In my last real post I basically laid out a shopping list, a pros and cons list, of different swords, and I don’t think I really got into why I want a sword. More than just strutting down the street with a sword strapped to my belt, what I really want is my own fiefdom.
A fiefdom was generally awarded, gifted, or otherwise given to a vassal for his allegiance to some larger lord, some larger owner of land. It was a way to cement the relationship between vassal and lord, and a way to ensure a mutually-beneficial relationship. A vassal was, in a way, a tenant who paid some manner of rent (usually in the form of military service and undying allegiance to his liege lord) and owed his being there to the, duh, landlord.
In times of strife, a vassal and the able men of his fief could be called upon by the lord to carry arms against some foe, be it in a crusade or just some vagrant brigands disturbing another vassal’s fiefdom. The land would be given to a vassal so that he could have his manor, his family, his serfs, his soldiers, all his underlings support him and grow beneath him, such that they might provide for him should he and his men be called off to war or whatever.
This is, at least, my own rough understanding of the system.
What attracts me to the whole thing is just the idea of being given some land and told to raise a family, get a little manor and maybe town going around you, and suit up with my war buddies if I’m ever needed by my liege lord. I wouldn’t mind getting my land through military tenure, having to ship off the sons of my family and my fief’s families every year for some rigorous training and battling and whatever. It’s just like in Switzerland with their minimum 260 days of required army service. First, a main bout of training and whatnot, and then just a three-week check-up every year until they get too old or battered to show up.
I know it sounds cruel to just say, “Oh yes, I don’t care about other people’s sons, I don’t care about life or peace or blah blah blah…” C’mon, it’s the middle ages, get over yourself, everyone’s going to war, I might as well get a sweet patch of land out of it. And fiefdoms were generally hereditary, so I’d be setting up my kids for success too. So take that.
But more than having a sweet patch of land, more than being rich and successful in my own little world, more than having a little power to throw around and a bunch of serfs, peons, and other incredibly fun words beneath me, I’d have honour, and respect, and loyalty. I’d be a kick ass knight, in some kick ass armour and obviously with an awesome sword. And I’d name my sword, just like I’d name my horse and manor and all that other good stuff. Gone are the days when people named their homes, at least for the most part. Of course Frank Lloyd Wright named the homes he built, and of course B.B. King named his guitar Lucille, but I mean like Excalibur, like Sting and all those Elven swords I could never remember.
I might be romanticizing this whole scenario, but I’ve always imagined it as being in some sort of knight-club or knight-posse or some such, with the liege lord being captain of the Gloucester Gallivanters and all of us vassals being his team. And we’d gallivant across the country, back and forth and burn and pillage the jerks who burned and pillaged us the year before, and it would be all manly and awesome, but at the same time be noble and… manly.
Yeah, it’s basically Medieval Times Dinner & Tournament. My dream is to live that exact life, all the time. I want the life that gives me the food, the violence, the showmanship, but with fewer utensils, and more ladies. Maybe a titch more political stability too. But definitely the colour schemes. Love the colour schemes.
DFTBA
Monday, February 25, 2008
Knights
Monday, February 18, 2008
Excerpts
In my off-week, I bring you selected excerpts from Watchmen. Don't shoot, I am merely the messenger. All props, respect, and awe (not to mention the words) are property of Alan Moore & Dave Gibbons. DFTBA
Delirious, I saw that hell-bound ship’s black sails against the yellow indies sky, and knew again the stench of powder and men’s brains, and war. The heads nailed to its prow looked down, those with eyes; gull-eaten; salt-caked; liplessly mouthing, “No use! All’s lost!” The waves about me were scarlet, foaming, horribly warm, yet still the freighter’s hideous crew called out, “More blood! More blood!” Its tar-streaked hull rolled over me. In despair I sank beneath those foul, pink billows, offering up my wretched soul to Almighty God, His mercy and His judgement.
Waking from nightmare, I found myself upon a dismal beach-head, amongst dead men and the pieces of dead men. Bosun Ridley lay nearby. Birds were eating his thoughts and memories. Reader, take comfort from this: in hell, at least the gulls are contented. For my part, I begged that they should take my eyes, thus sparing me further horrors. Unheeded, I stood in the surf and wept, unable to bear my circumstances. Eventually, tears ceased. My misfortunes were small: I was alive, and I knew that life had no worse news to offer me.
I had a sudden memory of clinging fast to someone through the tempest. The figurehead lay at my feet, blindfolded by seaweed. Alone upon that dreadful shore, she smiled. I made to take the ribbon of kelp from off her painted eyes, then thought better of it, not wishing her to suffer the terrible distractions of that grim tideline. It was all I could do for her, though she had borne me through seas of blood, though her cold, wooden breast had nourished me in the heart of the storm. Her damp embrace had prevented me from drifting beyond reach, yet this small comfort was all I could offer; I could not love her as she had loved me.
~
The freighter’s murderous onslaught had surprised us.
We’d been blasted to fragments before we could warn Davidstown of this hell-ship’s approach. I alone survived upon my remote atoll. I thought of my family: vulnerable, unsuspecting, never dreaming that damnation bore down upon them, sails pregnant with a pirate wind, a necklace of heads about its prow. Crazed with helplessness, I cursed God and wept, wondering if He wept also. But then, what use His tears, if His help was denied me? My own sobbing had frightened the gulls. They departed, and in the terrible silence I understood the true breadth of the word “isolation.”
That night, I slept badly beneath the cold, distant stars, pondering upon the cold, distant God in whose hands the fate of Davidstown rested. Was He really there? Had He been there once, but now departed?
~
The morning sun found me no more wise, no less troubled. Further down the shore, several of the beached corpses had become inflated by gas. I set about burying the sodden carcasses, matching odd limbs as best I could with them, I buried all hope for my family’s survival. Using driftwood, I began a pit, deep and wide. I had never seen nor imagined so many dead people.
Noon came and went. By dusk, the crater was deep enough and I commenced hauling those cold, maimed, wretched things into the bed I had prepared. Dragging and cursing, I hoped my wife and daughters might be tucked in by gentler hands when their turn came. I began to weep again. Dear God, who would protect them? The freighter was almost upon them. Who would care for them, now I was gone?
Exhausted, I slept atop the grave, dreams ringing with the horribly familiar screams of children. I saw the black freighter bearing down on all I loved…
…But I was powerless to stop it.
Delirious, I saw that hell-bound ship’s black sails against the yellow indies sky, and knew again the stench of powder and men’s brains, and war. The heads nailed to its prow looked down, those with eyes; gull-eaten; salt-caked; liplessly mouthing, “No use! All’s lost!” The waves about me were scarlet, foaming, horribly warm, yet still the freighter’s hideous crew called out, “More blood! More blood!” Its tar-streaked hull rolled over me. In despair I sank beneath those foul, pink billows, offering up my wretched soul to Almighty God, His mercy and His judgement.
Waking from nightmare, I found myself upon a dismal beach-head, amongst dead men and the pieces of dead men. Bosun Ridley lay nearby. Birds were eating his thoughts and memories. Reader, take comfort from this: in hell, at least the gulls are contented. For my part, I begged that they should take my eyes, thus sparing me further horrors. Unheeded, I stood in the surf and wept, unable to bear my circumstances. Eventually, tears ceased. My misfortunes were small: I was alive, and I knew that life had no worse news to offer me.
I had a sudden memory of clinging fast to someone through the tempest. The figurehead lay at my feet, blindfolded by seaweed. Alone upon that dreadful shore, she smiled. I made to take the ribbon of kelp from off her painted eyes, then thought better of it, not wishing her to suffer the terrible distractions of that grim tideline. It was all I could do for her, though she had borne me through seas of blood, though her cold, wooden breast had nourished me in the heart of the storm. Her damp embrace had prevented me from drifting beyond reach, yet this small comfort was all I could offer; I could not love her as she had loved me.
~
The freighter’s murderous onslaught had surprised us.
We’d been blasted to fragments before we could warn Davidstown of this hell-ship’s approach. I alone survived upon my remote atoll. I thought of my family: vulnerable, unsuspecting, never dreaming that damnation bore down upon them, sails pregnant with a pirate wind, a necklace of heads about its prow. Crazed with helplessness, I cursed God and wept, wondering if He wept also. But then, what use His tears, if His help was denied me? My own sobbing had frightened the gulls. They departed, and in the terrible silence I understood the true breadth of the word “isolation.”
That night, I slept badly beneath the cold, distant stars, pondering upon the cold, distant God in whose hands the fate of Davidstown rested. Was He really there? Had He been there once, but now departed?
~
The morning sun found me no more wise, no less troubled. Further down the shore, several of the beached corpses had become inflated by gas. I set about burying the sodden carcasses, matching odd limbs as best I could with them, I buried all hope for my family’s survival. Using driftwood, I began a pit, deep and wide. I had never seen nor imagined so many dead people.
Noon came and went. By dusk, the crater was deep enough and I commenced hauling those cold, maimed, wretched things into the bed I had prepared. Dragging and cursing, I hoped my wife and daughters might be tucked in by gentler hands when their turn came. I began to weep again. Dear God, who would protect them? The freighter was almost upon them. Who would care for them, now I was gone?
Exhausted, I slept atop the grave, dreams ringing with the horribly familiar screams of children. I saw the black freighter bearing down on all I loved…
…But I was powerless to stop it.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Swords
I can’t even get through rereading my last post, so I promise to make this one shorter.
Another quick note: I’m too lazy to post any links or pictures, but both Wikipedia and Miss Google have been lovely in helping me develop some opinions on some of the following swords, and they can also help you look up some nice pictures if you’re so interested. But you’re not, so I’ll just get right into it.
Swords are the gentleman’s weapon. I’d like to say it was earlier, but it was probably around the time of the release of the first Lord of the Rings that I really got into swords, and by release of the movie I mean when I read the trilogy in book form before I went to see the first movie (three times) because I didn’t want to ruin the books for myself by seeing the movie first. More specifically, it was in the Barrow-downs that the hobbits came across three enchanted daggers in the cavern where a barrow-wight had imprisoned them. Maybe it was the magic of the prose, but ever since I’ve been in love with the idea of strapping a sword around my waist and strutting down the street.
There’s just something about the short sword that’s always appealed to me; long swords have always seemed too gangly for proper wielding. I mean of course they aren’t, but for my personal preferred (read: imagined) fighting style, the short sword really seems to do the trick.
Consider the various long swords. First up, the broad sword: this behemoth is long, thick, heavy, and blunt, and really made for swinging around wildly and crashing into someone’s chest, hopefully crushing their breastplate and the puny chest within. There’s no grace there, no smooth movement or flow, just crash boom bang, knock the guy off his horse and break the majority of his ribs. It really isn’t a gentlemanly sword.
And then there are the skinny swords, the ones you’d fence with: the foil, epée (rapier), and sabre. They’re all skinny, lame, and useless. Enough said.
There are of course the two-handed swords, the claymores and zweihänders, but again as with the broadsword, they’re just unwieldy in my mind. Mostly I can’t imagine wearing one around all the time. Or whipping one out and slicing some jerk’s head off on the subway. There’s just not enough space indoors to swing it around.
I’ve purposely avoided discussing the katana because honestly it scares me. Even the smaller wakizashi and tantō scare me. It’s in the blade, the sharpness, meaningfulness, and art with which there are wielded, slicing the very air itself. There’s a reason wielding these swords properly requires martial arts training, and it’s all just not for me.
There are a lot of swords I won’t be discussing, and really it’s only because they’re not that interesting, they don’t stand out as something I wouldn’t want to end up with, and they’re not something I’d specifically go out and buy. These swords include, but are not limited to, the falchion, the scimitar, the cutlass, and the dirk. A great many more didn’t even make this list, and who cares.
On to the swords I care about, and want: the gladius, the falcata, and the Celtic sword (I’m disappointed in the Celts that they didn’t give me a better name to use, it would have been cooler of them to come up with some neat name).
Firstly, the gladius, which we all know and love from the movie Gladiator (more on movie swords later), is a fine short sword that can clearly be wielded artfully and close to the body, which makes it good for both indoors and showing off. Sure there’s skill involved, but it doesn’t come with the cultural-traditional baggage that the Japanese swords do. It’s small and stylish, could easily be worn on my belt, and looks good swinging around to boot. To appease my own nerdiness, I’d specifically be gunning for either a Mainz for Fulham gladius, although ideally it’d be a Mainz.
Next, the falcata, which is a stylishly forward curving pre-Roman Iberian blade that originated centuries before somewhere in the Middle East, and has a cutting edge that can best be described as convex near the tip, and concave near the hilt. Having so much more sword near the tip makes swinging it somewhat less than graceful, but in terms of usefulness, the thing handles like an axe, and would be most useful hacking through the forest or something.
Lastly, the Celtic sword, so named because… well, you know. This is perhaps my favourite sword, and has been so for many years. It is short, which of course is necessary for my brand of urban sword fighting and general tomfoolery, and slightly leaf-shaped, that is, wider at the tip than at the base. The double-edged blade is simple and symmetric, as is the hilt. The hilt itself can best be described as follows: take the Cingular Wireless logo (that little jumping-jacking orange fellow) and cut him in half at the waist, put a simple leather grip in there, and push his head down onto his shoulders. The sword is simple, and yet curvy and fun. This is the sword I would wear everywhere and be buried with. No wait, I’d pass it onto my second child. Yeah, that’d be sweet.
A couple of Hollywood swords come to mind when I think about swords that I’d like. Of course Sting is a classic, and I wouldn’t mind having it (although it really doesn’t hold a candle to the Celtic sword). The sword from 300 is a beautiful piece, and I’d love to have it. I’d also love love love to have the knife used by the Indian in Predator. That is the ultimate in sharp kickassery on the big screen. The. Freaking. Ultimate.
Alright so now I’m just drooling and picturing myself frolicking through the woods hacking at random branches that get in my way, so I’ll sign off once again.
DFTBA
Another quick note: I’m too lazy to post any links or pictures, but both Wikipedia and Miss Google have been lovely in helping me develop some opinions on some of the following swords, and they can also help you look up some nice pictures if you’re so interested. But you’re not, so I’ll just get right into it.
Swords are the gentleman’s weapon. I’d like to say it was earlier, but it was probably around the time of the release of the first Lord of the Rings that I really got into swords, and by release of the movie I mean when I read the trilogy in book form before I went to see the first movie (three times) because I didn’t want to ruin the books for myself by seeing the movie first. More specifically, it was in the Barrow-downs that the hobbits came across three enchanted daggers in the cavern where a barrow-wight had imprisoned them. Maybe it was the magic of the prose, but ever since I’ve been in love with the idea of strapping a sword around my waist and strutting down the street.
There’s just something about the short sword that’s always appealed to me; long swords have always seemed too gangly for proper wielding. I mean of course they aren’t, but for my personal preferred (read: imagined) fighting style, the short sword really seems to do the trick.
Consider the various long swords. First up, the broad sword: this behemoth is long, thick, heavy, and blunt, and really made for swinging around wildly and crashing into someone’s chest, hopefully crushing their breastplate and the puny chest within. There’s no grace there, no smooth movement or flow, just crash boom bang, knock the guy off his horse and break the majority of his ribs. It really isn’t a gentlemanly sword.
And then there are the skinny swords, the ones you’d fence with: the foil, epée (rapier), and sabre. They’re all skinny, lame, and useless. Enough said.
There are of course the two-handed swords, the claymores and zweihänders, but again as with the broadsword, they’re just unwieldy in my mind. Mostly I can’t imagine wearing one around all the time. Or whipping one out and slicing some jerk’s head off on the subway. There’s just not enough space indoors to swing it around.
I’ve purposely avoided discussing the katana because honestly it scares me. Even the smaller wakizashi and tantō scare me. It’s in the blade, the sharpness, meaningfulness, and art with which there are wielded, slicing the very air itself. There’s a reason wielding these swords properly requires martial arts training, and it’s all just not for me.
There are a lot of swords I won’t be discussing, and really it’s only because they’re not that interesting, they don’t stand out as something I wouldn’t want to end up with, and they’re not something I’d specifically go out and buy. These swords include, but are not limited to, the falchion, the scimitar, the cutlass, and the dirk. A great many more didn’t even make this list, and who cares.
On to the swords I care about, and want: the gladius, the falcata, and the Celtic sword (I’m disappointed in the Celts that they didn’t give me a better name to use, it would have been cooler of them to come up with some neat name).
Firstly, the gladius, which we all know and love from the movie Gladiator (more on movie swords later), is a fine short sword that can clearly be wielded artfully and close to the body, which makes it good for both indoors and showing off. Sure there’s skill involved, but it doesn’t come with the cultural-traditional baggage that the Japanese swords do. It’s small and stylish, could easily be worn on my belt, and looks good swinging around to boot. To appease my own nerdiness, I’d specifically be gunning for either a Mainz for Fulham gladius, although ideally it’d be a Mainz.
Next, the falcata, which is a stylishly forward curving pre-Roman Iberian blade that originated centuries before somewhere in the Middle East, and has a cutting edge that can best be described as convex near the tip, and concave near the hilt. Having so much more sword near the tip makes swinging it somewhat less than graceful, but in terms of usefulness, the thing handles like an axe, and would be most useful hacking through the forest or something.
Lastly, the Celtic sword, so named because… well, you know. This is perhaps my favourite sword, and has been so for many years. It is short, which of course is necessary for my brand of urban sword fighting and general tomfoolery, and slightly leaf-shaped, that is, wider at the tip than at the base. The double-edged blade is simple and symmetric, as is the hilt. The hilt itself can best be described as follows: take the Cingular Wireless logo (that little jumping-jacking orange fellow) and cut him in half at the waist, put a simple leather grip in there, and push his head down onto his shoulders. The sword is simple, and yet curvy and fun. This is the sword I would wear everywhere and be buried with. No wait, I’d pass it onto my second child. Yeah, that’d be sweet.
A couple of Hollywood swords come to mind when I think about swords that I’d like. Of course Sting is a classic, and I wouldn’t mind having it (although it really doesn’t hold a candle to the Celtic sword). The sword from 300 is a beautiful piece, and I’d love to have it. I’d also love love love to have the knife used by the Indian in Predator. That is the ultimate in sharp kickassery on the big screen. The. Freaking. Ultimate.
Alright so now I’m just drooling and picturing myself frolicking through the woods hacking at random branches that get in my way, so I’ll sign off once again.
DFTBA
Monday, January 28, 2008
Castles
If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.
I’ve always pictured my castle as it would be in late August, in the magical hours before dusk. The golden wheat would shimmer in the waning sun’s glare, the kind of sun that makes driving west around dinnertime a treacherous task. The many willows sway gently in the breeze, rising drooping and majestic out of the wild grasses and shrubbery that encompass my castle.
For probably a dozen years I’ve known what my castle would look like, and it really hasn’t changed in all that time. The property would have a low, rough stone wall around it, not so much to keep anything in or out, but rather as a grey border. I like borders: they lend a sense of finality to things.
The castle itself would be made of a reddish-brown brick, the kind that makes you think of Red Square. On each of the front two corners there would rise a wide, round tower with a flat, crennelated top that would end just above the flat roof of the main structure; the back two towers would be smaller and useless. The windows would be tall and narrow, but frequent enough so as to let in plenty of light.
There would be no moat, no drawbridge or portcullis, just a large, simply fashioned and very heavy wooden double-door for the front entrance, and a smaller version for the back door. The crisscrossing iron straps on the door would make it all the heavier, but that just adds to its medieval charm.
A parking structure, you ask? And what about driveways and footpaths through the wide grasses and various shrubbery? Well they would be cobblestone, naturally, and of the same deep and neutral grey as the stone wall. As for the garage, it would be a similarly styled structure attached to its big brother the full-sized castle, and would run the full length of one of the sides.
Let me explain this, in introducing the interior of my castle: except where noted, it all looks like a castle. Stone walls, elegant tapestries and rugs, big wooden furniture and everywhere rich, warm colours. Another important feature of these “medieval” rooms is the hidden technology that rests just under the surface of it all. With just a turn of a wall sconce or a pull of a lever disguised as a vase, televisions, computers, and all manner of technologies residing beneath the top layer of medieval beauty would emerge.
The first floor is broken up into two main sections, both of which have very high ceilings and thusly feel that much more spacious: two thirds main entertaining area including a dining room, parlour/library, and lounge, and one third kitchen/pantry/bath/laundry.
The dining room would, at its centre, have a massive wooden table surrounded by no fewer than a dozen large chairs. Around the walls there would be several buffets and cabinets holding the various wares required to eat and drink, in a variety of styles befitting a wide range of guests and occasions.
The parlour/library would be the more formal of the two entertaining rooms, and although its brown leather sofas, settees, and armchairs would be tremendously comfortable, the general atmosphere would be of a generally higher nature; the Christmas tree would be in this room, and a large fireplace would dominate one of the walls.
The lounge could be likened to a normal house’s rec room, with its pool table, television, movie and video game collection, and a generally more relaxed atmosphere. Fewer windows would make for a dimmer, more intimate atmosphere, and the subdued colour scheme and soft brown leather couches would only add to the relaxed nature of the room. Although the lounge would have the hidden technology features, it is my best guess that for convenience’s sake they will never be used.
The other third of the main floor, in contrast to the warm medieval feel of the dining room et al. would be a gleaming statement of technology and cleanliness. Polished stainless steel and white tiles would be the order of the day, to make ordinary clean seem all that much cleaner. The kitchen would be almost industrial in its size and metal-surface content, and indeed it would put either kitchen stadium to shame, Japanese or American. Windowed cupboards would make finding anything a cinch, and every surface would exude order and utility.
Echoed in the pantry and laundry rooms is this aura of cleanliness, order, and simplicity that would make the cleaning that much more onerous, but the effect that much more magical and satisfying. The afore-mentioned back door would lead into the corner of the kitchen where it meets the door to the laundry room. Obviously none of this third would attempt to hide its technology, but would rather display it prominently and proudly, adding to the sense of utility of the place.
The bathroom, a large ordeal designed with entertaining in mind, would again be decorated with the larger two-thirds of the first floor and a few specific centuries in mind.
Oh, did I mention the foyer? It has a huge stained-glass closet and a large wrought-iron shoe rack. And the floor is a mosaic detailing the property as it would be seen from space.
On to the second floor, where all is taken less seriously! But wait, how do we get there? Fear not, dear guests, for the front two towers are your ticket to higher ground. One has a wide, winding staircase that takes you up to the second and third floors as well as the top of that tower, while the other tower has a circular glass elevator that stops at all three floors, with a narrow (indeed almost wiry in its minimalist structure) staircase that wraps around the elevator, but only as far as the second floor. The reasoning for this will be explained later.
The second floor is comprised of several bedrooms and several small bathrooms, the divide between children and guest rooms being made when a few critical numbers have been calculated, depending on several obvious factors and circumstances. The children’s rooms would be larger than the guest rooms, and not formally dressed in medieval style, although at its core the bed, essential furniture, walls and floors would all be more or less medieval in nature; the children would obviously have free reign as to how they decorate their own rooms.
The guest rooms would, however, be dressed in the same formal style as the dining room and parlour, and would obviously not need to be as large as the children’s rooms, as they would not need space in which to play, work, create, or whatever it is kids do these days. Each room would have its own bathroom, and it would be a part of the children’s chores to keep their own bathrooms clean, so as to help raise them with a good around-the-house work ethic that will come in handy so many years from then.
The third and final floor is my floor (or our floor? I’ll just keep it as “my” for simplicity’s sake, but there are always variables at work here, here and in the children’s rooms, and all that). Now I hear you muttering, “but what could he/they do with an entire floor for themselves?” Hobby rooms, my gentle reader, hobby rooms. Besides the obvious massive master bedroom with its obvious en-suite bathroom, Jacuzzi, and sauna, the rest of the floor would be dedicated to several hobby rooms, each with its own design and décor.
There would be a LEGO room, an arts & crafts room (which umbrellas sewing, knitting, and all that sort of dainty handiwork), a small workshop for household tool storage and small repairs and the like, a computer room/office or two, a welding room (if nothing else about this castle comes true, I want to one day have art-welding as a hobby… well I’d prefer the wife and kids, but the art-welding comes a close second), and however many other rooms needed to house the various household hobbies.
Remember that glass elevator that goes to the third floor? The third floor of that tower is a small solarium, with many more windows than the rest of the house. On the South-west corner of the castle, it would always get the most spectacular sun, and would be a most enjoyable place to sit and read in any of the various wicker or leather chairs strewn about the tower.
Up the stairs, and onto the North-west tower, from which not only a majestic view can be enjoyed, but a small staircase can be taken down to the roof of the main structure, and the swimming pool-conservatory. A large, glassed-in structure, the swimming pool-conservatory would house exactly those two things: a large swimming pool and hot-tub; and an abundance of luscious plant life surrounding it. This would be a place of natural relaxation for all to enjoy, to cool off or warm up, and mostly just to have somewhere to go when the wheat, willows, and wild grasses just aren’t up to the task of keeping you grounded.
So ends the tour of my mind.
DFTBA
I’ve always pictured my castle as it would be in late August, in the magical hours before dusk. The golden wheat would shimmer in the waning sun’s glare, the kind of sun that makes driving west around dinnertime a treacherous task. The many willows sway gently in the breeze, rising drooping and majestic out of the wild grasses and shrubbery that encompass my castle.
For probably a dozen years I’ve known what my castle would look like, and it really hasn’t changed in all that time. The property would have a low, rough stone wall around it, not so much to keep anything in or out, but rather as a grey border. I like borders: they lend a sense of finality to things.
The castle itself would be made of a reddish-brown brick, the kind that makes you think of Red Square. On each of the front two corners there would rise a wide, round tower with a flat, crennelated top that would end just above the flat roof of the main structure; the back two towers would be smaller and useless. The windows would be tall and narrow, but frequent enough so as to let in plenty of light.
There would be no moat, no drawbridge or portcullis, just a large, simply fashioned and very heavy wooden double-door for the front entrance, and a smaller version for the back door. The crisscrossing iron straps on the door would make it all the heavier, but that just adds to its medieval charm.
A parking structure, you ask? And what about driveways and footpaths through the wide grasses and various shrubbery? Well they would be cobblestone, naturally, and of the same deep and neutral grey as the stone wall. As for the garage, it would be a similarly styled structure attached to its big brother the full-sized castle, and would run the full length of one of the sides.
Let me explain this, in introducing the interior of my castle: except where noted, it all looks like a castle. Stone walls, elegant tapestries and rugs, big wooden furniture and everywhere rich, warm colours. Another important feature of these “medieval” rooms is the hidden technology that rests just under the surface of it all. With just a turn of a wall sconce or a pull of a lever disguised as a vase, televisions, computers, and all manner of technologies residing beneath the top layer of medieval beauty would emerge.
The first floor is broken up into two main sections, both of which have very high ceilings and thusly feel that much more spacious: two thirds main entertaining area including a dining room, parlour/library, and lounge, and one third kitchen/pantry/bath/laundry.
The dining room would, at its centre, have a massive wooden table surrounded by no fewer than a dozen large chairs. Around the walls there would be several buffets and cabinets holding the various wares required to eat and drink, in a variety of styles befitting a wide range of guests and occasions.
The parlour/library would be the more formal of the two entertaining rooms, and although its brown leather sofas, settees, and armchairs would be tremendously comfortable, the general atmosphere would be of a generally higher nature; the Christmas tree would be in this room, and a large fireplace would dominate one of the walls.
The lounge could be likened to a normal house’s rec room, with its pool table, television, movie and video game collection, and a generally more relaxed atmosphere. Fewer windows would make for a dimmer, more intimate atmosphere, and the subdued colour scheme and soft brown leather couches would only add to the relaxed nature of the room. Although the lounge would have the hidden technology features, it is my best guess that for convenience’s sake they will never be used.
The other third of the main floor, in contrast to the warm medieval feel of the dining room et al. would be a gleaming statement of technology and cleanliness. Polished stainless steel and white tiles would be the order of the day, to make ordinary clean seem all that much cleaner. The kitchen would be almost industrial in its size and metal-surface content, and indeed it would put either kitchen stadium to shame, Japanese or American. Windowed cupboards would make finding anything a cinch, and every surface would exude order and utility.
Echoed in the pantry and laundry rooms is this aura of cleanliness, order, and simplicity that would make the cleaning that much more onerous, but the effect that much more magical and satisfying. The afore-mentioned back door would lead into the corner of the kitchen where it meets the door to the laundry room. Obviously none of this third would attempt to hide its technology, but would rather display it prominently and proudly, adding to the sense of utility of the place.
The bathroom, a large ordeal designed with entertaining in mind, would again be decorated with the larger two-thirds of the first floor and a few specific centuries in mind.
Oh, did I mention the foyer? It has a huge stained-glass closet and a large wrought-iron shoe rack. And the floor is a mosaic detailing the property as it would be seen from space.
On to the second floor, where all is taken less seriously! But wait, how do we get there? Fear not, dear guests, for the front two towers are your ticket to higher ground. One has a wide, winding staircase that takes you up to the second and third floors as well as the top of that tower, while the other tower has a circular glass elevator that stops at all three floors, with a narrow (indeed almost wiry in its minimalist structure) staircase that wraps around the elevator, but only as far as the second floor. The reasoning for this will be explained later.
The second floor is comprised of several bedrooms and several small bathrooms, the divide between children and guest rooms being made when a few critical numbers have been calculated, depending on several obvious factors and circumstances. The children’s rooms would be larger than the guest rooms, and not formally dressed in medieval style, although at its core the bed, essential furniture, walls and floors would all be more or less medieval in nature; the children would obviously have free reign as to how they decorate their own rooms.
The guest rooms would, however, be dressed in the same formal style as the dining room and parlour, and would obviously not need to be as large as the children’s rooms, as they would not need space in which to play, work, create, or whatever it is kids do these days. Each room would have its own bathroom, and it would be a part of the children’s chores to keep their own bathrooms clean, so as to help raise them with a good around-the-house work ethic that will come in handy so many years from then.
The third and final floor is my floor (or our floor? I’ll just keep it as “my” for simplicity’s sake, but there are always variables at work here, here and in the children’s rooms, and all that). Now I hear you muttering, “but what could he/they do with an entire floor for themselves?” Hobby rooms, my gentle reader, hobby rooms. Besides the obvious massive master bedroom with its obvious en-suite bathroom, Jacuzzi, and sauna, the rest of the floor would be dedicated to several hobby rooms, each with its own design and décor.
There would be a LEGO room, an arts & crafts room (which umbrellas sewing, knitting, and all that sort of dainty handiwork), a small workshop for household tool storage and small repairs and the like, a computer room/office or two, a welding room (if nothing else about this castle comes true, I want to one day have art-welding as a hobby… well I’d prefer the wife and kids, but the art-welding comes a close second), and however many other rooms needed to house the various household hobbies.
Remember that glass elevator that goes to the third floor? The third floor of that tower is a small solarium, with many more windows than the rest of the house. On the South-west corner of the castle, it would always get the most spectacular sun, and would be a most enjoyable place to sit and read in any of the various wicker or leather chairs strewn about the tower.
Up the stairs, and onto the North-west tower, from which not only a majestic view can be enjoyed, but a small staircase can be taken down to the roof of the main structure, and the swimming pool-conservatory. A large, glassed-in structure, the swimming pool-conservatory would house exactly those two things: a large swimming pool and hot-tub; and an abundance of luscious plant life surrounding it. This would be a place of natural relaxation for all to enjoy, to cool off or warm up, and mostly just to have somewhere to go when the wheat, willows, and wild grasses just aren’t up to the task of keeping you grounded.
So ends the tour of my mind.
DFTBA
Monday, January 14, 2008
Introductions
My name is Geoff and I have medieval obsessions. There is no 12-step program for me, no group sessions or sponsors. I was born 867 years too late and there is no help for me.
Enough melodrama, Geoff, let’s talk about the real me. I am your standard 19 year old freshman at the University of Toronto. I take the subway to school every day, and have no idea what I want to do with my life. As such I take a whole whack of different arts courses in the hopes that something will eventually appeal to me. Maybe a teacher. I work at staples as one of a select group known as boy copy centre associates, in a department largely dominated by women.
Whenever I’m not at school or work with any regularity, I tend to become nocturnal, relying on Youtube, DVDs, and my brother’s PS3 for company. I have a few close friends and a rather close family of five, including two parents, an older brother, and younger sister.
I think my mother has always known I am a man out of my time. I have been obsessed with everything medieval for most of my life, although I hide it well. I’ve had my perfect castle designed in my head for nigh on a dozen years, and my favourite sword for most of that time as well. More on those later.
Officially, this is an experiment in organizing my thoughts. I guess I figure I’ll be calmer of mind and soul if I write it all down. As an added bonus, I often do my best thinking in wild, nonsensical rants about going to Medieval Times Dinner & Tournament, just as an example (and preview of things to come? Stay tuned.). I find that writing things down helps keep it all straight in my head.
If anyone actually ever reads this, congratulations, you are more bored than I am. Though keep in mind this is therapeutic for me; you really do get nothing out of this. Plus I’m not so much bored as listless.
In the great traditions of organization and order, lists are key. My first will be a short list of stuff I’ve been thinking about for so long, I just need to get out into the cosmos before I implode:
--Castles & knighthood
--Sharp things, including such classics as the sword
--The cottage/rural life
--Archery & hunting
--Youtube and its sell-outs
--LEGO & other childish ventures
--Star Wars vs. Star Trek, also space ships
--Superheroes
--And many more, including various movies, shows, music, and other altogether less disturbing content
As you can well imagine, I’m not just obsessed with everything medieval, and of course this list reflects a fraction of the things I just can’t seem to ever get out of my head. As you’ll soon find out if you haven’t already, I enjoy a wide variety of subjects (none of them all too intellectual), not to mention ranting about them. Some will turn out better than others, as some I’ve brooded on for many years, while others will resemble more so the dredges of my subconscious. Again I stress the therapeutic (and hence possibly not very entertaining) nature of much of what I will be writing in this weblog, if one can call it such. I wonder if Nintendo has a Wiiblog. That’d be sweet.
I think the reason I decided to write this publicly as opposed to in some manner of diary is the satisfaction of posting. Certainly I could commit all of this to pen and paper (indeed this whole first entry was composed in its entirety earlier this weekend on a multitudinous sea incarnadine… of post-it notes while at work, between customers of course -- no, I'm serious, like half a stack of red post-its, I'm not even kidding), but there would be little actual satisfaction in doing so, and there would be no accountability. Plus I can tell people I have a blog, which is a much cooler thing nowadays than it was several years ago when I had my whiney, unfulfilling tween blog on Xanga, which is a total sell-out now by the way. It is an embarrassing and useless footnote in my “life” online, and I wish to not think about it as I strike out to clear my mind of the endless parade of pet-peeves, rants, and general tomfoolery that all prance down the avenues of my mind.
See? Already I feel calm and organized, and though my mind still buzzes softly with rants both accumulated and inevitable, a peace rests in me where before that was only chaos and CRAZY. I guess.
See? Already I’m getting distracted and talking about nothing.
DFTBA
Enough melodrama, Geoff, let’s talk about the real me. I am your standard 19 year old freshman at the University of Toronto. I take the subway to school every day, and have no idea what I want to do with my life. As such I take a whole whack of different arts courses in the hopes that something will eventually appeal to me. Maybe a teacher. I work at staples as one of a select group known as boy copy centre associates, in a department largely dominated by women.
Whenever I’m not at school or work with any regularity, I tend to become nocturnal, relying on Youtube, DVDs, and my brother’s PS3 for company. I have a few close friends and a rather close family of five, including two parents, an older brother, and younger sister.
I think my mother has always known I am a man out of my time. I have been obsessed with everything medieval for most of my life, although I hide it well. I’ve had my perfect castle designed in my head for nigh on a dozen years, and my favourite sword for most of that time as well. More on those later.
Officially, this is an experiment in organizing my thoughts. I guess I figure I’ll be calmer of mind and soul if I write it all down. As an added bonus, I often do my best thinking in wild, nonsensical rants about going to Medieval Times Dinner & Tournament, just as an example (and preview of things to come? Stay tuned.). I find that writing things down helps keep it all straight in my head.
If anyone actually ever reads this, congratulations, you are more bored than I am. Though keep in mind this is therapeutic for me; you really do get nothing out of this. Plus I’m not so much bored as listless.
In the great traditions of organization and order, lists are key. My first will be a short list of stuff I’ve been thinking about for so long, I just need to get out into the cosmos before I implode:
--Castles & knighthood
--Sharp things, including such classics as the sword
--The cottage/rural life
--Archery & hunting
--Youtube and its sell-outs
--LEGO & other childish ventures
--Star Wars vs. Star Trek, also space ships
--Superheroes
--And many more, including various movies, shows, music, and other altogether less disturbing content
As you can well imagine, I’m not just obsessed with everything medieval, and of course this list reflects a fraction of the things I just can’t seem to ever get out of my head. As you’ll soon find out if you haven’t already, I enjoy a wide variety of subjects (none of them all too intellectual), not to mention ranting about them. Some will turn out better than others, as some I’ve brooded on for many years, while others will resemble more so the dredges of my subconscious. Again I stress the therapeutic (and hence possibly not very entertaining) nature of much of what I will be writing in this weblog, if one can call it such. I wonder if Nintendo has a Wiiblog. That’d be sweet.
I think the reason I decided to write this publicly as opposed to in some manner of diary is the satisfaction of posting. Certainly I could commit all of this to pen and paper (indeed this whole first entry was composed in its entirety earlier this weekend on a multitudinous sea incarnadine… of post-it notes while at work, between customers of course -- no, I'm serious, like half a stack of red post-its, I'm not even kidding), but there would be little actual satisfaction in doing so, and there would be no accountability. Plus I can tell people I have a blog, which is a much cooler thing nowadays than it was several years ago when I had my whiney, unfulfilling tween blog on Xanga, which is a total sell-out now by the way. It is an embarrassing and useless footnote in my “life” online, and I wish to not think about it as I strike out to clear my mind of the endless parade of pet-peeves, rants, and general tomfoolery that all prance down the avenues of my mind.
See? Already I feel calm and organized, and though my mind still buzzes softly with rants both accumulated and inevitable, a peace rests in me where before that was only chaos and CRAZY. I guess.
See? Already I’m getting distracted and talking about nothing.
DFTBA
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