In which you curse my name

I've been somewhat addicted to this quiz website, Sporcle. There are new quizzes every day, most of which take the form of lists. My favorite section has been the geography quizzes, found here, particularly the one in which you are called upon to name all the countries of the world. There is a map, and a little text box will appear over the country as you name it. It allows 15 minutes, which is plenty of time if you know how to spell the countries correctly. I have taken it every night over the past week. My scores, out of a possible 195, have been 185, 190, 192, 193, 193, 193, 194. The countries that I miss always vary, because the map is pretty small and has low resolution, and it gets covered up by your correct answers. It's a fun challenge.

I didn't start out with knowledge of 185 countries. There are also quizzes for the various regions of the world (5 continents plus Oceania) that I mastered before attempting the big enchilada. These are much easier to learn from, since the countries are colored in as you name them. Are YOU ready to possess this kind of raw knowledge? Do YOU want to be able to kick serious booty in a very specific subset of geography-related categories on Jeopardy? Then head on over to Sporcle and get hooked. Pro tip: Vatican City.

Of further internet-related interest, I've solved part of my productivity issues at work. I exclusively use Firefox, and there is an add-on called Leechblock (Tools menu -> Add Ons -> search for Leechblock). It will block your access to specified websites between certain hours. You can schedule in a lunch break, or tell it to permit 10 minutes every hour or two. There are a lot of options. You can have your access restricted by a password, but I don't trust myself with such an easy fix: I have it set up so that I can't access the settings during working hours. To avoid temptation, I eliminated Safari from my always-visible dock on my MacBook. It's only been two days, but I feel like I'm adjusting to life without Boardgamegeek, ESPN, Facebook, this blog, the Seattle Times, and Sporcle at work. When I do waste time, it is to flip through Science, Nature, or PNAS, which is slightly more germane to my work situation than the latest argument in the Religion, Sex, and Politics forum on the Geek (or even successfully naming the 195 recognized countries of the world).

Update, several hours later: I did it!!!

Mother's Day Weekend

I must say that it was a pretty awesome Mother’s Day weekend. On Saturday, we packed up Elaine and headed for Marymoor Park. This is a place that is outside Seattle, but is not the airport or a big box store like IKEA. Meaning that this is a relative first for us since we’ve been here. Saturday was Migratory Bird Day, and the folks at the park were holding birding events. Unfortunately, the events began at 2 pm, right in the middle of The Beautiful Time (Elaine’s nap time). So we went in the late morning, walked some trails, saw a few birds, had a picnic, and headed back home. I managed to not apply any sunscreen on myself or Elaine, so we both got a little pink. Later, we ordered pizza, and I popped the top on the first small bottle of my IPA. Lovely stuff. After Elaine went down for the night, Jill and I watched some bad television (season 2 of Heroes) and got to bed early.

Finding birds:


Sunday, I got up and got to work getting the house ready for a load of guests. We did Mother’s Day on Saturday so that I could devote Sunday to drinking and playing games. By 2 pm, several gallons of beer were on ice, the grill was going, and games were being set up. We hosted some friends in town (Josh, Jarrett, Miranda and Rachel), as well as some out of town guests, Jarred, Christine, Tim, Jessica, Jeremy, Josh, and Steven. Jarred, the guest of honor, is serving in Afghanistan as a contract officer in the Army, making sure supplies are allocated properly in the region. At least I think that’s what the job is. He’s a big fan of IPAs, which is what inspired me to make a batch. His crew was a fun bunch, and we look forward to having them back up again sometime.

People at the party:



The beer was very well received. One person said that he thought it might be the best IPA he’s ever had. Fresh beer can have that effect. I think next time, I’ll throw in an extra pound of malt, to raise the alcohol and sweetness levels. I drank it all day, and managed to avoid getting all sloppy like I do. I’m relaying Jill’s account here, as I’m no good judge of such things.

The dry-hopped fermenter, just before bottling:


I got to play Kingsburg, Ra, Imperial, and Carabande. The other table played Vegas Showdown and Pillars of the Earth. This was my second play of Imperial, and I learned a lot about using negotiation and alliances to get ahead in world domination. All in all, a fun weekend. Jill did a lot of behind-the-scenes work on Sunday, but she enjoyed her Mother’s Day on Saturday. She has expressed that she misses the real migration, back East. I’d have to agree--not much beats Magee Marsh for the migration.

Lookin' out my back door

Spring is well-underway here. I've had to cut the grass once; Rachel's garden is really taking off; the lilacs outside of Elaine's room are exploding; the plants that I thought were dead have fleshed out remarkably; the grapevines that I thought that I killed are producing buds; the cherry blossoms have come and gone, with the plums now on their heels. The camelia bush (which is now, more or less, a tree) is just about done with its annual show of beautiful white flowers, and, this year, has been the source of some additonal entertainment: it is hosting a crow's nest.



I was pretty surprised to see a gigantic crow decide to build a nest in this bush. My impression had always been that crows' nests were usually high and inaccessible, likely stemming from the nautical use of the term. This nest hardly provides any kind of lookout. One advantage, from the crow's perspective, is that the top of the bush is fairly open, and a power line runs directly above it. Thus the crow can hang out on the line and keep an eye out on the babies and the general area. I was also surprised at my own willingness to suffer the use of my property for the rearing of these godforsaken devilspawn. My curiosity to see and hear the baby devilspawn apparently outweighed the blackness that I hold in my heart. Or perhaps I'm just getting soft.

I didn't always hate the crows. The faithful reader will recall the moment when I became convinced of their diabolical origins and hateful intent. I had my reasons. Still, I wonder if I might have been mistaken--if these creatures may have the capacity to stir something good in this heart of mine.

I found my answer last week. I was home sick (and still am) and I heard the young crows calling for food. A large black streak threaded into the bush to increased clamor, and I found myself excitedly calling to Jill and Elaine to listen. Mama Crow flew out again, and soon returned with more food. I started thinking about getting to see the fledglings. Man encounters hate and embraces it, then his world changes and he releases it again. It's an old story. But it's never the ending.

There is a neighborhood cat who patrols the alley behind my house. I glanced out the window this weekend to see it seated below the bush, looking intently up, tail swishing. The faithful reader will recall that I am not a big fan of cats, mewling, greedy little bird-murdering panhandlers that they are. I was about to head for the back door to send it running when I realized that there were three large crows on the power line, daring the cat to make a move. By the time I got downstairs to the back door, the cat was gone and the crows were in the air, down the alley, harrying the feline back to its yard.

Then, yesterday, I looked out and saw the cat in the tree with no crows in sight. I hurried outside and lobbed a rock in its direction. Part of me would probably get some satisfaction out of beaning the beast broadside with a good thump, but the larger part of me would regret it. So it was just a near miss that bounced once and sent the cat scurrying. I scared it off again from the window last evening.

So, this is what I've come to be -- a protector of crows. It remains to be seen whether my heart can change enough to feel affection for cats again, but this tale suggests that anything is possible if you just give love a chance.


(from glitterpissing.blogspot.com)

"We fight for money and an indefinable pride."

I just finished the first 3 books of the Black Company series by Glen Cook (single volume, The Chronicles of the Black Company). Mustafa made me buy it. Literally. On the last day of Kathy and Mustafa's visit last month, we had breakfast at IHOP and then poked around in a Barnes and Noble. I was watching Elaine in the kids' section (she had a blast) while everyone else did some shopping. Mustafa placed this book in my hands and told me that I have to read it.

The book is told from first person perspective. The voice is Croaker, an ironic name for the physician/soldier of the legendary Black Company, a highly disciplined band of mercenaries that could trace their existence back for many centuries through their Annals. Croaker is also the Company Annalist, which is why we experience the story through his eyes. The secret to the Company's success is a combination of planning and sorcery. Three of the Company members are skilled spellcasters. The Company are not the Good Guys. They merely fulfill the obligation of their hire. Protection. Warfare. Assassination. The Company exists to ensure the further existence of the Company.

The main narrative revolves around how the Black Company, and specifically Croaker, become involved in a cyclical prophecy. Long ago, the world was under the rule of a very powerful sorcerer, the Dominator. (I should stop here to point out that all of the sorcerers have ridiculous pseudonyms; to declare a sorcerer's true name deprives him/her of all of their power.) Apparently, the Domination was a bad time. The Dominator was married to the Lady, who was nearly as powerful as he. The end of the Domination came when the White Rose, a girl, defeated the Dominator and the Lady and interred them among multiple spells and safeguards in the Barrowlands. They were too powerful to kill.

Later, a too-curious wizard accidentally let the Lady out of her prison. She immediately began a push for control of all of the lands. She ends up hiring the Black Company as her personal bodyguard. She has the ability to take powerful sorcerers and make them her subjects, more powerful than they would ever have been alone. These Taken are the boogeymen of the story, alternately advancing and twisting the plot as you try to figure out where their individual loyalties lie. The Lady wants no part of her husband's resurrection, and the Dominator's touch and allure was never fully eradicated. The crisis comes as a comet appears in the sky, heralding the birth of the next White Rose, meaning that the Dominator's time of imprisonment is drawing short.

That's the basic plot explored by the first 3 books. I liked the concept, and enjoyed all of the great wizard battles and military planning. The whole thing kept reminding me of Jordan's The Wheel of Time series, except THIS ONLY TOOK THREE VOLUMES. The story was of a similar scope and theme, without all of the tiresome descriptive passages and repetition. In fact, these books provided all of the things that I liked about The Wheel of Time and excluded all of the things that I disliked.

The third book was not the end of the stories of the Black Company, but I'm assuming that they're the end of Croaker's involvement. I liked the story and I was satisfied enough with where it ended up that I'm not likely to pick up any more of these. It was a fun read, and I'd recommend it to any fantasy aficionados.

Now here's some pictures of us at the bookstore. (Smooth, eh?)