Author: john wick

I’m running a Vampire table-top game tonight. Listening to music for inspiration. Got an idea, but I need to sort it out. Once again, the cat-gargling muse, comes on the iTunes and shows me the way…

House Where Nobody Lives
(Tom Waits and Kathleen Brennan)

There’s a house on my block
That’s abandoned and cold
Folks moved out of it a
Long time ago
And they took all their things
And they never came back
Looks like it’s haunted
With the windows all cracked
And everyone call it
The house, the house where
Nobody lives

Once it held laughter
Once it held dreams
Did they throw it away
Did they know what it means
Did someone’s heart break
Or did someone do somebody wrong?

Well the paint was all cracked
It was peeled off of the wood
Papers were stacked on the porch
Where I stood
And the weeds had grown up
Just as high as the door
There were birds in the chimney
And an old chest of drawers
Looks like no one will ever
Come back to the
House were nobody lives

Once it held laughter
Once it held dreams
Did they throw it away
Did they know what it means
Did someone’s heart break
Or did someone do someone wrong?
So if you find someone
Someone to have, someone to hold
Don’t trade it for silver
Don’t trade it for gold
I have all of life’s treasures
And they are fine and they are good
They remind me that houses
Are just made of wood
What makes a house grand
Ain’t the roof or the doors
If there’s love in a house
It’s a palace for sure
Without love…
It ain’t nothin but a house
A house where nobody lives
Without love it ain’t nothin
But a house, a house where
Nobody lives.

I shaved my beard this morning. Well, let’s be honest, it wasn’t really a beard. Just a moustache and little goatee. Clean-shaved again. Wow. Different. New. Look at my face in the mirror, see my chin and my lips. My face is so different without it. Funny, that. I could have said, “My face looks so different with a beard.” It’s the little things.

While I was tossing away the whiskers, I came across a tiny spider in my bathroom. I’ve had a ton of ants in recent days (looking for water), and there he is, catching them in his little web.

My first thought was to kill him. But, then, I thought about how lonely he must be down there with nobody to talk to. So, I asked him his name.

“You can’t pronounce it,” he said.

“All right. Give me a name I can pronounce.”

“Anthony,” he said.

And that’s how I met my new little friend, Anthony. He kills ants. Whenever I find one, I pick it up, and drop it off for him. His web is just in front of this tiny hole in the plaster, just where the floor meets the wall. The ant gets caught in the web, he comes out of his little hole, and does his work.

“Thanks,” he says.

“Don’t mention it,” I tell him.

He’s spinning away. “Like the look, by the way,” he says, still spinning.

I smile and get ready for my Thursday game. I’m playing a… oh. Wait. That’s right. Secret for right now. More later.

PS: Anthony could use more ants. If you want to send him some, feel free.

Um… there’s this… I mean… I… all I can say is… “It’s my desire!”

http://electric6.com/multimedia/video/dhv_hires.mov

It’s been a while. A long while. But, there I am, with my new buddy Shane, drink in hand, in the Viper Room. Just outside the door, that’s where River Phoenix died. Right on the cement. Johnny Depp owns this place. Nobody around me has any sense of that. Or, maybe they do. Maybe ghosts don’t always haunt a place with grief.

I’m looking around, looking at all the kids. I’m old. Dirt calls me grandpa. Shane and I have been talking all night, sharing memories. We’re waiting for a band to start. I’m running out every two hours to throw two bucks in the meter so I don’t get anther $45 parking ticket that I can’t afford.

The real drinks are six bucks a pop, so I ask for a four dollar Coke. I’m pretty certain that four dollar shake is better than this. Flat and full of ice.

The floor is sticky. The couches are old. I’m pretty certain they’ve never been cleaned. I’m also pretty sure everyone in the room thinks we’re gay. Shane and I are trading ex-girlfriend stories, our heads close together while we try to talk through the noise.

On the couch, there’s so little room to move. A pretty little thing in a tight black tank top sits next to me, her body close to mine. I don’t do anything about it. That’s when I realize I’m not who I used to be. My reflexes are still tuned to husband-mode.

I turn to Shane and say, “How do I do this again?”

“Do what?” he asks.

I wave my hands at the place. “This. It’s been so long, I’ve forgotten how to do this.”

He laughs and tells me its been a while for him, too. Been a while for both of us.

Women have the advantage. Always have. Women are looking for a companion. Men are waitng for permission. That’s what we’re taught. You wait for the woman to make the first move. Problem is, the guys who are with someone, they didn’t wait. That’s why they’re with someone. It’s been so long, I forgot about that rule.

The band we’re waiting for starts up. They’re hillarious. An 80’s cover band that looks like Poison/Motley Crue/Ratt and acts like high school freshmen. Intentionally. They’re a riot. Play the place every Monday. I’ll have to go back and see them again.

The next morning, I’m awake, thinking about last night. Thinking about my husband-mode. And I realize I’m probably still waiting for permission, while she’s looking for a companion. Have to fix that.

I’ve quit drinking Coke, except on game night (Saturday nights), when I drink 4 cans in less than 4 hours. Damn game night. Should have followed Trekhead’s example, and brought bottles of water. Next week, I will.

I’m getting rid of my gamer gut — slowly, but surely. I used to call it my husband gut. I don’t have that excuse anymore, but honestly, that’s where I got it. From being content. “Kill me if I ever get content,” is what I used to say. Now, I’m doing it. I’m killing that guy, finding out who the new guy is.

* * *
If you’ve been keeping up with things, you know the Saturday night group asked me to run L5R. Thought it was a bad idea, but I ran a one-shot for ’em, just to shut ’em up. Something weird happened.

They loved it. _I_ loved it. Wow. Now, it’s gonna be the regular game (with the very excellent WoT game Lawyer Boy runs).

Last night, I was sittng in Denny’s with Trekhead and Doc, talking about the game, the industry, AEG, WotC, lots of things. The story I just finished had the characters getting invited to a wedding: Kachiko and Shoju’s wedding. It was a lovely affair, followed up with the boys having to cut off all kinds of situations before they turn into problems. It was a blast.

The conversation twists and turns, and I’m thinking a lot about the past, about the people I knew when I was working at AEG, about the people I was working with after I left AEG, about my whole game designer past. We all say goodnight, and I start the long drive home. “Long drive home,” I think. And the word “distance” comes up in my head. It won’t leave me alone. “Distance,” it says. “Distance.”

A long drive home is one kind of distance. But there’s that other kind, too. I’m able to run L5R because I’ve got distance. Trekhead can’t even LOOK at a MAGE book. He’s got no distance.

The Wife and I are getting a divorce. Its a good thing. Our lives are going in different directions. We want to be friends, we try to get together and be friends, but it isn’t working out. I’ve got no distance. Every time we get together, it just screws up and everybody ends up hurt.

I get up in the morning, a few dreams in my pocket, and I start writing my journal. Distance makes it easier. There was a time when I swore I would NEVER play L5R again. That time is over. After a few years, I’ve had enough distance.

I’ve been able to call up a few of those old game industry friends. Been able to re-establish a contact with some. Not all of them, but a few.

I ran into one of them in a book store. We didn’t expect to see each other, kind of bumbled through pleasantries. Maybe if we were better prepared. Maybe. But we were caught off guard, didn’t know how to handle things. It was obvious we were trying, but unsure how to do this thing. This “Oh. Hi. We used to be really close. Now… what?”

Time isn’t what heals all wounds. You need some space, too.

I can’t believe I forgot this song. It used to be my anthem, the song I listened to whenever I got down, whenever the world decided to kick me in the teeth (another great song, for another time).

The Wife never liked Rush all that much. She indulged me one concert, and that was kind, but every day, I’m realizing everything that I “gave up.” Or, left behind.

CUT TO THE CHASE
(lyrics by Neil Peart)

It is the fire that ignites itself
But it burns with a restless flame
The arrow on a moving target
The archer must be sure of his aim

It is the engine that drives itself
But it chooses the uphill climb
A bearing on magnetic north
Growing farther away all the time
Can’t stop — moving
Can’t stop — moving
Can’t stop

You may be right
It’s all a waste of time
I guess that’s just a chance I’m prepared to take
A danger I’m prepared to face
Cut to the chase

It is the rocket that ignites itself
And launches its way to the stars
(Ambition is the fire)
A driver on a busy freeway
Racing the oblivious cars
(Ambition is the fire)

It’s the motor of the western world
Spinning off to every extreme
Pure as a lover’s desire
Evil as a murderer’s dream
Can’t stop — moving
Can’t stop — moving
I can’t stop

Young enough not to care too much
About the way things used to be
I’m young enough to remember the future —
The past has no claim on me

I’m old enough not to care too much
About what you think of me
But I’m young enough to remember the future
The way things ought to be

What kind of difference can one person make?
Cut to the chase

Listening to Tom Waits in the background while I do edits, and this song comes on. For some reason, I never made the connection with the title. “Hey Mr. Seigal, how do I get out of here?” I’m a real dunce sometimes. Or maybe I just never took enough “interpretation” classes in college.

With a drunk piano, his voice sounding like he’s singing with broken glass in his throat, and a slow, lazy drum beat in the background, this is the Tom Waits I love the most. I dig the weird ass Waits stuff, too, but man, this stuff always kicks me in the ass. “I shot the morning in the back with my redwings on/And told the sun he’d better go back down.” Damn, can I be that cool, one day? Please?

MR. SIEGAL
(Tom Waits)

I spent all my money in a mexican whorehouse,
across the street from a catholic church,
and then i wiped off my revolver,
and i buttoned up my burgundy shirt,
i shot the morning in the back,
with my red wings on,
i told the sun he’d better go back down,
and if i can find a book of matches,
i’m goin’ to burn this hotel down.

you got to tell me brave captain,
why are the wicked so strong,
how do the angels get to sleep,
when the devil leaves the porchlight on.

well i dropped thirty grand on the nugget slots,
i had to sell my ass on fremont street,
and the drummer said there’s sanctuary,
over at the bagdad room,
and now it’s one for the money, two for the show,
three to get ready, and go man go,
i said tell me mr. siegel,
how do i get out of here.

well willard’s knocked out on a bottle of heat,
drivin’ dangerous curves across the dirty sheets,
he said man you ought to see her,
when her parents are gone,
man you ought to hear her when the siren’s on.
you got to tell me brave captain,
why are the wicked so strong,
how do the angels get to sleep,
when the devil leaves the porchlight on.

don’t you know that ain’t no broken bottle,
that i picked up in my headlights,
on the other side of the nevada line,
where they live hard die young,
nd have a good lookin’ corpse every time,
well the pit-boss said i should keep movin’,
this is where you go when you die,
and so i shot a black beauty,
and i kissed her right between the eyes.

well willard’s knocked out on a bottle of heat,
drivin’ dangerous curves across the dirty sheets,
he said man you ought to see her,
when her parents are gone,
man you ought to hear her when the siren’s on.

you got to tell me brave captain,
why are the wicked so strong,
how do the angels get to sleep,
when the devil leaves the porchlight on.

Let’s see, in the span of 24 hours, I’ve talked to 6 people I haven’t talked to in as many years. (Okay, maybe not that long, but a LONG damn time.)

My whole life just got re-set. Like someone walked in the shower and told me it was all a dream. The last six years of my life.

It used to be I was the luckiest person I knew. I mean the LUCKIEST PERSON I KNEW. Then, I stopped taking chances, stopped playing things by the seat of my pants, hanging on to life by a thread, and all of that luck just went away. Slipped right down the drain. I never stopped to wonder what happened.

Then, all of a sudden, everything changes.

I went to Vegas without a dollar. In ten minutes, I had $200. Not as good as that time me and Mr. Swarner went (woo hoo! that was a good time), but damn. It’s like the Goddess of Black Jack couldn’t be any kinder.

I got a phone call from an old company that wants me to write for them.

I got a phone call from an old friend with a literary contact.

I got a phone call from an old friend… well, that one’s private.

Anyway, I got phone calls. A ton of them.

What the hell is… wait a sec. Don’t question it, just ride it. Hold on with your teeth and riiiide!

Not too long ago, I was working for AEG, designing story, character, and world for the Legend of the Five Rings product line. (It’s great work if you can get it, by the way.) Wizards of the Coast purchased L5R and were handling all the stuff we didn’t have the manpower to do. In other words, we were designing the game, and they were selling it.

Now, for a very long time (not all the time, but time and time again), it really seemed like the folks up at Wizards really didn’t like us very much. I made a visit, wore my L5R shirt, and nobody talked to me. In fact, I got some very nasty looks.

Anyway, the reason we got that impression was the marketing material we kept getting back. It was awful. They’d write the worst ad copy, pick the worst art from the card set to use in ads, use all the wrong artists for the wrong cards, and say completely erroneous things about the card set. It was awful. And we couldn’t figure out if they were doing it on purpose (they were intentionally sabotaging the product), or they just didn’t know what they were doing (they were incompetent). Thus, we came up with a word. A great word. A wonderful word. Mary Poppins would have loved this word. Used it wherever she went.

The word is “ineptitage.” To be used when you’re not sure if someone is just a numbnut, or if he’s legitimately fucking with you.

(I wish to Keethdowmga I could remember who came up with it. I’m pretty certain it wasn’t me. It may have been D.J. That’s a D.J. thing to think of. Just brilliant.)

But, things got better, and it became evident the folks up in Seattle just didn’t have the manpower to give us the attention we needed. Things changed, and we started getting kick ass stuff. I stopped using the word and didn’t find a need to use it for a long time.

Until recently, that is.

I’m playing in the LA Camarilla (Live Action Vampire) game these days – at least two Fridays a month (this month is slow, much to my chagrin). I’m playing my favorite clan (Tremere), but I’m having a bit of trouble getting along with my clanmates. Oh well. I’m there to have fun.

So, anyway, here comes ineptitage again. Someone made a bad call. A very bad call. And now I have to wonder if it was intentional or accidental. Been a long time since I’ve had to think of that word. I didn’t like to have to think that way when it had to do with my livelihood, and now I have to think that way in terms of my hobby. And that pisses me off.

Now, the “Give the Guy the Benefit of the Doubt” John wants to believe it was just a bad call. The guy didn’t think about what he did, didn’t think about how people would react, didn’t think, “Hey, how would I feel if someone did this to my character?” Just didn’t think. Everyone makes mistakes, everyone screws up, everyone has a bad day. That’s John talking. The Good John.

The Wick sees things different. He’s got a new Shinsei quote, but it don’t come from Tao of Shinsei. It comes from a new book. One he’s been writing over the last year. The Tao of Zen Nihilism: A Self-Hurt Book. Nasty, little black book with a whole lot of angry words, lots of angry little parables about humanity and its true nature: stupidity. Basic physics: objects at rest tend to stay at rest; objects in motion tend to stay in motion. In other words, stupid people tend to stay stupid, and even the brightest of us are fighting gravity every day of the week, just to keep rolling. And so, here it is. A new page in the book of Zen Nihilism.

“You don’t have to be smart to have a plan.”

Some muthafuggas just don’t get it. They just don’t get it. I hear it all the time. “Oh, that guy will cause a major fuss if we make a ruling against him, and I just don’t want to deal with that OOC drama.”

Hey – ever think for a second the reason people throw OOC drama fits is because they know it’ll get them their way? Like an eight year old who knows if he cries loud enough, his parents won’t punish him? Yeah, just like that little kid.

Fuck that kid. He can go without his supper. And he can cry all day long. Crying don’t do nothing but make your face red and your shirt wet. If you think you’re gonna get my sympathy with tears, you’re in for a surprise. I’m watertight and weather proof. A little drizzle don’t do nothing to my resolve. If things don’t go your way, throwing a drama queen fit don’t change my mind.

That’s The Wick talking. Wait, no. Not talking. He screams. A lot. No wonder I’m going deaf.

So, anyway. That’s my head right now. Ineptitage. Not sure if it’s a mistake or intentional. Luckily, Good John is in charge most of the time these days, and he’s willing to give people the benefit of the doubt. Willing to go, “Hey, it was a mistake, let’s move on and keep playing and have fun!”

But that Wick guy, he’s in here somewhere. And he’s waiting for the right opportunity. Got to be careful. Can’t let him get the better of me. Otherwise, he makes me say mad things that I don’t think about. Things that ignore consequence. And then, people have to wonder: “Is he just an idiot, or is he doing that on purpose…?”