Dave LeCompte (really) (tsmaster) wrote,
Dave LeCompte (really)

So far, this weekend, I've puttered around and done a tiny bit of stuff - I've got these huge to-do lists, and long weekends are an opportunity to catch up, not really a venue for relaxing.


Really, it's OK - I do fun stuff in amongst everything else, and putting that sort of thing on the list helps me make sure I do a good balance of "should do" and "want to do" stuff.

Stuff I've done so far this weekend:

  • played poker with some friends
  • lost $15, did not win a single hand. That's a good night of poker.
  • read some
  • played some of Penny Arcade's The Rainslick Precipice of Darkness
  • finally bought a wheel for my XBox 360
  • danced some
  • played some more of PA:tRPoD
  • slept in (sort of)
  • more of that game
  • cut a bunch of firewood with an electric chainsaw - a new experience for me. I did not cut any fingers, toes, arms, or legs off. Not even one! Mine or those of passersby!
  • some way overdue laundry
  • discovered that I couldn't find my third Netflix DVD
  • sorted through my piles of mail, my unfiled papers, my stacks of whathaveyou
  • found the DVD inside the couch

I guess it's premature to say I was cutting firewood - to me, it's just a bunch of limbs that came down in one of the storms last winter. Cut to reasonable lengths, I'll give them to my folks and to my neighbors, and they'll be thankful. They'd better.

While I was sweating away in the moderate sun (it burns us!), I had two verses stuck in my head on repeat:

  • From http://nielsenhayden.com/makinglight/archives/009290.html a little ditty merging Lovecraft and Milne:

    Cottleston, Cottleston, Cottleston Pie,
    That’s not dead which can eternal lie,
    And in aeons strange even Death may die —
    Cottleston, Cottleston, Cottleston Pie.

  • Somehow, that segued into the familiar Robert Service verse:

    There are strange things done in the midnight sun
    By the men who moil for gold;
    The Arctic trails have their secret tales
    That would make your blood run cold;
    The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
    But the queerest they ever did see
    Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
    I cremated Sam McGee.

Sort of a dark and poetic mood to be in. Perhaps it's OK, given the meaning of Memorial Day (or, for that matter, Decoration Day). Or, perhaps it's a little too goofily gothic for what might ought to be a somber occasion. I blame Jerry/Tycho and to a lesser extent Mike/Gabe.

A few things I'm hoping to do by the end of the weekend:

  • bbq with some friends
  • survive the last fight in Rainslick Precipice - I've got a savegame right before, and I've learned a few things each time I've died.
  • watch a movie or two
  • update a linux machine with Fedora 9

There's much more to do, but it's not all getting done, I know that. Man, I need a week off.
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