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This diary writing while away from home is becoming a habit now. It means, of course, that I tend to be even more self-involved than usual. How sad. If you don't like it, don't read it, it's that easy.
I have found that my room at Oxford, as per the information from Azriel, does actually have a live internet feed. Amazing. Considering that they can't even give you a proper bloody bathroom, or proper much of anything really, it's ridiculous. That's the trouble with Oxford. With England in general, in fact. They figure that it's such a privilege just to be here that people should be quite willing to pay outrageous prices for barbaric facilities. The bathroom is three floors down and I have to share it with the whole staircase, of, I guess, around 15 people or so. And I'm paying huge amounts for this? Holy shit. And you're not allowed to walk on the grass. What the fuck is grass for? To look at? The Poms really need to get the sticks out of their arses. And I mean this with all due respect.
Actually, I know Oxford rather well, having lived here for a year in my younger days, and I have many good memories of the place. I'll nip over and visit the house we used to live, and walk around some of my old haunts. I shouldn't complain too much. It's just that, coming into it again makes you realise, suddenly, just how backwards England is in some ways. Some years ago I had the opportunity to move to England to work. We never really considered it, and I'm glad we didn't.
Mr. Nosuch has thrown a real hissy fit on his blog. Holy shit. A bit of perspective is sorely needed here. By a series of smart-mouthed emails Alex quite deliberately built a molehill into a mountain, and then, having worked himself into a sense of complete outrage, published all the details in his blog, including the emails he got from Joe.
You know, I like New York. I often even like New Yorkers. Some good friends live there. Really. But this sort of NY attitude is just so silly. How can anyone take it seriously? Not me. But it is so amusingly disengenuous to claim, with every appearance of sincerity, that the series of emails were in the public domain because (I kid you not) they were part of DT customer service! Oh dear. Give me a break.
You know, despite everything, I still find myself unable to dislike Alex. But, like the rest of us I suppose, he needs to rethink a number of things.
I vowed (elsewhere) to do a series of ego-building exercises. These involved never talking to younger women. Except my wife, that is. For obvious reasons. But then I went and broke this resolution and made a smart-mouthed comment to ... you guessed it.... a younger woman. Bad move, James. Bad move. She replied with the sort of biting comeback that shrinks your testicles 3 sizes in as many seconds. And that was just on her blog. I hate to think what she would have said in real life. I must stick to my resolution with greater fervour. Easy to do at the minute as there's no temptation to do otherwise. Unfortunately.
Not that I feel too confident with any woman at the minute, after the last fiasco with Tove. Dear oh dear. I don't usually talk much here about our private chats because they are her business as much as mine, but this last ... discussion .... was such a burner I have to say something. You see, for a number of reasons, all of which I thought very good at the time, I decided to delete the Knight. Permanently. I began the process by pulling in some GM help to do a proper death, and even Joe got involved, looking into ways of killing Sleipy in a satisfactorily dramatic manner. But I didn't consult Tove at all. In hindsight, a very silly thing to do. Or not to do, whatever. I really honestly thought that she would be happier in many ways, although temporarily annoyed. Boy, was I wrong. I have been roasted every which way, put through the ringer, and hung out to dry, if I may mix my metaphors with such gay abandon. In actuality it was worse than this. It seems I managed to do something that she found not only annoying (as is my usual approach) but hurtful as well.
As some of you may know, I consider myself to be extraordinarily lucky in my relationship with Baba. It was one of those fortuitous meetings that make sense immediately, and continue to make sense. Those of you who have tried similar sorts of things know just how hard it is to carry off this type of close IC relationship. Bad communication, misunderstandings, lack of interest, change of plans, all are killers. But Tove and I have stuck with it over the years, changing as we go, adapting to new things, but always remaining true to the basic RP precepts that we try to follow. We have been, essentially, a team of two.
For me to make plans to kill off this team, without even consulting my partner was, in hindsight, not only stupid, but inconsiderate and rude. I should never have done it, and I greatly regret that I did. Let this be a lesson to you all, gentle readers. Attempt always, by word and deed, to be a better man than I.
Attempt also, if you can possible imagine such rarefied heights, to be a better man than Natas also. The struggle will be long and hard, but ultimately satisfying I have no doubt. I myself, I fear to say, have descended to his level and resorted to abusing him directly. Very immature of me, but I just couldn't resist. He is such an easy target; a lethal combination of aggression, stupidity, arrogance and immaturity. Still, at least my thoughts over whether he was actually trying to role play have been answered most satisfactorily. They were rather silly questions, weren't they?
However degrading it is to abuse someone such as Natas, it's almost worth it for the abuse one gets in return. My favourite is "Get a (fucking) life". The logical dissonance of this statement, of which he is clearly so completely unaware, makes me giggle every time. One gets this wonderfully comforting feeling of superiority. Hee Hee.
Since my run-in with this handsome Zo the Knight is so so close to having a red name. I'm hoping he'll achieve this goal next time I log on, although it may require a few ss messages to get there. Only 3 to go! I am greatly looking forward to taking a sketch of the Knight with a red name; it will be a picture to keep for posterity. I'm only writing this now because I know I won't be posting it in public for some time, so that nobody will have the opportunity to ruin my fun by giving me a lot of good karma. Actually, I've been trying to avoid the good karma (just a little bit) which is cheating I suppose, but only in a minor way. I know that Slyph would, if asked, help out with the last few bk, but that is cheating *too* much so I'd better not.
I have felt quite jealous of Babajaga on the numerous previous occasions when her bk has been running high. I've even seen her with a red name, something I've never yet managed to achieve with the Knight, so it's nice to be in the superior position now, with Baba having ZERO bk, and the Knight lots. Tally ho.
I don't actually particularly like the karma system, for a single reason only. Sending anonymous bk has always struck me as a particularly cowardly thing to do. It's like writing bad reviews of scientific papers. When I do this (which is quite often) I never demand anonymity, always signing my name to the review. I figure that, if I'm going to slam something, I should have the courage to face up to the author and defend my opinions. Same with bk really.
I've now just spent the entire afternoon drinking large amounts of whiskey so it's a perfect time to write something in my diary. Ho Ho Ho. Backbiting supreme. X doesn't llike Y doesn't like Z etc etc. Forget the science, it's all personalities. Mine, of course, is perfect. Especially when sozzled. It seems I won't get to meet Jnder after all which is disappointing. On the nights that I'm free, it seems that Jnder is off doing things she really ought not, while on the nights Jnder is free I'm busy having stuffy dinners with stuffy academics. Well, old friends too. Maybe I'll get to meet Maz in London on my way out. We'll see.
Now, what else can I say? How about "What a fucking boring conference." Life is, in many ways, too short for this kind of crap. Now, if I could have visited Oslo to get another glimpse of that paragon of Clan Lord, the famous, beautiful, and highly attractive Tove, then that would have been different. But, of course, I can't. Bugger. Even just saying this shows that I'm drunk, cause usually I'd be a whole lot more circumspect, to save her feelings, not to mention my dignity. But hell, if I can't be stupid when I'm drunk, when can I be? Oh dear. Why is it that I am getting the feeling that I will regret this in the morning. If I write too much in this vein I will never be allowed to visit Oslo again, in the fear that my behaviour will be too reprehensible (a nice long word). Especially if I make a special effort. When I try I can behave *really* badly. Or so I like to think. The trouble with this conference is that there really isn't an opportunity for me to behave really badly. Nob lody knows who the fuck I am here, which rather limits the possibilities in terms of bad behaviour. Somehow it doesn't seem worth it to make the effort if it will all go unnoticed.
I just wrote a pile of stuff, but upon reflection it was just too dull to include. Or too revealing. Or both probably. But certainly not to my credit, and thus to be omitted.
This afternoon I walked past a photography shop in Oxford that I will always remember for a rather strange experience I had there, many years ago. Some of you will know, I'm sure, the experience of seeing a woman (or man, of course) and having something, just something, catch you completely. The turn of phrase, the way they smile? Who knows, who can describe it? But it grabs your emotions with this sudden urgency that cannot be denied. Not love at first sight, oh no. I know better than that. Love is something that builds over time, I think. Love doesn't come in ten seconds, or even ten days. Not simple lust either. That is easily recognised and discounted. But nevertheless, the sudden .... attraction ... I'm talking about is very real, and very powerful.
And it was in this photography shop that I had one of the most intense experiences of this type I've ever had. A slender blond girl. Speaking with a gentle Scot lilt. She didn't even notice me, she just came in to purchase something I suppose, a routine thing, in and out. But she spoke, she smiled at the person serving her, I turned around.... and wham. It hit me with extraordinary force. I have no idea why. But I have never forgotten.
I rarely talk about my wife, Monique, here. To do so would be to dig far deeper into my emotions than I am usually willing to go. There is safety in casual banter, and cynical jibing. But after what I have written above, I know that I cannot just leave her out of these particular thoughts.
It is a source of great pride to me, a source of continual amazement, and a source of abiding contentment, that I have for Monique these same, sudden, feelings. I have, not from the time I first met her, for we were both very young then, but for many many years, and they continue to this day. Obviously, these sudden flashes of attraction swim in far, far deeper waters. But every so often, just looking at Monique will make me catch my breath, will cause this very same reaction that I describe above. It helps that she is, by any standards, an extraordinarily beautiful woman; in all probability, this is a large part of it. She has also a smile that shines, and a sunny nature to carry it.
Old I might be - and there is no greater crime in the eyes of the young than being old and daring to be in love - and married for many years I might be. But still I know that any person lucky enough to have what I have is lucky indeed, for I have been granted something that is granted, I believe, to very few.
Laugh at me, you younger people, if you dare. But envy me also.
And finally, in this long, long, series of bits and pieces, I met Maz on the way out through London. I am forbidden to say anything nice about him (to preserve his reputation) and I had better not say anything too rude (as he sometimes reads this diary I now know), so I had better say nothing at all.
But I will say that, of all the people in the world, Maz must be the least likely person ever to read someone else's diary.
Back home now. And I even played CL my first night back, as Monique was at work. To have, let me say, one of the funniest experiences, in a sad sort of way, I've ever had in CL. Cutlas and the Knight were going at it hammer and tongs over the SS and in the square. Tally Ho and away. Enter Baffette, stage right, and launches into an anti-Sleipy diatribe, right in front of him. Not funny yet, you think. But get this. She was talking to Cutlas because (as she pointed out) she always has Sleipy on ignore. But she nevertheless needed to get her point across to Sleipy that she finds him particularly offensive. She couldn't do it directly, because of the ignore thingy, so she had a bit of a dilemma. What to do, what to do? So she got around it by talking to Sleipy while pretending to talk to Cutlas while ignoring Sleipy still. Ho ho ho. I was laughing so much I had tears running down my face.
But it was sad at the same time. For here was a person, clearly deeply offended by Sleipy, but so unwilling to even talk about it that she had to resort to such methods to communicate. Now, I admit, Sleipy has been pretty offensive to Baffette. No question. But, for some, IC abuse translates directly into deep OOC offense. Which is sad. Why can't more people be like Cutlas and Althea? Or even Prue. Well, no, not Prue. We don't need any more of *her* God knows. Ack. The best argument against cloning I can imagine.
Anyway, Baffette said (in the middle of saying how big a shit I am) that she reads this diary every so often. If you ever read this, Baffette, please try to understand. I have never tried to cause you (PWC Baffette) personal offence. The Knight has been very nasty to Baffette, absolutely. But, in my mind, that is a very different thing. If you are really so deeply offended by this, your best option is just to say to me "ooc: look, I don't want to participate in this. please just leave me out of it". And then, believe it or not, I would apologise and tell the Knight to lay off.
Probably falling on deaf ears, but it's worth the attempt.
Still, the humour predominates. It seems that half of the Pogue Mahone, that clan that "roleplayed (sic)" the cover-up of the foothills, that "roleplayed (sic)" the ranger fiasco, are actually so unable to cope with roleplaying that their first response to a verbal battle is to hit the ignore key. In a battle of force, organisation and guile, where they stand preeminent, they are the first to the roleplaying fore. But in a battle of words, where they are perhaps somewhat less inspired, they run away. Only some of them, I hasten to emphasise. When it comes to Althea and Cutlas, I'm the one that runs away.
In the same vein, I cannot resist repeating one of Malkor's jabs at Sleipy last night. It was a touch of pure brilliance. Of absolute class. Of sheer genius.
"Oh", says Malkor, "Cutlas is known for his charity work. Why, just the other day I saw him give a string of pearls to a Sylvan lady who had absolutely nothing else to wear".
I am very lucky there is only one Malkor.
There is, I fear, nothing left to say. Words cannot even begin to describe the tragedy. For me, the pictures that hit hardest were those of people jumping from the upper floors, jumping to their deaths. I can find no way of describing how I felt upon seeing that. But my eyes were dim with tears.
I have many good friends in NYC. All are, as far as I know, well. Monique has close family in NYC. We have not yet heard about her brother, who works very close by the World Trade Center. He doesn't work there every day. We wait, and hope. Monique is shattered, her stability precarious.
Violence, as we know, breeds violence, and so it happens here, as elsewhere. The voices of calm, reason and moderation are steadily being drowned out beneath the ravening howls of the lynch mob, who know not whom to lynch, but know only that they must kill someone, anyone, in recompense. The world reduced to black and white. To a Hollywood script of goodies versus baddies. And uncountable deaths to follow, all innocent and all futile.
We found out tonight that Monique's brother is alive and kicking, back home in New Jersey. He was close by at the time of the attack it seems, but not close enough to get hurt. As it turns out, her mother was also in NYC at the time, sitting on a plane at La Guardia, waiting to go to Florida. Needless to say, she didn't leave the ground for some days.
All our minds, I am sure, swim over a dark sea of psychosis. It waits there, just below the surface, for the unwary or careless swimmer. Most of us float easily, buoyed up by multiple aids, little floating things of this and that.We run little risk of sinking.
Monique swims low in the water. And when a terrible shock occurs, when a wave hits her full on, she goes under. This time I can see her struggling to swim, her desperate attempts to keep her head dry, her flailing arms and cries for help. But, despite her best efforts, every so often she tires, she slips beneath the surface, and disappears into that black sea where I cannot reach her, where she cannot even reach herself. After a time she will reappear, gasping for breath, terrified of where she has been, and will go again. And the struggle begins all over again.
I have never, in my entire life, experienced anything so terrifying.
She improves, day by day.
Monique swims again. Not quite high and dry yet, but swimming, and doing better every day. Some times are worse than others. It wasn't so bad this time around.
We spent the weekend at my little sister's (second) wedding. That's one of my little sisters. She was marrying one of NZ's better known classical composers. So five minutes into the service we learn that we are about to hear a piece that Craig composed for Liz. Fair enough, one thinks, he is a composer after all. Then Craig goes to perform it on the piano. Well, OK. I guess he's allowed to. It's his wedding after all. Piece ends (a horrible one). Five more minutes into the service. A second piece Craig wrote. Oh dear. Another one. Ah well.... but what's this? Oh, Craig is playing *again*. Hmmm.... Piece ends (a much nicer one. Actually, a very good one). Ten more minutes, then we learn that we are about to hear *another* piece by Craig. Shit, this is all getting a bit much. But then, what does Craig do but drop everything, pick up the viola this time, and begin performing once more. Holy fuck, I think, this is meant to be a wedding, not a fucking benefit concert. Liz rolls her eyes in loving admiration. Parents all go Oooooohhh Aaaaaah. Am I the only person thinking it's a bit fucking much? No, thank the lord. My younger brother was trying not to wet his pants, same as me.
Actually, it was a lovely wedding. I enjoyed it greatly. We are a close family, and Liz is very much in love, so I was happy for her. We all were. Her first husband was and is a total fucking wanker. Craig is quite an improvement. He is (to be serious just a minute) a highly talented musician, and a truly worthy person. I like him greatly. Shame about his mother.
I went as Louis XIV, elaborate wig and all. The mother (his, not mine) was not amused. Better and better, thought I. My family barely even noticed. They are used to me.
Lizzie had asked me to perform at her wedding also. With Craig. He can (she said) play anything, including jazz. This is a very common misconception classical musicians have. They so often think they can play jazz, they can really groove, yeah baby, if only they have the music in front of them, and maybe practise the lines a little. Yeah, right. But (so often) they can't even tell they can't do it because they don't know enough to know even that. And real jazz players listen, and laugh.
It's hard to play jazz when you have a stick up your arse. And I wasn't about to try to remove Craig's in front of 100 people.
While staying at the hotel I watched a bit of CNN for the first time in a while. The phrase I heard over and over again (and again) was how America is "... leading the free world in the war against terrorism". There was (irony of ironies) clearly no understanding of how deeply, deeply offensive statements like this are to the rest of the world. I even heard Bush use the word "crusade". Of all words to use... of all times to use it. The insensitivity and stupidity is breathtaking. Appalling. And terrifying.
One doesn't have to look far for historical parallels. During the halycon days of the British Empire (the sun never sets....Rule Britannia.... etc etc) Britain was full of people, good honest down-to-earth ordinary people, who truly, truly believed that bringing enlightenment, civilisation and Christianity to the Black Man was a task given to them by God, a task at which it was their duty to labour heroically. The White Man's Burden.
And now the masses of the U.S. all rush to take up the new burden of their day and age; the defense of the free world. That no lessons are learned from history should not surprise us, for they never have been. But that those of us about to be defended are somewhat less than grateful should not surprise either. Those on the receiving end of The Burden so rarely are.
I actually got to play a little Clan Lord. Chatted with Babs the Fleet, dodged missiles from Kira ("Now that your wife is better I guess your diary will go back to whining on about Baba. God, how boring you are ......") and inducted Coriakin into the Red Quill using the Slavery device that proved so effective on Vagile. We thought we'd better get him before he changed his mind and decided to join a proper clan instead. Babs and I frog-marched him off to the clan house where he succumbed quickly to the mind-control thingy.
I still can't take screen shots (well, not easily anyway), so no piccies of the event. Bummer.No! Wait! I stole these piccies from Coriakin's page. Tally Ho and away. Ta muchly, you Thoomy dude.
I am very tempted to make an effort and do something with the LIFE team. (They have to let me in or I'll take away Sleipy's shovel, you see. No matter how much they may hate the Knight...... Ho Ho Ho). I find their agenda compelling. Well, maybe compelling is too strong a word. But interesting anyway. And I like their attitude. God knows whether I'll ever find the time though. Four hours at once? And Sleipy isn't allowed to depart? What sort of crap is that? Why shouldn't he depart if he wants to? Huh? Stupid rules. Maybe I won't join them after all.
A student: "What is being covered on the second test?"
A Professor: "The second test was last week".
A student: "Really? Why didn't you tell me?"
A Professor: "Give me a break. I announced it every lecture for the week beforehand, and the date is given on the handout you got at the beginning of class. You don't come to any lectures do you?"
A student: "Er.... it's worth 20 percent?"
A Professor: "Yes".
A student: "How can I make up that 20 percent?"
A Professor: "You can't."
A student: "But that's not fair!"
A Professor: "Life isn't fair."
A student:"What about if I plead? Please let me do the test now"
A Professor: "Just so we understand each other, let me be quite clear. If you don't come to the test (or the lectures) this is your problem. Not mine. I couldn't care less. Plead all you like, but there is no way in hell I am going to give you a makeup exam. Capiche?"
Exeunt. (Names have been changed to protect the innocent).
In other world news, my boat got broken into but nothing was stolen, while Lance had wind problems at rehearsal last night. Or rather, we had problems with Lance's wind. Just thought I'd share that. Baba's favourite is now a ballad, and For T works well as a funk piece. So does Lady B, actually. Not funky enough for Shep I imagine (Oh, that's the funk band that you have when you don't really have a funk band) but happenin' dudes all the same. Where is that sheep-swiver anyhoo? Haven't seen him for yonks. Seen the beautiful Hazel though. Ho hum. No Knight for her, or imagine how the shit would hit the fan. It must be the calves. Do I know who clicks for Hazel? Probably. Or at least I think I do.
Actually, I have to admit that the band shows promise. Lots of potential. Excellent rhythm section. I'm quite excited at prospects. Still, bands fall over so easily there's no point getting my hopes up yet.
I was brave enough to read Kira's diary again. I am unsure of my ability to resist making smart remarks. The temptation is too.... too... too... strong. I must resist. I must resist. I must resist. I must resist. Or Perkusi will want to drop a bomb on me. Maybe a nuke. Get more at once that way, with greater efficiency.
Something weird is happening with the Mystic Council crap it seems. I only just read through some of the NG postings, by Nyssa and others. It seems that there is terrific bad feeling OOC. Such a shame. I'm completely biased in the matter. I love Nyssa. Always have. Always will (well.... maybe). Great roleplayer. Friendly person. Funny as they come. Lots of fun. So whatever went on in their secretive councils I just do not believe she can have been too much to blame. Look at her opposition: Aki, the personification of secretiveness and exclusivity. Can't say we've ever been best buddies. Malkor; hell, I can't say too many bad things about him. Sutai: well, he's rather cool I have to admit. Very cool actually. Exceedingly cool. Robin Greyhawk; he's the one that needs to commit some adultery I think. Or have it off with a sheep or something. It would do him good. Valtrim, don't really know him, because he can't stand the Red Quill or Knights so Sleipy loses both ways there. Or maybe Sleipy gains, I don't really know. Anyway, the end result is that one of my favourite players seems seriously pissed.
I do actually think it's sad that the game deliberately promotes exclusiveness, unfriendliness and uncooperativeness in many ways. Not in all ways of course. But in some. And there are many people who like to play that way, whose personalities lend themselves to this kind of approach. Spoils some aspects of the game for me, and for others too. Still, at least there isn't PK, which is one good thing.
Great to see Caddrel back in the game. And even greater to be holding the trumps this time around. He should smirk a little less, and learn a little more. Ho Ho Ho. That is, of course, assuming that I do hold the trumps. Maybe I don't, in which case probably I should smirk a little less etc etc. A perennial problem, isn't it?
I am trying to reestablish my comment system. A number of people are taking offence at my comments and wish to have the right of reply. Yeah, yeah, but it's *my* diary, not yours, isn't it? I'll see what I can do. Some weird permissions thing.
Something weird happened today. Sleipy cursed Natas just for the fun of it, but he didn't curse Sleipy back! Most strange. He only mumbled about getting a life or something. I felt quite put out. If I go to the trouble of making up a nice curse for someone, I expect to get some sort of reaction at the very least. Natas is usually reliable for that. Maybe he was just having a bad day or something. I'll have to try to catch him when he's feeling more sociable.
Of course I could have cursed Prue, but it's not so much fun when the recipient doesn't care.