Wow, I almost forgot I used to have a blog... a promotion at work and a super-busy schedule, a move, and the blog fell by the wayside, not that I was that active a blogger to begin with. At any rate, I decided to sign in mainly so I could comment on other blogs, but I figure it might be a good thing to write about games and literature again. One of my old friends is trying to get a campaign started, strictly 80's style "stripped down AD&D, bolted onto a Moldvay chassis", like we played in high school. We'll see if it gets off the ground, just like we'll see if I can be bothered to restart the blog 'for realz'.
A few months ago, my laptop began to experience serious technical difficulties. The screen went entirely black. I mean, how much blacker could the screen be? The answer is none more black:
I brought my laptop to the mom-and-pop shop from which I bought it, and it's taken Mom and Pop months to get the repair job done. I'm all for patronizing small shops, I made a conscious effort to buy local, but I've been having a hard time trying to feel like I haven't been bit in the ass this time. As much as I like computer games, the waiting game is a bit much.
I can't believe nobody's written on this before, but it just hit me that the blink dog is a dead ringer for Eugene the Jeep from the old Popeye cartoons. Of course, the yellow pelt of the blink dog may have had its immediate inspiration elsewhere, but the Jeep shares this coloration:
It must also be said that the Jeep was able to use a limited form of teleportation (among other powers):
Of course, the inspiration may have been subconscious, but I'd have to say that the blink dog is a dead ringer for the Jeep. I don't know the inspiration for the blink dog/displacer beast animosity (besides the stereotypical cats and dogs rivalry), but I'll be on the lookout for Popeye the Sailor/Voyage of the Space Beagle crossover fanfic.
While my home suffered no damage due to Hurricane Irene, I was stuck at work for thirty hours because of the storm and the resultant flooding. If I had been asked about Irene's severity at four in the morning, I would have opined that Irene was really no worse than a typical Nor'easter (granted, a Nor'easter is certainly no picnic). By five-thirty, the rain began to pick up, and things got interesting. The major task I had to perform throughout the night was monitoring a pump that our head of maintenance had set up to prevent our (sandbagged) basement from flooding. Every half-hour or so, I had to venture out in the night and wind to check up on the damn pump, and (if necessary) get it started again. Luckily, I had packed as if I were on a camping trip- I ended up changing clothes more often than Lady Gaga does in the course of a concert.
In the light of day, things didn't look so bad, water not too high, pump working on the main building. The rain stopped around eight AM, and I figured I was out of the soup, but (Irene being a huge, slow moving storm) the accumulated floodwaters dumped in the region caused a local waterway to crest For a while, I and the skeleton crew that had showed up in the morning, thought "we're gonna make it, we're gonna make it" but then the stream overtopped the bank, flooding another building on site to a depth of a foot and a half. I was standing calf-deep in dirty, rushing water as this dimwit was characterizing Irene as a bunch of hype. It must be nice to live in a bubble. Of course, with local roads being flooded, I wasn't getting home, and my relief wasn't coming in. I hunkered down until nine PM, when the guy working the Monday graveyard shift came in to relieve me, three hours early. He's not my type, but I could have kissed him.
I got my ass kicked, but, besides being dirty, fatigued, and sore, I skated out of things pretty well. Others, of course, weren't so fortunate.
Enough of my yapping, think I'll post a video- here's The Storm by Scotland's Big Country, with an intro that beautifully showcases the late, great Stuart Adamson's use of the E-Bow, which gave the band its characteristic sound:
It's been ages since last I posted- between vacation (followed by the typical post-vacation madness at work), family visiting from Europe, and friends visiting from British Columbia, things have been hectic. Of course, that's a good thing, even if it leaves little time for escapism.
Skapti the priest, Thorarin's son, a wise man, was there at the time. He took then the skull of Egil, and set it on the churchyard fence. The skull was wondrous large, but still more out of the common way was its heaviness. It was all wave-marked on the surface like a shell. Skapti then wished to try the thickness of the skull. He took a good-sized hand-axe, and brandishing it aloft in one hand, brought down the back of it with force on the skull to break it. But where the blow fell the bone whitened, but neither was dinted nor cracked. Whence it might be gathered that this skull could not easily be harmed by the blows of weak men while skin and flesh were on it.