Tag: personal (page 11 of 14)

Her Twenty-First

IHOP!

In honor of my wife‘s birthday today, here’s a bit from one of my favorite posts of hers. We’re taking care of some errands and going out at least for dinner tonight, thanks to a generous gift card to our favorite restaurant. Guess what it is. Go on, guess.

Enjoy this little taste of an opinionated game review peppered with swearing.

Good Game, Shitty Story: The Mass Effect Experience

Look at that title. I just summed up everything I’m about to say and I don’t even have to say it. I could stand back, look proud of myself and just let the title speak for itself.

However, I’m not. I suspect I will have hundreds of fanboys raging all over the place here if I were to, so I’ll qualify what I just said with some experiences.



For most of the fights worth a damn I used Liara and Alenko, actually.

As I said, the game itself was really good, but I feel I should qualify that too: it was really good when I was playing a Soldier. When I first started up the game, I figured I’d probably play a Soldier because I’m boring and like killing things, but after looking at the classes I figured I’d go for something I don’t usually play, and chose the mage Adept. The combat controls were confusing at first (the game arbitrarily has different movement controls for combat and non-combat), especially since you can’t zoom out, so despite it being third person I still got that “no peripheral vision” feeling that comes with first person shooters. Anyway, I quickly discovered that you can’t keybind more than one ability — despite never using the D-pad for anything the entire game — so if you want to play something that relies as much on abilities as it does on shooting things, and you’re not playing on the PC, you’d better like pausing combat. A lot.

After dealing with the flow-breaking pausing, or just ignoring it and shooting things for the entire first mission, I finally said “fuck this” and re-rolled. Maybe it’s because I could dump all my points in assault rifles since I knew I wasn’t going to use anything else, maybe it was because I’d gotten the hang of the way combat worked, but I immediately had much more fun with the Soldier and went on with the game. I did get a couple abilities throughout the game (well, “a couple” isn’t accurate, I had almost as many as Liara by the end) but most of the time I forgot they existed and just shot things till one of us died. The only ones I ever really took advantage of were my party resurrect and the one that reset all my abilities so I could use the resurrect again. These two got used a lot, too, because the entire party liked to huddle around me, and if I was behind cover, instead of going off to find their own cover nearby, they’d stand in the open near me and get killed. Despite this, the way the fights are set up I was grateful to have party members, especially later on when Kaidan and Liara both got Lift.



Lift is awesome.

As for the non-combat parts… Well. I often found it stupid that one charm speech would cause people to rethink their entire diabolical plan/career choice/life, but I guess it’s better than requiring five conversation trees of the exact same thing. There was also one thing that bothered me with the reporter coming to talk to you sidequest… I knew it was the Renegade option to tell her to fuck off, and I was going for a Paragon, but I chose it anyway because I’d previously promised Emily Wong, another reporter and recurring quest NPC, that she would be the first to get an exclusive interview. Apparently I wasn’t supposed to remember this promise because it never comes up again and everyone acts like you’re an ass for not doing the interview, and there’s no way to tell people I refused in order to keep my promise to Wong (thereby doing the right thing). Why make things like that a dialogue option at all if you’re going to assume the player will completely forget about them?

Other than hiccups like that, I really enjoyed the dialogue parts. I’m one of those OCD types who will get as much information out of an NPC as possible, which often led to spending ridiculous amounts of time chatting, though. Rarely in a game am I so eager to get back to the action after spending time in town as I was in Mass Effect.

Continue…

Alchemist mac Sláine

Slane Castle

My grandmother’s maiden name was Marilyn Slane. Like Saint Patrick, the family name was anglicized (it’s actually Saint Padraic if I am not mistaken) from the original Sláine. Now from what I understand, her family originated from Scotland and moved to Ireland before her parents emigrated to the United States. According to legend, however, Sláine was the family name of the first family of people to settle in Ireland after the Flood.

While we’re talking legends, Sláine mac Dela was apparently the first High King of Ireland. This actually would explain quite a bit, as when I was young, speaking to my grandmother often felt like having an audience with some legendary potentate. She moved in with my parents while my sisters and I were growing up, and often we were sent into the addition built for her when shenanigans were afoot.

She was a pretty heavy smoker, so when that door opened wide there was a mist-like fog of Marlboro smoke surrounding her favorite recliner. We sat at her feet like peasants before a queen mother, and she lectured us with equal parts patience and somewhat blunt honesty, telling us the proper ways to behave towards our hard-working long-suffering parents, who wanted nothing more than for us to lead good lives and do them proud.

Twenty years later, those lessons stay with me. I’ve had ups and downs in my life, times when things have been smooth sailing and times when dark and stormy waters have threatened to swallow me whole. I believe that, due at least in part to these lessons conveyed by my grandmother, I’ve shown respect and appreciation for those in my family who’ve gone before me, who’ve wrestled the same financial demons and trod the same fallen obstacles to get where they are. Rather than drag them down, I want to lift them up, ensuring they can move into a comfortable and proud retirement knowing they’ve raised their children well.

So when I toast for St. Paddy’s, be it tonight or this weekend, it will be my parents and my grandmother who’ll be in my thoughts and in my heart. I’d like to think they’ve raised me well and I’m eternally and deeply grateful for that.

Sorry to wax so sentimental. More on writing and stuff tomorrow.

The Need To Write

Concrete Blocks

“I once knew a writer who tried that route (psychoanalysis). Cured him of writing all right. But did not cure him of the need to write. The last I saw of him he was crouching in a comer, trembling. That was his good phase. But the mere sight of a wordprocessor would throw him into a fit.” – Heinlein, ‘The Cat Who Walks Through Walls’

A dear friend of mine described the need to write as “a concrete block on [her] chest”. It took time away from chores and duties to write, but every day she didn’t write, another block was added until finally, under threat of her metaphorical rib cage collapsing, she threw the blocks off and wrote. I can’t think of a better metaphor for this.

We (that is, writers) ideally should write every day. A little or a lot, some writing should happen. And I’m not just talking about stuff like this blog post either. My wife has pointed out on multiple occasions, in the same tone of voice she uses to remind me to deal with the utilities, that writing a blog post actually takes time away from writing things that might actually end up paying me money. Not that the blog doesn’t make money, it just doesn’t make very much.

Speaking of which, have you clicked a blog’s ad today? It makes you and the blog feel good.

…That metaphor is going somewhere dirty.

Anyway, the point that I’m trying to make is that writers need to write. Just like programmers need to program, drivers need to drive and plumbers need to plumb. It isn’t just what we do, it’s who we are. It’d be easy to succumb to letting ourselves be defined by day jobs or pending bill payments or anything else the mundane world likes to throw at us. I’m not trying to say that writing is anything supernatural, though. Writing itself is pretty mundane. Writing anything more than a few hundred words can get just as tedious as any other task if you can’t quite get into your groove.

Getting into one’s groove, however, is something that bears discussing. Probably in another post.

Caution: Bears

Sam Elliott

“Sometimes you eat the bar, and sometimes, well, he eats you.”

It’s true in many walks of life that we spend a lot of time chasing or being chased. We chase our dreams, we get chased by doubt. We chase new shiny objects, we get chased by creditors. We chase deer, we get chased by bears.

Bears take many shapes. They could be an oncoming deadline, a mismanaged creditor or just the sheer bulk of a projects. We get done running from one, and just as we sit down to catch our breath, another explodes out of the woods, very cross at us for making off with its picnic basket.

I may seem like I’m rambling a little bit here, but suffice it to say that things are going on in my life that are both exciting and terrifying, both stimulating and crushing, both good and bad. And I’m not entirely sure I’ll be able to outrun the bears that are after me as I chase down my dragons.

When it comes to this sort of thing, however, it counts to have family and friends willing to hear you out. Being alone when dealing with major sources of stress compared to having people you can rely on to at least lend an ear is the difference between running from the bear in your bare feet and running from the bear in a well-laced pair of shoes. My first patron put it this way: “You’re only as alone as you choose to be.”

Not much to say beyond that good gold nugget of advice, I suppose. Though I do find myself thirsty for sasparilla all of a sudden.

Ouch.

(This is another one of those personal posts you can probably ignore.)

Damsel's certainly gettin' big

It isn’t all fun and games out here, kids. I’m looking for a new place to live, I need to take our littlest kitten to a vet because she’s way overdue to see one, Vera needs some additional servicing since I didn’t get her an oil change when she was last in the shop after my run in with [INCIDENT REDACTED], and there may be yet more hoops my lovely wife and I must hop through in order to get her legally working here in these United States.

All these things are going to take capital, cash, moolah. And none of these things are included in my monthly budget, which is devoured in things like rent, car payments & insurance, keeping the lights on and information flowing through the Intertubes. I eek out what entertainment I can, in the forms of leaving the apartment with my intrepid Canadian companion at least once a week and bringing in new movies and games when possible, and I always make room in what finances I have to go see my son in State College. Anyway, the point is, to keep Damsel, my car and my wife’s immigration efforts healthy, more cash is required.

I was hoping that cash would be coming from Uncle Sam. But after dealing with a few other financial loose ends this afternoon I turned my attention to my taxes. Initially I filed, truthfully, as someone “married filing jointly,” which yielded a rather sizable refund estimate. Unfortunately, since my wife doesn’t have a Social Security number, it might not be possible for us to file in that way at all. And, if I file as “single” with the intent to amend the return later, the refund will be significantly smaller. 811% smaller to be exact.

Want to know how that feels?

Ouch.

That’s how that feels.

Add in another rejection from the Escapist and all the other day-to-day doings of the dayjob and, well, you can probably predict where my head is at right now. Nothing to see here, really. Move along.

Older posts Newer posts

© 2024 Blue Ink Alchemy

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑