Gasp

I can't believe it.

They're going ahead with it...

Sign this petition & keep the Black Watch intact.

Relative Sensitivity

Took a call from a lady who wanted me to pass on a message.

She wanted her husband to know that their son wanted his Daddy to return his call.

Their son is barely a year old.

I don't think he's even learned to speak yet.

Thought she was just being cutesy; but found out afterwards that, when she spoke of her child, she always ascribed him very complex thought processes, needs and desires.

I've never intended to have children, and thus have never made any attempt to understand how they actually work. I'd alway presumed that they were simple beings, with simple needs.

Is this kind of divination typical for mothers? Is this part of that mother-child bond thing?

Or is she really a very special kind of person, with innate and profound sensitivities, who is able to sense and flesh out the full-fledged concept from her babe's nascent impulses?

Y'know, I don't think I'd be that type of mother... I'd be the frantic one standing over a baby with a formula bottle in one hand, a bosom in the other: bottle or bosom? Bottle or bosom? Which one do you want? Bottle? Blink once for yes, twice for no... What? What is it? Am I about to have a seizure? Is Timmy down a well? *What* ~ *do* ~ *you* ~ *want*?!?

Inspirational Undies

My sister has gained a little weight, so she offered me some of her old clothes. Here, she said. These are from my "dress like a slut" phase, so I know you'll like 'em.

Told her that, unfortunately, I, too, have gotten too old for ahemoutgrownahem slutty clothing.

Still, I do wear the matching set of leopard-print boy-cut undies with front~closure bra that she gave me; they tickle my funny bone. Every time I put them on, I'm reminded of silver~screen "Jungle Queen" B-movie beauties; and I always get this sudden urge to run outside in my undies, find some poor innocent victim wearing a safari shirt, cling flutteringly to his chest saying, Big mBumba say, him no kill! then, heaving a deep and thrilling sigh, feebly press the back of my trembling, exquisitely manicured hand to my feverish forehead just before swanning into his arms in a decadently submissive swoon...

Out Of The Foxhole, Into The Breach, And

Between the crosses, row on row

A fox attended today's Remembrance Ceremony at Westminster Abbey.

Paying tribute to fallen comrades, no doubt.

Image from the BBC

~ ~ ~

Image borrowed from the Canadian War Museum website. Pay some respect. Pay it a visit.

They Come From My Subconscious

...and they're not waiting for morning anymore.

A review of last week's words.

These words alit upon me just after after dusk:

Laphroaig .

It's the name of a lovely little distillery and its lovely little whiskey.

Laphroaig has somewhat of a reputation for tasting of peat and iodine.

Described as "a peat monster", it should not be confused with The Peat Monster.

Perlmutter

It's a family name, & I haven't been able to find out what it means.

{So, just for the heck of it, I used it in this wedding invitation here}.

There's an interesting Perlmutter at Berkley, who is known for his research in dark energy and its relation to our accelerating universe ; if I understand correctly, which inevitably I don't, his work involves using the red-shift of a particular kind of supernovae as a yardstick by which to measure this acceleration.

Bet even Shania would be hard~pressed not to be impressed by that one.

From Perl to Parry. This word waited for the usual dreamy~wakey morning~door. I watched it being written out in very old~fashioned hand~writing: parry.

If I collect enough of these words, will this all make sense someday?

Brides In White Tartan

Rules of Engagement

A few posts ago, I'd exchanged some jokey comments with a friend about wedding arrangements {a three~tier "Death by Chocolate" wedding cake does exist, by the way} and it reminded me of an article I'd read in The Scotsman {of Scotsman.com}

Now. According to this article, some of Scotland's grand estates have fallen on hard times and are looking for ways to generate a little extra cash.

Some estates are staying financially afloat by renting themselves out as wedding venues. This is thanks in part to VisitScotland, the country's tourism agency, which has been successfully promoting Scotland as the romantic place to tye the tartan knot {and in keeping with the tartan theme, "the official launch of the campaign on the eve of Valentine's Day featured Miss Scotland Nicola Jolly in a shower of specially-created tartan confetti."}

Then there's one estate which is home to a venture called Tartan Tanks, "Scotland’s premier all terrain adventure activity centre". It not only offers people the opportunity to drive tanks & other military vehicles but it also helps organise corporate team-building military games with paintball guns.

And upon reading aforesaid article, I couldn't help but think:

Someday, some particularly enterprising estate owner is going to combine these two things. And it will totally, maybe forever, change the meaning of the phrase, "Are you with the Bride or the Groom?"

* * *

Battle Of The In~Laws

Jakob and Sophie Perlmutter
request the honour of your presence
at the marriage of their daughter

Rosetta Margaretta
to
Murdoch Kester

son of Lachlan and Elspeth Islay
on Saturday, the twenty~first of May, two thousand and five at one o'clock in the afternoon
Doune Castle
Stirling, Scotland

Reception and Paint Ball Skirmish immediately following

* * *

Bride's side or groom's side?

Bride's side.

Here's your Pink paintball gun. Please be seated on your left.

Thanks.

The reception will be in the Valahalla Lounge on the second floor; you can show up once you're "dead", or when a winner is declared. That'll be when the Blues capture the bridal garter. Or the when the Pinks clinch the sporran. Whichever gets nabbed first.

And what if I don't want to participate in paintball?

I'm sorry, only guests who have perished in paintball will be admitted. Be a good sport, please; no shooting yourself in the head just to get a good seat.

*pause*

...though ~ confidentially ~ you could probably end the whole thing quite quickly if you just concentrated on taking out the Best Man. Tends to demoralize the ushers, in my experience.

Thanks.

Helps to take the ringbearer hostage too.

Thanks. I'll just sit over here.

Good luck.

Yeah, thanks.

You see, now that's the kind of advice I want from a wedding planner.

Haven't read this yet myself, but it sounds like an invaluable asset for brushing up on one's tactical wedding planning skills:

Little Wars
"A game for boys from twelve years of age to one hundred and fifty and for that more intelligent sort of girl who likes boys' games and books."

... by H.G. Wells (yes, that H.G. Wells). Let me treat you with the opening paragraph:

" "LITTLE WARS" is the game of kings--for players in an inferior social position. It can be played by boys of every age from twelve to one hundred and fifty--and even later if the limbs remain sufficiently supple--by girls of the better sort, and by a few rare and gifted women. This is to be a full History of Little Wars from its recorded and authenticated beginning until the present time, an account of how to make little warfare, and hints of the most priceless sort for the recumbent strategist. . . ."

I so get a huge kick out of the term "the recumbent strategist" ~~ it would make a kickass title for a blog about war games. Were I to do such a blog, which of course I couldn't (I'm not a girl of the better sort) it would include this excerpt from the Word Of The Day site:

kriegspiel (KREEG-speel) noun
1. A game in which miniature characters and blocks represent armies, ships, etc. as they move around on a drawing of a battlefield, used to simulate war and teach military tactics.
2. A form of chess where players see only their own pieces and an umpire keeps track of all the pieces on a third board.
[From German Kriegsspiel, from Krieg (war) + Spiel (game).]

"`(Prof Richard) Holmes and his chums spent six months recreating the battle of Waterloo on an enormous sand table,' I am told. `Thousands of soldiers, cannons, and horses were painstakingly painted and placed ready for battle.' Alas, one day school rebels broke into the Kriegspiel room and bounced footballs on his battleground. When he discovered the carnage Holmes collapsed, sobbing: "I want the culprits found, court martialed and shot!"
The Scurra, The Mirror (London), Mar 4, 2002.

"`So my father, my two brothers and I used to go for long walks and one brother would be way out in front, my father would be in the middle and the other brother would be way at the back and they'd be playing the game Kriegspiel in their head and my father would keep both positions in his mind. And my role was to carry the moves backwards and forwards, so I was the runner.'"
John Schwartz, At the Heart of the Mind, Roger Penrose Thinks Computers
Have a Lot to Learn, The Washington Post, Dec 1, 1994.

Oh, and hey, here's the sequel: "Floor games: a companion volume to Little Wars".

I'll save that one for the honeymoon, perhaps...

Posted by edgar at 03:38 PM | Comments (0)