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May. 22nd, 2010



Pretty grainy picture, but now that I'm borrowing a decent printer from Maggie, I'm getting pretty good reproducing these old WWII documents. This is a "proof of delousing pass" issued by the German army, stamped with the date of issuance, proofmark from the delousing facility, and signed by a doctor.

Part of a few documents I'm putting together for my Russian/Cossack friends. I should have been down at the Virginia Beach Airshow there earlier today to pass them out, but I got behind on my printing and will have to go tomorrow. We'll have a big ol' nerdy reenacting paperwork party.

I'm also putting together a bunch of these little Red Army ID books:

May. 19th, 2010

Sailor Jerry

Are You Seein' What I'm Seein'?

A lot of people are runnin' around sayin' "No to Socialism." I just want to know where I can get my hand on some a' that dope those people found, 'cause I'd actually like t' see some of that Socialism they're seein' around here first, before I knew what I was sayin' 'NO' to!

Dec. 21st, 2009


We Need to Talk...

While perusing my usual collective of blogs on the company dime this afternoon, I finally figured out why I've been so averse to writing things down online. A blog, like any other kind of journal, is like a passive therapist, a silent ear that acts as the thin thread between me coping with the world, and me bursting pustules of pent-up Insanity and Rage all over such persons as friends or family or innocent shoppers or errant clergy.

A simple need fulfilled by a simple, web-based program.

And obviously, I haven't been committed yet, and for this I mostly have Maggie and my Prophets to thank. Breuer's Talking Cure is no joke. So, being that my therapeutic needs have been fulfilled, the blog has sort of sunken into one of its longer slumps, and unfortunately lots of awesome entries regarding road trips, dating, food-ing, rocking out, birthdays, funerals, and such have been left for the pictures to tell. I'm not even going to attempt to recall the highlights, for there have been far too many.

So, in moving forward, hopefully I keep the updates semi-regular and semi-interesting.

Recently, I've been really interested in trying to reproduce nerdy, anal retentive documents for various reenacting impressions. For example, I starting playing around with Publisher and banged out this...

Soviet ID Form

...which was an ID form for the Red Army that was filled out, rolled up, and shoved into this...

Bakelite ID capsule

Pretty rare piece of history, an example of which I was able to buy off of my friend Mike for a very reasonable price. Most superstitious Soviet peasants considered it bad luck to fill this out, thinking that it would guarantee one's death. Many of these ended up being thrown away. But, since our particular group is a pre-/early-World War II group and rather well kitted-out, it makes sense that we'd all have these. If only I can come up with the right kind of paper on which to print these, then we'll be set.

Jun. 25th, 2009

Sailor Jerry

A Broken Heart Disorder.

I just got back from the bar, and it's late. I'm up listening to songs by Hot Water Music and Saves the Day from like ten years ago that I used to play back when I was a freshman in college.

I can see this circumstance repeating itself well into my forties and fifties. Age is a construct. We'll still be emo indie rock assholes when we're old and grey and still living alone.

Jun. 22nd, 2009

Sailor Jerry

Sorry, LJ...

I'm back from supporting Operation: Javelin Thrust in the vast deserts of Nevada. Not a lot to mention, because I had back-to-back shifts of doing martial arts training and then running the night shift at the supply office. Ergo, no fun trips of exploring anything off-base like Fallon or Reno. Boo. At least I didn't waste any money at the casinos, but I didn't make any either.

On the plus side, I lost a fair bit of weight, and I can actually see my abdominal muscles again. Yay? On the down-side, it's after 3:30am and my body still feels like it's 12:30am. So much for sleep, but I guess it's a good opportunity to catch up on music and shock my body back to living in the EST.

I came back to Richmond feeling very confused about a lot of things: Work; Hobbies; Heart. The funny thing is that I'm not even necessarily worried. If I get burned in any of the above arenas, I feel like I'm in a good place to take my lessons and move on without dwelling too much. I have hopes, of course - and setbacks will hurt for sure - but for once I finally feel like I'm in control of what I'm getting myself into. I'm ready to learn lessons and come out just as happy in the end.

Still, the excitement of hope is giving me something to look forward to when I wake up for the foreseeable future. Yes, excitement and fear, but I suppose that's what to be expected when I've finally found a reason to let myself be vulnerable again.

Fingers crossed - "Il y a toujours l'espoir."

May. 11th, 2009

Sailor Jerry

(no subject)

Okay, okay, so I fail epically at maintaining interest in writing about myself. I've actually been pretty overwhelmed by all the stuff that's been going on.

Ironically since my last post, I was hit by an SUV, and somehow managed to buy a second moped and not consider myself batshit crazy. I mean, if I'm going to get myself killed, I might as well have fun doing it, right? Plus it's much more fulfilling than developing a debilitating addiction to crack cocaine.

My gang, The Prophets of Doom [oh yes, we take ourselves sooooo seriously...], survived our first rally. Barely. It was hosted in Louisville, Kentucky by the illustrious Bourbon Bandits. Despite the fact that both of my mopeds were dead for the majority of the trip, I had a great time, met a lot of great people, and was thoroughly stoked to finally visit Kentucky [and see Indiana from across the river!]. Next up is the Hell's Satans' rally at the end of June, and maybe some forays up to Pittsburgh or Philly to ride with those cats.

My professional life has been pretty disappointing. I feel like my role at work is pretty irrelevant, and I know I'll be out of here within a year. I was already given an "official written final warning" about "un-excused lateness," which is crap because a) everyone here shows up late, and b) since my old supervisor left, my new supervisors have done pretty much everything to keep me out of the loop. So, if I can get my work done at noon instead of coming in early for no reason, I don't see the problem. I am the only arts technician in an organization full of corporate suit-types, and no one really has the chutzpah to say what's really on their minds. I mean, I'm pretty well-acquainted with passive-aggressive tendencies, but this place is ridiculous...

Reenacting has kind of taken a back-burner for the moment. With car repair, and various fines and fees popping up every couple of weeks, it's hard to get back in that mindset of attending events. Plus, there's been a bad case of The Drama going around the reenacting community, and I'm trying to keep my head down until it starts being fun again. Miss all the people, though, so that's been kind of rough, but I need to get my personal life together before I can start rocking out with the hobby again.

Hm. Really that's about it. I mean, it's been a good couple of months since I've put down anything serious here, so sure, I'm leaving out the sordid details of the various bouts of carousing I've done with the friends, and my occasional sordid flirtations and flings, but really, who wants to hear about that?

Mar. 25th, 2009


Trompant la Mort.

I swear that mopeds are going to be the death of me, but I am too addicted to do anything but keep on riding them.

For serious - I was almost run over last night. I was taking a casual evening ride through the cold, testing out the feel of my seat which I had just lowered*. I had done a small loop on a pair of longer one-way roads that we regularly use to test our top-end speeds** and had just started making my way down a slower residential road with stop signs. I am very, very good at obeying stop signs. Unfortunately, this sets me up to assume that others are similarly proficient at remembering the most basic of parental aphorisms, "Look both ways before you cross the street."

Last night I was lucky. I made my way down the street, approaching an intersection where I had the right-of-way. An SUV was sitting at the stop sign. As is typical in The Fan, the SUV [which is too damn big a vehicle for this city anyways] poked its front end just a bit into the road to see around the densely-packed row of parked cars. Well, he moved to see, but this driver's optic nerve apparently failed to communicate to his cerebellum that there was still oncoming traffic.

I made eye contact with, what looked like in the dark, a dim-witted geriatric behind the wheel of the vehicle rolling casually into my path. Sadly, I had just finished hardwiring my bike the week before, eliminating silly extravagances such as switches and horns in favor of running lights and...no alarm-giving device. I went with what seemed like my next best alternative to a horn: Screaming a drawn-out "FUCK!" at the top of my lungs in his general direction whilst applying the brakes and swerving into the opposite lane. Thankfully there was no oncoming traffic, and I had taken the time to tighten my brakes a couple of days beforehand.

No one was hurt, but I'm sure I startled a few years off of the negligent bastard's life.

Puch Puch Puch!
A certain someone's 1978 Puch Maxi-Luxe

*Low seats are full of win, and I'm definitely keeping it this way. Yes, it's harder to pedal from a dead stop, but I definitely feel more in tune with the bike, and more aerodynamic.

**This is not so impressive when you consider that maybe, just maybe we are barely pushing 30 mph...

Mar. 21st, 2009

Sailor Jerry

Skulking back to the blog...

So, no, I didn't die in the unheated new apartment. Yet. It's actually a pretty damn cool place.

Tonight I had my first real throwdown, and I was rather impressed that I, as a kind of social outlier, was able to get such as a vast amount of folks to pour through my doors. It's an uplifting feeling, but a fleeting one. In the moment, I thrive off of the attention, but after everyone is gone, I'm let feeling very confused.

Do people like hanging out at my abode because of me, or just because I dropped some bank into buying a bunch of booze?

It's purely a question out of insecure paranoia, honestly, but I can't help but ask myself the question. No doubt is it a role, but am I playing the Harry, or am I just a Falstaff?

Most likely the latter, and I'm okay with that, as long as people consider me more of the supporter and less of the fool. I feel I've been enough of that, and hopefully one day someone might take me seriously.

Done with the Shakespearean references - time for bed.

Feb. 4th, 2009



Ten degrees Fahrenheit tonight. If I freeze to death in my sleep, NO ONE WILL BE AROUND TO FIND ME.

Irrational fears of living alone.

I hope my heat works...


As of 11:33pm last night, I am officially moved out of my old apartment and into the new one. The last things to go were my ex-roommate's two extra televisions [why someone needed more than one TV in a two bedroom apartment is beyond me], a star-shaped piñata, and a day-glo pink re-re helmet with attached rabbit ear antennae. I ended up donating the TVs to my non-profit employer, and the helmet and piñata are taking up space in my car with the rest of the pack rat stuff I keep in my back seat. Fun.

I am relieved, but exhausted. Monday I had a bunch of awesome friends and family come help me cart my stuff across the way to the new place, and for that I am eternally grateful. After getting abandoned by the roommate, I've just felt so negative about my living space. It was really uplifting to have friends come by and kick my ass into gear. Thanks, guys! We concluded the evening with pizza and beer, and shot a movie in the empty apartment that will hopefully be posted within the week.

Yesterday I woke up in my new place after calling it quits around 3am. It was really cozy, except that the electricity hadn't been activated and I didn't have any heat. As soon as I got out of work, I went right back at it, this time focusing on getting Kelly's shit out. Laura was awesome and came by and took the mattress and box spring. I managed to take care of the rest: two ridiculously heavy platforms made out of 2"x8" for raising the bed off of her floor, a desk, a set of drawers, a table, and a full-length sofa. I almost had the sofa out on my own, but it got stuck in the stairwell. Fortunately, my neighbor was awesome and helped me twist it around so I could flip it into the street and into the alley.

I forgot to eat yesterday because I was so focused on finishing the job, so the only substantial food I've had as of now was the pizza from Monday night. I'm a little woozy, my muscles are shot, and I still need coffee.

And I need the over $300 that Kelly owes me for picking up her part of two months' worth of bills.

But I'm done, and ready to start a new existence on my own in my awesome new apartment. Things can [hopefully] only go up from here.

P.S. I will not have real internets until late tomorrow, so I have no idea what any of you are up to because I can't creepystalk your Facebook status updates. Just a heads-up.

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