Tag Archives: hiatus

So Many Things, So Little Information

AUGUST 13th???

No, Cody, that’s just unacceptable.  That’s three weeks with absolutely no new exciting content!  But what to do?  Oh, whatever to do to rectify this grievance?

I can rant!  Hmm, let’s see, what’s pissing me off right now…

The Ground Zero Mosque!!!  Well, I mean, it itself is not pissing me off, the controversy is.  But I don’t really like getting all political.  Besides, Keith Olbermann already covered the issue much more eloquently than I ever could.

So if not that, then what?  Could I criticize some movie?  Could I heap praise upon a movie?  Could I make my own movie???

No.  I mean, I suppose I could, but I don’t like making comments on things I’ve seen once (or never, for that matter), and the only movies I’ve seen recently are The Lion King, Spaceballs, and 8 1/2, two of which I feel no need to comment on at the moment, and while watching the other I was too distracted by the fact that the dialogue did not sync up to the actors’ mouthing of the lines, only to find out later that this was in fact not my computer being its normal bellyaching self (Bellyaching?  Really?) but rather the practice of recording the dialogue in post-production, which was apparently quite common for Italian films of the era, especially those directed by Fellini.  Clearly, I am referring to Spaceballs here.

Yeah, this is some good stuff.  We’ve got some pretty sweet stream-of-consciousness going on here.  What next?  How about a picture? Yes!

Bam! Dylan!

Hmm, music?  Yeah, I recently came into possession of quite a few splendid albums, among them the above-mentioned’s Blonde on Blonde, The Mars Volta’s Frances the Mute, Ida Maria’s Fortress ’round My Heart and Mumford & Sons splendid Sigh No More.  Currently, in order of preference they are rated, in my mind thusly:

  1. Blonde on Blonde
  2. Sigh No More
  3. Fortress ’round My Heart
  4. Frances The Mute

Although they are all fairly great for what it’s worth.  Plus I slipped in a numbered list there, and numbered lists always grab my attention, so maybe as a result of including a numbered list I will attract NEW READERS and some of them will be ELIGIBLE ATTRACTIVE WOMEN some of whom wouldn’t mind dating a DEEPLY FLAWED BUT SELF-AWARE ABOUT IT SEMI-ATTRACTIVE OVERLY-CRITICAL D&D-OBSESSED UNPOPULAR BLOGGER.

Why don’t we embed a video now? (Do you like that I included you, the reader, in my plans?  Respond in the comments!)

There’s some Mumford & Sons!  They’re British, and quite awesome.  And they have a dedicated banjo player.  And no dedicated drummer.  And they are awesome, but I believe I already made mention of that fact.

IT’S SATURDAY NIGHT AND I COULD BE AT A JERSEY SHORE PARTY BUT INSTEAD I AM WRITING SOMETHING THAT NOBODY WILL READ ON THE INTERNET.

Sorry, lost my mind for a moment.

So how ’bout that D&D? Well, currently, both books that compose the B/X series are sitting on the floor to the left of me, along with modules B2 and X1.  I really don’t know why.  It’s not like I’m going to be running anything other that 3.X any time soon.  Which is a shame, since I’ve been itching to run a game in which the PCs are colonists of a new world and go on spaghetti-westernesque adventure across the countryside, which I simply can’t fit into the established framework of searching for a lost city wherein they hope to find a large quantity of gold. (Yet…)

Also, ChicagoWiz has been posting some awesome concept fiction for a modern D&D game, which is just stimulating my imagination like a beast.  But noooooo, we have to continue following the antics of george THE forge and Obtaria and the fluxtuatingly-named halfling and the currently-absent-thanks-to-the-demands-of-study-abroad Charlg as they plod along with their Unicow and Mysterious Eggs Which They Don’t Know What They Do Yet But I Do And I’m Looking Forward To Them Finding Out.

Meh, maybe I’ll be fine running 3.X for a while.

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I’m Back!!!

From my Mediterranean cruise that is.  Also, my birthday was this past Thursday.  I won’t tell you how old I am, but to give you a hint, if anybody wants to send me any risque photos, it is now perfectly legal (well, depending on the photos).

As for now, I have nothing to write about.  I’m still pretty jetlagged, andI haven’t been in any position these last couple of days to put down anything coherent.  In fact, I don’t think I’m even in that kind of condition right now.  Sometime later this week, I might start dissecting some albums, or talking about some games, or going through the Star Wars series from Episode I and detailing why they suck (because a true Star Wars fan hates Star Wars, or so I’ve read).  I might talk about Up, or the new Harry Potter movie or Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen (Revenge of the Stupid more like).  In the mean time, please enjoy the following picture (warning, language):

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On Hiatus…

…until I get back from my ten-day Roman Empire cruise on July 18th.  I have been in Michigan for the past week, and today is my only full day back home, hence the lack of updates.  I don’t know what my internet situation will be, and even if I have it I will likely be too busy relaxing away from the grind of farting around to write anything substantial.  Until I come back, here’s a story for you to mull over:

Martin was a boy once.  Now he’s a man, as most little boys become one way or another, but this story is not about that part of Martin.  This story is about the eleven-year-old Martin who went to see his father for the very first time.

You see, Martin’s legal last name was Schumaker, a name which none of his blood relatives shared.  His mother, a Paterson (such a well-respected Christian family), was nineteen when Martin ceased to be a fetus, and would be thirty had she lived past that moment.  His father, a retired Mormon minister of the family Henderick, went on a drinking binge one night shortly after his first wife died in a car crash and he lost his faith and his will to live.  Hence Martin.

Mr. Henderick (that was what Martin called him) insisted that they meet.  He paid for Martin’s flight and everything.  An impressive feat, considering he was trying very hard to hold two unsteady jobs at the time, a situation he had grown used to over the past eleven years.

Martin arrived at the Toronto airport at 10:51 that Friday night.  Of course, he proceeded directly to the baggage claim.  He waited for the luggage to travel over the conveyor belt once.  Then again.  Then one more time.  At this point, there were only three bags left, none of them Martin’s.  Being young and inexperienced, he didn’t know what to do.

Really, this is something that the airlines should have figured out by now, right?  I mean, the first manned fixed-wing flight was over one-hundred years ago.  Rail companies never lose luggage, now do they?  Sure, fatalaties are higher, but to go somewhere by train you’re paying significantly less for a more predictable ride, with no tacked on “checked baggage” fees or whatever, and nobody ever walks away from a train without a bag unless they leave it there in their own stupidity!  It doesn’t matter how many airlines I transfer between, when all the flights are one time, when the airport at which my suitcase was supposedly left had a layover of two hours, the airlines should be able to figure out a system of, oh, I don’t know, reading the tags and then putting the bag onto another plane like every other bag?

But no, two airlines is too much work.  Switch from United to Northwestern and no amount of procedure is going to help them geta suitcase onto another plane.  It’s not even as if there are a bunch of planes all packed in one space, there’s one gigantic plane, and it’s the only one going to Detroit, and this is Indianapolis for God’s sake!  How screwed up does the system have to be to lose a bag in Indianapolis!

And now we have to pay to check bags.  This particular bag cost twenty dollars to load underneath the plane, as opposed to the zero dollars it would cost had a brought the same weight in a slightly smaller package onto the plane and put it above my head.  Before, losing bags was somewhat acceptable, as checked bags were more of a convenience tacked on at no extra charge.  No guarantees, right?  But now, it’s crossed the line into a service.  And, this is how services work: you tell me what you are offering, I give you the amount of money agreed upon prior to the transaction, and then you perform the service as advertised.  If that transaction is not carried out to the extent of the previously-agreed-upon deal, one of the parties has a right to file a lawsuit against the other for unlawful business practices.  If I give an airline twenty dollars to take my luggage from one place to another in eight hours, and it’s not there, I should get a refund, and they should figure out how to get the thing out of Indianapolis on, say, one of the planes to Detroit!  There were three today, it was on none of them!  How much time do they need?

I’m just glad I had enough books in my backpack to get through the cruise.  Cryptonomicon, 2001: A Space Odyssey, The Illustrated Man, A Pebble In The Sky, I think these will be enough.  Hopefully.

Anyway, what was I talking about before?

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