If I were to select the unreachable dream that most often enters my mind and proceeds to taunt me with the simple fact that it shall never be achieved, it would be the following: Would that I were able to teleport.
It's no big secret, really - I want super-powers. Ignoring the fact that I would most likely be studied by scientists long after I had died, I cannot describe to you how unbelievably cool my mind finds it. Or perhaps I can. I assume, of course, that everybody is just as enamoured of having a super-power as I am. I mean, who wouldn't want to be able to teleport, or fly, or turn invisible, or manipulate water, or cast magic missile, or...I shan't continue, though I assure you I could - after all, the list goes on ad infinitum, I'm sure.
There are two things that I really love about discussing super powers with people. The first of these is the fact that, in a given room, two people will very rarely have the exact same list of super-powers that they would pick from. I mean, sure, people may have the same "top" power, but when you get down to others (if they couldn't pick their top power, for some unknown reason) there is just so much variety. I've already said that I would love to be able to teleport, my ex-work colleague Shibby would love to be able to fly, Dezzles desires telekinesis, Chris would like super strength, and Alex believes that the ability to heal via physical contact would be rockin'.
The thing that I like most about discussing superpowers with people, however, is the fact that in order to keep things a bit grounded - sensible if you will - superpowers have to come with caveats. Teleportation, for instance, can be grounded in several ways. My personal favourite is the fact that, in order to teleport a certain distance, you must expend an equivalent amount of energy. This would make teleporting short distances fine, but it would mean that, the further you wished to travel, the more difficult it would become. Of course, this would also prevent you from cheating the system by teleporting many short distances, as you'd eventually become fatigued.
The only problem that I have with that limitation of teleportation is that the place I'd most want to transport myself to (Birmingham, England) is almost on the exact opposite side of the planet to us, so I'd most likely have to make a couple of layovers first.
The other thing that would worry me about teleportation is the fact that, if you were to teleport to somewhere you'd never been before (or a place that you do not have a clear view of) you run the risk of landing smack-bang in the middle of a solid object. It would be fairly unpleasant, I would imagine, if someone were to, say, rearrange the furniture in their house without telling you and you wound up with an end table for a torso.
The obvious way around this is what I'm calling the matter replacement principle. This is something that I've previously discussed with Andy, and the way we figured it would work is that when you teleport to your destination, any matter that was in the space that your body would occupy (and potentially a little bubble around it) would be transported to your starting location, and so all of your bits would theoretically replace all of their bits, and vice-versa. This would of course, lead to some very...disturbing circumstances if you were to teleport into the middle of another person.
So I finish today with a question for you - if you could have a superpower, what would it be? And, for an added challenge, what caveats would you introduce in order to make it a bit more realistic? Hopefully I get some really creative answers to this, and may a nice little discussion starts between the readers. That would rock. But not as much as being able to teleport myself.
The moral of today's story is that, according to the ABC series Sleek Geeks, everyone is a Super Human. I think, however, that this would cheapen the definition of "Super" to the point where "Super" becomes normal, leading us back to the generic conclusion that nobody is super, after all. If more than 50% of people can do something, it stops being super, and starts being average or typical. I guess, then, that if my dream is for everyone to have a superpower, would lead to them not being superpowers at all, but being...well...typicalpowers I guess...
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Selective Amnesia Is Not Recognised As An Illness
I'm often fascinated by various aspects of the human condition - I am in complete awe, for instance, of individuals who have experienced adrenaline rushes so great it allows them to lift a car in order to free a trapped loved one. There is one thing that people do, however, which never ceases to amuse me.
I love the incredible ability that the human race, as a collective, has for complaint - and before you any of you say anything, I am aware of the potential for irony in this blog post, occurring only when I start complaining about the whining masses. Of course, this post isn't really intended as a whinge in itself, so unless I get remarkably side-tracked then this post will remain about as ironic as the lyrical content of a song by Alanis Morissette.
Note that above I said the lyrical content, not the song itself. The song itself is ironic because, whilst it claims to be about irony and lists a number of situations which are purportedly ironic, it does not contain a single situation which is, itself, ironic. Maybe that's why she called it that in the first place? Perhaps Alanis is a lexical genius, and the rest of the English speaking population is so far beneath her that we just don't get her subtlety. Or perhaps she, like so many other people, just really doesn't understand irony (oh have I got a future blog post in me about that topic.)
Did you know that a cubit is approximately 45.72cm in length? That remark may seem rather non sequitor after telling you that this post would be about the ability of people to complain (and the small segue into irony). If you had heard the way some people are talking about the current rain situation here in Bathurst (as well as in Sydney, from what I have been lead to believe), however, then you would understand why I'd be trying to find out just how much wood I need in order to build an ark.
I have discovered, I believe, a sub-section of the population who will never be pleased with a situation, no matter which way it decides to turn. There are some people who, I have found, will complain about how dry it is, only to start crying that all of their plans are ruined the moment it rains. I've met people who whine all Summer long about how stinking hot it is, only to cry "Oh! I wish Summer would hurry back!" the moment it starts to cool down in Autumn. I've even known people who tell me that there is nothing for them to do on The Internet, and that they're bored with it, but then go into a frothing rage when their connection drops out.
My theory is that perhaps they are all selective amnesiacs, and forget the alternative to any given situation the moment it changes. Or it may just be because they're so dull that they have nothing else to talk about, and they just like to have a contrary opinion. Either way, it sometimes seems as though people believe that they have the amazing ability to change reality just be saying how much they hate the current one. Don't people know that they have to be the change that they want to see in the world? If they want it to rain, all they need to do is organise a large picnic at which everyone will wash their cars...
Of course, before I leave this topic, I should clarify that I'm not talking about people who like things a certain way. I know people, for instance, who don't like humidity or dryness in the weather, but start doing a happy-dance the moment it rains. That kind of complaint is fine (to a degree) because it ceases once the situation flips - only when the change brings about a different kind of complaint do things start to become both baffling and remarkable.
And so that's it - a relatively short post from me today, and also a fairly cohesive one. I wouldn't get used to it, though, as anybody who knows me even slightly could tell you that I have the attention span of - OH MY GOD BEES!!!
The moral of today's story is that Noah's Ark was, it is said, 300 cubits long, 50 cubits wide, and 30 cubits tall. The conversion to meters makes it a 137.16 x 22.86 x 13.716 object. And some of that space is negated because the ark has to curve, in order to actually remain buoyant. Given that the Titanic had dimensions of 269.06 x 28.19 x 53.34 I guess it turns out that something of biblical proportions isn't really that spectacular at all.
I love the incredible ability that the human race, as a collective, has for complaint - and before you any of you say anything, I am aware of the potential for irony in this blog post, occurring only when I start complaining about the whining masses. Of course, this post isn't really intended as a whinge in itself, so unless I get remarkably side-tracked then this post will remain about as ironic as the lyrical content of a song by Alanis Morissette.
Note that above I said the lyrical content, not the song itself. The song itself is ironic because, whilst it claims to be about irony and lists a number of situations which are purportedly ironic, it does not contain a single situation which is, itself, ironic. Maybe that's why she called it that in the first place? Perhaps Alanis is a lexical genius, and the rest of the English speaking population is so far beneath her that we just don't get her subtlety. Or perhaps she, like so many other people, just really doesn't understand irony (oh have I got a future blog post in me about that topic.)
Did you know that a cubit is approximately 45.72cm in length? That remark may seem rather non sequitor after telling you that this post would be about the ability of people to complain (and the small segue into irony). If you had heard the way some people are talking about the current rain situation here in Bathurst (as well as in Sydney, from what I have been lead to believe), however, then you would understand why I'd be trying to find out just how much wood I need in order to build an ark.
I have discovered, I believe, a sub-section of the population who will never be pleased with a situation, no matter which way it decides to turn. There are some people who, I have found, will complain about how dry it is, only to start crying that all of their plans are ruined the moment it rains. I've met people who whine all Summer long about how stinking hot it is, only to cry "Oh! I wish Summer would hurry back!" the moment it starts to cool down in Autumn. I've even known people who tell me that there is nothing for them to do on The Internet, and that they're bored with it, but then go into a frothing rage when their connection drops out.
My theory is that perhaps they are all selective amnesiacs, and forget the alternative to any given situation the moment it changes. Or it may just be because they're so dull that they have nothing else to talk about, and they just like to have a contrary opinion. Either way, it sometimes seems as though people believe that they have the amazing ability to change reality just be saying how much they hate the current one. Don't people know that they have to be the change that they want to see in the world? If they want it to rain, all they need to do is organise a large picnic at which everyone will wash their cars...
Of course, before I leave this topic, I should clarify that I'm not talking about people who like things a certain way. I know people, for instance, who don't like humidity or dryness in the weather, but start doing a happy-dance the moment it rains. That kind of complaint is fine (to a degree) because it ceases once the situation flips - only when the change brings about a different kind of complaint do things start to become both baffling and remarkable.
And so that's it - a relatively short post from me today, and also a fairly cohesive one. I wouldn't get used to it, though, as anybody who knows me even slightly could tell you that I have the attention span of - OH MY GOD BEES!!!
The moral of today's story is that Noah's Ark was, it is said, 300 cubits long, 50 cubits wide, and 30 cubits tall. The conversion to meters makes it a 137.16 x 22.86 x 13.716 object. And some of that space is negated because the ark has to curve, in order to actually remain buoyant. Given that the Titanic had dimensions of 269.06 x 28.19 x 53.34 I guess it turns out that something of biblical proportions isn't really that spectacular at all.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
But Until The Advent Of T-Mail...
Yesterday, during my lunch break, I bought a packet of 5 Flavour Lifesavers. My intention with these little lollies was to suck them until they were so small that they dissolved in my mouth - I figured that each one would take me some time to break down my just saliva and some friction, so they should last me until the end of the day.
Alas, I was wrong. The native instinct inside me to crunch those tiny doughnuts of pure sugar is just too great and I ended up plowing through the entire delicious spectrum of flavour in about an hour and a half, and was left disappointed and candy-less for the rest of the day.
In an effort to curb this munchity munching of my workstation sweets, I today purchased some butterscotch lollies and some crunchy chips, in an effort to convince my brain that the crunch need was satisfied and enjoy the long lasting butterscotch deliciousness - so we shall see how that goes...
On the topic of purchasing things entirely to quell an innate desire within me, I yesterday was forced to realise that Christmas is fast approaching (25 days and counting) and I hadn't put any thought into what I was getting anybody this year. It was only when Lydia asked me what I wanted that I realised I had completed my Christmas shopping by this time last year, and that precious time was being wasted.
Of course, last year I also lived in Sydney, which (I will begrudgingly admit) made Christmas shopping a darn site easier. But then, living in Sydney also made me go bat-poop insane, so the trade off is acceptable, I suppose.
Anyway, I hopped on to Topatoco yesterday, as I had the best gift idea for Spud ever (which, for reasons of Christmas surprise giving-ness, I cannot explain on here...), and while I was on there I decided to pick up a couple of shirts for myself. Of course, picking only three shirts (I didn't want to go overboard) was quite the challenge, and I can see myself spending quite a bit of money there in the future.
After perusing the online store for about two hours, trying to make up my mind (it's difficult for me at the best of times, let alone when money is involved) I placed my order and sat, waiting for my package to arrive. It was then I realised that, not only did some garments need to be created for me (one of the large shirts has a slight delay on it, and even though I'm a portly gentleman, I'm not a US XL) but also that delivery of any item is not instantaneous.
This morning, as I walked to the bus stop, I was lamenting the existence of what I believe could be the E-Mail killer. I call it "T-Mail" and, whilst I'm sure it's been thought of before, I am quite proud of its creation in my mind. With T-Mail, people will revert to writing pen and paper letters for many things, and instead of having to post a letter or parcel over long distances via plane or truck or whatever, we will instead just teleport it there using some kind of awesome teleportation machine.
That, then, has got me to thinking about how much I love receiving things in the mail. There's always this little bit of a thrill that I experience any time I receive a package or letter that isn't a bill. My internal monologue goes all a twitter with anticipation: "A mail item? For me?! How wonderful!! I cannot wait to open it. Right arm, be a good man and get to that, will you..." Well, I'm sure that's how it goes, anyway.
So anyway, I thought I'd just throw it out there that, perhaps, if you're bored one day, you could write me a letter, or send me something in the post. I promise that I will personally respond to every item I receive, and I'll even discuss some of the more interesting submissions on here!
[Redacted Because That Crazy People Use The Internet ^_^"]
I have an internal bet with my sense of pessimism that I'll not get any letters or parcels or drawings or anything - so help me show that smarmy prig who's boss!
The moral of today's story, by the way, is probably that all methods of communication are doomed to be replaced at some point in time, but delicious lollies are forever.
Alas, I was wrong. The native instinct inside me to crunch those tiny doughnuts of pure sugar is just too great and I ended up plowing through the entire delicious spectrum of flavour in about an hour and a half, and was left disappointed and candy-less for the rest of the day.
In an effort to curb this munchity munching of my workstation sweets, I today purchased some butterscotch lollies and some crunchy chips, in an effort to convince my brain that the crunch need was satisfied and enjoy the long lasting butterscotch deliciousness - so we shall see how that goes...
On the topic of purchasing things entirely to quell an innate desire within me, I yesterday was forced to realise that Christmas is fast approaching (25 days and counting) and I hadn't put any thought into what I was getting anybody this year. It was only when Lydia asked me what I wanted that I realised I had completed my Christmas shopping by this time last year, and that precious time was being wasted.
Of course, last year I also lived in Sydney, which (I will begrudgingly admit) made Christmas shopping a darn site easier. But then, living in Sydney also made me go bat-poop insane, so the trade off is acceptable, I suppose.
Anyway, I hopped on to Topatoco yesterday, as I had the best gift idea for Spud ever (which, for reasons of Christmas surprise giving-ness, I cannot explain on here...), and while I was on there I decided to pick up a couple of shirts for myself. Of course, picking only three shirts (I didn't want to go overboard) was quite the challenge, and I can see myself spending quite a bit of money there in the future.
After perusing the online store for about two hours, trying to make up my mind (it's difficult for me at the best of times, let alone when money is involved) I placed my order and sat, waiting for my package to arrive. It was then I realised that, not only did some garments need to be created for me (one of the large shirts has a slight delay on it, and even though I'm a portly gentleman, I'm not a US XL) but also that delivery of any item is not instantaneous.
This morning, as I walked to the bus stop, I was lamenting the existence of what I believe could be the E-Mail killer. I call it "T-Mail" and, whilst I'm sure it's been thought of before, I am quite proud of its creation in my mind. With T-Mail, people will revert to writing pen and paper letters for many things, and instead of having to post a letter or parcel over long distances via plane or truck or whatever, we will instead just teleport it there using some kind of awesome teleportation machine.
That, then, has got me to thinking about how much I love receiving things in the mail. There's always this little bit of a thrill that I experience any time I receive a package or letter that isn't a bill. My internal monologue goes all a twitter with anticipation: "A mail item? For me?! How wonderful!! I cannot wait to open it. Right arm, be a good man and get to that, will you..." Well, I'm sure that's how it goes, anyway.
So anyway, I thought I'd just throw it out there that, perhaps, if you're bored one day, you could write me a letter, or send me something in the post. I promise that I will personally respond to every item I receive, and I'll even discuss some of the more interesting submissions on here!
[Redacted Because That Crazy People Use The Internet ^_^"]
I have an internal bet with my sense of pessimism that I'll not get any letters or parcels or drawings or anything - so help me show that smarmy prig who's boss!
The moral of today's story, by the way, is probably that all methods of communication are doomed to be replaced at some point in time, but delicious lollies are forever.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Five Loads Of Laundry, And A Stolen Painting
Yesterday, in between creating my character for Spud's rogue game, and actually playing Spud's rogue game, I decided that I had better do some laundry. Laundry is something that I am trying to do weekly (along with mowing my lawn, and cleaning my house), however I have enough clothing that I can easily last about two or three weeks before I'm having to re-wear something that isn't a pair of pants - and let's face it, pants can be worn for weeks assuming that you haven't spilt anything on them.
The fact that I own neither a washing machine, nor a car, makes my laundry task quite annoying - if I have anything more than a single basket to clean, or if it's raining (as it was yesterday) then I have to get someone to give me a lift. This means that I'm no longer cleaning on my own schedule, I'm now subject to the whims of the all powerful driver.
The aforementioned struggle to complete what seems like the most basic of garment hygiene rituals, coupled with the fact that I decided that I'd like to clean all of my winter clothing before I pack it away for the summer, meant that yesterday I had to do five machines worth of laundry. This wouldn't be too bad if I didn't have to mind my laundry for fear of it being stolen, and if the inside of the laundromat was not unlike being stuck inside a room full of machines designed to generate heat and moisture constantly (which, incidentally, it is.)
But I struggled through, and about two hours later I had a very large pile of clean (if not still slightly damp, but only just) clothes laying on my bed, just waiting to be sorted, and either hung up or packed away. I now, if you were wondering, have a very large pile of clean clothes laying on my floor (which, thankfully, is also clean - except for the giant pile of clothing sitting on it.)
Following my laundry misadventures (speaking of which, I just remembered that I left a load of washing in a drier there...Let's hope it's still there tonight...) we played our first session of Spud's rogue game.
I had started to write a post about this on Saturday, but got distracted by actually creating my character, and then watching Whose Line Is It Anyway? for several hours. Blogging on the weekend, as it turns out, is incredibly difficult.
My character in Spud's game is named Arlington Steele, and he is what I am calling a "Face" - he is a con-man who gets his jollies from pretending to be someone he's not in order to steal that painting, get that large sum of money, or just stuff you around royally. It's not that he's a bad person, he just finds that his acting talents weren't getting him anywhere on the legitimate stage, and so he decided to take his talent out onto the stage of life, where the audience is always slightly more believing (and malleable...)
So for Arlington's first job in this game, he has to steal a painting (see, I told you "steal that painting") from a rather...erm...passionate collector. The plan that I developed for this heist is as follows:
The moral of this story, I suppose, would be that trying to be a responsible adult by keeping your things clean is tough, but there's always fun to be had afterward, and if you leave it too long then you'll just get a headache from sitting in the laundromat, because you have to 'watch your load', as it were.
The fact that I own neither a washing machine, nor a car, makes my laundry task quite annoying - if I have anything more than a single basket to clean, or if it's raining (as it was yesterday) then I have to get someone to give me a lift. This means that I'm no longer cleaning on my own schedule, I'm now subject to the whims of the all powerful driver.
The aforementioned struggle to complete what seems like the most basic of garment hygiene rituals, coupled with the fact that I decided that I'd like to clean all of my winter clothing before I pack it away for the summer, meant that yesterday I had to do five machines worth of laundry. This wouldn't be too bad if I didn't have to mind my laundry for fear of it being stolen, and if the inside of the laundromat was not unlike being stuck inside a room full of machines designed to generate heat and moisture constantly (which, incidentally, it is.)
But I struggled through, and about two hours later I had a very large pile of clean (if not still slightly damp, but only just) clothes laying on my bed, just waiting to be sorted, and either hung up or packed away. I now, if you were wondering, have a very large pile of clean clothes laying on my floor (which, thankfully, is also clean - except for the giant pile of clothing sitting on it.)
Following my laundry misadventures (speaking of which, I just remembered that I left a load of washing in a drier there...Let's hope it's still there tonight...) we played our first session of Spud's rogue game.
I had started to write a post about this on Saturday, but got distracted by actually creating my character, and then watching Whose Line Is It Anyway? for several hours. Blogging on the weekend, as it turns out, is incredibly difficult.
My character in Spud's game is named Arlington Steele, and he is what I am calling a "Face" - he is a con-man who gets his jollies from pretending to be someone he's not in order to steal that painting, get that large sum of money, or just stuff you around royally. It's not that he's a bad person, he just finds that his acting talents weren't getting him anywhere on the legitimate stage, and so he decided to take his talent out onto the stage of life, where the audience is always slightly more believing (and malleable...)
So for Arlington's first job in this game, he has to steal a painting (see, I told you "steal that painting") from a rather...erm...passionate collector. The plan that I developed for this heist is as follows:
- Pose as Derrick Dominoe, representative for Chester Sandwick - reknowned art critic and collector from the "high society" area of the city, and generate the idea in the owner that the painting could be sold for much more than he paid for it.
- Return to the owner's house two days later to make "further inquiries" on behalf of 'Chester'. While in the room with the painting, create a diversion (using prestidigitation) that requires the owner to leave the room momentarily. Upon the return of the owner, act suspicious, and make a hasty exit of the house.
- Post as Lachlan Tonnel, undercover watch representative, and inform the owner of the house that we believe that his copy of the painting has been stolen and replaced with a fake. Use prestidigitation on the painting in order to make it appear as though it has flaws.
- Use charm person in order to allow the owner to let me take the "fake painting" in as evidence - as the burglars always leave a clue in the painting, and we have a guy who analyses them. Inform the owner that his real painting will be returned to him the moment it is found.
- Take the painting to the person who requested that I "recover" it for him.
- Profit
The moral of this story, I suppose, would be that trying to be a responsible adult by keeping your things clean is tough, but there's always fun to be had afterward, and if you leave it too long then you'll just get a headache from sitting in the laundromat, because you have to 'watch your load', as it were.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Doughnuts Aren't Very Good Dancers
Something I really enjoy doing with my friends is playing D&D. Well, not really D&D per say, but Pathfinder, which is pretty much D&D 3.5 except with a couple of modifications in there to...well...make things better (in my opinion, anyway). Most people, I think, refer to it as D&D 3.75...
We have been playing for quite a while now, and I really enjoy it - it's a great social event, and it gives me a huge outlet for my creative instincts, what with all of the role-playing and problem solving that is involved. We've done a number of campaigns, some of which (unfortunately) were doomed to die :(
I ran a campaign of my own creation that went for maybe seven sessions, but I always have problems in sticking to a storyline without getting bored. Also, I don't plan things very well, so when I have to throw encounters at people they're just random things I yanked from the Bestiary. Oh - and they're too role-play heavy, with not enough combat in them. Otherwise, I've been told that I tell a pretty compelling (if not slightly farcical) story...
Andy was running a Cthulu-esque game, which unfortunately only ran for two sessions. Paul was similarly running a game that died after two sessions because Paul had to go away on his teaching prac. Spud wants to start a rogue-only game that would kind of be like "Leverage - The Pathfinder Version", Squiggles wants to run a Scion game, and I'm pretty sure that Elmo wants to start a Dark Heresy game. I would also like to run another game, but I lack the commitment to any given story, and my planning skills really need improving.
But the game that we have been playing the most of is Spud's main game (which I will make many many posts about in the future, I assure you.) This game is based on the Pathfinder "Rise Of The Rune-Lords" set, although he has been tweaking it slightly to compensate for our massive party size. Rise of the Rune-Lords is designed to be played with a player-party size of approximately four. Our party is currently of size eight.
It has been quite a varied game, in terms of characters - there is only one original character left. At some point after freeing the village of Sandpoint from the Goblin menace, and traveling to the city of Magnamar to try and stop some hideous snake lady from killing people, out party decided to give itself a name: The Solution. It's pretty cool. So anyway, the following is a list of all of the members (both past and present) of The Solution, as well as the people who played them.
Oh, also, you may have noticed that there is a character with a very long name - Andy's Obitu Rogue. Proserpine of the Dancing Knives is one of the more interesting characters I've seen played. For those who don't know, an Obitu is basically a good undead (PotDK resembles a skeleton), and they tend to take names that are big and grandiose, as the concept of naming is kind of new to them, and they figure the longer the name, the more awesome it must be.
Initially, Andy was going to call PotDK something along the lines of "Proserpine of the Dancing Darkness", however when we were discussing this I may have been watching a rather loud episode of Who's Line Is It Anyway? and thus I may have misheard him and assumed that his character was called (in jest) Proserpine of the Dancing Doughnuts. It turns out that, once Andy had heard me say that name, it kind of broke the original for him, and he couldn't use it - and so PotDK was born.
This all leads me to my big question - can anybody else picture a doughnut dancing by doing something that isn't bouncing from one stick-leg to another whilst waving its stick-arms in around in the air? I certainly can't...
Doughnuts suck at dancing, they should just stick to being delicious.
We have been playing for quite a while now, and I really enjoy it - it's a great social event, and it gives me a huge outlet for my creative instincts, what with all of the role-playing and problem solving that is involved. We've done a number of campaigns, some of which (unfortunately) were doomed to die :(
I ran a campaign of my own creation that went for maybe seven sessions, but I always have problems in sticking to a storyline without getting bored. Also, I don't plan things very well, so when I have to throw encounters at people they're just random things I yanked from the Bestiary. Oh - and they're too role-play heavy, with not enough combat in them. Otherwise, I've been told that I tell a pretty compelling (if not slightly farcical) story...
Andy was running a Cthulu-esque game, which unfortunately only ran for two sessions. Paul was similarly running a game that died after two sessions because Paul had to go away on his teaching prac. Spud wants to start a rogue-only game that would kind of be like "Leverage - The Pathfinder Version", Squiggles wants to run a Scion game, and I'm pretty sure that Elmo wants to start a Dark Heresy game. I would also like to run another game, but I lack the commitment to any given story, and my planning skills really need improving.
But the game that we have been playing the most of is Spud's main game (which I will make many many posts about in the future, I assure you.) This game is based on the Pathfinder "Rise Of The Rune-Lords" set, although he has been tweaking it slightly to compensate for our massive party size. Rise of the Rune-Lords is designed to be played with a player-party size of approximately four. Our party is currently of size eight.
It has been quite a varied game, in terms of characters - there is only one original character left. At some point after freeing the village of Sandpoint from the Goblin menace, and traveling to the city of Magnamar to try and stop some hideous snake lady from killing people, out party decided to give itself a name: The Solution. It's pretty cool. So anyway, the following is a list of all of the members (both past and present) of The Solution, as well as the people who played them.
- Me: Fleet [Killoren Shadow-Caster] [Dead]; Tetch Blackfeather [Tengu Shadow-Assassin]
- Eph: Ugg [Half-Orc Barbarian] [Dead]
- Mule: Serai [Human Paladin] [Wandered Off And Never Came Back]
- Shorty: Sebastian [Human Wizard] [Wandered Off And Never Came Back]
- Kalibur:Natasha [Human Cleric] [Dead]
- X-Man: Carsaadri Hollysword [Half-Elf Ranger]
- Andy: Camlo [Human Cleric] [Left To Follow Nomadic Urge]; Proserpine Of The Dancing Knives [Obitu Rogue]
- Emma: Kat'lina [Half-Elf Ranger]
- Squiggles: D'Ourk [Half-Orc Monk] [Dead]; Russell [Human Alchemist]
- Lydia: "Mittens" [Elf Fighter]
- Elmo: Kage [Human Fighter] [Dead]; Raina [Human Paladin] [Organising Troops]; Torel [Elf Archer]
- Morgo: Davor [Half-Orc Cleric]
Oh, also, you may have noticed that there is a character with a very long name - Andy's Obitu Rogue. Proserpine of the Dancing Knives is one of the more interesting characters I've seen played. For those who don't know, an Obitu is basically a good undead (PotDK resembles a skeleton), and they tend to take names that are big and grandiose, as the concept of naming is kind of new to them, and they figure the longer the name, the more awesome it must be.
Initially, Andy was going to call PotDK something along the lines of "Proserpine of the Dancing Darkness", however when we were discussing this I may have been watching a rather loud episode of Who's Line Is It Anyway? and thus I may have misheard him and assumed that his character was called (in jest) Proserpine of the Dancing Doughnuts. It turns out that, once Andy had heard me say that name, it kind of broke the original for him, and he couldn't use it - and so PotDK was born.
This all leads me to my big question - can anybody else picture a doughnut dancing by doing something that isn't bouncing from one stick-leg to another whilst waving its stick-arms in around in the air? I certainly can't...
Doughnuts suck at dancing, they should just stick to being delicious.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Theraphied - Or - It's Not Okay To Touch Me There
Yesterday after work I had an appointment with a psychologist/therapist. It's the first time I've ever really seen a proper one, and I have to say that the experience was really quite pleasant. My initial thoughts about what it would be like were the stereotypical "Lie down the couch...How interesting...Yes, yes...And how does that make you feel?", but it was so much different.
I've got what I suppose you would call mild OCD and ADD (nothing really severe, but enough to annoy myself and others on occasion), coupled with a little bit of neurotic behaviour and general anxiety (triggered usually via the realisation of one or more phobias that I have...)
Anyway, I'm sick of letting this stuff control various areas of my life, so I figured that I should do something about it. I mean, let's face it, nobody wants to hang around a guy who is constantly stressing about something. So basically we went into her little room, and (after I had been told my confidentiality rights) we sat down on these really comfortable chairs and she just asked me a couple of questions and let me talk about myself a whole bunch. It was pretty cool. Occasionally she'd ask follow up questions to things I said, or ask me to clarify something a bit further, and the whole time she was scrawling notes, so at the very least I felt as though she was listening to me.
Because it was the first session, we talked about a fair few things. We talked about why I initially decided to see her, which lead into a discussion about the problem I was having yesterday with not getting work next Friday, and then into one about my general fear of being some kind of "bum" and not having enough money to survive. Then I told her that people have mentioned that they think I have OCD and ADD (or, as Andy likes to call it, ADOLB - Attention Deficit Oh Look Birdies!!)
From there we spoke about why people think I have ADD, and then about the OCD stuff. We spent a lot of time talking about the OCD stuff - it was really pretty cool. For instance, I didn't know that I was already using the strategies that they wanted to teach me to handle them, without even realising it! Then I got this nifty poster which showed me the way OCD creates a cycle (which I will talk about in a separate post some time) and I got information on how to break that cycle.
Then my hour was up, and I had to go home, which kinda sucked cos I was really getting into it.
Oh, I also got homework - I have to make a list of my phobias and rank them from most severe to least severe. I'll do a post about that one too.
Anyway, after we got home Andy and Spud and Lydia and I were discussing how I have this weird semi-phobia of people touching me in certain places. It's not okay for people to touch me anywhere beneath my belly button, or above my knees. It's also not okay for people to touch the back of my legs. I didn't know just how not okay it was, though, until we decided to do some pseudo-scientific tests last night.
Andy touched my belly, and my thigh. When he touched my belly I wanted to get away, but I couldn't cos I was stuck in the chair and moving out of his touch would have involved hurting something. When he touched my leg, I was very uncomfortable, and eventually it started to physically hurt. I wanted out of there bad.
Next I shut my eyes, and he repeatedly said "Is this okay?" and "How about now?", for the first little while my brain was going off and I started to curl up into a ball because I didn't know just how close he was and whether he was going to touch me or not - it was not nice. Eventually, I realised that he wasn't going to do anything, and I felt fine, but then my brain soon realised that he would have figured out that I figured that out, and would have gone back to trying to touch me, and the cycle started again. It's really odd, because I don't mind being touched with objects...It's just people-touching that really bothers me...
So yeah. I guess the moral of this story is that therapists are really nice, and touching me anywhere other than my back without warning is likely to get you unintentionally attacked.
I've got what I suppose you would call mild OCD and ADD (nothing really severe, but enough to annoy myself and others on occasion), coupled with a little bit of neurotic behaviour and general anxiety (triggered usually via the realisation of one or more phobias that I have...)
Anyway, I'm sick of letting this stuff control various areas of my life, so I figured that I should do something about it. I mean, let's face it, nobody wants to hang around a guy who is constantly stressing about something. So basically we went into her little room, and (after I had been told my confidentiality rights) we sat down on these really comfortable chairs and she just asked me a couple of questions and let me talk about myself a whole bunch. It was pretty cool. Occasionally she'd ask follow up questions to things I said, or ask me to clarify something a bit further, and the whole time she was scrawling notes, so at the very least I felt as though she was listening to me.
Because it was the first session, we talked about a fair few things. We talked about why I initially decided to see her, which lead into a discussion about the problem I was having yesterday with not getting work next Friday, and then into one about my general fear of being some kind of "bum" and not having enough money to survive. Then I told her that people have mentioned that they think I have OCD and ADD (or, as Andy likes to call it, ADOLB - Attention Deficit Oh Look Birdies!!)
From there we spoke about why people think I have ADD, and then about the OCD stuff. We spent a lot of time talking about the OCD stuff - it was really pretty cool. For instance, I didn't know that I was already using the strategies that they wanted to teach me to handle them, without even realising it! Then I got this nifty poster which showed me the way OCD creates a cycle (which I will talk about in a separate post some time) and I got information on how to break that cycle.
Then my hour was up, and I had to go home, which kinda sucked cos I was really getting into it.
Oh, I also got homework - I have to make a list of my phobias and rank them from most severe to least severe. I'll do a post about that one too.
Anyway, after we got home Andy and Spud and Lydia and I were discussing how I have this weird semi-phobia of people touching me in certain places. It's not okay for people to touch me anywhere beneath my belly button, or above my knees. It's also not okay for people to touch the back of my legs. I didn't know just how not okay it was, though, until we decided to do some pseudo-scientific tests last night.
Andy touched my belly, and my thigh. When he touched my belly I wanted to get away, but I couldn't cos I was stuck in the chair and moving out of his touch would have involved hurting something. When he touched my leg, I was very uncomfortable, and eventually it started to physically hurt. I wanted out of there bad.
Next I shut my eyes, and he repeatedly said "Is this okay?" and "How about now?", for the first little while my brain was going off and I started to curl up into a ball because I didn't know just how close he was and whether he was going to touch me or not - it was not nice. Eventually, I realised that he wasn't going to do anything, and I felt fine, but then my brain soon realised that he would have figured out that I figured that out, and would have gone back to trying to touch me, and the cycle started again. It's really odd, because I don't mind being touched with objects...It's just people-touching that really bothers me...
So yeah. I guess the moral of this story is that therapists are really nice, and touching me anywhere other than my back without warning is likely to get you unintentionally attacked.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Finances and Budgeting - A Tale Of Needless Worry
Yesterday I mentioned that I started a new job. This is a good thing, for no greater reason that it means that once a fortnight I am blessed to receive some form of purchase credits in my bank account. I believe it's called money.
Regardless of how often I get paid, however, is the slight problem which hit me today. Every Wednesday the staff roster is sent out via email to myself and my co-workers, so that we know what shifts we have to cover for the following week. I've worked here for three weeks now, and so far I've covered 8am to 4pm for two weeks, and 9am to 5pm for 1 week. So this week, when I got the roster, I was ready for pretty much anything.
I say pretty much anything, because I wasn't quite mentally prepared for the eventuality that was staring me in the face as I checked my weekly hours.
I scanned the spreadsheet quickly to find the following:
Slowly it dawned on me...I'm a casual...There's no guarantee that I'll get five days a week each week. There's not even a promise that I'll get four days...Hell, what if there's a week where I just don't get to work at all?
My mind started to question my current state of existence - how was I going to survive without a supplementary source of income? What if I'm having a particularly expensive week? What if they decide that they don't need me anymore?
And from there my hyperactive little ADD spoilt mind went into overdrive - what was the rate of taxation on my income? What if there's a week I can't afford rent? Could I get some tutoring money?
And so I continued on in my little downward spiral of ADD neuroticism, as I tend to do. Until, that is, I managed to get onto MSN to talk it out with Spud (who you will quickly come to learn is the person who makes me feel good about pretty much any situation. I could be having my face chewed off by a bear and he'd make it seem okay.)
I talked to Spud - I poured my panic all over the screen, and he wiped it down with a chamois of calmness (and, admittedly, anesthetic from the dentist.) Suddenly, things didn't seem so bad. He and I could spend Friday doing something cool. I'm earning more money this week that I normally would (because of the time I spent training) so I can just budget carefully and sensibly. And (most notably) in a four day period at this job, I earn more than I used to in a five day period at my previous job.
After I'd taken all that in it didn't seem so bad. Sure, I still have those little panic butterflies in my stomach, but they'll go away with time (and after I find out how much I get taxed, which should happen tomorrow.)
All in all, it's not as bad as I initially thought it would be - which I suppose is the case with most incidents like this.
Regardless of how often I get paid, however, is the slight problem which hit me today. Every Wednesday the staff roster is sent out via email to myself and my co-workers, so that we know what shifts we have to cover for the following week. I've worked here for three weeks now, and so far I've covered 8am to 4pm for two weeks, and 9am to 5pm for 1 week. So this week, when I got the roster, I was ready for pretty much anything.
I say pretty much anything, because I wasn't quite mentally prepared for the eventuality that was staring me in the face as I checked my weekly hours.
I scanned the spreadsheet quickly to find the following:
- Monday: 9am - 5pm
- Tuesday: 9am - 5pm
- Wednesday: 9am - 5pm
- Thursday: 9am - 5pm
Slowly it dawned on me...I'm a casual...There's no guarantee that I'll get five days a week each week. There's not even a promise that I'll get four days...Hell, what if there's a week where I just don't get to work at all?
My mind started to question my current state of existence - how was I going to survive without a supplementary source of income? What if I'm having a particularly expensive week? What if they decide that they don't need me anymore?
And from there my hyperactive little ADD spoilt mind went into overdrive - what was the rate of taxation on my income? What if there's a week I can't afford rent? Could I get some tutoring money?
And so I continued on in my little downward spiral of ADD neuroticism, as I tend to do. Until, that is, I managed to get onto MSN to talk it out with Spud (who you will quickly come to learn is the person who makes me feel good about pretty much any situation. I could be having my face chewed off by a bear and he'd make it seem okay.)
I talked to Spud - I poured my panic all over the screen, and he wiped it down with a chamois of calmness (and, admittedly, anesthetic from the dentist.) Suddenly, things didn't seem so bad. He and I could spend Friday doing something cool. I'm earning more money this week that I normally would (because of the time I spent training) so I can just budget carefully and sensibly. And (most notably) in a four day period at this job, I earn more than I used to in a five day period at my previous job.
After I'd taken all that in it didn't seem so bad. Sure, I still have those little panic butterflies in my stomach, but they'll go away with time (and after I find out how much I get taxed, which should happen tomorrow.)
All in all, it's not as bad as I initially thought it would be - which I suppose is the case with most incidents like this.
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