Archive for the ‘Home Life’ Category
Dave on July 20th, 2008
Perry Family Game Night was delayed this week due to work schedules beyond our control, but what it lacked in promptness, it made up for in complete domination.
The humiliation I predicted last week was dished out, but not the way I expected. This was Kathy’s week to choose, and she moved us off the kitchen table and on to the GameCube for a night of Mario Kart: Double Dash. Tiny Dancer wrecked us. We raced 12 times; kid won 8. Kathy and I traded second place finishes fairly evenly, but the night certainly belonged to Tiny Dancer.
After leaving tire tracks and grease stains all over her parents, Tiny Dancer wasn’t finished, at least with me. She dragged me into Mario Kart’s battle modes for more beatings. After several spirited bouts of Shine Sprite tag and Bob-omb lobbing, she dropped me 7-5.
Still, Little League rules apply, so everyone got ice cream whether they won or not. Tiny Dancer gets to pick the game next week, which can only mean worse things for me. And think how things will go for me in two weeks when she turns seven.
Dave on July 11th, 2008
Last night was the first night of Perry Family Game Night. My daughter, the Tiny Dancer, has been planning for this for some time, and we finally decided to put things aside and block off one evening a we
ek for it. For night one, we chose a time-honored classic. Risk: the Game of World Domination.
Tiny Dancer picked it out, and she put herself in a tough spot right from the start, and not only because my wife and I have been looking at maps for way longer than she has. There are dark secrets the Tiny Dancer doesn’t know about her parents. Her mother, for example, is competitive to a degree rarely seen in a cul de sac. This applies to any competition, but it applies doubly to Risk. Kathy does not lose at Risk. I’ve never seen it happen. Her father is even worse. Not only am I competitive, but I am also bad at Risk, so I am not above picking on a child.
The game began with the recitation of the rules and the random choice of cards for territories. Then came the child abuse. Kathy targetted Tiny Dancer’s forces in South America; I targeted them in Australia. Tiny Dancer was using the purple armies, so she couldn’t have expected any less. Plus, the sooner she was done, the better chance we had of getting her to bed on time. [Protip: Do not start a game of Risk at 8:00 p.m. on a Thursday.] But the kid is resilient. She can roll a pair of white dice like nobody’s business, and she held off army after army with her at-will sixes. Still, competitive parents can’t be held off forever, and once Kathy finally mopped up Tiny Dancer’s armies in the Americas, she looked up to see that her position was bad. She had South America and most of North America, but I had worked my way up from Australia and taken over Asia. I was going to beat her at last! This, of course, is when she got tired and decided to go to bed. I still haven’t seen anyone beat her at Risk, but I’m claiming victory because I had more armies on the board when she bailed out on me.
Next week, Kathy gets to pick the game. I expect to be humiliated.
Dave on July 9th, 2008
Back in 2001, technically, I lived in Ohio, but I spent most of my time in Norrath. It’s been nearly six years since I’ve gone anywhere near it, but for about two years, you couldn’t drag me away from EverQuest. I played a wizard, and I was bad ass. Fireballs, ice comets, teleportation, levitation — you name it, I could do it. I stopped playing shortly after my daughter was born, partly — ok, mainly — because it was threatening to wreck my marriage. See, here’s the thing about Norrath. While Ohio was lovely, it couldn’t really compete in the “wandering creatures to destroy with super powers” department. The most exciting adventure Ohio offered me on a Saturday morning was mowing the lawn. Given the choice, I’d much rather head to Lower Guk and fry a few undead frogs.
Around 2003, I handed over my account to a friend to play. This was harder than I had imagined it would be (see how hard — make a list of everything you’ve done for two years, including all the friends you’ve made and stuff you’ve bought. Now give those friends and that stuff to a friend. Walk away whistling.), but it was important for me to move beyond the game and pay attention to my actual life. While I hadn’t played for about a year at that point, I still had the occassional itch, and all I had to do to scratch it was load the game back up and pay for a month — voila, instant crack pipe. Giving the whole account away took that option away. And it worked. I honestly hadn’t thought about the game at all for about four years.
Until Monday. Monday I read that, in an effort to suck back the poor fools who had escaped, EverQuest was offering a free download of the game and free gameplay for two months to anyone with an inactive account. Somehow, I remembered my passwords and looked at the account history. Turns out my friend hadn’t changed the password after all, and he hadn’t played since around 2005. I got a little itchy. I downloaded the game. I waited patiently as it patched and updated. Finally, I logged in. There was my wizard, bad ass as ever. I found myself in a zone that hadn’t existed when I played, and I noticed quickly that my friend had changed my wizard’s last name from Stormbringer to Flameydeath. Of course, I was offended by this, so I changed it back. That problem solved, being the master of teleportation that I was, I popped myself into Greater Faydark, home of the elves. I spent hours once upon a time staring at the wizard spires that jutted up from the middle of that forest, and I caught myself getting nostalgic. I hung around a while, feeling my fingers remember exactly how to check my menus, open my spellbook, sit, stand, run . . . it was like riding a bicycle, if bicycles could hover and came with giant, magic-powered cannons. My wife was indulgent. She smiled when I shouted at familiar things, or when I remembered what some spell or other did, or when I turned a passing fairy into a smoldering pile of wings (actually, I think she genuinely enjoyed that), but I could see the pain behind it. This game had been a major battleground in our marriage, and while it wasn’t to blame for our problems, it was where I went to get away from them, and from her.
Lots of the specs have been updated on EverQuest since I last played it, and while my computer has been, too, there are always little quirks you need to work around when you load up a game that wants lots of resources. So whenever I changed zones, the game crashed. It was a minor annoyance, and I put up with it long enough to take a tour of my favorite places, but it wouldn’t do to play that way for a month. So I uninstalled EverQuest about two hours after I logged back on. My wizard is sleeping again, probably never to fry another frog or fairy, and that’s fine. But I can’t help admitting a little sadness at leaving Norrath again, even after such a short return. Familiarity probably fuels all sorts of addictions — when my computer crashed during zone changes, I felt that same little tug that I remember feeling day after day, hour after hour, six years ago, and I wasn’t strong enough to walk away back then until it was almost too late. Maybe I’ve grown up, or maybe technology conspired to make me seem as if I have, but I’ll take whatever little victories I can get. When I was done wandering down memory-pixelated lane, I went into the living room. My daughter had painted me a very pretty picture, and my wife had made dinner.
Fuck Norrath.
Dave on March 20th, 2008
It is the sworn duty of all officers to try to escape. If they cannot escape, then it is their sworn duty to cause the enemy to use an inordinate number of troops to guard them, and their sworn duty to harass the enemy to the best of their ability.
Tessie the Dog spends her afternoons in her crate. Usually, barring any illnesses of Biblical proportions, she handles this with stoic heroism, mostly by sleeping. Monday, however, she greeted me at the door. She had decorated the floor of the dining room using her own home blend. After performing the necessary clean-up, I checked Tessie the Dog’s crate to see how she got the door open. She did not. Instead, she bent the back bars of the crate and squeezed her not-so-supple frame through the opening.
We have taken measures to reinforce the cooler.
I have some small hope that this will prevent further escapes, but I can’t be certain. I suspect she had help from the outside.
If that’s the case, those two will be in the cooler for an awfully long time.
Dave on March 20th, 2008
OK, so it’s not as catchy as NaNoWriMo. It doesn’t start on a nice, convenient day like November 1st. There are no forums to read for solidarity. However, considering the declining state of my writing habits, the inclining state of my intellectual struggle, and the reclining state of my ass, today begins Local Get Off My Ass Month.
Tessie the Dog and I are going to start taking walks in the morning. Erin the Girl, Vincent the Computer, and the unnamed bookshelves (they know what they did!) and I are going to start having story times of varying styles, lengths, and intensity. Snacks will become healthier. Floors will become cleaner. Clothes will become folded and hung up. God will be in His andsoforth.
Things are going to, all fortissimo, change around here. Take it from me, kiddo.
Dave on December 11th, 2007
Every morning, I take my horrible state-mandated ward Tessie the Dog outside for a constitutional. Most mornings, this is distasteful yet brief. Yesterday morning, I upheld my part of the bargain, but she did not. Not wanting to be late for work, I accepted my fate. I knew I would be mopping up pee when I got home.
Instead, I found the apocalypse.
Tessie the Dog is ill. Frighteningly ill. Eye-bleedingly ill. Face-meltingly ill. Tessie the Dog stood in her crate, amidst a sea of bile and other horrible manner of tummy rumblings and poopy. My plan had been to mop up, feed Tessie the Dog, and go get the kiddo from school. Instead, I tied Tessie the Dog outside, donned my haz-mat suit, and proceeded to clean up a crime scene. When things were sufficiently clean (meaning there was a path), I got the kid and launched her down the hallway with one arm, where gentle television could soothe her wounded eyes. I mopped. And mopped. And bleached things. And mopped. And threw away some adequate towels. And bleached.
I am home today with Tessie the Dog. Not out of any particular affection for her, but because I have no desire to ruin any more towels, my eyes, or my nose. Not to mention my shattered psyche. She seems to be feeling better (meaning most of her innards have remained innards), but this is pathetic. No, this is beyond pathetic.
The humiliation I predicted last week was dished out, but not the way I expected. This was Kathy’s week to choose, and she moved us off the kitchen table and on to the GameCube for a night of Mario Kart: Double Dash. Tiny Dancer wrecked us. We raced 12 times; kid won 8. Kathy and I traded second place finishes fairly evenly, but the night certainly belonged to Tiny Dancer.
After leaving tire tracks and grease stains all over her parents, Tiny Dancer wasn’t finished, at least with me. She dragged me into Mario Kart’s battle modes for more beatings. After several spirited bouts of Shine Sprite tag and Bob-omb lobbing, she dropped me 7-5.
