Another dark confession

As a pretty ironclad rule, I do not give a flying fuck about celebrities or gossip. But I cannot help but watch the slow motion train wreck that is the life of Jessie James.

Jesse is a high end chopper builder out in California. Discovery did a few shows on him, kicking off the whole absurd chopper craze. This led to his show "Monster Garage" where teams of fabricators had a week to build some bizarre contraption like a hearse/backhoe or a Delorian hovercraft. I liked the show because it required that people think, design and create under a deadline. Yes, there was some drama, but that was second to the project. Now most shows are all about the drama. They can't get enough of people doing stupid things and screaming at each other like harpies.

Time passes,the show is over and I don't hear much about Jesse until I learn that he married Sandra Bullock. Ok, that seems a little weird. But opposites sometimes attract. And it's not as if she can't know that he's been married before and screwed that up.

Flash forward to the academy awards and Mrs. Bullock gets the Oscar for a film I didn't see. Good for her. I've liked some of her work. She doesn't seem to have gone off the rails like some people in Hollywood do.

Then the big shocker, Jesse had an affair with another woman. A heavily tattooed fetish model. Wow. Well, looking at her she seems to have some common interests with Jesse. Then it turned out that she might be a white supremacist. (The jury is still out on that). Oooooookay. You cheat on your beautiful and supportive wife with a woman who seems to have some issues to put it mildly.

But all is not lost. Many couples have worked through this kind of thing before. Hillary forgave Bill right? Maybe she bangs the pool guy to even things up. Or counselling. Whatever. Then another heavily tattooed stripper arrives on the scene. "I've been sleeping with him for two years!" she proudly crows as soon as the check clears. Dude, this is not helping.

But wait, there's now a THIRD woman who says she's been banging him (although she doesn't seem to have any tattoos so I'm not sure she can be trusted, (except for all the text messages she has as proof).

Okay, at this point I don't think you have much of a chance to fix things Jesse. One might wonder why Sandra didn't notice her husband cheating with enough woman to make up a rugby team. But Hollywood is a strange place where the laws of time and space do not apply. Celebrities are constantly doing interviews, travelling to promote themselves, doing 'deals', taking meetings and occasionally... working. So I'll give her some slack. They are busy people.

The fault here lies with Jesse, and he knows it. He doesn't seem like a bad guy really. He opened an environmentally friendly burger joint (whatever that means) does community work and his employees seem to like him. But he is a fuck up with regards to the institution of marriage. Why on Earth did he ever think it was a good idea to get married again? One of his wives tried to stab him while he was in the hospital. You have to be some special kind of dick to inspire that kind of crazy.

It might be that Sandra didn't want a casual relationship and insisted on marriage. At the exact moment she stated this he should have said "I understand your point of view, but I habitually cheat on women, I bid you good day" and walked out. Thus, denying the gossip magazines of millions of dollars of revenue and preventing me from feeling dirty every time I read some new sordid detail in this Greek tragedy.

Some people are fuckups. This doesn't mean they are totally evil or useless. Jesse makes some cool looking choppers. He likes women. Fine. Stick with your strengths and stay away from the whole marriage thing. The whole monogamy thing doesn't seem like your forte'. That's fine, the world does not think ill of men who have sex with several women. You should have stayed single. It would have saved Mrs. Bullock a lot of heartache and legal fees divorcing your ass.

Okay, I'm done.

Minion Wanted

We are looking for one or two new minions to help us over the coming season. One local (NE Ohio)for sure and one somewhere in the Midwest. Our company, Renaissance Fashions (www.ren-fashions.com) sells Corsets, bodices and other clothing as well as Steampunk items .

The job chiefly consists of going to Sci-Fi conventions, SCA events and Renaissance Faires throughout the Midwest and selling our product. Sounds great doesn’t it? It is! You will be involved in sales and basic book keeping but as we are a mobile business you will be helping transport, load, unload, setup and tear down at events.

Sales skill is very helpful but we will also be training you. You need to be fit enough to move heavy tubs of stock and grid wall. A clean driving record and dependable car is a must. Experience driving a cargo van is a plus. If you are local you may be working with us at shows or operating solo. Having Ren-Fair garb also a plus.

If you are not local you will be acting semi-autonomously. You will coordinate with us to book shows. You will then be responsible for getting to shows with your own transportation (a minivan is helpful but not absolutely needed) setting up, selling and then tearing down. You will be required to keep good records regarding expenses, stock levels and providing a report to us after shows.

“Wow! This sounds great! Where do I sign up?”

Not so fast there. It’s important that you understand that this is part time work. Shows are on weekends but with travel you may be on the road from Thursday to Monday. If you work 9-5 M-F and are still interested we might still be able to use you for shows in Ohio and Michigan.

Pay depends on experience and the type of work you are doing. Typically there is a daily rate and a bonus if certain sales goals are met. We also cover certain expenses for shows. Other perks include deep discounts on our products.

This position is open to men or women 21 or older.

If interested email us at steve@renaissancefashions.com or call 440-647-4668

Meh...

I watched The Hurt Locker last night and I am a little confused. Why did this picture win an academy award for best picture?

Don't get me wrong, it was a good movie. But I don't think it was a great movie. The acting was good, but not great. The cinematography was good, but not great. The acting was good. But not great. The best I can say is that it looked like it was shot in the Middle East and indeed it was shot in Amman and Kuwait.

The plot is simple and non-political. Why not? These guys are in a war that very few people are happy about, including soldiers. Yet there isn't word one about it. None of them offers any kind of opinion on their situation, their superiors or the administration that sent them there. It was likely a decision to keep politics from distracting from the story or making the film political but fuck, people have opinions. Strong ones, especially when the action of your government place you in a war. Nothing. Nada.

The lead is obviously an adrenaline junkie, yet no one call him on it to his superiors. Going Rogue is not something EOD guys are supposed to do. The film takes place in 2006 when there were still issues with getting up-armored humvee's and equipment. Nothing. Also, a squad is generally 8-16 guys yet there are only three man characters.Why?

And most importantly, the film didn't grab me emotionally. I didn't really feel anything positive or negative about these people, which is a pretty big deal. Certainly people can have mixed emotions about a fellow soldier, but none of it grabbed me and none of it affected the story for the most part.

Want a great war type movie? Watch Blackhawk Down. First, it's a true story. Second it shows how acting with good intentions can have unintended, brutal consequences. Yes, BHD is more of a shooting film where The Hurt Locker is supposed to be about the tension. But I didn't get any tension from the Hurt Locker, where BHD had a shitload of tension. You are as frustrated as the soldiers on screen who are watching as everything goes to shit. You wonder why no one can get to these guys to help them. You feel ill because despite superior equipment and training a swarm of drug addled thugs are beating the shit out of our guys.

If you were going to give an Oscar for a war film, it should have been Blackhawk Down. The Hurt locker was a let down.

Chicken

Back when I was a corporate drone I was part of the Marketing Department. That meant that there were times that I had to take peoples ideas, no matter how complex or stupid and forge them into Powerpoint presentations.

I made a lot of those suckers. So when I saw this video I felt a bit of nostalgia. It is possibly one of the funniest things I've seen in months. Eventually ALL the concepts started sounding like this.

Details

Some people have asked me about the safety of visiting the middle East and specifically Jordan. Here are some of my observations.

When we arrived in Paris we made our way to the Royal Air Jordan ticket counter. This was right next to the El Al counter, but the difference between them could not be more stark. The El Al counter was, in short, a fortress. There were four armed soldiers in the vicinity, more outside next to an armored vehicle. There is barbed wire on the roof. Several steel posts are set in the floor so that a cart or large luggage cannot be brought directly to the counter. Just being in the area meant we were observed and studied. Israel takes its security very seriously.

In Jordan there are police checkpoints along major roads. The police have a little pull off area. If they wave at you, you pull over and hand them your ID. I never saw the police chasing people for speeding. The speed limit is more of a suggestion. There is however, a clever method to keep peoples speed in check. About once every mile on all but the largest highways there is a large speed bump. Going over it at high speed would quickly destroy your suspension. Clever.

The American Embassy in Amman is heavily fortified. There are at least 20 soldiers around it. Baracades and pickups with .50 cals on them at either end. But then, this is par for the course in a lot of countries there days.

The airport entrance is also fortified. It seems that regular citizens don't easily enter the area. We had to have someone from the tour company meet up with us on the way there and get in our car.

Like in Egypt hotels have barricades (often disguised as large potted plants) and a quick bomb scan.

All this might make you think its a dangerous place but really it did not feel that way. They are wary about their neighbor to the West, but not paranoid. Jordanians are very friendly and are a big US ally. Hell, the King was once an extra on Star Trek Voyager! I'd have no reservations about going back.

Sooooo far behind

Thanks to limited access to wifi and high data costs I didn't post a lot of stuff to the blog but rather to facebook. Now that I'm back I plan to write a few posts about the experience in Jordan.

I also hope to post pics to flickr soon. Stay tuned.

"Being Seen"

Although Venice is behind us I wanted to post about being seen in Venice. The day after the ball we dressed ourselves again and set off for St. Marks. In exchange for my outfit I promised Mr. Weaver at Authentic Wardobe that I would take pics of it all around Venice.


We did our best. I swear. But our progress was very slow. Cameras came from every direction. We would go 5 feet and be stopped by a dozen cameras and 5 people wanting photos with us. Because some of the walkways are very narrow in the city we did out best to not block traffic but a few times we literally stopped traffic. What normally takes 25 minutes to get to St. Marks took 2 hours. One there, it took an hour to cross the square itself, only about 100 yards.

Let me just say that the attention whores in us were mighty happy. I took what pictures I could, but the ones in St. Marks were super crowded. I found a few semi secluded spots and the shots came out pretty well. I wish we had taked some in a Goldola. But those are NOT cheap, even for pics. And getting Rossana into and out of one would have been a major feat.

We circled about until our feet started to give out. On our way back we stopped for dinner at a restaurant. People kept taking pics through the window and causing backups so we moved to the back of the eatery. About 1/4 mile from the hotel a strap gave way on Rossana's petticoat. She caught it before everything went bad and held everything together until she got home and made repairs.

I wish I had done more research before this trip. There are some lovely and secluded spots in the city that are so picturesque. But you need to get up waaay early to beat the crowds. Like 6am.

I'll post some of the picsw of us and the costumes we saw on the square as soon as I can filter through them.

Blog post at last!

I have managed to find a small corner of the hotel where wifi is working. Alas, there is so much to tell. The biggest thing was the masked ball of course, and it was splendid. We returned from a day of sightseeing to our hotel only to learn that the dinner started an hour earlier than we thought.

We dressed with all haste. But Rossana's dress is an engineering feat and it still took over an hour before we left. Once underway we found ourselves turned around. Although we had plotted our way to the palace the day before it had been daytime and the streets had not been filled with thousands of drunken youth. After a quick inquiry we were set again on our path and arrived "fashionably in time". We were one of the last guests to arrive and were introduced by the master of ceremonies to a very attentive crowd. We took a table away from the quartet so we could converse with our fellow guests which consisted of four ladies from New York, a Gentleman from London and his daughter whose accent gave her away as being from Manchester.

Wine was poured and the dinner began. Every part of it was deliscous; served by wigged porters in a silent and efficient dance. The ladies at the table all marvelled at Rossana's dress and our card was well received. The ladies themselves had flown in that day. They had rented their lovely costumes but had made their own maks from hundreds of Swarovski crystals. These were ladies of some means. Not only were they attending this ball, but the Mascherende Ball the following night.

As the dinner moved along I found myself regaling my fellow diners with all manner of stories and history about the Serine Republic. It amazing how many bits and pieces I have picked up over the years. At one point I noticed a couple over my left shoulder and I politely stopped as I thought they wanted to speak to someone at the table.

"Oh go on, please! We were evesdropping from our table next to you."

More wine, more food, more stories. At one point, despite the ingenious vents that I had requested for my hat from Msrs. Poznanski & Martin of Blonde Swan , I had to cool off a bit and take in the palace. As I left the wandered the halls I was stopeed by a lovely French woman and had some kind of conversation despite my lack of French and her lack of English. She was very kind however and complimented my ensemble. There was more talk, much of it from her. The subject of which I cannot guess, marking the first time that I regretted taking German instead of French back at school. Our convesation at an end, she offered her hand and I gave it the correct response (which is not, in fact to kiss it, but instead the thumb of your own hand. Again, useless trivia). She then winked at me, flipped her fan, curtsied and sailed off gracefully.

Our host M. Casanova made an appearence with the first of several escorts. The first being an opera singer of some skill. Later a German magician performed for the room, and then at table, followed by a male singer and then another Soprano. I took my leave again, this time with Rossana to wander the palace and take what pictures I could given the dim light. The space had been decorated beautifully and the candles gave it a magical appearence.

Later in the evening, Casanova led a brief line dance before the guests retired to the first floor for more dancing and drinking. We spoke at length with a lovely German lady and learned that most of the event staff were German, not Italian. It made no difference to me. I was still very happy. We spoke of travel, places we each liked. Somehow it was 2:30 am when we began to make preparations to leave.

The hostess had promissed us a bottle of Champagne as a way to make up for the troubles we had with the payment process. But when she went to look it was all gone. "Would you prefer a bottle of Dom Perignon?"

"I suppose we can make do" was all we could cough out.

She asked if she could get us a water taxi but as we were staying nearby we thought it unnecessary. In hindsight we can see why she wanted us to take the taxi. To get back to our Hotel we had to pass through a Piazza that hours ago had been filled with thousands of young revellers. Most of them, for reasons that I am unsure of, had drawn fake mustashes on themselves. Including the ladies.

The piazza was much less crowded now, but absolutely strewn with the debris of one hell of a party. The greatest risk to us, were the many bottles, whole and smashed, that littered the ground. Make no mistake, this would all be gone by morning and the piazza made spotless like the rest of the city. Possibly with the use of magic or fairies. But aqt the monent it was a dimly lit minefield.

We were almost through when a very... energetic young man came running through the sparce crowd. He seemed to be keen to knock peoples hats off their heads. He went at several people to our left before spinning around and seeing us. He made a slight play for my wife's enormous wig but she flung up her hand quickly and he dodged off. I did not see him come back for the second pass but as soon as he did the bottle of Dom, that had been in my left hand was gone and a very angry wife was using Italien that made the young people nearby gasp.

She swung a broad arc that hit the young man glancingly in the shoulder. The young man did not seemed scarred and laughed a shrill giggle. By now I had gotten some of my wits about me and I raised an imperious voice to bring some sense to this scene "Rossana!" I yelled and all eyes fell to me.

"Not the good stuff!" I shouted, indicating her impromptu weapon.

She gave the bottle a glance and then tossed it to me. I grabbed a bottle from the ground as did my wife and we proceeded to advance on the man, which was not easy considering our shoes and rather cumbersome dress. I believe my wife said something along the lines of "C'mere, I'm gonna beat you to death you little (Sicilian word for donkey fucker)"

The young man, yelling and spinning and likely high as a kite made a short advance, then thought better of it and circled around. We watched him bounce off a lightpost, which spun him around 180 degrees back our way. Rossana did not need to thrust the bottle per se, he just kind of fell into it, letting out a bit of a whoosh. I am also fairly sure that the bottle did not connect very hard with the mans chin when she brought it up while shoving him back. At this point I believe the man realized this was not where he wanted to go and stumbled sideways into the night.

There were no more incidents that evening.

The balll

Wifi
In the hotel lobby works quite well so I will blow about the masked
ball later today from there inluding pictures. For now we are off at
dawn to see the city empty and visit the island or Murano, known for
it's glas blowing.

Sent from my iPhone

Technical issues

It's been hard accessing blogger via our hotel wifi. I'm posting this
via email. Venice is rapidly filling up. San Marco was wall to wall
people today. Many gorgeous costumes and a few that defy explanation
like the group of Germans dresses as banditor in surrape's and
sombreros.

Toured the Doges palace again including parts of the prisons that
weren't open last time. Very cold inside. We must have walked 10 miles
through the winding streets.

We are resting now before dressing for the Ball.

Sent from my iPhone

Off on adventure!

Thursday Rossana and I depart on our latest adventure. Despite all of our planning there are a few unanswered questions and we have no idea how it will turn out. But that's half the fun, isn't it? For this trip, we are returning to a place dear to my heart. Venice! From the moment I stepped foot in Venice years ago I fell in love with it. And I wondered what it would be like to be there during Carnival and dreamed of attending a masked ball in one of the palaces that line the Grand Canal. Come Friday I will wonder no more.

That's right, we're going to a masked ball! I am, to put it bluntly, beyond geeked. Rossana has been working on her outfit for months. The last few pieces of my outfit have arrived. Next Saturday we will enter the Zenobio Palace for the Casanova Ball; Night of the Masked Porters.

For those who are unfamiliar, Venice was for centuries the party capitol of Europe. Tales of the republics decadence are legendary. At one point Napoleon tried to put a cap on it, as three months of the year and a significant portion of the GDP were being poured into this event. Eventually, Mussolini banned it outright. But Venice would not be denied, and the Grand Celebrations have returned.

There are many events scheduled during the two weeks of Carnival (Or Mardi Gras as its known here). Parades, performances, concerts, operas and of course the Masked Balls. These recall a time when much of Venice wore masks in everyday life. Powerful and well connected men and women conducted their affairs in anonymity. Gambling, attending the theater with one's mistress... If no one knows who you are who can forbid you?

The largest events are the Dogaressa Ball, the Masherenda and the Casanova Ball at the Zenobio. Each event is held in a building dating back at least to the 16th Century. All attendees must wear historical costume. No Ghost Busters or Start Trek outfits here. The costume shops of Venice produce some of the most amazing outfits I have ever seen. And the price is quite high to rent them. This is where Rossana's skills and the kindness of several friends comes in. I am indebted to Mr. Weaver of Authentic Wardrobe for supplying me with a stunning jacket and waistcoat. Blonde Swan hats is making a tri-corn hat for me. The other parts have been make by Rossana and gathered from online and local resources.

For a while, it looked like we wouldn't be attending at all. Last season was somewhat crappy but we managed to pull a few good weekends near the end. Then there was the problem of getting tickets. Rossana tried no less than 5 times to purchase tickets. Each time she was thwarted by a crappy website, a payment system in German and finally Uncle Sam demanding to know every detail of our foreign bank transfer. Several skype calls were placed to make sure we were on the guest list and the apologetic hosts have assured us the various fees we incurred will be refunded and a lovely bottle of Champaign will be presented for our inconvenience. This is all well and good. But it is Monday and the tickets have not yet arrived in the mail. Using google Earth I have found a wall near the back of the Palace. Should things go pear shaped, I am pretty sure we can scale it and gain entrance to the event in a surreptitious manner.

It's been quite a while since I've been to a party, let alone a masked ball. The party doesn't start until 9 and goes (I am told) until dawn. We shall see how long we can endure. There will be performers of all types, much food and drink, dancing (with instruction by a classic dance master). There may also be fireworks!

Alas, our stay in Venice will be a short one. The weather at this time of the year is dreadful and the city is filled with tourists. So not long after the party we fly to the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan. We've found a tour that will explore Petra and several crusader era castles along with the Dead Sea. It will be quite a change from the decadence of Venice. Is it safe? Well, Jordan does border Iraq in the Al-Anbar province as well as Syria and Israel. But Jordan is a strong US supporter and a pretty stable constitutional monarchy. The State department has no serious red flags as of this writing but who can say.

I will post Facebook and blog posts as internet access allows. I will be taking a crapload of pictures. The party itself is lit by candle light. I don't know how well any shots will come out but I will do my best.

Always on the loosing side...

I have a long history of backing the wrong technological horse. Betamax, VESA local bus, Sony minidisc. I've seen it all. And now my beloved blogger (the system that powers this site) is giving me a bit of a finger up the ass, so to speak.

Apparently, only .5% of blogger users are publishing using FTP. Everyone else is using blahblah@blogspot.com or something like that. Am I part of the .5%? You betcha! What does this mean? Apparently Blogger has to spend a lot of time helping us FTP users, so they are discontinuing that service. Instead, everything will be hosted on THEIR servers, which they would NEVER censor or put excessive ads on. Ever.

Sigh.

So at some point I have to perform a migration that will, at some critical point, cock up horribly. Leaving me screaming and banging my head against my keyboard. Computers are fun! I'm working through their process now to try and figure out how I can keep www.thecoolreport.net without having to add /blog/ after it but that may not be doable. I have until March 22 but I want to get on this now. If the site is MIA or weird for a bit, please stay tuned as we are experiencing technical shenanigans...

Truth

It is done!

At long last my secret project has come to fruition! Announcing the Mark 1 Brass Goggles. I'll be selling these things over at my website www.got-steam.com

This represents about 2 months of solid work. It was also a great learning experience. I displayed these at ChattaCon and have already sold a few pair. They are indeed pricey, but I think there is a market for a pair of high end brass goggles in the steampunk community.

Requiem for a Pariah

If I told you that a few months ago that the FBI arrested a man for trading child pornography you might reasonably say "Good". That is what they are supposed to do. Those with a more jaundiced view of law enforcement might wonder if this was a terrible mistake. But all evidence indicates that he was guilty of this crime. He even confessed to it.

If I told you that several days ago he hanged himself in jail, you might say "Good riddance". We, the law abiding tax-payers are spared the expense of a trial and the cost of his incarceration.

So far as you the reader are concerned, this is the end of the story. Justice is served. But it isn't. Not for me. You see, I knew this man.

He was my age, graduated high school the same year as me. We met through a re-enactment group and were both involved in the same community theater. He was not what I would call a close friend but rather part of that larger social circle I seemed to have when I was younger. I might see him several times a week. either at events, at rehearsal or even socially. At the time I knew him best he didn't exhibit any kind of strange or suspicious behavior. I have heard some say "there was always something about him..." but that is nonsense.

As time passed we saw less and less of each other until we only spoke perhaps once a year at an event we both attended. In the years between our golden youth and adulthood something obviously changed. I don't know when it happened and I never will. And to you, it isn't even a question worth asking. After all, he committed a crime, and one that society deems quite unforgivable.

News of his arrest spread quickly. And once the nature of his crime was revealed he became a non-person. He was not spoken of other than "Did you hear about...?" and a silence. There are no traces of him on social network sites. He became a pariah. I supposed I was no different than anyone else. I wanted to write to him, though I'm not sure why. But I had no idea who to ask about it. More importantly, I wasn't sure what I would say.

And now he's gone.

But there was a man, and the story of his life was more than the crime he was guilty of. When I knew him he was always an active debater. Always challenging, always questioning. He was passionate about justice and fairness. He enjoyed being part of a team, not grandstanding. He worked several crappy jobs like everybody else. He joined the Army, served honorably and went to college. He eventually went to law school and passed the bar.

He became a public defender. He married and had a child of his own.

These last two details seem to make the matter even more disturbing, more reprehensible. He above all knew that what he did was illegal, and immoral. But did that make him an irredeemable person?

To you the answer might be an unequivocal "Yes". The people who left comments on the newspapers website thought so when the story was posted. "Shoot the f@cker!" , "sick POS", "burn in hell" they yelled. He betrayed the trust his friends and co-workers put in him. He betrayed his wife. He crossed a line and having done so is deserving of our scorn without any pity. To some, it is an easy decision. To me that question is not so easily answered.

How can I conceive of such a thing? How can I believe there is anything worthwhile to this person? Because in my lifetime I have known people who also broke the law and committed unsavory deeds. I've known alcoholics, thieves and drug addicts. I have even known murderers. And in getting to know them I have found some to have redeemed themselves. They have led good lives. They are, at their core, good people. After paying their debts they clawed their way back to a life that was worth living.

Could my friend have been redeemed? Some would say no. And I will not try to change their minds. It is only because I knew him for so long that I even consider it a possibility. It's because he was always willing to play the devils advocate that I speak up on his behalf, rather than consigning him to a silent death. It seems only fair that a man who defended others should himself have someone say something on his behalf. Not to defend what he did nor ask for people to forgive him but merely to declare that there was once a man, a flawed man, true, but man who was greater than the sum of his sins.

My opinion, I suppose, counts for nothing. In the end, he judged himself more harshly than we, or the law ever could.

It's all over now. And nothing good came of it all.

Goodbye Sean.