the original and my version, side by side.
The woodworking is now finished. I will now put a finish on it. I think I'll go with shellac, my favourite, and do a polish on the mensa. I could try and do a few gold leaf highlights, but I have never done that before, and the only gold leaf I can afford would be the kind that looks like a candy bar wrapper.
It has taken me a long time of off and on, five minutes here, ten minutes there, to get to this point. The wood is all found lumber, and much of it is mahogany, and some of it is something that looks an awful lot like mahogany.
Now, here's the thing: I am willing to sell it. It isn't something I particularly want to do, but I am hard up for money at the moment, and I will let it go- once I have applied the finish- for $1700.00.
The altar is six feet tall. The table is about nineteen inches high, or just above knee height for an adult. The weight is not evenly distributed, (there is no way it could have been with the large structure resting on the back of the table) so it will need to be anchored to a wall, just like book cases are supposed to be.
The buyer will have to provide their own pictures, or needlework, or whatever they wish to fill in the empty spaces for the altar, and they will also have to arrange for its transportation. I will see to it that it is ready for pickup. If you are interested, contact me at gladius-spiritus(at)hotmaildotcom.
7 June 2013
Do you ever find yourself...
...for the sake of nostalgia, looking up and listening to some of the stuff you and your friends listened to when you were young (or, to use the more technically correct term, "stupid") and wondering: "What was I thinking?"
Yeah Me too.
Yeah Me too.
6 June 2013
The day called D
Today is the 69th anniversary of the second invasion of Europe by allied forces. (The first, of course, was the now almost forgotten invasion of Italy.) The British, American and Canadian men (along with elements of Polish and French and other nations longing to be free) landed on heavily defended beaches, forged their way forward through incredible fire, and did the impossible. Saving Private Ryan gave us a glimpse of what happened at the American landings at Omaha, the worst and bloodiest of the beaches, but even that was a sanitised version of the events. In the movie, it seemed as though the Americans got off the beach and were moving inland within about twenty minutes or half and hour of landing. In fact, they were pinned down on the beach for hours. So multiply those opening minutes of the movie by a factor of about ten, and you begin to get an idea of just how little you will ever understand about what those men went through. If you know any who are still around, thank them.
By some coincidence, last night and this morning was also the two hundredth anniversary of another battle where British, American and Canadian forces were locked in a deadly struggle- this time against each other. After the defeat of British forces at Fort George and Fort Erie in the spring of 1813, the British retreated and made camp at Burlington Heights in present day Hamilton, more or less on the site of present day Dundurn Castle. (you can still see some of the earth works on the grounds of the castle and in the cemetery across the roads.) Since York (modern day Toronto) had been destroyed earlier in the spring, this was the last British position between Niagara and Kingston, and it was manned by just 800-900 men. On the night of June 5th, the British received word that an American army of 3-4,000 men was marching towards their position, and had camped for the night at nearby Stoney Creek. The British decided not to wait for the Americans, but instead gambled everything on a night attack. Seven hundred men marched from the camp and made their way through the dark to Stoney Creek, where, in a surprise attack, they captured the two American generals, the American cannons, terrified the enemy, and sent them running back to Niagara. This was the farthest into Canada the Americans would come in the war.
The war of 1812 is now remembered by and large as a war where a bunch of men showed up, shot at each other, and went home. It is remembered like the battles of Rome, that one side won, and the other side lost. I wonder how long it will be before the Second World War, the greatest and bloodiest war ever fought, shall be remembered the same way.
By some coincidence, last night and this morning was also the two hundredth anniversary of another battle where British, American and Canadian forces were locked in a deadly struggle- this time against each other. After the defeat of British forces at Fort George and Fort Erie in the spring of 1813, the British retreated and made camp at Burlington Heights in present day Hamilton, more or less on the site of present day Dundurn Castle. (you can still see some of the earth works on the grounds of the castle and in the cemetery across the roads.) Since York (modern day Toronto) had been destroyed earlier in the spring, this was the last British position between Niagara and Kingston, and it was manned by just 800-900 men. On the night of June 5th, the British received word that an American army of 3-4,000 men was marching towards their position, and had camped for the night at nearby Stoney Creek. The British decided not to wait for the Americans, but instead gambled everything on a night attack. Seven hundred men marched from the camp and made their way through the dark to Stoney Creek, where, in a surprise attack, they captured the two American generals, the American cannons, terrified the enemy, and sent them running back to Niagara. This was the farthest into Canada the Americans would come in the war.
The war of 1812 is now remembered by and large as a war where a bunch of men showed up, shot at each other, and went home. It is remembered like the battles of Rome, that one side won, and the other side lost. I wonder how long it will be before the Second World War, the greatest and bloodiest war ever fought, shall be remembered the same way.
5 June 2013
I forgot to post this two days ago...
... back when, y'know, "It was the third of June...."
A few things about this song: It knocked "All you need is love" off the top of the charts, and spawned a movie. The lyrics themselves are a masterpiece of minimalist storytelling. It is perhaps a sign of how well told it is, that most people focus on what the story doesn't tell: what was it that the girl and Billie threw off the bridge? Why did Billie go over the edge anyway?
Most people look into stories without realzing they are looking into a kind of mirror, and what they read is, in a sense, a reflection of their own mind, and their interpretations tell us more about them than it does about the actual story. For instance, many say the thing thrown off the bridge was an unplanned baby, or a bottle of pills, or a wedding ring. Billie Joe, some say, jumped off as a repressed homosexual coming of age in a time and place the hated gays. Or he was molested. Or he was diving after that wedding ring or bottle of pills.
But none of that is in the song. All of those are projections by the interpreters, and tell us more about them than about the song. Gentry herself said she didn't know what the thing was that was thrown off the bridge, and, to her, it didn't really matter, except to give a point of connection between the narrator and Billie Joe. Plus it provided an easy rhyme. For her, the story was about the casual cruelty we inflict upon each other, and how the family is callously discussing the suicide of young Billy, never realizing that his girlfriend is sitting at the table. The conclusion of the song emphasizes this point, in the way the mother and daughter now have a shared grief over losing the men they loved, and yet they do not connect over that, and prefer to feel their grief privately.
For me, the real question is this: What's the big deal that Billy Joe McAllister jumped off the Tallahachie bridge? This bridge?
It looks like a drop of about ten or fifteen feet. I guess the line "Billie Joe McAllister Jumped off the Tallahachie bridge" sounds better in the song than "Billy Joe McAllister went for a swim."
But that's just me.
A few things about this song: It knocked "All you need is love" off the top of the charts, and spawned a movie. The lyrics themselves are a masterpiece of minimalist storytelling. It is perhaps a sign of how well told it is, that most people focus on what the story doesn't tell: what was it that the girl and Billie threw off the bridge? Why did Billie go over the edge anyway?
Most people look into stories without realzing they are looking into a kind of mirror, and what they read is, in a sense, a reflection of their own mind, and their interpretations tell us more about them than it does about the actual story. For instance, many say the thing thrown off the bridge was an unplanned baby, or a bottle of pills, or a wedding ring. Billie Joe, some say, jumped off as a repressed homosexual coming of age in a time and place the hated gays. Or he was molested. Or he was diving after that wedding ring or bottle of pills.
But none of that is in the song. All of those are projections by the interpreters, and tell us more about them than about the song. Gentry herself said she didn't know what the thing was that was thrown off the bridge, and, to her, it didn't really matter, except to give a point of connection between the narrator and Billie Joe. Plus it provided an easy rhyme. For her, the story was about the casual cruelty we inflict upon each other, and how the family is callously discussing the suicide of young Billy, never realizing that his girlfriend is sitting at the table. The conclusion of the song emphasizes this point, in the way the mother and daughter now have a shared grief over losing the men they loved, and yet they do not connect over that, and prefer to feel their grief privately.
For me, the real question is this: What's the big deal that Billy Joe McAllister jumped off the Tallahachie bridge? This bridge?
But that's just me.
4 June 2013
The Ourobouros
Several academic types (remember my old definition of an academic: someone who spends their time squeezing one idea into their heads until it has squeezed all other ideas out..) have written a series of essay collected into a book which condemns the television show Doctor Who for being racist.
The book, entitled "Doctor Who and Race" contains several essays examining the issue of race in the show, and, surprise, surprise, they find the show sadly lacking, and several critics even claim it is racist.The problem is so great one critic felt compelled to state: "'The biggest elephant in the room is the problem privately nursed by many fans of loving a TV show when it is thunderingly racist."
(Incidentally, my spell checker does not recognize the word "thunderingly". The correct term, for most literates, is "thunderously".)
That's quite a claim: not merely racist but "thunderingly" so. What does that mean?
To say someone "thunders" or "is thundering" usually refers to someone who is loud and bombastic, an evangelic preacher declaiming at the top of his lungs, that sort of thing. What is it that screams so loudly in Doctor Who? The fact that the Doctor has always been and remains white.
I would grant, readily, that in the past the show did use racial and even racist stereotypes. However, the show has evolved over the years. One of the Tenth Doctor's companions was a black woman, and there was also a black male who played an important role across several seasons. More recently, the show has been trying to build up its politically correct street cred by inserting gay couples into the show, frequently.
But to say that Doctor Who is racist, and "thunderingly" so, because it features a white man in insipid in the extreme. And, considering that the show has attempted to be more politically correct in recent years, the condemnation here is not that the show is politically incorrect, but that it is not correct enough. The claim is absurd in its face. If pushed a little farther, we would be faced with the claim that any show featuring white men are racist, and "thunderingly" so, because they refuse to be black.
So once again we have the spectacle of the more politically correct attacking the not correct enough. The whole movement is an ourobouros, the snake that eternally eats its own tail, never finished, never full. Let the Doctor change again and again, according to their current demands, and it would still be found to be wrong, because, somehow, it still wouldn't be right enough.
The book, entitled "Doctor Who and Race" contains several essays examining the issue of race in the show, and, surprise, surprise, they find the show sadly lacking, and several critics even claim it is racist.The problem is so great one critic felt compelled to state: "'The biggest elephant in the room is the problem privately nursed by many fans of loving a TV show when it is thunderingly racist."
(Incidentally, my spell checker does not recognize the word "thunderingly". The correct term, for most literates, is "thunderously".)
That's quite a claim: not merely racist but "thunderingly" so. What does that mean?
To say someone "thunders" or "is thundering" usually refers to someone who is loud and bombastic, an evangelic preacher declaiming at the top of his lungs, that sort of thing. What is it that screams so loudly in Doctor Who? The fact that the Doctor has always been and remains white.
I would grant, readily, that in the past the show did use racial and even racist stereotypes. However, the show has evolved over the years. One of the Tenth Doctor's companions was a black woman, and there was also a black male who played an important role across several seasons. More recently, the show has been trying to build up its politically correct street cred by inserting gay couples into the show, frequently.
But to say that Doctor Who is racist, and "thunderingly" so, because it features a white man in insipid in the extreme. And, considering that the show has attempted to be more politically correct in recent years, the condemnation here is not that the show is politically incorrect, but that it is not correct enough. The claim is absurd in its face. If pushed a little farther, we would be faced with the claim that any show featuring white men are racist, and "thunderingly" so, because they refuse to be black.
So once again we have the spectacle of the more politically correct attacking the not correct enough. The whole movement is an ourobouros, the snake that eternally eats its own tail, never finished, never full. Let the Doctor change again and again, according to their current demands, and it would still be found to be wrong, because, somehow, it still wouldn't be right enough.
3 June 2013
Prayer request
I just found out the wife of one of the guys I used to work with died suddenly on Wednesday of a heart attack. She was fifty-one. They have a daughter in her mid teens.
Sometimes I find myself wondering off on tangents about our policies here. We get a two week bereavement leave when one of our spouses die. It is generous, but it seems absurd to expect someone to bury their spouse, get their life back in order, and be back at their desk in fourteen days, just like before, like nothing happened.
Pray for the family.
Sometimes I find myself wondering off on tangents about our policies here. We get a two week bereavement leave when one of our spouses die. It is generous, but it seems absurd to expect someone to bury their spouse, get their life back in order, and be back at their desk in fourteen days, just like before, like nothing happened.
Pray for the family.
One of the joys of having a crappy, unread blog...
...is that no one notices when you screw up royally. You just hit the delete button on a post that has been up a few days, and no one is ever the wiser.
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