You know, there’s nothing like a summer night in New England. We don’t get too many scorching ones, and at night it’s even more rare to feel the heat. Tonight I’m just sitting on the deck of the Sapphire, writing the EXL camp book by the light of a citronella torch. There aren’t many bugs, but I like the torch anyway, for the pagan sort of light it casts. It’s one of those nights where the blue and the sounds and the just-enough wind are such perfect conspirators in making one stop and think. The deck right now only wants for one more torch, a bottle of fine scotch, and a few people to talk of weird things.
Reading Menick’s blog lately in full torrent mode has been difficult. One because I go for my daily dose of bile and get all this other crap instead, that I used to skim over elsewhere. I get what he’s trying to do, but I can’t say as I like it. Content of different types should be easily separable; the paradigm of the web involves being able to slice off what’s of most use to me without having to wade through the rest. That’s why I get my news from RSS these days, not television.
Plus, the policy posts bug me, if only because when they start talking about counterplans, namely CP, I automatically assume that Menick’s talking smack about me again. I expect Vaughan has this same problem with JV LD.
This weekend is camp move in weekend. The first year I was excited for camp; last year I was stressed for it, mostly because I was juggling too many other things to really dedicate my full attention to any one of them. That last year’s camp succeeded so well is probably a testimony to my own relative uselessness. However, this year I’m feeling calm. We’ve made a great schedule — it gets better every year — and I’m teaching fun things. Better yet, I have outlines of most of my classes already written, either from having taught them before, or from having time this past month to sit and craft them. Some are even fully written, for the long elusive camp book that I’ve finally given some serious attention to this month. Writing English is much more restful than writing code, which either works or doesn’t, with a hard edge.
I’m liking this new balance of life, and much looking forward to this sort of pace in the coming season. A big event, then a few weeks to a month off to make the next event happen the way it ought. Quality, not quantity. It has reinforced my thinking on a number of fronts, especially regarding to some of the tournaments I was on the edge of continuing with or not. I want to be able to sit on the shores of Lake Shirley in a thick pile carpet and taste the relaxation that to this day I still only know when I’m back home in Fitchburg. The weather smells better there, and the rain is cooler and more real. I miss the fireflies I’d see right now, and the Milky Way, and the birch trees. So I should see them more this fall.
But for now, sitting in my favorite spot outside above, during my favorite time of year for it, some more writing.