Nigh to Knight-Fall...

It's that time again. The temperature's dropping, the air is crisp and you can stay outside for more that an hour without catching flame... and you know what that means, right?

That's right it's time again for the Renaissance Fair. Time to dig out my Tunic and hat, and, perhaps, whip up a dress for the missus.

Anyone in my area that is considering going to the Louisiana Renaissance Festival this year might want to check out the coupon deal I just got in my email:

$14 for Two Adult Admissions to the Louisiana Renaissance Festival in Hammond... that's half-price! I'm on their mailing list and get coupons every year, but they're not nearly this good.

So, Psibabe, J.R. Nip and myself(Geck0) will be going this year. Not sure when, yet, but these tickets are pretty much good for any single day they're open, so that's not a big deal.

I think this Groupon thing may just be worthwhile... :)

How 'bout them Saints?!

I imagine blogs to be much like seismographs - a large event will be recorded instantaneously by those closest to the event, and will, over time, propagate further out. Well, if that is the metaphor we are using, then my seismograph isn't plugged in and running very often, and this is actually recording an aftershock.

And, for that matter, I think "aftershock" is not too bad a way to put it. I don't think I've fully gotten over the "shock", at any rate. "How bout them Saints" used to be a phrase that people around here would say when they wanted to change the subject... and merely as an indication that they wanted to change the subject. It wasn't a lead-in to an actual conversation about a pro football team, but more of a way of saying, "There's got to be something else we can talk about, right?"

Now, however, one winning Super Bowl later, the Saints aren't just a topic of conversation, they're a cult... and "How 'bout them Saints" isn't just a phrase of speech, it's a likely headline across the front of a newspaper. I say "likely headline" because I didn't actually see the front of the newspaper the day after the Superbowl - they were all bought up. Like they were the last newspaper to be printed. Not only did they sell out - everywhere - early in the morning, but that was even with the fact that the newspaper companies printed more copies than normal in expectation of the demand. There is actually a car dealership in Baton Rouge that picked up what appears to be a truck full of papers and is advertising a free Saints Super Bowl win newspaper for coming in to the dealership.

To me, Baton Rouge has always been a sports town. Primarily, though, it's a college town, with both LSU and Southern University, there are a lot of extreme sports fans rooting for some large wild game cat or another and, with LSU colors being purple and gold (well, yellow, really) and Southern's colors being blue and yellow, it seems that "Yellow" is the most agreeable color to wear in the city of "Red Stick". (As a side note, since the Saints colors are black and gold (well, yellow, really), it's not a bad idea to buy stock in yellow if you live in the Baton Rouge area.)

It is quite amazing to me how fanatical the Baton Rouge area has become about the NEW ORLEANS Saints. Yes, they're the closest NFL team to Baton Rouge, but I was not prepared for the rush on newspapers and the merchandise vendors in tents not just on "every street corner" but more like set up in front of almost every other store. I could easily pass fifteen of these makeshift street vendors with black and gold (well, yellow, really) T-shirts on my way to work. It's just too much!

Did I watch the game? You bet your sweet bippie. I haven't watched a football game in years, I don't plan to watch another one in the coming years, but we not only watched the game, we threw together a small (very small) party to watch the game. We made a bucket of Mojitos, bought three six packs of Iron Beer (The national soft drink of Cuba) and had some generally Cuban themed snacks to accompany the Superbowl, which was held in Miami, Florida (pronounced, "Northern Cuba"). Although we invited a few people to join us, it ended up being just myself, my wife Ashley and Chris. Which was probably just as well, because we were so tied to the game - and the commercials - that we never even made it to fetch the Mojitos out of the freezer.

Besides the obvious quality of the commercials during the Superbowl and the excitement of the close game and the amazing plays, Chris had a personal interest in the game in that he grew up with Tracey Porter, the Saints player that turned and interception opportunity into a breakaway play where he covered three-quarters of the field and ended his run in a touchdown that proved to be the last points the Saints made (or needed) in the game. Chris would have had to have been much less excited to be "on the edge of his seat"; on two separate occasions, I had to remind him that it was fine for him to sit down and enjoy the game from the comfort of the couch. He would run to his house for something, then rush back and stand in the living room, watching with all-consuming determination at the television, waiting to see what happened next. I guess that comes from his covering sports as a photographer. I don't imagine you sit down much when your down on the side-lines of the field taking pictures of the action.

My poor dog had never witnessed a football game on television before. For that matter, he might not ever have seen a sporting event on TV - and definitely not one that people in the house cared a flip about. He was beside himself when there was a flag on a play, or points scored, or even a first down would cause the three of us to yell something; he would run up to the entertainment center and stand up on his hind legs and bark at the screen. (Sorry Tracey Porter, he just doesn't know you - it's nothing personal.) He also wasn't too keen on the fireworks and yelling that occurred from the streets around us just after the Saints actually won the Super Bowl. I have to say I was a bit surprised, myself. Even getting beyond the whole Baton Rouge / New Orleans thing, how did these people still have fireworks? Did they buy them specifically in case the Saints actually won? Or did they simply have leftovers after firing fireworks off to exhaustion for New Years? I guess I have a hard time with this, since they're not even legal to use in my neighborhood.

I can only imagine what Mardi Gras must have been like this year. I didn't venture toward New Orleans for it this year, but the normal Mardi Gras crowds are more than enough for me, so I am fine with not being in parade crowds that were up to 50 people deep in places. Hard to imagine, but I'm okay with keeping it limited to my imagination. If you went to Mardi Gras 2010 (and survived), congratulations and thank you for your tourist dollars... you don't get 50 people deep from the natives here.

...but I never forget a Face(book)

Ah, social networking sites. There are so many out there, each with their own little twists or gimmicks or specific focus. Lately, I've been trying to reconnect with friends from days gone by on Facebook. That's been an interesting experience, and an eye-opening one.

When I was about to marry my beautiful bride, Ashley, we had talked about what her name would be. Hyphenation came up and, at the time, I felt very hurt and insulted. I wanted the world to know that she was with me. I wanted her to take my last name ...to become a Perkins.

In the end, that's what she did, and she tells me, from time to time, that she is happy to be a Perkins. Usually, it's when I'm tossing around the idea of changing my name from "Robert Earle Perkins" to "Game Vortex .com". Perhaps she's mainly not too thrilled in becoming Mrs. ".com", but she and I are both happy with our new life together, and I think, for her, the name is part of that.

However, it wasn't until recently, as I tried to locate friends from back in high school, that I see how hard it can be to find someone once their name has been changed. On Facebook, I search for females from back in high school and pull back various results, often nothing that looks like it's likely to be the correct one. Most of the women I went to school with have since gotten married and, since I don't know their last names, it's difficult to find them. In fact, I end up letting others do most of the work. When I find someone I know, I look at their friends, in hopes that I will recognize someone from high school.

It seems strange, actually... most of the people from my high school (located an hour north of Baton Rouge) seem to have settled in Baton Rouge or the immediate vicinity, but I never see any of them as I go about the city. I suppose I only shop in a couple of grocery stores and I don't really frequent the mall, but I do eat at a lot of restaurants ...yet I never see anyone from "back in the day."

To compound things, there will often be search results that look like they might be someone I know, but when I try to look to verify, either the profile is locked unless you're a accepted friend or there's no profile picture... or the profile pic isn't clear and all of the other pictures they have are of other people - friends, family and the like.

It can get quite tiring. But, Facebook can serve as a nice way to keep in touch with friends you don't see so much anymore.

Do you know me? Check my Facebook page and say "hi."

Robert Perkins' Facebook profile

Merry Christmas, Check! Fiery Inferno in Kitchen, Check!

While having three inches of snow destroy our new outdoor canopy or having a hurricane knock down approximately half of the trees in our neighborhood really would have been enough excitement in 2008, we had the (mis)fortune of managing to have a reasonably sized grease fire in the kitchen this past weekend.

We were having a holiday get-together, with Kamber O' Blythe, Ravebaby, J.R.Nip, Psibabe and myself (Geck0) all chillin' at the GameVorplex. I made a stack of funnel cakes for the crew, but Kamber and Ravebaby had to run out on an errand, leaving us to eat their funnel cakes. When they returned, Psibabe started the oil for me to make some more and informed me, but I had told her I didn't want to make any more, not to bother. She didn't hear that and began playing Tomb Raider: Underworld for review. When I came out of the office, J.R.Nip was trying to help her work through a puzzle, and I sat down to help them figure out where to go next.

A couple of minute later, Psibabe said it smelled like something was burning and realized it must be the oil. When we rounded the corner into the kitchen, it was not just burning, but flaming at least a foot in the air. It wasn't just oil, it was a LOT of oil. You deep fry funnel cakes. It would take a while for the oil to burn off.

A lot of things run through your head when you find yourself, suddenly, staring at a lot of hot flame. In your house. The first thought, of course, is oh-my-God-that's-not-supposed-to-be-there. Then, you start trying to think of ways that you might put it out. My immediate thought was that I could post a question on Yahoo Answers and in three days, I should have a good answer. Of course, my immediate realization was that I would probably need to find an answer a lot QUICKER than three days. Minutes would be nice. I also thought about running to the office and looking it up on Google, but I decided that, as quick as I am at searching for things, I needed to figure something out then and there. Someone suggested a fire extinguisher... which would be a good idea... if we knew where it was and if it was the right type for grease fires. Of course, we didn't, and I'm pretty sure it isn't.

Something then occurred to me that I had learned from watching the special features of some movie: there are two white powdery substances commonly found in a kitchen. Flour and Baking Soda. One of them will put out the fire, the other will burn quickly when aerated and, so, will cause a fiery flash, making things worse. At the time, I couldn't think of which was which. FOR THOSE WHO NEED TO KNOW: BAKING SODA CAN BE USED TO PUT OUT BURNING OIL.

The very next thing that occurred to me wasn't how to put out the fire. It was exactly how much the three of us, all intelligent, level-minded adults, reminded me of The Sims when they have their cooking mishaps. We were, for all intents and purposes, waving our hands around and jogging in place, much like The Sims do. I've always thought that The Sims reduced life to something that can be looked at with a passing glance, but I had hoped that the reaction to a kitchen fire was more exaggerated than it evidently is.

Other suggestions were thrown in by the others and I had thought of a couple, myself. Throw water on it... no, that would be BAD. Throw ice on it? No, Ice is water, too. Put a wet towel over it? Well, that's still water, and if the heat steams off the water quick enough, we have a flaming towel. Too risky. I thought about putting it in the oven and letting it consume all of the air, I mean, hey - the oven's designed for high temps. The only reason I didn't do that one is because I wasn't sure how air-tight the oven was or just how hot that oil was burning... and I was rapidly getting to the point I was going to try it, anyway. I was later told that doing so could have destroyed the wiring in the oven, but it would have been a way to stop the fire from spreading and contain the smoke, so even looking back, that would have been my preferred solution, after fire extinguisher and baking soda. The other thought I had, and the one I was ready to go with, was to get the biggest, deepest pot we had (preferably over a foot in depth), dump the flaming mess into it and carefully, yet quickly, escort it out of the house and into the back yard.

However, before I could put this plan into action (before I could remember where the big pot was kept), J.R.Nip decides to be the hero. He grabs the skillet of flames and turns to run out the back door, which he had opened earlier to vent the smoke. This could have been a great idea. I had wanted to do much the same thing, except with higher walls on the pot, so liquid fire wouldn't fall onto anything. The only problems were that there was a large dining room table in his path. And carpet. And the fact that he's typically pretty clumsy. That would be why Psibabe shrieked when she saw that he was going to make the attempt. He instantly aborted his heroic attempt and went to return the flames to the stove top, but the sudden change in direction caused some of the flaming oil to spill to the ground... and his awaiting bare feet. The fallen fire quenched instantly, but it goes without saying that it was still very, very, very hot oil.

With the pan back on the stove and half of the grease out of the way, the flames had died down a bit, so we went with my larger-pot-and-rush-out-the-back-door plan. The flames died out and, currently, the pot is still out there.

We rushed J.R. to the Urgent Care facility and a mere hour and fifteen minutes after burning his foot, he got medical treatment. He says it only hurts when he puts pressure on it, now, but the blisters are... the stuff of horror-films. With luck, it should heal with very little scarring, if any, but it's too early to tell for now.

It was an eventful Saturday... the kind that makes me remember an old Chinese curse, "May your live in interesting times."