Been Out of it for a While

I had to replace my antiquated laptop, then took a week to visit family out of state. Catching up with the real world takes time... catching up with multiple worlds takes even more time.

News from England

I don't ordinarily write of real-world topics, but I'll make an exception yet again. For me, the biggest news story of the week came from England. Yes, the death of the remarkable Poly Styrene of the X-Ray Spex came as a blow to me.

The X-Ray Spex 1978 album Germ Free Adolescents is perhaps more relevant now than it was when it was released. Featuring such songs as Genetic Engineering, Plastic Bag, and Germ Free Adolescents, the album documents the wonders and terrors of a culture saturated with chemicals and advertising, an "existence supported by mechanical resources". Poly's strident howl was a warning from a punk prophetess, a call to resist the siren song of marketers and pedlars of convenience at the cost of authenticity. Poly also resisted domination of all sorts, whether from authority figures or commodification. My personal favorite by the 'Spex is The Day the World Turned Day-Glo, an ode to the beauties and horrors of modern chemistry which perfectly captures the spirit of the Spex, and their frontwoman:

Paying the Bursar

Been busy, making sure that I pay the exchequer, so I don't end up in a federal pound me in the ass prison.

I don't really mind paying taxes- I live in an area with decent roads, and bridges which seriously need renovation. I'll take paying taxes over careening into a river any day.

A Sad Centennial

I try to avoid posts which may be interpreted as political, but today I must comment on the the 100th anniversary of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire. One of the worst workplace disasters in United States' history, this fire claimed the lives of 146 individuals, mostly young immigrant women. The women had been locked into their place of employment so they would be unable to steal, or take unauthorized breaks.

Look around your workplace- note the well-marked fire exits, rap your knuckles on the solid fire doors, appreciate the fact that you aren't locked in... now, mouth a prayer to honor the young women who fell from the skies like blossoms on an early spring day a century ago.

Disaster in Japan

When I started this blog, I determined to include as little "real-world" content as possible (after all, this is about escapism), but I have to express my sorrow at the earthquake and tsunami that ravaged Japan. I have a real appreciation for Japanese culture, and an affection for the Japanese people. One of my sisters-in-law was born and raised in Tokyo, and has family still living there. I traveled to Japan for my brother's wedding several years ago, and found the Japanese people to be extremely hospitable and gracious. My heart goes out to them.

It's Cute! It's a Mutant!

It's a cutant!!!

The pattern of the plastron of this adorable monster is quite pretty, it reminds me of some sort of glyph.

Trying to Rekindle a Work Ethic...

Between work, brower sluggishness (effin' Firefox- how does it work? Honestly, I love the search engine, but my laptop hates it- I've been uninstalling and reinstalling the damn thing on a serial basis). I have also fallen into the Wesnoth trap- for fans of fantasy and strategy gaming, this free download is more addictive than opiates. The gameplay is simple, yet sophisticated, the plots of the campaigns form an interesting narrative which clearly partakes of the traditions of fantasy literature while avoiding some of the more egregious cliches, and the game is beautiful... the unit icons are well animated, the maps are colorful and nicely detailed, and the illustrations of unit types are among the most beautiful fantasy illustrations I've ever seen. The art is classy too- no chainmail bikinis, or oiled steroidal types. I cannot say enough about the art- it's incredible (I am especially impressed by the renderings of that rarest of creatures in fantasy art, a fully clothed, accomplished, middle aged woman). I cannot recommend this game highly enough, though, being fun, it is a timekiller.

My Own Private Idaho Glacial Rift

The New York metro area is currently experiencing a blizzard characterized by gale force winds and expected snow accumulations of up to two feet. Having been scheduled to work a graveyard shift, I decided to come to work early to avoid the worst road conditions (and to get my car off the street and into a deserted parking lot). I have had to shovel the area immediately outside the doors to the building a couple of times so I'll be able to exit the building.

The howling storm outside reminds me of the first time I played through Glacial Rift of the Frost Giant Jarl, while a middle schooler- a blizzard had dumped about a foot of snow in the area, and classes were canceled for the day. A family friend trekked across town so he could play a marathon D&D session with my siblings and I (broken only by an epic assault on the snow in the driveway so mom could drive to work). The session went on until well after nightfall, and our friend stayed over so he wouldn't need a ride home on icy streets. Never have I experienced a gaming session that was so appropriate to the prevailing conditions outside.

G2 is perhaps my favorite in the "Giants" series, due to its unusual setting. The glacial rift, bordered by translucent ice caverns conjures up some unforgettable imagery, and provides a good showcase for those woefully under-utilized arctic monsters. It's also the only module in the series that wasn't directly inspired by DeCamp and Pratt's The Roaring Trumpet. The Steading of the Hill Giant Chief is pretty much "nicked" whole cloth from DeCamp and Pratt's novella (a retelling of the tale of Thor's journey to the garth of Utgard-Loki), even down to the feast being held in the giant chief's steading:

After a good hour of climbing, Shea began to get glimpses of a shape looming from the bare crest, intermittently blotted out by the eddies of mist. When they were close enough to see it plainly, it became clearly a house, not unlike that of the bonder Sverre. But it was cruder, made of logs with the bark on, and vastly bigger — as big as a metropolitan railroad terminal.

Thjalfi said into his ear: "That will be Utgard Castle. Ye’ll need whatever mite of courage ye have here, friend Harald." The young man’s teeth were chattering from something other than cold.

Skrymir lurched up to the door and pounded on it with his fist. He stood there for a long minute, the wind flapping his furs. A rectangular hole opened in the door. The door swung open. The chariot riders climbed down, stretching their stiff muscles as they followed their guide. The door banged shut behind them. They were in a dark vestibule like that in Sverre’s house but larger and foul with the odor of unwashed giant. A huge arm pushed the leather curtain aside, revealing through the triangular opening a view of roaring yellow flame and thronging, shouting giants.

Thjalfi murmured: "Keep your eyes open, Harald. As Thjodolf of Hvin says:

All the gateways Ere one goes out

Thoughtfully should a man scan;

Uncertain it is Where sits the unfriendly

Upon the bench before thee."

Within, the place was a disorderly parody of Sverre’s. Of the same general form, with the same benches, its tables were all uneven, filthy, and littered with fragments of food. The fire in the center hung a pall of smoke under the rafters. The dirty straw on the floor was thick about the ankles.

The benches and the passageway behind them were filled with giants, drinking, eating, shouting at the tops of their voices. Before him a group of six, with iron-grey topknots and patchy beards like Skrymir’s, were wrangling. One drew back his arm in anger. His elbow struck a mug of mead borne by a harassed-looking man who was evidently a thrall. The mead splashed onto another giant, who instantly snatched up a bowl of stew from the table and slammed it on the man’s head.

Hall of the Fire Giant King is heavily inspired by a journey to Muspelheim in The Roaring Trumpet, even down to the troll servants of the fire giant monarch (Surt in the case of the novella), and the cameo appearance of some familiar evil genii:

They turned from the ledge into another tunnel. This sloped up then leveled again where side tunnels branched in from several directions. Snögg picked his way unerringly through the maze. A tremendous banging grew on them, and they were passing the entrance of some kind of armory. The limits of the place were invisible in the flickering red glare, through which scuttled naked black things, like licorice dolls. Heimdall whispered: "These would be dark dwarfs from Svartalfheim, where no man nor As has ever been."

While it borrows liberally from the novella, I'd have to say that I prefer Against the Giants, because it ditches the cutesy-poo elements of DeCamp and Pratt's work. The substitution of a party of mortals for the largely divine cast of characters in the novella is also an improvement- the dramatic tension is much greater in Against the Giants than it is in The Roaring Trumpet because the outcome is unclear- the divine protagonists of The Roaring Trumpet will survive until Ragnarok, while the fates of the all-too-mortal Frush, Fonkin, Gleep Wurp and the gang are anything but certain.

Merry Christmas!

One of the most unusual traditional Christmas decorations is the Catalonian caganer, a small figurine of a person in traditional peasant dress answering the call of nature. The figurines are typically hidden in the elaborate Spanish nativity scenes, discreetly going about their business. It's a funny reminder that the sacred and the profane mingle in everyday life, and that the swaddling clothes of the babe in the manger eventually needed laundering. Perhaps the greatest lesson of the caganer is that one should never lose one's sense of humor, because, as St Ita noted, a scowling countenance is detestable to God.

Merry Christmas to all.

Rogue Taxidermy and Obscure Chimerae

Last week, a friend persuaded me to attend the fifth annual "Carnivorous Nights" rogue taxidermy contest in Brooklyn. It was a night of two-headed squirrels, and other taxonomic oddities, including a wolpertinger. This tiny teratological terror was the subject of a comic riff on Albrecht Dürer's Young Hare watercolor:





One can clearly see that the jackalope is a descendent of this wee little chimera.

That Time of the Year

This is the time of the year that, to put it bluntly, kicks my ass. When the movie Thirty Days of Night came out, I joked about how it described a typical October for me, which is the busy season on the job. On a typical Saturday, I leave the house at 8AM for a volunteer gig, then hotfoot it to work, typically coming home after 1AM on Sunday. I'm not complaining, though- overwork beats no work at all.

Stolen Apples Taste the Best

Last summer, I made a resolution to forage for at least one wild foodstuff a week during the growing season. This time of year, ripe wild grapes are abundant, and apples are available to those who know of untended orchards (which are not uncommon in localities which were once farmland). This week, I was able to pick some "feral" apples:





I do not, and would not, pick apples on private land without permission from the owner, but apple-theft, or scrumping, traditionally has been common enough to earn its own verb. This crime, usually indulged in by youthful gadabouts, was referred to in the Who's 5:15:

On a raft in the quarry
Slowly sinking.
On the back of a lorry
Holy hitching.
Dreadfully sorry
Apple scrumping.
Born in the war
Birthday punching.


While I have never played Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay, I purchased the Hogshead publishing version of the first edition rulebook and have read it enough to write up a brief summary of "Scrumper" as an introductory profession within the thief class:

M __
WS__
BS +10
S__
T__
W__
I__
A__
Dex +10
LD__
Int__
Cl__
WP__
Fel__


Skills:
Concealment-Rural
Flee!
Indentify Plant
Scale Sheer Surface
Silent Move-Rural


Trappings:
Shoulder bag
Knife
15' Rope


Career exits:
Woodsman
Thief (general)
Servant
Outlaw
Herbalist
Gamekeeper/Poacher


Not an overly powerful career, but an appropriate skill set for a 16th Century apple-thief in a magic-haunted, decadent world.


To clarify that I am not, indeed, a thief, my activity, picking otherwise unused fruits, is more properly known as usufruct (gleaning is a particular type of usufruct- gleaners would follower harvesters and take the agricultural products that had been missed (the French documentary The Gleaners and I is a poignant and entertaining look at this phenomenon). For additional reading on usufruct, this thread about "guerrilla harvests" has an anecdote, from commenter "Keith Talent", which amused and impressed me to no end:

When we were kids, my mother was a devoted canner, her favourite game, (still is actually) was "lets pretend we're poor," which dovetailed nicely with her other favourite passtime (sic) "Lets save pennies." Explaining the cost of driving across town to save on tinned tuna wasn't really a savings due to gas and time did not compute for her.

Anyway, the local high security prision (sic) had a number of apple trees on the grounds, outside of the formal prison proper but within a barbed wired yard. Mom marched up to the gate, informed the gaurds (sic) on duty she was a taxpayer and intended to not see the apples fall uneaten to the ground agian (sic), she was here to pick them with her two young sons. She'd make applesauce.

Unbeleiveably (sic) they allowed it, we picked apples on the prison yard. I liked my mom for throwing nice apples over the fence to the prisoners on excercise break in the actual yard. My brother and I were completely terrified the whole time. We never went back a second time, I suspect my father probably forbid it, or maybe my brother and I whining made the apples cost more than they were worth.

Down in the Hollow, Playing a New Game

A scary new game, if my sources are correct. This ad in Craigslist was pointed out to me by an anonymous informant. Seeing that Sleepy Hollow is the only village in the Continental United States to boast of a Headless Horseman, the residents have to do right by the Hessian horror.

The Village of Sleepy Hollow was named North Tarrytown until 1996 when a plebescite was held regarding the name change and the populace, spurred by the loss of the village's economic base when the local GM plant closed, decided to take on a name that would allow them to develop a tourist industry. The release of Tim Burton's movie three years later should have inspired the town elders to capitalize on the newly-name village's newfound cult status. Sadly, nothing was really done to do this, and the sensation-seekers who made the pilgrimage to Sleepy Hollow were greeted with indifference, if not contempt. Of course, there's a 17th-18th century plantation which boasts a working farm, staffed by farmer/historians in period garb, and an ancient church associated with a celebrated burial ground, but those attractions typically close in the late afternoon, and the sidewalks are rolled up by 5 PM. Even with the name change (which some residents, sporting "North Tarrytown Forever" bumperstickers, still refuse to acknowledge), the village has had problems figuring out what to do with their suddenly hot cultural property.

Here's hoping that this upcoming event will be a major success, and an inspiration for further creative endeavors.

Giant Rat Found On Dungeon Level One East Timor

It, may not be from Sumatra but, broadly speaking, it is "Indonesian" (East Timor gained gained its independence in 2002, but is part of the Indonesian archipelago). The preponderance of rats of unusual size in Indonesia can be chalked up to the island effect, which has also resulted in tiny hominids, dwarf elephants, giant monitor lizards, and the like.

Unfortunately, Ursula K. Le Guin didn't incorporate the island effect into her Earthsea series- a Sparrowhawk that preyed on turkey-sized giant sparrows would be quite a beast.

Herb Lore

Alternate title: Suburban Sage, or Druid with a Driveway

Last year, I made a resolution to forage for at least one comestible item per week, during the appropriate seasons, that is.
Last year, I made a resolution to, when possible, forage for a least one comestible item a week. I kicked off the spring foraging season by harvesting some stinging nettles (wearing heavy gloves), common plants which are covered in stinging hairs, which inject a cocktail of pain-inducing chemicals such as formic acid and histamines into the skin when brought into contact. Nettles have traditionally had a medicinal use (arthritis sufferers sometimes use nettles for their condition). Urtica ferox, the tree nettle of New Zealand has apparently killed at least one person. When boiled, though, young specimens of the common North American stinging nettles can be quite tasty (they have a pretty intense herbal flavor), and make a decent substitute for, or an addition to, spinach. I have used them in omelets, added them to spanakopita, and have cooked them with beans (in the same fashion that I'd use escarole). Harvested with care, and boiled well, nettles make a great, free addition to one's springtime culinary repertoire.

I was also able to gather Japanese knotweed, a pernicious invasive weed in the NY Metro Area, is also edible when harvested young. The plant looks like the offspring of an unholy union between bamboo and asparagus, and is distantly related to buckwheat, rhubarb, and sorrel. Peeled, the stalks of young knotweed have a pleasantly sour flavor... once again, Steve Brill is the go-to guy for knotweed facts and recipes. One caveat, though, is that knotweed, being a pest, is often sprayed with herbicide, so caution must be exercised in finding patches that are not periodically sprayed. Of course, the weed being edible, the promotion of knotweed consumption should be a goal of all local Parks, Reacreation, and Conservation Departments.

Nettles and knotweed would be a good name for an RPG in which players take on the roles of herbalists or horticulturists.

In the early summer, I found mulberries in profusion in my neighborhood. In the course of a stroll along the local multi-use path, I scarfed down so many mulberries that my hand appeared as though I'd proxy-voted for a small Iraqi village. I also had the great good fortune to find wild raspberries in abundance, so there was always some free fresh fruit to be had.

Now in midsummer, Lamb's quarters plants grow in profusion in my neighborhood, and they are comparable in taste to Swiss chard (I merely parboiled some cuttings, then sauteed them with garlic and bacon). I have also located an abundance of purslane, which I tend to consume raw, without accompaniment- it has a succulent texture, and a pleasantly sour flavor. Known as verdolagas in Spanish, purslane is prized in Mexican cuisine, often stewed with pork. Cooked, purslane has a texture much like green beans, but I usually can't prevent myself from scarfing down the purslane as soon as I wash it. Here's a link to a site with a vegetarian verdolagas recipe, with the added bonus of a song about la verdolaga.

Surprisingly, the common thistles in my region of the country are edible, with a taste comparable to their domesticated relatives
artichokes and cardoons.

Wild grapes also grow in abundance, while it's too early for their pea-sized fruits (sweet, but each bearing two seeds), their leaves may be
stuffed to wonderful effect.

The fuzzy red fruits of the staghorn sumac are also coming in this time of year, and can be soaked in water to make an excellent substitute for lemonade. The sumac "berries" are also dried, and powdered, and used as a spice in several cuisines.

Skald's Score

The local library branch had a major book sale last weekend, and paperbacks were priced at twenty-five cents apiece. There I was, cheerfully browsing, when my heart started to race, my hands started trembling in barely concealed excitement:





OMGOMGOMGOMG!! You will notice that Fantasms and Magics and Eight Fantasms and Magics appear to be different editions of the same book, and you'd be correct. If, however, you had read The Miracle Workers, you'd have bought both editions as well:

The war party from Faide Keep moved eastward across the downs: a column of a hundred armored knights, five hundred foot soldiers, a train of wagons. In the lead rode Lord Faide, a tall man in his early maturity, spare and catlike, with a sallow dyspeptic face. He sat in the ancestral car of the Faides, a boat-shaped vehicle floating two feet above the moss, and carried, in addition to his sword and dagger, his ancestral side weapons.

An hour before sunset, a pair of scouts came racing back to the column, their club-headed horses loping like dogs. Lord Faide braked the motion of his car. Behind him, the Faide kinsmen, the lesser knights, and the leather-capped foot soldiers halted; to the rear the baggage train and the high-wheeled wagons of the jinxmen creaked to a stop.

The Miracle Workers is first-order Jack Vance, it is certainly one of his most accessible works. Although I love Vance's characteristic purple prose, he maintains a more subdued tone in this novella, a more spare and catlike prose, so to speak. The protagonist is also one of Vance's most felicitous characters, rather than a handsome, hypercompetent superman, we are presented with a "thick-set youth with a round florid face, overhung with a rather untidy mass of straw-colored hair" who is characterized by another character as "innocent and a trifle addled". No Mary Sue here, but a comical, sympathetic lead. As in many of Vance's works, The Miracle Workers is set in a stagnant, overly-conservative society faced with the need to change dramatically or face collapse. It's a theme that Vance explores in many of his works, and Vance does so rather succinctly, and extremely engagingly in The Miracle Workers.

The story provides a good blueprint for a "magic & masers" type setting, but I would not characterize it as a "sword & planet" tale, because the characters are all either native-born humans (the autocthones are all anonymous), and there are no fair damsels to be rescued by a mighty-thewed hero.

The third book is a copy of Galactic Effectuator, which contains two stories about a space-faring private investigator. The first story concerns industrial espionage, the second (SPOILER ALERT) concerns, I kid not, a client whose testicles have been removed, and replaced with another set. While fun, the book is certainly not Vance at his best.

Latrine Lurker

One of my favorite destinations on the Web is Darren Naish's Tetrapod Zoology, a cornucopia of information concerning- you got it- tetrapods.

A recent post related a tale, alternately hilarious and alarming, of two-toed sloths, lurking in latrines and snacking on the... uh... poopy goodness... to be found within.

Look at the claws on the sucker in the first picture- I think I'd rather deal with an otyugh!

High-Octane Nightmare Fuel

The faint of heart should not click this link to an article which details the discovery of a new species of leech which attaches itself to the mucous membranes of the nasal sinuses, and uses eight "teeth" in a single jaw to gain access to sweet, sweet blood.

Once again, nature presents us with something which makes the fevered imaginings of a Poe or Lovecraft seem tame by comparison.

Ragnarock Redux

Yesterday, I had a brief conversation with two tourists who have been stranded in New York due to the Eyjafjallajökull eruption. What could be more evocative of Ragnarok than the eruption of a volcano which had been buried beneath a glacier? Ice and fire, hrímþursar and Múspellsmegir, the two elemental forces between which Iceland is sandwiched, both impinging on the lives of the children of the Twenty-First Century.

Given the relatively scant mention of the Sons of Muspell in extant Old Norse literary works, I am inclined to agree with Bertha Phillpotts' thesis that Surtur gained prominence in Norse mythology after the colonization of Iceland. At any rate, Surtur appears to be a completely different sort of supernatural being than Logi, the personification of fire (note the gorgeous illustrations at the linked site!) with which Loki engaged in an eating contest in Utgard-Loki's hall.

A Little Housekeeping is in Order

I started this blog mainly in order to post comments at OSR blogs, but I have been very remiss in linking to other blog. At this stage, I would consider myself OSR adjacent- my paucity of posts has mainly dealt with inspirational reading culled from folklore.

My gaming background is fairly deep, but narrow- I was introduced to the hobby through Moldvay Basic, then dabbled with a bit of Moldvay/Cook Expert, then went on the AD&D1E and never looked back to Basic (pity, but the siren song of d10 for fighter hit points was too hard to ignore). In high school, I played a fair amount of TFT, and Gamma World was a continuous one-shot diversion. To my shame, although I love HPL, I have never played a game of Call of Cthulhu. I actually find a lot of Lovecraft to be pretty funny- distressed gentlefolk who find themselves under siege by indescribable horrors which they then proceed to describe, love it but don't find it scary. I never did get to AD&D2E (why change a system that works for a lesser imitator), played a one-off Vampire game but decided that any "modern" simulation tends to draw out the Jane's enthusiast.

It has been a while since I've rolled a bunch of polyhedrons, but it's good to start reading about the hobby again, with the provision that it'll lead to playing once more.

I'll take this week to get a decent blogroll going, and finally throw the old skull into the ring for reals.