The LastBestAngryMan and I had an extended chat about what Lord of the Rings might look like if it was written by a contemporary fantasy author.
Some highlights:
- It would be 18 books long, and counting.
- Legolas would be a gay vampire trying to redeem himself by joining the Fellowship.
- Saruman would be renamed "Gorlax the Malevolent" to keep readers from getting confused.
- Every peripheral character would be shoved to the forefront and given plotlines. Everybody at the Council of Elrond...Erestor, Galdor, Glorfindel, Gloin...would have their own chapters.
He's compiled the full Top 25 here.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Friday, August 10, 2007
Soul Kerfuffle Meets Higher Education
Check it out, the infamous View from the Top is being featured in a class at Calvin College.
I'm a little disappointed the counter articles are not featured. One of the things I am pleased about after so much time has passed since the articles were written is that at least one author, Neils Clark, understood what I was attempting to do: provide a somewhat balanced perspective on the issue of gaming addiction to get dialog moving. (The link goes to page 3 of the article where the blog is mentioned, however the whole article is a very good read.)
It's still kind of amazing to me how much buzz those posts generated. This little blog was featured in a segment on Yahoo Buzz at the time, as well as hitting digg and slashdot.
I still prowl those old posts and read the comments, as amazingly they still get some (I also go there to delete the occasional spot of spam, particularly from Warcraft gold sellers).
I'm glad, however, that time has passed. It was amazing and sometimes horrifying to see things that you and your friends had written get dissected, analyzed, and sometimes completely misinterpreted. But such is the way of it: I don't believe we can read anything objectively. We can strive for it, but our personal experiences will always interfere in subtle ways.
At best hopefully it helped add fuel to a dialog about gaming addiction.
At worst, hopefully I picked up a few new readers.
I'm a little disappointed the counter articles are not featured. One of the things I am pleased about after so much time has passed since the articles were written is that at least one author, Neils Clark, understood what I was attempting to do: provide a somewhat balanced perspective on the issue of gaming addiction to get dialog moving. (The link goes to page 3 of the article where the blog is mentioned, however the whole article is a very good read.)
It's still kind of amazing to me how much buzz those posts generated. This little blog was featured in a segment on Yahoo Buzz at the time, as well as hitting digg and slashdot.
I still prowl those old posts and read the comments, as amazingly they still get some (I also go there to delete the occasional spot of spam, particularly from Warcraft gold sellers).
I'm glad, however, that time has passed. It was amazing and sometimes horrifying to see things that you and your friends had written get dissected, analyzed, and sometimes completely misinterpreted. But such is the way of it: I don't believe we can read anything objectively. We can strive for it, but our personal experiences will always interfere in subtle ways.
At best hopefully it helped add fuel to a dialog about gaming addiction.
At worst, hopefully I picked up a few new readers.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
The Golf Outing: Part II - Reckoning
Now that I'm home from work, I can finish what I started in Part I.
-----
Sunday Morning - The Big Day
After nearly killing Jeff, we spent the remainder of the day relaxing and drinking some beers. Figuring my task was not nearly difficult enough, I stayed up until about 2 AM chatting and drinking beer after beer. By the time Jeff and I stood up to go to bed, the ground was actually spinning.
Real smart move. I went to bed and woke up with a well deserved headache.
A couple of aspirin, two bottles of water and three cups of coffee later, it was time to face the hour of my reckoning.
Sunday Afternoon - Meet Your Partner
The format for this 9-hole, 2 man team extravaganza was best ball off the tee followed by alternate shots. I was paired with one of the best players in the area, a fellow named John. He was a really nice guy and he made me feel a lot more relaxed right away: if I screwed up miserably, at least this guy wouldn't make too much fun of me.
The drawback to such a good partner was this: if we had a bad outing, it would be pretty clear whose fault it was. That same morning while I had been downing water and coffee attempting to become semi-human, this guy was playing 18 holes in a local tournament and winning. I'm not kidding.
Teeing Off
The other pair we were playing with (also a nice pair of gents) suggested I go ahead and start things off.
They must have been licking their chops when they saw my tee shot duff off the driver and barely land past the women's tees a couple dozen yards away.
John said not to worry about it before stepping up and crushing a drive 300+ yards straight down the fairway.
It was pretty obvious that I would be taking all of the second shots today.
Fortunately, this played to my "strength", if it can be called that. I'd been pretty comfortable with the irons prior to nearly taking off my brother-in-law-to-be's head the previous day. I knew if I just focused and remembered my fundamentals I could perform pretty decently.
Of course, I've also learned that's the whole trick with golf. The fundamentals are many and difficult. I sent the thing about 40 yards straight behind a tree.
This guy was so good though it didn't matter. It was obvious I had been paired with him for a reason. After he knocked the ball on the green with the third shot, I sheepishly looked at the other pair and said, "The fix is in, eh?" They chuckled but I'm pretty sure they were contemplating smashing my face in with whatever club was handy.
Hacking Away
All told I really didn't play too badly, but it was obvious that without John I would've been a total disaster. He kept leaving the ball in such great locations all day long that it was easy to keep it moving forward.
I eventually did get back to fundamentals however and remembered my iron shot. Nothing spectacular, but at least I wasn't threatening any hubcaps out there.
We even managed to score par on a couple of holes and I was starting to feel more confident.
It was then I had the crazy idea: This guy is so good, I thought, I may as well just go for the money on every shot.
This turned out to be a terrible plan, as I tried to actually play a draw shot on one hole around a tree. Why I thought I was capable of doing this I have no idea: I'm not even sure how you properly execute a draw shot. I ended up hitting it pitifully a few feet right behind another tree.
Time was running out for the day to be considered anything less than a mockery. Sure, with John on my team we wouldn't end up in last place, but all anybody would be talking about was "the fix".
The Eighth
After another magnificent tee shot, I put the ball in another lousy spot in the rough with our second shot.
John was obviously getting tired (your shoulders would've been sore too). He hit a decent enough shot for our third into the fairway, recovering my bad ball, but left it short of the green.
It was then that it all started to fall into place.
I hit a chip waaaay too hard. As soon as I hit it, I knew I had put it over the green and we'd be lucky to double bogey this mess. Once again I had blown it.
But then there was a clatter as my ball hit the pin and dropped 2 inches from the hole.
There was scattered applause from the group who at this point was likely feeling sorry for me. I knew I had gotten insanely lucky: the ball was coming in hot but was absolutely saved by striking the pin halfway up.
The encouraging words from the other gents out there though started to give me a little confidence. I still had one more chance to make a shot to be remembered, and the 9th hole coming up provided the perfect opportunity: there would be a prize for whomever hit the longest putt on the final hole.
The Ninth
The 9th hole contained really the only water hazard on the holes we played. The hole was surrounded by a river that should prove reasonably easy to hit over if you left yourself in a good spot off the tee. With John on my side that shouldn't prove too much of a problem.
Sure enough John knocked it short of the river, but just to the right of the fairway in the rough. It would be up to me to make a shot to get it on the green.
Fortunately the pressure was immediately off as the pair we were playing with put it in the water on their second shot. I would find out later this was a general theme out there that day. I guess the presence of water is enough to make you think.
It certainly made me think. I hit the thing and got enough of it to get it over the stream, but it landed right on the steep edge of the river and was essentially unplayable. I may as well have hit it in the water, because any attempt to play the ball would've resulted in falling into the stream. John said not to worry about it, he was sick of that ball anyway, and he took a drop.
His chip from the drop left it about 30 feet from the hole and about twice the distant of the current longest putt on the hole.
So this was it. My last chance.
Problem here is I have no idea how to really read a green. When I see a guy make a putt that rolls in from several feet to the right or left, I can't figure out how the heck he did it. How did he know it would break that much?
John was there to save me. He made the read for me and pointed to a spot about 3 feet to the right of the cup. "Hit it here," he said. "Nice and easy."
By which I'm pretty sure he meant "Leave me with a halfway decent putt that I can make, it's hot out here and I want a beer."
Damned if I didn't hit that thing perfectly. It rolled and rolled and started to curve to the left.
"He's got it!" John cried out, and the other pair watched tensely.
Perfect. Right in the cup. From 30 feet.
I pumped my fist and started to stride off the green in excitement. "Stay there, we have to mark it!" shouted the others.
Aftermath
Despite almost killing both of his progeny in a single vacation, when Julie's dad announced the winner of the longest putt later in the clubhouse, I could tell he was excited.
In the end we shot a 42, one stroke off the lead. Although it felt like I was hacking all over the place I guess it wasn't ever quite as bad as I thought. Golf is a funny game, and I guess veteran golfers know that you tend to remember your bad shots. I certainly had plenty of them that weekend.
But everybody else seems to remember your good ones.
So, in the end, despite all my efforts to make a total mess of the situation, I actually ended up having a pretty good time.
The question people have been asking me is: Will I keep playing golf now that it's over?
Let me put it this way. I don't think I'm ever going to be the one who suggests "Hey guys, who wants to spend the afternoon playing 18?"
But if somebody else were to suggest it, I'd be a lot less likely to come up with an excuse.
-----
Sunday Morning - The Big Day
After nearly killing Jeff, we spent the remainder of the day relaxing and drinking some beers. Figuring my task was not nearly difficult enough, I stayed up until about 2 AM chatting and drinking beer after beer. By the time Jeff and I stood up to go to bed, the ground was actually spinning.
Real smart move. I went to bed and woke up with a well deserved headache.
A couple of aspirin, two bottles of water and three cups of coffee later, it was time to face the hour of my reckoning.
Sunday Afternoon - Meet Your Partner
The format for this 9-hole, 2 man team extravaganza was best ball off the tee followed by alternate shots. I was paired with one of the best players in the area, a fellow named John. He was a really nice guy and he made me feel a lot more relaxed right away: if I screwed up miserably, at least this guy wouldn't make too much fun of me.
The drawback to such a good partner was this: if we had a bad outing, it would be pretty clear whose fault it was. That same morning while I had been downing water and coffee attempting to become semi-human, this guy was playing 18 holes in a local tournament and winning. I'm not kidding.
Teeing Off
The other pair we were playing with (also a nice pair of gents) suggested I go ahead and start things off.
They must have been licking their chops when they saw my tee shot duff off the driver and barely land past the women's tees a couple dozen yards away.
John said not to worry about it before stepping up and crushing a drive 300+ yards straight down the fairway.
It was pretty obvious that I would be taking all of the second shots today.
Fortunately, this played to my "strength", if it can be called that. I'd been pretty comfortable with the irons prior to nearly taking off my brother-in-law-to-be's head the previous day. I knew if I just focused and remembered my fundamentals I could perform pretty decently.
Of course, I've also learned that's the whole trick with golf. The fundamentals are many and difficult. I sent the thing about 40 yards straight behind a tree.
This guy was so good though it didn't matter. It was obvious I had been paired with him for a reason. After he knocked the ball on the green with the third shot, I sheepishly looked at the other pair and said, "The fix is in, eh?" They chuckled but I'm pretty sure they were contemplating smashing my face in with whatever club was handy.
Hacking Away
All told I really didn't play too badly, but it was obvious that without John I would've been a total disaster. He kept leaving the ball in such great locations all day long that it was easy to keep it moving forward.
I eventually did get back to fundamentals however and remembered my iron shot. Nothing spectacular, but at least I wasn't threatening any hubcaps out there.
We even managed to score par on a couple of holes and I was starting to feel more confident.
It was then I had the crazy idea: This guy is so good, I thought, I may as well just go for the money on every shot.
This turned out to be a terrible plan, as I tried to actually play a draw shot on one hole around a tree. Why I thought I was capable of doing this I have no idea: I'm not even sure how you properly execute a draw shot. I ended up hitting it pitifully a few feet right behind another tree.
Time was running out for the day to be considered anything less than a mockery. Sure, with John on my team we wouldn't end up in last place, but all anybody would be talking about was "the fix".
The Eighth
After another magnificent tee shot, I put the ball in another lousy spot in the rough with our second shot.
John was obviously getting tired (your shoulders would've been sore too). He hit a decent enough shot for our third into the fairway, recovering my bad ball, but left it short of the green.
It was then that it all started to fall into place.
I hit a chip waaaay too hard. As soon as I hit it, I knew I had put it over the green and we'd be lucky to double bogey this mess. Once again I had blown it.
But then there was a clatter as my ball hit the pin and dropped 2 inches from the hole.
There was scattered applause from the group who at this point was likely feeling sorry for me. I knew I had gotten insanely lucky: the ball was coming in hot but was absolutely saved by striking the pin halfway up.
The encouraging words from the other gents out there though started to give me a little confidence. I still had one more chance to make a shot to be remembered, and the 9th hole coming up provided the perfect opportunity: there would be a prize for whomever hit the longest putt on the final hole.
The Ninth
The 9th hole contained really the only water hazard on the holes we played. The hole was surrounded by a river that should prove reasonably easy to hit over if you left yourself in a good spot off the tee. With John on my side that shouldn't prove too much of a problem.
Sure enough John knocked it short of the river, but just to the right of the fairway in the rough. It would be up to me to make a shot to get it on the green.
Fortunately the pressure was immediately off as the pair we were playing with put it in the water on their second shot. I would find out later this was a general theme out there that day. I guess the presence of water is enough to make you think.
It certainly made me think. I hit the thing and got enough of it to get it over the stream, but it landed right on the steep edge of the river and was essentially unplayable. I may as well have hit it in the water, because any attempt to play the ball would've resulted in falling into the stream. John said not to worry about it, he was sick of that ball anyway, and he took a drop.
His chip from the drop left it about 30 feet from the hole and about twice the distant of the current longest putt on the hole.
So this was it. My last chance.
Problem here is I have no idea how to really read a green. When I see a guy make a putt that rolls in from several feet to the right or left, I can't figure out how the heck he did it. How did he know it would break that much?
John was there to save me. He made the read for me and pointed to a spot about 3 feet to the right of the cup. "Hit it here," he said. "Nice and easy."
By which I'm pretty sure he meant "Leave me with a halfway decent putt that I can make, it's hot out here and I want a beer."
Damned if I didn't hit that thing perfectly. It rolled and rolled and started to curve to the left.
"He's got it!" John cried out, and the other pair watched tensely.
Perfect. Right in the cup. From 30 feet.
I pumped my fist and started to stride off the green in excitement. "Stay there, we have to mark it!" shouted the others.
Aftermath
Despite almost killing both of his progeny in a single vacation, when Julie's dad announced the winner of the longest putt later in the clubhouse, I could tell he was excited.
In the end we shot a 42, one stroke off the lead. Although it felt like I was hacking all over the place I guess it wasn't ever quite as bad as I thought. Golf is a funny game, and I guess veteran golfers know that you tend to remember your bad shots. I certainly had plenty of them that weekend.
But everybody else seems to remember your good ones.
So, in the end, despite all my efforts to make a total mess of the situation, I actually ended up having a pretty good time.
The question people have been asking me is: Will I keep playing golf now that it's over?
Let me put it this way. I don't think I'm ever going to be the one who suggests "Hey guys, who wants to spend the afternoon playing 18?"
But if somebody else were to suggest it, I'd be a lot less likely to come up with an excuse.
The Golf Outing: Part I - Pregame
Yesterday afternoon I arrived back from a very eventful trip to Illinois.
Before you go any further, if you haven't read what was at stake this past weekend, I encourage you to do so.
If you know me however, you know that I've been concerned about this trip because I was expected to play golf with my future father-in-law and many of his family and friends. When informed of the trip by my fiance, I started to try and practice for the two months leading up to the excursion so I wouldn't make a complete fool of myself.
Enough introduction. On to the story.
-----
Wednesday Night
We had intended to get on the road around 5 PM so we could get a jump on what is a pretty lengthy drive. Unfortunately that morning one of the production servers at work suffered a hard drive failure.
You don't really need to know what that means beyond it being very bad. I didn't get out of work until later than intended while trying to deal with the day's issues as a result of this mess, and suffice it to say it was an ill omen to the start of the trip.
When we finally did get on the road, Julie did the driving for the first few hours. This gave me plenty of time to get a clear picture of my impending humiliation.
I took over driving around 10:20 PM. By 10:30 PM I had killed Bambi.
Yes, I managed to hit a deer. We were in the middle of western Pennsylvania (aka "Pennsyltucky") when a family of 5 or so deer decided that the turnpike would be an appropriate place to go foraging.
I jerked the wheel to the left to try and avoid them, but the baby in the bunch took a final leap into the side of the vehicle. This sent the car slightly out of control, and I struggled mightily to get it driving straight again. Shaking, I pulled off to the side of the road, terrified that Julie might have been hurt.
She had never stopped sipping her soda.
Some friendly locals pulled up behind us to inspect the damage and make sure we were okay. The passenger side headlight was demolished, the bumper bent, and the quarter panel on that side nicely crushed. As a bonus what was left of the bumper was covered in deer hair.
Fortuitously the folks that stopped also brought tools with them to cut the bent bumper away from the tire, which amazingly had not been punctured. While this was going on one of them regaled me with great enthusiasm about how many times the baby deer spun around on impact (seven) and how many pieces it was in (many).
After a call to the Turnpike Authority and the insurance company, we were on our way again. Obviously it was decided we should pull off to the next hotel and assess the damage in the morning.
Forty miles later we found one, and I fell asleep, my dreams haunted by headless deer driving Chevy Impalas at me, like Ichabod Crane fleeing hundreds of Headless Horseman.
Friday
Thursday was uneventful, being spent finishing the drive and arriving in Kickapoo, Illinois later that evening.
Friday afforded me a chance to spend some time with Julie's dad. The day started out well enough with a trip to the local Riverboat Casino, where I won $100 at the Blackjack table despite a lady doubling down on a hard twelve with the dealer showing a 6 and later staying on an 8 Austin Powers style ("I also like to live dangerously").
So far so good, I thought. My luck is turning around.
In the afternoon we drove to the course I'd be playing so I could hit a bucket or two of balls and get a little practice in.
Three buckets and two blisters later it was pretty clear I was actually regressing. I know my strategy had initially been to hit my 4-iron off the tee, but I was being paired with a fellow who reputedly routinely hit 300 yard drives and shot lightning bolts from his arse, so I figured there was little point since we were playing the best ball off the tee. This turned out to be a huge mistake because my miserable drives on the practice range shook my confidence to the point where I was concerned I would not make it past the ladies' tees.
My father-in-law-to-be tried to offer me some pointers but by the end of the third bucket I was so tired and discombobulated I was averaging about 4 feet per swing.
Not good.
Saturday
Julie's brother (Jeff) and his girlfriend arrived on Friday night, so it was decided that the three men (myself, Julie's dad, and her brother) would all play 9 holes on Saturday afternoon to warm up for Sunday's event.
I was very much in favor of this idea after my performance at the practice range, and hoped that I'd be able to straighten some things out.
Things were going reasonably well until about the 4th tee when I smashed a shot about 60 whole yards into some rough on the left of the fairway. Jeff and I were sharing a cart and we rolled up to it. I pulled out an iron, confident that I could impress by getting it out of the rough and toward the green. My irons have been the one reasonably steady part of my game since I started playing a whole 2 months ago.
Jeff pulled the cart up to the right of the ball, about 20 feet or so away. I lined up and took a mighty whack.
Unfortunately I hit it right off the toe of the club, mishitting badly. Jeff threw his hands up in defense. The ball screamed straight right and clunked off the golf cart, taking the front left hubcap with it.
I was pretty much a wreck for the rest of the round, fearful that I had now not only slaughtered a baby deer but almost added my future brother-in-law to the body count.
How many more would have to die for me to get through the bridal shower golf event?
To be continued.
Before you go any further, if you haven't read what was at stake this past weekend, I encourage you to do so.
If you know me however, you know that I've been concerned about this trip because I was expected to play golf with my future father-in-law and many of his family and friends. When informed of the trip by my fiance, I started to try and practice for the two months leading up to the excursion so I wouldn't make a complete fool of myself.
Enough introduction. On to the story.
-----
Wednesday Night
We had intended to get on the road around 5 PM so we could get a jump on what is a pretty lengthy drive. Unfortunately that morning one of the production servers at work suffered a hard drive failure.
You don't really need to know what that means beyond it being very bad. I didn't get out of work until later than intended while trying to deal with the day's issues as a result of this mess, and suffice it to say it was an ill omen to the start of the trip.
When we finally did get on the road, Julie did the driving for the first few hours. This gave me plenty of time to get a clear picture of my impending humiliation.
I took over driving around 10:20 PM. By 10:30 PM I had killed Bambi.
Yes, I managed to hit a deer. We were in the middle of western Pennsylvania (aka "Pennsyltucky") when a family of 5 or so deer decided that the turnpike would be an appropriate place to go foraging.
I jerked the wheel to the left to try and avoid them, but the baby in the bunch took a final leap into the side of the vehicle. This sent the car slightly out of control, and I struggled mightily to get it driving straight again. Shaking, I pulled off to the side of the road, terrified that Julie might have been hurt.
She had never stopped sipping her soda.
Some friendly locals pulled up behind us to inspect the damage and make sure we were okay. The passenger side headlight was demolished, the bumper bent, and the quarter panel on that side nicely crushed. As a bonus what was left of the bumper was covered in deer hair.
Fortuitously the folks that stopped also brought tools with them to cut the bent bumper away from the tire, which amazingly had not been punctured. While this was going on one of them regaled me with great enthusiasm about how many times the baby deer spun around on impact (seven) and how many pieces it was in (many).
After a call to the Turnpike Authority and the insurance company, we were on our way again. Obviously it was decided we should pull off to the next hotel and assess the damage in the morning.
Forty miles later we found one, and I fell asleep, my dreams haunted by headless deer driving Chevy Impalas at me, like Ichabod Crane fleeing hundreds of Headless Horseman.
Friday
Thursday was uneventful, being spent finishing the drive and arriving in Kickapoo, Illinois later that evening.
Friday afforded me a chance to spend some time with Julie's dad. The day started out well enough with a trip to the local Riverboat Casino, where I won $100 at the Blackjack table despite a lady doubling down on a hard twelve with the dealer showing a 6 and later staying on an 8 Austin Powers style ("I also like to live dangerously").
So far so good, I thought. My luck is turning around.
In the afternoon we drove to the course I'd be playing so I could hit a bucket or two of balls and get a little practice in.
Three buckets and two blisters later it was pretty clear I was actually regressing. I know my strategy had initially been to hit my 4-iron off the tee, but I was being paired with a fellow who reputedly routinely hit 300 yard drives and shot lightning bolts from his arse, so I figured there was little point since we were playing the best ball off the tee. This turned out to be a huge mistake because my miserable drives on the practice range shook my confidence to the point where I was concerned I would not make it past the ladies' tees.
My father-in-law-to-be tried to offer me some pointers but by the end of the third bucket I was so tired and discombobulated I was averaging about 4 feet per swing.
Not good.
Saturday
Julie's brother (Jeff) and his girlfriend arrived on Friday night, so it was decided that the three men (myself, Julie's dad, and her brother) would all play 9 holes on Saturday afternoon to warm up for Sunday's event.
I was very much in favor of this idea after my performance at the practice range, and hoped that I'd be able to straighten some things out.
Things were going reasonably well until about the 4th tee when I smashed a shot about 60 whole yards into some rough on the left of the fairway. Jeff and I were sharing a cart and we rolled up to it. I pulled out an iron, confident that I could impress by getting it out of the rough and toward the green. My irons have been the one reasonably steady part of my game since I started playing a whole 2 months ago.
Jeff pulled the cart up to the right of the ball, about 20 feet or so away. I lined up and took a mighty whack.
Unfortunately I hit it right off the toe of the club, mishitting badly. Jeff threw his hands up in defense. The ball screamed straight right and clunked off the golf cart, taking the front left hubcap with it.
I was pretty much a wreck for the rest of the round, fearful that I had now not only slaughtered a baby deer but almost added my future brother-in-law to the body count.
How many more would have to die for me to get through the bridal shower golf event?
To be continued.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Approaching Doom
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
- Bill Shakespeare, Sonnet 116
Tomorrow night, I will step into the car, and every passing mile marker will be as the footsteps of doom.
For tomorrow night we head to Illinois for Julie's bridal shower being hosted by her family. The ladies will be opening presents.
The men will be playing golf.
No longer will I be able to avoid the fell day where I must take to the links with men far better suited to such a game. No longer will I be able to flee past memories, like a child afraid to go back to sleep because he knows the circus clown in his dream is waiting to kill him.
No, I must face my fear. I have practiced for this day. Friends have prepared me as best they can, one of them going so far as to bestow upon me a set of clubs. Like Arthur receiving Excaliber I shall wield them in battle, making sure to turn over my wrists with every swing. I shall not fear men who hit the ball further than I, choosing instead to focus on hitting it straight. I shall unabashedly play the 4-iron off the tee. The woods and sands of the place shall remain a mystery, unexplored.
I'm ready for this. I am ready to play golf.
I am so dead.
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
- Bill Shakespeare, Sonnet 116
Tomorrow night, I will step into the car, and every passing mile marker will be as the footsteps of doom.
For tomorrow night we head to Illinois for Julie's bridal shower being hosted by her family. The ladies will be opening presents.
The men will be playing golf.
No longer will I be able to avoid the fell day where I must take to the links with men far better suited to such a game. No longer will I be able to flee past memories, like a child afraid to go back to sleep because he knows the circus clown in his dream is waiting to kill him.
No, I must face my fear. I have practiced for this day. Friends have prepared me as best they can, one of them going so far as to bestow upon me a set of clubs. Like Arthur receiving Excaliber I shall wield them in battle, making sure to turn over my wrists with every swing. I shall not fear men who hit the ball further than I, choosing instead to focus on hitting it straight. I shall unabashedly play the 4-iron off the tee. The woods and sands of the place shall remain a mystery, unexplored.
I'm ready for this. I am ready to play golf.
I am so dead.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Once a Nerd, Always a Nerd
I originally had this post wrapped up with the CraigCon 6 post, but I decided to break it out in its own separate space. I didn't want it to get mixed up with the great fun that was had there.
While hanging around outside discussing a game with some of the folks at CraigCon this year, some people drove by and actually screamed "NERDS!!!" out their window at us.
Now, being almost 29 at this point, I figured it wouldn't bother me.
But I saw some of the folks, old and young alike, clearly wince a bit. Obviously they laughed it off with some remarks, but you could kind of tell that it still stung to hear the word, to be called a name for no reason by somebody you didn't know.
It would actually happen a few more times during the weekend, including one tirade that was checkered with plenty of profanity.
I continued to maintain it didn't bother me until I started writing this.
One of the things that makes tabletop gaming fun for me is the idea of crafting stories, keeping your imagination in shape. When you're a kid it's very easy and natural to use your imagination, but as you grow older it really takes some work. I like tabletop games because the rules exist to help put you in that space mentally, the same sort of space you need to be in for any creative endeavor.
However using your imagination to "play" starts to go out of style at a certain age. Playing real sports starts to take the place of playing Cops and Robbers. Hanging out at the mall (or whatever it is kids do) takes the place of getting together and pretending to slay dragons.
The moment you step onto a basketball court and don't say "I'm [insert favorite player]" is the moment you have irrevocably grown up, gone to a different headspace. And once that happens it can be hard to get back, to go from serious to play, from malls to spaceships, from offices to castles.
Somewhere along the line the pursuit of dragons changes you from just another kid to a "nerd". And when you're a kid it can really hurt to get made fun of for something you enjoy, because it's difficult to understand why it's happening.
Now of course we're older and wiser. Those old barbs don't hurt like they used to, don't open up fresh wounds.
But sometimes they can remind us of the old ones.
So let me conclude by saying this: I'm Michael Jordan.
Update: Almost uncanny in its timing, but Penny Arcade has a story today about entering a Pokemon tournament after intense preparation... and finding a bunch of little kids who just like to play. It's the post called Pokemon, second one down, and I encourage you to read it.
While hanging around outside discussing a game with some of the folks at CraigCon this year, some people drove by and actually screamed "NERDS!!!" out their window at us.
Now, being almost 29 at this point, I figured it wouldn't bother me.
But I saw some of the folks, old and young alike, clearly wince a bit. Obviously they laughed it off with some remarks, but you could kind of tell that it still stung to hear the word, to be called a name for no reason by somebody you didn't know.
It would actually happen a few more times during the weekend, including one tirade that was checkered with plenty of profanity.
I continued to maintain it didn't bother me until I started writing this.
One of the things that makes tabletop gaming fun for me is the idea of crafting stories, keeping your imagination in shape. When you're a kid it's very easy and natural to use your imagination, but as you grow older it really takes some work. I like tabletop games because the rules exist to help put you in that space mentally, the same sort of space you need to be in for any creative endeavor.
However using your imagination to "play" starts to go out of style at a certain age. Playing real sports starts to take the place of playing Cops and Robbers. Hanging out at the mall (or whatever it is kids do) takes the place of getting together and pretending to slay dragons.
The moment you step onto a basketball court and don't say "I'm [insert favorite player]" is the moment you have irrevocably grown up, gone to a different headspace. And once that happens it can be hard to get back, to go from serious to play, from malls to spaceships, from offices to castles.
Somewhere along the line the pursuit of dragons changes you from just another kid to a "nerd". And when you're a kid it can really hurt to get made fun of for something you enjoy, because it's difficult to understand why it's happening.
Now of course we're older and wiser. Those old barbs don't hurt like they used to, don't open up fresh wounds.
But sometimes they can remind us of the old ones.
So let me conclude by saying this: I'm Michael Jordan.
Update: Almost uncanny in its timing, but Penny Arcade has a story today about entering a Pokemon tournament after intense preparation... and finding a bunch of little kids who just like to play. It's the post called Pokemon, second one down, and I encourage you to read it.
CraigCon 6
This past weekend I headed up to New Jersey for the sixth annual CraigCon.
Back in college, I made a few great, lasting friendships playing D&D on a regular basis in the old "Conshohocken House". I lived in this house with 4 other people, 2 of which were gamers like myself. We started a game that I ran for close to a year.
One thing you have to understand was we played this game in the basement of that crowded house. The basement was such a mess by the end of that game that I was literally using a pile of old pizza boxes as a table to keep my books and dice. In retrospect it's amazing we didn't contract bubonic plague.
Even though I've played many games since, all a lot of fun, there was something about that particular campaign in the "Conshy House" that made it special. It was the perfect storm for a lot of us: we were at a transitional point between college and trying to figure out what the hell we were going to do with the rest of our lives (for my part I was in between college attendance at all). There were a lot of other things people were working through, things that put us squarely, forcibly in the realm of "adulthood". It was quickly becoming clear as these realities mounted that "things", whatever they were, were changing, and once they did, there would be no going back.
The characters in the Conshy game were an outlet as we coped with that. I'm sure if we had recorded those games and had a psychologist take a look at them now it would be an absolute treasure trove of analytic goodness.
Eventually the game ended, and time marched on. We all gradually moved away to various parts of the country. Whenever we talked we all agreed we missed gaming together. But more importantly we missed our friends.
Thus CraigCon was born (named for my pal Craig, who essentially hosted the first one at his hosue).
Now, many CraigCons later, the thing is a full fledged event. This year it was hosted by an honest to goodness gaming store (thanks go out to Reality's Edge), complete with a CraigCon discount on D&D goods. There were tons of new faces, and although turnout from the old Philly crew was minimal this year (only 3 of us counting myself), turnout was very good in terms of sheer numbers. It's pretty amazing to think this thing started as an excuse for old friends to hang out.
Altogether it was an absolute blast. It was great to see some younger faces in the crowd as well. Even though a lot of kids were in the store just to play the Magic card game, it's still cool to see people gaming and talking to each other face to face, especially with MMOs and their like gaining increasing popularity. I can't help but feel like something gets lost when these types of games get moved to a computer.
At its best CraigCon provides a chance to introduce people to different playing styles. At its worst it gives you a stomachache when you are walking into IHOP for your sixth straight meal.
The highlight for me was getting a chance to introduce Burning Empires to a new audience. The gents I ran the demo scenario for really took to it quickly, complete with a tremendous monologue by one of the players that had to be one of the best pieces of RP I've seen in that kind of environment for awhile.
Here's to six more years of gaming (and no IHOP for a year).
Back in college, I made a few great, lasting friendships playing D&D on a regular basis in the old "Conshohocken House". I lived in this house with 4 other people, 2 of which were gamers like myself. We started a game that I ran for close to a year.
One thing you have to understand was we played this game in the basement of that crowded house. The basement was such a mess by the end of that game that I was literally using a pile of old pizza boxes as a table to keep my books and dice. In retrospect it's amazing we didn't contract bubonic plague.
Even though I've played many games since, all a lot of fun, there was something about that particular campaign in the "Conshy House" that made it special. It was the perfect storm for a lot of us: we were at a transitional point between college and trying to figure out what the hell we were going to do with the rest of our lives (for my part I was in between college attendance at all). There were a lot of other things people were working through, things that put us squarely, forcibly in the realm of "adulthood". It was quickly becoming clear as these realities mounted that "things", whatever they were, were changing, and once they did, there would be no going back.
The characters in the Conshy game were an outlet as we coped with that. I'm sure if we had recorded those games and had a psychologist take a look at them now it would be an absolute treasure trove of analytic goodness.
Eventually the game ended, and time marched on. We all gradually moved away to various parts of the country. Whenever we talked we all agreed we missed gaming together. But more importantly we missed our friends.
Thus CraigCon was born (named for my pal Craig, who essentially hosted the first one at his hosue).
Now, many CraigCons later, the thing is a full fledged event. This year it was hosted by an honest to goodness gaming store (thanks go out to Reality's Edge), complete with a CraigCon discount on D&D goods. There were tons of new faces, and although turnout from the old Philly crew was minimal this year (only 3 of us counting myself), turnout was very good in terms of sheer numbers. It's pretty amazing to think this thing started as an excuse for old friends to hang out.
Altogether it was an absolute blast. It was great to see some younger faces in the crowd as well. Even though a lot of kids were in the store just to play the Magic card game, it's still cool to see people gaming and talking to each other face to face, especially with MMOs and their like gaining increasing popularity. I can't help but feel like something gets lost when these types of games get moved to a computer.
At its best CraigCon provides a chance to introduce people to different playing styles. At its worst it gives you a stomachache when you are walking into IHOP for your sixth straight meal.
The highlight for me was getting a chance to introduce Burning Empires to a new audience. The gents I ran the demo scenario for really took to it quickly, complete with a tremendous monologue by one of the players that had to be one of the best pieces of RP I've seen in that kind of environment for awhile.
Here's to six more years of gaming (and no IHOP for a year).
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