#IWSG #ROW80 #A-TO-Z-CHALLENGE PRE-POST SOAPBOX “TO MY DEAR FRIEND, ****”

Well, now. What could all of this be about? And why am I addressing everyone in any writing group that I've ever participated (or hovered on the outskirts of) in? There's a simple reason for that and it has to do with MAGNIFICATION, which just means that I want the broadest audience possible for this post. Normally, I don't give a good goddamn who reads what, unless I think I've written something truly fine or more likely, hysterically funny, but there isn't a whole lot to laugh about these days, is there?

So, this is to my Dear Friend, ****. I'm not using any names, but there are plenty of you out there that I count as my dear friends and I care about you, and this post is mainly directed AT you and it is meant in as loving a way as I can possibly state. ARE YOU ALL FUCKING NUTS?

courtesy:thedailybeast.com        

No, I take that back, Dear Friend, ****, because surely your rationale for making the decision and choices that you are clearly making now, make some sense to you, although the rest of the world is scratching it's head over this. I am talking about the decision to back Donald Trump as our next Republican Presidential Candidate in the 2016 General Election.

You know what is odd about this? I see your point; I truly do. However, you, I, and the rest of the nation have been sold this bill of goods for so long, it's hard to know what is the truth anymore and what is a bunch of smoke and mirrors. So, let me see if I can clear it up for all of us, Dear Friend, ****. We've been fed a lot of guff for a long time, all of us and it's time we all put an end to the long con.

courtesy:content.time.com                                

You see, back in the days of true Conservative Republican-type politics, we had very good candidates like Barry Goldwater, who made a run for President in 1964, only to be undone by one Lyndon Baines Johnson, who while a terrific Senator and Speaker of the House was a truly shitty president, was already lying to the American public about the truth of things about the Tonkin Gulf. He could hardly help that however, since he was being lied to by Robert McNamara and later, General William Westmoreland, regarding body counts in Vietnam. However, it was the beginning of what would become a period of deceit in American Politics that would continue to haunt us until this day.

Goldwater would have made a good President, my Dear Friend, ****, but he made one statement that made him sound war-like and LBJ jumped on it in his campaigning (not that mud-slinging was anything new, but LBJ raised the bar on that) and so he buried Goldwater.

But, LBJ botched Vietnam, and decided at the 11^th hour not to run in '68, leaving the door open for pacifist George McGovern as the Democratic Candidate, facing off against Richard Nixon, who won in a landslide, declaring “We want no wider war”, all the while bombing into Cambodia and creating one of the most horrific scenes of genocide by de-stabilizing that country.

And so it goes, Dear Friend, ****. America has invested in her share of Acts of Folly, up to and including the invasion of Iraq and the destabilization of the entire Middle East. Because, we think we know better than everyone else. Because we believe that our way is better and that we are going to ram democracy and freedom down the entire 3^rd world's throats, if it kills 'em. Our hubris, arrogance and base stupidity know no bounds. As reference, I point again to Vietnam.

We built “hamlets” and moved all of the agrarian farmers from the outlying villages into them. What we never understood and what the Vietnamese revere more than anything is ancestor worship and by taking them forcefully from their homes and moving them to a new place forced them to leave behind generations of their dead, which they cherished highly. It was no way to win the hearts and minds of the South Vietnamese and it only served to drive more and more of these villagers into the hands of the Viet Minh, led by Ho Chi Minh, who was a Patriot first and a Communist, second. 

courtesy:www.invert-the-future.org

Ho Chi Minh

But, we NEVER could get that fine distinction into our thick heads and we STILL have a hide-bound government determined to follow the Truman Doctrine right straight to Hell. The Truman Doctrine, roughly paraphrased, means that by allowing one country to be “coerced” into becoming a Communist country, other countries in the region will fall to the same type of political and economical regime; a “Domino Effect” as it were.

My screed is going to take a different tack now, because there are other parallels in history that resemble what is going on now and they are quite simply, terrifying, Dear Friend, ****.

If we go back into the 20^th century and look at post WW I Germany, and the Weimar Republic, we can see that this was a time that was fraught with great economic upheaval in the entire world, not just Germany. The Russian Revolution had been fought and won, and if Lenin had lived longer, the USSR would not have become this monolithic enigma that it turned into under Stalin. With good reason, the Soviets feared the West. They were invaded five times after the initial Revolution, by various countries and factions, but the Bolsheviks always won and were becoming suspicious and wary of the west.

To the west, a young Adolf Hitler was busily putting together some kind of rag-tag base of political ill-repute. A chicken farmer, (Rudolph Hess), a flying ace from WW I and some-time heroin addict (Hermann Goering) and the SA, the precursor to the SS. What Hitler did after he was arrested for the 1923 beer-hall putsch, was to sit himself down and write “Mein Kampf” (My Struggle) which should be REQUIRED reading for anyone who wants to think critically. 

courtesy:furtherglory.wordpress.com                          

Once Hitler was out of jail, he began to get this thing published and distributed and went to Union Meetings, Town Halls and distributed the thing. It won him all of the disaffected Germans who were suffering; suffering loss of status, loss of income, loss of their own sense of self within what they “knew” to be true as “Germanic”, or as Hitler would feed them, the term “Aryan”. He started out by descrying the Treaty of Versailles, which was a punitive treaty, the Allies rammed down Germany's throat, at the end of WW I. We, as part of the Allies in WW II would not make that mistake again. But gradually, he talked about “Pan-Germanism”, anti-communism and only later, began to sneak in anti-semitism. His growing supporters lapped this up like pigs at a trough. At last! Someone who understands us! Someone who is for us!

Boy, howdy, Dear Friend, ****, did they buy into it. They began to rally around this little failure of a man and listen to his hours-long screeds, which consisted mainly at the time of the equivalent of “there, there, papa is here to make it all better”. As Hitler began to gain strength, he began his onslaught on the Reichstag, the legal government of Germany, being presided over by President von Hindenburg. He first was able to establish the NAZI (Nationalist-Socialist Party) from the defunct NSDAP party and gain a majority in the Reichstag. In 1934, the NAZIs successfully passed the “Enabling Act”, which began the process of turning Germany into a one-party dictatorship based on totalitarian and autocratic ideology of National Socialism.

Well, Dear Friend, ****, this is where we start seeing that the will of the people don't mean anything. Hitler had already been secretly rebuilding an army called the Wehrmacht, to augment and eventually replace the Reichswehr, which was but a rump of an army, in the event Germany had to defend herself.

While Hitler was gangbusters at drumming up war fever and babbling about lebensraum, easily interpreted as “what's yours is now mine” or is a type of colonialism mind-set left over from the 19^th century, Hitler went at it with a fury. His first acquisition was Austria, which was practically German, because the Austrians spoke German. Then, came the Sudetenland, which was a rump state that had belonged to Germany, or Germans had walked across, or looked at.

courtesy:history.com

Winston Churchill. Neville has apparently evaporated from the internet (just kidding), but would you want to face this bulldog across a negotiating table, squabbling about the fate of the free world? Neither would I and I'm a BITCH!

Up until this point, Dear Friend ****, the west had rattled a couple of sticks, not even sabers, and had conceded everything that Der Füehrer asked for. In Great Britain, The Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, gave into every single demand, while a back-bencher, by the name of Winston Churchill sat and fumed. But appeasement NEVER pays off, as Herr Chamberlain would find out on September 1, 1939.

Ultimatums flew back and forth, and Hitler was certain that the West would not attack, but they did. Although ultimately victorious, the Allies took heavy, heavy losses. But, what of the Germans who had followed this nameless gorm so blindly into the cataclysm? Their 1000-year Reich lasted exactly 12 years and when the German Army was in retreat and after it was apparent they could not stand and hold, Hitler ordered them to “raze the countryside” because, “these people, these sheep I have led do not deserve to live”, or words to that effect.

Dear Friend, ****, Hitler's Arkitektminister, Albert Speer ran, drove, rode horses, all over the countryside, countermanding that order. He knew the war was lost, but he still cared enough about his country and his fellow Germans that he didn't want them to starve during the wintertime. War is a bitter, bitter thing. But even more bitter, is finding out that your leader doesn't give one good goddamned about you.

So, what have I just told you, Dear Friend, ****? I have just described a scenario we are currently in the midst of. Through no fault of yours or mine, we have become disenfranchised in a way. Big deal. I once had a fine house out in the country, then I tried to buy a house during the Banking Crisis and I fought off eviction for two years. I can no longer drive, due to the fact that I am legally blind. Big Deal.

What we have is a man who is trying to steam-roll his way into being President and he is preying on the likes of people who have the mindset that they have in fact, lost something. Yes, you have. I have. But, it's part of social change and electing a person like this who is also now got the GOP endorsing him and groveling at his feet and appeasing him, is very much like a scenario that existed back in Germany in the 30s. This does not make Trump eminently fit to become one of the most powerful men in the world. To put it bluntly, the guy is a schlemiel and one of the reasons Vladimir Putin loves him so much, is because Putin will eat him for breakfast.

There is so much more at stake here than just what's sitting in your driveway. Have a motorcycle? You're doing better than I am. Gotta a car? Good for you! I have to take public transportation and sit next to Drunky McStinkly. This does not give me cause to lose all reason and vote for a jackleg.

I will leave you with this, Dear Friend, ****. Whatever happens in this election, whomever wins, we are liable to see bloodshed in the streets and Donald Trump is responsible for this. He has whipped up hatred and fervor to a pitch not seen since the days of Reconstruction or the riots of the 60s. This used to be a country of beautiful ideals. We used to be able to engage in discourse and disagree on subjects without resorting to violence and this has gone the way of the sabre-toothed tiger. We used to be the “melting pot” not only of different cultures, faiths and people, but also ideas. We are so far off that path now, I wonder if we can get that back.

courtesy:covenantpeoplesministry.org

This is becoming more and more the norm. The organization is supposedly a religious one and is under the protection of a non-profit.

This was the original picture I wanted to use that I had found for another post. This more properly conveys, I think, the true nature of what a fascist regime represents, unlike the little ragtag, make-do pretend army of the previous picture. If you have never visited a country that exists under a Military or One-man Dictatorship, you should. Your eyes will be opened. Visiting Eastern Europe and the U.S.S.R., and as much as I love the Russians, their way of life did nothing to enamor me of their governance; just because they were Communists at the time (and still REALLY are), means nothing. It's the flip side of the same coin.

I hear rhetoric now about doing away with certain parts of the Constitution and parts of some of the Amendments that don't sit well with some politicians. So be it. The Great American Experiment lasted about 240 years. The Ottoman Empire lasted longer. Maybe Khrushchev was right and we will be tossed onto the ash heap of history; a fitting place for the country I see around me right now. Good luck, my Dear Friend, ****. I will never forget you. I'll be the one on the OTHER side of the barricades, or like Leon Trotsky (sans Stalin), will be writing policy for a new world. For what it's worth, I vote Independent and vote the principle, NOT the platform!

#ROW80 POST 20 WEDNESDAY CHECK IN - ON ALL HALLOWS EVE

Good times! Good times!

Not appropriately dire enough. It is actually the day before NaNoWriMo commences. So be it. I feel as though I were in a confessional. “Father Angus, it has been 15 days since my last confession, blah, blah, blah.” Due to the fact that I have not written an organized thought since our last #ROW80 check in, unless we included SDBN (Now With Added Moms) which can be viewed here. Although, this may count as more of a PSA and less as an organized thought Maybe this qualifies more appropriately as an A. A.  meeting, sort of...

“Hello, my name is Viola and I am an alcoholic. It’s been 2 years and 4 months since my last drink. I’m slipping into that trend of taking other people’s inventory and forgetting to take my own. Y’know, Step 10? I’ve been down the road where I made amends to everyone and felt better. Steps 8 and 9 and if I left anybody out, I’m really sorry, but I forget a lot…

“About step 7? I’m humble about things, well shortcomings, not about violas and playing them. But yeah, other stuff, yes, I need to be humble about my short and getting ever shorter temper, although this praying to whomever, or whatever, or timeever, whom is out there and hears all this nonsense, you’re doing a Hell of a job because I have patience upon patience when I need it for poor JC. He’s had that vicious, stealthy infection from a few months back. If our new kitty hadn’t just nicked him he’d probably have been very sick indeed. I know I’m digressing. But could you ease up on JC? He’s had a rotten, rotten life. He never knew his real dad. His step father was horrible to him. It was William Faulkner in East Texas.

“He had 4 bad marriages; his last wife was so evil and she and her sons wanted everything he had worked for. He’s a good man. Please, please stop tormenting him. It’s enough he has to put up with my ass.

One grizzled bat, “Betty,” with a really bad, bee-hive bun, interjects, with the voice of a chainsaw, puffing furiously on her Tiparillo and hacking, “Viola, are you going somewhere with this? We’ve heard from you before. You come in here, talking about how you were homeless and how you were in the hospital and in physical therapy for 6 months and you were put there by the brainless twit you lived with after 5 failed marriages. The brainless twit who had an anger management problem. How after 7 years of living with this dolt you managed to get yourself evicted and hospitalized, blah, blah, blah….” Hack, hack, argh.

Her lantern jaw is working furiously, underbite with 3 yellowed teeth, teetering. “And so, now, you’re with another loser. Someone who isn’t going to let you be you.” Air quotes. Now, it’s writing.”

I finally hold up my hand. “Who are you to be taking my inventory?” Betty says, “Isn’t that what you said you do?” I nod my head, “Yes, I did. But you didn’t let me finish, Betty. I hadn’t gotten to the part yet, where I mention that we go through that part where it’s ‘one day at a time?’ Sometimes, it’s 4 hours at a time, or 1 hour. Or maybe 4 minutes.” I look down. My hands are starting to shake, from the stress. I can feel the tremors in my thighs and upper arms. They will pass. I say, “I go back and continually question myself.” I look in her eyes. “You do too, we all do. That’s why we come here. We take the bus, we stumble down here in our walkers, use our canes. But we come. Because we don’t want to do what got us all screwed up anymore.”  Betty stands up, and holds out her arms. I walk over and punch her in the nose. 

Back in the mid-80s, I did a stint in A. A. for 1 year and didn’t drink at all for 14 years. During my 3^rd marriage to the estimable ‘Crapweasel’ (Bill) he told me he didn’t think I was an alcoholic. He also told me he didn’t believe in God or any form of a higher power. I call ‘bullshit’ on both counts. The exchange with Betty is made up of whole cloth, but I have either been in exchanges like this, or witnessed them around the table. A. A. is a wonderful organization. For someone who is sincere and earnest and just starting out it’s great. So, on to #ROW80 and NaNoWriMo tomorrow. Excited, I just hope we can all stay out of the hospital and the mental ward.

ROW 80 4th QUARTER - POST 4 – TRIP BACK IN TIME TO GESTAPO HEADQUARTERS AND JEFF’S DEATH, PART 1

After my much-anticipated trip to the Neurologist and what I was sure would be a slam-dunk “bed-side” diagnosis of my Parkinson’s Disease (you have to exhibit 2 of 4 symptoms, there are NO quantifiable tests), I came home in a frazzled state of mind. Worse than my usual state of mind and felt I had been set up. I had all of my paper work and all of my ammunition; MRIs, EMG test results and corroborating documentation from leading neurologists.

The verdict? “We’re not sure you have Parkinson’s Disease; you also have malnutrition, you need your thyroid checked, you take B-12 injections every month, you’re blind. You have mild neuropathy.”  They blinked at me and here came the zinger, “You’re bipolar.” More blinking. “We must rule out stoofs.” This after almost two hours of neurological TORTURE and making me run into walls and try to touch their goddamned fingers. I CAN’T SEE, YOU STUPID SHITS; DON’T MAKE ME DO IT 20 TIMES. I am not an act in a circus.

No. Fucking. Shit. Guilty to all of the above, but for one, assbites. This shit has gotten WAY worse, every fucking symptom I just told you about over the last 2 MONTHS. The tremors, the pain, the ear-hooting, the 1000-yard stare non-vision, the neuropathy, all of it. I’ve had all of that other shit for years. So, tell me, Dr. Mengeles, why the FUCK didn’t you just come out and say “We’re going to wait until Medicare will pick up the tab in March of 2013. We have no intention of lessening your suffering until then.” Fuck you, you Nazis. And Dr. Mengele? If you ever, EVER barge into a room again and say to me “Why are you here?” in that tone of voice as your first word of greeting to me? I will behead you. I mean it. You suck. You can just goose-step right out into traffic.

This Guy Would Have Been a Better Doctor

I was all set to go off and sulk for 2 months or stay up for a month or set my hair on fire and run down Nebraska Avenue, 33605, but the last time I chose number 2, it earned me a stay at the State-Subsidized Happy Acres. Rather then eat a bunch of pills, stay up for several weeks, have a psychotic break, try to climb in the fridge, go back and play “Wheel O’ Death” with those fine folks at St. Joseph’s Hospital, I decided to write about it instead. Besides, and this is the worst, not the possibility of dying; the fact that I would do something so wantonly callous and thoughtless to JC and possibly leave him behind. That leaves me colder than cold.

One of our compatriots from the shelter died, precisely 5 weeks after Wade died. Jeff wasn’t well and didn’t really take care of himself, but he had a companion who looked after him, Dana McKinney. Ms. McKinney is a dear and loving woman. She promised Jeff, that he wouldn’t die homeless, and she saw to it. I weep now as I write this. I couldn’t always understand their connection. They were rather like 2 children. He would get a bit huffy and leave her behind, but in the end would always return where she would be waiting patiently. Sometimes, when people aren’t well, they require a great deal of patience. We all require a great deal of patience.

She would come by and visit us after we moved, every so often and they were doing okay. He was still working, but had put on a great deal of weight. I didn’t really care for him, because he could be loud, and I was concerned for her. As always, I’m on the outside. I once again, for the millionth time, have had the lesson, “Thou Shouldn’t Judge,” driven home. So has JC. He was critical of Jeff as well and worried about Dana; we needn’t  have.

They moved about 2 months ago. About 2 weeks ago, Jason, who still lives at Happy Acres texted us with a very confused message about Dana and Jeff had died. I called Dana and got an answering machine. She, then called Jason, who called me and we were on some weird 3-way phone connection. Jason is in the main Guy/Frat Party house standing next to Mike, the Manager who’s on the house phone talking with Dana, who’s on the hospital bedside phone at St. Joseph’s with Jeff, who’s in the process of dying. Jason’s on the phone with me, so we have this fucked-up round robin of death thing going on. I want to do nothing so much as hang up the phone. This is so Nebraska Avenue, 33605. Touching, yet a scramble-fuck-wheel-o-mortality of hilarious. These are dear, dear people. We really do care. Possibly because in many cases, we’re the only family we have, as fucked up as we are.

I can hear beeping and yelling from the hospital. I can hear some kind of football game “12 to 3 Bobcats!” and cheering. I can hear somebody threatening someone with a knife “Yo Dude, dem’s my Twinks; I be cuttin’ yo ass! Git yo hands off ‘em!” and rap: “BOOM-dada BOOM-dada BOOM-dada” in the Frat House. Dana’s quiet hitched-in sobs. Jason’s breathing. Mike and I are silent. I’m standing next to JC. He’s looking down at me with his blue eyes. He has such blue, blue eyes. Beautiful eyes, with black lashes. We always argue over who has the prettiest blue eyes. He does, by miles. I look down; I’m welling up. Gradually, I notice the sounds dying out, the TV goes off, music stops, the banter stops, I can’t even hear Jason’s breathing. Just Dana’s quiet  sobbing. It’s absolutely silent…. No beeping. Utter silence for maybe 20 seconds. A long time on a phone. First Dana, then Jason says, quickly, “Jeff’s gone.”

ROW 80 4th QUARTER POST 3, WEDNESDAY CHECK IN – RUNESCAPE REPORT FROM THE FRONTLINES ZAMORAK GODWARS DUNGEON, THE GOOD NEWS? I DIDN’T DIE

The bad news, I didn’t get any of the loot. To be honest, I didn’t really care. First off, getting me anywhere in a group is a major accomplishment. No, I didn’t finish “Eadgar’s Ruse” quest. I didn’t find this out until I tried to use 2 fire runes and 2 law runes and went precisely no where. 3 of our gang of 5 had already left and were up there ketting there kill count. I suspect they were off looking at troll porn or reading “50 Shades of Guthix” or watching the S. F. Giants tear up the L. A. Dodgers, (Congratulations, Steve!) but they certainly weren’t reading or watching the “50 Fails of ViolaFury” either.

So, when I logged into  Runescape after having baked some salmon and sautéed fresh mushrooms and made corn on the cob and drenched butter and capers and lemon on the salmon, and butter on the rest, I was pretty much not at my brightest, so from ½ a loaf to ¼ a loaf, perfect mindset for creating death and destruction on Runescape, especially my own.

I start the action, when asked what my setup is. I said, “bronze scimitar and goblin armor.” My friend Killa C9 says, “be a hero and use a bronze mace.” I riposte back “Fuck that. I’m going grow a big set of hairies and go for the bronze dagger.” I know I’m home. Believe it or not, we're not 13-year old boys. We're all adults. Some of us are middle-aged women, who are degreed and... never mind.

ViolaFury

Combat lvl121

Just to show how truly stone badass we all are, we’ve got these Bau5 names: Nero Sama, who was last known as Hellson23 (See: Witness Protection Program) Damnation Day, (who is more badass in real life as "Bryan," and lives across the bay in from me) Killa C9, (aka who we don’t ask his real name; I think, he’d have to kill us, he’s Military) and Sergio Romo (aka BMNP, aka Steve, aka the biggest Giants fan ever.) Steve IS his real name, I know. What a shock. 

Why he picked "Sergio Romo" I don't know. I know why he picked BMNP and I was all "ewwww." I don't want to know about "Sergio Romo." And me. I’ve always been Viola or Mary, for the love of the former and I can still remember my name. I will always be that. I have trouble with my own one reality. I don’t need 12 or 249 of them.

So, Nero is the one who is really pro at this GWD stuff. The big bad Dude, Kahuna, Nex or whatever is supposedly really bad and he knows what to do to kill it and not get killed. I’m here with some idealized LOTR bullshit that we’re all going to have this merry little jaunt and fight many orcians or what-have-yous, and share our lives and wonder what it’s all about. I have not one clue why I take off into this EPIC MOVIE MODE now and then, at the most peculiar times. Probably because I’m mentally ill. I know who these people are. They’re my friends; if we were to be a movie, it might be more “From Dusk Til Dawn” only we’re all George Clooney Yeah, right. Everyone’s a smart ass.

Except poor Nero thought I needed help, so he proceeded to give me about 50 times the amount of stuff I could possibly carry. I had a battle tortoise and a couple extras and the poor things kept dying, because I did forget summon pots and we had to walk. The reason we had to walk is because ViolaFury for all her Bau5-ness is just as blind in RS as she is irl and she can’t finish Eadgar’s Ruse or any quest where there is a maze, so Viola walks. Between Nero and Viola, there were easily 100 million gold pieces just in armor and weapons on our little bodies alone, but, actual money? I had 5, Nero had bupkus, 0. So we couldn’t buy climbing boots. We tried killing the woman who sold the boot’s chickens, but they just drop bones and fur, no coins; shit. Still undaunted, we proceeded to punch our way north through those fucking throwing trolls until I got to 3 rocks, skinned my knee and said “Ow.” We couldn’t climb those rocks without climbing boots.

Nero said, “I can’t fucking believe this.” The other 3 hobbitses, er, our "friends" had long ago run on up ahead to the dungeon and were merrily killing zammy meanies that you have to kill prior to getting into the Big Guy, or Guys as it turned out. So much for the road trip. They were saying things like: 

Damnation: “Yeah, ya have to wait for Viola, ‘cause she’s like… 90!!! Do you have your holy-blessed walker?” Asshole. 

Sergio: “Hurry up, before they release the next game update!” 

Damnation: “Happy New Year! I can’t believe it’s 2027!!!” 

Killa: “I wonder if summoning creatures go to summon heaven or hell when they die, or are they just napping?” 

I’m waiting at the skinned-my-knee place, while Nero runs south and gets boots out of his bank. Like me, he probably has 50 billion pair. He was able to run back and trade me a pair. I put them on and my yak dies. Shit. I summon a new one, pick up all the shit the dead one dropped. Some asshole bystander calls me “noob,” (30% rule still in play*) Off we go.

We run north into the freezing cold. My energy drops to zero. All you can really do is rest. Nero is staying with me. He tells me to rest. Killa is down below in the main dungeon. He says “Stay away from the Gorak, right?” Nero: ”Yes, they something something something” I couldn’t see what he said. I was up and down the hole and it was confusing, so many people running around.

This is the 1st dungeon 

I got my 40 kills and we crossed the bridge to the big boss’ room. I was really thrown off at first. I used to go to King Black Dragon at least once a week and got the majority of the kills. It’s been years since I did anything like this and I died immediately the last time I came here. I kind of hung back. By the second spawn, I remembered who I am and how to do this and warmed up to it. I didn’t die, but damn! I came close. At one point, I was down to 83 less than 10% of my health. Poor Killa did die, so he must be avenged! We shall prevail! Oh yeah the “something something something?” They all have personality disorders. The monsters. With our old crew from SpiritZ, it’s a given.

Nex: She/he was a Pain In The Ass...

Combat lvl 1001

ROW 80 4th QUARTER POST 2 – THE GOD WARS DUNGEON OF RUNESCAPE

I, uh, ran into some old friends last night. From about 4 years ago. We had a very active and storied Clan in Runescape. By active, I mean not one day went by, that we didn’t do something together. Everyone in that clan either worked from home, like me, or just didn’t work and stayed home and partied, like Steve and a few others, or they were in school, and played from the Library, like Wolf and Zawar, or did a combination; partied, worked from home and read library books. That would be me.

Anyway, I was on RS last night and blabbering along with Bryan about food, and different cheeses and meat and what we really like in a sandwich and blah-di-blah-di-blah-de-blah. He works at one of the SweetBay delicatessens in Clearwater. I go to the Sweetbay here in Tampa and they have the same product lines and it’s all great, so we were comparing notes and I was getting some nift tips on deli "Goodies I Have Overlooked." Thanks Bryan! By the way, we’re doing all this jabbering while “skilling.” I got sick of killing stuff. For once. I know. I must be in love or something. No, I decided to make runes for a while and calm down. I got swarmed by trolls and my heart rate zoomed up. Not good for Parkies. Shit. I may as well go knit.

So, while Bryan and I are swapping food faves, up pops Hellson23, whom I thought had died or gone to Mars. He just disappeared off the face of Runescape, which is practically the same thing as earth, right, oh about 4 years ago. It’s been that long. He’s been around, only he’s going by the name “Nero Sama.” Runescape is one giant and certainly the best Witness Protection Program on earth. Whole countries could hide on RS. He thought I knew it was him, he pops up and says “Hey Remember me?” Umm no, I don’t. He helps, “It’s Hellson!” I’m like, “OMG! Hellson! How the Hell are you?”, thinking it sounds really stupid to repeat “Hell” twice in a sentence, especially, when the 1^st time, it’s part of my friend’s name.  

Hellson23 was one of the leaders of the Clan SpiritZ years ago. Everyone has had a chance to lead SpZ bravely into the future and go forth and strive mightily. What we all did, was pretty much lead SpZ into the ground. The Clan was originally formed by MasterJZ33 and his merry band of cohorts, misfits and pranksters and a great group of folks they are. SpZ as the Clan came to be known far and wide in RS and was widely respected (?) as a fair clan, but also as a clan where fun was to be had. An aside, as my love, JC puts it so beautifully, “When I’m having fun, I FUN!” This was from the night JC tortured all the little animal crackers; his little “victims.” He bites off all the legs, a head or two and then eats the bodies, chortling all the way. Every time I go to SweetBay, he puts “bag o’ victims” on the shopping list. I buy 2.

Anyway, one of Hellson’s more spectacular feats was to talk me into going along on a trip to God Wars Dungeon. He said, “Get some Zammy stuff, meaning armor and weapons and we’ll go to GWD, it’s fun!” Me, being… well, an idiot, said, “okay!” This was back in the day. Hell’s Bells, it’s still back in the day. For all of my supposed strength and skill, they keep adding more and bigger monsterses and things that drain your run, your will to live, your soul and kill kittens and burn marshmallows and turn My Little Ponys to Grey. Not even 50 Shades of, just that shitty 60s-TV-black-and-white-grey. So, you know, that’s some serious shit, right there.

Last time we all went, we took half of Runescape, not including the NPC’s (non-playing characters, monsters); there are already enough of those fuckers you have to kill just to get an invite to get in the main door to Big Kahuna or Dude, or whatever moniker he’s hiding under. If he’s so fucking strong, why doesn’t he just come out and fight like a… oh yea, this is a quest, only it’s not called a quest; it’s a mini-game; “high-risk.” Still, we’re goddamned Frodo and Sam Wise. Anyway. So, you walk north for 43 eons. I almost died of old age. I’m not the youngest player in this stupid game, although, there are players in their 90s, so I guess with great age, wisdom is NOT necessarily conferred. Oh well.

Right, walk, walk. Walk. Walk. Push a boulder, fall down a hole 40 feet, from what I remember. I think I was drunk. Land on a pile of my friends… and… can’t get up. Or, stand, run, or something. We’re frozen. Our faculties start to come back, piecemeal. People are confused; lots of us haven’t been there before and we’re all wailing and bitching. As we start coming back to ourselves, I find out that there our 40 of these little bastards we have to kill BEFORE we can even get into the room with the Big Dude.

I’m pissed now. I’m all like “Fuck this Shit!” Goddamn it! What the Hell is this bullshit! Sephiroth Demands to Know!” People are laying these little pests out all around me. We’re 1-hitting these things and running around. I think we were a bit frantic. You can’t just log out and you can’t teleport out, either. You have to kill your way out or die. What a relaxing way to pass the time!

50 Shades of My Little Pony

Now, this might be worth reading

I actually killed my 40 whatever-they-weres pretty quickly and charged into the room with the Big Dude quickly. My mistake. Just as I ran into the room, I saw all the archers and magers up front taking the heat. Meleers in the back. In Runescape, as in real life, a person who melees is using a contact weapon; a sword, scimitar, whip, halberd. The archers of course use longbows, shortbows, crossbows and mages use a variety of spells or battlestaves.

When I first started in Runescape, I toyed with all of it; ranging, mage and melee. I kept going back to melee. I remember when I went to Japan when I was a girl and being in the Imperial Palace and seeing the beautiful Samurai armor and swords there and wanting to hold that sword. I wanted to feel the heft and balance of it. I imagine it must be very much like holding my viola bow. My viola bow weighs 72 grams; it is a heavy bow. It is as keenly balanced as any sword. With it I can dance on a string, so lightly you have to put your ear next to the viola to hear it whisper. I can also tear the guts from Wolf and make him roar.  I saw those swords in Kyoto and they were so fine and precious; I know in my heart I belong to the melee class.

So, I go tearing into this room and this Giant Dude is fighting my archer and mager friends! So, I go tearing up in front of them, forgetting everything Hellson had told me. Which was? I forgot… what was it? Who the hell is yelling over TeamSpeak? What? “Mary, this isn’t King Black Dragon! That shit will get you dead. Run to the back, get to the corner, get to the corner, turn on your prayer, turnonyourprayer, gettothecorne…”  Oh yeah, turn on prayer, get to the corner, stay to the bac…HHHRRROARRR!!!  

…Wake up in Falador, cause you’re dead. Shit! I can’t even tell you what that thing looked like; I have a general impression of a giant 2-story brown turd with beady eyes and a parrot beak, but I’m probably mistaken. Oh, and little meerkat hands. That’s probably some shit my brain just blurped up because I hate non-speficity. Did I mention it’s penguin feet? It had those too, if I looked down, I can’t remember now.

Now this is me: I’MDEAD I’MDEAD I’MDEAD I JUST LOST ELEVENTY JILLION STUFFS!!! (repeat incoherently 87,000 times) I just turned into a 3-year old. The team actually blessed my grave and helped me back up there and I killed the 40 pests, got my stuff and scrammed outta there. It’s been over 4 years. I’m rich enough and a (bit) smarter. We’re going to give it another shot tonight.

It will be fun; most of the old gang will be there and I’ll file a Runescape Report from the Front Lines. Those are always terrific fun. 

Yeah; I missed this; it's so inviting

ROW80 DAY 5 Serendipity? A Sign From God

ROW80 DAY 5 Serendipity? A Sign From God

Okay! Here's my sign from God! It's okay to keep leeching off of, er, I mean being inspired by theworld4realz, Andi-roo's fine blog. I say this with no little glee. She has actually prodded me with her stories to remember many of my own adventures, or catastrophes.

It's also good to be inspired by someone who continually strived to be excellent. This, for some odd reason reminds me of another one of those stories that can be interpreted as a catastrophe, and a damned fine one. 

I was a hired gun for years as a violist. No, I don't shoot people; it just means I sight-read concerts. Every crappy little orchestra that had an operating budget of 500.00 a year or more had me on their list as a substitute to hire just to come in to play a concert. Being the orchestra whore that I am, I would go, if my main gig was dark that night. The economics of these concerts were weird. I'd get a check for about 300.00, 25.00 for the concert and 275.00 for gas and hotel. I might drive 3 hours to play an hour and a half concert. Depending on my mood and the liveliness of the town, I might drive home that night, or I might paint the town red. Wabash, Indiana wasn't a happening place. Greenville, NC was when I lived in Charlotte. We karaoke'd our way to closing time; string players singing aren't necessarily a good thing to hear.

There is one little symphony that is the creation of a lady who is just as dear as she can be. She plays in the first violin section of another orchestra and plays well. She is however, not a very good conductor. I used to sub there several times a season when I first was becoming established. She really wanted to make this little symphony go, but her "stickitis" was keeping her from achieving any excellence. That and the fact that her little group was pretty much cheek-by-jowl too close to other bigger, better orchestras.

So, anyway, the first time I'm subbing for her, I show up for the concert; I walk out on the stage apron to get a look at the setup. The violas are sitting on the inside (all 2 of us) where we should be, to the right of the cello section. I look across the orchestra and I see a chair with a banjo on it between the first and second violins. Hmmm, o-kay. Maybe we're doing a little "Porgy and Bess".  

The orchestra is starting to filter out onstage now; all 45 or 50 of them as I recall. First up, Mozart. Fuck me. I fucking HATE Mozart. 40th Symphony. It's a bird. It's a plane. It's a Mozart. I still hate the fucker. At least we get this shit over with quick. Hmm, Piano Concerto by Haydn with some kid who won the Young People's Competition. To this day, I can't tell you the number of the Haydn Piano Concerto, or the kid's name. We are closing the concert with "Der Rosenkavalier" Suite by Richard Strauss. Dear Mother of God and All That's Holy. Ambition Much? Interesting; there's no "Porgy and Bess" so what's with the banjo?

Concert time. Concert master comes out; points at first oboe. Tune to 440 A. Conductor lady comes out. Steps onto podium. Turns to face audience. I should mention here, that we are playing this gala concert in an old, converted shopping mall. It's now some kind of bastard love child municipal services/town hall. All 37 people start clapping. Conductor waves all 54 people in orchestra to their feet. After that round of clap, we all sit down and lurch into Mozart's 40th symphony. It's a bird. It's a plane. It's a Mozart. I discovered that I enjoyed Mozart a whole lot more when there's a huge bass drum beat at the beginning of each and every beat, THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE SYMPHONY. Take that, Mozart, ya simpering goon! Oh, the banjo played along, too. I could hear a plink and a plunk now and then. He may have been playing air-banjo through the hard parts; I'm not sure.

After that triumph, we settled down for the generic Haydn Piano Concerto, played by the "kid." We ripped through the introduction three times, the kid failing to enter after his intro. The fourth time, we just kept on going to the end of the piece. The kid sat there like a stone through all three movements. We ended on a high note, however. Wild applause all around. The kid takes his bows. He then proceeds to come out and play an encore; Rachmaninoff's "Prelude in C♯ Minor". Much later, when I told a friend about this, he said, "well, if he wasn't going to play, why didn't he not play something hard, like Ravel's Piano Concerto in G!" Good point.

So, composers 0, musicians 2. Last piece. Anacrusis to the Waltz. Downbeat. Conductor lady lifts her arms, and lifts.... and lifts.... and lifts... and lifts... this bitch is still lifting her arms. I swear to god we are never going to get to this waltz. We just went to another dimension where time has no meaning what so ever and we wound up here at ROW80. Nobody ever explained the banjo.

CHECKUP... ER, CHECK IN FOR ROW80

CHECK-IN ROW80 CHALLENGE

I got up this morning sure I was going to blog about violas. A sure-fire, slam-dunk, 750 word quickie essay if there ever were one. Then, I gobbled down my psych meds, had me some refreshing iced-tea from the night before. Aaaah! Nothing life stale back-wash! And started to read my emails.


Disqus, Disqus, Disqus, Disqus, Disqus, Twitter, Disqus, Twitter. Hmm. I have been reading several different blogs and carefully trying to, or in some case, rather slap-dashedly, reply to what I read in a coherent and somewhat analytical fashion.


I guess it wouldn't be too soon for me to establish my goals for ROW80 here. Learn to write in a polished and coherent manner, rhetorical-wise, I mean. In 80 days or less. Guess I'm well on my way!


Okay! Now that the house-keeping is out of the way, I can get back to the ever important goal of writing in a coherent-type fashion. Where was I? Oh yeah.  


Disqus, Disqus, Disqus, Disqus, Disqus, Twitter, Disqus, Twitter. Hmm. Andi-Roo (forever known to me now as the Dialog Grand Champion) answered every single one of my comments in every single one of her posts. This is no mean feat. I have noticed this tendency to oh, say, give a shit? with other bloggers as well. Bloggers who really care about their work tend to answer the comments from their readers!!! Color me shocked! In this day and age! 


Well, I started rethinking my idea about horking up little-known facts about violas, for ROW80 today. Chances are, if any of you played viola, you did it in elementary school for about 4 weeks, decided it sucked and went on to play the drums, so you could get chicks. I might have written an okay post, but it would be like an easy "A" and it would defeat the purpose of what this challenge is about, which is setting attainable goals. 


I believe I mentioned I can write. The sad fact is, I have neither family nor full time career to keep me from writing. I am disabled and housebound for the most part. I also suffer (although I think it's more of a party in my head, most of the time) from mental illness. I always have huge writer's block here, so let me just say it real quick and we're done with it; surgical strike: legally blind, bi-polar, depression, Parkinson's. Done.


So, nothing fatal, just annoying shit. And boy, do I annoy the shit out of people. I hope to do it professionally some day, in a lyrical, almost Garrison Keillor-ish kind of way, but will settle for Calvin Trillin. So, I think my main challenge is going to be waiting for a cause. For me, I seem to be at my best as a writer when something strikes me as either a completely egregious act of cruelty to something so weak and small, or something so stupidly obvious as to cause my head to implode. 


If this all seems quixotic, it's because it is. I mentioned in a post on the 4th of July that I've had a very rough time lately, but I am feeling much better and more centered. I also sense great changes, cosmically. Great, now I sound insane. Maybe it's getting older. Geeze. Mary. This is a blog, not psycho-therapy.


Anyway, I see a vast slice of the universe from where I sit (in a plastic patio chair, in my bedroom, in front of my computer screen.) I see eons past and I see far into the future from these 3 square feet in Tampa. I see into the hearts and minds of kind, loving people and I see into the hearts and minds of those who wish us nothing but evil, destruction, loss and madness. Sometimes I see it too well.


I find it amazing that it is so easy to see into the heart of darkness and understand it. I also see why it is so compelling and it's pull so subtle and strong. We all have it. We are all heir to that Faustian undertow, that slippery slope and once started down it, can a soul retrace the path? I didn't mean to go down this road today, but, I never know where I'm apt to find myself. I've actually made friends with this. It was a lifelong process and there were times I didn't understand it. It worked out, though for two reasons. I know why I did it, and I don't have to do it anymore; the drugs help, i do it only in defense. But, sadly, I did it, because no one paid attention when I was "good."  But, I digress.


I mentioned to Andi-Roo in a comment that I would be able to do 750 words easily and she said she'd be lucky to "poop out 3 pages" a week, which is very cool. I told her and I repeat to you all, I hope you all don't wish for me to take the literary equivalent of Kaopectate. <3


Quick P.S. As a work in progress, this blog is starting to resemble an overgrown petrie dish, heh.