DLand - A Brush with Royalty

Oh! I totally forgot about this! But it's too good not to share. The parental crisis has made me lax in my writing. We went to the SCA meeting on Wednesday. Mostly to attempt to be social again. we checked in with Rosine and she said that the meeting was going to be a boring PAC meeting (Pennsic Action Committee - isn't that so military?) but that afterwards we could go out for food and beer. We were convinced. So we went and listened to Arnie and company organize the encampment crap. It was not overwhelmingly exciting but it sated my need to be anal-retentive and plan things a little. That went on for several hours and then it was off to the White Horse Pub.

So we're all sitting down and are gabbing about Pennsic and why things are the way they are and comparing to Gulf Wars which was just over (amazingly wet and rainy, so I hear). And then we were talking about various camp sites and the lake and the naked swimming hole.... And Rosine makes some off hand comment about this guy who showed up one year wanting to get in at Pennsic. For those unaware, Rosine is a head honcho of the front gate at Pennsic War many years running. And she meets many interesting people - some of which not very smart - in her medieval customer service role.

So the story begins when our fearless gate attendant Rosine meets up with Him. He is easily 400 pounds and probably closer to 500. He is too large to drive a car. He is too large to fit in the front seat of a car. He can only ride in the back seat of *some* cars. So our little Jabba undulates his way to the counter at Troll. He apparently in his haste forgot his photo identification. Now that's one of the few rules. You have to show a photo id. So he says his id is back in Ohio - which is like 4 hours away. Well, Rosine tells him the rules and he says "well So-and-So and vouch for me". So Rosine says, if you go to the Barn and get So-and-So (I forgot his name) I'll wait here for you. First there is an argument about whether the Hut can make it to the Barn and that he needs a ride. But it is agreed that he can walk to the Barn or drive to Ohio. Well an hour later, So-and-So comes by and there is no large man with him. Rosine questions Mr. So and he says he knows him but has not seen him that day. Well, Rosine treks off to his supposed camp site to find out how he got lost between the gate and the Barn.

Now's when it gets good. So Rosine goes down there with another woman and finds him setting up his camp. Rosine explains that he is violating the rules of the site and he needs to go home. The arguing continues. As Rosine said, if you were standing behind this man, you could not have seen the two large women that he was arguing with. Well, this huge fellow says, "Don't you know who I am?! I'm a Pennsic legend! I'm the King of the Naked People!"

Yes, that's right, people. Naked people have a royalist society and chose this man to rule as their esteemed monarch. Apparently this man comes to Pennsic every year and wallows at the naked swimming hole for two weeks in the nude. It's people like him that inspire the rule of having two posts in the ground and if you can't fit to walk between the two posts, you should not take your clothes off.

So this thin polite gentleman comes up - he is the King's brother. And he says that they will do whatever it takes to get him there. So they agree that he should have something with a birth date, full name and picture faxed to the site. The thin one (I would call him the Prince, but I don't think he deserves it) agrees and sets off. Well, the fax was a loss (the photo was a black box and the information illegible). So Rosine says he'll have to leave. Well, there's no car that he can fit in. So here come the parents from Ohio after four hours on the road to pick his sorry butt up. They arrive, two very sweet and tired people. They dump a shoe box of papers that his mother found in his room (I didn't get into this man's general scent either). Rosine then realizes that this man staying in Pennsylvania for two weeks is more of a service to the parents than it is to the grown child. So she picks through and finds three documents that mean he can stay. The parents bow and thank her immensely and return to Ohio for two weeks of vacation and the King of the Naked People waddled back to his Kingdom for the fort night.

It's people like this that make me think of just taking up golf as a hobbie instead.

DLand - Your speed is ...

I've been very "police aware" these past few days. Mostly because I keep forgetting my driver's license in my jeans when I leave for work. I put it there so I can drive around all these trucks and stuff while my parents continue to unload the yard (found a Mr. Potato Head's nose the other day. It's very exotic-looking without the rest of Mr. Head to clue you in to its identity). But every morning I put on clean clothes and go to work and then realize that my license is in my grubby pants at the foot of the bed. So yesterday I passed two policemen on the interstate and a sheriff in the mile from the exit to my house. I looked very law-abiding so they did not stop me to ask where my license was but you never know. There are policemen catching speeders on all these streets that I didn't think policemen would even bother to lurk on.

I drive on Lord Dunmore Avenue almost every day to get to work. (which reminds me of another funny story about how embarrassing it is to give directions to my office because you go up Princess Anne and then turn right to go down on Lord Dunmore. Childish, yes, but you'll snicker the next time you're on Martin Luther King Hwy or the like. I guarantee it.) And Lord Dunmore is a "speed trap". It's a really nicely paved, much used shortcut that goes through a residential neighborhood. They have now put up a radar thingy to tell you how fast you're going on it. Build awareness or something. But the damn thing ALWAYS says "Your speed is 28 mph." I've been testing it. I slow WAAAAAY down to like 15.

Your speed is 28mph.

So the next day I gun it!

Your speed is 28mph.

The damn thing is gonna get me a wreckless driving ticket. Bah.

DLand - The City Inspector from Mars

It's been a long time, been a long time, been a long time.... Well, I got a cold when I got back from my trip. It's been just enough to annoy me but not enough to warrant cold medicine. The biggest thing of interest has been the recent crisis chez Mom and Dad. My parents seem to hop from crisis to crisis in their lives and the repercussions ripple out across the city. So their crisis of late has been the city itself. Most of you might not know what it's like to have "the city" coming after you. It's been a part of our lives. This means that you have too many cars in your yard or you have built too many sheds or you have too many plastic tubs in your yard. This causes some old woman (I don't know what it is about these old women but it's usually them) to call the city and complain. So the city man comes out and says that you can't park cars except on paved parts of your front yard. And you are limited to fluid changes for car repairs on your property. The man is insane. I'm sure there is a happy medium between how my parents currently live and the Betty Crocker world that the city inspector lives in. He said that a "reasonable person would find the number of cars on the property ridiculous". Well, we're not discussing what is reasonable or ridiculous - only what's legal. And they all have tags and insurance so screw you.

I can't even explain how my parents live. We shouldn't have to. Mother says that you can't explain why you have so much stuff. Either the other party will understand why you live why you do and you don't need to explain or they will never understand and there's no point in explaining.

But it's been an exhausting week or so. The city should come next week and the yard has to be emptied and as well manicured as possible. I'm not going to get into the gorey details of all the crap in my parents' large suburban piece of land. But needless to say it's been about half a dozen trips to the metal recycling place and a dumpster worth of garbage. And we're not done yet. Pack-ratting really is a sort of sickness. But it's my parents' right to collect crap if they want. I have strange hobbies too. We all do. Except for the city inspector dude who apparently lives in a one bedroom apartment with no pets and no dirty dishes in his sink. I'm sure there's a law about that too. Ugh.

Every once in a while I get jealous of other families whose parents could come over for dinner or vacation and have hobbies like golf or knitting. But like Jeremy says, they're sober and they love us.

Oh, and since I might be feeling down on my parents for living like rats, I should note that they are some of my favoritest people. I thought about it when we went to one of their rental properties (the place where the dumpster is). The guy who lives there used to live there with his "buddy" and son (Mom's term - not mine). Well, his "buddy" died and then the guy got sick - too sick to work. My parents let him keep living there, though, because he had no where else to go and he was treating the place well. So, Mom says the other day that the bicycle guy is working again (bicycle guy doesn't drive but bikes everywhere). He apparently is feeling better and can pay rent now. He has a new "buddy" now, she says, and this one drives him to work. Mom was worried that bicycle guy was going to make himself sick again from biking while it's cold but he apparently is doing okay. Dad then says that they don't give to charities because they have rental properties. :)

In other news, I bought a book on Italian to see if I might like to learn it. I'm thinking I might be more interested in Greek, but Italian is probably easier and I should start with easy given my spare time for mastering languages. We'll see how it goes. I'm brushing up on it to see if the language disgusts me and then I'll look at finding a class. Need to ask Carl what kind of venue his Spanish class is in (community college, crash course for tourism, etc.).

Oh, and Cox Communications is a bunch of lying bastards. I called Monday morning to sign up for our cable modem and the lady said it's not in our area yet. So two days later, these construction signs show up in the neighborhood saying that they are currently doing utility work to bring us these great new services. Lying bastards. So I have to drive past this damn sign every day and wait until it goes away to call back. Dan compared it to winning $1,000,000 and then being told you have to wait 8-12 weeks to see any money. I reiterate - bastards.

Jeremy has been hired as a part time Library Associate I (the same position he applied for). These people are smarter than I gave them credit for. They did this so that when they have finished making a full-time position he only needs to transfer instead of apply. Very cool. So he starts either the end of this week or next week. And he will be working across the street from our neighborhood. I should make him walk to work. Muahahaha.

Ooh, other good news is my creative Nomad jukebox came in the mail. I have yet to play with it since it will most likely be a time consuming hobbie to put all my music on it. But it should be neat. I hope to finish it in time for a trip so we'll have our entire cd collection on this magic box in MP3 format. Can't wait. God, did you know there are people in the world who don't listen to music?! I believe in Snidegrrl's theory that a car must have two things - the ability to go and the ability to make music. Life is that way too. As long as you can get from A to B and have a tune in your head, it can't be all that bad.

On that note, it's time for me to vamoose.