Sunday, October 19, 2008
Sunday, September 14, 2008
The Shame
After watching the Scary Maze videos on Youtube, I've been thinking a lot about shame. There are basically two types--the sudden, unwanted shame of realizing you've just been scared out of your britches (those blubbering kids on Youtube), and the shame that you CAN do something about, but against your better judgment you keep doing the thing that causes you to feel shame, like carrying a Dungeons & Dragons Player's Kit down Main Street in front of everyone.
Which I did just yesterday.
It all began when I promised two of my "clients" that I would sponsor their D & D club. I'm not kidding: up to and above THREE of them have been carrying around books about it and spend all of their free time designing characters. "I mean, we could be out there playing Halo or getting drunk, right, Dr.____?" "Uhh...yeah...I guess you are right." The Freaks and Geeks episode went through my mind, as well the faces of all those kids in the 80s who were both D & D champions and complete and utter outcasts. But I am a champion of outcasts, eight? See all those posts about trolls, etc.
Mind you, I haven't really played the game very much. I know a little about it, but in the 80s my thing was fantasy sc-fi novels. A Spell for Chameleon! Bio of a Space Tyrant! Caves of Steel! Why play a game when you can READ about it and imagine the action on the page? Of course, my clients saw it the opposite way: why read about it when you can write your own characters and action yourself?
So I avoided the shame all those years. Until now.
The first thing I did--stupidly--was walk into TL Bookstore on Main and request the "D & D section." Our good friend Cl__ LAUGHED IN MY FACE, as did B___y from behind the counter, and a customers. Cl___ said, and I directly quote, "Take your ass down to the comic book store. We don't carry that shit!"
They were still laughing as we proceeded to QC comics, the rain outside cold and disapproving : was this some sort of mission/test that my "character" had to endure? We pushed the door open, convinced that at least here we would not be met so ridiculed.
It was filled with the usual nerds, some hunched over giant white boxes, others cradling glossy stacks of the latest issues as if holding newborn babes. P tried to warn me: "Uhhhh....no, I don't think..." But I had already asked, loud and proud, if there was D & D here. The comic book guy barely looked up and merely thumbed in the direction of that gaming store down by Aldi Foods.
Fuck. It was at least three or four blocks down. But oh well. P's shoes were soaked because he only owns one pair and they have holes in them. I was feeling really sorry for putting him through this ordeal. We were also going to be late in getting Cl__, who was supposed to meet us at Amy's in a few minutes. But we had to complete the mission!
We trudged down the street, and by now I was really glad that I wasn't alone. As we crossed the threshold, I thought, "Either this is certain doom or it's going to be the most welcoming place in the whole city."
The first thing that hit me was the smell. The tiny little gaming store does not have enough fresh air inside of it to sustain twelve 15-year old boys' air supply, let alone thin out their massive B.O. These kids were loud and entirely oblivious. Some were playing video games, some were arguing over game details. One was ferociously insisting that "If that's the rule, that's NOT what they said in Chicago!" Obviously, some inveterate game expert at GameCon Chicago had implanted orthodoxy in his head and Mr. Clueless didn't see the light.
The owner was just as you'd expect: pale and unhealthy looking, yet strangely exuberant for being in his element. Unlike Comic Book Guy, this man loved his customers, and even allowed them to eat subs and drink soda. He had provided chairs to some of them, and, as it was closing time, let them store their bikes in the basement ("Do you think he calls it The Dungeon?" asked P). One of the kids was joking around with a friend about how he was going to fuck someone "with no condom and no KY." "No, he's not," quipped Cl___ later on, after we told her about them. "He's really...not."
The owner pointed out the D & D section and we cut through the B.O. with out invisible swords. There was just so much from which to choose! I at least knew that I wanted version 3.5, not the most recent one. But did I want the Monster Manual? Were there individual campaigns that I could buy for the "clients"? Some unrelated Lovecraft games caught my eye, as well as Moorcock's Elric series made into RPGs. What a world.
From a high shelf I brought down a dusty box that contianed a) the Player's Manual, b) all the dice (4, 6, 8, 10, 12, and 20-sided), and c) a dozen Abberations (mini figurines of varying origins) which could serve as visual references. Everybody knew that an actual green fire-breathing dragon wasn't necessary, and there was no board, moreover, so it was all about collection the total of 60, I think, and placing them--where? Where the fuck in my house am I going to put these things? Oh, I know: next to my Gummy Mummy, coyote skull, handcuffs, survival knives, gas mask, and Alien facehugger! You know, in the room that I keep closed when entertaining mixed company? Out of shame?
I didn't have cash. "Uh..." P scrambled for it, as the owner looked really impatient. As P counted out singles I asked the guy if I could come back tomorrow. "We're not open tomorrow." "Well, on Tuesday." "We're not open Tuesday." Oh--apparently Wed-Sun is when their beacon shines through the dark Buffalo night, as this is when teens have time off from school or are the most likely to skip. Patrick had only $29 and it was $35. "Just take it," the guy said. He didn't. Even. Ring. It. Up. He waved us out as if he didn't want the kids to see, or, more plausibly, didn't want to keep any record that this sort of thing ever existed in his store. As we walked back in the now pouring rain, it occurred to me that to be truly cool I wouldn't have bought the game there, I would have ordered a classic one from eBay or already owned it--I was of the age, after all. There was just no being cool today. Just shame. In the rain. The man hadn't offered a bag, either, and I think we know why.
"I guess I better hold the box on this side," I said, shifting it out of eyesight from the cars, each set of headlights coming out of the drizzle like... dragon eyes. The little pieces inside made a crunching noise as they hit the side of the cardboard. This sound echoed louder than I could ever have imagined. "Crunch. Shame. Crunch. Shame..." I asked P if we should put the box in his car before meeting Cl__ at the diner. He was nice enough to say no. And to continue walking next to a grown-ass man carrying a D & D set.
Which I did just yesterday.
It all began when I promised two of my "clients" that I would sponsor their D & D club. I'm not kidding: up to and above THREE of them have been carrying around books about it and spend all of their free time designing characters. "I mean, we could be out there playing Halo or getting drunk, right, Dr.____?" "Uhh...yeah...I guess you are right." The Freaks and Geeks episode went through my mind, as well the faces of all those kids in the 80s who were both D & D champions and complete and utter outcasts. But I am a champion of outcasts, eight? See all those posts about trolls, etc.
Mind you, I haven't really played the game very much. I know a little about it, but in the 80s my thing was fantasy sc-fi novels. A Spell for Chameleon! Bio of a Space Tyrant! Caves of Steel! Why play a game when you can READ about it and imagine the action on the page? Of course, my clients saw it the opposite way: why read about it when you can write your own characters and action yourself?
So I avoided the shame all those years. Until now.
The first thing I did--stupidly--was walk into TL Bookstore on Main and request the "D & D section." Our good friend Cl__ LAUGHED IN MY FACE, as did B___y from behind the counter, and a customers. Cl___ said, and I directly quote, "Take your ass down to the comic book store. We don't carry that shit!"
They were still laughing as we proceeded to QC comics, the rain outside cold and disapproving : was this some sort of mission/test that my "character" had to endure? We pushed the door open, convinced that at least here we would not be met so ridiculed.
It was filled with the usual nerds, some hunched over giant white boxes, others cradling glossy stacks of the latest issues as if holding newborn babes. P tried to warn me: "Uhhhh....no, I don't think..." But I had already asked, loud and proud, if there was D & D here. The comic book guy barely looked up and merely thumbed in the direction of that gaming store down by Aldi Foods.
Fuck. It was at least three or four blocks down. But oh well. P's shoes were soaked because he only owns one pair and they have holes in them. I was feeling really sorry for putting him through this ordeal. We were also going to be late in getting Cl__, who was supposed to meet us at Amy's in a few minutes. But we had to complete the mission!
We trudged down the street, and by now I was really glad that I wasn't alone. As we crossed the threshold, I thought, "Either this is certain doom or it's going to be the most welcoming place in the whole city."
The first thing that hit me was the smell. The tiny little gaming store does not have enough fresh air inside of it to sustain twelve 15-year old boys' air supply, let alone thin out their massive B.O. These kids were loud and entirely oblivious. Some were playing video games, some were arguing over game details. One was ferociously insisting that "If that's the rule, that's NOT what they said in Chicago!" Obviously, some inveterate game expert at GameCon Chicago had implanted orthodoxy in his head and Mr. Clueless didn't see the light.
The owner was just as you'd expect: pale and unhealthy looking, yet strangely exuberant for being in his element. Unlike Comic Book Guy, this man loved his customers, and even allowed them to eat subs and drink soda. He had provided chairs to some of them, and, as it was closing time, let them store their bikes in the basement ("Do you think he calls it The Dungeon?" asked P). One of the kids was joking around with a friend about how he was going to fuck someone "with no condom and no KY." "No, he's not," quipped Cl___ later on, after we told her about them. "He's really...not."
The owner pointed out the D & D section and we cut through the B.O. with out invisible swords. There was just so much from which to choose! I at least knew that I wanted version 3.5, not the most recent one. But did I want the Monster Manual? Were there individual campaigns that I could buy for the "clients"? Some unrelated Lovecraft games caught my eye, as well as Moorcock's Elric series made into RPGs. What a world.
From a high shelf I brought down a dusty box that contianed a) the Player's Manual, b) all the dice (4, 6, 8, 10, 12, and 20-sided), and c) a dozen Abberations (mini figurines of varying origins) which could serve as visual references. Everybody knew that an actual green fire-breathing dragon wasn't necessary, and there was no board, moreover, so it was all about collection the total of 60, I think, and placing them--where? Where the fuck in my house am I going to put these things? Oh, I know: next to my Gummy Mummy, coyote skull, handcuffs, survival knives, gas mask, and Alien facehugger! You know, in the room that I keep closed when entertaining mixed company? Out of shame?
I didn't have cash. "Uh..." P scrambled for it, as the owner looked really impatient. As P counted out singles I asked the guy if I could come back tomorrow. "We're not open tomorrow." "Well, on Tuesday." "We're not open Tuesday." Oh--apparently Wed-Sun is when their beacon shines through the dark Buffalo night, as this is when teens have time off from school or are the most likely to skip. Patrick had only $29 and it was $35. "Just take it," the guy said. He didn't. Even. Ring. It. Up. He waved us out as if he didn't want the kids to see, or, more plausibly, didn't want to keep any record that this sort of thing ever existed in his store. As we walked back in the now pouring rain, it occurred to me that to be truly cool I wouldn't have bought the game there, I would have ordered a classic one from eBay or already owned it--I was of the age, after all. There was just no being cool today. Just shame. In the rain. The man hadn't offered a bag, either, and I think we know why.
"I guess I better hold the box on this side," I said, shifting it out of eyesight from the cars, each set of headlights coming out of the drizzle like... dragon eyes. The little pieces inside made a crunching noise as they hit the side of the cardboard. This sound echoed louder than I could ever have imagined. "Crunch. Shame. Crunch. Shame..." I asked P if we should put the box in his car before meeting Cl__ at the diner. He was nice enough to say no. And to continue walking next to a grown-ass man carrying a D & D set.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Bye Bye Blog?
Well, that's one reason. The other is that I'm trying to write autobiographically, which takes a lot of time--Geoffrey Crayon disappeared right around the time he was finishing his novel, then he had a kid, etc. Blogs aren't always high on the list.
But now that work is beginning again, I find myself in front of the computer lots more. So here's something small--for now.
I've always thought that liking heavy metal--more specifically progressive and symphonic metal (you know, the 'nice' stuff--not that Lamb of God, jingoistic fratboy bullshit--is a lot like collecting comic books or anything else geeky. You tend to know a whole lot about it that others don't, to like it a lot more (too much more) than others do, and to get offended when people don't understand it ("Evanescence is NOT part of this genre, man!" [Sound of geek spittle frothing]). And geeks always yearn to find the homeland of their true people, be it Darkon, Klingon, Comic-Con, or...small pockets of Europe!
Which is where these metal fests take place. Christ, in the U.S. we have, what, Ozzfest? Warped Tour? Fuck that. I want to go see this Medusa shit! I'll swim over there, dammit.
I bet these concerts are the only place in the world where you can't distinguish whose a girl-metal-singer fan and whose a Xena fan. Ah, Xena. If you were a singer in a band, the band would most definitely be a symphonic metal band with whispering banshees and full choir dressed in leather. The orchestra would be...well, like symphonic metal, it would probably be played by one guy on a synth, and he would be made fun of--until the Xena fangirls stared him down with their eye daggers. Because this shit is serious, man.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
This Week in B_n
--I was invited to be the speaker at the "exiting ceremony" where I work--which trite metaphor shall I use as I send them on their way?
--I'm sick of Obama's inconsistency with his old pastor, with Fox news, etc.
--I learned that Teddy Roosevelt's mom and wife died on the same day, and that he subsequently travelled to the American badlands to mull it over. He then led an expedition through Brazil to find a river, during which much of his party committed suicide or were murdered by natives, lived to tell everyone about the place, but was nevertheless disbelieved by respected geographers.
--I stood in line for an hour so that I could pick up my reserve copy of GTA IV. I thought I was a big dork until I realized there were no pimply-faced teenagers around at all. The fans were all my age, of varying ethnicity, gender, and class, some carrying babies on their arms, some an entire nuclear family, though most were lone males like me. None of us seemed like "nerds" at all, but rather celebrants of the most satirical video game about American culture ever invented (by the Scottish). We were all chatting about it line like it was not just some sort of Harry Potter phenomenon, but some sort of very serious event, like a new Wilco or Radiohead record. Not knowing GTA is like not knowing Seinfeld, The Wizard of Oz, or "Happy Birthday"--you must actively reject it not to know of it or at least its general contribution/detriment. When I brought it home I accidentally ripped off the plastic that stays on the case. My trembling fingers guided the disk into the Xbox tray like a nervous teenage virgin. The world of Liberty City opened up like Valhalla. I did not steal a car, punch anyone, or blow someone's brains out. I walked around, interacted with pedestrians, went to my apartment, and watched TV. That's right: you can just sit there in your virtual pad and flip channels around GTA-land TV while you mellow out. One show paired a butch closeted gay man with an out femmy gay man--that's a show I want to see: homophobia and queer criticism encircling each other like good and evil do in Fantasia. I then programmed my virtual cellphone with custom ringtones and tuned my radio to all-Russian pop, which is an amazing new genre I know nothing about except the usual (Gorky Park, Tatu, etc.). Apparently one can also make the character go "online" and connect to some social networking site--I've heard that XBox livers can actually connect to other Xboxers this way, like myspace and facebook. I can't confirm this most odd of mediations I've ever heard of.
--I rewatched the brilliant documentary Hollywoodism, which my "clients" love. They can't believe that Hollywood offers an inclusive picture of the American Dream that, ironically, was constructed by the very people shut out of it in the first place. An image consumes reality yet again.
--Opeth is my new favorite band. What other prog death metal band performs an entirely acoustic folk set of pure evil before launching into the "heavy" stuff? Here's just a mere taste: "Hope Leaves"--great fuckin' title, eh? More Opeth to come. I'll tattoo this O--I don't give a fuck.
--I'm sick of Obama's inconsistency with his old pastor, with Fox news, etc.
--I learned that Teddy Roosevelt's mom and wife died on the same day, and that he subsequently travelled to the American badlands to mull it over. He then led an expedition through Brazil to find a river, during which much of his party committed suicide or were murdered by natives, lived to tell everyone about the place, but was nevertheless disbelieved by respected geographers.
--I stood in line for an hour so that I could pick up my reserve copy of GTA IV. I thought I was a big dork until I realized there were no pimply-faced teenagers around at all. The fans were all my age, of varying ethnicity, gender, and class, some carrying babies on their arms, some an entire nuclear family, though most were lone males like me. None of us seemed like "nerds" at all, but rather celebrants of the most satirical video game about American culture ever invented (by the Scottish). We were all chatting about it line like it was not just some sort of Harry Potter phenomenon, but some sort of very serious event, like a new Wilco or Radiohead record. Not knowing GTA is like not knowing Seinfeld, The Wizard of Oz, or "Happy Birthday"--you must actively reject it not to know of it or at least its general contribution/detriment. When I brought it home I accidentally ripped off the plastic that stays on the case. My trembling fingers guided the disk into the Xbox tray like a nervous teenage virgin. The world of Liberty City opened up like Valhalla. I did not steal a car, punch anyone, or blow someone's brains out. I walked around, interacted with pedestrians, went to my apartment, and watched TV. That's right: you can just sit there in your virtual pad and flip channels around GTA-land TV while you mellow out. One show paired a butch closeted gay man with an out femmy gay man--that's a show I want to see: homophobia and queer criticism encircling each other like good and evil do in Fantasia. I then programmed my virtual cellphone with custom ringtones and tuned my radio to all-Russian pop, which is an amazing new genre I know nothing about except the usual (Gorky Park, Tatu, etc.). Apparently one can also make the character go "online" and connect to some social networking site--I've heard that XBox livers can actually connect to other Xboxers this way, like myspace and facebook. I can't confirm this most odd of mediations I've ever heard of.
--I rewatched the brilliant documentary Hollywoodism, which my "clients" love. They can't believe that Hollywood offers an inclusive picture of the American Dream that, ironically, was constructed by the very people shut out of it in the first place. An image consumes reality yet again.
--Opeth is my new favorite band. What other prog death metal band performs an entirely acoustic folk set of pure evil before launching into the "heavy" stuff? Here's just a mere taste: "Hope Leaves"--great fuckin' title, eh? More Opeth to come. I'll tattoo this O--I don't give a fuck.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Amber Benson (nerd alert)
AB plays an ethical vampire in an episode of Supernatural called "Bloodlust." Check it out at surfthechannel.com
One of the interesting twists on vampire mythology is that dead man's blood can be put on any stabby weapon, not just wood, and it has the effect of making the vampire sick or incapacitated.
One of the interesting twists on vampire mythology is that dead man's blood can be put on any stabby weapon, not just wood, and it has the effect of making the vampire sick or incapacitated.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Yes! [Hand Pumping at Hip-Level)
The guy who came to speak last year, the one I told you all about, who would just make up his own jargon and tried to pass it off as research, whom everyone "loved" and thought was "so charismatic," but who I said reminded me of L. Ron Hubbard and scared the living bejesus out of me because his doubletalk made no fucking sense at all, but which is a kind of discourse that members of my own family have lapped up, never to be seen again--is a fucking fraud!!!!!!!!!!!
Guilty before proven innocent, dude. I smelled your bullshit last year--beeeeeeeeeattttttchhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Guilty before proven innocent, dude. I smelled your bullshit last year--beeeeeeeeeattttttchhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Thine Eyes Bleed
Warning!
What you are about to see will make your eyes bleed.
You will go blind.
I'm not kidding.
You've seen him sneer in State and Main.
You've seen him groan "I just wanna pump, pump" in Happiness.
Curled up next to a model airplane in Love Liza.
And sitting in his tighty-whities in Red Dragon.
Now.
Watch.
Him.
From several angles.
Have sex with Marisa Tomei!
What you are about to see will make your eyes bleed.
You will go blind.
I'm not kidding.
You've seen him sneer in State and Main.
You've seen him groan "I just wanna pump, pump" in Happiness.
Curled up next to a model airplane in Love Liza.
And sitting in his tighty-whities in Red Dragon.
Now.
Watch.
Him.
From several angles.
Have sex with Marisa Tomei!
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