I drove up to Fargo, North Dakota on Saturday, for a meeting of the Sverdrup Society (I edit their journal and newsletter). It’s about a four hour drive, with stops. Getting to Fargo from here involves passing through Fargo’s sister city, Moorhead, Minnesota. That reminded me of a story told by my brother Moloch (whose birthday it is today, by the way. Remind me to call him).
Moloch and his wife were visiting Concordia College in Moorhead, their mutual alma mater. They took a guided tour led by a young female student. As they passed by a small hill on campus, Moloch said, “There’s where the biology lab used to be. They tore it down and put in that hill.”
The student said, “No. That hill has always been here. The students talk about it. There’s an Indian legend about it and everything.”
Moloch and my sister-in-law assured her that the hill was modern and man-made, and they’d spent a fair amount of time in the old biology lab on the site.
Afterwards Moloch said to his wife, “You know what this means, don’t you?
“It means we’re older than the hills.”
I thought I’d link to a couple more Viking photos. Since I’m constitutionally incapable of balance in thinking about myself, I need to alternate my nihilist and pessimistic posts with posts of a more full-of-myself, “look at me!” nature.
This first picture is from the Viking Meet in Elk Horn, Iowa. The sinister gang I’m posing with is not my own Viking group, but the Skjaldborg guys from Omaha. And no, I did not tease the big guy about his pink tunic.
This one is from two weekends ago, in Dallas, Wisconsin. Here we see me demonstrating graphically to the others exactly how far my fame and fortune as an author take me in terms of… well, fame and fortune.
Credit to Eric and Shari Anderson for the pictures.
Call Your Brother.
Man! You look supercool in the Dallas photo. I can’t say that for the bullethead who’s watching you, probably wishing he looked as cool as you do.
As we grow older, a cape becomes more and more a desirable garment. As G.K. Chesterton knew well.
And yes, I did call my brother.
That is one big pink tunic.
Nice cape too.
I just looked at this photo, http://www.vikingage.com/pics3/meet-06.jpg, with you throwing a spear. The cars and junk need to edited out . . . *i could do that*
It’s not a bad picture, but I’m self-conscious about my spear-throwing.
Yeah, it’s not a strong picture, but it is interesting. I starting editing the background last night. I may have something presentable today.
You were in Fargo and didn’t call to have a cup of coffee?
(I know, you were probably on a tight schedule, and I was at a swim meet for a good chunk of the day. I have to razz you a bit, though.)
I sat through three interminable meetings and drove straight home, arriving tired and saddlesore around 9:00 p.m. I’m coming to resent Fargo/Moorhead, for being precisely the wrong distance away.
Moloch? I’m relatively new around here, but isn’t that kind of a *bad* name? Fill me in if’n you don’t mind.
Moloch is the name I use here for my middle brother. The youngest I call Baal. This is to protect their identities, so they won’t carry the shame of being associated with a conservative blog.
That really helps. I was beginning to wonder about your family.
Man! I’m jealous. My brother just calls me “Sniveling Git”
That’s what Moloch and Baal call me.