Like knitting, only masculine.

So one of my roommates (bad influences, as I said) brought home his dad's homemade maille shirt, which was actually made from key chain circles. I laughed and made mention that it was cool, but a step-and-a-half above pop-top maille. See, I used to make maille back in high school. It's not that complicated, it's just time consuming and a little on the physically demanding side. It used to be something for me to do with my hands while I watched a movie or suffered through deep thoughts.

In the spirit of nostalgia and that occasional desire to make something with my hands, I bought 100 feet of 14 gauge galvanized wire (thin stuff, basically), rummaged up a pair of wire cutters, a Leatherman and a Gerber, and a screwdriver for the molding shaft, and went to work. A hour later and I've got a small sliver of maille, 4x1 inches hanging. That, and my hands are red and raw, a status which did not change over night. Ow. Ow. Ow.

Anyway, this is a decent site for beginning maille makers. There are lot out there, so just hit up Google if you ever become interested.

Headed for Atlanta in 15 minutes with Aleks -- she's finally getting her citizenship! I'm happy for her, but unfortunately, her family can't attend the ceremony, so I'm going to go along and be celebratory. My family always raised me to believe that it doesn't matter where you live, what flag you fly, or who gets your money when the tax man cometh, you are always who you were born and raised. She'll officially be a citizen of the United States, but she'll always be Serbian, just like I might end up in ... oh, hell, I don't know, Serbia, but I'll always be a good ole hillbilly from the American South.

I guess this is pointing toward my ideology that you are who you decide to be, not who someone or something else says you are. There is no piece of paper, no edict, no televised ceremony that can take away the mountain and rivers in my blood, or the sawdust, roofing tar, or grease on my soul. Or clothes.

Later.