Save the Surprise!

Okay, okay, so I know I haven't updated in what seems like three years...I spent a weekend reenacting and then a week hosting an old friend, which ended up in a trip to the beach that gave me a sunburn so bad I have been crying for the past three days. I know you all want to hear about that, but! A quick trip around the interwebs tonight brought me to the San Diego's Maritime Museum website, where their end of year appeal (for money) includes a plea for help in restoring HMS Surprise...

"You may remember me as that random person that sails the Surprise and posts pictures about these adventures.

Well, I'm coming to you in a time of need. We just got our favourite ship in drydock and have some bad news. Her hull is so rotted through, the Coast Guard can only approve her as a dockside attraction, and she won't be able to sail again unless we practically rebuild everything from the waterline down. Now, the Maritime Museum of San Diego is all about preserving historic ships in sailing condition, and I (and the rest of the volunteer crew) simply cannot see the Surprise just sitting at the dock and never sailing again. Especially not after all the work we've done to get her good and sailing-fit!

If you could help the Surprise out, we would be eternally grateful. There is a donation link here at the Maritime Museum's website, and any little bit can help. Tell your friends, we need all of the help we can get.

Cheers,
Katherine

EDIT: A lot of you aren't from the US and were wondering how to donate, since the online form calls for a state. You can contact the Development Office if you'd like to donate by cash or check (cheque...).

(619) 234-9153 x 141 or x 129
Development@sdmaritime.org

Development Office
Maritime Museum of San Diego
1492 N. Harbor Dr
San Diego, CA 92101"

HMS Surprise was, of course, a replica of the eighteenth-century sailing ship and was used in the movie Master and Commander. She was built here on the east coast and then--as soon as Nicki got wind of her--promptly removed to the other side of the damm country, so it's in my interests to keep her afloat as long as possible. A: so I can go see her and drool over hearts of oak and futtock shrouds and B: so we can hopefully see another Aubrey/Maturin movie!!!

That is all. More later.

victory!!!

Oh man. Have you heard about this? Apparently an American company, Odyssey Marine Exploration, has discovered the wreck of the HMS Victory--not Nelson's Victory, which is currently dry docked at Portsmouth--but it's predecessor, which was laid down in 1737 and sank in a storm in 1744. Heh, I said "laid down" like I knew what I was talking about.

Apparently they haven't brought any artifacts to the surface other than a pair of cannons, but there are rumors that there might be up to a billion dollars worth of gold coins down there. The British government technically has jurisdiction, since it is a military wreck, but I'm more interested in what else might be down there, anyway. Just think of all the artifacts that survived from the Mary Rose wreck--and that was in 1545!

It's just so damme exciting! I mean, I love ships, and a sunken ship like this is just like a big time capsule. There is no telling what might be down there. I hope that they're able to bring up lots of things, and maybe even raise the hulk in the future. According to the BBC website, there will be a Discovery channel documentary airing on the eighth...I'm going to try to catch it. Oh, it's exciting. I've been humming "Hearts of Oak" all day.

A Singular Impression Things Are Moving Too Fast

Buckets o' apologies to everyone who emailed--I'm not going to be able to reply tonight, since my computer refuses to connect to the internets, and I don't want to tie up my (new) roommate's PC too long.

I just wanted to update and say that I'm moved into my new apartment. Dad, who is the awesomest dad on the planet, drove down from Wisconsin with all my Chicago boxes (yay, Nelson biography & fully poseable 12" figure of Washington!) and helped me move.

Repeat: awesomest. dad. EVER.

The good news is I also got a real, honest to goodness, grown-up, brand spankin' new bed. The bad news it'll be delivered Thursday. So I'm not really settled in yet. Dad and I did all the shopping necessary for a new place Friday afternoon and spent Saturday bumming around the historical section. I got arrested--more on that later--and then went to work at the Toymakers for a couple hours and made a small child cry. Sunday we went to the Mariner's Museum, Newport News' answer to the NMM. Imagine my surprise when I discovered they had a whole exhibit dedicated to you-know-who called "THE NELSON TOUCH."

Naturally, Dad and I spent most of the weekend eating and making merry, so my first day back at work I was feeling a little tired, little overwhelmed. But that didn't stop me from making pasta for dinner--my first cooked meal in over three months. Woo indeed.

It's nine pm, I'm bloody exhausted and I still have to go make some kind of sense of my room. I promise I'll write more later. I'm still hangin' in there, but it's going to be a looooong week.

Thanks Dad. Happy birthday!!!!

Today's Forecast: Highs & Lows

Today was both frustrating and fun. I got a shirt back--twice--to redo botched repairs, and then I spent all afternoon fixing the lining of CW's version of this coat:



I was hanging a jacket up when I turned and spotted a special event coat, a coat that I could have seen from a mile away because it was a) not an era CW normally deals with and b) a British naval uniform. So I naturally made an idiot out of myself by petting the pretty, pretty gold braid, which prompted an amused co-worker to point out that it needed a button replacing.

I volunteered.

Yay, lapful of awesome!



I was quite proud of myself for correctly identifying it as a 1760's captain's uniform before I was told that it was Captain Cook's coat. Captain Cook, of course, was famous for circumnavigating the globe. Also, being eaten.

So that was fun. But that was nearly eight hours ago and I'm tired. My hands are hurting from overtime and sewing through wool all day. Now I'm going to go home and pack...and possibly prance around in my July 4th costume, which was issued to me today. woo.

Crack Book: Noun

While still in Point, some of my friends and I came up with the term "crack book" to describe a book that was literally too good to put down. You know--the book that is so good, you go to bed an hour early just so you can lie there reading it? The first crack book was Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson, and since then, few others have entered the hallowed pantheon. Crack, of course, it the illegal but highly addictive substance, which, when applied to literature, suggests a certain metaphor. For example: if Snow Crash is addicting like crack, then perhaps other books are other edible substances. Romance novels are cookie books--so bad for you, but hard to resist and easy to consume in large quantities. Gone With the Wind could be like foi gras--delicious, but think too long about where it came from and you start getting uncomfortable. Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, on the other hand, is like a seven-course banquet with all your favourite foods, one that you could eat over and over (and over) again. I'm using my favourite books as examples, but I'm sure you could come up with some of your own.

I was musing on this, because I had a conversation the other night with a friend where I described Patrick O'Brian's books as "--crack books, but, pure, unadulterated crack, like--crack but better than crack" and she helpfully suggested "ah, no black tar heroin for you, this is pure china white," causing me to shout "yes!" (Only after we hung up did I start to wonder how she knew the difference between black tar heroin and china white, but never mind)

Patrick O'Brian is the author behind the eighteen Jack Aubrey/Stephen Maturin novels. They are set aboard the British navy during the time of Napoleon and they are so wonderful, so evocative, so funny and heart-wrenching that I have been forced to ration myself, or else you, dear readers, would find me in my apartment, Trainspotting-like, jabbering on about spars, Sophies and Boccherini. As soon as I finished HMS Surprise on the train back to Williamsburg, I immediately broke out into a sweat, jonesing for my next fix. Then again, that could have been the cold. Nevertheless! These books are Pure. Bliss. In. Novel. Format. Page after page of delectable naval jargon, broken up only by a description of Stephen Maturin diving naked into the Indian Ocean or Jack Aubrey queuing his hair. I wish that I could rub the pages on my eyeballs and absorb them directly into my bloodstream.

Like I said: china white.

I am rationing partly because Mr. O'Brian is sadly no longer of this world and so there are a finite number of Aubrey/Maturin novels, and there is nothing like encountering a good read for the first time. I've been holding my rapaciousness at bay by reading other Napoleonic navy books. Apparently, this is a giant sub-genre I was completely unaware of. And so far I have yet to encounter anything that satisfies as well as Mr. O'Brian's books, but, like the sport of sailing itself, there is no such thing as a bad work of naval fiction. CS Forrester's Horatio Hornblower series goes quickly, very rigidly, very by the book, no pun intended. Dudley Pope's Nicholas Ramage series, on the other hand, is not as well written, but the story lines are certainly evocative. According to these authors, there were no actual people involved in the major naval battles, just lots and lots of fictional characters. I just picked up Mr. Pope's first book and was thrilled--nay, ecstatic to see lists and lists of other Napoleonic naval titles on the inside front cover, waiting for me to snort them up my nostrils.

So, if anyone is wondering what to get me for an apartment-warming present in July, the answer is: book store gift certificates.

Or the number of a really good twelve-step program. Either way.

...makes the world go 'round...

So I don't have enough moola to do crazy things like, oh, I don't know, fly to London, but in looking at my bank account today, I realised that I have more money now than I had when I moved to Williamsburg. Yay. That helps. I moved at the perfect intersection of needing to pay a deposit meets getting my tax refund. My only question: how will I spend my extra government money? I may just have to adopt a small furry. We shall see.

Meanwhile, I was wondering about my blog and how it's all about me, me, me, and does anyone really care about what I have to say about things? Then I realised I don't really care, I just want a written record of my opinions. I love my blog. It's such a hugely egotistical thing to do, writing totally about oneself. Yet, no one has to read it. People can choose to participate, or not. But, unlike the endless debate of whether or not an audience makes theatre, a blog will still be a blog EVEN IF NO ONE READS IT. Amazing.

That little train of thought was mostly because I am now going to complain about what a bad movie The Bounty is. Totally my opinion, you can read it or not, but I just want to set down for the record: it's a bad movie.

Oh, don't get me wrong, The Bounty WANTS to be a good movie. Based loosely on Mutiny on the Bounty, the story is told from Captain Bligh's point of view. He is being tried by the Admiralty as to whether or not he's responsible for losing his ship, so the whole movie is his flashback. Here's the thing though: the main plotpoint of Mutiny is Christian Fletcher setting Bligh adrift in the ocean and there is no dramatic tension if you know he survives.

Er. I hope I didn't spoil that for anyone. It's still a good book though, go read it.

The movie stars Anthony Hopkins as Bligh, and Mel Gibson as Christian Fletcher. The film also stars Laurence Olivier as Admiral Hood. I couldn't help but picturing Olivier kicking the door down on the first day of filming and shouting something like "all right people, let me show you how it's done!" in his shiny, shiny uniform. (the movie is bad, but the uniforms are spot on. what it is about costumers getting naval uniforms right when everything else is crap?) Anthony Hopkins is acting his heart out, but Mel Gibson steals the scenes for being so amazingly mediocre. I mean--Fletcher's whole conflict is whether or not he should desert and stay on Tahiti or Do His Duty and stay with the ship, but we get none of that until the moment when he starts waving a sword around and declaiming "I am in hell!" in his best "they may take our lives but they'll never take our freedom!" voice.

Also. The sailing scenes are lousy. Lots of long shots of anonymous sailors reefing sails or falling over themselves in the middle of a squall. And then they get to Tahiti where the whole crew is seduced by a Dance of Fertility performed by half-naked women, in the worst tradition of exotic-other-islanders meets western-civilization. The sailors think the Tahitians have everything figured out and are seduced by the easy-going lifestyle and loose women. Got it. Now go put some clothes on.

What isn't clear is why people dislike Bligh so much--he treats his crew like dirt, but only after Tahiti. I suppose in a better-scripted movie it would be clearer that his mental state is due to the exhaustion of constantly resisting pretty girls, but here it just feels like "oh, time for Bligh to go mad and...go."


Anthony Hopkins: "I can do mad...you ever hear of a little film called 'Silence of the Lambs?'"

Anyway, this movie gets a one out of four stars...I could have enjoyed it more, but the whole thing just didn't hang together. The designs were fabulous, but the acting was uneven and the sailing scenes made me wince. Also, if you have a man who needs a ponytail, for God's sake, give him a wig. You will never be able to match a fake tail to his real hair--Clark Gable didn't learn this in 1936's version, and Mel Gibson is unable to pull it off here.

I recommend watching The Bounty with lots and lots of tropical drinks.

Be of Good Cheer

I am trying to remain upbeat, but the fact is that I am incredibly hot, uncomfortable and tired after sitting all day in a non-ergonomic if personally historically chair, and in ten minutes I will have to leave for Job B.

The girls downstairs have chosen to get out some of their after-school energy by running around and screaming at the top of their lungs.

My roommate, who is using up all his sick leave before he is laid off in March has spent all day sleeping, watching movies and now playing guitar, seemingly unaware that the garbage needs to go out, the kitchen floor needs to be mopped, the bathroom could use a scrub and the fridge is downright scary.

And I'm fairly certain that, queen of the footwear that I am, I have no clean socks to wear to work tonight, which means only one thing: laundry on Saturday.

On the plus side I caught a glimpse of our neighbor's golden lab Henry as the pooch went charging up the stairs of the condo next to us. And President Bush signed the bill that will enable us to borrow $150 billion from China so I can get an extra $300 bucks next May. And Barack Obama is leading in delegates, and, were I half as lazy as my roommate, I would have taken yesterday off and gone to hear him speak in Madison. Also I'm healthy and working, so it's not all bad.

Today's word is Palafox, courtesy of "The Golden Ocean" which I finished with breathless delight today. Not strictly a nautical tern, but on the list of dog names nonetheless.

Booty Call

The paper informs me that tomorrow is national Talk Like A Pirate Day (or, as I like to say in my snobby, pendatic tone) Talk Like a West Country Person Day. The paper also encourages me to go on a Pub Crawl, with free drinks for dressing up like a pirate. However, as much as I like to drink, also to dress up, I won't be partaking because The British Royal Navy certainly doesn't condone pirates, and What Would Lord Nelson do? He would clap them all in irons. So until they have a National Lord Nelson is Awesome Day, I will be primly sitting this one out.
Speaking of the awesome, check out this contemporary painting by Mark Churms I know, I know, I have enough Nelson stuff, but I really like this painting. The technique is incredible.


Well, I am off to study. I have to learn a bunch of vocabulary for the GRE--luckily I already have a leg up, since JK Rowling tends to use a lot of their words in her books. Stupefy! Enervate! Obliviate! wait--no, don't obliviate...damnit...

Breathing room!

I checked my bank account today and discovered that my final paychecks from London had been deposited, so now I am doing better financially than I thought I was. What a relief. I was going to write a blog entry that started out "Should I take sailing lessons? Hmmm...do I have $300? No. Ah. That answers that question." But I mentioned to one of the high-flyers here who had "Boating World" on his business card that I would like to take sailing lessons and the first words out of his mouth were: "That's a great way to meet guys. Rich guys too. Guys who own yachts and who want to learn to sail them. You should do it." After I got over the shock of a middle aged business man encouraging me to take lessons so I could "meet guys" I started thinking this might be a good idea. You know. Meet some rich guy who could keep me in the lifestyle to which I am accustomed while I pursue my theatrical career and take me out for stress-free boating weekends. Mmmm, boats.