Sitting at Starbucks

I sat in Ridgewood today, outside the Starbucks, reading the newspaper and killing time whilst my significant other got her hair cut. It was a nice break and the weather was beautiful, with just a touch of breeze. Good people watching for an “always writer” like myself.

The first thing that struck me was the number of people with cell phones. (I’ve resisted the siren call of that particular technology thus far, but I know my days are numbered.) It seemed like every third person going by, most of them women, was chatting away into thin air. This used to startle me, but I now realize that these folks aren’t deranged and talking to themselves (but perhaps just deranged). If the scenario Stephen King envisioned in Cell ever happened in Ridgewood, the Luddites wouldn’t last 10 minutes—the place would be Zombie City.

A gal that sat behind me chatted steadily away to one person after another. She looked professional, perhaps half-Oriental, maybe 30 years old, and was dressed neatly in a black blouse and crisp slacks.

“I’m telling you, he’s not that hot. He’s not shown me anything to justify $250 an hour.”
$250? Holy shit, I thought; for that kind dough I’d almost consider walking the docks during Fleet Week.

“I’m not into promising deliverables unless we can deliver. No, no, he’s just BAD. I mean, the village idiot could read that White Paper and understand the multi-level tier architecture; the man’s supposed to be a storage consultant.”
Hmm. I was still thinking about how many lattes $250-an-hour could buy.

Eventually the call ended and the woman was soon joined by a man and several young children. The woman immediately switched modes, and chatted happily with the children about watching Narnia that evening; gone was the chatter about ending people’s careers and pleasing the customer. They’re probably sitting around a table finishing dinner as I write this, getting ready to fire up the popcorn and sit before a high definition television with Dolby 6.0 surround sound.

I’m fascinated by other people’s lives but not envious. I respect her sense of duty to the customer, and work ethic, but I also rebel against that sort of smug, high paid, latte-sipping confidence. (Hypocritical for me to say I suppose, being that I finished my own latte just before she left.) For me it’s an interesting glimpse into a world I doubt I’ll ever inhabit, and that may not be a bad thing. I’ll contentedly roam around the edges instead. No great moral here. Just a wish to improve myself and increase my admittedly weak ambition and stay true to myself and those I care about. That’s good enough.

Getting Both Barrels

Bush hit the road this week, touting our economy and paying heed to the topic of high gas prices for a change. Gas prices are on the mind of basically everyone, because these increased prices are a very “in your face” increase that can’t be ignored or denied away by political spin. The average price of a gallon has gone up 88 cents over the last year, hitting a national average of $2.80 at the time I write this and expected to rise another 5% before the summer is over.

This is killing the Administration. Unemployment is down and the stock market is doing relatively well, but gas prices and our unbelievable deficit have finally struck a nerve with most Americans. Good. As Winona would have said in 1994, sometimes reality bites. I personally think it's good that sometimes the consumer actually feels the fiscal fangs strike home. “Why don’t Americans have a better view of the Economy?” they ask. Simple answer: We can’t afford anything. Medical insurance has gone up. Gas prices are up. We’re getting nickeled and dimed from every direction and hey, guess what, the company is downsizing your regular increase this year and you should be happy, at least your job wasn’t outsourced to India!

Some of Bush’s recommendations include:
—Ordering the EPA to temporarily suspend clean-burning gasoline rules
Great! First he advocates drilling in Alaska (every Texas oilman-turned-politico’s dream) and now he’s found another environmental law to repeal in the name of lower consumer prices. Brilliant!

While we’re on the subject of Alaskan drilling, here’s a good quote:

“A recent report from the U.S. Department of Energy’s own Energy Information Administration (EIA) estimates that even 20 years down the road, when Arctic Refuge oil would be at or near peak production, gas prices would only be affected by about a penny per gallon. The United States sits on just 3 % of the world's known petroleum reserves. Government estimates indicate that there is less than a year’s supply of oil in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, and even the oil industry admits it would take 10 years to make it to US markets.”
[Statement of Carl Pope, Executive Director of Sierra Club, April 27th]

—Suspending the summer deposits to the nation's Strategic Petroleum Reserve
During the 2004 campaign, Bush chided Kerry for this suggestion, and he’s also criticized Clinton in the past for touching the SPR, but now it’s okay. Good thing Bush isn’t a flip-flopper.
Here’s a great blast from the past. Only $2 a gallon? Holy crap!
Here is another.

—Launching aggressive efforts against price gouging, headlined by a Federal Trade Commission investigation in conjunction with the Justice and Energy departments
Back in May 2004 ten Democratic governors sent a joint letter to Bush, that said, “We strongly encourage you to direct the Department of Energy to conduct a comprehensive investigation of the entire gasoline pricing structure, the profits currently enjoyed by the industry and the cost being passed on to consumers,” The letter was signed by the governors of Arizona, Iowa, West Virginia, Michigan, Kansas, Missouri, Washington, Wisconsin, Pennsylvania and Maine. The letter was ignored.

Bush has steadfastly rejected a “windfall tax” for the large oil companies. Hmm.

This past January, Texas-based Exxon Mobil posted the highest quarterly and annual profits of any U.S. company in history: $10.71 billion for the fourth quarter of 2005 and $36.13 billion for the whole year. Exxon Mobil Corp. also made an $8.4 billion profit in the first quarter of 2006—a 7 percent increase over last year.
Don’t worry about Exxon’s biggest rivals however; ConocoPhillips announced record profits this week. On Friday Chevron announced $4 billion in profits for its first quarter, a mere 49 percent increase. Combined, the three oil companies earned $15.7 billion during the first three months of the year.

Looking back at the profit increases from 2004–2005 isn’t much better (for the consumer anyway):
Exxon Mobil profit increase—218%
ConocoPhillips profit increase—145%
Shell profit increase—51%
ChevronTexaco profit increase—39%
BP profit increase—35%

Going back even further:
In 1999, U.S. oil refiners made a 22.8 cent profit per gallon of gas.
In 2004, U.S. oil refiners made a 40.8 cent profit per gallon of gas—an 80 percent jump.
[1988-2003 Energy Information Administration, Petroleum Marketing Annual, annual reports and 2004-Energy Information Administration, Petroluem Marketing Montly (April 2005)]

Houston, we have a problem here! These guys are having a riot.

In fairness, Exxon Mobil and other oil companies post huge exploration expenditures in the search for new oil supplies. But isn’t this just good business for them too? Let us not forget that oil companies receive tax subsidies from the federal government either.
Per Edmund L. Andrews, NY Times, March 27, 2006:
“But last month, the Bush administration confirmed that it expected the government to waive about $7 billion in royalties over the next five years, even though the industry incentive was expressly conceived of for times when energy prices were low. And that number could quadruple to more than $28 billion if a lawsuit filed last week challenging one of the program's remaining restrictions proves successful.
‘The big lie about this whole program is that it doesn't cost anything,’ said Representative Edward J. Markey, a Massachusetts Democrat who tried to block its expansion last July. ‘'Taxpayers are being asked to provide huge subsidies to oil companies to produce oil—it's like subsidizing a fish to swim.’”

About a third of the oil consumed in the United States is drilled domestically, about 150 million barrels a month, give or take, and they shouldn’t be any more expensive to extract in 2006 than in 2005. Yet it seems all the oil costs are being based on the Middle East price-per-barrel model. So, up goes the price for domestic oil too, a pretty good bargain.

Brian Lehrer of WNYC recently asked an oil business expert on his show why, if oil companies were simply raising their prices to keep up with their own per-barrel costs, why the increasing windfalls? A satisfactory answer wasn’t forthcoming, at least to this listener. (Brian probably felt the same way, as he immediately repeated his question and unsuccessfully tried a second time.)

Our country is at war. The American people have been asked to sacrifice—perhaps not enough in some ways—but government revenues that could have gone to cancer research or medical care for the helpless are being spent in Iraq. Moreover, our soldiers are making the ultimate sacrifice every day. It’s high time the oil companies got with the program and kicked in their share.

Poker Safari

Last night, after no less than three aborted outings, I finally got in some cards with the poker gang at work. I missed playing a few hands of cards, and these guys didn’t seem too hardcore, most of them anyway, so I figured I was on equal ground.

We were to meet at Tonka’s place, on the cliffs across from New York City. I dreaded the trip, as I’ve always found that area in near the New Jersey-side entrance to the GW Bridge to be confusing as hell, but I was free to play and didn’t want to cancel again so off I went.

I spare the gentle reader the tale of my reaching Tonka’s apartment, as I did indeed get very, very lost. I blew about a half-hour fumbling around River Road and finally found the steep, winding road up to Tonka’s. When I arrived the guys—Tonka, Steve, and Rob—were gathered around a thick hardwood table gobbling down cooling pizza (pepperoni, of course). Chips and two decks were already out on the table, as was a frightening stack of greenbacks (“change money” set out by our host that largely went unused except as a mood prop).

All personalities were represented: Tonka, a serious online Hold ‘em addict who rarely folds and bets big, Rob, educated on neighborhood poker and a fairly tight player, and Steve, our resident wildman and “let’s try this game” player. This was going to be good, worth my miserable trip there.

We broke out the cold brews and soon set about the task at hand, each dropping $30 onto the table and receiving our chips: red worth $2 each, blue worth $1, and white worth 50 pips. The stack looked very small.

My fears were soon confirmed as we started out with a round of Texas Hold ‘em. I’ve never been particularly good at the game, although I understand the basic strategy. Tonight my main tactic was simple: Fold early, Fold often. I wasn’t about to let an Ace sucker me into sticking around with an Ace–seven coupling or what-have-you. I needn’t have worried—my first pull was a mighty 3–5. I folded so quick a sonic boom echoed over the table. A man can’t even bluff that bad a hand with a straight face. Subsequent hands were no better: deuce–4, 4–10, …where were the good hands the guys got on TV anyway?!?

My steady decline continued until I considered holding a Congressional vote to raise my debt ceiling. I only had about 4 chips left, and had to constantly make “chip change” by betting with larger-denomination chips and pulling back 50-centers. As Daffy would say, “How humiliating!” I got out my wallet and gingerly pulled out a ten-spot. Barry, my old radio station manager, used to have a saying: “That is the bad road.” Well, pulling out that greenback sure seemed like the bad road alright. Rob happily accepted my $10 and my chips grew a wee bit. I kept playing as tight as a sumo wrestler’s mawashi.

We played through a progression of games … Follow the Queen, Five-Card double-draw, Baseball, Pass the Shit (their version off Pass the Trash), and more. I introduced them to Chase the Ace (really just Follow the Queen) and Control. I made jokes about Tonka’s pair of $25 decks that were so slick and new I could hardly hang on to them, forget shuffle them properly. My stack of chips again dwindled and I pulled another $10 from my wallet with a curse.

Then came the moment … Steve, who, with Tonka, was happily ahead hesitatingly asked, “You guys alright with some Acey-Ducey?”

A blossom of hope appeared in my heart. Acey-Ducey is probably the most dreaded of games for most poker players, either because it doesn’t remotely resemble poker or, moreover, because it can create terrifying pots. I’ve seen $30–$70 Acey-Ducey pots appear in nickel–dime–quarter games before. It’s the great equalizer—equally capable of turning poor players into rich or reducing sharks into mere minnows. A few lucky pulls and I would be back in business. Worse yet, these guys played the goalpost rule, meaning that hitting one of the bracketing cards with a similar card meant paying double your wager. Going for a large pot and striking the post was pretty much destruction for any player, or in my case, eating a Snickers Bar lunch for the next few days.

I went for broke, getting reasonable spreads and pulling the pot twice. Steve groaned and steadily threw away his chips into the center. Rob kept pulling sequential cards. And I kept winning. Soon the pot, fueled by numerous bad hands and crappy luck, had grown to a good 15 dollars. I drew a Queen–3. Not a great hand, but the best in a while. I wordlessly waved my hand over the pot and forced a grin on my face. Steve threw down my card with great deliberation … a 9. I was back baby!

Things progressed quickly after that, and fortunes changed. Tonka began throwing good money after bad and Rob, who had been ahead, was doing so poorly he now had to borrow money from me! Hoo-hah! God, life is great when your luck improves in poker. Steve continued to win hand after hand, and he seemed to be a wildcard loadstone, often having two wildcards showing on the table and being forced to bet low just to keep someone in. Rob found Steve winning so odd that he called it Bizarro World and, later, "a Twilight Zone episode in which Steve actually wins." Tonka was shaking his head and muttering in Turkish. Craziness. I bluffed one good hand, driving out Steve and Rob (both of which had high three-of-a-kinds) with my pair of 9s. Like I said, craziness.

Eventually came the vaunted best hand of the night (confirmed later unanimously). The game was Five Card, double draw, fours wild. I started brilliantly with two aces and a wildcard, not quite believing my luck. The bet was mine first and I went soft, as not to scare away what I felt would soon be easy pickings. Rob bet high, a bad sign. Steve instantly called him, another bad sign. Tolga matched and looked pleased. Uh oh. Still, three aces were three aces. I dumped my two garbage cards and received more garbage in return. The others exchanged one or two cards each. They looked even more pleased. Double uh oh. Still, three aces were three aces!
I gave two cards to the last exchange and Tonka flipped me two back. Rob took one. Steve took one. Tonk took one. I bet $4, one of my highest of the night, in an attempt to scare off these brigands. Rob immediately saw me and raised two fins. Steve, a wild gleam in his eye, raised that.
“How much is all that?” asked an exasperated Tonka.
“Eight dollars to you, I think,” replied Rob.
Tonka waged an inner battle and after a very long pause cursed and tossed his cards aside. “Call them, dammit!” he cried.
“You’re toast!” cried Steve, and threw down four Jacks with an Ace kicker.
“Not so fast,” cried Rob, stopping Steve’s hand as he reached for the pot, “get this—four Kings! Beat that!”
I held up a hand. Rob turned.
I dropped my cards on the table … two Aces and two (wild) 4s … four Aces.
“Aw SHIT!” yelled Rob.
Everyone screamed and laughed at that. Tonka’s new girlfriend(?) from upstairs, who had joined us in the meantime, nearly fell out off her chair. Tonka meanwhile, who I think had been clutching a straight, thanked the Almighty that he had ejected when he did. I raked in the loot, feeling like a million bucks.

We continued with more Seven Card and more Acey-Ducey (the second time wasn’t the charm for me) and I managed to get back the $20 I had hocked and turn the biggest profit of the night to boot. Steve won nearly as much. Rob and Tonka were down by roughly the same amount when the smoke cleared. How fortunes change!

I followed Steve and Rob to Steve’s car, when Steve realized he had left his keys behind.
“Oh man, Tonka’s gonna be pissed, he’s probably involved in something personal.” I ferried them back to the apartment, as Rob apologized to Tonk on his cell phone. Soon the keys were captured and we again headed out, me carefully following them as not to get lost. Suddenly, after about a mile, they pulled over. I slowly drew up next them, mindful of the still-busy near-midnight traffic. The window rolled down and they were in tears, hysterical.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“I forgot my keys!” Rob cried, and we all howled as that.

After that we separated, them heading back to the apartment again and me winding my lonely way toward Route 4.

Judo—a chop, chop, chop!

I think he means it.

Only in Manhattan.

Board Game Night Recap: Larry Commits Seppuku

Last night saw the gathering of the gentlemen for our monthly board game night. The game: Samurai Swords, the reprinting of Milton Bradley's excellent Shogun game. Both Samurai Swords and the nearly identical Shogun are difficult to find, and I was delighted to nab my then-sealed Samurai Swords game on ebay a few years ago.

Last night was techincally our first full-length game, excepting Schizohedron, who had some Shogun experience years ago.

Willie immediately set up shop on the Island of Shikoku and Schizo established a major power base on the larger island of Kyushu. Meanwhile Dom, Mark, and I landed the bulk of our troops on the "mainland" of Honshu—Dom to the west, me to the middle, and Mark to the south. Dom and Schizo also esatblished minor strongholds down south, as did Willie, and I claimed nearly all the small northern isles for my own.

The arrows flew fast and the initial combatants took much ground on Round One, leaving Mark—the last in line for combat—worrying just what he would have left to attack with come his turrn at bat (or at sword?). Willie attempted to rid Shikoku of my one-province presence. He attacked my province of Iyo, triggering the appearance of my hidden ronin, to which he responded by deploying ronin of his own! We know each other's tactics well it seems! A long battle resulted, and what should have been an easy task left Willie severely weakened and me no less for the wear, mainly due to a series of cursed rolls by the Willster. Willie swore revenge on me.
I then made good inroads on Honshu, marking me as an early leader. Schizo quickly consolidated his hold over Kyushu, taking 90% of the island and out-doing my own conquest. Dom meanwwhile stayed conservative and planted the first castle smack in the middle of Honshu. When Mark finally got his chance, he was reduced in forces but made some gains. Dom and Willie took losses in Honshu. No one hired the ninja this first turn.

The following turn saw more ronin deployment and multiple castles being built. Dom upgraded a castle into a fortress, a move that would prove wise down the road. I hired the ninja. Schizo gobbled up the rest of Kyushu while Willie, Mark, and I traded blows on the mainland. I cursed "stranding" some extra troops up on various islands. I had intended the tiny islands to be "fall-back bases"—places to where I could retreat if things went badly and not be eliminated from the game, but it was a mistake. I wasted koku on more ronin that were soon triggered but proved useless due to lame die rolls. Mark attacked multiple provinces and I responded by assassinating his daimyo with the ninja.

The third turn was Mark's last, as he had to leave the proceedings early. He attacked my army with his and I again assassinated his daimyo. He was so depressed his army was immobilized I let him attack anyway, a decision that left both our armies weakened. Schizo meanwhile made inroads into Honshu from the south, Willie spent every cent rebuilding his forces, and I placed my second castle down in the center of Honshu. We randomly distributed Mark's provines after his departure, trading out colors. Mark had been running a fairly successful game and we each gained a good 5 provinces. This effectively brought Willie back from the dead.

The next turn was momentous.
Willie hired the ninja and attempted an assassination on Dom's daimyo—a failure! Dom rolled for the ninja counter-attack and missed by one.
Dom ("Larry") then began two battles that nearly destroyed him. The first (against a castle I think) wiped out his first army group. The second battle saw him ignore a 1-spearman province held by Schizohedron and instead attack Willie's neighboring army head-to-head. Their rolls had all witnesses on the edge of their seats, as the dice mirrored each other: loss, loss, win, win, loss, loss, win, win. Every time Dom would score a hit Willie would return a balanced amount of damage, leaving their armies nearly equal at all times. Dom's daimyo now led two bowmen and Willie's daimyo led a bowman and gunner. We expected Dom to call for a cease fire, but no, he kept going! Soon only the two daimyos remained. Dom rolls a miss, immediately mirrored by Willie. I knew in my gut this would lead to a double-daimyo-death. Sure enough, when Dom finally rolled a hit Willie returned in kind! Boom—two armies destroyed. We were incredulous!

I continued the turn with the same self-destructive spirit, targeting Dom's fortress with my army. There was a method to my madness: I already had two nearby castles, and taking the fortress would yield me a solid line of castles across the neck of Honshu, potentially allowing me to push westward and eventually weaken Schizo's island stronghold without worrying about my rear. When the 5 ronin actually appeared on the table I thought about the odds and began to worry. Alas, the 5 ronin that joined Dom's spearmen did a number on my army. My skrimishers did some damage, but I soon was forced to retreat and the fortress remained in Dom's hands.

The end game saw a large push by Schizo north and west, including several successful naval assaults with large forces. He branched out from his island and even began a brave attack on castle territory. I ran rampant over Honshu. Dom and Willie took nibbles here and there. As the clock approached 3 am we decided on a 5 province margin to declare a victor. It looked like it would be Schizo or me, and we both had pushed our forces to the limit in an effort to take a maximum number of provinces. The end of the last turn saw Schizo easily win the game with some 27-odd provinces. I followed in Second and Dom and Willie were tied for Third Place. Meanwhile, Japan had seen so much warfare it looked as if Godzilla had taken a stroll. A good game enjoyed by all!

I Want to Believe

Whoa!

Weirdness.

Dare you check it out?

Click here.

Rah-Rah-Rah–BOOM–de-ay

An advance word: I welcome intelligent comments on any of my posts, and I try to keep an open mind, but play nice or your comments get booted out the sandbox, okay? Politics is something I'm passionate about, so I'm including the subject here on occasion. If you disagree that's your right, but don't get snarky about it here. I make no apologies for my politics, but you're always welcome to roll your eyes at my musings and depart this page. Cool, we're good then. On with the show.

The third anniversary of the Iraq adventure has arrived. I think if the current administration put as much forethought into planning the invasion as effort toward selling it to the American people, we'd be out of there already. Instead, the administration rumbles on, unaffected by reality. Our troops deserve more.

I don't have the space here to fully list the many errors made in this war, but they are legion—from "Mission Accomplished" to the latest flare-up of "sectarian violence" (Bush-speak for low-grade civil war). This past weekend Cheney (whose poll numbers have now dropped lower than Nixon's during the height of Watergate) stated on Face the Nation that his earlier statements about "the Resistance being in its last throes" and our being "greeted as liberators" were accurate. Huh?

General Casey meanwhile made the rounds, looking noticeably nervous under Russert's blanket of questions on Meet the Press. He looked like a man terrified of being quoted saying anything negative. It seems the prediction he made a year ago about there being a "fairly substantial reductions in the size of our forces" in the Spring or Summer of 2006 if the training of Iraqis proceeded according to plan will fall flat. When questioned on this, he said that troops were already being drawn down, and cited his not accepting additional troops offered in December. Sorry buster, not accepting new troops isn't what I'd call a draw-down. Tommy Franks had also predicted drawing down to 30,000 troops before the end of 2003. Oops.
I know war is an unpredictable business, but if we had been right maybe once, I'd have more confidence in these guys.

I don't vote for a hasty pull-out—we've created enough chaos as it is—but it's time for the drumbeat of reality to reach additional ears in Washington. It's time for a few people to get sacked, as the British say, beginning with Rummy. It's time to bring in new ideas. The neocon agenda, while it may have our nation's best interests at heart, has been a disaster. Forcing democracy at the point of a gun doesn't work, especially if your intelligence gathering and pre-war planning stink. Encouraging nations to democratically elect leaders also doesn't always go according to plan—just ask the folks in Israel about recent elections in neighboring states. Political history has demonstrated that organized groups tend to win elections and fanatical groups can often be surprisingly (if unfortunately) organized.

During dinner tonight A mentioned that she feels that the criticism of the Press is correct, in that they don't run much good news. It's true, there are good things happening over there, but we rarely hear about them; watching the troops rebuilding a village well isn't as exciting or ratings-worthy as blood on the street I suppose. Worse yet, at this point the White House Press Corps and the White House are playing a distressing game of tag. This Administration is more secretive than most, and their reluctance to give straight answers (or even take unscripted questions at times) is at least partially responsible for the reporters acting like a pack of hungry wolves. David Gregory, perhaps realizing that viewers expected to find him rolling on the carpet with Scott McClellan soon and losing credibility by the day, has since dialed it back a notch and even speaks more moderately on the talk shows. Good.

I'm not letting the Democrats off the hook either—their ranks haven't exactly swelled with good Iraq ideas, beyond sitting back and eating popcorn while the President stumbles. The best way for them to earn some respect (for a change) is to come up with a valid plan, rally behind it together (another foreign concept that), and sell it just as hard as the President sells his "stay the course" strategy. That would be a start.

Like it or not, we're over there, and our security is still important. We are dumping 150 million dollars a day into Iraq, and folks are dying. We need to face reality, admit where mistakes have been made, and come up with a better game plan as one united nation.

Board Game Night Recap: A Pharaoh Rises!

This past Friday we played Age of Mythology. We were looking forward to this, especially after much Willie-bragging about future victories via e-mail. It would be our first gaming night after losing Nick (see A Time Too Short below) but I felt the return to some normalcy would be welcome; when the pizza came I dealt out an extra paper plate for Nick so he knows he’s with us in spirit in this and future contests.

Initial set-up: Dom and Mark pulled the Norse culture, whereas Willie and I drew the Egyptian. We considered swapping someone out for Greek, but decided to let fate rule, after shifting table positions so duplicate cultures were not back-to-back.

The game started fast, with early recruitment. Mark quickly played to type and beefed up his army, with the clear strategy of taking the Largest Army victory cubes at the end of each turn. He also built the first Tower to guard against attack on his fields. Willie meanwhile spent his money on buildings, favoring that route. Dom and I concentrated on acquiring land and made small additions to our armies.

Mark lead with an early attack on yours truly, but my chariots and war elephants held off the Norse hordes. The Egyptian spearmen easily held off larger units and after several units dropped with no losses on my side, Mark’s forces retreated. This gave me the opening I needed, and I quickly recruited mortal forces to my ranks, bolstered by a phoenix or two, to assume role as owner of the largest army. Dom meantime leaped ahead into the Classical Age, catching everyone by surprise.

Following turns saw Mark recruit and attempt to rebuild his weakened forces, Willie continuing to build, and everyone else jumping ahead into the Classical or Heroic Ages. I attacked Dom in an attempt to net a few victory cubes (Willie had grabbed an early lead in cubes and had no intention of losing his edge) and butchered his mortals with my chariots and scorpion men, taking a field. Willie soon attacked Dom, destroying his storehouse. Dom had never really gotten a foothold army-wise and this reduced his forces further, eliminating any real threat from my Norse neighbor to the left (a good thing, since Mark loves combat in AoM and similar games).

Latter turns saw Willie jump into the Mythical Age first, still leading in victory cubes. I managed to tie his amount of buildings and deny his latest Most Buildings victory grab. Willie attacked Mark and ended up in a war of tit-for-tat attrition, taking the worst of it. Mark later responded by inexplicably attacking me (I was doing well, but Willie was clearly leading and approaching the point of buying the Wonder). I eliminated a few of Mark’s large units, including a Troll, and my only loss, a single phoenix, was restored by my priest during the combat; Mark soon retreated.

The endgame saw me buying more spearmen to bulk up my army to 15 units, and then using a special card to change 3 of them into mummies (here’s to mummification!). I tried to keep pace with Willie’s Trump style building progress. By this point folks were quite savvy about using the Gather action at the right time to deny others resources. Dom in particular came out on the losing end so many times that throwing Dom a single cube almost became a running joke. Dom responded with a last, well-placed Gather action that gained him most every cube available. Willie played a special card that gained him his Mythical Hero—yikes!! I pleaded with the others to mount an attack on Willie and reduce his number of buildings, as I could not battle him directly (AoM limits attacks to those sitting next to you).

Alas, it was for naught. Willie reduced his building costs and succeeded in building the Wonder. The final victory cubes were assigned and Willie won at 11 cubes, just ahead of my 10.

It was an awesome game, enjoyed by all. We’ll have to give Willie his bragging rights this time, but I want a rematch (perhaps with Schizohedron joining us)! After all, losing by a mere cube is a lot to take…

Side Note:
An AoM fan named Michael Doyle has designed some beautiful alternate pieces and cards for the game. His ultra-cool site can be found here!

Sweet Geek Relief

Yesterday I finally took got a break after many days of toiling on my latest project for a RPG publisher. This project was a collaborative effort, and I'm pretty excited about it. That being said, I've spent days buried in books and stats and Excel sheets, getting the numbers right. Writing RPG stuff is harder than it looks, and sending my files off to my project editor (via e-mail of course) carried that same sense of relief mixed with excitement that probably every novelist dropping their latest boxed manuscript on her publisher's door feels.

Now I'll sit back and enjoy an imaginary cigarette ... at least until my editor's comments arrive or I remember that novel I half-finished a year (or two or three) ago that still needs finishing.

Ahh, it was good while it lasted.

Comfort Food

Today was a stressful day in a month full of them; work's been crazy and life seems to be going by at 78 RPM.

Time to slow down with organic chicken breasts cooked with shallots, mushrooms, fresh rosemary, and wine (champange actually). Mmmm.

But It's Free!

A trip to the mall on President's Day with my significant other was the usual exercise of fun coupled with routine annoyances. The shopping part was fun; we haven't done a good mall run in a while, and we actually got a great many things we needed around the house. The one thing we noticed immediately however, and yesterday wasn't the first time, was that every time we were being rung up by a salesperson we were forced into the following exchange:

Salesperson: Do you have a [INSERT STORE NAME HERE] card?
Us: No...
Salesperson (now in earnest): Would you like to sign up for one?
Us (wearily): No, but thank you.
Salesperson (more earnest): But it's free!
Us (more wearily): No, that's okay.
Salesperson (dubious): Okay...

We experienced varied versions of this same exchange about five times. It didn't matter whether we were buying sportswear or videogames, the riff was the same annoying beat. After a couple hours of this, coupled with dodging poorly-steered strollers, lackluster food-court Chinese eats, and looking at endless racks of what seemed to be identical pairs of jeans, I began to feel as if I was being flogged with a cat-o-nine-tails.

We spoke about getting buttons made up to wear: NO STORE CARDS THANKS. YES, I KNOW ITS FREE, DON’T CARE. I find the whole "free" thing dubious. Years ago discount cards were a good way to ensure customer loyalty—shop with us, get a discount. Winners all around.
No, now these companies have gotten greedy. I actually signed up for one card yesterday, and I was asked for my name, phone number, address. Guess were that info is going kids? They'll sell it off to be placed on a marketing list, and we know the wonderful security employed by such companies in guarding our info from identity theft, which is, well, pretty much no security at all. One wonders if that immediate $5 savings on a videogame and future 10% discount on used games is worth the ongoing hilarity of having your identity ripped off, or of simply being spammed to death.

I doubt it.

A Time Too Short

I lost a friend this month. Indeed, writing this is difficult and I purposely gave myself some time to get some distance, so to speak. It's funny perhaps that my first true entry here is regarding death, but preachers always tell us that death is only the beginning and so maybe it all fits together.

On Friday, February 3rd I got that call that no one wants to get. My good friend Dominic was calling to tell me the news: our friend Nick had passed away the night before. Nick had just turned 43 this January. I was disbelieving, but Dom's demeanor made it clear he wasn't joking. I spent the rest of that afternoon in a daze, feeling like I'd been kicked in the stomach, and I didn't relish the thought of telling the other members of our circle the news.

I met Nick back in 1987? 1988? It was long ago, nearly twenty years now. I was working for a computer rental company, then one of the largest in the country (now long since dissolved). I worked in the "back lab" with the less-experienced techs and one day I met a fellow recently transferred from the warehouse. (In those days guys moving from the warehouse into the lab and learning the ropes wasn't unusual.) It took me a while to get to know Nick. He took a lot of good-natured ribbing from his ex-warehouse buddies and seemed like a nice guy right from the start. One fellow in particular, one Glen, always got after Nick for buttoning the very top button of his shirt. Glen would chase Nick around the warehouse every other day and nag him until he reluctantly undid the offending button. Nick had a style all his own, even then, and we all assumed he always had. Nick was a big guy, but gentle and soft-spoken, and he walked with a silent but shuffling gait.

Eventually Nick and I became friends in that easy-going way, where you hardly remember how it happened but instead it just feels like the other person has always been there. It was a relaxed friendship that waxed and waned those first years; we shared a love of Def Leppard and heavy metal (as it was in the '80s) in general, and we went to a number of concerts—'Leppard, KISS, and others, including the 6-hour "Monsters of Rock" at New Jersey's Giant Stadium. We traded CDs, grabbed lunch, and helped each other at work. Several years running our little work group—consisting of Nick, me, our mutual friend Dom, and whomever else we could grab—headed over to the local watering hole and shared a December holiday toast by belting down a shot of dark rum. Nick and I gained work experience and moved into the front lab. Eventually I shared a face-to-face worktable with Nick and when I later left the company in 1991 he inherited my vaunted "notes"—a stack of worn index cards filled with crabbed notes about jumper settings and techie data that he accepted as gingerly as if I had offered him the Dead Sea Scrolls.

As the years went on Nick was always there. Nick, Dom, and I made a yearly summer pilgrimage down to the beach and it became tradition--ride down, get breakfast near the boardwalk (always at the same place, although it changed owners at least three times), hit the beach for a few hours, grab lunch on the boardwalk (pizza or sausage sandwiches was key, this was the Jersey shore after all), play miniature golf on the rooftops (who paid was often decided by a skeeball competition earlier), hit the arcades, and then stop for dinner on the way home. Those dinners were great vehicles for long discussions about work, life, and family. We didn't care if we sat in the middle of a fancy Italian restaurant stinking of sand and Coppertone, our hair askew in that unique beach style; it was about fellowship. Those trips were some of my best times with Nick, and one summer we even spent a long weekend at Wildwood in an attempt to extend the experience.

Nick drifted easily into my larger group of friends, and he was happy to join in whatever we did. Nick played D&D with us (more on that later), went to movies, did lunches. Nick never stood out as a leader, but he was always present and his humor and unique nature was always an obvious and welcome presence. We had many lunches at Bennigan's (where Nick happily ordered the gut-busting Death By Chocolate every time) and many, many Chinese dinners in which we would grab James, Dave, or whomever we could, circle around a big round table, and share everything.

My memories of Nick are legion: His inept shuffling of cards at a poker game (I missed the event but came in as everyone was doubled over with laughter) or the hasty evacuation of all players once Nick raised (Nick couldn't bluff and the rare event of a Nicky raise often led to cries of "Nick's got a full house!" and insanely rapid folds) and the time Nick lost so much money playing one night that I, to the bemused delight of everyone else, made a show of giving Nick 35 cents toll money for his ride home. (For a better telling on Nick's poker days, see the great write-up at http://schizohedron.blogspot.com/) I can remember Nick on the beach wearing black socks and sandals, or his rubbing suntan lotion on his chest and his dense chest hair (we didn't nickname him Sasquatch for nothing!) turning the lotion into a useless white shampoo. I recall Nick lumbering into the shower at Mark's shore place and stepping on the tiled shower lip and collapsing it, to Mark's horror. I remember a white hair, white knuckle ride Nick took us on once as we followed (read: tailgated) another car down the GS Parkway (Nick was deathly afraid of getting lost). More often than not Nicky simply cracked us all up with something he did, or more often tried unsuccessfully to do.

Nick was a favorite D&D player. He wasn't what you'd call a hardcore gamer by any means, and he didn't pore over the rules they way Mark or Willie or I do, but he always offered helpful suggestions, tried to decipher what must have seemed impossibly complex rules, and in his usual selfless way participated just because it made us happy. Playing with Nick was always fun because he didn't know every rule or monster, and so the rest of us saw things through his fresh perspective and the magic came back to the game. I was in the process of rewriting Nick's character sheets the week he died, and our tiny group will save Buckey the Halfling Thief and Roth the Cleric for future adventures.

Nick also faithfully joined us in huge RISK battles (he never won but he came dangerously close in one of our very last games and the thrill on his face was great to behold), and would regularly play the other weird boardgames I regularly throw at our group. Nick particularly liked Puerto Rico and Bohnanza ("the bean game" in Nick-speak). Our last boardgame night was New Years Eve, and we played Puerto Rico and Bang! and toasted in 2006. Happily, I snapped off a few pictures that evening. It was a good night. I had to fight off the urge at Nick's wake to surreptitiously slip a game die into Nick's coffin, in case he ever wishes to join us in our future games. He will always be a presence at our table, whatever game we play.

I miss Nick already. I think of his goofy but lovable way. I think of him gaming with us. I think of him walking into my place and always giving Mojo (my tabby) a peck atop the head (Nick's gentle nature made him one of the small group that could actually hold Mojo without the beast immediately going into a panic). I think of those shore trips and the Chinese dinners. I'm sorry he will no longer be there for these things. I'll miss that child-like naivety he possessed. There will be a void in our group, and even an old agnostic like myself must believe he has gone to a better place.

I'll always be your friend Nick and somehow, someway, we'll meet again.

My First One

Done it. I've joined the masses and decided to post my thoughts for the eyes of the world.

I've been driven to do this by forces that I cannot control, but there is no choice but to go with the flow and see what develops. I'll try to write when I can, keep it interesting, and keep you guessing, gentle reader.

Stay tuned!