Ravings of a Textual Deviant

A whole new twist on cybersex.

I’ve been off the gaming writing exercise meme for some time, but here’s one I couldn’t resist.

Do a mock review of a game that doesn’t exist, but you think really ought to. Readers are encouraged to let the author of the review know if this game exists in another form somewhere.

His Dark Materials, based on the trilogy of the same name by Philip Pullman, is an appropriate-for-all-ages RPG that focuses on problem-solving. Set in an alternate Oxford—among other alternate dimensions—the setting is fabulously detailed. Character classes include adventurers, witches, Gyptians (Gypsies), students, magicians, and “natural philosophers.” Furthermore, each character’s soul manifests as a “daemon,” which takes the form of an intelligent animal. Although a bit pricy at $50, the basic set includes enough information to run a campaign in several different locations, a starter adventure to the land of the Panzerbjorn, gorgeous full-color maps, and a CD-ROM with a character-gen program and plenty of other goodies.

(To the best of my knowledge, the game does not exist.)

I suppose that this would eliminate the need for a night-light. And possibly help the gents improve their aim.

Me: I wonder what would happen if you locked [Annoying Person X] and [Annoying Person Y] in a room together with a bottle of Drano.

Nate: The bottle of Drano would commit suicide.

“I took multisymptom cold medicine even though I didn’t have all the symptoms.”

I’ve caught Ed’s cold, and so far, it’s not as bad for me as it was for him. Still, it was sufficiently unpleasant for me to take multisymptom cold medicine yesterday afternoon. As usual, it knocked me out cold, and I woke up to a dark room around 7:30. Problem was, I didn’t know if was 7:30 AM or 7:30 PM. Ed got home from work not long thereafter, which answered my question, but I was still muzzy-headed enough that I wasn’t entirely sure what day it was. Ed said something about watching football, and I said, “I thought that there wasn’t any football on Tuesday nights.” Ed peered at me and said, “It’s Monday. October 18th. 2002.”

Pause.

Pause.

Pause.

Me: “Hey, wait a minute!”

At least I slept well.

Wallpaper is especially evil when it’s put up over unprimed drywall, as anyone who has tried to remove wallpaper from unprimed drywall can tell you. I bring this up because, four years after my own wallpaper ordeal, Ed found the link above and sent it to me. This brought back the entire experience in a flash, and I’m afraid I whimpered and had to medicate myself heavily before I continued to type. I’m better now.

When we moved into the house, there was a lot of ugly wallpaper—ugly paint, too, but that’s a different ordeal story. In fact, some of the wallpaper was so unbelievably ugly that I saved samples of it as proof. Even the rooms that had either paint or primer under the paper were a nightmare; the stuff simply would not come off in pieces larger than inch-long, half-inch-wide curls. The floor of my office looked like the bottom of a gerbil cage by the time I’d stripped as much paper as would consent to go. (Unfortunately, as the carpet is Barbie-pink, the wallpaper-shred look was an improvement.)

Ed’s office (which Sean called the “Cyndi Lauper room,” on first seeing it) was the worst, though. The wallpaper wasn’t so bad, as far as early-80s patterns go; teal, hot pink, and purple confetti-like circles, triangles, and squares printed on a white background. The real tragedy in that room was the border, which featured fashion-sketch drawings of teenage girls in legwarmers and miniskirts; teenage girls wearing Walkmans (Walkmen?); teenage girls dancing…perhaps nine or ten different images repeating around the room like the frieze on a Greek temple, if nymphs and godesses had worn leggings, scrunchies, and oversize sweaters, and had slumber parties.

The border came down easily (before it damaged my retinas, even) and I was quickly lulled into a false sense of security. The first three walls I worked on were also very easy. It’s the fourth wall that defeated me. I hit unprimed drywall, and it was all over for me. The wallpaper paste had formed a molecular bond with the drywall surface unlike any other known to physics. I am firmly convinced that when the apocalypse comes, the wallpaper will still be standing long after the wall itself is gone. You can’t soak or steam it off without ruining the drywall. (Did I mention that drywall soaks up water like a f***ing sponge?) I’ve had just enough experience with drywall to know that I don’t ever want to mess with it again, so I gave up. And on that day, I swore that if there isn’t already a special place in hell for people who put wallpaper on unprimed drywall, I was going to make one when I got there.

Then, I taped and mudded the seams, primed like there was no tomorrow, and painted over the wallpaper. I’m told that under most circumstances, this is a bad idea because the weight of the paint pulls the paper off the wall. Not a problem in this case. The paint job isn’t half bad, although there is a bit of wall that has something of a stucco texture. And if you come over to my house, I’ll be happy to show you the Cyndi Lauper wallpaper and border, just to prove that I couldn’t possibly invent something that awful on my own.

Look, I’m a witch! I’m a ballerina! I’m a bimbo! All rolled into one overpriced costume!

Does anyone who’s finished high school really wear this sort of thing?

In which the TransAmerica Team finds itself spending rather more time in Atlanta than previously anticipated, and discovers that their lost luggage has a fellow traveler.

Not easily deterred by stolen baggage, the TransAmerica Team got itself settled into a hotel, reported the theft, and set about replacing the stolen items. It was also suggested that each person obtain a protective religious emblem, if such a precaution had not already been taken. Furthermore, a decision was taken to travel rather more lightly in the future.

Mr. Laughton contacted his spiritual advisor and received notice of a meeting in the notorious Night Market* of the Atlanta Underground. Our Mr. Laughton may be reckless, but he’s not suicidal, and therefore undertook to notify his compatriots that he would be “out,” and asked Dr. Hu to accompany him to the rendez-vous. The good doctor’s need for obscure materia medica—and perhaps a bit of curiosity—overwhelmed his usual good sense, and he agreed. Mr. Laughton’s spiritual advisor turned out to be a voudoun priestess, and she conveyed the latest gossip in the underground; namely, that Mr. Laughton’s party was not the only one to have lost luggage. Rumors suggested that “the Marquis” (vampire king of Atlanta) had taken an interest in a certain item. Shocked and dismayed, Mr. Laughton was entirely unable to remember all sorts of fascinating bits of information about the Marquis. Furthermore, the entire city of Atlanta had been mystically sealed by unknown authorities, in hopes of preventing the missing item from leaving the general vicinity.

The morning paper confirmed that something had indeed gone missing; the purported Wells Fargo men with their mysterious large, black case, were indeed legitimate Wells Fargo couriers. They were conveying General Lee’s cavalry sabre to Atlanta, where it would be incorporated into the foundation of the Robert E. Lee Memorial Lighthouse (the design of which was based upon the latest scientific speculations of the appearance of the Lighthouse at Alexandria.) Unfortunately, neither the couriers nor the sabre made it to the designated point of arrival.

Our Heroes are responsible citizens, and half the group immediately took such information as they had back to the police station where they had previously reported the theft of their own bags, whilst the others wired Mr. Isaac Guggenheim for additional funds. Upon arrival, both groups found extensive lines. Fortunately, the telegraph lines both into and out of Atlanta were working. After a two-hour wait, Mrs. Atwood (accompanied by Dr. Hu and Mr. Carl) managed to send her telegram, apprising their sponsor of their “situational difficulties” (as a certain individual might phrase it.) Meanwhile, at the police station, Mr. Laughton, Miss Kingston, and Mrs. Anderson waited in a long line of self-proclaimed witnesses to the theft. They were immediately preceded by a gentleman who claimed to have seen the angelic form of Robert E. Lee himself descend from Heaven to claim his flaming sword.

Finally, after an abortive attempt to buy explosives, (a Pennsylvania permit is hardly sufficient in the State of Georgia) the entire team collected its various and sundry vampire-hunting equipment and prepared to head into the Underground.

Quote of the Game: “Possession was nine-tenths of the law that night.” (Referring to Mrs. Atwood’s unfortunate escapade.)

*Yes, blatantly stolen from Neverwhere. You should know by now that I’m not above stealing a good idea for private entertainment.

The odds of a book about punctuation becoming a best-seller are, as Douglas Adams so wonderfully put it, about those of a whelk in a supernova. And yet, not only has it happened, I have to say that it bloody well deserves to be there and is a very enjoyable read.

Seriously.

I thought I was the only person who noticed that the apostrophe was missing in the Hugh Grant/Sandra Bullock film Two Weeks Notice. [sic.] Even if I didn’t have a general dislike of romantic comedies, I don’t think I could have made myself go see a film with such a blatant punctuation error in the title. I mean, really, if Warner Brothers can afford Hugh Grant and Sandra Bullock, surely they can afford a proofreader! (Email me–reasonable rates.) Fortunately, I am not; the author’s photo on the back jacket flap shows her about to deface that very movie poster. She goes on to demonstrate the correct (British) use of the apostrophe, comma, period, exclamation point, question mark, colon, semicolon, quote marks, hyphens, and dashes. As the author notes in the introduction, “you have nothing to lose but your sense of proportion.” And as I rather doubt I ever had one, I’m in. Eats, Shoots & Leaves is not just readable; it’s enjoyable—and when was the last time you heard that about a grammar book? (Strunk and White’s primary virtue is that it’s concise.)

One of the things I appreciated most was that the North American edition is not Americanized, (or should that be “Americanised”?) because it would’ve ruined the entire tone of the book if it had been. It’s delightfully, unabashedly British. Most of the punctuation rules are the same; the major exception being what one does with an end mark (period, exclamation point, question mark) that’s teamed up with quotes at the end of the sentence. I’ve discovered that I prefer the British method, and as 99% of people in North America have no idea what to do about it anyway, I’m very tempted to propagate that meme.

For the record, the panda joke doesn’t actually appear in the text, though it’s referenced in the cover illustration.