Category: Livejournal

I Wish I Was in New Orleans

Well, I wish I was in New Orleans
I can see it in my dreams
arm-in-arm down Burgundy
a bottle and my friends and me
hoist up a few tall cool ones
play some pool and listen to that
tenor saxophone calling me home
and I can hear the band begin
“When the Saints Go Marching In”
by the whiskers on my chin
New Orleans, I’ll be there

I’ll drink you under the table
be red nose go for walks
the old haunts what I wants
is red beans and rice
and wear the dress I like so well
and meet me at the old saloon
make sure there’s a Dixie moon
New Orleans, I’ll be there

and deal the cards roll the dice
if it ain’t that ole Chuck E. Weiss
and Clayborn Avenue me and you
Sam Jones and all
and I wish I was in New Orleans
I can see it in my dreams
arm-in-arm down Burgundy
a bottle and my friends and me
New Orleans, I’ll be there

(Tom Waits)

First things first. Here’s me at D&A’s house. Yes, the infamous “John drank a little too much” party. I had two whiskeys, a shot of vodka, and a margarita. That should tell you something about my drinking habits:

I didn’t so much get drunk as I got very happy.

Friday
, Rob and I went down to the 3rd Street Prominade for some Greek food. We bumped into The Masked Guitarist, and I stopped for a minute to watch him. I love guitar, and he played a mixture of Mozart, Spanish Florentine, and something else that was familiar but I couldn’t recognize. He’s lots of fun and I never have any money to tip him.

Saturday
The L5R game was that night, and in the morning, I went over to my folks’ house to pick up some furniture. They’re moving to Los Vegas, and they don’t want to take anything with them. So, I picked up some dressers, some bookshelves. My buddies also got some goodies.

The L5R game had ten players. Everyone had a blast. It was difficult to convince the Kids to show up — they wanted to play Vampire — but eventually, they accepted my invitation and walked away smiling brightly. I’m having so much fun running this game, I can’t even explain it. A monitor from work — good ol’ Nate — showed up to play, and spent much of the time just absorbing everything. “You aren’t running a standard game, are you?” he asked me. No, I’m not. It is L5R almost ten years after the fact. Everything I’ve learned about storytelling, magic, game design. For me, it’s L5R 1.5. I have fun because they have fun. I like it more than the Vampire game, but don’t tell anybody.

Sunday
A slow, quiet day. I spent all of Saturday night writing a script and had 58 pages when I was finished. Started editing right away. Still inspired by the game from the previous night. needed a new car battery, so Rob and I helped him pick it out and install it.

We went to Third Planet Comics in Torrance — a great store. I was reading an interview with Alan Moore, talking about his divorce. It struck me strange, that. I don’t know why. He talked about his wife living twenty minutes away, how they see each other at least three times a week, but are just apart from each other. They have children together, but seperated because they were driving each other insane, and it was more important that they have a healthy relationship than a bad marriage.

That hit me hard.

Then, we all retired to the pad and talked about live action rules. Now, I’m doubly excited.

This is what healing feels like.

A long time ago, I wrote an article for the Gaming Outpost entitled, “Hit ’em Where It Hurts.” The point of the article was to show that GMs who kill characters (as punishment) are uncreative slobs who don’t deserve the epithet “Game Master.”

Arbitrarily killing a character is boring, fascist, and unfun. There are so many more creative, more rewarding solutions. Last week’s Vampire game springs to mind.

My buddy Steve plays a rather dimwitted Toreador. He’s not stupid, he’s just so wrapped up in himself that he doesn’t think outside his own skin. He’s beautiful, talented and more egocentric than The Artist Formerly Known as Get Over Your Fucking Self. Unfortunately, Steve is leaving for 4 months. Fortunate for him, actually (he’s going to London), but we’ll miss him. Tremendously. So, I had to think of a reason for his Toreador to disapear for four months. It wouldn’t be easy.

Dendrius (that’s the egomaniac) has a True Love. Her name is Rose. She’s a Nosferatu. A kind, warm, caring girl who is head-over-heels in love with Dendrius. Why she is, we just don’t know. But, there it is. So, he wouldn’t leave without Rose, and Rose wouldn’t leave without him. That means someone has to take him from the setting. Remove him completely. Hm…

I considered using Marcus, the Nosferatu Primogen. But, he’s out of town at the moment. Besides, I already used Marcus once with Dendrius, and that’d be redundant. See, Marcus sees a lot in Dendrius. A lot of potential. From Marcus’ point-of-view, D just needs some… incentive. So, Marcus shovelled him. Hit him on the head with a shovel and buried poor Dendrius alive. If the Toreador survived the encounter, he’d be stronger. If he didn’t… well, maybe Dendrius didn’t have the potential Marcus thought he did. As it turns out, someone dug Dendrius out of the hole, so he never got his “big test.” Like I said, I considered using Marcus again, but that went by the wayside when I realized what I could do.

The city’s scourge (the vampire who keeps rogue vampires out of the city) is a fellow by the name of Mr. Finger. He’s a Tczimisce. A fiend who can manipulate his flesh like Silly Putty. He’s been helpful to the Prince of the city, helped out the players quite a bit, in fact. They started off not trusting him, and slowly… well, they still don’t trust him all that much, but he’s proven he’s on their side, at least. Mr. Finger would give me what I needed to deal with Dendrius.

It was last Friday. Steve’s plane left on Monday morning. It was 4:00 AM. Time to wrap up. Dendrius and Mr. Finger were all alone. “I heard you were shovelled by that Marcus fellow,” Mr. Finger says.

“Yeah,” Dendrius replies. “He hit me and put me in the ground.”

“Do you know where that shovel is?” Mr. Finger asks.

“Yeah,” Dendrius says. “Rose has it, I think.”

(It took a little longer than that, and Steve really played out the scene well, but that’s the gist of it.)

As soon as Finger found out where that shovel was (and the players do know the shovel is older than Marcus — and it is “special” in some way), Mr. Finger’s plan went into action.

His fingers extended like fleshy talons. They wrapped around Dendrius with wet, floppy sounds. They squeeeeezed.

Then, Finger’s chest opened, a crevace all wet red and pink and twitching.

Dendrius bent and twisted in Finger’s hands until his body was a mass of vibrating flesh… and Finger pulled the mass into his chest, the hole disappearing without even leaving a seam.

Four months. That’s how long Steve will be gone, and that’s how long Dendrius will be there.

Four months.

Yes, there are worse things to do to characters.

Just remember: that which does not kill me… makes for a great revenge story when Steve gets back from England.

I don’t know why, but I keep thinking it’s Friday.

Listening to Radio Margaritaville, and that new song from that country guy who’s name I can never remember comes on:

Pour me something tall and strong
Make it a hurricane before I go insane
It’s only half passed twelve but I don’t care
It’s five o’clock somewhere

Well, it’s actually 6:05, but I’ve still got forty minutes left. Forty long minutes.

We just got done playing Stratego. Been a while. Some handy catch phrases were discovered.

“Dude — I ten’d your flag!”
“Spydzor.”
“John — it isn’t your turn to go yet.”

My favorite exchange:
ME: “Hey, K, if you stop moving that piece — I’ll send my Spy over to kill A’s Ten.”
A: “John, this is Stratego, not Diplomacy.”
ME: “Every game is Diplomacy.”

(through the twisted and dark lenses of Mr. Waits)

So, Edgar Rice Burroughs had this idea. He’d cut up text from diverse sources, throw it into a hopper and draw the words out randomly, and try to make something out of it.

Anyway, there’s a cut up machine on the web. You can find it here:

I took my last journal, dumped it in, and took a look at what it made. Color me amused…

I was as she found me. Her finger against my lips. Put her lips against my ear.

“Listen for me, just once,” she said. “Let me sing it for you, now.”

I was surprised. “I didn’t know you could sing,” I told her.

“Sure you do,” she said. She touched my cheek. “Deeply,” she whispered.

And she sang a dark song – promising danger in her laugh.

LiveJournal Haiku!
Your name:	wickedthought
Your haiku:	a while okay that’s not true anymore but i have gone dancing
Username:
Created by Grahame

I was up very late last night. Couldn’t sleep. So, I decided to visit an old friend of mine. I was going through my books, getting ready for a Book Baron trip (big phat used book store in Orange County), and I found her. Or, more likely, she found me. I thumbed through the pages of the little book… her voice and face coming back. The smell of her hair, the danger in her laugh. Her eyes are so dark, so promising, so…

“We haven’t talked in so long,” she told me. “I miss you.”

I was skeptical. “Sure you do,” I said.

“No,” she said. “I do.” She touched my cheek. “Deeply.”

She’s a bit too good at that.

“You sang a song for me once,” she said. “Let me sing it for you, now.”

I was surprised. “I didn’t know you could sing,” I told her.

She put her finger against my lips. Put her lips against my ear.

“Listen,” she said.

* * *

Spend all your time waiting for that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
There’s always some reason
To feel not good enough
And it’s hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh beautiful release
Memories seep from my veins
Let me be empty
Oh and weightless and maybe
I’ll find some peace tonight

In the arms of an angel
Fly away from here
From this dark, cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You’re in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here

You’re so tired of the straight line
That everywhere you turn
There’s vultures and thieves at your back
Storm keeps on twisting
Keep on building the lies
That you make up for all that you lack
It dont make no difference escaping one last time
It’s easier to believe
In this sweet madness
Oh this glorious sadness
That brings me to my knees

In the arms of an angel
Fly away from here
From this dark, cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You’re in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here

You’re in the arms of the angel
May you find
Some comfort here

(thanks Cowboy Ron)