Master and Commander

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A great friend of mind, Iya Isoke, wrote a post on Facebook examining this quote:

“The Prince” by Nicolò Machiavelli
Written c. 1505, published 1515

For my part I consider that it is better to be adventurous than cautious, because fortune is a woman, and if you wish to keep her under it is necessary to beat and ill-use her; and it is seen that she allows herself to be mastered by the adventurous rather than by those who go to work more coldly. She is, therefore, always, woman-like, a lover of young men, because they are less cautious, more violent,and with more audacity command her.

She then asked for reactions, and posed the following questions:

LADIES: When you look at a man’s attributes, the men in your life who you can not, absolutely can not, leave alone or leave, is he a man who has the ability to check you? Does he have that thing that tells you to pump the brakes when you know you’re coming out the box? And do you love him for it or because of it or both? Are you “mastered” by the stronger man who has the audacity to command you?

MEN: Do you have the audacity to command her? Do you know the difference between demand and command? Or do you allow a woman to “live her life” the way she wants…in yours? What does it take to be a successful handler?

Facebook rejected my post (too long), so I finished writing it here.

First of all; one must come before the other, (adventures & women) and both must continue, but I’ll get into that.
Secondly; as there IS a difference between commanding and demanding, but the difference lies in the man, not the method. You can teach a fool a method, and it will work for a short time, but eventually the fraud will be put out. Truly learning how to command comes with a price, and that price is wisdom. That is difference between Master and Amateur.

One cannot command something without being the Master of it.
Now, I know Massa has got some other connotations, but hear me out. The master I’m speaking of has to do with eminent skill and knowledge of a subject, not the act of beating someone into submission (which is what Mr. Machiavelli is referring to).
A Master someone so good at what they do that everyone around them can’t help but bow in respect.

So, an Amateur demands, a Master commands.
In addition, the only way to become a true Master at something is be be humbled enough to learn. A man who knows they do not know everything is a man who has wisdom without bounds. So while a Master knows his stuff; he also recognizes that he is constantly learning, and works hard to stay on top of his game.

And women, take note. A man who claims to know everything about women has put a limit on his ability to learn and must be taught a lesson. Put him out on his head!
A man who appreciates the mystery of women is wise, and does everything he can to gain skill and knowledge on the subject. And frankly, men are not naturally able to have that kind of patience until they’ve been through some stuff.

Which leads em back to my first point.
Adventure before women.
Adventure, fortunately, is what young men lust after. This act of throwing ones self to the wind give them much needed experiences. With experience comes pain, but those who come out as men on the other side are those who are able to rise up out of the hardship and succeed. After this period of difficulty, the tenacity they learned in their adventures will help them with the rest of their lives. This tenacity is a necessary quality of being a Master.
Another thing that is learned  is the ability to decide when to check things and put them to a halt. That ability during an adventure means the difference between success and failure. Let something be, and it festers into a monstrosity. Cut it too early, and you sell yourself short on gain.
These things can only be learned from experience; from trial an error. And therefore should be confined to adventures, and not women.

And this is where Nicòlo gets it right (hear me out).
In this particular passage, Machiavelli is talking to meek men. Men too scared to have that original adventure, who lack the courage to step out and be reckoned with. He’s essentially bribing them here, letting them know that they will never gain wealth or fortune if they don’t show some gumption.

I would caution any man who subscribes to heavily to this author, however… Machiavelli is man who gave rise to Machiavellianism (using this very work, “The Prince”) which adheres to the the idea of brute force to preserve the status quo. That philosophy is the one and the same that helped American colonists justify slavery, as well as the rise of dictatorships at later dates in other countries.

But I digress.
I would argue that a man also needs to perpetuate his adventures. In essence, he must never stop challenging himself in new ways, and keep his mind sharp. This will enable him to always become a greater and greater master, and if done correctly, gain more respect. A woman in this mans life would be wise to encourage such adventures, as well as the exploration of their relationship.
The lack of growth in both areas leads the one thing many are far too familiar with: the mid-life crisis. The leads to acting out, to divorce, to loss of fortune… to loss of Mastery.

So there we are, open discussion!

Sleep, I must.

MAN, I’m tired.
I have got to figure out a way to get more Zerflin work done. I need some kind of schedule, something consistent…
And email answering has got to be in there somewhere. I usually like to keep my inbox managed to 30 messages.
But which is more important? Finishing up work or answering emails?
The answer is that they’re equally important.
The answer is that I don’t have enough time.
The answer is that I’m too tired manage my time properly.
Sleep, I must.

Rain on Tin

Rain is falling.

Our house is refurbished.
The couple who bought it from an older woman had planned to own it. They were a husband-wife team, the Shoens; he was a general handyman, she was a realtor.

They may have seen it coming, because they put it up on the market right before the market fell off a cliff.
Either that or they ran out of money.

I’m thinking the latter. There are just a few things that were never done… The insulation under the back porch, the front porch railing, the rear gutters…

They did do a fantastic job. But three years into living here, all of those things still aren’t done. We haven’t even painted the walls. We hit the ground running, and there hasn’t been time. The market dipped shortly after we got the house, and our financial situation never really improved much from that point.

It’s so weird to hear about celebrities lives on tv, how they squandered their money on parties and cars, and now live in a modest house or are in a rehab center.
It’s weird because we never squandered anything.
Even when dating we were frugal, making the most of our meager pay by spending time picnicing on abandoned railroad bridges or in parks.
When we got married, we went even further to make our dollars go far.
And yet, it’s been a quick rocking ride to the bottom.
If you squander your money, it’s easy to place the blame. You made the choices, you deal with the consequences.

But who do you blame when you tried to do everything right? When you worked hard to be good stewards of your cash? What do you look at and point out, “yeah, we could have done that better”?

The Shoens, because they were going to keep this house for themselves, left a lot of neat stuff in from the original house.
Tall living room windows, hardwood floors… And an tin skylight in the stairwell.

When it rains, the water dances on the tin, tapping out a rhythm so peaceful it could set all worries at ease. At least it tries to.

Rain is falling.

Elan in Ice

Monopod.jpg

When I was 15 years old, my father and I built a snowmobile for me. I collected the parts for a Skidoo Elan, the smallest snowmobile that Bombardier ever built.
Several of the elders my family was close to had them when I was a kid; Noah Einish, Tommy Einish, Johnny Uniam… Even Giles Porlier owned a set of the newer ones. But by the time I could actually afford gas, Bombardier had stopped making them. Very few running ones were left in Schefferville.
I scrounged around everywhere to get parts.
I got a motor from McGill, a frame from the dump, bogey wheels from an abandoned house, handlebars from a pile of garbage I came across, skis from Aaron Einish’s wrecked Elan, a headlight from a ’55 schoolbus, and my mother made me a new leather seat from an old one I’d rescued from a bad encounter with a husky dog.
I named it The Monopod.
The engine was a ’77, and had been modified with the governor removed. Even in the bitter cold, with a $45 tank of gas curling up in smoke behind me, I would ride to school and park the machine proudly next to the sleek multicoloured rockets my classmates rode. I remember the vice-principal Doug racing along next to me in his Nissan, clocking my speed. 55mph, faster than any other Elan.

I remember my dad and I dragging the Monopod into the back of our pickup truck and hauling it out to our cabin at Iron Arm for Goose Break.
Aaron Einish had brought out his brand new Mach II, a sleek yellow and red beast of a machine that would be far to heavy to ever dig out, but was so powerful it never would anyway.
Elans were built to ride nimbly on top of the snow; the Mach II would just plow through it. We raced up and down the lake all week, Roger Nabinicaboo eventually joining us in his Elan. His was a newer one, and ’92, but it never had the governor taken off of it. I beat him every time.

Goose Week begins when a patch of water out past the island eventually opens up, with enough water for Canadian Geese to land. Men set up gooseblinds around the hole against the forest, and call for the geese.
You have to park your Skidoo on the near side of the island, and trek along the edge of the forest to get there; the noise of the machines would scare away the geese.

No fires to keep you warm, just hot tea in thermoses. Even conversation is kept to a bare minimum.

We kids had no interest in such stoic silence. We thundered up and down the lake near the cabins, pausing only to watch the dotted V’s make their way slowly across the warm grey April skies to the open water, and certain death. We didn’t mourn them much, we knew that soon we’d be eating them with hot buttered raisin bannock.

As the week went on, more ice began to melt on the lake in other areas. A patch opened up at the stream mouth near Tommy and Annie Einish’s cabin (Aaron’s grandparents).
This was perfect.
The narrow strait separated the nothern half of the cabin line from the southern.
Aaron thought of it first. He had seen his big brother Jeremy do it first.
Aaron gunned his engine, picked up speed, and then at full throttle, skimmed across the water.
The depth at this point was easily 50 feet, near the marshy lagoon fed by the stream.
Safely on the other side, Aaron called to us.
Roger gave me a nervous glance, but then gave the engine an extra prime, and started for the water.
His Elan reached peak speed right about when he hit the gap, but he wasn’t able to speed up any faster. The machine seemed to grow sluggish as it made it’s way across, but he was able to to reach the ice shelf on the other side just in time. He grinned at me, but his face was whiter than mine was.

I hit the brake, then the throttle, and peeled out in a 180 and took off in the opposite direction. Aaron and Roger booed and howled after me. After about 500 feet, I hit the brake and spun again, shooting back toward the gap at top speed.
My skis rattled against frozen chunks of torn up snow, and I struggled to keep it pointed in the right direction.

I hit the water.

Momentum carried me across half way, and then the Elan’s track kicked in and churned the water underneath, pushing me further forward.

The ice shelf was partially covered in the overflowing water, and I was feeling pretty good.

The shelf began to disintegrate. Chunks of ice broken up by my track began appearing behinds.
All of a sudden, the entire shelf tilted up! The weight of my Elan bore down the the shelf, swinging my end down like a see-saw! I opened the throttle up all the way.
The track kept trying to grip the wildly swinging chunk of ice, but kept breaking off!
I leaned forward, hanging over the handlebars, trying to bring more weight to keep the shelf from flipping entirely over.
The engine began to strain. I could hear the bogey wheels inside the track screeching, seizing up as ice began caking up on them.

With a lurch, the track took hold.

The Monopod crawled up the ice, and as it did, reset the balance and the shelf came crashing down in a wave of icy water. The machine pulled forward, shot over the crack, and I came skidding to a steaming smoking stop in front of my friends. The Elan, exhausted, wheezed to a halt.

I took the forest trails to get home.

That’s a little bit how I feel right now, teetering on that chunk of ice, straining with all my might to get out of certain doom.

God helped me then.
God, please help me now.

Guilt and work

Late night again.
Days are long at work. We’re very understaffed, and more people are leaving. I’m getting more and more jobs, most of them doing new things, or actually doing design work.
Sometimes, though, I’m getting work that is way out of my league. A lot of web coding projects, with really heavy coding. With two of or major coders gone, it’s really tough work. I don’t mind doing it, but I’m not trained in coding. I’m sure I’d be able to pick it up pretty quick if could get some classes on it, but with the recession already pinching the company at it’s every nerve, it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.
At home, I’ve been exhausted. I’m just trying to keep up with the work. Sometimes I go into autopilot, because I can’t focus.

I had band practice today with The Black Marks. Songs are solidifying nicely. We’re doing a recording session on December 5th, so hopefully that turns out well.
Came home; Tamika helped me with some Zerflin stuff. Not as productive as I could be. Not quite sure how to switch it on, so I can burn through my projects and get them done.
Everywhere I look, I see money bleeding away. Our leaky toilet. Out uninsulated back porch. A light left on. The late fee on a bill we couldn’t pay.
I feel like it’s hard to get out, but I don’t know where to start.
The next Zerflin project? House repairs? Working hard at the day job to get promoted somehow, or at least a raise?

It’s tough.
In all this, I need to find more time to spend with God.
Not easy when I acually feel guilty when I’m not doing something profitable.
Trish Barrett and Tamika have both been reminding me that to not take a day of rest is disobediance, and not putting your faith in God that he will work it out.
Why is that so difficult?
It’s because I keep asking myself, since God’s miracles are so great, how am I ever supposed to meet him halfway? At what point am I doing “my part”?

I’m not sure.

Bourbon and the Wiskichan

Just got done with a meeting with Bourbon Coffee. Things are getting better, I think. We drove down to DC from Baltimore, not a very easy task. The trip takes an hour in good traffic, two-and-a-half in bad. Today was a two-and-a-half day. It’s been slate an rainy here, with alternating cold and warm fronts fighting in a never ending coastal queue.

Went to vist Dean at the Baltimore Motorcycle Salvage this morning. It looks as though the wisikichan, my motorcycle, is pretty much done. Tom Walker, a mechanic from church is optimistic, but echoed my dad’s suggestion of getting a new motorcycle so I can start saving on gas. So that’s the plan; I’m going to save up Zerflin profits and let it be the first company vehicle.

Dean had a couple bikes there, and said I should save up about $1,000 to get a decent one. It’s gonna be tough, but it will save us a lot on gas in the long run.

Gotta run, Arion’s getting antsy!

billjancewicz.zerflin.com is up

Bill Jancewicz's Website

My dad’s site is up and live!

If you’re unfamiliar with his work, my dad, Bill Jancewicz, is a translator who works for the Naskapi Development Corporation as well as Wycliffe Bible Translators. Among other things, he helped create the Naskapi Lexicon (dictionary), the BJCree font, and just finished the New Testament in the Naskapi language.

He my mom Norma Jean have just returned to Schefferville & Kawawachikamach to begin work on translating the Old Testament into Naskapi.

Subscribe to his blog!

Visit his site!

Support him in his work (his Bible translation work is entirely supported by donations)!

Wake Up

Lyric ideas for a song. Thoughts?

Wake up
This epoch is yours
As long as you are alive
Undermine the cooling embers
Span your limbs, crane your neck
And rise.

High Speed Robot Hand catches cellphone in midair

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-KxjVlaLBmk&feature=player_embedded

I gotta say, this is REALLY cool, but a little bit unnerving too… Robots can officially dribble faster and better than any human can. And to see it catch that cellphone… pretty amazing.