a bit of a report
The club last Friday was fun, though I had to swim through a deluge to get there. Tony, the English gent/Brazilian jujitsu master/pro soccer referree (found that one out at the club), turned out to be the most adorable, wonderful little man ever. He was tiny and over 60 and so sweet and polite and he will bring you DOWN. I dubbed him the crumpet-munching doom-monger (not to his face). Anyway, he provided a wrestling lesson to Jess and me and recommended we come to a class at his school this Thursday, which we are very excited to do.
Also saw Nicole from jello wrestling there. Turns out she's a stage combat and fire dancing choreographer who's friends with Insectivora from Coney Island. And she's all skilled at quarter staff. Very nice as well, though I can't figure out why she had to launch into a 30-minute blow-by-blow of her drama with the crush named Russell when it was only the second time she'd met me. I believe I must have mistakenly stamped "Please tell me everything" on my forehead before entering the club because I got the same the sort of thing from Henry, Ivan, Bruce, and Chris. The breakdown there: Henry = good (told me all about how he does his own cobbling and leatherworking); Ivan & Bruce = bad (told me all about their years in the scene with strong implications of "let me mentor you, sweet young thing); Chris = bad (told me all about what MY sexuality must obviously be based upon his brief but expert observation). Got to practice flogging. Made plans for grueling smackdown with the bar tender the next time we're both at the club. Got hit on by three foot fetishists -- apparently, my calves are otherwordly. What a distinction.
Managed to come down ill -- possibly from rain and cold and exhaustion -- so that was the end of excitement for the weekend. Am still a bit below peak, but being an idiot I've been treating myself by attending pub night Monday (convinced many SCAdians to come to jello wrestling!) and fighter practice + pub night yesterday and booking solid for the rest of the week. I will fuckin' SHOW this illness.
Ehm, otherwise -- got my Electronic Travel Approval or whatever it is that uses the acronym ETA and replaces a visa for Australia yesterday. We are already working on the course schedule for 2007 at work now, so I get confused about what year it is and had a moment of panic in which I read "ETA Expiry Date: 7 JUNE 2007" and was convinced I had one day to get to Australia. It was more intense than it sounds in the retelling. Sheer, unfounded panic, I tell you.
That is all.