She was built on a dream, and the blood of her crew. She had no Captain, no helmsman, and no charter. But the prospect of what could be was a force stronger than reality. Like an ancient secret, those that beheld her revelation became the initiated. Through their veins she found form, from their hearts she found momentum, and in their minds she gained grandeur. Before she even left the yard, the great ship was already a legend. Her christening was celebrated far and wide, and heralded the dawn of a new era. Aye, she was a grand ship indeed.

But she wouldn’t take a breeze.

Her mighty sails lay dormant, like tapestries on the mast, a blank record to potential greatness. Lining the decks, the crew stood motionless, scanning the canvas reaches for the smallest of furl. For days they waited, sang of the adventures to come, made themselves busy with their daily tasks, all the while believing the lifeblood wind was contained in each cloudy horizon.

The wind never came.

And the crew, broken from bending, abandoned the ship. And she waits there still, listing in the sparkling bay, her decks blistered from the sun. Her only voyage was the one taken in the imagination of her faithful crew. Her only wind the one that they provided.

This was the fate of the great ship Majestic.

HiddenAlliance: and is this the famous "Pisces" of who Munin has spoken??
EClipse5701: agentpisces is .. yes

I received some rather interesting, yet not wholy unexpected, information this weekend. If you'll permit me a very temporary moment of melancholy.

A 12 year chapter in my life has come to a close. A girl that I dated on and off since 7th grade; the first girl that I kissed, the first girl that I kissed, the woman that has killed me more times than I can remember, and who I have killed in return, the Helen to my Parris, the Isolde to my Tristan, was married in a private ceremony in February. When I heard indirectly that she was engaged, I didnt get in the way. Not this time. She deserves her happiness. In all the turmoil we both had gone through, whether friends or enemies, we always had eachother. I guess I had just gotten used to that, and summarily taken it for granted.

But in our usual fashion, our lives have taken the form of a story she and I wrote our senior year in high school, complete with all its ironies. They were married 6 months ahead of schedule, in near secrecy, on my birthday. I found out about it on hers.

Do svedanya, dorogaya Katya.

During the first battle of Bull Run, citizens of Washington ventured in carriages to the ridges overlooking Manassas. There, under the shade of their umbrellas and through opera glasses, they watched the mighty federal army swept to retreat by the upstart southern rebels.

On Tuesday, the 30th of April, 2002, the final curtain will be drawn on Majestic. Come join your fellow former agents as we watch the lumbering behemoth gasp its final breath.

Majestic Alliance chat- all day long. Pass the word. Press the green button.

I dont know, maybe its just me that doesnt see the validity of this "whats happened to the gang?" argument. When I started into this whole chat room business a year ago, there were only a few people that I consistantly conversed with. First it was bruss (because us colorado kids have to stick together) and Rev (because he said 'yo' to me in a chatroom when I was a newbie). A happenstance stop at saph.4t.com and a display of my knowledge of military hardware caught the attention of Dayna. Dusty posted a spoiler warning on the MI comm center boards in response to something I had said, and I first chatted with her to apologize for being a momo. On rare occassions I would send John a message asking about the status of the game of MI.net, and he would eventually respond. No matter how many times I chat with him, he'll always be "the chief" to me. I was first introduced to the "l33+" chatroom (under whatever name it was at the time) when Dayna dragged me in there to prove I wasnt a figment of her imagination. It was a similar reluctant acceptance of a chat invite that introduced me to Brian and Adam. I think I met Jin because we would both respond to chat room questions directed to "AP". I heard Sandra's voice, the voice of Dr. Sera, before I even knew she was Munin. Anthony was the great enigma ValSmith, who I thought was a made up character for the longest time until I saw him pop into the DC chat and drop a link for streaming audio. I remember lurking in the main alliance chat and waiting for RMF to drop in and say something off the wall. And then there was the day in the DC chat that we all learned eachothers names. The "great unveiling" I called it. On the way, I met a whole load of other folks that spun in and out of focus, but never rooted themselves in my memory. And then I met a bunch of people that I never knew in game that have proven to be quite a pleasure to chat with. But the core group: Dusty, Dayna, Matt, Jin, Brian, John, Sandra, and Adam are still around. Sure, we all have things that have pulled us away from all day chat sessions, and sometimes people disappear and reappear randomly, but everyone is still accounted for.

Perhaps I'm a naive optimist. Maybe I just see what I want to see. But one thing is for certain- the group has changed, but is not gone or leaving by any means.

Yes, Brian, a varsity letter for band. And one for swimming. And one for academics. Hell, they even gave us one for running the radio station. But I didnt really care- my mom paid for the jacket because she wanted to collect one that I had worn in high school. I think I wore it maybe a total of 50 times: to a handful of football games and debate competitions. The rest of the time it was in the grubby little paws of whatever flute playing, flag twirling blonde freshman I was dating at the time. The only reason the jacket is hanging in the cedar closet at home next to my dads, and not folded neatly along side heart tugging poetic wanderings and dried flowers in a box labeled "Nick" in the attic of some ex-girlfriend's parents house, is that my mom pitched a blinger and made me get it back.

Why dont women just buy the damn things and not let us have them in the first place?

A jock? Me? Oh, this is funny. How is it that someone who answered yes to the role playing questions, and yes to the posession of smokes and a cd player can qualify as a jock? Apparently they didnt add the category "Band Geek", and somehow "Jock" took its place. It must have been that damn letter jacket...

This was the top story on the opinions page of our campus newspaper. As usual, the "facts" detailed therein are slightly less than factual. I know, its just an op ed article. But come on folks- lets attempt to avoid Enquirer status.

Here are just a few facts that I thought concerned parties might be interested in:

1. Georgetown yearly parking rate = oh wait... Georgetown students arent allowed to have cars. But faculty and staff pay nearly $1200 per year.
2. George Washington students pay almost $300.... a month. 9 months in a school year. Do the math.
3. Forgetting to display your permit, should you even have one, is a $10 fine.
4. "Oh, and forget daring to park for five minutes in a reserved parking space or unauthorized lot while you run into Hagen Daaz for your daily caffeine fix..." Gee, Lauren, I'm sorry I interfered with your "fix" by doing something so silly as writing you a ticket for being parked in a fire lane...
5. 1970's style parking meters, huh... thats funny, I replaced all the meters about a month ago, and I'm sure that JJ MacKay Meters, Inc. would be surprised to know they were peddling a 30 year old product.... I didnt even think they had LCD parking meters in the 70's... go figure...

Oh, and by the way, Lauren.... you owe the university $360 in overdue traffic citations... and why is it that if you're a junior, you've been using a prospective student free parking permit? You know- I think that might be an honor code violation that the dean of students would be interested in hearing.

The day was going smoothly. Nothing seemd like it was severe enough to keep me here beyond my normal 9 hours. Then mother nature decided to give us a little rain.

Well, a lot of rain, actually. And all at the same time.

So now I have a campus full of debris, 4 traffic accidents, power outages, security systems to reset, and 4 shuttles that were thrown off schedule leaving a whole lot of pissed off wet people who are now late.

Is happy hour running past 7 pm these days?

The vacant great hall at the island keep was filled with the aroma of simmering vegetables, and the fire cast waves of heat into the cold morning air. The troll and the kobold shaman huddled around the hearth, trying to evaporate some the fog that had soaked through their clothing. But the huntress stood motionless, save her eyes that seemed to scan every nook and cranny of the large room, attaching memories as they went.

"We took most of the banners down last fall. The mildew claimed the last of the great standards just before winter." Aidan said as he leaned against the table.

"It just seems so barren in here. I mean, since the last time." She replied, removing her sword and setting it on the table next to her. Her comment set the others to studying the room. Its vaulted ceilings stretched the length of the hall, and were adorned with hanging wooden chandeliers. The long windows that lined the eastern wall were thick glass and emblazoned with the crest of the Guardians of the Tome. At its zenith, the Guardians were more than 100 strong, and the island keep was a center of hidden power. But years of war and mainland concerns had taken a toll on their numbers, and now only one remained. And even he wasn’t really a Guardian, but a proxy doing a favor for an old friend. But both Aidan and Asny remembered when the island keep was full of life. The sounds of laughter had long since subsided, but the walls still held within them a great and ever-present sense of being. It was as if the entire castle had been imbued with a life force so ancient, so deeply noble, that the very stones that composed its walls seemed subject to veneration. And at the heart of this living system was the Keeper of the Tome, the frail old man that now shuffled down the stairs to greet his guests.

"Asny, my dear child, what a joy to see you in one piece." He said, extending his arms to embrace her. Taking his hands in her own, she leaned forward to hold the old man as she had countless times before.

"Look how gray you've become…" she said as she playfully twirled a lock of his hair. The last time she had seen him, he was still sharing the load of swordplay instruction for the freshman Guardians with the other senior officers. Now he only picked up a blade to move it out of the way of whatever book he was searching for. She spent a moment looking at the lines that had grown on his face, and searched his eyes for the jovial gleam they once housed. It didn't take her long to realize that it was still there, and burning brighter than ever with the sight of her.

"This must be Krulk and master Homi. I’ve heard much about you both." The old man said as he greeted the newcomers warmly. "Please, make yourselves at home. Asny, we have much to discuss." Taking her arm in his, they walked back up the stairs. About midway up the landing, he called back. "Oh yes, I’d nearly forgotten. Aidan, would you and the lads be so kind as to find our other guest?"

"Other guest, sir?"

"Yes, there were three sets of tracks heading up the path from the beach… and one headed toward the rock outcropping. Lets find this person before they get into any trouble."

Jin was tasked with inspiring me to compose something witty and thought provoking.... this didnt work out as well as either of us had hoped. So in the meantime, I'm going to post random Buffett lyrics that I think are funny.

"Now I go for younger women,
I've lived with several a while.
Though I ran them away, they'd come back one day
and still could manage to smile.
It just takes a while, it just takes a while."

"Now on the day that John Wayne died,
I found myself on the continental divide.
Tell me 'where do I go from here'?
Think I'll ride into Leadville and have a few beers."

"Well now that was just the start of a well-deserved over due binge
Meanwhile back in the city certain people are starting to cringe
His lawyers are calling his parents
His girlfriend doesn't know what to think
His partners are studing their options
He's just singing and ordering drinks."

As soon as I find where my mind went to, I'll post something of substance.

The local public access channel has raided the video library at UMUC, and has been airing lectures by Joseph Campbell between 10 and 12 pm for the last week. If you arent familiar with Joseph Campbell, you need to be. His work on the archetypal themes in religion and mythology is without a doubt the most interesting material I've ever read. Before he died, he sat down with that hype-ramora Leonard Maltin and discussed the mythic archetypes in Star Wars. These should be required viewing for every member of the star wars generation.

Anyhow, enough from the Campbellian. The point of this post was to tell you that I fell asleep while listening to a lecture on the themes of love and death in the Arthurian legend. You would not believe the crazy ass dreams I had. Now I've never claimed to be normal when it came to the inner workings of my head, but these little scenes were absolutely odd. I cant recall most of them, but one in particular stands out.

I was standing on the deck of a ship, sailing through increasingly choppy seas. I recall that the air was stale, and at the same time strong with the smell of lilac. I couldnt really determine in which direction we were headed, as the fog was so thick, and the rocking of the boat seemed to change our course with every passing wave. The bitter smell in the air was so overpowering that I kept having to cover my mouth and nose. My eyes were watering and I could hardly keep them open, and eventually I collapsed on the deck in a fit of coughing. When I came to, I was below deck in a stateroom. The lilac smell was gone, but I could still taste it on my tongue. As more of the room came in to focus, I became aware of another person, on whose lap my head was resting. My eyes were still blurry, and I tried to make out her face, but could only see flowing red hair and green eyes. I asked her what had happened, and how I had arrived below deck. She leaned down and kissed me, and on her breath I could taste the lilac again. Wiping a tear from her eye, she smiled at me and said "Were dead."

It was very odd. However, I did manage to determine where this crazy story came from. The lilac smell, however, is still a mystery. Maybe I'll blame that part on pure insanity.

As my ever eloquent grandmother would say, "It's hotter than scotch love around here." I never asked Grandma what exactly she meant by that... I honestly didnt want to know. Would you? Nonetheless, the expression is fitting for today. Naturally, the folks down at physical plant operations are trapped in Narnia during wintertime, so they dont think the air conditioning is essential. Meanwhile, the rest of us have gone into stasis in an attempt to generate as little body heat as possible. It's only April- its not supposed to be hot to the point of incapacitation until July.

Well, if my recent crime fighting escapades had any bearing on the results of this test, I would say that it's pretty accurate. Robogoon may have been just a little rusty- but hey, I've been doing paperwork for the last 3 months. So, maybe I was too close to the bait and spooked him. It could be worse. So, maybe he gave me the slip on my own turf. These things happen. But regardless of the potential mistakes, things are progressing nicely. Hopefully, I'll have a more cheery report later in the week.

What did I do this weekend... hmmm... well, I finished my taxes and submitted them. I got a hair cut, so I dont feel like a dirty hippy anymore. I did some laundry so I dont smell like a dirty hippy anymore. Took care of some automotive upkeep stuff, so my car is running smoothly again. I saw a preview of "Murder By Numbers" on thursday last week. It wasnt the best detective flick I'd ever seen, but it wasnt the worst. And I think that Sandra Bullock is purty, so that more than compensated for a rushed script. They just didnt have enough time to develop things far enough to make the "who-dun-it accusation" as clever as it could have been. Oh well. Today I have very much work that needs to be done. And I have to pay my bills. Not a combination that bodes well for a stress free monday. Wish me luck.

Today is the annual "Campus Beautification Day". Its that time each year, a few days before Freshman Day, that the university spends millions of dollars to transform an otherwise gray and dreary suburban block into a glimmering and happy scholastic utopia. They find this encourages potential AU Mom's and Dad's to shell out the big bucks and send junior to DC for school. Unbeknownst to them, within a month, everything will transform back to institution drab and it will be too late..... HAHAHAHAHAH.

Sorry. That just slips out sometimes.

So all of us staff members get conscripted to participate in this facade building, and its generally well received. After all- manual labor is much more appealing than answering the fucking phone or dealing with idiots. And after thats all done, I have other fun cop stuff to do that I'll tell you all about tomorrow, assuming the jump street crew works our magic.

Tipper Gore spoke on campus last night, and for once, I wasnt assigned the detail. But wouldnt you know it, the event was actually eventful.

Before you wave the goon flag and accuse my brethren of serious party fouls, I would only ask that you keep one thing in mind:
Perception is based on emotion.

And just a few facts:

1. "Tipper's Security Detail" should be read as "Secret Service".
2. Secret Service operates under the National Security Act (1947) while conducting arrests.
3. Refusing to cooperate with law enforcement personnel in a secure environment is tantamount to resisting arrest. Its in those silly laws that our elected legislature enact. You know, the legislature... the other part of your rights that gets ignored in favor of sit-ins...
4. We dont have a police scanner. MPD notifies my office whenever they send a cruiser to a call on campus. Why you ask? Well, mostly to ensure that its not a bogus phone call.
5. Video recording and flash photography are never allowed at any event in Bender Arena.... even the potheads know that.

We shall see how far this one goes.

Taking cues from Adam and Sabby, I've started to take mental notes and learn from my own mistakes. This will not last long, so dont get used to it. But for the time being, it amuses me to pretend I'm organized.

Lesson 1: Unless you know her name, shes not on your tab.

Friday night, the guys and I met a buddy of mine from Colorado down at the P's. Over the course of the night, while the rest of us were shooting darts, my roomate Mark was sitting at the table and attracting strays. The problem with this is that whenever they sit down at our table and order something, it goes on the tab. So when the end of the night rolled around and I first saw the bill, I nearly fell over. 4 of us drinking, some food, one for the bartender, one for the owner, and the ocassional "hey, foxy lady" beer should not be almost $250. "What the hell did you order while we were playing darts, Mark?" "Oh, nothing. But so and so and so and so's friends from out of town stopped by. They each had a beer and ordered food. But they left $25 dollars." Good one, chief. That leads to Lesson 1, part 2: dont leave Mark alone.

Lesson 2: When the well is empty, everyone dies thirsty.

Lets do some math- if you have $40 on friday night that needs to last until wednesday of the next week, and you spend, say, all of it for no apparent reason, buying groceries and lunch becomes a problem. Not to mention that whole needs-to-stop-being-the-big-brother-beer-provider problem. But thats another issued entirely.

I'm sure there was a third lesson in my mind, but I cant recall what it was. Oh well. I guess I'll focus on these two for now.

Perhaps its the funky bipolar weather (75 yesterday, 45 today) thats caused some rift in the space/time continuum, but its been voices from the past for the last 24 hours. It started yesterday with a visit from an old quasi-girlfriend (Lacey of Greenroom fame, who fell from grace and now does the books at the Malt Shop I believe). Then, my goon buddy Jeff told me he was applying for a job as the physical security coordinator at Human Genome Services, a Rockville based genetic engineering firm. This, of course, set off Majesticrack flashbacks. Then this morning, Matt used the phrase "hankerin' for a spankerin'...", which reminded me of my sponsor sister in law, who used to say it just before she hit you with something.

So lets combine the elements and find a trend: Lacey the Greenroom Barfly, Goonbuddy becomes the real Jenkins, and Hankerin' warnings of danger. Hmm...

Lacey wants a real goon to spank her? Been there... no desire to go back.

Greenroom goon heeds warnings of danger? I dont see any danger, so that cant be it.

I have no idea.

For those of you who dont know what a troika is, its a sleigh pulled by three horses. In many cultures, its a symbol of life in all its stages; past, present, and future. It's also used to describe any situation that can be viewed in three distinct ways. For example:

What I Should be Doing:
Processing case files, entering the permit applications from the fall (yeah, your math is right... thats 7 months of backlog), and coming up with a documented plan for this ill-fated neighborhood parking enforcement bit.

What I Want to be Doing:
Sitting on the deck at my great uncle's beach house on Lake Michigan, drinking cold beer, listening to the entire Buffett box set, while some hot little number sits next to me reading her romance novels.

What I am Doing:
Sitting behind a computer blogging with my shoes off, listening to pirated Buffett mp3's, and praying that every momo planning on coming in to my office today decided to stay at home and watch their kin on Jerry Springer.

Gotta love silly russian symbolism.

From "The Memoirs of CGC", a work of mine in progress.

The ship shook ever so slightly as it entered the atmosphere, barely noticeable except for the sound of the radiation shield absorbing the first layers of ionosphere. Yet it was enough to wake the old man sleeping by the window, head resting on his hand. As he opened his eyes, the full panorama of the planet below lay before him like a painting. New Atlantis was more than ninety percent water, and the clouds swirling around the planet made the whole picture remind the old man of the mint candies he used to buy for his children whenever he visited Old Cappella. The neighboring planets in the local system called New Atlantis Kyl Illyan, "the house of glass". But the violent storms on the surface spoke in direct contradiction to the apparent serenity seen from space. How perfectly suited to him, the old man thought, was this sapphire world into which he was descending. Engulfed in his thoughts, he hadn’t heard the woman enter his quarters.

"Sir? Captain General sir?" she called quietly, "Sir, we’ll be landing soon."

"Thank you, Lieutenant" he answered, turning his head to look at the young woman. She was in her early twenties, and the dark green uniform could not hide her youthful features. Her dark hair was cut short and bounced at her shoulders as she collected the man’s dinner plate, moving about the cabin softly, barely seeming to disturb the air about her. In any other place in the galaxy, the man thought, she would have been a ballet dancer or some other physical expression of beauty. But she was Aquian, and at twenty-three she had already been in the military for 5 years. When a person her age should have been going to college, she was in combat, receiving commendations for bravery instead of diplomas. But that was the Aquian way, a way all too familiar to the old man.

"Chancellor Peterson, Chancellor Rhys, and Admiral Seavey will be there to welcome you at the landing pad" she said, sitting down across the table from him. The itinerary in her hand was more in depth than the majority of battle plans he had drawn up in his life, and the young woman tapped the point of her pen on each entry as she read it off.

"Jack and the kids? And my wife?" he asked, sitting up in his seat and straightening his jacket.

"CGT and his family will arrive later this morning, and CGT has a full schedule until the opening of session for the House of Chancellors tomorrow. Mrs. Thompson and the children will be at the residence this evening, and dinner is planned for 1900. Your wife arrived yesterday from Silliusancte. I believe that she and General Brower have been touring the MC training facility in Hebris."

"The poor thing…" he replied pulling a cigarette out of his pocket.

"I’m sure she’s fine, sir."

"I was talking about the General. There’s only so many of her ‘suggestions’ that he can take before he starts drinking." She smiled, but he knew that she didn’t find the situation as funny as he did. As the minutes passed, the darkness that was space faded into the deep blue sky above New Atlantis. As they banked to the left, the cloudy form of the planet’s second largest landmass materialized beneath the small ship. The island was about 100 miles long and 60 miles wide, and was dotted with bays and natural lakes. Toward the southern end of the island was Hebris, the capital city of the planet and the location of the House of Chancellors, the highest civilian legislature in Aquius. It was early morning, and a dense fog still surrounded the landing zone as the ship touched down. Stubbing out the cigarette, the man stood up. His sturdy frame was starting to fade after so many years of service, but the same fire burned in his eyes. Straightening his sweater and putting on the dark gray uniform jacket, he turned to the young woman for her approval on the last point on the checklist. She smiled, fixed his collar, and nodded.

"They’re waiting for you, sir."

As he walked out onto the platform, the dense fog surrounded him like a blanket. It was thick, and he could feel it in his lungs as he took his first breath of fresh air. The pointed sound of the welcome detail going to attention brought him back from his communion with nature, and focused his eyes on the three figures coming to meet him.

"Good morning, CGC. I trust your trip was satisfactory?" said the man in the center of the group. He was tall and thin, and his gray hair blew in the gentle breeze. He was Aquian, and his pale skin and vibrant eyes seemed to glow in the fog. The old man had known Alex Peterson for nearly 40 years now, and shook the Aquian’s hand firmly.

"It’s good to see you, Alex."

"CGC, this is Chancellor Rhys."

"I’ve heard nothing but good things about you, Chancellor." CGC said, shaking the smaller man’s hand.

"It’s and honor to meet you, sir. A dream of mine, actually" he said, trying as best he could to maintain his composure.

"And you know Admiral Seavey." Returning the salute from the younger officer, CGC greeted him warmly.

"It’s a pleasure to see you again, sir. We were concerned when we heard that you weren’t feeling well." The Admiral was human, and had served CGC in the Armada since he entered the service. Seavey was CGC’s protégé, just as Jack Thompson had been before him. Now, Jack was the CG, and it was widely rumored that one day, Admiral Seavey would follow suit.

"Justin, if I let every sniffle stop me, I’d have to retire."

"You are retired, sir."