my mental sieve...
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| Evil Wayne my mental sieve... |
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Monday, January 30, 2006 Survey Fun Welcome to the 2006 edition of getting to know your friends. What you are supposed to do is copy (not forward) this entire e-mail and paste it onto a new e-mail that you'll send. Change all the answers so they apply to you, and then send this to a whole bunch of people including the person who sent it to you. The theory is that you will learn a lot of little things about your friends, if you did not know them already. 1. What time did you get up this morning? 7:22, but my clock is 10 mins fast. 2. Diamonds or pearls? Jewelry is for the weak. 3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? Porno Love Vixens, it was gay in all the right ways. 4. What is your favorite TV show? Battlestar Galactic (d o r k). 5. What do you usually have for breakfast? Coffee. 6. Favorite cuisine? Italian. 7. What is your middle name? Spankmonkey. Tragic, I know. 8. What food do you dislike? Carrots or as I like to call them: Bunny-loving-nightmare-sticks. 9. What is your favorite CD at the moment? Kelly Clarkson's, er... Natalie Merchant/Ophelia 10. What kind of car do you drive? That sweet, old-man ride of a Grand Marquis. 11. Favorite sandwich? Hot Girls. 12. What characteristic do you despise? Meglomania and jealousy; it's a tie. 13. Favorite item(s) of clothing? 40-watt phase-plasma pistol, er... hats! 14. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation? City of the Mole People. 15. What color is your bathroom? Urine Yellow. 16. Favorite brand of clothing? Goodwill... or is that not a brand? 17. Where would you retire to? I'm going straight from work to the grave. 18. What was your most memorable birthday? I once spent a b-day trapped in a small box with a very hungry German Shepard. Or were you looking for a pleasant memory? 19. Favorite sport to watch? Does Bud Bowl count? 20. Furthest place you are sending this? California. 21. Who do you least expect to send this back to you? Everyone. 22. Person you expect to send it back first? No one will send it back to me. 23. Favorite saying? Mutherpus-bucket. 24. When is your birthday? October 30th. 25. Are you a morning person or a night person? Night. 26. What is your shoe size? 41.0 EUR 27. Pets: 1 cat that may or may not live through the night. 29. When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up? A fire man. But then I discovered they put *out* fires. Where's the fun in that? 30. How are you today? Busy. But Lisa expect me to be first, and I cannot disappoint. 31. What is your favorite candy? Happy Plums (http://www.bad-candy.com/candies/happyplum/) 32. What is your favorite flower? Triffids. 33. What is a day on the calendar you are looking forward to? Friday. Thanks LisaZ! posted by Evil Wayne | 1:38 PM 4 comments Friday, January 27, 2006 It's A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, Pirate World Finally, we've gotten to the point where we have enough of the rules settled that we can actually post something. Which is cutting it a little close as February starts next week and I haven't given too many details about the game itself except that it's pirate-based. But there are so many factors to worry about. Hell, we haven't been able to get wind and sailing mechanics finished as of yet. But we couldn't really wait much longer and expect people to still have enough time to plan for the game. I've cobbled together a PDF file for the rules. Here's a link to the file: MadPirates_1-5.PDF. It contains the rules as they are right now. I plan on updating it once the wind and sail mechanics are done; I've updated it once already since I posted it. Which is sort of a problem here: Every update will mean invalidating the previous version. Therefore, if you are downloading it now and get a 404 error, it probably means there's a more up-to-date version available. Somewhere before the game is actually played (and most definitely after) there will be a finalize PDF available. If you don't really care about game setup and mechanics, then I present the introductory flavor text here for your amusement (or the RTs, you be the judge): ==== It's A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, Pirate World The De Vette Prostituee was disturbingly empty for an evening. The tavern’s cheap women that normally roamed about the men like crows circling a dead animal, picking and choosing their marks with a sense of superiority, were having a rough night. Each vied for the attention—and the money—of the few men who hadn’t been locked up or fled the port since the first sighting of the Spanish fleet, which was on its way to once again fight over territory for which it had little use. But the men, the skeleton crews from a half-dozen or so ships that were scattered around the harbor, sat in the bar, some drinking heavily. Most seemed too absorbed in wondering how they were supposed to keep a ship afloat once the Spaniards finally arrived. Many lacked the funds to outfit any real escape. The high seas were not what they had once been. The subdued air was disturbed by the dramatic door opening. An old man, dressed in a torn red-and-white striped shirt, pants filthy with dirt and dried seaweed, staggered in and violently crashed to the floor. At first, nobody moved. It was not uncommon for men to stumble into the bar and pass out on the floor. A guard or an attendant of the bar would shove his way through the crowd and remove the man to the outside, where all too often he would remain at closing time. At first, it seemed no different tonight. But as the attendant turned the man’s body over, he gasped so loudly that the patrons simultaneously looked in his direction. Feeling the eyes upon him, he looked up, and with a stunned voice said, “This is Ned Land!” “Ned Land?!?” One of the Brits shouted. “Impossible!” shouted another, possibly Spanish. “Land isn’t much older than me!” Most of the men were on their feet at the name. They rushed forward to the man on the floor. “It is Land! Look at the tattoo!” remarked the German. Clearly enough for all to see was Ned Land’s signature tattoo. “What's happened to him?” cried the Dutch. “He’s gotten so old!” the second Englishman observed. “Who the hell is Ned Land?” one of the men, a first mate on the French ship, asked without getting up. He was finding himself lost having only recently arrived at this small tropical island. The prostitute standing next to him bent down, her bodice hardly containing her full bosom as she shifted the pull of gravity on it, and into his ear she whispered, “Ned was part of the Captain Jack's crew looking for the Orb of the Caribbean, a mystical jewel from the Aztec priesthood. It's supposed to be large and invaluable. They all disappeared over eight months ago.” “Who are you, the narrator?” replied the snooty French sailor. At which the girl harrumphed, turned up her nose, and stormed away. There was a cacophony of men shouting questions at Ned as he lay on the floor. Where had he been? Had he found the Orb? Where was his ship, the Whiteraven? Where was the crew? What was that smell?! There were more, but the maze of languages and accents made it impossible to hear anything coherently. “Shut up!” the Italian finally shouted, “He's trying to say something.” A hush passed over the cluster of men, and a small, strangled voice wavered and cracked, “We found it!” A murmur threatened to extinguish any further conversation, but a series of sharp hushes killed it before it had a chance. “The Orb of the Caribbean,” he said, his hands, shaking and twitching, came up and formed a half-circle in the air, as if he were holding an invisible sphere. “I held it in my hands! My very own hands...” A coughing spat over took him and his whole body seemed to seize with each torturous expulsion of air. “Ugh,” said an Englishman in back. “He looks like he's about to die.” “Where is the orb now?” one of the men closer to Land said. “...a mystical jewel of ungodly power,” Land said, finishing his statement. “And, I did mention it was the size of a watermelon, didn't I?” “Yes, yes,” the Frenchman said. “But where is the orb?” “Captain Jack found it, where no man would have expected... but then,” more coughing, each one seeming to take more of Land's life with it, “... the fog... something... the weather turned terribly bad... We were forced back into the island group.” “He is dying,” someone, possibly the Portugese, whispered. “Quickly, Land! Tell us where the orb is!” the Spaniard demanded. Land coughed and twitched. With his body racked with pain, he convulsed, “After Captain Jack died, the others got the greedy eyes...” “When did Jack die?” someone in the back said to his French counterpart. “Did I miss part of the story?” The counterpart shrugged, annoyed, trying to listen to the old man on the floor. “Then I took the orb, the beautiful orb...” Land started coughing again, as if the act of reaching out his hands to hold a phantom orb resurrected the pain. His breathing was becoming labored. He was now wheezing. “I had to hide it, you see,” he crackled. “I had no choice.” “Where Ned? Where did you hide such a beautiful treasure?” “He is going to croak right now, I tell you,” a voice wafted out in between Land's coughing. “I took it and...,” more coughing and now a splatter of blood. “Oh yeah,” the Spaniard said. “He's going to die alright. Any moment now.” “Shut up, you vile Spanish mongrel!” The Spaniard made a face, but said nothing. Land continued to cough and gag. “I hid it...” “Yes! Yes!” several of the men said in unison, leaning in closer to Land. “I...hid it under a giant letter K,” he gagged. There was total silence. “K?” Eyes darted about. “K,” Land choked. “K for Kasey!” “Who the heck is Kasey?” the Englishman asked to no one specifically. “Wouldn't that be a C?” someone asked. “Shut up!” someone else hissed and the man scowled. “Okay, but I think you spell Casey with a C.” “Will you be quiet?” “Ned!” the Frenchman said, trying to rouse Land, who was clearly fading fast. “Ned, where is this K?” “See?” a voice in the back said, a book suddenly present, “Right here, Casey with a C.” Several people spoke at once, “Shut up!” Land stirred at the yelling. “I'm not long for this world,” he whispered “You got that right,” the Spaniard whispered none too softly. “Ned,” the Frenchman started again. “You hid it under a K? Where is this K?” “It's... it's...,” More coughing. “This is ridiculous,” another Englishman in the back said, “He'll be dead any second.” Land abruptly stopped coughing. He sucked in a great volume of air and spoke quickly. “It's forty leagues south of here. Passing the briny reef and then through the great fog bank.” “The great fog bank?” the Spaniard said with a bit of fear. “You don't mean...” Land was nodding as best he could. “The Collier de la Mort,” and he began a coughing frenzy. Several of the men straighten at the name of the infamous island chain. Eyes darted about at each other as a murmur passed through the crowd. “But...” the Frenchman said nervously, “that area is cursed!” “Ha!” Land laughed, but it came out more as a twisted cough. “It was the only place for the orb to be and there it remains.” He started coughing more blood again. “Under this giant letter K?” the Englishman said with much skepticism. “Yes,” Land said, but he was fading. “Under the K for Kasey,” he said, his voice trailing off. Land seemed to exhale one last time and stopped moving. “I think he's dead,” the Frenchman said. Several men made the sign of the cross. Then, slowly, those who were kneeling, stooping, or sitting stood up. The room was quiet except for the creaking of floorboards as the men shifted their positions around. “Well,” the Englishman spoke. “That area is quite distasteful.” “That's right,” his mate chimed in. “Ships get lost there all the time.” The Frenchman opined, “Yes, the fog is quite dangerous.” The men were formed into a rough circle around Land's body. But with each step to shift their weight, they expanded the circle ever so slightly. “That orb is supposed to be beyond wealth,” the Spaniard said. “And under a K?” the scowling man asked. “I still say Casey is spelled with a C.” The Frenchman was inching towards the doorway. “It's not like having the orb wouldn't be worthwhile. It's just that I value my life a bit more.” “Oh, me, too,” several of the men said at once, eager to agree. “And such a treacherous journey just to get there,” the Englishman offered. “Yes, yes,” the Spaniard agreed. “Where would we find such hearty mates for a voyage, anyway?” And he laughed, but it a false laugh. “And there's no guarantee that Land is telling the truth anyway.” Several men again nodded and grumbled agreement, “Yes, yes! He was so delusional. It's surely to be a fool's errand. It would take you all night to get there only to find nothing.” There was a pause in the banter, and it grew quiet as each seemed to contemplate the events of the night. “Well,” the Frenchman yawned and stretched, breaking the pensive mood. “I guess I should turn in. It's getting late.” He turned towards the door and several of the other men suddenly yawned, stretched and grumbled similar intents. Several of the prostitutes looked at each other with puzzlement. One looked up at the clock and noted it was only 8:30. As the Frenchman grabbed the door, he turned slightly to survey the room. The world seemed to freeze in that moment. He gazed upon the cluster of multicultural men and they at him. They stood still, staring at each other, as if holding their gaze turned them to stone. No one breathed. No one moved. The Frenchman thought he could hear a fly buzzing around his head. Time slowed and then seemed to stand still. An eternity as they fixed in each other's gaze. Suddenly the fly landed on his temple and, without thinking, he reached up to shoo it away. And with that gesture, the spell was broken. The cluster of men charged at the door and the Frenchmen, still occupied with the fly, was pushed to the ground as several men crashed into him, which in turn pulled them all to the ground. Then there were feet, shoes and heavy boots on his hands and near his face as a parade of pirates ran over the fallen to get to the harbor. posted by Evil Wayne | 5:11 PM 0 comments Wednesday, January 25, 2006 Dorking It Out I've been slacking here lately. It partially because I've been so darn busy at work, home, the SE:IV game, and trying to pack February with the 2005 Year of BrikWars Award Show and the first 2006 BrikWar game; It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, Pirate Game (I'll have more details in a while; right now we're stuck on the wind-rules). It is our first Pirate-themed game, which is convenient, because I gave this cycle of BrikWars the name Year of the PirateNinja. So we'll start with a pirate game and, if we get lucky, end with a ninja game. But the awards show is a mini-event this year. Mostly because it got suggested so darn late. I think from query to answer was about 2 weeks ago. I'm in charge of the February meeting and I figure this is as good a theme as any. Frankly, our meeting are theme-less and I've been gunning for something, anything, for the meetings. We're just starting to bring MOCs and whatnot to them. This won't be a huge affair. We'll have a video montage I'm working on that should encompass the games of last year. Then a little awards ceremony for the winners in a series of categories. Right now there are categories for the player to nominate someone are:
Sullivan and I still have to come up with the actual trophies or prizes. I culled together most of the PAB wall in Burlington and made an LDraw file to see if we can't create stuff from there. I actually got a small budget from the club, making it an official NELUG event (and why shouldn't it be), which rocks the house. All participants in our Year of BrikWars for 2005 get to nominate and then vote on who should win. I've even set up a secret ballot email just for the whole bloody occasion. Dork isn't just being taken to a whole new level; we're on the cusp of an evolutionary leap here. posted by Evil Wayne | 10:01 AM 4 comments Monday, January 23, 2006 New England Weather Sometimes, the weather here sucks ass. I know it's New England and you can never count on it, because there's some freakishly lost Bermuda Triangle action happening at any given moment. But it was damned nice over the weekend. I believe yesterday was 60 or just under. It was like April or early May instead of January. But today winter is back; it snowed last night and this morning and I don't really remember much being said about it (but maybe I'm not paying attention). Anyway, it took me over 2 hours to get to work and the road was a bloody sheet of ice most of the way. Tine and I had this discussion about why they get the weather so grossly wrong around here. We wonder whether or not actual precipitation is difficult to forecast. After all, you wouldn't know it if they said it was going to rain 2" and it only rained 1.5". And snow is much more volumesque, shall we say? If you're off by a little either way, it makes a difference in sometimes dramatic ways. Plus, snow tends to stick around. Rainwater washes down the storm drain, so unless you've got your Junior Science Weatherdork kit out there, you can't really gauge it so well. Snow is usually here to stay. Whatever. In other news, I've posted the teaser for next month's NELUG meeting, here. Yup, we're taking dork to a whole new level with this one. I'll have more details at some point. Why don't you try holding your breath? posted by Evil Wayne | 2:18 PM 1 comments Wednesday, January 18, 2006 Happy Trogday! 
posted by Evil Wayne |
10:00 PM
2 comments Monday, January 16, 2006 My Five Minute Batgirl Rayhawk pointed out an apparent mini-meme currently slashing across LiveJournal; Draw Batgirl. So at the meeting this morning, I did a tiny sketch. I've tried working with it, tried going a bit bigger, resketching it, but I'm no artist... whatever. Originally, she was sitting on the ledge of a building, but I deleted it (so her pose is still a little funky). 
posted by Evil Wayne |
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3 comments Friday, January 13, 2006 Dream Sequence I was an astronaut. I was in a small spacecraft that had been assembled from a discarded Voyager probe and some Apollo parts. It was very old skool. Even my helmet was more akin to a white motorcycle helmet than a real astronaut's. Now that I think about it, I looked a lot like the Russian pilot at the end of Clint Eastwood's FireFox. There were two or three other astronauts with me and we were sent out to sheer a chunk off a passing comet. Which we did, grasping the chunk by the struts on the lower half of the Voyager segment of our spacecraft. I had a window and the joystick control for holding on to the comet. I could see this brilliant, white fiery object attached to the underside of the craft. But it was still moving, even after we cut it off, like a wild animal. I kept fighting with the joystick to keep it from wrenching out of my hands as we made our way back to Earth. Finally, as were were above North America, I couldn't hold it any longer. The chunk broke free and plummeted down to the planet. As it fell, it broke into a series of large pieces that started raining down across the panhandle of Florida, Georgia and Alabama. Gigantic eruptions occurred as they hit the ground and I could see visible shockwaves crisscrossing the surface like ripples on a pond. Then I was on the ground. It was dark and I was in army combat dress, complete with helmet and M16 (or whatever they use now) and we were running down the middle of the street of some town that was on fire. A smaller chunk had hit nearby and we were on our way to secure the area. There were some hostile forces in the area and we could see headlights in the distance that I knew were some hostile government agents on their way here. There were already some troops there and they were erecting a chain-link fence around the impact site. Which seemed to be in the desert, but I knew it was because all the trees had been wiped out in the blast. In the center was a black, oval with a rising dark mound. It wasn't so much a crater, as if someone had jammed a giant marble into the ground. As the rest of the men put up the fence, I was screaming to secure the parameter. I was aware that there were forces that were trying to keep the comet a secret or steal it for themselves. As I turned to face the road, these black humvees came to a screeching halt and there was gunfire. I dropped to one knee and shouted at the rest of the men, and aimed my weapon at the entrance. A force of men in suits came around the humvees and started shooting at the soldiers nearby. They would shoot and someone would fall over. At the lead of this pack was Bill Duke, the guy from Predator (yeah, I had to look it up). As soon as I saw him, I knew we were all going to die. He was an assassin for whatever government agency this was supposed to be and he had killed all the people protecting the other comet fragments that had fallen. I stood up, and started shooting while running at the pack. Duke pulled out a knife and threw it at me. I dipped my head forward and the knife impacted my helmet. I immediately reached up and grabbed it, Duke had this wide-eyed look. I quickly threw it right back at him and it hit him in the arm with an audible thunk! Then I started running and shooting again only now I was aware of the alarm-clock's radio and I was waking up. Okay, for once this one seems a bit discernible. The alarm clock is set to the radio instead of tone (because the tone is for waking the dead). I also have it set to NPR. I'm fairly confident I heard this story about NASA recovering bits of a comet in Utah, while still sleeping. Along with the persistent Iraq news, it isn't hard to make the leap from space mission to combat mission. The only thing that's funktastic is the inclusion of Duke. I mean, where the hell did that come from? posted by Evil Wayne | 9:47 AM 1 comments Wednesday, January 11, 2006 A New Door We got the new door on last night.  The whole project took about 8 hours. A good chunk of that was going to Lowe's, then to Home Depot and then back to Lowe's. Which was just stupid, I think. But I could never have done this without Ryan --I just have no amplitude to construction. I was lucky I didn't accidentally set myself on fire with the drill. It took us forever to align and plumb the door. Ryan tried his best, in the end, it's probably the door that's faulty to begin with. It just doesn't open right, sticking a bit on the lower half even before we put it in. But it looks nice. We didn't have enough time to put the storm door back on, and we might leave it off. Tine wants to replace both of them and a new front door, but that's all special-order items. I put the old door out in the trash, but I have a feeling it's going to be sitting right there when I get home tonight. I'm still burned out by the whole thing. It wouldn't be so bad, but we didn't finish until about 8:30 last night, and it's freaking January. Somebody tell me why these things never happen in June? Whenever anything goes wrong that requires long periods of being outside, it's always freaking winter. What is up with that? And, as a side note, A Dream: I had this dream last night that doesn't exactly rate a full Dream Sequence entry. I don't specifically recall the whole thing, but it's funky for a couple of reasons. First, I was driving around the Highlands in Lynn. I was on a road that curves out on a flattened area. I'm vaguely aware of it in real life, and the funky thing is I haven't been there or thought of it since I was probably 19 or 20, until now. I can't even recall the actual street name either. Anyway, I was suddenly out of my car and I ran into Coleen. She came up to me and I had nowhere to hide. She looked different too. Not in that way things are different, but in the dream she had a more square jaw, scars on her face. She hugged me like we were old friends (we aren't). While we were talking --and I can't recall what it was-- I kept thinking I should leave, but she wanted to show me something and she reached down and pulled off her leg, which was fake. Her real leg ended at the knee and became a tapered bit of flesh after that. She said something about being an accident awhile ago and she was lucky to be alive. I knew I had to get away, and I tried to leave but she stopped me again. I don't know why, because this is where the alarm went off and I woke up. As I said, the whole thing is funky for a couple of reasons. First, I haven't thought of the Highland in the longest time. I have no reason to go down to the cesspool it's become, but Ryan and I did talk, very briefly about it yesterday during one of our conversations. I figure that must have been the key. Coleen did live there (and I suppose she still could), and that may have been a natural link in my head. But the accident she suffered is funky because I always sort of wished something really terrible would happen to her. In the dream I think I felt guilt for that. My dreams are pretty real to me. And this one's stayed with me most of the day today and I have this funky feeling in the back of my brain that something isn't right. I could be disappointed it was only a dream. posted by Evil Wayne | 1:46 PM 2 comments Monday, January 09, 2006 Oh Yeah, Happy Freaking Birthday  So we were planning on going out to dinner for Tine's birthday. That was the real mistake. Thinking back on it, her birthday is to blame. If we weren't going out, this never would have happened. I've got to stop trying to treat her right. So, I come home to collect the family for her birthday dinner. I do what I always do when I get though the door, I drop my keys on the shelf by the door. Everyone's getting ready to go and TheBoy gets his coat on and then I pick him up in my arms. I even look at the key ring and see Tine's keys hanging there. I almost say "Don't forget your keys" but I get distracted with TheBoy, he's excited to go out. He's excited for cake later! We walk out the door in a line and Kelly is last. I turn and tell her to make sure the door is locked. I swear to God, I do this! I never do this! This is where I quite possibly would have caught it if I were closing the door. I might have made the leap in my mind and see it. But I wasn't last. I didn't close the door. So I didn't catch it. Seconds after telling Kelly to push on the door to be sure it was closed and locked, with TheBoy in my arms, I think, Do I have my keys? I reach into my pocket and there's nothing. I shift TheBoy to my other arm and check my opposite pocket. Nothing. "Tine," I say. "Do you have your keys?" She turns and looks at me. "No." I swear. It won't be the last time I swear. In the next 20 minutes I'll pull out swears I haven't thought of in 20 years. I swear they actually keep me warm in the cold. We run though the kids, do they have keys? Nope. Nobody has a fucking key to the house. "Why the hell don't you have your keys?" I say to Tine about a billion times. "How many times have I said, don't leave the house without your fucking keys?!?" She's laughing. I'm laughing. We're standing outside in the dark and the cold. It's fucking tragic. Mike goes around the house in the slim hope we've accidentally left a window unlocked. No dice. That was a pipe dream anyway, I think. I never leave things unlocked. "Why the fuck don't we have a key hidden outside?" That get's me blank looks and a smirk from Tine. I remind the kids, "I'm not mad at any of you, I'm just ranting." Because my swearing is reaching critical mass. "Well, maybe your mother." I finally succumb: I will have to break a window. I pace around a bit. I don't want to break a window. But I can't see anyway around it. I walk around the house and look at the windows. Maybe there's a small chance Mike missed something. He didn't. I finally end up at the wood pile. I can't seem to find a big enough rock, so I pick up a heavy piece and head back to the door. "We should call the police," Mike says. "Why?" "They'll be able to open it. Don't they have keys?" I feel the incredulous look on my face. "What?" Tine laughs that silly laugh when the kids say dumb things. He's slightly insistent. "They have keys." "Okay," I mutter and head for the door. I swear a bit more. I line up the wood to the lower pane in the door, closest to the lock. I pull back and make a solid hit. The wood crashes into the glass and ... Nothing. I stand back and look at it. "Fuck me." I make another attempt, really crashing the wood into the glass. Still nothing. I wonder if it's somehow some special glass. It's a steel door. Maybe the glass is reinforced. I swear a lot more. Shit, now I really do need a rock. Mike thinks there's something heavy in the shed. Thank god, the lock on the shed isn't a key. He can't find anything, mostly because there's no freaking light out there. But I suddenly remember that I found the previous owner's log splitter awhile back and put it in the corner. It's a two-part device with a hammer and pipe with a wedge. It weighs about 8 pounds. I put it it the far corner and I can just make it out. I grab it and it feels weighty. It should do the trick. As I walk back, I think it should punch a nice small hole in the glass. It might not be big enough to get my hand through so I might have to do it twice. How naïve. I get to the door and I make everyone get back, just in case. I line it up to the lower corner, aiming the wedge to the edge. I pull back and thrust it at the pane. The glass gives way like it's Saran Wrap. It's funky, but for a microsecond, I can actually see the glass bend first and there's this high-pop and a shower of glass rains down sounding like beads on tinfoil. The hole is not small. All of the glass panes spider and crack and keep cracking. There's this steady noise, like Rice Crispies when you first pour the milk as the glass continues to spider and crack and crack and crack. I use the pole to clear out some of the glass that will be in my way, but that cracking is insane. I start to realize the glass must be all one window. But now I'm worried that the whole thing is going to just shatter and come raining down on me. "Get ready to call nine-one-one," I say as I prepare to reach through the hole. I see my whole arm being severed by the sheet of glass giving out in that one second. I reach and and turn the lock. I want to yank my hand out, but I don't need to cut the hell out of it by being stupid, so I'm careful. The glass does not sever my arm. I open the door. Slowly. The hallway is a mess of chunks of broken glass. I step in and have to stop everyone from following me. "I'll open the front door," I say and they grumble. Tine is still smiling I think. Once in, I start cleaning it up. I vacuum the hallway, the threshold, the stoop. I tip over shoes and boots and shake them to get any chunks of glass before someone stick their feet inside and loses a toe. Glass sucks to clean up. It's magical. It disappears until you move to the side, like a mirage and its there. No wait, it's gone. I think I'm up there for an hour, easy. Cleaning outside too. I must look like a fucking idiot vacuuming my cement stairs in January. The entire time I'm up there, the glass continues to crack. It's freaky how long it goes on. It's probably still doing it now. From the inside, I can see that the framework buckled and it looks like the whole thing might just be a single piece of glass. So there it is. So far, hands down, the single, stupidest thing I've done all year. Hell, it may be the stupidest thing I've done all decade. The only silver lining is that my brother-in-law is totally available to come down tomorrow and help replace the door. Plus, I was planning on attending an open house for preschool for TheBoy tomorrow morning. So I don't have to be late for work, I'm not going in! "We did want to replace the door, eventually," Tine laughed. Fucking hilarious. posted by Evil Wayne | 10:48 PM 1 comments Happy Birthday Tine and Mom By a weird and freaky coincidence my mother and my wife share the same birthday. On the one hand, I have a hard time forgetting it and when I remember one, I get the other. On the other hand, if I do forget, I get double-trouble. posted by Evil Wayne | 10:23 AM 0 comments Friday, January 06, 2006 SE:IV: The Name Game I'm trying to come up with a name for my Empire in the new SEIV game I've managed to talk just about everyone into. We are scheduled to start the PBEM game on Monday, but I haven't really done any of the grunt work yet for my own stuff. I'm looking at two different races at the moment, but one has a nice retro-scifi look to the ship-set. If I use it, I want to have a swanky, retro-scifi empire name to go along with it as well. Right now I'm fixated on the word Atomic: The Atomic Ascendancy Atomic Empire Gamma-Atomic Yokels (GAY) Bureau of Atomic Affairs The TeleAtomic Union The Galactic Atom State League of Atomic Union The Atomic Guild The Atomic CoOp The Atomic Combine The Atom Imperium TransAtomic Combine Association of Atomic Ascendancy The Atomic Compact Stellar Atomic Combine Stellar Atomic Covenant Atomic Space Rangers As you can see, it's pretty hopeless. posted by Evil Wayne | 2:38 PM 4 comments Wednesday, January 04, 2006 The Grind I'm having the worst time getting back into the swing of things at work. After being out for ten days, it's just murder having to sit here and churn through artwork. I had intended for there to be this resolution post or goals for this year kind of thing at the start of the new year, but I've gotten all messed up by the funeral and it seems stupid now. I wanted to make some comments about that, and they seem stupid too. Instead, I sit here and surf around and do a bit of work and then surf around some more. I know I'm blowing a budget, but I can't seem to focus. Is it Friday yet? posted by Evil Wayne | 2:24 PM 0 comments |
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