March
2008
By Douglas Kent,
Email: doug of whiningkentpigs.com or diplomacyworld of yahoo.com
On the web at http://www.whiningkentpigs.com – or
go directly to the Diplomacy section at http://www.whiningkentpigs.com/DW/. Also be sure to visit the new Diplomacy
World website at http://www.diplomacyworld.net
All Eternal Sunshine readers are encouraged
to join the free Eternal Sunshine Yahoo group at http://games.groups.yahoo.com/group/eternal_sunshine_diplomacy/
to stay up-to-date on any subzine news or errata.
Quote Of The Month – “Can you hear me? I don't want this any more! I want to call it off!” (Joel in “Eternal
Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”)
Welcome
to Eternal Sunshine, the only Diplomacy subzine to officially endorse David
Lynch for President of the United States.
You can visit our election campaign headquarters under the train tracks
on Cherry Street in Rahway, New Jersey.
Not too far from Rahway State Prison, but don’t let that stop you from
lending your support to this enterprise!
While other candidates make generic speeches about change and vision and
class warfare, Lynch is running on a platform of damn good coffee,
huckleberry pie, and lots and lots of donuts.
Lots
of action around these parts this month.
To begin with, we have the first Eternal Sunshine Diplomacy game,
“Wouldn’t It Be Nice”, off and running.
Let’s hope for sharp knives and a bunch of lively press. Then the 7x7 Gunboat Tournament has started
too; I won’t be printing the 7x7 games in the subzine itself because of space
considerations (and the fact that we’re probably going to do two turns a month)
but feel free to check out the games on the web site (in their own section) at http://www.whiningkentpigs.com/DW/
). It’s nice to have some true gaming
action in this rag at long last!
There’s
also the usual columns, book and movie reviews, letters…you know, all the stuff
you hate. I’ve included my latest prison
article, which isn’t especially emotional, but I needed to write it up so I
could move on to other similar topics. A
few of you have offered very generous words of encouragement when it comes to
these essays. I hope to collect enough
of them together so I can approach a publisher or literary agent with hopes of
developing the project into a published book.
Then I can finally focus attention on the other books I want to write,
especially the one about my childhood and the one about my relationship with
Mara. As always, any comments or
feedback is welcome and appreciated.
Let’s
hear it for the New York Football Giants!
Quite a game…and a real joy to see Eli Manning drive his team to the
winning score. The only thing about the
game which I couldn’t figure out was why the Pats were throwing deep
again and again on their last possession.
They had like a minute left plus two time-outs. Shouldn’t they have tried to take a few 10 or
15 yard pass plays to set up a shot at the end zone and/or a field goal? Of course they wouldn’t have needed to do
anything if they’d taken the earlier field goal. I suppose that when you feel invulnerable, you
make bad decisions.
So
now it’s on to baseball season. Go
Rangers! Yeah, I know, they suck
every year. I’m hoping for a lot of
progress from our young players. Jon
Daniels has made some decent moves in the last year, built up a depleted farm
system, and laid the groundwork for a contender. Unfortunately I don’t see us contending until
2009 or 2010. But I can deal with that,
as long as the Rangers stick to the plan! That is always the problem: they change
direction far too often. Maybe they’ve finally learned their lesson?
Our
wedding pictures are basically finished.
We just need to choose the ones we want printed, and then finally we’ll
have all of them in digital format. I’ll
post some to the web site soon afterward, so watch here or on my blog (http://blog.whiningkentpigs.com) for
news on that front.
I
haven’t mentioned it for a while, but some of you may remember that I started
taking Zoloft last year to help with a multitude of symptoms. My doctor says I have a little bit of a lot
of problems: depression, obsessive-compulsive disorder, anxiety, racing
thoughts, and who knows what else? I’ve
been on a very low dose, but as my anxiety level was beginning to rise again
over November and December we decided to up the level. I hadn’t had any major negative side effect
to the Zoloft, except for feeling generally flat when I first started it.
Whether
raising my dosage had anything to do with it or not, about a week later I had
an absolutely terrible week. I woke up
one Tuesday morning horrendously anxious, and it only got worse during the
way. Unlike some occasions, when I find
myself worrying about specific things (albeit in an excessive way), this time I
had no psychological or emotional trigger to attach my anxiety to. Instead, I simply felt a terrible anxiety all
over, approaching panic levels. In fact,
during the course of the next twelve hours I found myself experiencing some
paranoia as well; looking suspiciously at whoever was driving behind me,
blaming a computer problem on government interference…even though, at the same
time, I knew those thoughts were utterly irrational, part of my brain still
could not let go of them.
Fortunately
by that Thursday I began to improve.
After talking to my therapist and my psychiatrist, we split my Zoloft
dosage from one pill once a day to half a pill twice a day. And we’ve added a very small dose of
Klonopin, which I started taking a few night ago. I don’t know if I even notice a difference
yet, but I’m happy to try something. My
father suffered from some severe anxiety disorders for which he took Klonopin
and Valium. Before they got those under
control he would usually wind up hospitalized when he suffered attack, as they
completely screwed up his body chemistry to the point where his diabetes went
crazy. Hopefully I won’t reach that
level, but I definitely did not enjoy the massive attack I
suffered through. That was bad
enough!
So
I guess that’s the last of my usual ramblings for this issue. Enjoy the rest of the subzine, and I’ll see
you after March!
Mandatory
Extended Vacation
My
final journey to Federal prison actually began about three days
beforehand. I was living in Dallas, but had
been assigned to the facility in Allenwood, Pennsylvania. I am told it isn’t all that unusual for the
Bureau of Prisons to designate you to a location far from home, but in this
case I wasn’t complaining at all. In
fact, it had been my specific request (through my lawyer) that I be placed
somewhere in the northeast region, in order to be closer to Staten Island where
my father and stepmother lived. The way
I figured things, with my 46 month sentence, the odds of my father still being
alive by the time I was released seemed remote at best. And it sounded rather selfish (and
unworkable) to expect him to travel across the country to Texas every time he
hoped to visit me. By serving my time as
close to his home as possible, I’d hopefully be able to see him a half-a-dozen
times before it was too late to see him at all.
Dad
had been in poor health for years. At
first it was just his diabetes, which alone was bad enough, requiring multiple
daily insulin injections. But later he
added Parkinson’s Disease to his list of ailments, which made walking quite
difficult for him. There had also been a
stroke or two, and some sort of disorder which caused poor flow of fluid into
his spinal column. It had been clear to
everyone, including himself, that his physical condition would only worsen as
time went on. So to have the chance to
see my father before surrendering to authorities, and hopefully a few times
while incarcerated, was to me a very lucky break.
When
I was sentenced, I had been advised by my lawyer that I would have about two
weeks to report to prison, during which time the BOP would designate my initial
facility. If I wasn’t going to be
assigned to Allenwood or to Fort Dix (in New Jersey), my hope was that I would
be sent to Seagoville, which is a facility just east of Dallas. At least that way I’d be close enough for
regular visits from Heather.
I
was uncertain about how wise that would be though. First of all, I didn’t have any way of
knowing just what kind of conditions I would be living in, or what the visits
would be like – except I already knew there were no conjugal visits in Federal
prison. So I was worried that if Heather
saw a dirty, unsafe, threatening environment, she’d have too much cause to worry
about my safety. As long as I was far
away, I could try and paint a positive, peaceful picture of prison life, and
she’d have to real option but to accept it.
Besides, deep down I didn’t want to take up any of Heather’s personal
time while I was locked up. If I was
somehow lucky enough for the relationship to survive all the time apart, I was
going to be eternally grateful; but I thought it was unfair for me to be so
close by where she would feel obligated to visit, which would in a way distract
her from potentially starting a new relationship with someone else.
Heather,
in her typical strong-willed fashion, was not even remotely concerned that she
would break our relationship off. It
took quite a bit of effort and explanation on my part to convince her that we
shouldn’t get married before I left. The
way I looked at it, the marriage wouldn’t serve any purpose: if she decided not
to wait, we’d have to get a divorce, while if she chose to wait for my return,
we could always get married later. I’m
not sure how much of her insistence was intended to convince me of the depth of
her feelings, but such evidence wasn’t necessary. Still, without discussing it with me first,
she went ahead and got my name tattooed on her back one afternoon. I laughed and pointed out the tattoo wouldn’t
prevent her from dumping me. She
wouldn’t even need to limit her next relationship to a man with the same name,
as she could just pretend Douglas was the name of a dog or cat who had passed
away! Deep down, I never really doubted
we’d still be together…even if I didn’t believe I deserved all the love and
happiness and pleasure Heather brought into my world.
As
two weeks came and went, I hadn’t heard from my lawyer and became rather
concerned. After all, if they wanted me
to report somewhere, it was a little difficult for me to do that without being
told where! In the back of my mind I
could see myself falling through the cracks, never being notified but meanwhile
listed as missing, until a random traffic stop resulted in me being
incarcerated as an escapee, with years added to my sentence and my time to be
served in a maximum-security facility for troublemakers like me.
Eventually
my lawyer returned my nervous phone calls to let me know that he’d spoken to
the Federal Marshalls and they’d said it would be another week or two. While on one hand I was happy to enjoy some
extra freedom, on the other the situation sucked, because I had already made
plans to leave my job. Plus, the sooner
I got to prison, the sooner I could be done with my sentence! Still, at least this way I was able to spend
my birthday as a free man. Heather made
sure it was a VERY memorable experience, and between that night and the night
prior to my sentencing I was left with plenty of fantasies to keep me warm at
night…for a while, anyway.
So
after spending an extra 10 days or so counting the hours, like someone on death
row waiting for the inevitable footsteps down the corridor, I got the phone
call. I had been assigned to Allenwood,
and I was supposed to report there on November 6th. That gave me about a week to get my act
together and make travel arrangements.
I
despise flying. Not only am I in a
constant state of anxiety, waiting for the engines to fail or the inevitable
plummet to the earth, but I make everyone around me nervous as a result. I wasn’t always this way – I remember a few
flights to Boston which I enjoyed – but ever since the first time I landed in
Dallas in a thunderstorm, I’ve sworn off flying unless an emergency is
involved. And as far as I was concerned,
going to prison was not an emergency!
Instead,
I booked a one-way ticket with Amtrak, from Dallas to New York (with a 9-hour
layover in Chicago, where I would switch trains). I considered Greyhound instead, but the train
ticket was only about $20 more, and from far too much experience I can tell you
the train is a much more enjoyable experience altogether. I’d actually ridden this route once before,
round trip, but on that occasion my company was paying for it so I’d secured a
private berth and meals. This time I
just took a regular seat and no meals. I
figured I could eat before I left, and easily grab a bite in Chicago. With some snacks on hand, and a hot meal
waiting for me at my parent’s house in Staten Island, I couldn’t see the point
of paying for a meal on board.
The
night before I left Dallas was very emotional for me. Here I was, in love with the most wonderful
woman in the world, and I was going to have to kiss her and say goodbye for
what would probably be nearly three years.
As perfect as everything seemed, I had to wonder if anything would ever
be the same again. Would she change her
feelings for me once my memory had faded?
Would she meet someone new? Or
would we be different people when I came home, and discover the true love we
had shared has dissipated into the distance between us?
One
thing was for sure: I wasn’t going to let Heather take me to the train
station. Saying goodbye like that would
simply be too hard on both of us.
Instead, she stayed home from work to see me off, and I drove the car I
borrowed from my job back to the office, where my boss and friend Patty would
drive me the short trip to the nearby commuter station. From there I would catch a local train to
downtown Dallas, and switch to the Amtrak that was destined to take me away
from my own world, and deposit me one step away from the BOP’s.
Heather
and I tried not to get too emotional, but watching the sad face as I turned to
walk down the apartment stairs, with tears streaming down her cheeks, nearly tore
my heart in two. As bad as I felt about
the situation I was in, the realization that I had unwittingly unleashed this
misery on Heather too was simply another ten tons of guilt on my shoulders. At the time that Heather and I met, it seemed
that the justice system had decided not to pursue the case against me. My lawyer hadn’t heard any true confirmation
of that, but he had expected an indictment of some sort four months earlier,
and never heard a word. In typical Kent
fashion, four weeks after we met I discovered they were proceeding with an
indictment after all. Wonderful! If I’d felt that was still a possibility, I
wouldn’t have bothered trying to meet women or develop a new relationship. Of course, in the long run, I’m glad it
worked out this way, but back then it just seemed like another of my typical
screw-ups and a perfect example of my absolute lack of good timing.
While
I was afraid of what life in prison might be like, I was able to accept my fate
without too much resistance. There wasn’t
anything else I could do; I had to go, and that was that. Once I left Heather it wasn’t that hard to
avoid crying, because I found myself generally numb to everything that was
going on. I drove to work, caught a ride
with Patty, boarded the commuter train, and soon found myself climbing aboard
the silver Amtrak train, bag and ticket in hand, ready to head off on the
adventure known as federal incarceration.
But
first, I had to spend two days on a train.
To some people, that’s almost the same thing!
Train
travel has a number of advantages over bus travel. Traffic is a major factor, of course, as is
comfort (the seats are generally bigger on trains, with more leg room). But most important is the frequency of
stops. Anybody who has ridden Greyhound
a long distance will understand what I mean.
When you’re stopping for fifteen minutes in tiny backwater towns,
loading or unloading a single package or passenger while half the bus
disappears for a smoking break, it is almost impossible to get any sleep. On the other hand, the train moves at a
gradual pace, slowly accelerating or decelerating, and stopping only once an
hour at most. In addition, since the
passengers are travelling similar distances on a train (with less one-stop
travelers) the mood is quieter at night.
The
train ride to New York was rather uneventful.
After the first night, we pulled into Chicago around 10am for an eight
hour layover. This gave me time to make
some phone calls from the large payphone banks (mostly to people with 1-800
numbers), eat a sandwich and salad at a local restaurant, and pick up some
extra snacks at a drug store (my supply of Chex Mix was already running
low). The only real delay was waiting
for the train to depart from Chicago. My
memory is fuzzy on this point, but I remember standing in line a good three
hours before we were allowed to board.
This was the only part of my trip where I had to deal with “polite talk”
with the other passengers. I was tempted
to be honest when they’d ask where I was headed, but simply to keep the
conversation to a minimum I was half-truthful and said I was going to visit my
parents in Staten Island.
The
whole train ride was slow and surreal.
In a way, I found myself comparing it to prison: surrounded by people I
did not know, away from my comfort zone, unable to freely move around, the
schedule determined by those in power.
Of course, I was trying not to think too much about imprisonment or my
sentence. The whole idea of being locked
up for that long was too hard to get my brain around; I was doing my best to
psyche myself up to facing it one day at a time. And I had no real mental picture of what the
place would look like or what my day-to-day existence would be. The fear of the unknown can be a very
powerful and debilitating force, and I was determined not to give in to those
thoughts. Instead, even if I was faking
my way through, I was trying to act matter-of-factly. Many months later I would hear an expression
which inmates in the Residential Drug and Alcohol Program would use to describe
the way to get through that program even if you didn’t believe the things they
were teaching you:
“Fake it ‘til you
make it.”
I
hadn’t been taught that philosophy yet, but I was already making use of it.
Arriving
at long last in New York’s Penn Station, I took the subway down to the Staten
Island Ferry terminal and, after calling my Dad to let him know I had arrived,
I boarded the next ferry and found him waiting for me.
This
was the first time I’d seen my Dad in his car – a little Hyundai Accent. Until he’d bought this, his Parkinson’s and
severe Diabetes had greatly limited his mobility. But with the Hyundai, he had achieved a small
degree of freedom. Walking was still a
real ordeal for him; he would shuffle along like Tim Conway’s “Old Man”
character, moving inches at a time. But
in the driver’s seat, my father was like anybody else on the road. I know this made him feel like less of a
burden on his wife Barbara, and we all dreaded the way when he would no longer
be able to safely drive around.
While
we drove back to their house, Dad lectured me on what a great value the Hyundai
had been, and how I should buy myself one.
“I don’t think I’ll be needing a car anytime soon Dad” I replied with a
subdued laugh. Things got quiet for a
few minutes after that, but I tried my best to appear in a generally good
mood. I didn’t want to make things any
harder on him than absolutely necessary.
We
arrived at their house, and after a quick call to Heather to let her know I’d
made it in one piece I ran to the shower to clean off. Two long days on the train had left me
feeling terribly dirty and greasy. I
made it a point to relax in the shower, taking my sweet time, using all the hot
water I could. I really had no idea what
the showers would be like in prison, and I recognized that this would be my
second-to-last shower as a free man (the last one being the one I’d take the
next morning). It felt good to get
clean, to shave, and to put fresh clothes on.
When
planning this little detour on the way to prison, I’d been offered the choice
of either going out to dinner on my final night, or eating at home. I’d selected staying in. I wanted to be as comfortable as possible,
spend time with a few family members, and drink a little more wine than
necessary. Plus, because we would be
leaving the next morning, I didn’t want my father to get all tired and worn out
trying to play the host. By staying
home, he was free to pass out in his armchair whenever he felt like it.
Dinner
was a bit more upbeat than I expected.
Maybe we were trying to force it somewhat, but I did my best to joke and
laugh and not to focus too much on what might be coming. Five or six glasses of good wine helped keep
my spirits up too. That was the last
time I’ve tasted alcohol; it has been over four years now!
Before
going to sleep I called Heather one last time.
She sounded very sad and lonely, but she didn’t want to let on how much
it hurt to say goodbye. When we hung up
the phone, I lay in the dark thinking about how amazing it was to have known
Heather for less than a year, but to feel so connected to her. But I had to shake my head too; why had I
only found this magical feeling a few months before discovering I’d be spending
years as an inmate? Still, I was not worried
about whether the relationship could survive our time apart. In a logical sense, I knew that if Heather
chose not to wait for me after all, there had been no guarantee we would have
stayed together if I hadn’t gone to prison.
On an emotional level, I never doubted for an instant that Heather would
stand behind me. Oh, I wasn’t sure about
how she would react when I first told her, but once she’d told me that she
would be there for me, there was no hesitation in my heart. We were meant to be together, and this was
simply another obstacle our love would overcome. As I fell asleep for the last time as a free
man, I made a mental commitment to spend every available moment reminding
Heather (through letters mostly, I assumed) that I cherished her, loved her for
who she was, and would never take her for granted.
I
hope she knows that I still feel that way today, only more so.
The
next morning I took my last shower at home and tried to suppress the building
anxiety I was feeling. Fortunately, the
same sensation of numbness was also present, which made it easier to move
forward, accept my fate, and do what had to be done without panic. My father tried to put a positive spin on
this experience, suggesting I do whatever I could to further my education while
incarcerated.
“Get
yourself a PEL grant, earn a college degree,” he told me. “And try to behave yourself. I bet it won’t be that different than my time
at basic training during Korea. You’ll
meet a lot of interesting people, that’s for sure.”
I
couldn’t bring myself to eat anything, so I just had some coffee before we hit
the road. Originally the plan was for
Barbara and Dad to drive me together, but as things worked out Barbara had to
work that day after all. Instead, it was
just the two of us. If the directions
were accurate (and I had called the prison switchboard and was told they were)
it would take about 3 ˝ hours to get there, with most of that time spend on
Interstate 80. I wasn’t much worried
about the trip there; I was more concerned about my father trying to handle the
return drive all by himself. Prison was
bad enough, but the idea of discovering my father had been killed on the
highway would have pushed me completely over the edge.
The
trip was generally uneventful. While it
was rather chilly, there wasn’t any ice or snow on the ground, and traffic was
light once we got out of the New York City area. We had to stop once for gas and a bathroom
break. At the store, my Dad picked up
three chocolate muffins with chocolate chips.
One of these he handed to me, while he explained that he’d eat the
second in the car, discard any evidence, and bring the third home to eat later
with the claim that he’d only bought two.
Typical of Dad; he used to try and inject himself with a few drops of extra
insulin so he could enjoy some ice cream immediately afterward. You had to laugh at the childish streak he
carried…one which I carry as well, even to a larger extent.
Eventually
we left I-80 and headed north towards Williamsport. Halfway between the who we found our way to
the Federal complex at Allenwood. While
the brick buildings along the road had an institutional feel to them, they
wouldn’t have seemed quite so sinister if I hadn’t known what was just around
the corner. There were no decipherable
signs on the road, but rising to the crest of a hill I could see a large prison
building on our right. There was a
sizeable parking lot, a brick building to the left, and then a compound
surrounded by fences and vicious barbed-wire on the right – complete with guard
towers at the corners. The circular
driveway up to the main entrance was chained off, a familiar sight in the post
9-11 era, so we had to park out in the main lot. Neither of us were sure of this was where I
was supposed to be reporting, but it looked much more foreboding than I had
imagined. All I could think to myself
was “I’ve got to do 46 months in this place?”
I
offered to go inside to ask if this was the proper reporting location, but Dad
was afraid that once I went inside I might not be allowed out again to say
goodbye. So instead he shuffled in with
me, which took a good five minutes. If
he wasn’t exhausted from the drive, I knew he had to be after that long walk.
In
the sterile entranceway, a guard at the front desk looked up my name on his
computer. He shook his head at us. “Nope, you’re supposed to report to the
camp. Make a left out of the parking lot
and take your first right. There’s no
sign, so watch for the turn.” Camp…yes,
that sounded much better than the building we were in. I tried to ask if I could pull the car around
the driveway so my father wouldn’t have to walk all the way back, but the guard
just shook his head and told me no. So
after another slow journey, we were back in the car, and on our way to my new
home.
Pulling
up at the right place finally, I got smart and made sure we said our goodbyes
before I got out of the car. I walked up
a long flight of concrete steps and found what looked like a bank teller’s
window. An officer inside told me to
wait out in the parking lot, and that another officer would appear shortly
across the way and tell me what to do.
After
about five more minutes of waiting, a short and very rotund officer came out of
a door with a manila folder. Shouting
from across the parking lot, he had me confirm my name, Social Security number,
and some other personal information.
Satisfied that I was who I said I was, he told me to approach and enter
the building, and yelled to my father that someone would be out within 30
minutes to bring him my clothes and any other personal belongings. With a wave, I left my Dad and walked through
the door. I was now a Federal inmate.
Juno – By now there is very
little chance that you’ve managed to avoid hearing about this film. Entertainment Weekly just put it on their
cover, calling it the “Little Indie That Could.” The way the movie (and writer Diablo Cody)
have become media darlings had, as usual, made me hesitant to see it. But figuring the theaters would be rather
empty while the Super Bowl was on (which we taped to watch later), and
considering that there was nothing else out which we were interested in,
Heather and I made our way to the local AMC to check it out.
At
first, I was very concerned that my fears had been well-founded. The initial scenes are a barrage of
one-liners and modern teen-speak, delivered with a very self-aware attitude as
if the script is trying far too hard to be quirky and hip. Juno (Ellen Page), a 16-year-old, find
herself unexpectedly pregnant after losing her virginity to a schoolmate
(Michael Cera)…or, more correctly, after he loses his virginity to her. But once the movie progresses past the initial
plot twists and Juno decides to have the baby and give it up for adoption, the
story, acting, and dialogue takes hold and carries you along for the ride.
Despite
their obvious unhappiness at their daughter’s situation, Juno’s parents (J.K.
Simmons and the always awesome Allison Janney) support her decision. Through an ad in the Penny-saver, Juno
locates her prospective adoptive parents the Lorings (Jason Bateman and
Jennifer Garner). Vanessa Loring is a
bit uptight and stiff, while husband Mark is, in Juno’s estimation, cool. She and Mark share musical tastes, and are
both horror film buffs. Feeling
alienated from the ranks of average High School students, Juno finds reasons to
stop by the house and visit with Mark.
Avoiding
some potentially predictable plot directions, and keeping the characters are
much more than simple one-dimensional cutouts, Juno brings laughter into a
difficult situation without forgetting that the delicate story includes
characters who will have to move on with their lives after the final credits
roll. Juno and her parents supply most
of the best lines, as they meet the complications of life with a sarcastic
humor I find far too familiar. Jennifer
Garner, in particular, brings surprising sensitivity to her character, and
director Jason Reitman allows her (and the other cast members) to slowly reveal
more of themselves in actions and body language.
If
you haven’t seen Juno yet, either make the trip to your local movie house or
wait for DVD release. It’s worth
watching, and overall is quite enjoyable.
Just don’t let the first few minutes trip you up.
Seen
on DVD
– The Number 23 (C-, a
moderately-interesting premise taken absolutely nowhere. Jim Carrey brings no authenticity to the
role, which I found surprising as he is perfectly capable of doing much
better. Maybe he just took the
check. The payoff was cluttered and
disappointing as well). Eastern Promises (B-, I expected a lot
more after the accolades this film received.
The plot twists seemed a bit obvious to me, and the story was far too
slow to develop).
Extreme Encounters – Greg Emmanuel –
Heather listed this book in her section last issue. The cover describes itself as “How it feels
to be drowned in quicksand, shredded by piranhas, swept up in a tornado, and
dozens of other unpleasant experiences.”
That’s a fairly accurate description.
Each chapter gives you the background story of how you got into the
situation, and then explains in minute detail what happens when you (as an
example) stay awake for 100 hours straight.
The genius of the book is that it doesn’t just tell you how you feel,
but it also provides medical and scientific specifics of what is physically
happening to you. Some of the sales are
creepy, but most have a fun, dark sense of humor about them. This book gets a B+.
The
Executioner Always Chops Twice – Geoffrey Abbott – Another book full of
short tales, this one deals with countless execution miscues. Most are from the 17th or 18th
century, where hangings or beheadings were frequent, and there was plenty of
room for error. About half of the
stories are quite interesting, but after a while some of them seem to be the
same thing over and over: a petty criminal, sentenced to death for theft, who
isn’t hanged properly and suffers for fifteen or twenty minutes…that’s a common
tale. I still enjoyed the book overall,
and a few of the more famous tales I had read about previously, which leads me
to believe most of the book is at least semi-accurate. I’ll give it a weak B.
Post Office – Charles Bukowski
– I’d heard of this novel before, but never read it. The late Bukowski is regarded as one of the
great modern writers. I don’t know about
all that, but Post Office was terrific, a hilarious and perceptive look at the
life of the low-skill postal worker in the 1970’s. Writing from this era carries an attitude all
its own, and I find it very easy to lose myself in it. I definitely plan on checking out some of his
other work next. An A-.
![MCj04362550000[1]](eshtml14_files/image006.gif)
![MCj04362160000[1]](eshtml14_files/image008.gif)
Dance With a Vampire by Ellen Schreiber – The fourth book in the Vampire
Kisses series. Great fun, typical
exciting teenage vampire stuff. I have
really enjoyed this series, and I can’t wait for the next one. Plus I like the outfit on the cover. Nothing to take seriously, but when you’re in
the mood for a book to lose yourself in this is a good choice! 3 ˝ pumpkins.
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![MCj04363200000[1]](eshtml14_files/image012.gif){kind=small}
The Society of S by Susan Hubbard – This book was decent, but a little
slow. More of an intellectual look at
vampirism. It made me cry for more
personal reasons, reading about a child growing up without a mother. Not bad, but didn’t grab me much of the
way. 3 ˝ pumpkins.
Succubus on Top by Richelle Mead – Even better than the first
book. Wicked, dark, and full of awesome,
graphic s-e-x. Yowza! Part 3 of the Goergia Kinkaid series should be
out in October 2008 – I can’t wait to read it.
4 ˝ pumpkins.
Betrayed by P.C. Cast and Kristin Cast – Very good. Better than the first in the series. Even more plot twists and mysteries, and some
interesting romantic prospects for the main character. I’m looking forward to the third, due out
shortly. 4 ˝ pumpkins.
Every Rescued Dog
Has a Tale by Deborah Eades – Heartwarming
stories of dogs being transported from one place to another to avoid being put
down. Great subject, and it educated me
more about an aspect of animal rescue which I was not very familiar with. But the writing style leaves a lot to be
desired. 3 pumpkins.
Scarlett Saves Her
Family by Jane Martin and
J.C. Suarčs
– Had me crying from the very first page.
Most people remember the basic story of the cat who saved her
kittens. I never knew something so small
could carry such courage. It was very
humbling, and I was amazed at all the extraordinary efforts of the people
around her to rescue her and bring her back to health. 4 pumpkins.
Disposable Dogs by Steve Swanbeck – Made me wonder more than ever why people
can be so terribly cruel, and reminded me why I generally prefer animals to
people. We’ve domesticated these animals
and made them depend on us, so why do so many people choose to throw them away
like garbage? 4 pumpkins.
I
didn’t get a single response to little piece on Children Shouldn’t Play With
Dead Things. Maybe nobody remembers that
movie except myself and my siblings. So
how about you write in and tell us about a “lost” movie from YOUR childhood?
I
have a few more films lined up to talk about, but this month I wanted to
describe two movies which I vaguely remember, but which I do not know the names
of. Maybe one of you readers can provide
more information on them?
The
first was a movie about two police officers, which I saw a number of times on
cable television in 1981 or 1982. I
think it was a European film, but I could be wrong. One of the cops was a taller in guy, the
other a fat bearded fellow. Whenever
they came into a problem (such as one scene where two women try to get them
drunk so they’ll be out of action for a while) the big one is able to handle
the situation because of his size and stamina, while the smaller just says
“It’s in my blood” and is also unaffected.
I thought the movie might have been called Super Fuzz, but the
descriptions I’ve read on places like IMDB haven’t convinced me…although the
advertisement they show depicts an actor who looks similar to the one I
remember. I’m sure this was a really
stupid movie anyway, but I’d like to see it again for nostalgia sake. Maybe somebody else remembers it?
The
second movie may have been feature length, or perhaps it was only 45 minutes
long. I imagine it was produced in the
late 60’s or early 70’s. The basic
premise was there was a restaurant, or hotel, or inn of some sort which was
going out of business if things didn’t turn around. But suddenly everybody started coming to eat
there, because of the pancakes: they made you happy, and see colored dots or
something. I don’t recall whether it was
some special additive they put in the pancakes, or if it was a magic spell of
some kind. I just remember we used to
call it the “happy pancake movie.” Any
ideas?
Next
issue I’ll give you details on another one of my “lost” favorites which I
recently got to see again.
John
Colledge: I was a
tad surprised by the answers given for the favourite holiday [last issue]. I would
have thought that most answers given were a 'holiday period' rather than a
holiday as such. The old 'two nations divided by one language' problem again! J
Anything I can do to make life more difficult for
you!
Robert
Lesco:
Regarding By Popular Demand, I am reminded of an early Mothers of Invention
(i.e. Frank Zappa) LP where the question, "What's The Ugliest Part of Your
Body?" was posed in song. The
conclusion: "your mind", which
I don't think fully meets the definition but I thought I would mention it.
Your question is a good way of drawing out Zappa
fans. I would be interested to hear how
many people take the bait.
I am a big Zappa fan (along with the drumming of
Terry Bozzio). My oldest brother is also
a big fan. I think my first real exposure
to him (having been to young to remember the Mothers) was “The Man From
Utopia.” “Zoot Allures” remains my
favorite album of his, even though I don’t know many people who agree with me. “Thing Fish” was big fun too. YouTube has plenty of awesome live Zappa
performances hidden in dark places.
Jack McHugh: First of all…how come I wasn't given
proper credit for predicting the Giants would beat the Packers?? Did I not tell
you the week before I thought the Packards would lose to the Giants?
I have no memory of that…but that’s
probably because I don’t listen when you tell me things.
As a fellow Cowgirls hater I can certainly agree with your loathing for your
local miserable team and I really, really, REALLY, REALLY hate
"America's Team" moniker that the media has bestowed on the Cowgirls.
I especially liked watching cry-baby Owens have a nothing
game--hahahah...loser! I dont know what the big shock is if you hire a
failed head coach who can't win playoff games, you really shouldn't be too shocked
you can't win playoff games. Wake up and smell the coffee Jerry--you drove a
great coach, if a miserable human being out of town, to get a rotten coach, if
a much nicer human being.
1310 The Ticket radio does hilarious
interviews with “fake Jerry” and now “fake Wade” after each Cowboy game. Wde is depicted as a bumpkin who only cares
about small-game hunting and hamburgers.
I don’t think Wade’s post-game interviews helped that perception
any. “We made it into the Final 8”? Buy a clue.
Secondly, I expect you to help me help you by browbeating your subscribers into
giving me articles on variants for upcoming issues of Diplomacy World.
Now that you've bugged me into being your Variant bitch I expect to see you helping
me out by doing the same to others. That goes for you too Jim-Bob. I know Brad
Wilson is just dying to write me an article on Balkan Wars whatever roman
numeral we're up to now (or at least the one you designed Brad.) How
about an article from Paul Kenny on Northern Ireland? Its not in the variant
bank online--you need to get me an article, Paul, so we can save it for
posterity (and no that's not your ass, Doug, you SACK..)
Now that you are Diplomacy World
variant editor maybe you should actually READ Diplomacy World…Brad already
wrote an article on Balkan Wars for us.
Getting Paul Kenny to write something on his Ireland variant might be an
idea though…
Robert
Lesco: [in response to my
Valentine’s Day e-card, which references my Halloween wedding] You may recall
that my son was born on Halloween. He's a teen now which is part of the reason
I have so little time to put out a 'zine in timely fashion. Not to mention, my last set of orders arrived
a month and a half after the deadline.
We're in the midst of our third or fourth monster
snowstorm of the season with bone-chilling temperatures and I am quite enjoying
it. Clearly, I was meant to be Canadian.
Or maybe you’re really the Cold Miser from “The Year Without a
Santa Claus”?
Balkan Wars VI (Black Press): Signed up: Jack
McHugh, Graham Wilson, Brad Wilson, Brendan Whyte, needs two more. Rules and map on request.
Diplomacy
“Wouldn’t It Be Nice?” 2008A, Spring 1901
Austria (Kevin Wilson): A Budapest –
Serbia, F Trieste – Albania, A Vienna - Trieste.
England (Jeremie Lefrancois): F Edinburgh -
Norwegian Sea, A Liverpool – Yorkshire, F London - North Sea.
France (Alexander Levinson): F Brest -
Mid-Atlantic Ocean, A Marseilles Hold, A Paris - Gascony.
Germany (Graham Wilson): A Berlin – Kiel, F
Kiel – Holland, A Munich - Ruhr.
Italy (Don Williams): F Naples - Ionian
Sea, A Rome – Apulia, A Venice - Tyrolia.
Russia (Melinda Holley): A Moscow -
Sevastopol (*Fails*), F Sevastopol - Armenia (*Bounce*),
F St
Petersburg(sc) - Gulf of Bothnia, A Warsaw - Ukraine.
Turkey (Brad Wilson): F Ankara - Black Sea,
A Constantinople – Bulgaria, A Smyrna - Armenia (*Bounce*).
Unit locations:
Austria:
F Albania, A Serbia, A Trieste.
England:
F North Sea, F Norwegian Sea, A Yorkshire.
France:
A Gascony, A Marseilles, F Mid-Atlantic Ocean.
Germany:
F Holland, A Kiel, A Ruhr.
Italy:
A Apulia, F Ionian Sea, A Tyrolia.
Russia:
F Gulf of Bothnia, A Moscow, F Sevastopol, A Ukraine.
Turkey:
F Black Sea, A Bulgaria, A Smyrna.
PRESS
Williams - Wilson:
I wish you all could be California girls ... That way there'd be good
vibrations ...
Unknown Dateline:
The public panicked. People ran helter-skelter, knocking each other
to the ground in their near-hysterical desire to get as far away as possible.
Then the lights appeared in the windows
of the long-darkened building. People stopped in fear and awe, their
heads slowly turning towards the building.
Suddenly the doors flew open and they
heard the cackling laughter of the woman within.
People hung their heads in dread and
shame.
The Heart of Darkness Saloon was open
again.
Williams - Wilson:
I'd really really like to ally with you.
Don - Doug: That's
quite a timesaver there, Kent -- thanks!
Fall 1901 Deadline is March 26th 2008 at
7:00am
By
Popular Demand
Credit goes to Ryk Downes, I
believe, for inventing this game (although his original version had the GM
supply the starting letter as well). The
goal is to pick something that fits the category and will be the "most
popular" answer. You score points based on the number of entries that
match yours. For example, if the category is "Cats" and the responses
were 7 for Persian, 3 for Calico and 1 for Siamese, everyone who said Persian
would get 7 points, Calico 3 and the lone Siamese would score 1 point. The
cumulative total over 10 rounds will determine the overall winner. Anyone may
enter at any point, starting with an equivalent point total of the lowest
cumulative score from the previous round. If a person misses a round, they'll
receive the minimum score from the round added to their cumulative total. And,
if you want to submit some commentary with your answers, feel free to. The game will consist of 10 rounds. A prize will be awarded to the winner.
