Sic Semper Theodopolis

2002-05-08T08:08:00.000-07:00

This blog has moved. I have been swayed by an offer of several million dollars and now work for Charles...

2002-04-05T06:34:00.000-08:00

I've had a little time off here and there over the past couple of weeks. Sorry 'bout the silence.

let me tell you about a hobby of mine. I play a couple of musical instruments, the most out-of-the-ordinary being the Great Highland Bagpipe. I've been studying this instrument and certain aspects of Celtic-ish music for the past few years. I rpimarily gear most of my playing toward competition. Yes, musical competition. You see, planet is divided into several " pipe band associations" which are governing bodies that oversee and sanction amateur and professional contests involving Scottish drumming, Highland piping and pipe band competitions. The US is divided up according to geographic regions (South, Eastern, Western and Mid-Western). Canada is divided up similarly. Oddly enough, the most back-asswards, stubborn, and poorly run of such associations is the Royal Scottish Pipe Band Association. Yes, the place where the instrument was developed.

Anyway, not to bore you with the details of the various associations and their politics (I recently spent a couple of years on the Executive Committee of the Eastern United States Pipe Band Association...the largest in the world), let's just say that each year the "hotbed" of piping and the evolution of it's music increasing creeps away from it's homeland, and is ending up in Canada, the USA and Australia.

To move on, "bagpipes" have a pretty horrible reputation. I'll tell you some of the reasons why. First off, more so that any other instrument I have learned to play and with which I have performed, the bagpipe is for whatever reason taken up too often by people who have NO musical training, have not learned how to play the instrument, how to tune it, or in general what in hell to do with it, and then they walk out into the street and make noise with it. This happens OFTEN. I can't tell you how many times I've seen parades involving organizations whose members prance down the street is a wrinkled, backward kilts, a crooked hat and making noise on a cheap Pakistani-made junk "bagpipe". It makes me cringe. It makes all of us who know that YES, the instrument can and must be tuned and IN TUNE with itself (and other pipes when playing in a group) hang our heads. It is sad, and when somebody finds out I'm a piper and responds with a derisive comment about hating them and refers to them as making the noise of a dying cow or a cat fight, I can only thank the hack Masonic group or a stubborn and uninstructed fire department band for that person's feelings.

I ask myself, why didn't these people learn to play bass guitar and do us all a favor? Why is it that there are not gaggles of hack guitar players that wander around in groups in public with grossly out of tune guitars? Why is the bagpipe the instrument that gets this kind of treatment? I'll never know.

Some people love "bagpipe music" and some people hate it. Fair enough. Personally, I'm no fan of the accordion. You see, serious pipers spend lots of time practicing and honing their craft. Many of us spend the Summer competing in front of professional pipers and judges to ensure that were are doing it correctly. The types of music played are diverse and complex. The instrument has a certain marshal reputation, and that is the fault of the British military. Much of the music played on the bagpipe runs part and parcel with Scottish, Irish or Breton fiddle music. And yes, we tune our instruments. I must admit, it is a somewhat difficult craft to learn, but as long as you're not tone deaf you can do it (tone deaf people need not attempt music anyway). I currently have three students...all adults. Two of them have come along like gangbusters. They have an ear for tone and musicality. The third will NOT play in public any time in the near future. Not with my blessing. If he decides to do so at any time without my "OK", I will drop him from my tuition in a nanosecond. He's been at it for a few years now, and I haven't given up yet, but we'll see.

Maybe sometime I'll make available the difference between an out of tune, poorly played bagpipe and contrast it with a well tuned, finely played bagpipe. I guarantee all will notice the "night and day" difference...

2002-03-15T08:03:00.000-08:00

I had a dream. I had a very strange dream. I will attempt to recount some of the details. Said details are very disjointed, but so are my dreams. Here goes it: for whatever reason, my family and I are guests on my uncle's boat. His boat is no ordinary water craft...it's a river boat. You know, flat bottom, big red paddle wheel. That kinda boat. Family and I are ridin' up top, in the back. We are heading for Miami for some reason. On the way to Miami, we pass through part of Thailand. Thailand, in this dream at least, is kind of like an area of my town called "Valley Station", but with giant bridges, for boats mind you, that climb somtimes 20 or 30 stories into the sky. The uncle decides to do a few "laps" around Thailand so we can see what there is to see. It ain't very much. Here and there were brothels the size of a drive-up photomats, an occassional 80's era Camaro, and clowns selling ballons by the side of the "road" (which is actually some sort of narrow river). So we travel in "laps" around "Thailand", passing through locks, rapids, around Camaros, passing balloon-selling clowns.

Finally, we decide to move on. In order to do this, we apparently have to take one of these giant bridges, which we do. About halfway over the bridge we suddenly have to take the river below, so the uncle swings the boat hard to port, off of the bridge and plunges us down to the water below. On the very steep and frightening fall, I nearly fall out of the boat. This river then leads us to our final destination: Miami. The paddle wheeled boat pulls up to the hotel in which we will be staying. This hotel is made totally of adobe. We get our rooms. Much to my chegrin, I have to share a bunk with some bone-head fratboy with an eyepatch and crutches. This is where things get kinda hazey.

At some point my brother and I are sitting in the parking lot outside, and listening to some other college brat talk about something. I can't remember the specifics of the conversation, but he has obviously said something absurd, and I express the fact that he makes absolutely no sense at all. He gets irate with me, and shoves me. I respond to this aggression by standing up and walking toward him. He runs off, gets hit by a car, and dies. I bring his body to a group of his friends, and then topless women begin to dance.

End of dream.

2002-02-28T12:15:00.000-08:00

The robot and dog have stopped bickering. It seems they have come to an understanding. The robot will prepare meatloaf on Tuesdays and the Dog will not piss in the coffee. It's about damn time.

I find it most interesting that nobody has been keen enough to mention the change of my SS#. It was apparently decided that I should have an additional identy for those sudden "business trips" to the Caspian Sea. There are five tons of gold headed for Paris, and I don't think anybody really knows about it, save Pierre. In case you don't know, Pierre is an asshole and rat fink. Pierre also has a horrible gold allergy. He's going to just LOVE what I've sent to him.

shastikovitch!!!!

2002-02-25T08:58:00.000-08:00

I waiting for my green tea to finish steeping. I wish it would hurry.

I find it amusing that the political activist contingent of the current youth raised so very much hell about the horrors of the Taliban regime before 9/11. Now that this regime has been soundly trounced, those same activist youth decry the US retaliation and the snuffing of the Taliban as a political power in Afghanistan. To these misguided and poorly read rabble-rousers I say, make up yer friggin minds!

Say what you want about the US gov't, but I for one think that swift retribution was indeed called for. Unfortunately, and much to the chagrin of the "give peace a chance" club, quick brutish violence is sometimes called for.

Ah...my tea should be ready...

2002-02-21T11:37:00.000-08:00

I know a fella who's convinced that the Feds have him under surveillance. Ya see, there's this windowless black van parked outside, he says. You little knucklehead, I says, that's YOUR van! It broke down five months ago and you STILL haven't fixed it! No, says he, it's not MY van. MY van has FIVE wheels. THAT one has SEVEN!

Whatever, dude. On the lighter side, the new All About Beer magazine is great this month. It includes a pretty nice review guide to lagers...and of course Celebrator doppelbock gets a "superlative" score of 97! I must admit, it IS some pretty good shit. Highly recommended. Also a nice article on Russian Imperial Stout. Cheers.

2002-02-20T05:26:00.000-08:00

Pete Townsend

"Behind Blue Eyes"

No one knows what it's like

To be the bad man

To be the sad man

Behind blue eyes

No one knows what it's like

To be hated

To be fated

To telling only lies

But my dreams

They aren't as empty

As my conscience seems to be

I have hours, only lonely

My love is vengeance

That's never free

No one knows what it's like

To feel these feelings

Like I do

And I blame you

No one bites back as hard

On their anger

None of my pain and woe

Can show through

But my dreams

They aren't as empty

As my conscience seems to be

I have hours, only lonely

My love is vengeance

That's never free

When my fist clenches, crack it open

Before I use it and lose my cool

When I smile, tell me some bad news

Before I laugh and act like a fool

If I swallow anything evil

Put your finger down my throat

If I shiver, please give me a blanket

Keep me warm, let me wear your coat

No one knows what it's like

To be the bad man

To be the sad man

Behind blue eyes

2002-02-19T06:33:00.000-08:00

Poop dance, poop dance poop dance...let's do the poop dance. Poopoo-head Jenkins is a comin' to town. Everybody grab yer cock ring and shake shake shake yer boodayeee. Oh yeah. Roger that...rounds out...my position...rounds out...fire for effect...copy blue smoke...copy blue smoke...roger that. Variable, this is Knife...do you read...over.

2002-02-15T07:20:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I get pissed. Really pissed. After a while my rage subsides as I lay waste to the worthless. Sometime I wonder what the hell is going on with the education of kids in the US. When and if I have kids, you can be damn sure I'm not letting the fucking "village" (as per Mrs. Clinton) raise or educate my child. Hell will freeze over, thaw, and freeze again before I let spineless politically correct scumbags try to "teach" my spawn one goddamn thing. There are a bunch of lazy ass people raising a bunch of lazy ass wastoid brats who are being "educated" by a regiment of teachers who learned their trade from a bunch of pseudointellectual numbnuts who think the education of youngsters should focus mainly on trying not to upset little Billy and Suzy, and concentrating on outcomes and the number of students who "graduate"...to hell with trying to teach them to read or write or instill some sense of personal responsibility and integrity. These dumb kids turn into teenages who think the world owes them something, think that privilages are rights and get surprised when somebody holds them responsible for their actions. The idiots shrink with fear and loathing when they meet me, the muthafuckers. It makes me smile.

2002-02-14T10:12:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the silence, but I've been busy with some counter intel. I also had to spend yesterday and part of today at an IT symposium in downtown Louisville, KY. Joy. What a drag. Free food, though. In other news, I finally saw my vodoo witch doctor and had the growth laced. It was an altogether pleasant experience, I must say. Quite surprising. Luckily enough, I was able to isolate and package a sample of the little blue spores it emitted regularly and had them sent to NASA. I expect results soom. It should cost me about $250,000 to get my car repaired, but that's a small price to pay for replacing the dented panels on a prototype M1A3 tank. I got some silk undies today.

2002-02-12T07:42:00.000-08:00

Curses!! Somebody has some explaining to do. My cover has been compromised.

2002-02-11T08:07:00.000-08:00

The more eggs, the better. That's what I always say. Some people don't have a taste for high adventure. To a certain degree, I count them as lucky. Oftentimes I have considered selling the plantation, putting the office up for lease, scuttling the submarine. Problem is, life on the edge is addictive. I'm not sure I could give up such a lucrative government contract. There's nothing quite like deciding at a moment's notice to take lunch in New Delhi, and a few minutes later head off for coffee in Istanbul. One day I decided to spend one entire day sampling the fare at the dozen or so eateries that pepper the Pentagon. Not very impressive. I'm not entirely sure why they have so many food vendors. There's a great deli right down the street. People often ask me, "how is it that you are so handsome?" "Eggs," I answer. "Lots of eggs".

2002-02-08T11:47:00.000-08:00

Those of you fortunate enough to be privvy to this weblog should be aware that I usually go on assignment every weekend. This means that I am normally in harm's way and not able to contribute any wisdom to these pages on Saturdays or Sundays. I trust you understand this and will continue to wish me well as I embark on each and every mission. It has been noted in certain publications that I have been spotted in Southwest Asia. I can neither confirm nor deny this, by I can guarantee that the sources of any such information will soon fall eternally silent. It is not always appropriate for me to share details of my comings and goings. I can tell you that I will be at large this very weekend...I have some poison still to walk off. I will be on assignment Sunday. My fearless leader has agreed to meet for uisge and chops tomorrow. Yes, that is correct. Mr. Bain himself is coming out of the woodwork. He is quite amused with the whole Enron scandal, and wishes to discuss it. He is bringing along a certain Senator from NY for me to hound and trounce before the evening has subsided. Just like old times, I say. Fun rarely reaches such a fever pitch. Note to self: turn off the coffee machine and pack up the M4A1 (SOPMOD). Weez izz gonna pahtaay tooonite!!

2002-02-07T08:47:00.000-08:00

I used to have one of these. Now it's in the Smithsonian. zoinks!!

2002-02-07T05:28:00.000-08:00

I'm nearly back to 100% operational capacity. Hoo-ah! Now that my attackers have been swiftly and prejudicially dealt with (security clearance precludes me from going into further detail), I hope to this afternoon enjoy my weekly jaunt to a local pub for three or four pints of Fuller's Extra Special Bitters and a backlog of daily dispatches from the Cato Institute. Waxoff the Wondermut is pouting today. He wandered into the airlock, and the Lexorus 4500ix has been threatening to pop open the outer hatch for several hours. As soon as the damn dog agrees to tell us where the canned ham is, we'll let him back in. In other news, my tail just arrived in the mail.

2002-02-06T05:28:00.000-08:00

Fortunately I was able to leave my office early yesterday morning and make it to sickbay in time to get a dose of antivenom. It made me puke like a sick dog, but, well, that's how I felt. Finally, after several hours of giant squid hallucinations, I was able to stomach some Gatorade and chips. I saw the shastakovich who slipped me the mickey, and have his mother in the brigg right now. She's finally developed an appetite for the fish heads I feed her.

2002-02-05T05:01:00.000-08:00

The bastards have poisoned me. I knew they'd slip through somehow. Damnit. Looks like I'm out for the day. Bastards...

2002-02-04T12:08:00.000-08:00

SUCCESS!! I finally got in touch with Frank's attorney. Not only has Frank agreed to my terms (I just became $98 million richer), but his attorney has agreed to sign a 30 season contract with my Extreme Pie Licking team. Life is good. Note to self: unplug the respirator before she wakes.

2002-02-04T12:02:00.000-08:00

For whatever reason, Dibble Bain doesn't want this dog back. I've grown weary of it and it's ceaseless caterwauling about whether or not the robot should be allowed at the dinner table. I am profoundly unconcerned with it's thoughts on the matter. THIS IS MY SHIP.

2002-02-04T09:20:00.000-08:00

Today is the anniversary of my arrival. Yes, thank you. I have considered having the growth removed, but it is unclear if doing so would result in a distinct advantage. I'll likely just continue to cover it for the time being. Its prescient properties have proven advantageous, albeit annoying. The slight *chirp* that accompanies spore dispersion is a pleasant E minor. Perhaps tomorrow I will call the Dept.of Treasury and request a block on further deposits to my account. I grow tired of the weekely wire transfers of $73 million to the offshore account. They might as well deposit the money directly from now on.

2002-02-01T11:12:00.000-08:00

This is the weblog at which you may discover what I had for lunch. Sometimes I eat sanwiches...sometimes fish...and sometimes I eat small monkeys.