In Need of a Good Scop

Alas, this is no age for Romantic quests and heroic adventures. Vassals are pretty much a thing of the past, a distant fancy, a luxury of old. So, I spent the whole day packing myself. Can you imagine King Arthur dragging out his trunks and saddle bags from the basement of his castle and frantically filling them with tunics, capes, and armor (or would that be "armour")? Nah, me neither. But there I was, King PITA, rummaging through boxes and bags, trying to find suitcases among the clutter of my Freddy Krueger basement. And what of the days when a questing knight rode gloriously out of the gates of his kingdom in search of honor, glory, and adventure (avoiding as many quixotic windmills as possible...), traversing borders at will, into unknown lands (well, unknown to themselves, for the folks living there seemed to know them quite well)? Gone. Now, adventurous kings must wait in line at consulates (a curious modern invention, useful, I suppose) to get a visa and submit to horrific little photographs to go into passports. Really, that is just too MUCH. But, all of that is done, and "my papers" are in order (at least I hope so...).

The worse, of course, is the absence of fanfare, raucous celebrations in the Mead Hall (you can't even find a good Mead Hall these days), and the court scop spinning audacious verse extolling your bravery, virtue, and certain victory. Man, they sure knew how to send knights and kings off to, well, usually, certain doom. But, that's a different blog. However, my favorite clergyman (and dear friend) and family certainly surpassed the hospitality of the Mead Hall, sending me off with prayers, laughter, and, I must say, a few tears (mine, mainly, as they are finally free of King PITA for a few months...ha ha). And, my sovereign (yes, kings these days have bosses) gave me a wonderful parting gift to remind me of home--a fantastically fat cigar in a glass case. He assures me that more awaits me in the East, possibly even some that are considered contraband here in the States (you cigar lovers know of what I speak). Also, my family and many friends have extended their prayers and good wishes--that is a great comfort, indeed.

It was bad enough that I was forced to pack myself, but I looked around for my scop or even my court jester to spin me a nice lyric in honor of the quest. Gone. Nowhere to be seen. Walking through my empty halls, I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror and thought, hey, that fool will just have to do. So, I made up my own parting song. I call it "Shanghai Awaits." I'm not sure what to expect in that legendary city, and I'm nervous yet excited. Here it is if you are interested. Remember, though, I'm no scop, nor am I a musician. At the prodding of some of my friends (who themselves are amazing musicians, by the way), I have been putzing on guitar. In the absence of a good court musician, this will just have to do. Here it is, "Shanghai Awaits."

By God's grace when I make it to Shanghai, and if I can get Internet connection at the Inn, I'll let you know how the good folks there are treating King PITA. The nice thing, of course, is that they have no idea who I am. Nothing quite like a clean slate when making new acquaintances and friends.