“The main reason I created#Tabletopwas to make more gamers. I love it when I see families playing together.” @wilw, April 6, 2013
I’ve seen a lot of advertisements recently for board games. “Have family time with your kids! Play a board game!” they shout. It’s probably just Hasbro trying not to go broke, but it could be that in this world of handheld computers, with everyone paying attention to their smartphones instead of the smart people sitting with them on the couch, a family game night is a great way to reconnect with the people that you love to spend time with.
There are tons of games out there to play with your kids, your friends, or your extended family. Some are a huge production that take hours and hours to set up before you can play, and others need only the players to have a willingness to be silly. Sometimes just watching the game is as fun as playing it; if that sort of thing appeals to you, you’ll want to look into TableTop.
Dungeons & Dragons takes too much time to prep and doesn’t have enough monster-bashing? Try Munchkin, in which you can “Kill the Monsters, Steal the Treasure, Stab Your Buddy.” I’ve played both D&D and Munchkin, and enjoyed both. D&D often has more story and less stabbing, while Munchkin has less story and more stabbing, but they’re both in the same genre, and if you’re pressed for time, Munchkin is the way to go. (If you’d rather have both the story and the stabbing, there’s luckily a Munchkin pen & paper RPG made by Steve Jackson Games! I walked in on my regular gaming group playing it once and was astonished to find that they’d never played the card version. Needless to say, we remedied that immediately.)
My husband and I loved watching the TableTop episode that featured Say Anything. It reminded us of a game we play every holiday season with his family, especially the copious laughter and the Star Trek references. (The line, “I think the most confusing thing ever is magnets. Also: juggalos” made me laugh so hard that we had to pause the show and wait for me to stop rolling on the floor before we could finish watching the episode.)
If you’ve never heard of Apples to Apples, I would suggest you acquaint yourself. It’s completely simple and tons of fun. Green cards have words that the red cards can be used to describe, and each person takes a turn choosing which of the red cards everyone else handed in matches the green card the best. It’s fun to laugh at the different random, off the wall things that other players say, and my favorite Apples to Apples quote is from a game I played with my brother and several of our friends in 2005(ish): “Marriage is nothing compared to rust.” I can’t even remember who was judging or what the green card said, just that “marriage” lost out to “rust.” Apples to Apples is an innocent game that can become rather rude depending on your mood and the people you’re playing with.
Cards Against Humanity, however, starts out that way. A co-worker described it to me recently as “Apples to Apples for horrible people.” And that’s not far off from the motto on the CaH website. Cards Against Humanity is free, and last night some friends of mine and I decided to give it a try. Teaming up a Skype voice call with Vassal (“a game engine for building and playing online adaptations of board games and card games,”) allowed us to play together, even though we were all in different places, trying to keep the volume of our laughter down so that we wouldn’t wake our kids.
There isn’t a Cards Against Humanity episode of TableTop, perhaps because it’s a show that a lot of people let their children watch, and it can get out of hand very quickly on the “not suitable for those under X” scales. But Wil Wheaton enjoys it, and if you meet him at a convention and bring along a blank card, he’ll make a custom one for you. He often posts pictures of the CaH combinations he’s seen or created on the various social networks he uses and on his blog.
If you’re a horrible person, I recommend Cards Against Humanity. If you’re not a horrible person and like to watch hilarious (and/or nerdy) people play games, I recommend TableTop. If you don’t like to watch or read about board games, then please disregard all of the above.
The last time I reported on Bag the Bag Part 3: the Sequel to the Sequel, it was the beginning of July. The reason is because I decided that the easiest way to keep track of how many bags I’d used was to put them in groups of ten and leave off reporting until I was ready to start a new set. That way I wouldn’t be puzzling over whether I’d used 13 or 17 bags. Of course, now I’m confused as to whether it’s been 20 or 30.
The reason it’s taken me so long to use up ten bags is because of my theory of creative project procrastination, or procraftination, if you will. The more projects you have, the easier it is to put one off in favor of working on the other. So you get lots of things done, just… not what you were hoping to finish. Right now, I’ve got lots of creative projects (colonels and tigers and CONVENTURE, oh my!), so the urge to put them off by working on Bag the Bag Part 3: the Sequel to the Sequel is very high.
I also had a super cool idea for the handles that will hopefully (maybe; probably not) make stitching them on at the end less arduous. I have decided to start the handles early and work them in to the body of the bag. So far I have started three, and have stitched them all in. I’ll still have to attach them to each other, of course, but hopefully it won’t be such a big deal because they’ll mostly be fastened on already. If it works, I’ll do it like this every time. (Oh yes, there’s going to be an every time. I have way too many bags waiting to be used to stop now.)
Oh, you wanted to know about my progress with Bag the Bag Part 2: the Electric Boogaloo? Well… it’s… one. No, not one bag, one stitch. I’d appreciate if we could just ignore that for now. I don’t have any problem ignoring it (even though it’s sitting right next to the computer monitor every day while I write).
Everyone, at one time or another in their childhood (or after) has built a fort out of couch cushions or in a tree, or claimed an area of the yard or playroom as a sovereign nation, free from such restrictions as only a single graham cracker for snack or no cake in the evening after brushing one's teeth. Usually, these tyrannical tendencies end when it's lunchtime or afternoon nap. For some, however, the desire to be free survives its playful child-like origins and results in a micronation.
Micronations, according to wikipedia, are "entities that claim to be independent nations or states but which are not recognized by world governments or major international organizations."
Many micronations are jokes, tourist attractions, or moneymaking hoaxes. The Aerican Empire's capitol is in Montreal, and includes territory all over the world as well as colonies on Mars and Pluto. The Conch Republic in the Florida Keys, with its motto, "we seceded where others failed," began as a protest in 1982 against a US Border Patrol block that was restricting tourism, and though the roadblock is long gone, the micronation continues today as a tourism booster. One of the most famous hoaxes was perpetrated by the famous explorer Gregor MacGregor in 1822, who convinced quite a few people that a native king had given him land for a new kingdom. Micronation hoaxes have continued ever since, offering loans, printing and selling bonds, and laundering money.
On this day in history in 1971, a group of Danish squatters living in a former military base in Copenhagen declared their territory to be the sovereign nation of Freetown Christiania. This 84 acre area is tolerated but not acknowledged by the government, and has been a place of contention ever since its beginning, and continues to be one today.
If you get the urge to declare your own government, I would recommend the silly/couch style rather than a rioting/financial fraud type. Though I suppose that freedom is freedom, even if it's microfreedom.
Crossover Cafe is a lovely establishment not far from the fork in the road and just north of the yellow brick road. The Mad Hatter and Auntie Em often met there for tea while Toto chased the Cheshire Cat, and Dorothy and Alice argued.
Last week it had been about fashion: Dorothy advocated for white dresses and blue aprons while Alice stood firmly apposed, in favor of blue dresses with white aprons. The aunt and the hatter had agreed that the whole thing began because Alice was jealous of Dorothy’s ruby slippers, but they thought it would be best not to interfere.
This week it seemed to be about harrowing events in their lives. By the time Dorothy’s aunt and her companion took notice, the girls were shouting at one another.
“Hey! Tumbling down a rabbit hole is harder than it looks!”
“At least I don’t go looking for trouble!”
“You’ve never been sentenced to death for no reason!”
“I’d like to see you face down the Wicked Witch of the West!”
“How would you react to being given advice by a caterpillar?”
“I saw a giant floating head!” “Disappearing cats!” “FLYING MONKEYS!”
After sharing a look of concern, the two at tea decided that it was, in fact, time to interfere. But by the time they had exited the cafe, the argument appeared to be over. The girls were laughing together and Dorothy was offering to let Alice try on her shoes.
The hatter shook his head, muttering, “nonsense!” under his breath, and Auntie Em followed him back inside to their table, agreeing, “We ought to be used to it by now.”
Long ago, before everyone had a computer in their pocket, people used words to convey ideas. Often, these words were written on paper. Occasionally, these words on paper were spelled incorrectly. The only thing to do to make sure that the words you had written on paper were not spelled incorrectly was to ask someone else to make sure. If there were corrections to be made, the words needed to be rewritten on a new piece of paper, or crossed out and the correct word rewritten nearby, or white-out applied and the correct word rewritten on top of the incorrect one.
When I was in high school, this was how assignments were completed. On rare occasions, we were allowed to turn in assignments completed on a computer.
Misspelled words typed on a screen are more easily identified because of the red squiggly thing that underlines them. When you use words to convey an idea on a computer, you don't have to get someone else to make sure none of your words are spelled incorrectly, because the spell checker does that for you.
When an automated spell checker was first introduced, there were no squiggly lines. You had to remember to tell the program to run, just like you had to ask someone to look over your words written on a page. If you forgot, there was no way you would know how many times you'd spelled "definitely" wrong in your English paper. You'd have to wait until Mrs. Lamson handed it back and reminded you that it doesn't have an "a" in it and has only one "l."
I have no experience with the early days of autocorrect software; I stayed away from smart phones for as long as possible for that very reason (among others). Autocorrect doesn't let you forget, but if you skip the bit where you double check that text to your boss, you may be sending him something incomprehensible and weird. From what I understand, autocorrect is supposed to learn your habits and most frequently used words and extrapolate based on those patterns to guess what you mean when you misspell something. Only, I don't misspell things often, and when I do, I mean to. "No, autocorrect," I say, "I didn't mean 'pull lease,' I actually meant it when I typed, 'puh-lease!'" But it's not like autocorrect is listening to me even when I do try to instruct it during these moments of intentional misspelling. I can't say, "Just trust me, autocorrect," and have it leave me alone about how I like to hilariously misspell certain words. I suppose some people definitely have a use for it, but I just find it mildly annoying.
Some days I think I'd like to turn it off, but then I won't be able to tell future generations how much it bothered everyone when they're complaining about their thought-to-text software. "You think that drives you nuts?" I'll be able to say, smacking a dictionary down on the table in front of them. "Let me give you a few links to some 'autocorrect fail' websites!"
When I was in junior high, I had a huge green trapper keeper adorned with hearts around the name of the boy I liked in eighth grade. The three ring binder held loose leaf notebook paper that was full of my silly tales of my made up heroine and her friends. I had an assortment of writing utensils tucked into the various pockets, in addition to a list of potential names for new characters (as though I needed more), charts on who had a crush on who, and I think, at one point, a sketch out of the plot (I eventually lost both).
When my aunt gave me her old word processor, the first thing I did was start to type up my story (playing with its three font options was necessary). I enjoyed it even more when I was able to transfer the file to the old computer my dad let me have (after we’d shoved it onto my tiny desk). Since then, my writing on paper has been limited to times that I couldn’t get my hands on technology to do it: in class (until the LAPTOPS FOR EVERYONE craze hit) or between customers at work (where I wrote the entirety of my 1066 comic).
Sadly, this was not the best decision. Paper can be lost or thrown away or burned in a house fire, but a laptop can crash and its data can be corrupted or it can get stolen or dropped or burned in a house fire. I lost several works, many of which I have not been able to recover.
Since the “Cloud” became a thing, I’ve been storing all of my work online. Keeping it this way has saved it from more than one computer crash. Plus, it’s much easier to collaborate with writing partners who live in different time zones.
But since there was an outage this weekend on a certain website which shall remain nameless, I’ve decided that having a physical copy of my writing is probably a good idea. You never know if the servers that store my work “on the cloud” could be burned in a house fire.
Not that I’m going to self publish my work. I just want a copy that I can hold in my hands and read it, even if it’s in my own handwriting.
And even though copying it all down is going to take a while.
Crafters, since the ancient days, have formed groups and cabals and societies. We have shared recipes, patterns, and materials, and have encouraged one another while providing ideas for new things to craft.
Before the internet, there were meetings and craft circles, books and magazines.
Now, we have everything we could want at our fingertips. Craft websites have tons of free ideas, forums to share tips and ask for feedback, and even times for offline meetings to discuss projects with other crafters in real life (as it was in the beginning).
Ravelry is an amazing online group of knitters and crocheters. On Ravelry you can buy and sell patterns, make friends and join groups, and recieve the kind of fuzzy warm feelings that only hanging out with other people who love their craft as much as you do can give.
Etsy is a lovely website for selling vintage goods, handmade goods, and craft supplies. You can sell your creations or buy those of others. Or, if you’ve got ten hours or so and a credit card with a high limit, you can buy every single thing. The work of the sellers on Etsy is remarkable: it’s intricate, exquisite, and breathtaking. You can buy art for your walls, custom shoes for your feet, or an engagement ring for your betrothed.
Pinterest is a website for everything. I have not signed up or spent much time on it myself, but I have heard many harrowing tales of its capability to suck out your soul, and when you emerge from it, you may find that a week has passed and you don’t remember anything but sleep, eat, and Pinterest.
I have come to the realization that I probably need to join. Sometimes Pinterest will let you look at cool craft ideas, and sometimes it bars you and holds out its hand for your username and password. I want to be able to be inspired by ideas that brides have for photo booth props, but at the same time I’d rather keep my soul intact.
My mother said, “Honey, I’m sure it’s not that bad. You can keep yourself from becoming overwhelmed by a website.” But she hasn’t heard the urban legends that I have. I’m scared.
The internet is a wonderful new tool used by crafters everywhere. Scrapbooking websites and blogs, the facebook pages of famous chefs, and crafting communities all over the internet are inspiring, aiding, and sharing wonderful ideas for crafters today, just as crafters have always done.
I’m off to join Pinterest. If I never return, at least you will know what happened to me. You’ll be able to warn others to beware.
I wrote about Talk Like a Pirate Daylast year. It didn’t stop me from being excited about writing about it this year, though. And I was very excited to find something piratey that happened in history to perhaps give a little credibility to the date. I scrolled down today’s date on wikipedia, hoping to see a famous crash or a victorious plunder that I could share, along with a yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.
I got nothin’. The destruction of Jamestown, the passing of the first budget by the United States Congress, the publishing of George Washington’s Farewell Address in major newspapers… but nothing piratey. (Jamestown was burned because of Bacon’s Rebellion, and I can find no piracy involved; I’m not sure about the first budget, though, but that would only be political piracy, as I don’t believe any of the founding fathers had peg legs or wore eye patches or brought their pet parrot with them to discuss the running of the country.)
Sadly, nothing of note happened of a piratey nature on this day in history, except in 1995, when the holiday was first observed. Maybe that’s a good reason to celebrate Talk Like a Pirate Day on September 19: there’s nothing more important, pirate-wise, to upstage it.
I trotted into the living room. She was on the phone again. We had finished playing and she’d made sure I was curled up for a nap. She didn’t hear me come in, she was intent on her conversation.
“No, I couldn’t give him up,” she was saying. “He’s too sweet!”
A moment passed and she seemed persuaded by the person on the other end. “Well,” she said. “He’s far too young for that. He needs to grow, gain some weight first.”
After another pause, she continued. “That does sound delicious, but there’s no way I could do it myself. I suppose you could…”
I sat down, waiting to hear the the conclusion of the conversation. “Fine. The luau this spring sounds like a perfect time. Of course,” she laughed. “I’ll bring the pineapple!”
She wrapped up the conversation and set down the phone, and when she got up to go to the other room, she spotted me sitting there in the doorway. “Oh! Were you listening in?” she gasped, looking guilty. I merely gave her a look that showed her my feelings of betrayal in one I had trusted so deeply. She stepped over and patted me on the head. “Let’s go have some nice lunch!”
My ears flopped as I followed her into the kitchen, but with less of a happy bounce in my step; for every pig knows the difference between when the word “lunch” means eating or being eaten.
It was from that moment that I began to plan my escape.
During the summer I don’t use the lights in my house until late in the evening: 7, 8 pm sometimes. I can get away with leaving the blinds down, there’s no need to open them when there’s plenty of light to see by just filtering through them (also, by not letting in that light, it keeps the house cooler).
This morning my husband turned on the light above the sink in the kitchen because there wasn’t enough light outside to let him see the coffee he was making. I had to turn the brightness on the laptop screen down to the lowest setting after I opened the curtains to let in as much light from outside as possible, because the screen was still too bright.
For some people it’s back to school, leaves changing color and falling, or cooler weather. I finished school, and my kids haven’t started yet. The trees outside my house have green leaves fluttering in the wind. And I don’t trust the forecast when it says it’s going to be 90 degrees tomorrow.
These are three windows I always have up in my browser: facebook, gmail, & Google Drive. Google Drive has no need for notifications, but if someone “likes” a status on my facebook wall or sends me a message, a little number appears on the tab to let me know how many pressing pieces of information are waiting for me there. And gmail always lets me know how many unopened emails are sitting quietly, hoping I’ll read them soon.
The problem is that right now my husband and I are sharing our only laptop and existing off of internet on our smart phones when the other one is using the computer. We both get email on our phones, so my gmail account is pretty much always the one that’s signed in on the laptop, since I do my work on it. It’s a big day for me when I have more than seven emails to read; I’m not signed up for a gajilliondy-five mailing lists, and my spam folder is in fine working order.
So I did a double take when I glanced at the top of my computer screen today, where I saw that I had over a thousand emails.
It only took me a second to realize that it was probably that my husband had left his email account signed in, but that “HOW HAVE I SUDDENLY BECOME FAMOUS” second was one I can enjoy looking back at to laugh.
Maybe someday I’ll have trouble keeping on top of my email, but now I think I’ll enjoy being able to read and respond to every one. And I’ll enjoy still being surprised at how many emails my husband doesn’t read.
One of the greatest things about my job as a photo booth operator is that my boss lets me make props for it. I’ve made signs, mustaches, a monocle, lips, and have even brought along a couple of things I’ve crocheted.
Yesterday, I took the booth to a nearby country club to a dinner for a charity golf tournament: the Jason Peter all fore Git -R- Done Foundation!
I spent several hours of the morning painstakingly drawing, cutting out, and taping together this sign especially for it.
It was enjoyed by quite a few people during the event, including one guy who shouted, “Git -R- Done!” the whole time his pictures were being taken.
Since there was a lot to do and a ton or people to talk to, Larry himself did not have time for the photo booth. I wasn’t offended, but to make up for it (and to make up for the fact that I got to meet him and my sister-in-law Gwen, who is a fan, didn’t), I got him to sign it.
I love making props for my job, and enjoy it even more when I can see that people like them. This time I get extra fun: giving a gift!
Britain was right in the middle of fighting Napoleon in 1812. They needed sailors to fight the maritime side of the war, and any British sailors hoping to desert tended to head to the same place: a neutral country with a large navy which held plenty of work for them. The United States was perfect.
At the time, the United States was happily trading with both Britain and France, and got kind of annoyed when the British boarded their ships and pressed American sailors into service (allegedly, sometimes it was hard to tell which sailors had official papers to prove they were American citizens and which of them were forged), and they were even more offended when Britain tried to mandate America’s trading. “Hey, you’re supposed to be neutral, quit trading with our enemies,” said Britain, and the United States was like, “Um, what?”
There was also the matter of American expansionism into the “west,” (which we now call Ohio and nearby states), which the native peoples objected to. The British, who didn’t mind there being a buffer of native tribes between American settlements and their own settlements in Canada, helped by providing arms. Those in the United States saw this as a really good reason that the British shouldn’t have holdings in Canada anymore.
It wasn’t like President Madison could email the British Prime Minister or give him a call. (Which was too bad, since the Prime Minister was assassinated shortly before and the man who took his place was determined to be friendlier to the United States.) It took around two months for news to reach the other side of the Atlantic in those days. So when the United States declared war in June of 1812, the British ambassador and consul escorted the declaration to the nearest British territory in Halifax, Nova Scotia. I’m sure the reaction of those in power in Britain on receiving the news was something like, “What, seriously? Ugh, come on, we’ve got a lot going on, here.”
But they wanted a war, so a war they got. It wasn’t glorious and victorious for the United States. I think that’s why we like to forget it. After burning Washington DC in 1814 (in which the White House was famously torched), British forces turned to the nearby city of Baltimore. A force of American soldiers marched out to meet them, and the battle they fought bought the city enough time to prepare for the naval onslaught during which Fort McHenry refused to surrender and the words of our national anthem were penned.
And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air gave proof, through the night that our flag was still there.
By April of 1814, Napoleon was finished, and the British no longer needed as many sailors to man ships of war. Britain and France decided to be best friends after the government changed hands in France, so there wasn’t need for any trade to be restricted. And as a result of naval action in the Great Lakes, many of the raids conducted against American settlers by natives who had been encroached upon had stopped. There wasn’t any reason for a war anymore.
Nobody told the men fighting in the United States. The Treaty of Ghent was signed on Christmas Eve in 1814, but the Battle of New Orleans, the final major battle of the War of 1812, was fought on January 8, and skirmishes continued after that until the news was able to reach Louisiana in the middle of February.
The War of 1812 was messy. It was fought on land and at sea, in the north, south, and in the west, and it didn’t really have a winner. Each side fought valiantly, and victories were won, but the real losers were the native groups and First Nations tribes who, despite their struggles, lost their land in the end anyway.
Since there was so much going on in Europe, it’s easy for lots of people to forget what was happening in the New World during this time. Those who have heard only a little about it are sometimes confused about what happened and find that it’s easier to ignore it. Although there are some who remember every battle and get annoyed when other people don’t remember their history.
This comic, and other awesome things, are property of the amazing Canadian artist Kate Beaton, and can be found at harkavagrant.com
Happy Defender’s Day, Maryland! Let’s never forget (or at least try to remember) the War of 1812.
My friends enjoy the outdoors; I like to stay inside. They like to hunt and fish; I’d rather read or play cards. When it’s thunder storming, they’d rather be in a tent by the lake; I’d like to be safe in an actual building.
They used to badger me and try as hard as they could to guilt me into coming with them. I always refused, until about six months ago, when one of them whined, “Come onnn. We always go bowling with you!” and I relented.
It was just fishing, they said. No hunting or camping, they promised. Both of them were really excited about catching lots of fish. They kept talking about “beginner's luck” and how my lack of experience would translate to exponential luck and that luck would rub off on them and their endeavors would be more successful because I didn’t know what I was doing.
First, they got me up at an ungodly hour. I refused to hear what they were saying until one of them gave me a cup of coffee. Then, I understood that for some reason my wife had betrayed me and let them in. I wanted to take a shower but they insisted it didn’t matter, and that we were wasting time just by allowing me to wake up before they dragged me out of bed. I fell asleep on the way to the lake, and they denied me more coffee until we were out on the water. This didn’t help my productivity, but it did make me look forward to fishing for the first time since I’d agreed to it.
Finally, we were out in the water. I was given a crash course on casting and reeling, after which I was awarded with coffee. If they’d done it the other way around, I probably would have retained more. But I sat in silence with them, listening to them speak whenever they got a bite, or whenever something bit them (the mosquitoes were terrible).
Around ten in the morning, they passed around some sandwiches. Just as I was about to open mine up, the boat tilted in the direction of my rod. They both freaked out, saying that I’d hooked something big and that my beginner’s luck was finally kicking in.
“About time!” one said, to which the other replied,
“Don’t! You’ll jinx it!”
Apparently fishing superstitions are very intricate.
We tugged. And pulled. It tugged and pulled back.
“Just cut the line,” one of them said, frustrated. “It’s caught on something.”
“No!” the other insisted, “what if it’s something really big?”
So we tugged. And pulled.
Finally they figured out that what was on the other end must have been the lake’s legendary fish: Ole Herbert. The only other time anyone had come close to catching him, they’d towed him most of the way back to shore before he escaped. Immediately the decision was made to haul the beast to the beach as fast as we could. One started up the motor and the other helped me hold the line. As we headed back, I came to the realization that there was no way that this could be an overgrown catfish.
All three of us got out of the boat and hauled what I’d caught up onto the sand.
“That’s one hell of a first catch,” one said.
“I didn’t know the lake was that deep,” said the other.
“What do we do now?” I asked.
“Hang on,” said one, pulling out his phone. “I think I know a taxidermist who makes house calls.”