The Train Job

20 September 2002, a Friday. 2002's landscape was one of hope. War was raging, but the economy was recovering. And TV offered grim doses of reality, but also great escapism.

I went home on weekends in those days from UH. We met Mal and the other Big Damn Heroes for the first time that night. I wasn't sure what to make of the promos. These 30 second spots had humor and spaceships which sold me. Yet, it was a western. What was I to make of this? (In retrospect, that's what the casual viewer would have said if they channel surfed onto it.)

The episode did an adequate job of introducing these highly interesting characters. It was unlike just about everything else on TV, yet was somehow familiar. I was enjoying the episode and thought it was better than most other things I could have watched during that awful time slot anyway. What cemented the show as something truly special was near the end, when Mal pushes Crow into his engine. Who would do such a thing? Only a Big Damn Hero.

It went on only a few other episodes but the show was something special, something to emulate, something to ... have faith in ... so to speak.

Leap of Faith

I may have mentioned that I played WoW, awhile, back in the day. In those days, I was as a god. Being a Shaman, it was only right and natural. Having the power to control the elements was an important aspect of playing the class. This sometimes manifested in interesting game mechanics.

To set the stage, the level cap was 60 and epic land mounts were the epitome of speed. At this particular time, I had been promoted to a Lieutenant General, so I had access to a special Black War mount, of which, I had the awesomest of the all: the Raptor. The cost of this mount in the game's currency wasn't all that much, considering. I had to invest time into PVP, in which I excelled as the overpowered class. Brandon, on the otherhand, got his epic mount the regular way which entailed 1000 gold, a hefty sum, indeed. Through begging, borrowing, and stealing (he actually did none of those things) he broke the 1000 gold threshold.

He was a Tauren, a minotaur-esque race, whose hometown was a series of cliffs known as Thunder Bluff. If you took a misstep, you could fall off. This often ended in pain, time wasted, and a slight case of death. In game terms, you'd have to go back to your corpse and pay a fee to fix your armor.

That being said, when Brandon finally got his mount, we went running around the town. At one point, I said, "Hey, look at this." I proceeded to take a running leap off the cliff. Brandon noticed I hadn't died. He figured that it was a side effect of the new mount. So, he starts thundering down and off he leaps... and promptly falls to his death. Baffled, he started the run back to his corpse and wondering what happened to me.

I, on the other hand, was still safe and sound, hovering a couple feet off the ground. Back in thsoe days, Shaman had a totem that had a "feature" that would stop a Shaman in his tracks, be it running, or falling in his death. While only situationally useful, this was later removed as it was considered a glitch.

But hey, I at least got to use it to screw over Brandon, so ... worth it! I also got to act out one of my most favorite jokes. Surely, you've heard it by now, neh?

When It Says Solo, Learn to Play It

When I did Joseph at Prendie for St. Andrews Parish I had another memorable memory.

The director was an excellent choral director. As far as the singing went, he put a lot of work into making sure making sure that the cast and all did their part. As far as the pit went ... well, there was me on clarinet, Justin also on clarinet who was a guy a year ahead of me who looked so much like Doug that that became his name, Jenny, the girl I liked on flute, and Gillian, a tall and quirky girl also on flute. And we had two percussionists. Oh, and the director on piano. So music-wise, it's a very limited ensemble.

I was lead reed (ladies and gentlemen, the world's tallest midget!). As such, I had to play most of the cue notes since there wasn't really anyone else. Thankfully, the director was more or less prepared to do the show entirely with just the piano accompaniment.

That is except for "Those Canaan Days" whereupon I decided not to learn the cue notes meant for an accordion. Part of that reasoning includes laziness but it also involved me assuming the director was going to play it himself.

Imagine my surprise opening night, when some classmates of mine who attended St. Andrews Elementary, walk up to me and say good job and all and that's when director starts chewing me out. Well, he wanted those cue notes covered too. They were a solo after all.

Every performance thereafter I played it, fairly well too, I might add.

Crazy for You

1999. 1999 was an odd time. People were partying all the time, like in that Eddie Murphy song.

Zoom, zoom, the world is in a mess. I was in stage crew for Archbishop Prendergast's winter show. It was an extraordinarily well done show, as per usual, don't get me wrong. And while Crazy for You isn't an awful show, I don't like Gershwin. And being part of stage crew, I got to hear a whole lot of it, over and over again. From rehearsals to closing night, always with slapping of that bass. Actually, wait, I did actually like that song. Okay, so that song apart, oh and that other ... well, okay, it wasn't a bad a show. It was a good show ... I just heard too much of it to enjoy it.

I worked stage right. I had one important scene change during the show. During a musical number, I had to move a heavy bar with the stage manager while the star of the show was in his spotlight. We had to move that bar almost next to him, but I had the side closest to the stage and not next to the actor. One night, we were off. It wasn't my fault (or at least just my fault), but the stage manager managed to get herself caught in the spotlight. All in all, though, it wasn't the end of the world. It was, however, fairly memorable.

My friend Rita worked stage crew for that show too. She worked stage left. During intermission we'd meet up and chat and that was cool.

On closing night, final performance, everyone got their accolades on closing night. For stage crew, that meant getting their own curtain call. During the appropriate time, Rita and I went out. We held a pose together while the audience of 1000+ applauded us (and everyone else on the stage like the principles and the dancers).

And that was the last time I was on stage.

The Spirit of Houston Cougar Marching Band: Iron Stomach

A common occurrence after a grueling ordeal that was a football game was catching something to eat. Since we wouldn't be free from a game sometimes until after midnight, that left few options.

Thankfully, there were 24 hour diners. One night, I went with Candi and Robby to IHOP. Of course, you can't really get anything healthy at that kind of place. You could also not tempt fate like Robby did.

Robby ordered the t-bone steak and eggs breakfast/dinner. He ordered the steak rare and the three eggs sunny-side up. The waitress asked him if he was sure and he responded in the affirmative.

The food came and the same waitress asked if the steak was done well enough and insisted that he send it back. He relented. When it came back, it was still rare, but Robby thought it was overdone.

There are times I wonder how we lived through college.

Nayellynapping

My wife and I have had pretty different life experiences growing up. In 2006, we had a salient example of this one night.

We had gone out one night and my wife got a call from her folks, asking her to take Nayelly, my wife's 6 year old cousin, to Nayelly's mother's work, whereupon Nayelly's mom would take her daughter home.

This was a bit odd for me, since it was past midnight when we had to do this exchange. At the designated time, we went to Judith's parents' place. And there in the living room were three girls. My wife said, "Okay, let's get Nayelly to the car." It was dark and I hadn't exactly met Nayelly before. I wasn't sure which of the three girls was which. And they were asleep, so I couldn't say, "Okay, Nayelly, time to go." So I asked my wife at least three times if the indicated child was Nayelly. Each time she was yes. So, I picked her up and walked to the car.

I should point out that Nayelly hadn't exactly met me before this point either. Thankfully, she didn't fully wake up before we got to the car. She awoke briefly and saw my Judith and proceeded to conk out in the backseat.

We arrived and delivered Nayelly to her mom. Still, I had never done something like before. It was weird, for me. Then it stopped being weird.

Names 4

In a club of people all with at least one sobriquet, it would be odd that the president didn't have one, wouldn't it?

Santos is an odd duck. Whether by design or happenstance, my brief acquaintanceship with him left me with a colorful bevy of memories and secondhand stories. However, this memory is about his name.

We went to a Gulf Coast Fencing Tournament. The club stayed in a town called Mathis. Mathis, Texas, has a population of around 5000. Mathis was the hometown of Santos, so we stayed at his folks' house the night before the tournament.

We only met 3 men, as in were introduced to, in our stay there. All three of them were named Santos, as they were Santos's grandfather, his father, and himself.

Imagine our surprise when Santos's mother called out, "Joelle," and Santos responded. The man who had changed a guy's name (the guy's longtime girlfriend still calls him by the new name) yet never got called anything other than his name ... well we still didn't have a nickname to call him, Joelle is his middle name.

Santos, like myself, is El Salvadorian. A common practice amongst El Salvadorians, as amongst Ancient Romans, is to not go by your first name. (Julius Caesar, one of the greatest men that ever lived was actually Gaius Julius Caesar. Gaius was his given name, he was of the house Julii, and he was called Caesar.) My father is René Mauricio. For family and friends, he is Mauricio. For coworkers, he is René.


What's in a name? To some people it holds cosmic significance. Some people believe one must live up to your name if it was written in a book two millennia ago. Some people believe that names are punishments you can inflict on your offspring just because you can. My name is literally "Reborn." I'm not sure about all of that. My pseudonym, the name I chose for me, is nonsensical, but it's mine. My default name for a crazy character is also nonsensical, but again, it's mine. I even have a song for her.

You can imagine how difficult it was to agree on what to name a person of our own.

Names 3

Shortly after I got my strip name the others in my class got theirs. This is the story of one such strip name.

I cannot remember his actual name but this is how he got the only name I remember him by.

We started fencing practice in the athletic club office. One day, the fencer came in asking a somewhat odd line of questions.

"Hey," he said, "does anyone use eBay?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Okay. I won an auction the other day and I didn't mean to. I got outbid and I didn't want to pay more than I had wanted to for something, so I started bidding to jack up the price so that the other guy would have to pay more. But, it turns out I ended up winning. So I didn't pay and they suspended my account. I was wondering how long it would be suspended."

"Well, what did they say when they suspended it?"

"They said they would suspend it indefinitely. How long do you think it would be before I can use it again?"

"Well, indefinitely."

"So, like after a day or so?"

"No, they said indefinitely."

"Oh, so like two days?"

"No, they said indefinitely. That means until they decide to reinstate it."

"Like a week or two, then?"

"..." At this point Carlos pointedly says, "Your name is eBay now."

And thus, eBay stuck. I wonder if he can use his account now.

Names 2

Fencers are a very odd sub-culture. One of the best things about it was the strip names.

I was told of the long standing tradition by Robby, whose name was Red (or Robot at one point). Santos, our club president in 2003 once ascribed a completely new name to a fencer, because the club already had too many people named Matt.

Carlos was my beginner's class instructor. During the second week, he gave me my strip name: the Discus Thrower.

We start practice with stretches. During one stretch I apparently assumed the position of an olde timey discus thrower.

I liked it. However, the following practice, Carlos changed my name. He said, "The Discus Thrower is too long. You are now The Olympian."

Booyah. Yup. That's a sobriquet I should use more often.

Names

Of my four names, I got to pick one.

I did chose my pseudonym, though. It was 1998, and shortly after I saw Saving Private Ryan in the fancy theater in Delaware, and I was playing WWF Warzone with my friends. We created wrestlers so we could fight each other without having to fight each other.

My wrestler was a fearsome sight: a clown. He was a bit of a badass clown, but still the most fear-inspiring monster on earth.

His first name was easy: Willem. His stage name? "Clown Fixer." The last name? Ah, there was the rub. I went with Nomandy, like the town, but no. Nomandy. I really liked the ring to it. It was also easy to get to Nomad from there. I was on to something.

Thus the first part of my pseudonym was in place.

Santo's easier. Santo was my brother's nickname, since everyone liked him and he was a saint.

I still sign my compositions with Nomandy Santo.

My strip name was awesome. Maybe I should start going by that more often.

Doom 2

It was, of all things, a First Person Shooter that started me on a path of programming. This would be bolstered, of all things. by a Real Time Strategy game, some time later.

Around 1998, there was a computer and software show that stopped at our local mall. We had gone by chance to the mall and found the vendors there. They were lined up in front of the stores. Applications, programs, graphics, designs, etc, amongst other things, were available for sale on floppy diskette or compact disc.

I remember buying three things in particular: a disk with DOOM stuff and two CDs of DOOM II stuff.

One of the CDs had an editing program for DOOM II, with which many mods on the disc were made. The mods varied greatly in quality, but brought a lot of options for playing Doom II again and again.

Using the editor, I decided to make my own changes. I wanted no reload speeds and for all weapons to be fully automatic. This took a little tinkering and I found out that to do so, I just needed to skip frames in the animations. Easy enough. Of course, I found out that if you skip the wrong frames in the animations, you hard lock your computer. A lot.

I recall that one thing I was proud of was that I got the rocket launcher to shoot out the enemy type Lost Souls who burst into evil fire for massive amounts of damage.

Thus the first steps were taken.

The Nightmare of Sleep

Falling asleep during hurricanes has its perks. Thus far, I've not fallen asleep driving, unlike Brandon, and haven't fallen asleep while eating at a dinner table, with his eyes open, like Lehman did one time.

However, in December of 2002, I did something pretty stupid.

I was studying for my Cal I final. The exam started at 1p. I stayed up cramming, trying to get derivatives straight and all of its related properties. I set my alarm for 12:30p. I lived on campus so I was only about 10 minutes from the classroom.

At some point I fell asleep in the morning at my desk. I woke up at 2:30p. The alarm had been sounding for 2 hours continuously, but it had no effect. I'm not sure what actually woke me up. My roommate wasn't around and no one was by my door.

When I realized the time, I grabbed a pen and started jogging to the classroom. I arrived, sweaty and out-of-breath and pleaded for a chance to take it. My professor seemed to consider it. He finally then handed me an exam. I did decently enough, at least.

Next time, more alarm clocks.

The Joy of Sleep

While I've mentioned insomnia before, I occasionally have the opposite condition. This is handy for some reasons and not so handy on others.

This brief memory is a handy occasion.

September 2008, the Dread Hurricane Ike struck. It made Texas its mare for awhile. We originally didn't plan to evacuate when the storm was downgraded in its predictions to hit as a category 2. We ended up evacuating in the end, up to Houston, to stay with my brother. My sister-in-law's family did the same thing. So, we were sitting cozy, 3 cats, 1 dog, 8 people in a Houston townhouse.


My brother and I theorized as we watched TV and movies and drank gin. I hadn't slept the night before the evac, as I had been eying the storm details up until the last possible minute.

We were anxious. We didn't really know how bad it was going to be and how our house would look afterward, let alone the affected areas of the state.

Then, the storm hit. First the power went. We were staying in the upstairs guest room that faced the other buildings. A branch came through the window with furious anger and broke it. This and the horrible howl of the wind made everyone rush to the room to observe nature in its fury.

Or so I'm told. I was asleep through all of this. I awoke, uncomfortable, to find that the storm that was billed as one of the worst in human history didn't overly affect my immediate surroundings. We took a drive to see what there was left to see in the city of Houston.

It was bad. We heard radio reports of how awful the storm was and how much damage was estimated.

Apparently, I was one of the few to sleep the night the storm hit. For that, I'm thankful.

Movie Bet

2002, Sentell and I were enjoying my lunch one day in high school. We were talking about movies, which was appropriate in preparation for our 5th period class: Analysis of Visual Media (read: Film History).

Lunch discussion has topics ranging from things like me saying, "Hey, give me back my food," to things like Sentell, "The Bible is pro-Satan," with requisite faulty reasoning, to things like bad movies. We were talking about Mortal Kombat: The Movie. That led invariably to discussion of Mortal Kombat: The Unnecessary Sequel.

What it boiled down to was that he thought Christopher Lambert was in both movies as Raiden. I knew this was not the case. He was sure of his side, I sure of mine. So, we made a bet. I think the bet was for all the loose change we managed to scrounge up: $0.79.

We walked purposefully into 5th period and asked the teacher, "Was Christopher Lambert in both Mortal Kombat movies?" He thought about it and answered in the negative. Sentell handed over the change and said, "Huh. I thought he was."

That pretty much set the tone for other stupid bets to make: all for silly things and all for trivial amounts of money.

The Lehman APC

I didn't start driving until I was 18. I don't typically like driving; when someone else could do it then it's for the best. At times, I'm not the safest driver. Other times, I intentionally make mistakes to make my passengers think I'm not a safe driver.

Anyway, in high school, in order to do stuff, we needed a driver to get to places. In my sphere, we had two drivers: Hai, twin brother of my then best friend, and Lehman, an overall good egg. Hai drove the Twinmobile. Lehman, however, manned the APC.

Lehman was not the safest driver, either. I've personally been involved in 3 motor vehicle incidents with him at the wheel.

Lehman, when he could drive, would always seem willing to do so. This was handy when we needed a lift to the pool hall or to the movies. Lehman would get us places and we'd have a good time doing things friends do.

Lehman would drive us in an old Chevy Astro van. This van was a formidable opponent. It was a bit run down, but we were interested in a vehicle that'd get us to the place in two or fewer pieces. That's not to say that the Chevy Astro van was a deathtrap. When there was vehicular damage, its occupants would emerge unscathed. The same could not be said of the van. But it held together. Thus it earned the moniker of the Armored Personnel Carrier.

It was a mighty fine APC. It survived its many missions with limited casualities. It earned the Silver Star of Santo and the Distinguished Vehicle Wrench. It was eventually decomissioned and while efforts were made to preserve it as a museum, these plans were not realized. Its memory, like that of the USS Enterprise (WWII), is better honored without reducing the great vessel into an empty shell.

The APC lives on, as part of all of us... and part of that trailer it embedded itself into that one night.

A Place to Sit

To beat a dead horse: eating is a social experience. This was a conundrum when I didn't know anyone my first day of school in Texas.

2000. Lunch time came around and I shuffled into the cafeteria. Since I started after the beginning of school, I missed my chance to carve out my niche. Sure, I was the new guy, but I was at least an upperclassman.

I was trying to find a vacant spot when some band people I vaguely recognized called me over and asked me if I needed a place to sit. Well, I did. For that trimester, I always had a table from that point on.

It was a pretty good arrangement too. I always brought a lunch, so I was able to hold the table and secure chairs for the overcrowded eatery. In turn, I didn't eat alone.

Simpler times.

Ceiling

There are a great many differences between Texas and Pennsylvania. Today, I'll focus on just one aspect.

2000.

Texas is far away from Pennsylvania, geographically and architecturally. This is to be expected, but then again, it's a different matter when you're used to one and then here's the other.

I was walking through the Baybrook Mall. Malls are generally the same, pretty much everywhere, I'd imagine. The remarkable thing to me was the size of it. Not the building, per se, but it was the ceilings that got me. The ceiling was as tall as the large two story mall's back at Pennsylvania.

It made sense. Hot air rises. Texas is 13.7 times hotter than human life can be sustained (in August). It's simple math, really.

The grandeur of tall ceilings when I first moved here gradually was replaced by familarness and even expectation.

I decided then and there that I would like to rekindle that grandeur in my summer palace, should I ever build one. Its walls would blot out the sun for surrounding towns for my one story palace.

Cowboy Bebop

Cowboy Bebop was an awesome show. It lasted only one season because that's where the story ended. The story followed Spike Speigel, his bounty hunter partner Jet Black, a hired hand Faye Valentine, and a kid named Ed, oh and a superdog named Ein. Spike left a crime syndicate by faking his death. He had hoped to leave with his love, Julia, his former crime syndicate associate's girlfriend.

Dense, neh? Every session was named after some song or musical concept. I started watching it in 2001. Cartoon Network would show Cowboy Bebop part of its Adult Swim lineup.

Anime is not usually my thing, but this show resonated to me. In the first movie my friends and I made we even had a scene that was in there solely as a homage to the show.

Looking back, I'm glad to have only gone as far as I have into anime. And I'm glad I didn't get that far into it. Spike and Julia, my cats, agree.

A Cat Always Lands Precisely Where He Means To

In the olden days, in our house in Folcroft, we had a very formal living room. The living room had fanciful furniture and our entertainment center. We had the sofa facing the entertainment center with the love seat 90 degrees to next to it. Across from the sofa was a single chair with a footrest.

One day, a year during which I was still in grade school, we were watching TV together. Our cat Skinny was with us as well. He wanted to jump onto the footstool and have a seat to join the family. So, he went through the normal motions. He tensed up, shook his tail in preparation, and then made the leap. The leap took him soaring into the air and right past the footstool. We saw him and we laughed.

Cats have a very large sense of ego. Cats were once worshiped as gods, after all. Suffice it to say, cats don't like to be laughed at. Skinny looked up at us. He then began to stretch out, as if to say, "I meant to do that, dammit." He then walked up the stairs to leave us mere mortals below him.

The Water's Gonna Rise

Sentell and I had known each other for awhile before we actually became friends. He and I were pretty much that guy over there to each other for awhile for junior year. Actually, he was that guy who was bleeding from his face after his car accident to me, during junior year.

2001.

Sentell and I were both in Music Theory in our senior year. Music Theory at this level consisted of a lot of things we already knew since we'd been in band so long and some things that were kinda neat. It also gave us a chance to hang out with our band friends for a class period a day under the guise of learning. The assistant band director taught the class and it was a lot more laid back than a standard band practice. He used a lot of candid life examples to stress points in this setting.

That being said, we also had more time to chat. One day, during a horrible rain storm, with flooding as we are prone to, we were comparing stories. Jakubis went into a long example of how his car got flooded in the last great flood. He drew diagrams and all.

Sentell turned to me afterward and said, "As I was floating down 517 this morning, I thought to myself ..." I cannot remember what he said after, but he had started saying it when I realized what he said to start his story.

Factors Part 2

I've said before that my Algebra II class was just a less difficult, slower paced version of my Algebra class, with a less excellent teacher.

Third trimester, 2001.

When we got to factoring, I barely suppressed a chuckle at having to go over this yet again. When the work came, I easily blew passed it, leaving everyone far behind. This was good since this lead to me having free time during class as the rest of the lot struggled. After a little while, the brighter ones picked up on how to do it easily. I was happy for them, really. This meant that I had people to play cards with. The correlation between mathematical ability and being in band held up, as my new found card buddies were mostly band members as well.

I was in the middle of proving my utter dominance in 13, when I was approached by a classmate, asking me for help on how to factor. Helping someone is a mixed bag, for me. One, I like that people ask me for help because that means they need my help. Two, it means that I need to stop what I'm doing and help them.

I looked over the girl in question. She had dyed blond hair, was very fit, and attractive. She knew it, too. I made up my mind of how to respond when I looked at her paper, mentally solved the problem she had been working on, compared the answer to her work, and found it to be a better use of my time to return to my card game.

They say that first impression is what sticks with people. They're wrong. I didn't give the girl another thought and when I finally did, it wasn't that impression I went back to. Sure, I used it to write her off, and she the same for me, I'm sure. But things change.

Things change. I never taught her how to factor. She later claimed that she still didn't quite get how to factor because I never taught her. I doubt that's true, but still....

Looking back on it, I still wouldn't have helped her, to have it to do over again. That way she would still be that girl in my dumb Algebra class that I didn't talk to. She would still give me another shot to make get to know her. She would still be the one that gave me a ride home now and again. She would still ask me if I shaved my hands. She'd still make me feel horrible about relationships for a long time to come that way.

If I did help her, I can't help but feel that all that would have happened but only worse. I was angry then, got angrier because of her (not just her specifically, but a very important factor). If I started on the niceties earlier on, perhaps I would have been more loath to engage in similar behavior later on. Either way, factoring helped lead to my life now.

7x^2+2x-5 is (7x-5)(x+1).

Factors

I'm good at math. I'm the resident matheologist in the group as long the math remains math instead of becoming squiggles.

In 9th grade I was in Algebra I. This Algebra I class was for the advanced freshmen who were also in the advanced chemistry class. We would go from the Algebra I class taught by Mr. Celadonio, a very excellent teacher who had many, many years of experience, and Father Ferrence, another teacher who was an excellent teacher with many, many years of experience. They were possibly the oldest teachers on campus, but they were possibly the best as well.

This Algebra I class was difficult but also extremely engaging. We had a lot of demands on us, and to even pass the course, we had to factor 10 problems in 2 minutes, just 12 seconds a problem. So, when I see 3x^2-7x+2, I quickly see (3x-1)(x-2). This proved to be quite helpful in other facets of math and led to a fateful encounter later on.

The Spirit of Houston Cougar Marching Band: Gala

2004.

Gala night for the band was supposed to be a big to-do. Our band director had huge plans for gala night. He also had big plans for the money gala night would bring in. He was like that, but very, very good at what he did.

The marching band as a whole only had one thing to do, just one song if memory serves. This meant we would have to sit through the entire thing until we did that one damn thing. Such is the life of a marching band member: hurry up and wait.

We had a very long practice for that one thing. We had to sit and wait and sit and wait and then do something, then wait. It was frustrating.

We had a break and Robby, Channing, and Candi went to eat. We went to the McDonald's by campus, chatting and having a good time, a very nice change of pace. After we were stuffed, I uncharacteristically said, "Let's not go back."

I was the guy who was always on-time. Not just on-time, but band on-time. You see, if you're on-time, you're late. If you're early, you're on time. I just didn't feel I had anything left in me and I wanted to quit. And I finally let myself voice it.

Candi called me on it. "What? You're the guy who's always ..." blah blah blah. Yeah, I was that guy. I quickly retracted my statement and got up, ready to head back for more punishment at the Moores School of Music for the remainder of the gala rehearsal.

We got back to the rehearsal and an elite cadre of the band, some of the Haves, got up to perform in an instrumental performance that really helped the lot of us not mutiny. They put on a heavily choreographed and impeccably performed rendition of Santa Esmeralda's "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood." I know it wasn't written by them, but the performance more closely matched that version.

I found one of the performers afterward and thanked him. It was one of the finest demonstrations of musicianship I had ever and thus seen.

RISK

I am a fan of RISK. Not risk management, not taking risk, but the boardgame.

RISK is a great game that requires immense skill in strategy, diplomacy, and dice rolling. Any good RISK player is good at rolling sixes. (Likewise, bad D&D players are good at rolling 1's.)

2004, not a bad year. So one night, it was around February, I played a very great game of RISK.

I was playing with Robby and Brandon and some other guy. Robby and I had to wake up early to go march in the Rodeo Parade the following morning, but we decided to hang out into late morning. We broke out the RISK board and started playing.

As is par for the course, I had set up my headquarters in Southern Europe and quickly consolidated the surrounding area. A few turns in, I entered into a non-aggression pact with Brandon, to expire in about 20 turns. Around the 12th turn, he attacked me. I was far from shocked; not that I was expecting the non-aggression pact to last, either. Attacking me was the right move. I was growing too powerful and I would soon smother Robby's forces and inevitably turn on Brandon.

He started his preemptive strike after he turned in a RISK set. He had a large force assembled and began attacking. He blew through an unimportant pigeon (a country with only one solider on it) and started onto the next, more important territory. I had about 4 forces stationed there, as it was on the border of my European stronghold. The first three bouts, we both lost one unit apiece. Then, the universe righted itself and Brandon's luck turned. The next 37 turns, my sole defender prevailed. I rolled a lot of 6's, and Brandon a lot of 1's.

When that last man finally fell, Brandon had lost too many forces to really continue the battle. I was sure to have a memorial plaque in that one guy's honor, so that his family can pay to come visit in my palace.

The following turn, I turned in my own risk set and defeated Brandon. I received his remaining RISK cards when he was conquered, and then immediately turned them in to receive additional reinforcements necessary to crush Robby.

So, all in all, I won the game and felt good about that. Robby and I also didn't sleep before the parade. So, I marched 2 and 1/4 miles without sleep. That I didn't feel so good about.

The important part, though, was winning the RISK game.