May
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 Diplomacy World
website at http://www.diplomacyworld.net. Check out http://www.helpfulkitty.com for
official Toby the Helpful Kitty news, blog, and links to all his available
merchandise!
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 – “I kinda sorta wrecked your car.” (Clementine
in “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”)
Welcome
to Eternal Sunshine. You mission, if you
decide to accept it, is to read this issue and suppress all urges towards
self-mutilation. As always, if you are
killed or captured, this editor will disavow any knowledge of your
actions. This subzine
will self-destruct in five seconds.
Geez,
one day I think I’m way behind on this issue and it will be empty, and then I
open my Word file and realize that I’m running too many pages as it is! There were a number of things I wanted to
talk about, and a few others I had under consideration if space allowed…which
obviously it won’t. Oh well, let’s run
through the topics as quickly as possible.
The Texas Rangers.
They are terrible. This has to be
one of the worst baseball teams I have ever seen play, and that includes those
miserable Mets teams of the 1970’s. It
isn’t that they can’t pitch. In fact,
their starting pitching has been much better than expected. It’s everything else. The bullpen is average at best, and hlas blown some leads that should
have been more than enough to win. They
can’t hit with runners in scoring position to save their lives. And the fielding, the base-running, missing
the cut-off man, ignoring the coaches, swinging at the first pitch when our
pitcher just had a long inning…a mid-level college team can handle the
fundamentals better than these guys.
Like one of the local radio hosts said, this
team plays so distracted it is as if there’s a bunch of naked women running
around the field which nobody but the Rangers can see. So what can you do? I don’t know, but I think firing Ron
Washington is a start. He over-manages,
makes terrible pinch-hitting and bench decisions, and has no command of this
team. Meanwhile, you watch people we
traded away like Chris Young and John Danks succeed
elsewhere. Very
depressing. Josh Hamilton is the
only bright spot…well him, and the success of Kevin Milwood
and Vicente Padilla so far. If they keep
it up, we need to trade both of them.
Be
sure to take a moment and check the links in the Eternal Sunshine
masthead. The one in particular I would
like to call your attention to is the Eternal Sunshine Yahoo group. It’s free to join, and you’ll get occasional
notices about game errata, new game openings, deadline reminders, and the
release of new issues. You can set your
membership to never get more than one email per day (the setting is called
Daily Digest, where Yahoo combines any messages that day into a single
email). Considering there aren’t that
many messages in there each month to begin with, the group is a simple way to
stay up-to-date with Eternal Sunshine.
So please go there and join.
While
you’re on the internet, stop by the Helpful Kitty merchandise store at www.cafepress.com/helpfulkitty. Not only will you find mugs, shirts, and
other stuff featuring Toby the Helpful Kitty (and Sanka),
but there are two special sections at the bottom of the store: one with Whining
Kent Pig designs, and another with Diplomacy and Diplomacy World designs,
perfect for your next Diplomacy convention or face-to-face game day. It isn’t like I make any real money on them –
they’re set to be $1 per item above cost – but I have fun designing them, and
I’d love to know people out there found a few of them worthwhile. Any suggestions on future designs are
welcome.
Finally,
our wedding photos should be here any day. I will probably not put in any this issue, but
I plan on posting a bunch of them to my website. So if you’re interested, visit www.whiningkentpigs.com
and look for a Wedding Photo section in the navigation bar.
I’ll
close by mentioning that I plan on opening a new Dip game, 7x7 Gunboat Tourney,
or some variant by next issue. So if
you’re interested sign up fast when the time comes. Some of these games take forever to fill (if
ever) and others fill almost instantly.
See you next month!
My
First Day – Part One
Once
I stepped from the ordinary parking lot into the cold, brick building which
contained the “R&D” department, I was officially a Federal inmate. I believe R&D stands for Reception and
Diagnostics, but in effect in is the department which handles the initial
intake, release, and transfer of inmates.
In some facilities this can be a very complicated process, including
housing an inmate in a segregated facility for up to 30 days as a form of “quarantine”. Fortunately for me, the process at Allenwood was generally much simpler.
The
two R&D officers who were there to process me could have been brothers or
cousins, based on looks and attitude.
Each of them was terribly overweight, almost apple-shaped, with grey
hair and moustaches. And they both
carried a sarcastic, arrogant sense of humor which might have intimidated some
people. I didn’t find their attitude
being a problem for myself, though, since my personal sense of humor was very
similar. But that wasn’t about to give
me the idea that I could mouth off to either of them. On the contrary, my Dad’s advice stayed in
the back of my mind at all times: behave yourself. I was still pretty much numb to the entire
experience anyway, so my mind wasn’t quite as sharp as it would normally be.
In
this room I learned my first lesson about the CO’s I was going to be dealing
with for the next few years: they size you up very quickly, and it takes some
time to do anything to contradict that first impression. In my case, they saw I was nervous,
compliant, respectful, but not in a patronizing way. I simply treated them the way I wanted to be
treated, and it seemed to work.
As
they had me filling out a few forms, one of them started in on me with an
aggressive attitude, which I suspected was simply a front. “Why they hell are you here at noon? We don’t normally like to process new
arrivals until two. You’re screwing our
schedule up!”
I
could have apologized, but instead I looked him in the eye and calmly told him
the truth. “Well, when I called here for
driving directions a few days ago, whoever I spoke to told me I had beet show
up early, because if I made them stay late they’d beat the shit out of me.”
The
other R&D CO laughed. “Yup, that
sounds like something you’d say!”
He
just laughed. “Yeah I think I remember
that conversation. Okay, let’s get
through this, it’s no big deal.”
Surprisingly,
he was right. The process was very
simple. I filled out a few forms, gave
them the cash I had on hand (about $150, which was deposited in my inmate
account for future use), and had fingerprints and a photo taken (the latter was
for my inmate ID card). Then I stripped,
and collected my clothes in a plastic bag.
These were carried out to my Dad so he could take them home with him,
along with my watch and my Driver’s License.
They checked for contraband, having me open my mouth, lift
my legs one at a time to reveal the soles of my feet, and spread my ass
cheeks. Finally they gave me some
terribly worn clothes: a blue t-shirt, a pair of whitish socks, brown pants
with a drawstring, worn white briefs, and a pair of slip-on blue sneakers. They also handed me a bedroll and a worn
brown coat. That was basically it…the
two CO’s pointed me in the direction to go, told me to look for someone in
charge, and sent me off with a simple statement: “We don’t want to see you down
here again until it’s time for you to go home.”
I didn’t have the experience to really understand what they meant, but I
correctly surmised that if I got in any kind of serious trouble I’d be sent
back to R&D someday. As I learned
later, before being transferred to a higher-security facility or to the “hole” (the SHU – Special Housing Unit or Segregated House
Unit) I’d have to be processed by these two gentlemen. So the vague warning they gave me was meant
for my own good…and for theirs, since the fewer people they had to process the
less work there was for them to do.
That
last item turned out to be a very common motivating factor among the staff; if
they could find a way to avoid work, they would. That wasn’t necessarily a negative for the
inmates either; it worked both ways, depending on what kind of work you might
be dealing with at the time. One thing
was for certain – if a CO was going to do a lot of work because of you, either
you’d really pissed them off, or you were about to.
I
wandered up a path to another building, where I found some inmates who directed
me to the Unit Manager’s office. The
prison seemed to be rather laid-back compared to what I had expected. There were four or five inmates sitting at a
metal picnic table, smoking cigarettes, and a few were off in the corner
playing cards. The temperature was a bit
chilly to me, especially as I’d just spent the last 9 years living in Texas;
the worn clothing I’d been given wasn’t helping matters either. So I hurried inside to warm up and find this
Unit Manager’s office.
The
Unit Manager talked to me in his office for about two minutes. He was an ex-Marine type, but seemed pretty
straightforward. His instructions were
rather simple: follow the rules, stay the hell out of his way, behave myself,
and if I had any questions I should direct them to his clerk (an inmate) first
before I bothered him with anything.
“You’ll
be able to pick it up as you go along.
The rules are rather simple.
Follow the lead of the people around you, but be careful who you
associate with until you figure out the lay of the land.”
Apparently
an orientation for new inmates had taken place a day or two earlier, and the
next one wasn’t scheduled for two weeks.
But Mr. Faulkner, the Unit Manager, strongly suggested I take an
abbreviated, ad-hoc version so I wouldn’t have to sit in my bunk for two weeks
and could instead be assigned work right away.
Also, it seemed obvious that for me to refuse the “suggestion” would be
causing him a minor headache, so of course I agreed. I didn’t much want to spend my time sitting
by myself doing nothing anyway; I had quickly realized that for me to make it
through this sentence, the busier I could keep myself the better. I hadn’t considered that I’d be assigned a
job, so this was actually a pleasant surprise.
I just needed to go through a few 5-minute orientation meetings and get
medical clearance.
The
medical clearance part was my first hurdle, as I was quickly summoned to the
medical department so I could meet Dr. Walker, the head Mental Health
professional (and, as I learned soon after, the guy who ran the Residential
Drug and Alcohol Program – RDAP for short).
Dr. Walker was troubled by two of the answers I had given on my forms in
the R&D paperwork. First, I’d
answered “Yes” to whether I felt depressed, and second I’d marked “Yes” to
whether I had ever experiences suicidal thoughts.
I
couldn’t understand why the first answer was such a surprise to anyone, as I
explained to Dr. Walker. “Of course I’m
depressed. This is my first day in
prison, and I’ve got a 46-month sentence!”
But he was quickly able to determine I was not a danger to myself or
others, and that the suicidal thoughts were from years ago. It was at this point, however, that I first
learned of the complete disconnect between the outside world of criminal
justice and true life under the jurisdiction of the Bureau of Prisons.
Let
me go back a few months in the story.
After I had pled guilty in court, I had to undergo what is known as a
Pre- Sentence Interview (PSI) with an appoint court official. This interview, in conjunction with other
material gathered from my Pre-Trial officer, my lawyer, my family, my
prosecutor, and forms filled out when I was first arraigned, would be used to
write up my PSI Report. That report
(barring any objections by my lawyer or the government) would be used to
determine how long of a sentence I received, what security level facility I
should be designated to (if space was available), and any other important
information relevant to my time as an inmate.
When
I went to have this PSI, my lawyer (a public defender) went with me in case
they asked questions he didn’t think I should answer. He told me the woman who would be conducting
the interview was very professional and understanding, and that he’d worked
with her on prior cases with no problem.
“Before
we go in there,” he told me, “I need to explain something to you. There is a Drug and Alcohol Program available
in some Federal prisons, and it is entirely voluntary. If you successfully complete the program, you
are eligible to get some time off your sentence, from a few months to almost a
year. But here’s the deal: if you want
to be eligible for this program, you need to tell this woman about your alcohol
and drug use today. Evidence of your
problems needs to go into the PSI for you to be eligible. The BOP doesn’t want inmates trying to
qualify for the program after they get to prison and find out they might be
able to get a few months off their sentence.
So you need to decide now whether you are interested. There’s no answer you need to give today
about whether to want to actually sign up, but if you want to be eligible at
all, you need to go in there and be open about your past. She won’t mention the RDAP program to you,
but anything you say may affect your ability to qualify when the time comes. Speak now or speak never, basically.”
So
we went inside, and I figured, what the hell…I may as well tell her my whole
life story. And I did, at least in an
abbreviated form, and as directed by the questions she asked. I talked about my parents’ alcohol use, how I
started drinking when I was ten, my drug use, my mother’s mental disorders,
Mara and all the problems she’d been through (and the ones we went through
together), my divorce, my depression, and anything else that came to mind. I cried a bit, but that was to be expected,
as I hadn’t talked to anyone about a lot of these things in years (if ever).
As
we left the interview, my lawyer looked sort of pale. “Did you make any of that up?” he asked
me. I told him that not only was it all
true, but that there were plenty of details and stories I didn’t bring up
wither because she didn’t ask or there wasn’t enough time. “Wow,” he said. “I had no idea.”
The
next morning I got a call from my Pre-Trial Officer, asking me to come in for a
meeting. I arrived the next day, and he
explained to me that the woman I had interviewed with was very concerned about
my mental state and my overall well-being, and that she had requested that I be
put into some kind of therapy or counseling immediately.
“Look,”
the officer told me, “you’re going to be in prison in six weeks anyway. By the time we get the paperwork done, find
you some program to go to, and get the judge to approve it, you’ll have time
for maybe one appointment. Are you doing
okay? I think it’s best if we just wait
until you get to whatever facility you are assigned to, and you can get
counseling and treatment there. Just
tell them what you need; they have all kinds of programs for that. Are you okay with that plan?”
It
was all find with me, since I wasn’t feeling any worse than usual anyway. The urgency was coming from the woman who
gave me the PSI, not me. So I waited.
Now
jump back to my first day in prison.
After Dr. Walker was convinced that I was okay to join the general
population, I briefly told him about my experience with the PSI, and how I had
been told to make it a point to ask for counseling appointments or whatever
other mental health support might be available for me.
All
I got in return was a blank stare for a moment, and then a confused reply. “We don’t have counseling or therapy or
anything like that here. There’s nothing
we can do for you. You can go back to
the Unit now.”
I
just shrugged my shoulders and left.
Welcome to the BOP!
A
combination of Heather’s school schedule, the lack of attractive new releases,
and a late-month virus which knocked me down hard resulted in us once again not
making it to the movies this month. We
did watch plenty of DVDs though! I was
surprised at how few movies we wanted to see this month in the theater, but
really with school and my illness weekends (our normal movie time) have been
times of recuperation and homework. The
one weekend we really could have gone to see a movie was the one where I took
heather to see the “Dracula” ballet at Bass Hall in Fort Worth.
Seen
on DVD
– Maxed Out (B-, not a bad piece
when it comes to the predatory practices of credit card companies, but when it
made attempts to tie that with Katrina and the “need” for socialism, or when it
ignored the fact that the U.S. Congress is not the branch with has legislative
power to spend money, it lost me and got me yelling at the screen). Jindabyne (B-, very slow but not awful movie about a group
of Irishmen living in Australia who find a body on a fishing trip). Halloween
III – Season of the Witch (B-, always fun to watch despite how stupid it
is. Silver Shamrock!). Child’s
Play (B+, another one Heather had never seen, great fun, dark sense of
humor, I can do without the sequels but the original is a riot). The
Notorious Bettie Page (C+, kinda quirky but left
most of the interesting questions unanswered).
Klimt (D, story was random
and uninteresting, and the camera work was irritating). La Vie
en Rose (C, she did a great job playing the role at so many ages, but I
simply didn’t give a crap about any of the characters. I felt no pain in their miseries and no joy
in their triumph). Lady Jane (B-, a bit lightweight but I did enjoy this 1986
romanticized version of Lady Jane Grey’s
nine days as Queen. Too bad a good part
of it is inaccurate, but that’s doesn’t ruin it too much).
A Book of Curious
Advice
– Ruth Pepper Summers – With a subtitle of “Most Unusual Manners – Morals –
Medicine from Days of Yore” you shouldn’t be surprised that this is a
collection of short notices for the public at large about how to maintain good
health, attract a spouse, prepare food, and other necessary advice…all from the
1800’s. It is actually interesting to
see how positive some people were about the dangers of eating fresh fruit, or
how others felt that putting arsenic in your hair was a wonderful way to induce
follicle growth. Some of the odd recipes
(pigeon pie, or the massive “To Dress a Turtle of a Hundred Weight”) remind us
that in those days nothing was wasted. I
just wonder why they always cooked their vegetables for four hours or
more. Give it a B+. Good fun in short doses.
All My Patients are
Under the Bed – Memoirs of a Cat Doctor by Dr.
Louis J. Camuti – I loved this book. Musing from a wonderfully
cantankerous cat doctor, a terrific combination of stories about him and his
patients. Mostly I liked it
because he was crusty (in a good way). 4 pumpkins. 
The Vampire Queen’s
Servant by Joey W. Hill – Hot3! Vampires, sex, and male submission, what more
do you want? Definitely need to take a
cold shower after this one. 4 ½ pumpkins. 
The Mark of the
Vampire Queen by Joey W. Hill – I cannot believe it,
but it’s even better than the first one!
Hotter with more erotic sex, more vampires, and male
submission with a tiny bit of female submission thrown in for good measure. Best of all, love and vulnerability are mixed
in, and some awesome revenge. 4 ½ pumpkins. 
Jim Burgess: Care to expand on that cat pill product you mention,
what is it again?
They're
called Pill Pockets, they carry them at Petco and PetSmart (and online just about anywhere). The product is
sold in bags of 40 I think. They are
cylindrically-shaped soft cat treats, chicken or salmon flavor. One end of the cylinder is open, so you put
the pill in there and close it up. Most
cats will swallow the treat whole since it is soft and cats generally don't
chew soft food. Even with Tigger's missing teeth, 4 times out of 5 she took the Pill
Pocket easily. I find it works much
better than trying to hide the pill in Cheez Whiz or
something.
Kevin Wilson: I’m
trying to locate a quote. I’ve tried googling
for it and some quote sites but I’ve not had any success so far. I
thought the readers of ES might help me out. I believe the quote was by a
sci fi author like
Heinlein, Clarke, Asimov or some other but it could have been a scientist as
well. The quote was making the point of the importance of space flight
and space research. It went something like, if the human race wanted to
be around more than just an instant in the time of the universe, then for the
majority of our existence the word “ship” will mean “spaceship.” Maybe
someone will recognize it and point me to it.
I don’t know that particular quote offhand, although
for some reason I link it in my mind with Harlan Ellison. For some wonderful space quotes, however, try
this site:
http://research.lifeboat.com/space.quotes.htm
John Colledge: So, which did you mean? ‘English’ monarch, in which
case only 9 of us got it right and the rest got it wrong, or ‘British’ monarch
in which case we got it wrong!
I
meant whatever people wanted me to mean…that’s the fun part, I can mean
anything or nothing, but to win you need to base your answers on what you think
other people will decide I mean!
I
once caused a minor international incident in the Chicago Art Institute when I
asked which museum would be the best to visit if I wanted to see Native
American exhibits. The young lady on reception didn’t know, but asked her
supervisor. I happened too hear her say, ‘There’s an English gentleman….’ When
she returned I thought I was being very amusing by my way of it by suggesting
that calling a Scotsman English, was just like calling and American a Canadian.
I thought the cheeky smile on my face would make her realize I was just
kidding, but she was sooooo apologetic. It took me a
full ten minutes to calm her down and make her realize I was only pulling her
leg. It does make me wonder just what some Americans have against Canadians
though! J
Welcome
to the land of political correctness…apparently one of the clauses in the U.S.
Bill of Rights is the right to never be offended by anyone.
I
was so sorry to hear about poor old Tigger. We become
very attached to our little furry friends, don’t we? We have never actually
owned a cat of our own, but we have always been fortunate enough to have neighbours who did. That way we have the best of both
worlds. They give us their love and affection, but we don’t have to pay the
vets’ bills… for the cats that is, not the neighbours!
When
you consider how few people I’ve known for as long as I knew Tigger, it isn’t hard to understand why I grew so fond of
her!
Kevin Wilson: A
couple of other comments from BPD last time.
The family group discussed last time was the DeFranco
family. Doug was right, the song was
“Heartbeat, It’s a Love Beat.” That song
was BIG some time during my early school days and I
can still remember some of the lyrics:
Heartbeat, it’s a love beat and a love beat is a good vibration… Why do useless thinkg
like that stick in our brains and important things like my daughter’s social
security number refuses to find a home on my memory? For the food last time, I didn’t think of
lobster. That was an excellent
answer. I eat it now and then out and have
never eaten or prepared it at home.
W.
Andrew York: You are correct, it was "Heartbeat, It's a Love
Beat" - great memory!
Now if only I could use that for good instead of
evil.
Kevin Wilson: I
was sad to hear about losing your cat Tigger. I
can relate a bit to how you feel. A few years
ago we lost our dog Baron. He was a weimaraner
and, like many large dogs, had hip problems and in his final days couldn’t get
around without one of us holding his back end up for him. We found
ourselves with little choice but to do as you did with Tigger
and let him go. I cried knowing what was coming. I cried as it
happened. And I cried every now and then for a few days after. We
held off on a new pet for a couple years and had just begun thinking of a new
dog when our two cats entered our lives. Since I’ve enjoyed hearing of
the stories of the feline members of your family I thought I’d share a bit
about ours.
The first to come to the family was Missy. She
apparently got caught in our neighbor’s garage one cool fall evening.
They found her the next morning. They had two basset hounds in the house
so couldn’t bring a kitten into the house so they came to us next door.
She was clean, didn’t look malnourished and was very friendly so we figured she
had just gotten out of someone’s house nearby. We searched the
neighborhoods for signs about a missy kitty. We took her to our vet to
make sure she was OK and to check to see if she was chipped. We checked
with the humane shelter and animal control but couldn’t find out where she came
from so we adopted her. The vet estimated her age at 9 months +/-.
She was small but very friendly and just about the softest cat I had every held
or touched. She was pretty needy in those early days but that was to
change. She is a black and white and like many black and whites she had a
calm disposition and never seemed to get too frazzled regardless of what was
going on. She took to the house and us quickly, settling right in.
It only took her a few nights and she was sleeping on the bed with us.
We had Missy about two months when we
decided she needed a playmate. We went to the humane shelter to see if we
could find another young female to provide company and came home with
Gracie. Gracie is a yellow tabby and about the same age as Missy.
Where Missy was cool, calm and graceful from the beginning; Gracie was noisy,
underfoot and a bit clumsy in her need for attention, hence the name Gracie
being somewhat “graceless” at the start. It took about two weeks before
Missy would have much to do with Gracie but soon they seemed to be getting
along fine and after a while were even sleeping together. I’m sure it
helped they were both females, of similar ages and sizes.
They are very different cats.
Missy is now a bit aloof. She likes to be in rooms separate from the
action. She rarely climbs up on things, other than beds and the
occasional chair back. She prefers sleeping on anything cotton. She
likes attention in the morning but not much at other times. She’s a
dainty eater, almost never runs through the house unless the two of them are
playing. She has a soft quiet purr that you don’t hear much.
Sometimes she will sit still for a long time, allowing you to comb her.
Her coat is thick, she sheds all the time so I
suspect the comb feels very good. She rarely sits in your lap but will
occasionally jump up on your chest while you’re in bed.
Gracie is not aloof. She’s always underfoot, in the
room with the action. She’s the climber. She likes window sills,
tops of shelves, chairs, countertops, tabletops, anything above floor
level. She likes paper and cardboard boxes. Give her any occasion
where gifts are being opened so there are boxes and paper everywhere and she’s
in kitty heaven. She likes attention all the time, but especially at
night. She eats like a dog, her nose in the bowl, not coming up until the
bowl is empty. She runs and comes when called. She purrs constantly
and can be heard across the room. She can’t sit still, unless she’s
asleep. About the only thing in common with Missy, other than age and
sex, is she too sheds all the time. She just won’t sit still for the
comb. Gracie too likes to sit on your chest but you don’t have to be in
bed. Any prone body will do.
Gracie and Missy were with us before
Rachel (3 ½) and Grant (1). Both adapted well to kids in the house.
Gracie tolerates them, even getting down in the floor with them. Missy
just goes to the other room. Hopefully they’ll be with us long enough for
the kids to get older. I think it will be fun for all of us.
Keep the stories of our two coming and
if ours should do anything interesting, I’ll pass it along.
It’s funny the way most cats know “little feet and
hands” (children) = potential danger.
Toby and Sanka are getting along great
now. They clean each other, they like to
sleep next to each other, and they roughhouse all the time. I am happy to see they’ve learned to do so
without using their claws, so there isn’t any screaming anymore and only a
small amount of fur flying. Actually
that’s one thing I don’t miss much: medium or long hair cats gets matted and
need to much extra brushing, while with these two we can simply pet the loose
hair off of them. Toby loves having a
new playmate. The only negative for him,
aside from Sanka trying to eat all the food, is she
simply tires him out sometimes. He has
taken to finding new hiding spots (inside the box spring, using the lining as a
hammock, as an example) in order to sleep peacefully. Half the time she wants to curl up with him
or clean him, and the other half its PLAY TIME!
And, as it turns out, Sanka is almost as
“helpful” as Toby…it actually seems like she watches her “older brother” and
learns from him.
Dane Maslen: Sorry to hear about Tigger. Some friends of mine recently lost one of their cats (in my opinion the most affectionate one) to renal failure. They're now down to a mere 7 cats. At one time they had 10. Yes, that's right, they're completely mad! They might, however, be slightly saner than my cousin and her husband. They have three dogs (all quite large), a cat, two rabbits and two gerbils.
The most I ever had at once was five cats, when Mara and I were still married. That would be Biff the Persian, Tigger, Whisper the little Calico (who Sanka reminds me of in many ways), Bibby the HUGE Tuxedo cat (who Toby takes after in size, but not in manner), and Footy the giant black stray (who turned into a balloon as soon as we had her fixed, and who wouldn’t keep her fur clean so she always smelled of urine…she also wouldn’t use the litter box consistently). Now being down to two seems perfect, although I am not 100% sure whether two or three is the best number for us.
Balkan Wars VI (Black Press): Signed up: Jack
McHugh, Graham Wilson, Brad Wilson, Brendan Whyte, needs two more. Rules and map on request. If nobody signs up for this by next issue I’m
closing this opening down, so SIGN UP!
I may offer
a new game of Diplomacy or another Gunboat 7x7 soon, so keep your eyes
open. Other options are a game of Youngstown
or some other map variant.
Diplomacy
“Wouldn’t It Be Nice?” 2008A, Winter 1901
Austria
(Kevin Wilson): Build A Budapest, Build A Trieste.
England
(Jeremie LeFrancois): Build F London.
France
(Alexander Levinson): Build A Brest, Build A Paris.
Germany
(Graham Wilson): Build A Berlin.
Italy
(Don Williams): Build F Rome, Build F Naples.
Russia
(Melinda Holley): Build A Warsaw.
Turkey
(Brad Wilson): Build A Constantinople.
Spring 1902 Deadline is May 27th 2008 at
7:00am
Unit locations:
Austria:
A Budapest, F Greece, A Serbia, A Trieste, A Vienna.
England:
F London, F North Sea, F
Norway, A Yorkshire.
France:
A Brest, A
Burgundy, A Paris, F Portugal, A Spain.
Germany:
A Belgium, A
Berlin, F Holland, A Kiel.
Italy:
A Munich, F Naples, F
Rome, F Tunis, A Venice.
Russia:
A Moscow, F Sevastopol, F
Sweden, A Ukraine, A Warsaw.
Turkey:
A Armenia, F Black Sea, A Bulgaria, A Constantinople.
Ownership of supply centers:
Austria:
Budapest, Greece, Serbia,
Trieste, Vienna.
England:
Edinburgh, Liverpool,
London, Norway.
France:
Brest, Marseilles, Paris,
Portugal, Spain.
Germany:
Belgium, Berlin, Holland,
Kiel.
Italy:
Munich, Naples, Rome,
Tunis, Venice.
Russia:
Moscow, Sevastopol, St
Petersburg, Sweden, Warsaw.
Turkey:
Ankara, Bulgaria,
Constantinople, Smyrna.
Unowned: Denmark, Rumania.
PRESS
ROME to VIENNA: Clever.
You know, I’d feel a lot better about the border if we built a nice,
long fence. With a
moat. And maybe
a force-field or something equally science-fictiony
from the ‘60s. I liked the move
away to A TRI-VIE move, but building in Trieste sort of starts things up all
over again.
THE PALE WRITER –
Part 2 - He’d
spent the better part of the night with his head on his saddlebags, his ears
alert for coyotes, his eyes searching the stars of the open western sky, his
hand on his Colt. He’d slept only
fitfully, his dreams stirred and swirling with strange dreams and wisps of long
ago times. Memories stirred, like the
dregs at the bottom of an old wine bottle that had long settled, then been jolted back into suspension. He didn’t like it much, this feeling of déjà
vu. It felt like an old stale story line
that had come again to life. He didn’t
know what it was, but he knew it somehow had to do with her. Muffins. And a banker? Lots of clichés. An old joke with a
prospector? Where the hell had
all that come from? He wiped the anxiety
from hi eyes as he broke camp, ready for a long day’s
ride into the town of Darkness. Back to her. She was
at the heart of everything. He used the
last embers of his campfire to light the stub of cigar, then
clenched it in his teeth. He kicked the
fire apart, then mounted his horse for the final leg
of the ride into the story. His horse,
Flash, whinnied in the pre-dawn cold as he started down the arroyo. (Or was it
a gulch? He could never quite figure the
difference.) He rode slowly as the sun’s
rays breached the horizon, his poncho flapping slightly in the morning breeze
that blew away the cool night air and replaced it with the heated wind of the
coming day. Something was in the aim,
something he could feel more with his mind than his senses. And she, no doubt, was at the heart of it.