The Adventures of Accordion Guy in the 21st Century

This weekend, as part of a housemate-bonding experience, I participated in…

…in…

Oh crap, it’s just too embarassing.

Oh yeah, I have no shame. Never mind.

Anyhow, it was a…sigh…Dungeons and Dragons game.

I can’t remember which one of my housemates suggested the game, but if it’s a way to get Kenji to participate more in house stuff, why not? Prior to living here, he lived in shared-accomodation arrangements where he was just occupying a room and paying rent. We don’t do that here in Big Trouble in Little China; I prefer a more family-like setting rather than being people who’ve just grouped under one roof to cut down expenses. So D&D it was.

D&D has undergone some changes since last I played it, and I’m not talking about the rules of the game. I’m talking about the demographic fo the players. In my day, it was strictly the province of the boys from the AV squad and computer room at school; these days, people from grade school to senior citizens play it, and a surprising number of women do. My ex-girlfriend, among them, and she wasn’t your stereotypical geek girl. At a party held by my hippie-chick friend Margaret, a number of comely twenty-something women were discussing their characters, and I think Paul was getting aroused by the conversation. I guess it shouldn’t come off as too surprising — just take a look at the Silver Snail, Toronto’s premier comic book store (and falling distance from my house) and you’ll find a healthy number of women among the customers.

But enough justification. This was full-on geek central.

The original plan was for the house crew — me, Kenji and Paul — and a couple of Kenji’s friends to play, with Paul as DM, but as soon as Chris and Rob — heard, they wanted in. Rob ended up not being able to make it, but Chris showed, with a bag full of D&D dice.

“They have 30-sided dice now?” I said, marveling at his green crystal plastic polyhedron. Damn, I’ve been seriously Rip van Winkled.

Kenji’s friends Will and Simon brought their own dice too. Simon brought his copy of the Player’s Handbook, third edition. Paul owns the core set of books, the Dungeon Master’s Guide, Player’s Handbook and Monster Manual. All third edition, with a number of siginificant changes to the rules since my days of the first edition.

I pulled out my original copy of the Dungeon Master’s Guide, first edition, its cover showing the cheesily painted demon battling the hapless adventure party. “This is the real shit, yo!” I told them. “Old school, boyeeeee!”

Kenji played a fighter/rogue (a “rogue” is what a “thief” is now called), Simon and Will were rangers, Chris was a wizard, and I played a cleric named Gregor Samsa. If any of them got the Kafka reference, they didn’t say anything. Illiterate barabrians. I tried to use my Jesus figure (“with gliding action!”) as a game token, but he was a bit too big. I ended up using a button that read “Overthrow the DJ”.

The party ended up being robbed by a highwayman, mind-controlled by a high-level wizard, and nearly killed off twice by some pretty well-armed gnolls. Gregor Samsa did a lot of ass-kicking and ass-saving — he’s the padre who’s one bad madre. We’d have had an easier time if some of us — no names — hadn’t decided to run off in the other direction, thinking “I can take these guys myself!” Kenji’s character always got critically wounded in the first round of battle; a lot of the time we’d tease him by asking if he could do something a little more useful than just lie there and bleed. At the end of the session, the party barely survived, but netted enough experience to go up to the next level. Eat your heart out, Frodo Baggins!

I think I can live with the stigma of playing this infernal game every now and again. After all, what’s the worst that can happen?

Conversation 1:
“Don’t know much about history…”

The scene: Cumberland cinemas, waiting for The Two Towers to come on. Two guys in their mid- to late twenties are talking in the row behind me.

Guy behind me number 1: I read somewhere that Peter Jackson chaged more stuff in the Two Towers than he did in Fellowship.

Guy behind me number 2: I wouldn’t know, I never read the books. I’m not really big on reading.

Guy behind me number 1: No?

Guy behind me number 2: When I come from from work, I don’t want to have to work to be entertained. I want to relax. Reading’s just too much work.

Guy behind me number 1: Maybe you just haven’t found the kind of book you’d like to read.

Guy behind me number 2: Yeah, maybe. I do feel guilty about not reading. Maybe after the movie, we should drop by the Indigo downstairs.

Guy behind me number 1: Let’s not go to Indigo. I’m boycotting it because Heather Reisman’s a total book censor. She refuses to stock Mein Kampf.

Guy behind me number 2: Never heard of it. What’s it about?

It took a lot of willpower not to burst out laughing at that point.

Conversation 2:
All the cool kids speak Elvish now

The scene: The subway. Bloor line, going westbound. Two girls, perhaps around 13 or 14, talking.

Girl 1: Frodo and Sam are cute.

Girl 2: Uh…who were they again?

Girl 1: You were there, watching the movie right beside me! They were the two hobbits. They had the ring.

Girl 2: I can’t remember anyone’s names in the movie. You like them?

Girl 1: I could marry either one. Maybe both.

Girl 2: Ewwwwwwwwwwww.

Girl 1: Who do you like?

Girl 2: The guy with the long blond hair. He’s a hottie.

Girl 1: Legolas.

Girl 2: His name’s not so hot though. Sounds like Legos.

Girl 1 (rolling her eyes, sighing): Umm, okay. Do you remember the name of the dwarf?

Girl 2: Uh….

Girl 1: It’s Gimli! You have to know this stuff! Don’t you want to be popular?

During my time at high school, any kind of Tolkien knowledge would’ve put you squarely in the unpopular crowd.

It’s quite possible that I’m the same age as his mom, but I’m still more inclined to think along the same lines as Wigu.

It’s time for the 2003 Weblog Awards — and I’d like you to nominate me! Either for “Best Canadian Weblog” (which fellow GTABlogger Natalie won last year) or “Best Kept Secret” (a category for all blogs that aren’t in Blogdex’s top 200. I’m still a B-lister at this point, so I think I count).

Hell, nominate me for Weblog of the Year. If a man’s reach does not exceed his grasp, what’s an accordion for?

If nominated, I will run the story (with names changed to protect the innocent, and yes, I have permission) of the two most trying dates I’ve ever gone on. If not, I’ll keep those stories under wraps. Is that enough motivation?

It’s the first full working week of the year, folks! Here’s a grab bag of stuff since I’ve been a little delinquent lately.

Been busy…

…writing code like a maniac. Two current projects and at least one upcoming project, all using different programming languages and some different technologies. I’m doing these jobs at discount rates, but at this point any money is good money.

(Someone on IRC mentioned that he’d considered baking cookies with actual gold leaf in ’em; I said that I’m so poor that if I ate one, I’d seriously consider panning my own poop.)

I’ve also managed to waste what little downtime I have playing Age of Mythology. The solo campaign mode is amazing and lengthy — I’m on chapter 21, and it looks like there’s still a way to go. I’ve also been playing my neighbour Hector over the LAN that our two houses share, and he’s been kicking my ass fiercely. Really, Hector, did you have to add insult to injury by sending me a metor storm on top of the half-dozen siege engines and dozens of troops and minotaurs?

I hope I don’t get too sucked into online gaming. I hear that world is full of scary people.

This one’s for Paul

(Please note: some semi-obscure technical references follow.)

Today, my housemate Paul starts his first day on the job at his new employer, Semaview, a company that develops semantic web technologies. True to the spirit of today’s hiring practices, Paul had to write an application that did something useful with FOAF (Friend Of A Friend) data. He did one better — he wrote two applications: one written in VBA (a langauge he’d never touched before) that generates a FOAF file based on your Outlook contacts and a Web-based app written in PHP that tells you who your most popular friends are (it’s in the right-hand column of his Web page if you want to try it out)..

Congratulations, Paul! This song goes out to you…

Welcome to the Working Week

Elvis Costello (nee Declan McManus)

from the album “My Aim is True”

Now that your picture’s in the paper being rhythmically admired

And you can have anyone that you have ever desired

All you gotta tell me now is why, why, why, why?

Welcome to the working week

Oh, I know it don’t thrill you, I hope it don’t kill you

Welcome to the working week

You gotta do it till you’re through, so you better get to it

All of your family had to kill to survive

And they’re still waitin’ for their big day to arrive

But if they knew how I felt, they’d bury me alive

Welcome to the working week

Oh, I know it don’t thrill you, I hope it don’t kill you

Welcome to the working week

You gotta do it till you’re through, so you better get to it

I hear you sayin’, “Hey, the city’s alright,” when you only read about it in books

Spend all your money gettin’ so convinced that you never even bother to look

Sometimes I wonder if we’re livin’ in the same land

Why d’you wanna be my friend when I feel like a juggler running out of hands?

Welcome to the working week

Oh, welcome to the working week

No sign of the New Year’s Resolution Crowd

The gym’s been quiet.

Too quiet.

Where are the people who resolved to lose weight and get in shape this year? I was half-expecting to see the gym packed solid on January 1st and for the next few weeks.

I’m sure I’ve jinxed myself now.

New Year’s Eve photos

Another fun evening!

It began with dinner at my place, with me, Paul, Rob, Eldon and Brooke. Loads of red wine, my hoisin chicken with garlic string beans and sweet-and-spicy stir-fried Cantonese veggies, Rob’s butternut squash sauteed in butter and Brooke’s homemade cookies for dessert. My part of dinner cost me all of $8.00 Canadian, thanks to the low, low, low prices of Chinatown’s markets, where chicken legs go for a mere 60 cents a pound and a couple of bucks will fill two shopping bags of vegetables. We may be unemployed (well, Paul isn’t any more, and I have a couple of programming contracts), but we still eat quite nicely. Maybe it’s time for me to get that TV cooking show.

We first went to my friend Gianna’s place in Kensington Market, where we finally broke into the giant bottle of Heineken that I got for my birthday and caught up with my other friends Sarah and James as well as back-from-Geneva-for-a-visit pals Derek and Alison, back-from-Vangroovy for a visit friend Elise and Craig-o-tronic (whom along with me, was one of the few synth players back at Queen’s; we were musical outcasts in an indie guitar rock town). Then it was off to Peter’s place for his Moulin Rouge theme party. Peter’s bashes are always full of the most interesting people and a few who are freaky even by Queen Street West standards.

The client meeting

The scene: A client meeting. Me and two guys in their mid- to late twenties. Nice and personable fellas — I really like ’em — and they talk just like the guys from GoodFellas, or perhaps Joey from Friends or Tony Soprano. You almost expect them to say “fuggedaboutit” any moment. I’ve just closed the deal.

Client guy 1 [trying to get laptop to work]: Fuckin’ machine.

Client guy 2: It ain’t fuckin’ workin’?

Client guy 1: Naaah. Fuckin’ power supply.

Me: We can look at your site at this Internet cafe just a couple of doors down. They like me there, because they think I’m Korean.

Client guy 2: That’s cool — they look at you and it’s fuckin’ like, “Hey, paysan!”

Me: Fuck yeah.

Client guy 1: I’m gonna got get the fuckin’ pizza.

(Client guy 1 walks off)

Client guy 2: Thanks for takin’ the job on such short notice. Our site’s kind of fucked right now. We had a buddy code it up, but then he fucked off.

Me: No prob; I like “search and rescue” jobs like this.

Client guy 2: “Search and rescue”. I fuckin’ like that. You’re suave. If you don’t mind my askin’, you got a girlfriend, Joe?

I haven’t yet told them that I play the accordion. When they hear that, I think they’ll fuckin’ shit.

The worst timing in the world

The scene:Christmas Day, 5:30 p.m. My cell phone rings.

Cute girl: Hey, Joey. I just wanted to call and wish you a Merry Christmas!

Me: I’m so glad to hear from you!

Cute girl: I have a a little time to kill before I fly off to L.A. and thought I’d give you a ring.

Me: I didn’t know you’d be leaving so soon. When do you get back?

Cute girl: The end of February.

The end of February?!

Me: Damn. I’m glad I caught up with you for Chinese food before you left, then. Look, I’m a little tied up, but can I try and page you if I manage to free myself?

Cute girl: Sure, but try to do it soon — my plane leaves in an hour.

Me: I’ll do my best. Talk to you soon.

And then I hung up, because I was about to enter the hospital, where they don’t allow you to turn on your cell phone — they’re believed to interfere with monitoring equipment. I was visiting Dad, who was in stable condition (and looking much better) in the intensive care unit.

Damned timing.

Of course the song’s title is now Theme from Pringles

At the New Year’s Eve party, I was asked: “He, Accordion Guy, do you know the dance tune they’re using in the Pringles commercial? What’s it called?”

I replied “Basement Jaxx. Where’s Your Head At [RealAudio link]. Big hit at the Velvet and Zen Lounge for a bit.”

(I believe it was also used in an Intel commercial. Does anyone remember that one?)

They mentioned that it wasn’t listed on songtitle.info, the site that catalogs music used in TV commercials. It’s pretty interesting, and I hope they update it soon — the ad companies are licensing some pretty interesting material as background music these days.

2003 is the new 2001 / Fortune cookie of the year

At the end of New Year’s Eve, we ended up at one of the lesser-frequented Chinese restaurants on Spadina (the usual spots were packed with hungry revelers).

My friend, champion slacker Ron Cunane declared: “2003 is the new 2001, man. It’s full of the promise that 2001 had, but everybody spent that year bein’ bummed out. This is going to be it, man. I can feel it.”

Maybe he’s right. My fortune cookie read:

You are almost there.

Gotta like the sound of that.

We all knew Jack Chick was going to draw this comic some day, and that day has arrived…

This one’s got everything — the World Trade Center disaster, poor Omar getting beaten up by people looking for someone on whom to vent their rage, a Good Samaritan who then tells the parable having the same name, the conversion (by Christians who have Reveen-like powers) and finally, the “let’s pray together” scene.

I noticed that my fellow GTABlogger Jeremy noticed that the fine gamer comic Megatokyo noticed this little mathematical fact:

666 + 1337 = 2003

I expect to see this on a t-shirt soon.