Flammable

So, I haven't posted in a couple of days - mainly because I am still going through the pile of pictures I shot this Memorial Day weekend. And when I say pile, I mean pile. I took about 200 pictures in Yorktown on Sunday, and about 800 or so at the Fighter Factory on Monday. I'm sorting through them all, deleting whatever came out less-than-sharp (and less than great), and editing the rest to put them into my online albums. It's work.

Our Memorial Day weekend certainly started off interesting.

I came downstairs on Saturday morning to make some breakfast for Trueman, and found that, apparently, refrigerators can catch fire. Well, not fire per se, but when I opened the freezer portion of our side-by-side fridge, I saw a red glow at the bottom, head crackling, and smelled a burnt plastic smell. Ooookay. Figuring that was probably not a good sign, I woke up Trueman and we moved and unplugged the fridge, then called our landlord on her cell phone.

Of course, my first thought was: Oh, great. We're renting from a private person, so it's going to be forever until we get a new refrigerator!

Talking to our landlord on the phone didn't initially change that impression. She suggested that we should get a cooler to make sure our food does not go bad, and that she would call around to see if she could get anyone to come in and look at the fridge. It didn't really leave me with a warm and fuzzy feeling.

However, about a half hour later, I was proven wrong. Our landlord showed up on our doorstep with a dorm-sized refrigerator on the back of the truck, which she had brought over for us to use until our fridge would either get fixed or replaced. She looked at our fridge and we talked about the options we had - it being Memorial Day weekend and all - and decided that it would probably be both easier and cheaper if she purchased a new / used / refurbished refrigerator to replace our old one, than if she called someone to come fix it.

We spent some time upstairs together looking at Craig's List, but couldn't find anything that was nearby and where the seller wasn't currently on vacation in the Outer Banks or Myrtle Beach. In the end, she decided to take a trip down to the Sears appliance store to see if they had any new or refurbished refrigerators for a reasonable price. They did. They loaded it onto her truck and we got a brand new LG refrigerator, warranty and all, later that same afternoon.

Our new refrigerator is an over-under model rather than a side-by-side like the old one was. It's this one. It has the freezer compartment at the bottom, and the way it's designed, it actually offers more space than the old one did. (It doesn't have an ice maker and water dispenser, which took up so much space in the old freezer.) The top portion, the refrigerator portion of the new fridge, has shelves that are completely adjustable and very deep, and fit all our stuff (and then some). Plus it's freed up some space in the kitchen since it isn't as wide as the old one.

I'm one happy camper.

Getting the old fridge out and the new fridge in was ... let's just say, a challenge. The old fridge had to be disassembled - we had to take off the doors just to get it outside. The new one fit into the house without getting disassembled, but it took some doing. The old one spent the weekend in our back yard and was hauled off on Tuesday.

Memorial Day

Tickled

I'm tickled pink. Want to know why?

'Cause I get to spend Memorial Day wearing vintage clothes, looking at airplanes, and dancing to the sound of a big band. By special invitation. Here.

Heaven help us

Trueman had to work a half day last Saturday due to some sort of boxing, martial arts, and combatives competition on base that required everyone's attendance to "support our fellow soldiers". Incidentally, those who required said attendance were nobody to be found after the morning formation and were, I assume, supporting their fellow soldiers by having a cold one at the beach or taking their families shopping.

Trueman actually really likes combatives, except for the fact that the new Army combatives don't actually resemble any kind of serious hand-to-hand combat training, but have morphed into a sort of points-scored, minimal-contact martial arts class. What's the point of teaching combatives, after all, if you don't actually learn the Art of the Cheap Shot - kicking them in the knees, choking them out, throwing dirt in their faces. That's the stuff that helps you survive hand-to-hand encounters. Not this scored-by-points, no-cheap-shots, nice fighting stuff that they're doing now.

Needless to say, he was disappointed and annoyed by the time he got home, and so we decided to head out to the range and put some lead into paper, which is always a great way to de-stress.

The trip also served a secondary purpose: while we still lived in northern Virginia, Trueman had purchased a Tokarev Model 213, the 9mm Chinese-manufactured copy of the TT-33 pistol, and has never actually had a chance to try it out since Shooter's Paradise, our local range, burnt down in spring of 2007.

Down here in the Hampton Roads area, good ranges are few and far between. There are plenty of pistol ranges, even some pawn shops that sport indoor pistol ranges for public use, but there appear to be no ranges that allow you to fire any type of rifle caliber with the exception of private clubs, and C2 Shooting Center in Virginia Beach, which has been getting dismal reviews from shooters.

Our more-or-less local and preferred pistol range is a place called The Marksman, which is where we used to shoot when we lived in this area before, and where we're going to shoot now. Partially due to the fact that they charge reasonable rates ($6 for a lane if you're military) and don't require you to purchase your ammunition there. That's two definite thumbs up, especially compared to the other ranges in the area. They're also nice and knowledgeable.

So that's where we headed on Saturday. Not to make a day of it, but to put a couple of magazines through the Model 213, see how well it functions, and which ammo it does and does not like. To nobody's big surprise, it does not like any type of hollow-point round, including frangibles we have, but beyond that, we had no issues. It's actually surprisingly comfortable to shoot and fairly accurate. I put about eight magazines through it; two to get familiar with it, two for the fun of it, and four to "qualify". All my rounds were in the 9 and 10 rings, so I was a happy camper and reasonably confident that I can hit what I'm aiming at and that I'm not terribly out-of-practice.

The guys on the lane next to us were highly entertaining when I was watching them while Trueman took his turn shooting. There were three of them, all in their early to mid-20's. They were doing a lot of talking, a lot of shooting, and a lot of correcting and criticizing each other. They sounded like they knew a lot about firearms and shooting. The problem is, they sure didn't shoot like it. It was almost like they were getting worse the more they shot, rather than better.

As I came to find out, the three of them are actually about to graduate from police academy and will be hitting the streets as real police officers in the near future. Now that is a scary thought.

Family Photos

Two more photos from the disk my mother mailed me.

The first one is a photo of my grandfather's family: his parents, his two elder sisters, himself, and his little brother. My grandfather is the boy standing on the left, behind his mother. This was taken in the very early 1930's; my mom thinks in 1932. My grandfather was born in 1921, making him 11 in this picture.


The second picture is of my grandmother's family: her parents, her elder brother, her three younger sisters and her three younger brothers. My grandmother is the girl wearing the Dirndl (traditional German dress), standing all the way on the left. The soldier behind her is her older brother, Otto. This photo was taken in Summer 1940.

Family Photo

My mom recently sent me a CD with photos from their visit last September, as well as other miscellaneous family pictures, including some old photos of my mom and her siblings, my grandparents and their siblings, and my great grandparents.

Among them were some formal studio portraits of my grandparents, including their formal wedding photograph showing my grandmother in her lace wedding gown and my grandfather in a classic black tuxedo, white gloves and all. Interestingly, that formal portrait was taken in 1948 ... at which point my grandparents were already parents. Go figure... being good Catholics and all...

It's very strange seeing young photographs of my grandparents because they look very little like the people I knew growing up. Obviously, people change over the years, but in some way, it is still strange to see them young and pretty. *laughs* For example, I never knew my grandfather while he still had a full head of hair. As long as I've known him, he's been working on an ever-expanding bald sport and his hair has been silver. I also don't remember him not wearing glasses or not having a mustache. My grandmother, on the other hand, looked very much like she did in these pictures, except that she had much shorter hair (think, old lady curly short hair), more wrinkles, and a larger bottom.

I colored the picture below in Photoshop.

Random, but funny

I found the following description on eBay, accompanying a WAC officer's uniform set consisting of a pair of pants, shirt, and jacket, and I got a good snicker out of it. Do you know why I was snickering? (It's for two reasons.)

This is an original US Issue World War II era female WAC uniform in taupe color. Jacket in size 14 and pants in size 12. Shirt has not size label inside. Dated 1951.

Trueman's List

Trueman's List of TAC NCO No-No's
(to be updated occasionally)

• SSG Trueman is not allowed to use the term "punk" as in, "don't punk your buddy. The term "punk" is derogatory toward the AIT students and must be removed from his vocabulary.
  
  
• SSG Trueman is not allowed to yell at or raise his voice at any of the AIT students. Being yelled at hurts their feelings, so this is a big no-no. We want all AIT students to feel good about their choice of becoming soldiers and must make sure they graduate AIT, still feeling great about that choice. Therefore, yelling at them and ordering them to do things are not allowed because it will upset and offend them.
  
  
• SSG Trueman is not allowed to swear because swearing offends the sensibilities of both male and female AIT students. If SSG Trueman uses any type of "insults", he must make them sound like compliments so the AIT students don't catch on right away.
  
  
• SSG Trueman is not allowed to actually teach the AIT students anything. TAC NCO's do not exist to teach AIT students, but to make sure they pass AIT. In the words of the chain of command, "They will be taught when they get to their units."
  
  
• SSG Trueman is not allowed to make fun of CLS training, even though it is asking to be made fun of. Somewhere, someone is telling the press, "All soldiers who graduate from AIT have gone through a Combat Lifesaver Course." This is supposed to make the public feel warm and fuzzy. SSG Trueman is not to change this warm fuzzy feeling by pointing out that soldiers are taught the theory of the process, not the actual skills, and don't even get to run a live IV (the most basic thing taught in CLS class) on another person during training.
  
  
• SSG Trueman is not allowed to fire a weapon on the range in the presence of the AIT students because they're embarrassed and feel belittled because he is such a good shot. SSG Trueman will not tell his AIT student that he shot expert after not having qualified on a military range for over 3 years of recruiting duty because it will upset them.
  
  
• SSG Trueman is not allowed to snatch a loaded rifle from the hands of an AIT student, even if such student placed the weapon off save and leveled it on a range NCO, because taking the weapon from the student constitutes "assault".
  
  
• SSG Trueman is not allowed to compare his students to soldiers he served with, his immediate family, or his re-enactor friends in terms of weapons proficiency, military bearing, and level of training and experience, because such comparisons are insulting to the students because they are real soldiers in today's Army and should not be compared to mere civilians or past soldiers.
  
  
• SSG Trueman is not allowed to force his students to drink water or eat food while in the field because his concern for their health is considered annoying meddling and "group punishment", and since all of his students are smart adults, they don't need anyone to tell them what to do.
  
  
• SSG Trueman is not allowed to order any of his students to do anything. Things will only be done when his students "feel like it" so that the atmosphere in the classroom and in the field remains positive and they feel happy and content about their choice of joining the Army.
  
  
• SSG Trueman will not make his students play Frisbee football to keep PT interesting, because (according to student comment on the AAR), "Frisbee football is gay."
  

Whiney Week

Today, the base Command Sergeant Major told Trueman: "They need to put you in a box with a big sign on it: "In case of war, break glass." I understand that what you're doing is what you've been taught as an NCO and what you've learned in the Army. Everything you're doing is correct. The way you're doing it is correct. And the intent is right. But the Army has changed. You need to knock off the old school shit. You are not here to train these students, you're here to make sure they graduate AIT."

But let me back up a bit and start at the beginning.

Trueman's current job position is that of a TAC NCO, which essentially means that he is in chargeof AIT students the way a drill sergeant is responsible for soldiers in basic training. He does things such as leading PT and making sure they're all squared away. If someone's pay is screwed up, he makes sure they get to see finance and get it taken care of.

This week, Trueman's AIT students are going through "Warrior Week", which means they're spending the week on the training FOB (Forward Operating Base), learning about FOB operations, pulling guard duty, and doing their jobs in a tactical environment, along with going to the range to qualify, learning about land navigation, route marching and the like. Trueman marched them out to the FOB on Monday and got them settled and took them to the range on Tuesday.

This morning found Trueman sitting in the bleachers near a small group of medical hold soldiers who did not know him and were not aware that he was one of the TAC NCO's. They were talking among themselves about being in med hold and about "what assholes the instructors are." Trueman asked one of them what he was in the med hold company for.

The guy told him, "I'm milking this."
Trueman asked, "Let me get this right: there's nothing wrong with you?"
He answered, "There sure ain't. But what the fuck's it to ya? I'm getting mine!"

They continued talking about their instructors. One of the more loud-mouthed med hold soldiers said, "Fuck that motherfucker. I don't have to listen to his shit. I'm getting my pay-off and I'm the hell outta here."

Trueman asked, "What makes you think your instructor is such a bad guy?"
The guy replied, "Who the fuck are you?"
Trueman said, "I'm one of the TAC NCOs."
The private replied, "Then fuck you, too!"

The day continued to dis-improve from there on out.

At one point during the morning, Trueman was tasked to bring a load of blankets to the female tent in the FOB because the female students had complained that "the sleeping bags were not adequate" for them. The sleeping bags in question are the Army's new three-piece sleeping bag system, which are being used on cots, inside framed tents that have heaters and cement floors. How they could possibly be not adequate for anyone's use is beyond me.

Later in the day, several of the AIT students used their cell phones - (Why the hell do they even get to have and use cell phones while in AIT, and particularly, while in the field?) - to complain up the chain of command that Trueman had "insulted", "belittled", "yelled at", "annoyed", etc. etc. them by doing various things they did not like. Because, apparently, AIT students are now given the option to bitch, whine, and gripe up the chain of command about anything from an instructor telling them to do something they don't want to do, to having to eat military chow.

What they complained about:

Trueman had everyone chug a canteen of water because a number of people were not drinking and were having issues with the heat. That, apparently, was "forced hydration" and is viewed as "group punishment".

He told one private to go put his helmet on as they prepared to march to the range. Every single other soldier in the formation, he pointed out, is wearing IBA and helmet, so why aren't you? That, supposedly, was "singling him out" and "belittling him" in front of others.

He told one soldier that he needed to pull his weight because he was punking his buddies by making them pick up his share of the work. Apparently, he doesn't get to use the word "punk" for some reason or another.

Things gloriously culminated at the firing range.

The AIT students were preparing to do snap-fire drills. This works as follows: the soldier starts out with his weapon held muzzle down, then turns a quarter to the right while bringing the weapon to his shoulder and engaging the target. It's a pretty simple drill designed to develop muscle memory and reflex shooting abilities, kind of like the Sykes-Fairbairn method of point-fire shooting that Trueman and I do with pistols.

Trueman was standing to the right and back of one soldier, and a range cadre was standing to the right of the same soldier, waiting for everyone to get in position to get the snap-fire drill started. The soldier in front of Trueman placed his magazine in the weapon and chambered a round. Without waiting to be told, the moron flicked his weapon off safe and turned around, sweeping the barrel toward the range cadre. I don't know what this idiot was thinking. Fortunately, Trueman was thinking. He lunged forward and physically took the weapon from the soldier before he had a chance of pulling the trigger and killing the guy in front of him.

By the time Trueman made it back to the FOB, however, that soldier had called up the chain of command and complained that he had "been assaulted". So Trueman had to report to his chain of command and got a lecture about what he can and cannot do to the soldiers he is in charge of, and he's been temporarily pulled from his TAC officer duties and sent to the school house to still address students' issues and concerns (finance issues, medical appointments, casualty officer duties), but not actually do any instructing.

He was frustrated beyond belief when he got home last night because he can't, for the life of him, figure out what it was he did wrong. He told his soldiers what they needed to do so they're squared away in the field (and, eventually, in combat), tried to get them to watch out for each other, and prevented a moron with a loaded weapon from killing someone else. And here he was, getting punished for doing it.

A long time ago, his Station Commander in USAREC told him, "Don't get too excited about going back to the real Army. The real Army has changed." Trueman called him up last night to tell him he was right. It has changed.

Concealed Carry

Xavier wrote an amazing piece called the Concealed Carry Creed that should be required reading for anyone who carries a weapon with a permit (or without, in states where a permit is not required) in their everyday life.

He has kindly given permission for people to reprint and use this creed as they wish, so please - pass it on. Post it to your blog. Print it and place it on your wall. Forward it to your friends. (And maybe stop by Xavier's page to thank him for writing it.)

The Concealed Carry Creed

My weapon is for the protection of my life and the lives of others. That is its sole purpose. It does not confer rights, responsibilities or authority greater than that of other citizens. It merely allows me to protect life.

I will seek never to have to use my weapon. If I can avoid conflict, I will. If I can resolve conflict, I will. If I can escape danger, I will. If I am forced to bring my weapon to bear and use it, I will.

I will acquire superior training with my weapon. It is not the weapon that saves lives, but my effective use of the weapon. I will ensure my training is sound, my knowledge is current, and my mind is prepared.

I will know, understand, and obey all laws and ordinances concerning my weapon no matter where I happen to be. Failure to do so harms all who seek to legally carry an effective means of self protection.

I will know and follow the Four Rules of safe gun handling. I am a member of a growing community that must foster and teach safe and responsible gun handling if the community is to survive.

Where?!

I've long held the belief that there's some little town in Bumfuck, United States, where they find all those people who willingly and knowingly come on TV in shows like Jerry Springer and Divorce Court to air their dirty laundry for millions of (laughing) television viewers to share in their idiocy.

Every so often, one of these people has an epiphany of how they can do better than Jerry Springer or Divorce Court, and they attempt some sort of serious legal case, usually involving a law suit over something that should be fixed by common sense.

This New York woman is a prime example:

A New York woman has filed a $100 claim against Norwalk saying a family outing to the Maritime Aquarium was ruined by dog feces. The woman claims her child's shoes, along with the entire outing, were ruined when her 1-year-old stepped in dog feces outside the Maritime Garage.

There are few things I despise more than people who don't pick up their dog's poop, particularly if their dog's poop is located on a busy sidewalk in a busy part of town, rather than, say, in the middle of the woods off a trail. However, one thing I despise more are people who think they are entitled to taxpayer money because they don't watch where they're going and haven't mastered the art of using a tool as simple as a garden hose to clean poop off their shoes.

Now, I'm a dog owner, but even so I obviously don't enjoy stepping in dog poop. I have, however, done that before - and yes, I was pissed, particularly since it was someone else's dog's poop - but I went and rinsed my shoes off. No big deal, right? I had to do this all the time with my riding boots when I used to ride horses as a kid. Step in horse poop. Go rinse it off. Simple. Simple.

Not this woman. She's suing for $100 - $54 to cover the cost of her 1 year old son's shoes, and $46 for parking and aquarium admission. Which begs to ask two questions. (Well, three, but "When did you have that lobotomy again, ma'am?" is probably not an appropriate question to ask.) First, what kind of person buys a 1 year old $54 shoes, anyway, considering the kid will grow out of them pretty much the day he puts them on. Second, the poop can't have ruined the outing very much if they still went to the aquarium after he stepped in it. If they did not go on with the rest of their planned day, why's she suing for the aquarium admission?

Stupidity should be painful!

Determination

Woodchuck

About a mile past our house, the road comes to a sudden dead end and opens up to a field which gently slopes down to the shores of the James River. The particular beach front and pier in that location are private property and, like most properties around here, labeled as such. However, just on the other side of that field is a new development of fancy town homes which is still in a state of construction, and that development has its own lovely beach and pier, which are not labeled anything and are not yet closed off to anyone - although, looking at the homes they're building, that may happen in the near future.

As of right now, the beach is one of mine and Abby's favorite places to walk to and spend time at, and we found ourselves walking out there last night. Passing the trees that separate our field from the development, I noticed a large furry bum with a short, stubby tail in the branches of a tree opposite of where I was standing. I thought at first that I was looking at a cat, although chocolate brown cats are somewhat of a rarity. I figured I would snap a photo, and when my camera made its little clicking noise, the furry bum turned around and turned out to be not a cat, but a groundhog.

This is the first time I've actually caught a groundhog up in a tree, and I thought it was pretty neat, so I kept shooting film while Mr. Woodchuck shot down the branch and into the grass below at surprising speed for a creature who looks like a sausage loaf with feet.

Cool Factor

This earns some serious cool points in my book. Why have I not heard of anyone laser-engraving technology such as laptops and cell phones before?

Incompatibility

A couple of weeks ago, Trueman returned from work late on a Friday afternoon with a brand new bicycle in the back of the SUV. The bicycle is an Upland Patrol, which is an inexpensive but nice mountain bike sold at the PX. I've been wanting to take up bicycling with Abby since it will give her a much better workout than just walking around the neighborhood and playing in the yard, and since she runs at a faster pace than I do.

Running next to a bicycle doesn't come naturally to most dogs, and there's a certain amount of training that needs to go into the process before you can enjoy a fun ride with your dog happily trotting along. Fortunately for us, Abby already knows a whole pile of commands that come in handy for bicycling: heel to keep her next to the bike, slow to get her to slow down, stop to stop (usually followed by sit for sitting down), left to turn left and right to turn right.

We've been doing a lot of short runs to get her used to the whole process and to polish the commands a bit while she's running next to the bike. I keep her on her normal rope lead, which I'm holding between the palm of my hand and the handlebar of my bike. That way, I can just lift my hand to drop the leash if there's ever a need. I also use her prong collar for this, just as a safety measure. Our short runs are usually around two miles and take us through our immediate neighborhood and the little roads branching off our "main" (if you want to call it that) road.

Things have been going real well.

That is, until Abby decided that she had to stop and poop while we were going down the road at a pretty good speed. No warning, no whine, no uncomfortable look, no slowing down. She just up and squatted in the middle of a run. Guess what I learned? Even if you just have the leash between your hand and the handle bar, it's not physically possible to just "let go".

Road rash. Gotta love it.


That was actually taken last night, not when it first happened. The funny thing is, I was actually wearing long pants (Nike running pants) and it didn't even tear the pants. In case it's not obvious, that's my right knee.

Same old Argument

Summer is rapidly descending upon southern Virginia, as it tends to do annually. You would think that I would be expecting this by now, but each year, I find myself standing in front of my closet every morning as soon as temperatures heat up, going, "I don't own any summer clothes!"

The reason I don't own any summer clothes has nothing to do with the fact that I don't like summer or that I don't like clothes. It has to do with the fact that there are no acceptable summer clothes available anywhere where I can find them. They've gotta be somewhere, I just haven't found them yet.

Let me get started by saying that I'm not the type of person who likes to wear skirts. The main reason I dislike skirts is the fact that, unless my thighs are covered by shorts, pantyhose, or long knickers, I tend to get heat rash on them. Which is both itchy and painful. Which makes wearing a skirt rather un-fun.

Then there's the fact that skirts don't have pockets. Shorts have pockets. Pants have pockets. Why the hell don't skirts have pockets? Trueman's argument is, "Buy a purse." A purse is pretty impractical, considering that most of the time I'd be wearing the skirt when I'm out and about, I'm usually holding a camera in one hand, and a 60lbs German Shepherd on a leash in the other. I have no hands free to hold a clutch purse, the stupid things always slide off my shoulder if they have straps, and I'm constantly worried I will leave it somewhere. Purse ... not such a grand idea.
I've found shorts to be just as hard to find as skirts, which is partially due to the fact that most clothing stores have a mysterious black hole between their women's clothing sections. On one side of the black hole are the teenage girls' fashions, the so-called "juniors" department. On the other side of the black hole are the women's fashions, and those are geared more toward middle-aged, overweight, Soap-opera-watching, housewives or toward little old blue haired ladies named Velma.

And the black hole is in the middle, where clothing for the twenties to thirties crowd should be. You know, stuff like I would want to wear. Because I don't want to wear jeans that are so tight I'll be injuring internal organs with three layered "boyfriend" cut High School Musical tank tops, and I also don't want to wear Danskin stretch pants and White Stag blouses. I want to wear stuff that doesn't make me look like I just turned 16, and stuff that doesn't make me feel like I should be starting menopause. Normal stuff. Stuff normal people between 20 and 40 wear.

It's no wonder most women my age make Stacy's hair turn grey by wearing nothing but jeans and T-shirts year 'round. It's the only bloody thing we can find (in places other than New York City, apparently, and at prices real humans who work for a living can afford) that doesn't make us look or feel stupid.

And don't get me started (again) on the subject of bathing suits.

Yeah, it's that time of year when yours truly is looking for a nice new bathing suit. Problem is, they're all designed by people who either don't have any boobies, or whose boobies are so small, they need a bathing suit top only to cover them, not to provide support. Well, guess what, people? I am a double-D cup. That means they're large as well as heavy. A single flimsy strap the width of a spaghetti noodle, wrapped around the back of my neck will not provide the support they need to stay where they should be. Particularly considering that the stupid strap is also elastic. That single strap will, however, do the following: it will cut into my neck causing discomfort and a headache.

I don't understand why it is so difficult for bathing suit manufacturers to come up with a bathing suit top that is designed like a bra top. Having an under wire would be nice. Having two shoulder straps that are adjustable in length would be totally awesome. Getting the whole thing in a nice design, not grandma's-pattern-of-yesteryear would be even better. You know, so those of us with large boobies can actually enjoy summer instead of dreading it.

I think I'll be swimming in my Nike sports bras this year. They fit and they're pretty. They're even reflective, so I'm assuming they're meant to be worn on the outside. Too bad they don't make matching bikini bottoms to go with them.

Lookie, Lookie

I have a new blog layout. Well, I have a new banner at any rate. And there's a funny little story behind it, too.

You see, I used to really be into pen palling, starting when I was very young - maybe around 7 or 8 years old. Back then, I would meet other kids my age on my travels, we'd exchange addresses when it came time to part, and we'd write a couple of times before slowly loosing interest. Around sixth grade I started pen palling seriously and in two languages, English and German, and I kept many of those pals for a long time. I still had some of them until a few years ago. These days, I don't have a lot of pen pals anymore, but I still have a few good friends I keep in touch with via email every so often. I suppose you could view that as a kind of pen palling.

A couple of years ago, a pal from Korea sent me a letter full of various little bits of notepaper and envelopes from her visit to Japan. Among them was one set featuring the strange little cat omelet you see at the top of my blog. (The characters are called Nyanko and are featured on a whole line of household items made by San-X in Japan.) I always thought it was really cute and that it was too cute to just use it for writing and sending to someone else, so I kept it. I didn't know what to do with it, though.

The other day, I was going through various storage drawers in my office when I happened across it, tucked away with some other stationary and a couple of Desert Storm leaflets at the back of a drawer. I figured I wanted to use it, but didn't know for what. Then I looked at my blog and remembered that a couple of people said they didn't like the Genshiken layout or that they didn't "get it", and an idea shot into my head. "What about a silly cat omelet layout", that idea said.

So I scanned it into Photoshop, vectored it, added the katakana for "nyan nyan" (which is how cats say "meow" in Japanese), and voila - the graphic you see above. It's actually made up of two different parts of the stationery: the omelet is from the envelope, and the little cat on the right is from the notepaper. I also changed the cats. In the original, they are an orange tabby on the left, a solid white cat in the center, and a tricolor lucky cat on the right. In mine, they're my three kitties: my dilute calico Malice on the left, my buff tabby Maus in the center, and my brown tabby Murphy on the right.

And yes, I am more fun than a cat omelet!