I confess. I'm not planning on following up my previous entry. Maybe I'll put some gratuitous pictures of the Giant Tree at the end of this entry. Or maybe I won't! Who knows! Not even The Shadow knows!
That's not the point of this entry, though. Even though I'm now devoid of a suitable camera, and have been for some time, I feel it is my duty to report on my recent adventures to the city of Baltimore, Maryland--for that mecca of anime nerds, the largest Japanophile convention on this side of the planet: Otakon.
Over the past year or so I've become a heavily jaded fan of anime and Japanese-related things. I've seen and heard of too many people become obsessed to a fault over the superiority of Japanese multimedia over our own, and after spending a good month and a half in that very country, I've had a lot of second and third thoughts. In short, I've turned my back on anime and manga at large. That's not to say I dislike it, merely that I'm many times more wary of it. I still consider the top animators from Japan to be some of the best ever, but I've seen too much other beautiful animation from other countries besides Japan to put as much faith in it as I once did.
Shows with giant robots still turn me on, though.
In any case, my brother decided not to do 1812 Reenactments with my dad this past weekend, for various reasons, and since Otakon happened to be on that same weekend, he figured that was a suitable substition. I agreed to drive him (Baltimore is a mere 45 miles from here), and off we went on Saturday.
Otakon was a Friday-Saturday-Sunday event, but we only went for one day. Now, as everyone knows, I've been to Transformers conventions. I've been to the largest one each year, save one, since 2000. That convention usually gathers 4-5000, a respectable number.
This one, however, was an entirely different ballpark. Otakon, as a quick search on Wikipedia tells me, has been running since 1994, which makes it one year older than Botcon, the Transformers convention. Evidently anime fans have enjoyed a much larger and much more exponential increase in fandom since 1994, since the brochure for this year's meeting informed me that they expected a whopping 22,000 attendees. That's larger than the town I go to school in!
Another thing a person may not realize about anime conventions is the tradition of "cosplay," which, if you don't feel like reading wikipedia, is another word for "dressing up in ridiculously complex costumes in order to represent your favorite anime/videogame character." This is extremely common at anime conventions, and since Otakon is the largest, it was even moreso. At a guess, I would expect a full one-third of the attendees to have been in costume.
Most costumes were from anime of some sort (there was an abundance of Naruto-related costumery), but nobody thought the lesser of folk dressed as video game characters, or even completely unrelated costumes. I saw at least two Enterprise officers, as well as some Twi'Leks engaged in a lightsaber duel. If you know what a Twi'Lek is, you gain +10 nerd points. I also found that for every common anime costume, there are two versions: the regular version, and the morbidly obese version. This is true for both male and female costumes.
Also notable about anime conventions is the non-gender-specificity. While Botcon is by no means an all-male convention, the females are definitely few and far between. Otakon, and I imagine anime cons in general, are far more gender-neutral. There were far more (attractive) females than any Botcon I've ever attended. I must note, as well, that at anime conventions, cross-dressing is not only acceptable, it seems to be encouraged.
In fact, a female dressed as Link, the Hero of Hyrule, was responsible for one of the more breathtaking parts of the convention. But more on that later.
After registering, and walking around in awe of the insanely detailed costumes parading by, and spending a little money in the (enormous) dealer's room, I decided to take a break. While leafing through the convention brochure in a nearby Starbucks, I encountered a blurb about an attraction named "Geppi's Entertainment Museum." I recognized the building as being very close to the center, and made it my next destination.
The Museum was located on the upper floor of an old Train Station, sharing the rest of the space with a Sports Legends-themed museum. Geppi's museum, to my utter delight, was a small space dedicated to the history of Pop Culture in America. I've long desired to see a museum devoted entirely to Pop Culture, and was previously unaware that such a thing existed. In short it was beyond my wildest expectations. There was one entire room displaying comics from the 30s and 40s to the present (a small wonder, considering the museum is owned and was created by the owner of Diamond Comic Distributors), as well as another area displaying only Star Wars collectibles and nothing else. Basically it was the greatest thing ever.
I spent an hour and half ogling original Walt Kelley prints, and had a chat with one of the museum workers about the place and about Otakon. She told me Otakon had risen in popularity dramatically in the past few years, and as a result the quality of the costumes had suffered. Regardless, she told me, I should go back for the event called the "Masquerade," in which members of the convention present short skits, and afterward the best costumes of the weekend are paraded out. Basically it was a nerd talent show.
I did return in time to wait on a titanic line bordering the entire building, which fortunately moved quickly as soon as the doors opened. My brother joined me momentarily. The theater where the Masquerade took place was immense, clearly intended to provide for large concerts or maybe an awesome laser-light show. The people onstage were barely visible from our vantage point, but thankfully there were two titanic screens which provided decent viewing of the skits.
There were around 40 skits in all, ranging from the embarrassingly bad (a lone nerd playing out shaky renditions of Zelda tunes on an ocarina, joined by an awkward friend who, we are told, forgot his instrument) to the completely contrived (the entire "Charlie the Unicorn" sequence reenacted by Kingdom Hearts characters); to the freakin' amazing (more on that in just a sec). The parading of costumes, afterward, was also quite satisfying.
Now, since I don't have any pretty pictures to show you, I decided I'd do something a bit different. Fortunately for me, some kind souls illegally recorded some skits during the masquerade, and uploaded them onto our favorite YouTube! That's right, free videos! And I found footage of some of my favorite skits, as well...
Firstly, we have a bunch of unusally acrobatic nerds dressed as Street Fighter characters jumping and vaulting around and performing various video-game inspired moves, all to music. Their choreography is actually pretty great, and their kicks and leaps are very accurate to the impossible gravity-defying special moves they are trying to imitate.
That was pretty cool, but this next one is the one I will remember for the rest of my nerd days. This little girl, dressed as Link, mentioned earlier, flounced out onto the stage, tossed aside her shield, and drew from her scabbard not the Blade of Evil's Bane, but a shiny gold flute. She raised it to her lips and proceeded to play what I can only describe as the most intense arrangement of Zelda melody that I have ever heard, to the delight and astonishment of the audience. It really must be seen and heard to believe, and fortunately this is possible via YouTube. You may have to raise your volume, as this video is particularly low.
She received a couple Judge's awards, but nothing else--I don't know why, as most of the other skits were pretty tame in comparison to this.
The rest of Otakon was mostly spent walking around and staring at the awesome costumes, but I have one more thing for you before signing off:
SPECIAL BONUS!! Footage of Nerd Rave! You must watch this until at least the 1:20 mark so you can see the person dressed as a Wii Controller. Dancing.
Thought I do not, perhaps, share the fandom's enthusiasm for the media, I thoroughly enjoyed myself at Otakon, and will, perhaps, attend again.
Showing posts with label Journeys. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Journeys. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Houston Adventures Part I: Surrealists and Bookstores
Fact: Things other than the beach can be fun and interesting during Spring Break!
This past Thursday and Friday were spent adventuring in various parts of Texas. There are plenty of pictures and stuff for each day, so I'm splitting them into two. The first takes place entirely in Houston!
Our original plan for Spring Break was to camp around in Texas, exploring ghost towns (which do, apparently, exist) and fighting rattlesnakes and whatnot. You know, Texas-type things. We couldn't find anyone else to join us on this excursion, however, so I just decided to come to Houston, to my friend Robert's house (the man with the ghost town idea) and spend the week there. We couldn't just sit around all week (especially because Robert's siblings drive both of us crazier than we already are), so we put on our thinking caps and did some day tripping.
The first trip can be credited to a book my mother got me for Christmas: 1000 Places to See Before you Die. I checked for Houston, and the only thing listed was something named "The Menil Collection." I looked it up, and it turns out it's an obscure art gallery in the middle of Houston containing a number of important works from the 20th century. Off we went!
The first thing readers should know about Houston is its resemblence to Hogwarts (as Robert constantly notes). By that I mean that roads never seem to lead to the same place twice. Take a look at that picture, and you may see what I mean--notice especially the toppled "No Sidewalk" signage.
After a wrong exit and a breezy drive through some decidedly unsavory neighborhoods, we managed to find the Menil Collection, a stark white building tucked in a wooded subdivision off the St. Thomas University campus. Facing it was a compact park with several of those modern art sculptures that nobody understands. The building itself is also a representative of the school of modern art, with a minimalist exterior, harsh 90 degree angles, and some weird sail-looking things. Pictures:
The first three are of one of the sculptures in the park, and the final two are of the gallery. No pictures were allowed in the gallery itself, and I was a nice little boy so I didn't take any. Inside we were treated to a banquet of 20th century paintings, including things by such artists as Pablo Picasso, Andy Warhol, < href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piet_Mondrian">Piet Mondrian, Jasper Johns, Mark Rothko (ugh), and Robert Rauschenberg among others. More exciting than the modernist gallery was a substantial serving of some 20th century surrealism, represented by Max Ernst, Man Ray, Giorgio de Chirico, and Rene Magritte (the "Pipe" on his page in Wikipedia was on display in the gallery, even though the picture seems to claim otherwise). Wikipedia's entry on the Menil Collection and even the gallery's own website promises some Salvador Dali pieces, but there were none to be found. Many of the surrealist paintings on display were breathtaking, and several I remembered from my art history book. Besides the 20th century art, the gallery boasted a little sanctuary of ancient and tribal art. As we walked out, we were satisfied in the art portion we had received that day. Also, the museum was free.
The day, however, was far from finished. Having much daylight remaining, Robert decided it was time for me to see one of his favorite places: Quarter-Priced Books. We managed to navigate the Houston road system long enough to find it, and it was indeed everything he promised. Just look at some of the pictures of this place:
Left to Right: The storefront (it was, in fact, a wonderland); A close up on one of those signs; some cook books on a table outside; inner wonderland (the poster is a list of Iraqi terrorist "most-wanted" types); "How To," A couple of red masks; boxes of paperbacks; an interesting cover; a plug for the "Wonder Wall" (more on that later); a blatant statue of what I think is Teddy Roosevelt.
On the inside the place was unlike any bookstore I've ever been into. There were statues everywhere, including that Roosevelt statue pictured above, as well as many other random things. I'm pretty sure that shop had more copies of The Thinker than I've ever seen in one place. The metal skeleton shelves were punctuated with handwritten callout cards describing the sections one was browsing (and there were numerous sections), and as they all appeared to be in the same handwriting as everything else in the store, I would wager they were all done by the same guy. The guy, who was the only employee in there, was an older man with all the appearance of a trucker or mechanic and none of the eccentric professor-osity of a bookstore owner. He wore a loose gray button-up shirt with a pack of Marlboros in the front pocket, and regarded us with sunken eyes accentuated with prominent bags underneath. His gray hair, matching his shirt, was greased back. The counter he worked behind, scattered with sundry trinkets, seemed less of a workspace and more of an extension of his very being. He, essentially, was the store. I would be very surprised if he wasn't the founder and owner.
We pored over the prodigious selection for what seemed like an hour. I marveled at the many numbers of categories, I have never seen fiction divided in so many ways before. Most interesting was the "Wonder Wall," a long section of shelf which seemed to be dedicated to only the most famous and notable of authors in their most expensive and rare volumes (although many other shelves seemed to claim similar things). I needed to buy something from that Wonderland, if only to acknowledge the old man for bringing into being such a unique experience. I ended up with an Ace Double; a pulp sci-fi deal from somewhere between 1950 and 1970 containing two stories; one on each side.
Even after all that, the day was still young, so we drove off in a random direction hoping that something interesting would find us. Fortunately, it did. Far off in the distance, I spotted this:
The Art Deco Obelisk named after one of my home states was too odd to ignore, so we drove by it--and I was floored when I saw one of those old, magnificent movie theaters hollowed out and recreated into...
A bookstore! Clearly the object of the day was to find awesome bookstores, and this one definitely qualified. The store itself was actually owned by Barnes and Nobles, so the selection was nothing I hadn't seen before, but the presentation was what made this one an A-Lister. All of the feel and mood of a movie theater was still there, only instead of food-stained stadium seating there were rows of books, and instead of a massive projector screen there was a newstand. Pictures:
Left to Right: Clever Stop Sign; "Vist Or Cafe;" The rose deco on the ceiling; what used to be the screen area is now the newstand; the greek-style paintings on the walls (huge); a view from the newstand with the balcony cafe; a neon sign advertising various things.
I didn't buy anything from this one. I did, however, give them mad props for creativity.
Before we continued with our little bookstore excursion, we stopped for a heavy lunch at Jack-In-The-Box, a staple of Texas fast food which I had never tried before. Robert, being the expert on this, advised that I order the foremost in arterial nightmares: the Bacon Ultimate Cheeseburger. It was, in fact, the ultimate. I have taken for you a picture of its majesty:
The Ultimately Deadly Burger is not to be consumed without its greasy sidekick, the seasoned Curly Fries. I did not break this sacred law.
The burger itself basically held me over for the rest of the entire day (I couldn't finish my dinner of fajitas later that night, even). After sealing our circulations' fate, we moved on, stopping at one more bookstore before making the journey back. This one was a chain called "Half-Price Books," not related in any way to our friend at Quarter-Price.
Half-Off was probably the most gigantic used book store I've ever been in. Since it's a franchise, it's clean and orderly and alphebetized correctly and all that, so some of the excitement of used book hunting is taken away. Nevertheless, the selection was nothing short of astounding. The store had also expanded to include movies and music, so we spent a good amount of time browsing through various temptations. I did not indulge, however, being satisfied with my Ace Double from earlier.
We left Half-Off and began driving back. The trip back was a search for a comic store called Bedrock City, which we found eventually (and which I did not take any pictures of). It also was graced by the presence of this awesome dog in a car next to us.
Coming next time: a journey to the far lands, in search of an ancient tree and a gargantuan war machine.
PS
Look at this hilarious sign:
This past Thursday and Friday were spent adventuring in various parts of Texas. There are plenty of pictures and stuff for each day, so I'm splitting them into two. The first takes place entirely in Houston!
Our original plan for Spring Break was to camp around in Texas, exploring ghost towns (which do, apparently, exist) and fighting rattlesnakes and whatnot. You know, Texas-type things. We couldn't find anyone else to join us on this excursion, however, so I just decided to come to Houston, to my friend Robert's house (the man with the ghost town idea) and spend the week there. We couldn't just sit around all week (especially because Robert's siblings drive both of us crazier than we already are), so we put on our thinking caps and did some day tripping.
The first trip can be credited to a book my mother got me for Christmas: 1000 Places to See Before you Die. I checked for Houston, and the only thing listed was something named "The Menil Collection." I looked it up, and it turns out it's an obscure art gallery in the middle of Houston containing a number of important works from the 20th century. Off we went!
The first thing readers should know about Houston is its resemblence to Hogwarts (as Robert constantly notes). By that I mean that roads never seem to lead to the same place twice. Take a look at that picture, and you may see what I mean--notice especially the toppled "No Sidewalk" signage.
After a wrong exit and a breezy drive through some decidedly unsavory neighborhoods, we managed to find the Menil Collection, a stark white building tucked in a wooded subdivision off the St. Thomas University campus. Facing it was a compact park with several of those modern art sculptures that nobody understands. The building itself is also a representative of the school of modern art, with a minimalist exterior, harsh 90 degree angles, and some weird sail-looking things. Pictures:
The first three are of one of the sculptures in the park, and the final two are of the gallery. No pictures were allowed in the gallery itself, and I was a nice little boy so I didn't take any. Inside we were treated to a banquet of 20th century paintings, including things by such artists as Pablo Picasso, Andy Warhol, < href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piet_Mondrian">Piet Mondrian, Jasper Johns, Mark Rothko (ugh), and Robert Rauschenberg among others. More exciting than the modernist gallery was a substantial serving of some 20th century surrealism, represented by Max Ernst, Man Ray, Giorgio de Chirico, and Rene Magritte (the "Pipe" on his page in Wikipedia was on display in the gallery, even though the picture seems to claim otherwise). Wikipedia's entry on the Menil Collection and even the gallery's own website promises some Salvador Dali pieces, but there were none to be found. Many of the surrealist paintings on display were breathtaking, and several I remembered from my art history book. Besides the 20th century art, the gallery boasted a little sanctuary of ancient and tribal art. As we walked out, we were satisfied in the art portion we had received that day. Also, the museum was free.
The day, however, was far from finished. Having much daylight remaining, Robert decided it was time for me to see one of his favorite places: Quarter-Priced Books. We managed to navigate the Houston road system long enough to find it, and it was indeed everything he promised. Just look at some of the pictures of this place:
Left to Right: The storefront (it was, in fact, a wonderland); A close up on one of those signs; some cook books on a table outside; inner wonderland (the poster is a list of Iraqi terrorist "most-wanted" types); "How To," A couple of red masks; boxes of paperbacks; an interesting cover; a plug for the "Wonder Wall" (more on that later); a blatant statue of what I think is Teddy Roosevelt.
On the inside the place was unlike any bookstore I've ever been into. There were statues everywhere, including that Roosevelt statue pictured above, as well as many other random things. I'm pretty sure that shop had more copies of The Thinker than I've ever seen in one place. The metal skeleton shelves were punctuated with handwritten callout cards describing the sections one was browsing (and there were numerous sections), and as they all appeared to be in the same handwriting as everything else in the store, I would wager they were all done by the same guy. The guy, who was the only employee in there, was an older man with all the appearance of a trucker or mechanic and none of the eccentric professor-osity of a bookstore owner. He wore a loose gray button-up shirt with a pack of Marlboros in the front pocket, and regarded us with sunken eyes accentuated with prominent bags underneath. His gray hair, matching his shirt, was greased back. The counter he worked behind, scattered with sundry trinkets, seemed less of a workspace and more of an extension of his very being. He, essentially, was the store. I would be very surprised if he wasn't the founder and owner.
We pored over the prodigious selection for what seemed like an hour. I marveled at the many numbers of categories, I have never seen fiction divided in so many ways before. Most interesting was the "Wonder Wall," a long section of shelf which seemed to be dedicated to only the most famous and notable of authors in their most expensive and rare volumes (although many other shelves seemed to claim similar things). I needed to buy something from that Wonderland, if only to acknowledge the old man for bringing into being such a unique experience. I ended up with an Ace Double; a pulp sci-fi deal from somewhere between 1950 and 1970 containing two stories; one on each side.
Even after all that, the day was still young, so we drove off in a random direction hoping that something interesting would find us. Fortunately, it did. Far off in the distance, I spotted this:
The Art Deco Obelisk named after one of my home states was too odd to ignore, so we drove by it--and I was floored when I saw one of those old, magnificent movie theaters hollowed out and recreated into...
A bookstore! Clearly the object of the day was to find awesome bookstores, and this one definitely qualified. The store itself was actually owned by Barnes and Nobles, so the selection was nothing I hadn't seen before, but the presentation was what made this one an A-Lister. All of the feel and mood of a movie theater was still there, only instead of food-stained stadium seating there were rows of books, and instead of a massive projector screen there was a newstand. Pictures:
Left to Right: Clever Stop Sign; "Vist Or Cafe;" The rose deco on the ceiling; what used to be the screen area is now the newstand; the greek-style paintings on the walls (huge); a view from the newstand with the balcony cafe; a neon sign advertising various things.
I didn't buy anything from this one. I did, however, give them mad props for creativity.
Before we continued with our little bookstore excursion, we stopped for a heavy lunch at Jack-In-The-Box, a staple of Texas fast food which I had never tried before. Robert, being the expert on this, advised that I order the foremost in arterial nightmares: the Bacon Ultimate Cheeseburger. It was, in fact, the ultimate. I have taken for you a picture of its majesty:
The Ultimately Deadly Burger is not to be consumed without its greasy sidekick, the seasoned Curly Fries. I did not break this sacred law.
The burger itself basically held me over for the rest of the entire day (I couldn't finish my dinner of fajitas later that night, even). After sealing our circulations' fate, we moved on, stopping at one more bookstore before making the journey back. This one was a chain called "Half-Price Books," not related in any way to our friend at Quarter-Price.
Half-Off was probably the most gigantic used book store I've ever been in. Since it's a franchise, it's clean and orderly and alphebetized correctly and all that, so some of the excitement of used book hunting is taken away. Nevertheless, the selection was nothing short of astounding. The store had also expanded to include movies and music, so we spent a good amount of time browsing through various temptations. I did not indulge, however, being satisfied with my Ace Double from earlier.
We left Half-Off and began driving back. The trip back was a search for a comic store called Bedrock City, which we found eventually (and which I did not take any pictures of). It also was graced by the presence of this awesome dog in a car next to us.
Coming next time: a journey to the far lands, in search of an ancient tree and a gargantuan war machine.
PS
Look at this hilarious sign:
Sunday, January 07, 2007
The Perilous Potomac!!
First entry for the new year! And a new adventure to go with it:
This weekend we had a freak change in temperature, where suddenly it was summertime and therefore a perfect day to go for a row. My dad is XTREME-ly into the whole yo-ho-ho thing, so anytime we go boating with him it means paddling, rowing, or sailing. The dory's mast is already shelved for the season so today it was time for a lively row! Yes! Since we live so close to DC, the Potomac is quite convenient, and it was there that we set out for a rowing adventure.
After stopping at our favorite breakfast place, we took a long drive to pick up my dad's old college friend Dave Kerner and headed towards the boat launch. We crossed just over into Maryland, and prepared to set off amidst the bewilderment of all the other people at the ramp (rowing is apparently not one of the nation's most common leisurely activities).
There you can see our boat attached to our unlikely car (the added trailer hitch bangs against the pavement between our driveway and the street if we don't curve a little to the left or right while backing up), accompanied by my younger brother Elliot, and then Dave Kerner next to my Dad. You can see how beautiful a day it was...Dave may have been wearing a jacket, but both he and I took off our jackets after a short time on the water. Seriously, the weather was really weird.
See, such a beautiful day. We got the boat in the water without trouble, and since we had four people with us, three got to row and one got to steer. Have you ever rowed with three people in tandem? It's quite a challenge. I took the bow-most position, farthest from the rudder, so I was pretty much constrained to row the entire time.
And if you'll look at a larger version of this picture, you can see that it's Mt. Vernon, home of George Washington! We passed by it and a few other tourist-y locales during our row in this direction, garnering plenty of looks in our direction from the touristfolk. My Dad mused that he'd like to see what we must look like from the shore.
We rowed for a long time. After passing Mt. Vernon we took a break and had some water from the scuttlebutt (silly nautical terms...) and headed back in the opposite direction. As we were moving along some uncommonly warm gusts of wind blew at our backs. I nearly lost my hat a couple of times. Eventually, after passing the manors belonging to the exquisitely rich which litter the coastline of the area, we came upon a small cove, which we pulled into and took a break. I snapped quite a few pictures of it, so here's a mini-gallery:
Click to enlarge. Here we have us pulling into the cove ("Pirate's Cove," if you will); a pile of dead trees and driftwood that the cove had accumulated; a mysterious concrete structure barred by many trees; a view of the cove; and pushing ourselves out of the cove with generous manpower. For the remainder of the trip I took the stern seat so I could steer (since I had been rowing the entire time up to that point).
We hugged the coast for a while longer and finally crossed the potomac again to reach our boat landing. The side our landing was on is notably less rich-looking than the Mt. Vernon side, but there were some odd and variously decorated houses (such as an octagonal house connected to an austere cube-building which seemed to house a large spiral staircase; the whole thing looked like a professor's house and appeared to be still under construction).
Returning to the landing we hitched the boat back up to the trailer, as a large man in overalls and a John Deere with binoculars around his neck watched us contentedly. After the boat was back on the car, my brother spotted a small abandoned building partially hidden in the foliage close to the landing. Abandoned buildings, especially those suffering from advanced necrosis, have always fascinated me, so we both went to check it out.
Left to right: the rusty chain link fence surrounding the once-house; what was left of the house; view from inside the fence; another view; standing in the doorway; a rusted metal (drainpipe?). I think two out of the four walls had already fallen in, and the surrounding forest had almost completely claimed the ruin for itself. Satisfied, we headed back to the car, but there was one more thing left to do before leaving the area. A park was nearby which had another interesting structure beckoning to us.
The road to the small park was flanked with trees, and thankfully the dirt roads were kind to our small Saturn with cargo. The park was on the grounds of a building called Marshall Hall, which had some historical significance with George Washington and blah blah blah. But this is why it was really interesting:
No roof! It wasn't in quite so far advanced a ruined state as the previous building, probably since it had more historic value, but the roof was sure gone, giving it that striking prison-camp look to it. It was also surrounded by a chain fence topped with barbed wire (garnished with signs citing "HAZARDOUS STRUCTURE"), allowing for some clever photography:
Looks like it just jumped out of a WWII story. Some more pictures of that building and surrounding area:
Left to Right: Picnic benches set upon what I felt to be a foundation of a previous building (look for my brother in this one); Marshall Hall sans barbed wire; a little grill for them frankfurters; another look at the Hall.
We were all beat at the end of the day. We were out there lollygagging, as Dave put it, for around four hours. It was fun though, and the day couldn't be more beautiful (or more disconcerting, given the month and season). So, here's to 2007! And a picture of me in the weird concrete structure in the cove:
Now to play some more Zelda.
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