... the IT man in LibraryLand
I'm currently in raptures as I am an IT Man with a new toy in the form of my new work laptop.
The only drawback with it is the fact that it is an itty-bitty "book" type laptop and after last weeks extensive and accurate testing at the hands of The Viking Hat GM I am now aware that my eyesight is 20/200. I am also aware that 20/200 means that at 20 metres I see as well as a perfect vision person sees at 200 metres. But really not allowing the test to be performed with glasses on and calculating a corrected character value is just another example of TVHGM running roughshod over the PLAYERS IN HIS TYPICAL DICTATORIAL STYLE!!!
But I digress.
Suffice to say that the little screen probably means a lot more IT hunching over the computer just to make sure I don't make any embarrassing typing nistales.
Speaking of mistakes, Days of our Libraries and Kiwichick took great pleasure at an insignificantly minor spelling error in my previous post despite the ease with which said typo could have been interpreted as yet another clever play on words within this magnificent oeuvre that is The Tales.
I mean really, next thing you'll know I'll find myself being severely berated by LittleBigGirl for perceived misuse of apostrophe's!
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... The Tough Tests and Twighlight
There's nothing as confusing and puzzling as awakening in the morning with aching muscles, wondering why and - after a few moments careful pondering - realising "oh yes it's because I had gaming last night".
You see The Viking Hat GM had cunningly decided that we would use our inappropriately named rest-week, not for board games or their ilk, but for testing ourselves and rating the results in game terms.
So a series of push-pull-and-balance-ups ensued. Combined with jumping (from which my bad knee saved me) breath-holding and various other sundry tests. I for one was disappointed that there was no eating test when we were calculating our Endurance statistic (although I do suspect that Age of Fable may have outscored me on that one).
The surveys of worldly experience to determine our mental stats were a little easier although I believe I may have strained one of my lobes.
All in all an interesting exercise and I still have to complete an IQ test to achieve more than the average rating.
Interestingly the tests were created by TVHGM and The Mad Magyar and contained many areas specifically tailored to their particular strengths - I mean really, scoring bonus points for sadistic treatment of players in a game. Still, never being one to complain, I just sucked it up and accepted the bias inherent in the testing procedure.
The MRI
My second test, which technically (and actually) occurred before the gaming one, was an MRI of my dodgy knee. It had been conveniently scheduled for 8pm on a gaming night - further proof that they are out to get me.
As it was merely my knee that was being scanned I was only slid up to my waist into the giant magnet and so had no concerns at all with claustrophobic issues raising their ugly heads.
The process itself was akin to being waist deep in a giant clanking washing machine for twenty minutes with metallic hammering occurring all about my knee.
No results yet but the specialist should be giving me a buzz in the next week to arrange the inordinately expensive consultation in which I am informed of the true state of my knee injury.
Twilight
This was the third of my tests and I managed to just pass, making it to the end with some few tiny threads of my interest remaining.
Having seen the movie I knew everything that was going to happen (not that there's a lot to remember in any case) so the only extras in the book where the angsty "I haven't seen him for five minutes and I'm going to die of depression" internal monologues of a weak-willed teenage girl.
Still the prose flows well and it is your typical totally romantic novel of a 90 year old seducing a 17 year old with his overpowering presence and worldly experience.
Although why he'd choose the one person whose thoughts he couldn't read over being able to know what his girlfriend was thinking has this correspondent as confused as a geek waking up with sore muscles after gaming.
.
You see The Viking Hat GM had cunningly decided that we would use our inappropriately named rest-week, not for board games or their ilk, but for testing ourselves and rating the results in game terms.
So a series of push-pull-and-balance-ups ensued. Combined with jumping (from which my bad knee saved me) breath-holding and various other sundry tests. I for one was disappointed that there was no eating test when we were calculating our Endurance statistic (although I do suspect that Age of Fable may have outscored me on that one).
The surveys of worldly experience to determine our mental stats were a little easier although I believe I may have strained one of my lobes.
All in all an interesting exercise and I still have to complete an IQ test to achieve more than the average rating.
Interestingly the tests were created by TVHGM and The Mad Magyar and contained many areas specifically tailored to their particular strengths - I mean really, scoring bonus points for sadistic treatment of players in a game. Still, never being one to complain, I just sucked it up and accepted the bias inherent in the testing procedure.
The MRI
My second test, which technically (and actually) occurred before the gaming one, was an MRI of my dodgy knee. It had been conveniently scheduled for 8pm on a gaming night - further proof that they are out to get me.
As it was merely my knee that was being scanned I was only slid up to my waist into the giant magnet and so had no concerns at all with claustrophobic issues raising their ugly heads.
The process itself was akin to being waist deep in a giant clanking washing machine for twenty minutes with metallic hammering occurring all about my knee.
No results yet but the specialist should be giving me a buzz in the next week to arrange the inordinately expensive consultation in which I am informed of the true state of my knee injury.
Twilight
This was the third of my tests and I managed to just pass, making it to the end with some few tiny threads of my interest remaining.
Having seen the movie I knew everything that was going to happen (not that there's a lot to remember in any case) so the only extras in the book where the angsty "I haven't seen him for five minutes and I'm going to die of depression" internal monologues of a weak-willed teenage girl.
Still the prose flows well and it is your typical totally romantic novel of a 90 year old seducing a 17 year old with his overpowering presence and worldly experience.
Although why he'd choose the one person whose thoughts he couldn't read over being able to know what his girlfriend was thinking has this correspondent as confused as a geek waking up with sore muscles after gaming.
.
... The Traditional Disappointment
Those of you who have been following The Tales these past two years - or indeed any recountings of my bountifully exciting life - should be aware of the annual pilgrimage to all things blokey from the previous occasions I have informed you of my attendance at the event.
This years event was staged under conditions unlike any seen in the previous 20 odd years. The biggest break with tradition was the move of our location to one of the 20 hectares on the property of StumpyRudolph. This change was necessitated by our traditional camping ground having been in the path of the Black Saturday fires earlier this year.
Those in attendance this year - yours truly, Legion2, StumpyRudolph, Gavman, and BestFriendSincePrep - gathered at the crack of midday and set out on a visit to our old campsite to pay our respects. Upon arrival it was a stark reminder of the horrors that the fires had wrought to the area. Despite the green growth sprouting from many of the surviving eucalypts it was remeniscent of photographs I had seen of the battlefields of the Somme - trees jutting skyward, dirt and mud with no undergrowth and a sense of barreness and destruction.
After a short side trip to stock up on the much needed supplies such as bread, chips, chocolate, and drinks. We finally arrived with all our belongings at the chosen camping spot at the base of the hill.
The evening proceeded in a more-or-pess expected fashion with much merriment, lots of firewood gathering expeditions, 4 to a tent crowded sleeping conditions, and various other hijinks of which we are forbidden to tell lest we lose our membership in the cabal that is our brotherhood of attendees. Suffice to say that amongst all those goings-on I managed to make one of those rare visits to the magical 10,000 steps in a day and also received several small cinder-burns in unusual places.
The other major break with tradition was several brief visits by StumpyRudolph's spawn - a fact that we let him off the hook about for now but shall call him to account about later on when it suits the furtherance of our collective agendas.
As is also typical I have returned home this afternoon to while away my time in sleep deprived meanderings about the house merely counting the hours until I could once more fall into a proper bed for a good night's rest.
.
This years event was staged under conditions unlike any seen in the previous 20 odd years. The biggest break with tradition was the move of our location to one of the 20 hectares on the property of StumpyRudolph. This change was necessitated by our traditional camping ground having been in the path of the Black Saturday fires earlier this year.
Those in attendance this year - yours truly, Legion2, StumpyRudolph, Gavman, and BestFriendSincePrep - gathered at the crack of midday and set out on a visit to our old campsite to pay our respects. Upon arrival it was a stark reminder of the horrors that the fires had wrought to the area. Despite the green growth sprouting from many of the surviving eucalypts it was remeniscent of photographs I had seen of the battlefields of the Somme - trees jutting skyward, dirt and mud with no undergrowth and a sense of barreness and destruction.
After a short side trip to stock up on the much needed supplies such as bread, chips, chocolate, and drinks. We finally arrived with all our belongings at the chosen camping spot at the base of the hill.
The evening proceeded in a more-or-pess expected fashion with much merriment, lots of firewood gathering expeditions, 4 to a tent crowded sleeping conditions, and various other hijinks of which we are forbidden to tell lest we lose our membership in the cabal that is our brotherhood of attendees. Suffice to say that amongst all those goings-on I managed to make one of those rare visits to the magical 10,000 steps in a day and also received several small cinder-burns in unusual places.
The other major break with tradition was several brief visits by StumpyRudolph's spawn - a fact that we let him off the hook about for now but shall call him to account about later on when it suits the furtherance of our collective agendas.
As is also typical I have returned home this afternoon to while away my time in sleep deprived meanderings about the house merely counting the hours until I could once more fall into a proper bed for a good night's rest.
.
... The Demise of The Evil Plant
The small dearth of things of which to scribe about this week, coupled with short attention span issues, leads me to write this missive about a small happening today.
After many years of fierce rivalry I have finally outlasted The Evil Plant.
The killer blow to it's flora-ic ways was actually the week of 40 degree days back in summer. That wonderful week left it flattened out and weakened enough for me to get the better of it in our contest of wills as it's immense pride did not allow it to accept any amount of help from me to assist in it's revival.
I suspect that I may also have had some additional help in the form of feline nibbling however the triumph was all mine as I deposited the remains - tub, dirt, and all - into the communal refuse holders for my block of flats. So there's another caution for you - don't mess with Phill for my dominance shall out in the end.
Even now, several hours later, I am cackling away in my success. On a completely unrelated note I have managed to have the weekend at home on my own. Two complete days with naught for company but myself and no mental side effects at all.
.
After many years of fierce rivalry I have finally outlasted The Evil Plant.
The killer blow to it's flora-ic ways was actually the week of 40 degree days back in summer. That wonderful week left it flattened out and weakened enough for me to get the better of it in our contest of wills as it's immense pride did not allow it to accept any amount of help from me to assist in it's revival.
I suspect that I may also have had some additional help in the form of feline nibbling however the triumph was all mine as I deposited the remains - tub, dirt, and all - into the communal refuse holders for my block of flats. So there's another caution for you - don't mess with Phill for my dominance shall out in the end.
Even now, several hours later, I am cackling away in my success. On a completely unrelated note I have managed to have the weekend at home on my own. Two complete days with naught for company but myself and no mental side effects at all.
.
... The Nuptuals of Sir Clive
The big event this week was my attendance at the wedding of Sir Clive Pitbull. There was also some upgrade stuffgoing on as well but I wasn't paying much attention to that as my focus was on the free feed of the Saturday evening event.
I was once again designated Legion driver and packed Legion's 2, 3, Madmog and BrotherStealer into my transportation device for the leisurely drive down to sunny Williamstown.
Upon arrival my suspicions were confirmed - we were at the same venue that had hosted Doom and The Doctor's engagement soiree - so much for expanding my resume of Williamstown venue attendance.
So, while I struggled through my 'nam-like flashbacks of events in the venue, the ceremony and mixed finger-food reception continued forthwith. I could tell I was off my game as I repeatedly failed to be at the serving table as new dishes were brought forth for consumption. I even suffered several attacks of politeness and allowed others to serve themselves before I had taken as much as I could.
Still my condition was nothing as compared to Sir Clive's. His reputation as a fanatical purveyor of all musical things punk, noise and experimental was dealt severe blow after blow as
first: a karaoke machine was wheeled out without nary a whine from him, and
second: pop song after pop song played on throughout the evening.
The ultimate proof of his new status of "you've changed man" was when he took a place as a link in the conga line for Peter Allen's When My Baby Smiles at Me.
Departing at a reasonable hour I was only subject to a mild level of in-car shenanigans from Legion's 2 and 3 who had consumed a reasonable but unspecified number of beverages which still proved to be below the "too many" level.
All were soon home and warm and cosy after a good night out celebrating.
.
I was once again designated Legion driver and packed Legion's 2, 3, Madmog and BrotherStealer into my transportation device for the leisurely drive down to sunny Williamstown.
Upon arrival my suspicions were confirmed - we were at the same venue that had hosted Doom and The Doctor's engagement soiree - so much for expanding my resume of Williamstown venue attendance.
So, while I struggled through my 'nam-like flashbacks of events in the venue, the ceremony and mixed finger-food reception continued forthwith. I could tell I was off my game as I repeatedly failed to be at the serving table as new dishes were brought forth for consumption. I even suffered several attacks of politeness and allowed others to serve themselves before I had taken as much as I could.
Still my condition was nothing as compared to Sir Clive's. His reputation as a fanatical purveyor of all musical things punk, noise and experimental was dealt severe blow after blow as
first: a karaoke machine was wheeled out without nary a whine from him, and
second: pop song after pop song played on throughout the evening.
The ultimate proof of his new status of "you've changed man" was when he took a place as a link in the conga line for Peter Allen's When My Baby Smiles at Me.
Departing at a reasonable hour I was only subject to a mild level of in-car shenanigans from Legion's 2 and 3 who had consumed a reasonable but unspecified number of beverages which still proved to be below the "too many" level.
All were soon home and warm and cosy after a good night out celebrating.
.
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