Monday, December 27, 2010
truffles!
so this holiday season I have re-discovered an old love of mine...cooking! but I have discovered her wearing some sexy new clothing...chocolate! yes, my not-so-devoted followers, I have become a CONFECTIONERY WIZARD!!!! For my holiday gifts, I decided to give out some tasty treats instead of the usual store bought shit. It means more that way. Also I'm a poor college student. So I began making cinnamon roasted almonds for people. Then, I found another recipe, this one for chocolate covered liquor cordials. I had to try. It crashed and burned the first time. The second time it only crashed. I got about a 50% yield out of the second batch, and Now I have found the thing that truly makes me want to be able to make beautiful candies... Truffles. As I write this post I am in the process of making a batch of dark chocolate and coffee truffles, after a sucessful batch of plain chocolate ganache ones...Wish me luck and as always, The Plot Moves On.
Image courtesy of the guy that posted the recipe for these truffles, Ian over at Instructables.com. here's his page...http://www.instructables.com/member/ian/
Monday, December 6, 2010
Graphic Novels
Who doesn't like comic books? Anyone think they're for kids? There is a big misconception about comics that has slowly been corrected over the last 20 years. Beginning with The Dark Knight Returns and Watchmen and continuing the tradition up to now, these graphic novels have shifted perceptions with the darker themes, more graphic fights, and more adult decisions to be made these comics began to make it ok for adults to like comics.
DKR and Watchmen both deal with the breakdown of the ideal of the comic book hero. DKR written by Frank Miller is a slightly more gentle approach, breaking only a few of the standing traditions of the Comic Hero. For instance, Bruce Wayne has been allowed to give up the mask and age. He is an old man, living in a time that doesn't want the "real" him, the Batman. With his eventual forfeiture of the life of Bruce Wayne, he departs from the normative life and become this anti-heroic figure that goes farther than he sometimes should.
Watchmen takes on the modernist hero concept in a more cynical way. The total inversion of the Super Hero and the concept of what makes a hero is subverted with deep and rather dark implications.
When I was assigned to make a comic for Dr. Williams' class I took to the idea with gusto. The comic I created was sort of a non-narrative story, simply a guy watching TV, becoming increasingly frustrated, and finally turning off the set. Much is communicated in comics, in one of three modes. The text, the images, and the panels themselves all communicate something. While the first two are fairly obvious, one might ask, how do the panels themselves communicate anything? Well, as the panels contain the story they become part of the image. When panels are small and set close together it makes the page look busy, cluttered and intense. It builds tension and allows for an emotionally tense setup for a scene. Naturally the converse is true as well.
In my comic, many of the panels are filled with static, denoting a change in channel. several pages are filled with a lot of the static, building an atmosphere that feels fast paced if not completely frantic. The images that I used were eclectic to say the least, with the unifying factor being the filter i used to give the images a grainy acrylic comic style. The tone only settles when we approach the final pages and we see the ending of a detective story, settling on a pulp 40's style, using images of Humphrey Bogart from ˆThe Maltese Falcon. All in all, every part of a comic communicates something, much like the cuts and edits to film, the frames of a comic can show or hide many things. As always, The Plot Moves On.
DKR and Watchmen both deal with the breakdown of the ideal of the comic book hero. DKR written by Frank Miller is a slightly more gentle approach, breaking only a few of the standing traditions of the Comic Hero. For instance, Bruce Wayne has been allowed to give up the mask and age. He is an old man, living in a time that doesn't want the "real" him, the Batman. With his eventual forfeiture of the life of Bruce Wayne, he departs from the normative life and become this anti-heroic figure that goes farther than he sometimes should.
Watchmen takes on the modernist hero concept in a more cynical way. The total inversion of the Super Hero and the concept of what makes a hero is subverted with deep and rather dark implications.
When I was assigned to make a comic for Dr. Williams' class I took to the idea with gusto. The comic I created was sort of a non-narrative story, simply a guy watching TV, becoming increasingly frustrated, and finally turning off the set. Much is communicated in comics, in one of three modes. The text, the images, and the panels themselves all communicate something. While the first two are fairly obvious, one might ask, how do the panels themselves communicate anything? Well, as the panels contain the story they become part of the image. When panels are small and set close together it makes the page look busy, cluttered and intense. It builds tension and allows for an emotionally tense setup for a scene. Naturally the converse is true as well.
In my comic, many of the panels are filled with static, denoting a change in channel. several pages are filled with a lot of the static, building an atmosphere that feels fast paced if not completely frantic. The images that I used were eclectic to say the least, with the unifying factor being the filter i used to give the images a grainy acrylic comic style. The tone only settles when we approach the final pages and we see the ending of a detective story, settling on a pulp 40's style, using images of Humphrey Bogart from ˆThe Maltese Falcon. All in all, every part of a comic communicates something, much like the cuts and edits to film, the frames of a comic can show or hide many things. As always, The Plot Moves On.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Blog-o-Mania!
So every time that someone asks me what I want to do with a degree in Mass Comm I always have to reply "I don't really know yet." My interests in the field are many and varied, and I have yet to truly settle on one. I hope that one of the classes I take will make me instantly fall in love with one aspect of the field like filmmaking, but until then I'm stuck with the "I don't know".
I really like the idea of broadcasting. The (theoretical) one camera reaching a million viewers, the concept is unreal. I realize that we have moved into an age of narrowcasting (thank you internet) but I believe that Broadcasting will always have it's place. side-by-side with my fascination with broadcasting is my fascination of the art of manipulation. I mean, of course, advertising. Advertising is a fantastic thing, I like the idea of getting people to buy something that they didn't know that they needed. The various manipulations range from sly to outright devious, but all of them are incredibly interesting.Whether the ad itself be a lowly quarter page spread in the corner of the Journal or that Superbowl commercial that someone spent $15 million on, the entire psychology behind it is spellbinding.
Another fun thing that falls under mass comm is public relations. I have been told the shmoozing is waht I do best, and this sort of position is all about it. Getting whoever you represent what they need from the public, be it sympathy or whatever, you can do it! It holds the same psychological fascination as the advertising, and the knowhow to control the way a press conference or something else like it goes, it really is a cool thing.
I really like the idea of broadcasting. The (theoretical) one camera reaching a million viewers, the concept is unreal. I realize that we have moved into an age of narrowcasting (thank you internet) but I believe that Broadcasting will always have it's place. side-by-side with my fascination with broadcasting is my fascination of the art of manipulation. I mean, of course, advertising. Advertising is a fantastic thing, I like the idea of getting people to buy something that they didn't know that they needed. The various manipulations range from sly to outright devious, but all of them are incredibly interesting.Whether the ad itself be a lowly quarter page spread in the corner of the Journal or that Superbowl commercial that someone spent $15 million on, the entire psychology behind it is spellbinding.
Another fun thing that falls under mass comm is public relations. I have been told the shmoozing is waht I do best, and this sort of position is all about it. Getting whoever you represent what they need from the public, be it sympathy or whatever, you can do it! It holds the same psychological fascination as the advertising, and the knowhow to control the way a press conference or something else like it goes, it really is a cool thing.
more stuff, and quickly!
soooo, here's something I'm working on, using the opportunity of class to continue it... image inspired one of the flashbacks...
“Lead us to him and the reward is yours, Iscariot.” The face is twisted in a parody of concern for others. The fat, complacent man in front of me is a sick reflection of what he should be. His concern for the people extends only as far as his self-interest. Ciaphas. The one most jealous of Yeshua. He craves to be the savior that many believe Yeshua to be. But a few of us know. We know that Yeshua is here not to save us from the Romans, but instead, to save us from ourselves.
I open my eyes and cringe. Hindsight is perfect and I see the part I played with perfection. I realize now that I was vital to Yeshua's plan. He used me. How delicious. I did fall to my own temptations but it was a part in the plan. Ironic that I am damned for playing that crucial role.
Jerusalem had changed. The city had expanded and become a fortress. “Not like it was,” I muttered. I walked the path that Yeshua took on that last day. The Muslims have built over that path and before the coming battle was done the path would again be bathed in blood. I meditate on this and hone my blade to a razor's edge. I will baptize it in my own blood and carry out the rites that are necessary for me to prepare. As the sun goes down I weep. Tomorrow is what is now called the Good Friday, though there is nothing good about it. It is the anniversary of my birth as the something else that I now am. I meditate on this fact through the night. I gather my strength, pour it into my sword arm and march out to battle.
The Crusades. I light another cigarette. I will need the clarity that comes with the rush of nicotine to remember it all rightly. Ruth. I loved her, for a while. Until my wrongness came between us. One day she saw that there was no more gray in my beard then five years before. The lines of my face hadn't changed since she had known me. On that day she realized that I had not aged a day in the 20 years I had known her. That though I looked fifty I had the vitality of a man half that. Of course I was already over a milennia old when I met her. The scars on my neck from the day of the betrayal had very nearly faded, but I was not fated for a simple happiness, not allowed to have the simple pleasure of loving someone and being loved in return. I thought I would never love again so that I might spare myself that pain. If only Yahweh were so kind.
“The witch will burn!” The small man in front of me cries to the people. It amazes me that such a man can inspire such zealotry. Bound to this post, on a stack of wood and declared a witch and a Blasphemer. Hilarious. Torquemada continued on his diatribe as he was wont to do and then he hit a sore spot with me. “...It pains me at this betrayal! This priest, this man of god to practice this unholy witchery on one of my most trusted followers! This betrayal cuts me deeply. I AARRRgh!” I lost the rest of what he was saying mainly due to the sudden decompression of his chest. Then I started. “You know nothing of Betrayal! You know nothing of Sacrifice! I was there when The Christ was Betrayed and you know NOTHING OF THAT PAIN!”
I flash back to the present. The fourteenth century had not been a pleasant one. I took the irony of a greater demon helping plan what came to be known as the Spanish Inquisition rather badly. I blasted my way through Torquemada's camp and tore the Demon limb from limb. Then they tried to burn me for witchcraft. Wonderful group of people.
“Break the Gate Down!” The crone leading this mob screamed to all within hearing. I send out a thought to the Bastille. He is there. I muscle my way to the portcullis and begin to climb. Once I reach to top I search for handholds to climb the stone. There are none so I leap to the wall from where I am. Several bullets pass through me but I will the pain away and throw them off the wall. I run to the gatehouse and blast the gate open. The scum of the Parisian streets will keep Gilgamarish busy while I close on him. The mob surges, ebbing and flowing like the tide. The bloodlust is on them. I charge into the main keep well ahead of the pitiful masses, they will simply get in my way. I feel him pressing on my mind from the depths of this place. I run along the passageways of the fortress-prison, a map laid bare to me from the minds of those around me, telling me where to find the thing that drives them to fight, to protect the demon's sanctuary. I now understand why he chose this place, as I decsend further and further into the foul depths, seeing the remnants of his work scattered around, the corpses with the faces twisted horribly in pain, possibly vivisected to sate the demon's hunger. It fuels his power, this nexus of misery and hate and terrible hopelessness. My Righteous fury multiplies my power. The battle is very short. After the battle rage leaves me I realize that my power is not all from the divine, but I grew stronger in this place as well. I flee from this realization with all the speed I can muster.
The pain surges again. I steel myself against the physical pain I'm in and with the ease of long practice I ease the pain of the memory. The pain is lessened by the greater understanding that gained of myself, but the ancient betrayal was felt anew when I realized my other source of power.
The fear drives them all. This hell on earth that we have created for ourselves will not get better. I need to find and kill every one of them in the chain of command. I slide across No-Man's-Land and get closer to them. I hear the laughing of men who are on the edge of breaking, the laughter too loud and hard, they all show the strain by not showing it, making cruel mockery of any man who cannot hide it as well. I feel the shadows scampering around me in the dark, feeding on the fear of the men in the trenches and the desperation of everyone else in the world. Heh, World War. Whomever came up with the notion should be eviscerated for dragging it all to hell like this. I slide closer to the nest and see the shapes inside the pillbox. The demon is there, manning the latest and greatest tool in dealing mass death. The waepon is marvelously efficient but with only a few minor telekinetic nudges it becomes useless. I walk into the pillbox and look the demon in the eye. “Your time has come Yzrael. Why do you fight it so hard?”
“Says the spider to the fly, Betrayer. Have you ever considered the source of your power? You should be siding with us, but yet you fight. Why?” A fair question. Why do I fight? The answer comes naturally.
“An ancient love, more powerful than anything you or your master can offer, Yzrael.”
“Iscariot, I thought more of you than to be a zealot of that blind faith. I-” He finished the statement with some gurgling noises that I couldn't understand.
Love, but not for the love of the father. I fight for the love of my brother and teacher. I fight so that I may feel worthy to enter his presence again. I couldn't care less about the religion, it is the belief that gives me power. Oh Yeshua, how I miss our nights of sitting up with our favorite date wine talking about the girls and politics and the new morality he spoke of. From these fond memories of you I redouble my resolve to take this fight to the end.
The tension in the air sets my teeth on edge. This small space is too confining and the smell of the cordite on the air is sickening after days of it. I raise my rifle and it spits death to another man. The jungle is too hot. Home may be hotter but at least one can escape from the heat. Here in this godforsaken little shit corner of Asia, the heat clings to you no matter where you go. Impact. I see the sky. I look down and see there is a hole in my chest, bringing little geysers of blood with every heartbeat. Fucking snipers. I close my eyes and focus on the bullet in my chest. I see it and follow it back to it's source, the bastard that shot me. I make his death messy and turn my attention to patching the hole in me.
I laugh when I think how many orphans I made over the years. I try to walk the righteous path but it is hard to do when half are actively trying to kill you and most of the others won't listen to your calls for help.
I open my eyes and cringe. Hindsight is perfect and I see the part I played with perfection. I realize now that I was vital to Yeshua's plan. He used me. How delicious. I did fall to my own temptations but it was a part in the plan. Ironic that I am damned for playing that crucial role.
Jerusalem had changed. The city had expanded and become a fortress. “Not like it was,” I muttered. I walked the path that Yeshua took on that last day. The Muslims have built over that path and before the coming battle was done the path would again be bathed in blood. I meditate on this and hone my blade to a razor's edge. I will baptize it in my own blood and carry out the rites that are necessary for me to prepare. As the sun goes down I weep. Tomorrow is what is now called the Good Friday, though there is nothing good about it. It is the anniversary of my birth as the something else that I now am. I meditate on this fact through the night. I gather my strength, pour it into my sword arm and march out to battle.
The Crusades. I light another cigarette. I will need the clarity that comes with the rush of nicotine to remember it all rightly. Ruth. I loved her, for a while. Until my wrongness came between us. One day she saw that there was no more gray in my beard then five years before. The lines of my face hadn't changed since she had known me. On that day she realized that I had not aged a day in the 20 years I had known her. That though I looked fifty I had the vitality of a man half that. Of course I was already over a milennia old when I met her. The scars on my neck from the day of the betrayal had very nearly faded, but I was not fated for a simple happiness, not allowed to have the simple pleasure of loving someone and being loved in return. I thought I would never love again so that I might spare myself that pain. If only Yahweh were so kind.
“The witch will burn!” The small man in front of me cries to the people. It amazes me that such a man can inspire such zealotry. Bound to this post, on a stack of wood and declared a witch and a Blasphemer. Hilarious. Torquemada continued on his diatribe as he was wont to do and then he hit a sore spot with me. “...It pains me at this betrayal! This priest, this man of god to practice this unholy witchery on one of my most trusted followers! This betrayal cuts me deeply. I AARRRgh!” I lost the rest of what he was saying mainly due to the sudden decompression of his chest. Then I started. “You know nothing of Betrayal! You know nothing of Sacrifice! I was there when The Christ was Betrayed and you know NOTHING OF THAT PAIN!”
I flash back to the present. The fourteenth century had not been a pleasant one. I took the irony of a greater demon helping plan what came to be known as the Spanish Inquisition rather badly. I blasted my way through Torquemada's camp and tore the Demon limb from limb. Then they tried to burn me for witchcraft. Wonderful group of people.
“Break the Gate Down!” The crone leading this mob screamed to all within hearing. I send out a thought to the Bastille. He is there. I muscle my way to the portcullis and begin to climb. Once I reach to top I search for handholds to climb the stone. There are none so I leap to the wall from where I am. Several bullets pass through me but I will the pain away and throw them off the wall. I run to the gatehouse and blast the gate open. The scum of the Parisian streets will keep Gilgamarish busy while I close on him. The mob surges, ebbing and flowing like the tide. The bloodlust is on them. I charge into the main keep well ahead of the pitiful masses, they will simply get in my way. I feel him pressing on my mind from the depths of this place. I run along the passageways of the fortress-prison, a map laid bare to me from the minds of those around me, telling me where to find the thing that drives them to fight, to protect the demon's sanctuary. I now understand why he chose this place, as I decsend further and further into the foul depths, seeing the remnants of his work scattered around, the corpses with the faces twisted horribly in pain, possibly vivisected to sate the demon's hunger. It fuels his power, this nexus of misery and hate and terrible hopelessness. My Righteous fury multiplies my power. The battle is very short. After the battle rage leaves me I realize that my power is not all from the divine, but I grew stronger in this place as well. I flee from this realization with all the speed I can muster.
The pain surges again. I steel myself against the physical pain I'm in and with the ease of long practice I ease the pain of the memory. The pain is lessened by the greater understanding that gained of myself, but the ancient betrayal was felt anew when I realized my other source of power.
The fear drives them all. This hell on earth that we have created for ourselves will not get better. I need to find and kill every one of them in the chain of command. I slide across No-Man's-Land and get closer to them. I hear the laughing of men who are on the edge of breaking, the laughter too loud and hard, they all show the strain by not showing it, making cruel mockery of any man who cannot hide it as well. I feel the shadows scampering around me in the dark, feeding on the fear of the men in the trenches and the desperation of everyone else in the world. Heh, World War. Whomever came up with the notion should be eviscerated for dragging it all to hell like this. I slide closer to the nest and see the shapes inside the pillbox. The demon is there, manning the latest and greatest tool in dealing mass death. The waepon is marvelously efficient but with only a few minor telekinetic nudges it becomes useless. I walk into the pillbox and look the demon in the eye. “Your time has come Yzrael. Why do you fight it so hard?”
“Says the spider to the fly, Betrayer. Have you ever considered the source of your power? You should be siding with us, but yet you fight. Why?” A fair question. Why do I fight? The answer comes naturally.
“An ancient love, more powerful than anything you or your master can offer, Yzrael.”
“Iscariot, I thought more of you than to be a zealot of that blind faith. I-” He finished the statement with some gurgling noises that I couldn't understand.
Love, but not for the love of the father. I fight for the love of my brother and teacher. I fight so that I may feel worthy to enter his presence again. I couldn't care less about the religion, it is the belief that gives me power. Oh Yeshua, how I miss our nights of sitting up with our favorite date wine talking about the girls and politics and the new morality he spoke of. From these fond memories of you I redouble my resolve to take this fight to the end.
The tension in the air sets my teeth on edge. This small space is too confining and the smell of the cordite on the air is sickening after days of it. I raise my rifle and it spits death to another man. The jungle is too hot. Home may be hotter but at least one can escape from the heat. Here in this godforsaken little shit corner of Asia, the heat clings to you no matter where you go. Impact. I see the sky. I look down and see there is a hole in my chest, bringing little geysers of blood with every heartbeat. Fucking snipers. I close my eyes and focus on the bullet in my chest. I see it and follow it back to it's source, the bastard that shot me. I make his death messy and turn my attention to patching the hole in me.
I laugh when I think how many orphans I made over the years. I try to walk the righteous path but it is hard to do when half are actively trying to kill you and most of the others won't listen to your calls for help.
Stuffs and Things
Soooo, a longer hiatus than last time...yeah. anyhoo, we looked at this cool thing in Dr. Kevin Williams class, The VALS types thing. It's actually pretty cool. It maps out what kind of consumer you are and thus tells an advertiser how to market to you. At the top are the innovators, they have High resources and tend to be the trend setters, and the survivors at the bottom have low resources and tend to not set trends. They have something in common though in that they are both difficult to market to, as the innovators know what they want and the survivors have too low resources to really get into most market trends. the three blocks in the middle are the motivations for people and then they are sorted by resources and such into the categories with a secondary category that describes the ways that you approach the primary. For instance, I took the quiz on their site (http://www.strategicbusinessinsights.com/vals/presurvey.shtml) and found that I was a Striver (primary) Experiencer (secondary). This means that I like to follow trends and show what I got, and I quickly gain and lose interest in the things that I find cool. This holds somewhat true as I like to be generous when with my friends and either buy a round of drinks or pick up the bill or whatever, this can be construed as the Striver part. The gaining and losing interest also holds true with hobbies that I pick up. For instance I breifly got back into the card game Magic: The Gathering. For all of two weeks. I do do that sometimes... anyway, The Plot Moves On...
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Learning styles
At the behest of Dr. Williams, I have gone through extensive testing to determine what learning style I tend towards. By extensive I mean that I took two internet tests, though they are ones that have scientific backing, so I suppose that carries some weight. Anyway, knowing your learning style can be important, as if you know how you learn best then you can work out techniques for your classes to frame the information in ways that you can absorb it easily.
So the tests I took were at http://www.vark-learn.com/english/page.asp?p=questionnaire and http://www.engr.ncsu.edu/learningstyles/ilsweb.html respectively. The results from the Vark test were easier to understand as they were testing along a simpler and familiar visual/aural/read-write/kinesthetic model, personally I am a multi-model learner, leaning visual/kinesthetic. The other test was a little more confusing, testing along four different scales. The more detailed descriptions are here http://www4.ncsu.edu/unity/lockers/users/f/felder/public/ILSdir/styles.htm but none of you will go so, they are active/reflective, sensing/intuitive, visual/verbal, and sequential/global. The way it's scored you are assigned a number from 11 at one end to 11 at the other. As it turns out I have a strong preference to active learning, am balanced for sensing/intuitive, and have moderate preference for visual and global learning. Because of this, I can improve my learning based around the suggestions in the explanation of the styles. Doing things like finding things to do with information that I am given, like discussing the information with people, along with getting diagrams or interactive material, and figuring out how a topic relates to the big picture so that I can relate any information to what I already know. Stuff like that. As always, the plot moves on.
So the tests I took were at http://www.vark-learn.com/english/page.asp?p=questionnaire and http://www.engr.ncsu.edu/learningstyles/ilsweb.html respectively. The results from the Vark test were easier to understand as they were testing along a simpler and familiar visual/aural/read-write/kinesthetic model, personally I am a multi-model learner, leaning visual/kinesthetic. The other test was a little more confusing, testing along four different scales. The more detailed descriptions are here http://www4.ncsu.edu/unity/lockers/users/f/felder/public/ILSdir/styles.htm but none of you will go so, they are active/reflective, sensing/intuitive, visual/verbal, and sequential/global. The way it's scored you are assigned a number from 11 at one end to 11 at the other. As it turns out I have a strong preference to active learning, am balanced for sensing/intuitive, and have moderate preference for visual and global learning. Because of this, I can improve my learning based around the suggestions in the explanation of the styles. Doing things like finding things to do with information that I am given, like discussing the information with people, along with getting diagrams or interactive material, and figuring out how a topic relates to the big picture so that I can relate any information to what I already know. Stuff like that. As always, the plot moves on.
Monday, September 27, 2010
So here we are, so much further through the year. Learning a lot as I go. I'm excited with the beginnings of the website stuff, learning the code is a lot of fun. I always had a fascination with the coding that made electrons going through the hardware show up as those wonderful websites. This should be fun. other than that, slowly getting more models built and painted...so slowly. Marching on At the Speed of Plot.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
More class stuff!-203
The general Idea that Kevin gave for this is just that, very general and I'm not quite sure what I'll talk about...so here's some stuff I'm doing this semester. even though it's my first semester as a Mass Comm student I'm only taking courses that are inside the curriculum, as I've finally finished my Gen Ed stuff. The exception to this is the play that I'm in, A Midsummer Night's Dream, probably Shakespeare's most popular play, staged by The Rude Mechanicals of Shepherd University. I've landed the role of Puck the fickle prankster for the King of Faeries, definitely my favorite role in the play. Oh and have a demotivator to brighten your day. That's all for now, and as always, The Plot Moves On.
Imperial Guard and all Warhammer related stuff property of Games Workshop, please don't sue me.
Imperial Guard and all Warhammer related stuff property of Games Workshop, please don't sue me.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Website...
Soooooo.....assignment, as always I duel you here at the end of time before you are late...so here goes. The current website plans are as thus: Create a site based around the hobby that takes up much of my time Warhammer 40K. I'm thinking I'll feature a WIP series on a model I'll be purchasing shortly and updating an inventory of my army as I finish modeling and painting them. To broaden interest and to diversify the visuals of the site I'll also feature several of my friends' armies as the models vary significantly from army to army. Pic related, it's a model that is similar to my battle force.
pic courtesy of Jay Adan via flickr @ http://www.flickr.com/photos/dullspork/
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
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