August
2008
By Douglas Kent,
Email: doug of
whiningkentpigs.com or diplomacyworld
of yahoo.com
On the web at http://www.whiningkentpigs.com
– or go directly to the Diplomacy section at http://www.whiningkentpigs.com/DW/. Also be sure to visit the Diplomacy World
website at http://www.diplomacyworld.net. Check out http://www.helpfulkitty.com for
official Toby the Helpful Kitty news, advice column, blog, and links to all his
available merchandise! Links to all of
the books and DVDs reviewed can be found by clicking on the Amazon Store button
in the main menu of
the Whining Kent Pigs website.
All Eternal Sunshine readers are encouraged
to join the free Eternal Sunshine Yahoo group at http://games.groups.yahoo.com/group/eternal_sunshine_diplomacy/
to stay up-to-date on any subzine news or errata.
Quote Of The Month – “Hi, I'm Clementine, can I have a piece of
chicken?” (Clementine
in “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”)
Welcome
to Eternal Sunshine, the only Diplomacy publication edited by someone who can
recite almost every line from “Creepshow,” much to
the displeasure of those trying to watch the movie with me. I hope you all enjoyed your July. Things here in the Whining Kent Pig household
have been fine. Heather is busy with her
final math class, forcing herself to learn all about logarithms and all that
fun stuff. While the class is only about
four hours a week, she probably spends at least 15 hours between homework and
studying. In a few weeks it will be
over, which is when she starts full-time in the Veterinary Assistant program. She had hoped to be able to start in the
Veterinary Technician program instead, but while she has taken Biology, it
wasn’t Biology for Science Majors.
Without that, she hadn’t met the prerequisites for the program. Fortunately, the veterinary-related classes
in the Assistant program are some of the same ones in the Technician program,
so if all goes well she may decide to continue afterwards and complete that
program too. In the meantime, somewhere
in the midst of this she will also have earned her
Associates Degree (the math class was one of her final pieces of that puzzle).
As
for me, I am still just an uneducated idiot…I toy with the idea of taking a
class here or there, but haven’t gone that far.
Every time I think about it, I can come up with a number of other things
I think I should be spending my time on.
Writing, especially, which I haven’t done much of this month at
all. Work has been truly hectic, and my
coworker is still out on maternity leave until Labor Day, so I’ve been swamped
day after day with no let-up. That makes
too exhausted to think about writing, since most of my composition is very
personal in nature and requires a certain frame of mind and mood; I need to
open up and let the walls down, and feel the emotion or pain or whatever I felt
at the time. I did manage to write up a
favorite Whining Kent Pig childhood story, but that doesn’t involve the depth
of emotion I need to deal with in the future.
One
minor project I did play with in July was starting a blog on the Texas
Rangers. It isn’t very big, or
important, and hardly anybody reads it.
The only reason I started it was because I was posting a few messages a
day to the Dallas Morning News Rangers blog, but some of the people on there
are just too uninformed or immature to deal with. I have no problem with people disagreeing
with me, but when you post message after message, don’t just bitch and moan
about trades from two years ago and call for the firing of every single person
in the organization. I want to discuss
the ins and outs of what is going on with the team, the decisions during each
game and in the front office, and how to make this a winning baseball team
again. If you disagree with a decision,
you should be prepared to suggest what should be done. Anyway, I had a free Godaddy
blog sitting unused anyway, so I started this one. If you want to look (not
sure why you would), you can do so at http://rangersblog.whiningkentpigs.com.
Speaking
of the Whining Kent Pigs, on the main WKP web site I’ve added a section of
sound and music files. Some of these are
songs my oldest brother (alone and with friends) have done over the years,
while others are recordings from my childhood.
There’s a family favorite tape of my youngest brother and I cleaning our
room (secretly taped by our brothers), when he admits he “doesn’t like Mom very
much.” And I also posted a few answering
machine messages: one from my ex-grandmother-in-law, berating me for not
calling her; and one from my mother, in one of her schizophrenic breakdown
moments, screaming about being unable to get out of her house and threatening
to burn it down. Good times.
On
a much more Diplomacy-centric note, I have been doing some work scanning
ancient Diplomacy zines and posting them to a special section of the WKP web
site (in the Diplomacy sub-section under the title Postal Diplomacy Zine Archive, http://www.whiningkentpigs.com/DW/
). There’s some 1960’s and 1970’s
classic material there, and lots more to come as I await the arrival of two
boxes of 1960’s zines coming from Canada.
With the recent uncertainty about the west coast Diplomacy archives (see
the Notes From the Editor section in Diplomacy World
#102, http://www.diplomacyworld.net/
) I want to do what I can to preserve these zines before they disappear for
good. The Yahoo group I started to
notify interested parties about what’s new, and to discuss who has what
on-hand, can be found at http://games.groups.yahoo.com/group/postalzine/. Speaking of zines, we now have every single
issue of Diplomacy World posted to that same site EXCEPT for #3 through #10,
which will be added in the next month or so.
That will be over 100 issues of the hobby’s flagship publication, for
the first time made available for free to the hobby at large to download at
will. That’s something to be at least a
little proud of, I think.
I
also took some time to start a new Yahoo group for Texas-area Diplomacy
players. My hope is to build a network
of Dipsters throughout Texas, Oklahoma, and nearby regions. If we can get a few regional games going,
eventually we might be able to build up activity to a level appropriate to
supporting a Texas DipCon. The group can
be found at http://games.groups.yahoo.com/group/texas-diplomacy/.
Activity
here in Eternal Sunshine has been very light this month, but let’s just hope
these are summer doldrums. Only two
letters? I’m starting to get very
lonesome! Nobody loves me…. By Popular Opinion ends this issue, but we
still have By Popular Demand going strong.
Game openings are Diplomacy and Treachery, but I’m open to suggestion. I guess that’s all I’ve got to say this month,
so I’ll close with the usual: see you in September!
Peanuts for Breakfast
Growing
up, we all got used to my mother being in the hospital. I knew that whenever she was pregnant and
about to have a baby, she would disappear for a week and then return with my
little brother or sister. But there were
other times that my father would tell us Mom was “in the hospital.” I’ve tried very hard to remember, but I
simply have no memory of ever asking (or having it explained to me) why she was
there. She was simply “sick.” I also don’t recall worrying about whether
she would get well or not. Perhaps it
was my father’s attitude (both openly and unconscious) which removed any fear
that she was terminally ill. Or maybe I
just didn’t care. But on at least four
occasions while we lived in Connecticut, she would be “in the hospital” for a
few weeks at a time. It wasn’t until my
teenage years that I realized those trips to the hospital were to mental wards.
There
are a few which stick out as more memorable than the others. One would be the time when my father was
working in Chicago and had been admitted to the hospital with an unknown
illness (later to be diagnosed as both hepatitis and diabetes). I came home from school and was told by a
neighbor that mom was “in the hospital.”
For the next 10 days or so, the Kent children basically were on our own
– with some occasional outside assistance from the neighborhood. Quite a few classic memories took place over
those 10 days. But those are stories for
another day.
Instead,
in this particular instance, my father was home taking care of the six of us
the best he could. He was still working
50 hours a week or more, plus commuting into New York City. Mom had been “in the hospital” for a week or
so, and when the weekend rolled around, he decided he’d go visit her and bring
the children with him. As I recall, Paul
(the oldest) has some prior obligation, or else he simply didn’t want to go. And I think the hospital would only permit
one child to visit at a time. Not
wanting to leave us at home alone, Dad figured him and my youngest brother Jon
would go to the hospital, and in the meantime he’d drop the rest of us off at a
nearby movie theater to see Superman, which had been out for a while by
then. In my childhood eyes, it seemed
like we were in some major city such as New York, but I have a sneaking
suspicion with was simply a more urban section of Danbury, Connecticut.
Left
to our own devices, it was common practice to search the house for whatever
food was available. Treasure hunts in
the pantry usually resulted in unsuccessful experiments (learning that food
items such as baker’s chocolate or dry flour were not very edible on their
own), but sometimes you’d stumble on some old cookies, cereal which wasn’t
stale, or some other prize. It was
through hunts like this that I developed the habit of eating brown sugar by the
spoonful out of the box. Eventually I
learned to take the entire box to my room and keep it there. Molasses was another source of sustenance, by
the spoonful or poured over anything readily available. Bread was generally moldy, crammed into the
metal bread box with all of the other moldy loaves until nothing else could be
packed in there (why it never occurred to any of us to throw the moldy bread
away, I have no idea). In the freezer
you might find a frozen waffle or frozen pancake – sort of like winning on a
scratch-off lottery ticket. Old ice cream
of a less popular flavor, or some sherbet with serious freezer burn, was
usually around. Eggs and milk were best
avoided, unless they were of a recent vintage; better luck was usually found
with processed cheese slices, as they did not age quite so fast. If the cheese was old, you could break off the
dried edges and just eat the center portion.
Cans of soup were rare, but powdered Lipton’s soup mix (Giggle Noodle
being the favorite) came in handy, and had eternal shelf life.
On
this particular morning, I think I went without breakfast altogether. I figured we’d be given a couple of bucks for
popcorn, and with any luck Dad would stop at McDonald’s on the way home (my
brother Andy and myself could each put away five of the single-patty hamburgers
without a problem, when given the opportunity). My youngest sister Allison, however, seemed
particularly hungry on this morning, and found herself an orange can of
salt-free dry peanuts in the pantry.
Somehow she managed to consume the entire 8-ounce can, stuffing it into
her three-year-old’s stomach. The rest
of the family made do with what they could find, and then we dressed in
near-clean clothes and prepared for the trip to the hospital.
We
climbed into Dad’s Dodge Aries-K and started off. This was a new car for him, and in particular
I though the plush red interior looked (and felt) quite luxurious. For all I know it could have been a used
junker, but I thought it was a very beautiful automobile. There was the typical squabbling in the car
on the way, but in general we all seemed rather subdued. Looking back (and using childhood photos as a
guide), I can only imagine what a sight we were to “normal people”, with mussed
stringy hair, mismatched clothes, and dirty faces. But for us it was just another day, more
exciting than most.
Dad
dropped us off at the theater, buying us tickets and having the usher bring us
inside. At the last minute he gave Andy
– the oldest of us at the movies – the phone number of the hospital, in case of
an emergency. Then Dad and Jon left,
leaving myself, Andy, Allison, and Antonia there to enjoy the show. At the time, Superman was regarded as a
terrific movie, and I really liked it.
The parts in the beginning with Marlon Brando were boring, but once
Christopher Reeve donned his Superman cape and started flying around, it was
great fun.
About
halfway through, as Superman and Lois Lane are flying around in the evening
together, Allison announced that her stomach hurt. We were sitting in the front row of the
theater, but as this was an early weekend matinee of a film that had been out
for some time, I think there were only five or ten other patrons scattered
throughout the other rows. We shushed
Allison and tried to go on watching the action on the screen, but her squirming
and moaning became a distraction.
Suddenly
her entire body tensed up and her mouth opened wide. Like something out of The Exorcist, a steady
stream of vomit spewed from her head and landed three feet away on the cinema
floor. Of course, some of it wound up on
her clothes; the smell from this evil
brew of apple juice, peanuts, and stomach acid was quite something to
experience. Incredibly, once Allison
stopped crying, we remained in our seats to watch more of the movie. But one of the other patrons had alerted the
usher, who herded us out to the lobby and demanded we arrange to get ourselves
out of there before Mount Allison had another eruption.
Andy
went to the phone booth and called the hospital. Not yet a teenager, he nonetheless displayed
the anger, intolerance, and impatience the Kent males have made famous in the
decades that followed. After some
difficulty getting the payphone to accept his dime, he dialed and connected
with the hospital.
“I
need to be connected with Susan Kent’s room right away. Her daughter is sick and needs to be picked
up.”
“I’m
sorry, we don’t have a Mrs. Susan admitted here at this hospital.”
“Not
Susan. Kent! Mrs. Kent!”
“Let
me check. No, we don’t have a Mrs. Lent
here, I am sorry.”
“No! Kent!
K-E-N-T. K as in Kite, E as in
Edward, N as in Nice, and T as in Timothy!”
“I’m
sorry, I’m checking, but we don’t have a Mrs. Kite here.”
“Is
there somebody else there I can speak to?
Somebody who understands English and isn’t a moron?”
Amazingly,
they didn’t hang up on him for that remark, and after being switched to another
operator, he managed to locate my mother and tell Dad about what happened. Fifteen minutes later, he arrived, with Jon
in tow. The hospital visit had to be cut
short. We climbed into the car and
headed home.
Along
the way, however, another memorable scene played itself out. Allison’s clothes had dried out a bit, but
they still smelled awful, so we were driving with the windows open despite the
shill in the air. Allison, sitting in
the back seat directly behind my father, announced that she was going to be
sick again. I looked at her, amazed; I
couldn’t imagine there could be anything left in her stomach after she had left
a gallon of toxic waste at the movie theater.
Unfortunately, we were on a busy road with no place to turn off, and no
shoulder. Besides, there was no
time. She was ready to blow.
“No
Allison, not in the car!” my father cried out.
I guess he realized from the stench on Allison’s clothes that if she
erupted, the smell would never come out of the plus upholstery, to say nothing
of the acidic stain it would leave. So
he did the only thing he could think of in that moment of panic. Gripping the steering wheel with his knees,
he twisted his body around, cupped his hands, and magically caught nearly every
drop of her vomit, with the few drops he missed falling harmlessly onto her
already-soiled clothes. Twisting forward
again, all in one fluid motion that had taken no more than four seconds, he
shook the peanuts and stomach acid off of his hands out the open window. The car was saved, Allison’s stomach was
empty, and we went on home. I felt kind
of gypped, because we didn’t get to go to McDonald’s after all, and because it
would be a few years before I was able to see the end of Superman. But that didn’t matter. How could the end of the movie be any more
exciting then what I had just witnessed?
Savage Grace – At times, taking
a voyeuristic look at a wealthy and twisted family can be a terrifying but
hypnotic experience; you don’t want to look, but you cannot turn away. Savage Grace, the new film applying that
microscope to the wealthy Baekeland family – and the eventual murder of wife
Barbara (Julianne Moore) by her son – carries with it tremendous promise. But its attempt to remain detached from the
otherworldly fog that hovers over the family keeps the viewer completely
detached as well. And the movie suffers
for that.
Barbara
is a former department store clerk who has married into the family, to Brooks
(Stephen Dillane), who is going to inherit the estate. From the very beginning we see how highly she
values the social circles the family travels in. While Brooks shows disdain for social
trappings (and mentions feeling like a “monkey” for being scheduled to
participate without consultation or approval), Barbara delights in them, and is
constantly trying to manipulate one person or another into building a
successful dinner or party. Touched on
only briefly is how Brooks’ grandfather was more interested in creating wealth
and producing, while his father was the one who became bogged down in the world
of European travels and glorified royalty.
Add
to the mix their only child, Tony. At
first a spoiled momma’s boy, his burgeoning homosexuality drives his father away
nearly as quickly as does his mother’s fragile mental state. Eventually Brooks abandons the family in
every way but financial, setting up house with a young Spanish woman who had
originally been attracted to a teenaged Tony.
This crushes Barbara, more from the threat of losing her social standing
than anything else. Tony, meanwhile,
continues to search for the fatherly approval he has never felt.
As
the plot spirals downward into social taboos and insanity, we’re left feeling
very little – if anything – for the family or its members. By trying not to dig too deeply, Savage Grace
misses its mark.
The X-Files: I Want
to Believe
– Heather and I have been working our way through each season of the X-Files
over the past six months, including the first movie Fight the Future placed in
its appropriate spot. So when we learned
that there was a new X-Files movie about to be released, reuniting Scully and
Mulder, we were quite excited about it.
It didn’t have to be some major global-conspiracy-alien-invasion
movie…just a good monster of the week.
Judged
on that basis – as an episode from the series – it is middle-of-the-road. But as a feature-length movie, it doesn’t
hold up all that well. I wouldn’t
classify it as a failure; it just isn’t that good. No longer with the FBI, Scully (Gillian
Anderson) now works as a doctor, while Mulder (David Duchovny) lives in
solitude, a bearded recluse who still clips articles from newspapers and tacks
them to his walls. When an FBI agent
goes missing, and a psychic pedophile former priest is somehow able to supply
the FBI with information, the Bureau approaches Scully to ask her for help in
getting Mulder to assist on the case.
Exactly why Mulder is required is never fully explained…the typical
“ignore the phony psychic” company line at the FBI is just a bit too
predictable.
Eventually
the plot bogs down into a combination of religious conviction, stem-cell
experimentation, and black-market organ donation. The once razor-sharp Mulder/Scully chemistry
has dulled quite a bit over the years, and those unfamiliar with the last few
seasons of the series may have unanswered questions about where their
relationship is now, and how far it progressed in the past.
Despite
all of these misgivings, I wasn’t completely disappointed by the movie. Perhaps it was just a recognition that I
don’t seem to be properly wired for most of the new releases these days. Comparing I Want to Believe to the coming
attractions I had to sit through beforehand, aside from the upcoming Coen
Brothers film (with George Clooney, Brad Pitt, and Francis McDormand) I’d
rather sit through this X-Files film again than see any of them for the first
time. But that is less a recommendation
of The X-Files as it is a condemnation of Hollywood.
Seen
on DVD
– Teeth (C-, semi-funny
semi-horror-movie with a feminist bent about a girl who is born with teeth in
her “girly parts”. I had much higher
expectations). 1776 (B+, the 1972 musical in a restored director’s cut, including
the supposedly “destroyed forever” song Cool, Considerate Men. Still a great way to learn about the days
leading up to the Declaration of Independence being written, voted on, and
signed). The Mist (B-, this adaptation of a Stephen King story was properly
creepy and surreal the whole way through, but in typical Hollywood style they
decided to tack on an ending, which really took the wind out of the last 30
minutes). Invasion of the Body Snatchers (B-, this is the 1978 version
starring Donald Sutherland. The film
holds up rather well, with a creepy and dark atmosphere. But the production simply REEKS of the 70’s,
especially the awful score of blaring trumpets and minor-key music. That makes you feel like you’re watching a
made-for-television quickie). After Innocence (B+, a bit dated but
still a moving portrait of people wrongly convicted, released on DNA evidence). Labyrinth
(B+, corny but always funny, with a young Jennifer Connelly, a decked-out David
Bowie, a screenplay by Monty Python’s Terry Jones, and a bunch of Jim Henson
creations). Creepshow (A-, still the best of the series, and the best acting
job Stephen King has ever done. I can
probably quote this entire movie from start to finish). American
Splendor (A-, an awesome film. I
identify with Harvey Pekar far too closely to be healthy. When we first saw this film, Heather said it
was like watching me on a movie screen).
Elephants on Acid by Alex Boese – A very entertaining book revealing some
of the oddest, most outrageous, or most provocative experiments of science
through the 1960’s. Some of the
experiments are simply gross, such as the doctor who used to drink the vomit of
yellow fever patients to prove it was not contagious. Others were created to study common beliefs,
such as the idea that the average dog will summon help in the case of an
emergency. But the best sections of the
book, for me, were those that studied human behavior. Why will we rush to help someone when we are
the only one who can do so, but sit idly by when there are others, believing
they’ll take care of it so we don’t have to?
Why are we willing to submit to authority, doing terrible things when
directed to by a man in a lab coat? In a
few cases, you’ll be motivated to do further reading, but by itself this is a
very enjoyable book, and I highly recommend it.
Give it an A-.
Born Standing Up by Steve Martin –Growing up, I had my “holy trilogy”
of comics, and I used to go to sleep most nights with an LP by one of them on
the turntable. There was Bill Cosby, the
storyteller. There was the recently
departed George Carlin, who could make me laugh constantly and force me to look
at things in a different way, especially the English language itself. And there was Steve Martin, the guy who took
crazy turns when you least expected it, but which seemed to make perfect sense
after the fact. This book is an
autobiography of the early days of his career, from working at Disneyland to
small theater work, up to his big breakthrough as a stand-up comic. Martin’s writing style is very dry and
soft-spoken, which I think is most likely a reflection of his personality in
private. I did find some of the stories
and anecdotes quite interesting, especially those describing the people and
places he learned his craft from, and how suddenly and overwhelmingly
mega-stardom hit after years of lack of notice.
Martin draws a line between his movie years and his stand-up years, both
in terms of career and as who he was as a person at the time. Overall I enjoyed it, and I think if you were
a fan of his stand-up years you might like the book as well. Let’s give it a B+.
Vampire Kisses 5: The
Coffin Club by Ellen Schreiber – Good,
lighthearted teenage vampire fun. As
good as the rest of the series. 4
pumpkins. 
A Child Called “It” by Dave Pelzer – A very good, and very disturbing,
detailed account of child abuse. It is
surprising how cruel people can be, but in a way not so surprising
anymore. I want to read the next book,
The Lost Boy. 4 ½ pumpkins. 
The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch – Maybe if I wasn’t such a hater I would
have found this book more profound.
While I enjoyed it, reading the book was not a life-changing experience
for me. 3 ½ pumpkins.
The Locket by Richard Paul Evans – This was a wonderful love story,
but also suspenseful. I really enjoyed
the message that we can learn a lot from the elderly. 4 ½ pumpkins.
Where the Heart Is by Billie Letts – A very quirky, amusing down-to-earth
book about a homeless girl who lives in, and gives birth in, a Wal-Mart. 4
pumpkins.
A Bend in the Road by Nicholas Sparks – This book was decent, but not at
all up to the standard of The Notebook or The Wedding. It just didn’t have “it.” 3 ½ pumpkins.
The Memory Keeper’s
Daughter by Kim Edwards – While this was
still a very good book, I was anticipating liking this book more than I
did. It was moving, but not to the depth
at which I had hoped. 4 pumpkins.
Been There, Done
That by Carol Snow – Ugh. I forced myself to finish this book. Just skip it.
1 ½ pumpkins.
Lucky by Alice Sebold – Extremely moving, true account of one
woman’s rape, and the eventual conviction of her rapist. 4 ½ pumpkins.
The Greatest Worst
Movies You’ve Never Seen – Chapter Two:
“Humanoids From the
Deep”
If you are at all
familiar with the B-films of the great Roger Corman, you have probably seen
this classic mess of a movie. Typical
for films of its genre: a B-movie plot for the ages, consisting of a
controversial new cannery being built in a fishing village, scientific
experiments attempting to accelerate the salmon’s growth, race issues between
the locals and the Native Americans…and goopy green monsters. What else could you need?
Vic
Morrow appears (before he lost his head) as Hank Slattery, the local tough guy
and racist. He wants the cannery built
(by the generic “Canaco”) and is willing to do whatever it takes to see it
happens, including terrorizing Johnny Eagle, the Native American
fisherman. Also along for this wild ride
are Doug McClure and and Cindy Weintraub, the level-headed couple who are
open-minded on both the cannery and the appearance of these humanoids. Then there is the obligatory scientist (Ann
Turkel) who has been warning Canaco about the potential for these humanoids.
You
can pretty much guess the rest.
Monsters, killing, gratuitous topless scenes (the humanoids want to mate
with human women). Low budget to the
last, the lighting is poor and the sound suggests the entire film was shot
using one boom mike, so any character not in the center of the shot is hard to
hear. The editing is erratic, cutting
back and forth in ways that make no sense or defy logic. I suppose reshoots were never considered; in
one scene Johnny Eagle’s dog has been killed, but when one of Slattery’s
henchmen pick it up, the dog can clearly be seen wagging his tail.
All
in all, this movie is a perfect specimen of the 1970’s and 1980’s schlock
horror. But because it takes itself
seriously, it is deathly funny as well, and a real treat to watch. I believe it is not available on DVD in the
US, but can still be found on VHS, and I think in other parts of the world
DVD’s are available.
The
strangest thing about this film is that it was remade in 1996, starring Emma
Samms and Robert Carradine. Hollywood
will never cease surprising me.
Berend Renken: Regarding drinking one's own urine: this
is an odd but probably not unhealthy practice (contrary to, for instance,
eating one's own poo). Urine is mostly germ-free, and some people believe
that drinking one's own urine in the morning strengthens the immune system.
[[Well I don’t know if it does or not,
but I am sure of one thing: it doesn’t strengthen the digestive system of those
around you! Ugh!]]
John Colledge: It was great
to see Richard Walkerdine's name go past. I can confirm that he was snogging
Kath at Manorcon one year, but what was really worrying was, I am sure her
husband Danny was nearby at the time! Stir it up? Moi? Perish the thought. I
wonder if he, (Richard that is) still chases after lay lines?
[[It seems a little late for Richard to claim
innocence in that front, as it has been confirmed hobby fact for years. I know I’ll never let him get anywhere near
Heather…he simply cannot be trusted!]]
Richard has much to answer for actually, as he
allowed me space in Mad Policy to write a couple of articles, and encouraged me
to play Railway Rivals, and from there I never looked back! I started to write
film reviews then TBNS, (the only sub-zine with a split personality - it
appeared in Will it Lead to Trouble and Arfle Barfle Gloop) was born. 20+ years
and 200+ issues later, it still trundles on, though for how much longer I am
not sure.
[[Don’t worry, one day he will pay for his
sins. Richard should probably start
saving up good karma for that moment right away!]]
Diplomacy (Black Press): Signed up: Melinda
Holley, need six more to fill.
Treachery Diplomacy (Black Press): Signed up: None,
needs seven more to fill. Rules on
request.
I may offer
another Gunboat 7x7 soon, so keep your eyes open. Other options are a game of Woolworth, Youngstown
or some other map variant. Also thinking
about a game of Kremlin. If you have
requests please let me know.
Diplomacy
“Wouldn’t It Be Nice?” 2008A, Autumn/Winter 1902
Austria
(Kevin Wilson): Build F Trieste.
England
(Jérémie LeFrançois): Build F Edinburgh.
France
(Alexander Levinson): Build F Brest.
Germany
(Graham Wilson): Retreat F Holland - Helgoland Bight, Remove F
Helgoland Bight.
Italy
(Don Williams): No activity.
Russia
(Melinda Holley): Build F St. Petersburg (sc), A Warsaw.
Turkey
(Brad Wilson): No activity.
Unit locations:
Austria:
A Budapest, A Bulgaria, F
Greece, A Serbia, F Trieste, A Vienna.
England:
F Belgium, F Denmark, F
Edinburgh, F North Sea, A Yorkshire.
France:
F Brest, A Holland, A
Marseilles, A Paris, A Picardy, F Spain(sc).
Germany:
A Kiel, A Ruhr.
Italy:
F Gulf of Lyon, F
Mid-Atlantic Ocean, A Munich, A Piedmont, F Tyrrhenian Sea.
Russia:
A Moscow, F Norway, A
Rumania, F Sevastopol, F St Petersburg(sc), A Ukraine, A Warsaw.
Turkey:
F Black Sea, A
Constantinople, A Smyrna.
Spring 1903 Deadline is August 26th 2008 at 7:00am
PRESS
Somewhere
West of the Hobby…The Empty Heart - “Wouldn’t it be nice
if they paid their tab before they left?” grumbled S’ym from behind the bar.
Ooom Pa-Pa, Ooom
Pa-pa, Ooom Pa-pa.
The irritatingly
cheery sound reverberated through the walls of the Heart of Darkness Saloon,
the window panes rattled in their frames and bottles of liquor shimmied
precariously on the shelves behind the bar; the “twenty year old” Scotch in
severe peril. Every head had turned to
look at the doors and through the windows, and the hub-bub and excitement of
the revue dissipated, spent and gone against this new intervention. The loud trumpeting of an elephant seemed to
be the trigger; the patrons got up from their seats. Miss Kitty, still stopped in “mid-song” at
the base of the stairs, in the midst of her grand finale, watched as the stream
of customers, and their money, filed out the swinging doors of the
saloon; the Heart emptied out.
S’ym glanced around
the suddenly quiet, almost empty saloon, eyed the few remaining patrons. Miss Kitty, hands on sumptious hips, stood
simmering. The Duke, duck feather like a
flag on his hat, standing at the bar sipping a sasparilla, one eye on the
door. Cookie, sitting at a suddenly
empty table; rubbing his hands together in front of some stacks of suddenly
unattended poker chips. The singing
cowboy, Bolt Cimmaron, moving towards the door, caught Miss Kitty’s angry
glare.
“Well, I always did
enjoy a good show,” said the cowboy, almost sheepishly.
“Fine, then go, the
lot of you,” Miss Kitty snapped, waving one hand angrily in the air ushering
them out. With that, the last of her
more loyal, or fearful patrons, exited the saloon. S’ym took the opportunity to go outside and
check out what was going on. The Maestro
practically skipped. Tin Ear grabbed his
horn and limped toward the door. Cookie
left, seeming to click and rattle more than he normally did. Even Bruno left the piano and eased through
the swinging doors. Robert, who hadn’t
been seen since issue 15, eased out after him, still essentially unseen. Which left only Miss Kitty…and the Duke of
Death.
“You don’t want to
go outside yerself? I hear they have an
elephant,” Miss Kitty, still angry, practically threw the words at the
gunslinger.
“I’ve seen the
elephant,” replied the Duke, with his slow and measured words. He crossed one unspurred boot casually over
the other, as he leaned backwards, his elbows upon the bar.
“Well then, perhaps
you want to see the show?” Miss Kitty
crossed the saloon with a slow sashay, bringing her closer to the bar where the
Duke relaxed. She came within range of
his famously sensitive nose and his nostrils flared at the scent of the Chateau
le Bimbeaux French perfume she wore.
“You were putting on
quite the show yourself there,” replied the Duke.
A smile crept across
Miss Kitty’s lips, and with a slow, lazy wave of her hand she indicated the
empty tables and chairs. “It didn’t seem to take.” By now Miss Kitty’s saunter
had brought her right up next to the gunslinger; the silk of her long gown
brushing against the sleeve of his arm, the coarser fabric of his pants, and
his…gun.
“Ah, the public can
be fickle in it’s tastes. It’s an
effervescent span of attention,” waxed the gunslinger. “They want what is new and trendy, just
arrived and out of the box. Red is the
“new black”, what new star is having their fifteen pages of fame, what’s hot
now. Me, I always put my faith into the
two time tested standards…”
“Tits and ass?”
“Substance and
meaning.” Both had finished at the same time.
The two stared
blankly at each other in the momentary disconnect.
Miss Kitty shook her
head, as if to clear it, “I always forget you were an English major. You know,
before you started killing people.”
“That’s okay, I
always forget you were a slut…I mean, before you turned pro. Err, I mean that in the good way.”
“Enchante’, “
replied Miss Kitty, and she lifted the champagne glass in her hand, as if in
toast. The Duke raised his sasparilla in
his salute.
“But, seeing as how
this is Diplomacy press…” said Miss Kitty, and left the pause at the end of the
sentence lingering; much longer than the three dots would usually indicate…
“Then we should
probably go with the tits and ass?” proffered the Duke, a little slow on the
cue.
She pressed the full
rounded whiteness of her breasts that bulged from the top of her gown into his
chest. They compressed against his gambler’s
jacket and vest as she got close enough to whisper lightly in his face, “That’s
the route I’d take.”
“This is practically
soft porn,” said the gunslinger, he had to adjust his derringer in his suddenly
tightening jeans.
“Soft? Soft wasn’t what I had in
mind,” answered Miss Kitty. She leaned away from him and swiveled at the waist,
her breasts ponderously swaying. “Did I ever show you my Yorkshire opening?”
“I didn’t know you
were English.”
“I’m not, but I’ve
played English before,” she leaned back into his face again, “dressed up like a
Beefeater,” she clicked her teeth together, then licked her lips. “Wouldn’t you like a little Beefeater?”
“I’m not much of a
gin man,” answered the Duke.
“I’ve been a
German,” said Miss Kitty, “all black leather and thigh high boots. I can tie a good knot…” She raised one eyebrow inquiringly.
“I chafe,” replied
the Duke.
“I have it,” said
Miss Kitty with sudden inspiration, “you can pretend to be Italian, a brave
Alpine condottiere.” She lifted his chin
with one finger to show the correct heroic posture. “I’ll be a cold and haughty Russian
Princess.” She stood up straighter, to
emphasize her haughtiness…and the tightness of her dress. “Draped in sable and…not much else. Then the Austrian Lancers will attack. They’ll come on their horses and they’ll
ravish me?”
“The horses?”
“The Lancers,”
replied Miss Kitty, after an almost imperceptible pause for thought of old
Blue, “then you come and rescue me.
After ten minutes,” another brief pause, “no, twenty minutes, you break
in on us, fight off the Austrians and save my honor.” She dramatically twirled, placing the back of
one hand against her forehead and swooned into his arms. “Or what’s left of
it.”
He was holding an
armful of sumptuous beauty with a full, and up-close, view of her ample
breasts, which heaved in their faux distress of the Austrian attack. His gaze moved up past the full glossy red
lips and his eyes met her eyes. He said
in his best Italian accent,
“Ciao, bellagioia.”
By
Popular Demand
Credit goes to Ryk Downes, I
believe, for inventing this game (although his original version had the GM
supply the starting letter as well). The
goal is to pick something that fits the category and will be the "most
popular" answer. You score points based on the number of entries that
match yours. For example, if the category is "Cats" and the responses
were 7 for Persian, 3 for Calico and 1 for Siamese, everyone who said Persian
would get 7 points, Calico 3 and the lone Siamese would score 1 point. The
cumulative total over 10 rounds will determine the overall winner. Anyone may
enter at any point, starting with an equivalent point total of the lowest
cumulative score from the previous round. If a person misses a round, they'll
receive the minimum score from the round added to their cumulative total. And,
if you want to submit some commentary with your answers, feel free to. The game will consist of 10 rounds. A prize will be awarded to the winner.
