Got this from my boss' wife via Facebook, so I can ignore it only at my peril. And I'm not willing to risk it.
1. What was the last thing you put in your mouth?
My index finger.
2. Where was your profile picture taken?
Our kitchen.
3. Can you play Guitar Hero?
Ha ha ha!
4. Name someone who made you laugh today?
Today hasn't been one for laughing. Potential crisis seems to have been averted, though, so I'm sure the Bug will give me some giggles this evening.
5. How late did you stay up last night and why?
Stayed up 'til midnight or thereabouts, writing of course.
6. If you could move somewhere else, would you?
Australia's always had a certain appeal, and I've gotten along with all the Australian authors I've met. Plus, Flight of the Conchords with their "Crikey!" and "Billabong!" humor really appeals to me.
7. Ever been kissed under fireworks?
Not that I can recall. Now, I can vouch for kisses that have caused fireworks!
8. Which of your friends lives closest to you on FaceBook?
I live with The Wife and Monkey Girl, so they count, right? Aya and Chris, our next-door neighbors, would be next in line.
9. Do you believe ex's can be friends?
Depends on how ex they are. Also, psychosis plays a big role.
10. How do you feel about Dr. Pepper?
I feel it should be spelled properly, sans period.
11. When was the last time you cried really hard?
Probably when I learned Freebirds was canceling their secret shopper program and I wouldn't be getting five free Monster burritos every month anymore.
12. Who took your profile picture?
The Wife. She's crazy talented that way.
13. Who was the last person you took a picture of?
The Wife. We had a fun photo session a few nights ago.
14. Was yesterday better than today?
Yes. Today was nerve-wracking. Tomorrow is looking up, though.
15. Can you live a day without TV?
Can and do.
16. Are you upset about anything?
Not at the moment. "Relief" is the operative word.
17. Do you think relationships are ever really worth it?
What an asinine question. There are some that most definitely aren't, but relationships in general aren't just worth it, they're indispensable.
18. Are you a bad influence?
I try to be.
19. Night out or night in?
Looking forward to more nights out as the kids get older. Right now, they're all in.
20. What items could you not go without during the day?
Computer. Doesn't even need the internet. I suppose an actual typewriter could do in a pinch.
21. Who was the last person you visited in the hospital?
My mom.
22. What does the last text message in your inbox say?
I don't get text messages. I delete them unread. I am such a Luddite.
23. How do you feel about your life right now?
Whoo. Roller coaster of late, but the potential of a good, clear path forward seems realistic.
24. Do you hate anyone?
Hate is such a strong word. There are quite a few people who repulse me, however.
25. If we were to look in your FaceBook inbox, what would we find?
Lots of old, undeleted messages. I never clean that stuff out.
26. Say you were given a drug test right now, would you pass?
Sure.
27. Has anyone ever called you perfect before?
If they did, I'd refer them to question 26.
28. What song is stuck in your head?
Nothing stuck in my head, but I'm listening to Jimmy Buffett sing "Pencil Thin Mustache."
29. Someone knocks on your window at 2:00 a.m., who do you want it to be?
The Texas Lottery Commission with a check for $20 million.
30. Wanna have grandkids before you’re 50?
Hell, I don't want grandkids before I'm 60!
31. Name something you have to do tomorrow.
Hopefully, buy a new shirt.
32. Do you think too much or too little?
Too much. I'm the king of over-analysis
33. Do you smile a lot?
When the occasion warrants.
_______
Ok - if you have time - copy this - delete my answers and add yours. Tag me in your note so I can see what you said!
Now Playing: Jimmy Buffett Boats, Beaches, Bars & Ballads
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
But I'm a Cheerleader
The Wife and I watched But I'm a Cheerleader last night, a satirical, lesbian-themed teen sex comedy. The basic premise is the parents and friends of a goody-goody cheerleader stage an intervention and ship her off to a gender orientation camp when they begin to suspect she's a closet lesbian. Which we thought would be great, except for the fact that the satire was half-hearted at best and we kept waiting for it to make with the funny. I haven't been so disappointed in a movie since I saw Steven Spielberg's milquetoast version of War of the Worlds.
That's too bad, because every minute of this movie screams "Potential!" Scripted by Brian Wayne Peterson (writer of many Smallville episodes) from a story by director Jamie Babbit, the narrative feels like a first draft. The situations are there, the plot is in place and the characters are fairly well defined. But it doesn't follow through on that promise. The satire of the "True Directions" camp is ripe, with a garish, monochromatic pink world for the girls and an equally garish monochromatic blue for the boys. Absurdly inappropriate phallic symbols abound, and the camp director is high-strung and overbearing, but there's no payoff. The audience, apparently, is expected to laugh at the same "Isn't this absurd?" setting throughout. The satire is very passive, never reaching for that aggressive, biting farce that could actually engage the audience.
Throughout the film, Babbit softpedals the humor, which mostly consists of occasional one-liners buried among endless minutes of ham-fisted dialogue. In fact, halfway through the film I realized I was sitting through a modern-day string of "very special" episodes from a second-rate Facts of Life knockoff. It's apparent that Babbit believes she's "saying something important," but this comes through in almost ever scene and gets in the way of entertainment. Instead of the absurd fun of The Birdcage or even the gentle, character-driven humor of Imagine Me & You, Babbit gives us the dreariest gay bar in history and a limp finale highlighted by quite possibly the lamest, most uninspired cheerleader routine ever. Which is doubly unforgivable, since the immediate buildup to the finale involved suiting up in camo fatigues in a way that brought to mind the gloriously over-the-top finale to Animal House. We didn't get Animal House. We didn't even get Revenge of the Nerds or Meatballs, which in many ways are the thematic ancestors of this film, dealing with issues of personal identity, societal rejection and discrimination.
As I watched the film, I found myself recalling those earlier movies--along with a few John Hughes spectaculars--and rewriting the script in my mind. All the elements are there (in particular, integrating the disco-dancing male clientele of the gay bar with the final cheerleading routine would be comedy gold. And even if it wasn't, it couldn't be any worse than the current ending). There is soooo much opportunity to make with the funny, and not get bogged down with serious issues. In other words, to entertain the audience rather than preach to them. If it couldn't be Meatballs or The Birdcage, then at least it could aspire to In & Out. As it is, But I'm a Cheerleader pretty much fails on all levels.
Now Playing: Billy Joel Fantasies & Delusions
That's too bad, because every minute of this movie screams "Potential!" Scripted by Brian Wayne Peterson (writer of many Smallville episodes) from a story by director Jamie Babbit, the narrative feels like a first draft. The situations are there, the plot is in place and the characters are fairly well defined. But it doesn't follow through on that promise. The satire of the "True Directions" camp is ripe, with a garish, monochromatic pink world for the girls and an equally garish monochromatic blue for the boys. Absurdly inappropriate phallic symbols abound, and the camp director is high-strung and overbearing, but there's no payoff. The audience, apparently, is expected to laugh at the same "Isn't this absurd?" setting throughout. The satire is very passive, never reaching for that aggressive, biting farce that could actually engage the audience.
Throughout the film, Babbit softpedals the humor, which mostly consists of occasional one-liners buried among endless minutes of ham-fisted dialogue. In fact, halfway through the film I realized I was sitting through a modern-day string of "very special" episodes from a second-rate Facts of Life knockoff. It's apparent that Babbit believes she's "saying something important," but this comes through in almost ever scene and gets in the way of entertainment. Instead of the absurd fun of The Birdcage or even the gentle, character-driven humor of Imagine Me & You, Babbit gives us the dreariest gay bar in history and a limp finale highlighted by quite possibly the lamest, most uninspired cheerleader routine ever. Which is doubly unforgivable, since the immediate buildup to the finale involved suiting up in camo fatigues in a way that brought to mind the gloriously over-the-top finale to Animal House. We didn't get Animal House. We didn't even get Revenge of the Nerds or Meatballs, which in many ways are the thematic ancestors of this film, dealing with issues of personal identity, societal rejection and discrimination.
As I watched the film, I found myself recalling those earlier movies--along with a few John Hughes spectaculars--and rewriting the script in my mind. All the elements are there (in particular, integrating the disco-dancing male clientele of the gay bar with the final cheerleading routine would be comedy gold. And even if it wasn't, it couldn't be any worse than the current ending). There is soooo much opportunity to make with the funny, and not get bogged down with serious issues. In other words, to entertain the audience rather than preach to them. If it couldn't be Meatballs or The Birdcage, then at least it could aspire to In & Out. As it is, But I'm a Cheerleader pretty much fails on all levels.
Now Playing: Billy Joel Fantasies & Delusions
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Wither investigative journalism
The steady drumbeat of gloom and doom emanating from the nation's news media is a depressing thing. Folks I went to college with facing layoffs and budgetary cutbacks, shrinking coverage and falling newspaper circulations is unnerving and disheartening to me. Yes, I got out of the newspaper biz at the right time, but that was more dumb luck on my part than any kind of prescience. And the struggles of newspapers--and the growing difficulties of broadcast media--poses its own troubling challenges to media relations folk such as myself.
Back in my newspaper days, I was never much of an investigative journalist. For that kind of reporting, you've got to have tenacity of character, a keen, restless mind and a patient managing editor who's willing to wait weeks or months for a story to pan out, not to mention the backbone to stand up against the inevitable push-back. I had none of that, which explains all the spot news and sports reporting I did. But working on my Chicken Ranch book (and yes, I absolutely had to work a reference in for that project) has given me a newfound respect and somewhat deeper understanding for what investigative reporters go through. I've ferreted out obscure, curious and downright scandalous facts. I've encountered boundless encouragement from some parties, outright hostility and scorn from others. I've even received anonymous emails warning me not to revisit the topic (granted, the grammar left something to be desired, but still)!
Despite all the journalistic tools and experience I'm drawing on, I know what I'm doing isn't the same as what Bob Woodward & Carl Bernstein did. Heck, I'm not even in Roland Kenneth Towery's league. The trouble is, increasingly, nobody else is, either. Television and radio "news" programs are increasingly driven by personalities and opinion, non-stop op-ed soapboxes that are incredibly profitable but short on fact or substance. Traditional dead-tree newspapers are rapidly dying off themselves. When I graduated with my journalism degree from Texas A&M University, the industry was bemoaning the loss of second dailies in metropolitan areas--the Houston Post, Dallas Times Herald and San Antonio Light all bit the dust within 5 years of my graduation. Now, Texas A&M doesn't even offer a journalism degree, and the largest-circulation dailies in the nation are filing for bankruptcy. To stay alive, budgets are being sliced to the bone and beyond. When CNN can't even cough up the resources to fact-check reports of a Coast Guard gun battle on the Potomac River, resource-intense investigative journalism is looked upon as an unaffordable luxury and is taking a huge hit.
Of all the Jeffersonian ideals of a free press, investigative journalism is the foundation of the Fourth Estate and protection against corruption and tyranny. Muck, for want of a better term, does not rake itself. Until somebody figures out how to make real money with online news content, I don't see the trend for shallower, more superficial news reportage reversing any time soon. Yet corruption and abuse aren't likely to abate in the interim.
Is there a solution? I don't know. The talent and knowledge is out there, undoubtedly. There are a shrinking number of investigative journalists still investigating for news organizations, there are former investigative journalists who have moved to other forms of reportage, and there are those who are out of journalism all together. Presumably, given the character of said reporters, the drive to kick over stones and expose the vermin beneath to the light of day still resides within them at some level. So why not harness this latent investigative potential? Could not a freelance bureau, alliance or guild-type infrastructure organize, connecting registered investigators with proven track records in various regions around the country--or indeed, even the world, since there's no need to restrict our vision in this era of online globalization--with media outlets in need of such singular talents? As newspapers and like media outlets reduce and eliminate support for investigative reporters, it is not unreasonable to envision situations--rumor, accusations, etc.--arising which promise significant payoff from an investigative standpoint, but for which the specific media outlet is lacking the skilled personnel and experience necessary to pursue effectively. Instead, said media could directly contract the experienced reporter with preexisting contacts and knowledge of the city/region via the freelance bureau/guild/alliance on a case-by-case basis. Ultimately, the media outlet would pay more on a per-story basis, but save money overall by not having the overhead of full-time investigative reporters on staff. And the investigative reporters, well, they'd have work. As a bonus, they'd still have terrible pay, work awful hours and get no respect from editors or the public, just like they did when they were full-fledged staff.
That's not going to happen, though. I'm not so much a Pollyanna that I actually think, given the choice to spend money for outside reportage on a critical investigative piece or to let said investigative piece die due to lack of personnel to pursue it, most newspapers and TV stations would guard the bottom line and choose the latter. Make no mistake, the news media has always been about profitability, but in the halcyon days of decades past, the smaller ownership groups occasionally allowed the quaint concepts of public good and idealism to take root in the newsroom and editorial offices. I don't see that in the corporate mentality of today's marketplace, with the emphasis on short-term returns and relentless profitability growth. Journalism is passe, and news is just another entertainment commodity, to be gussied up and sent out to cha-cha with Tom DeLay on Dancing with the Stars.
Now Playing: The Kinks Face to Face
Back in my newspaper days, I was never much of an investigative journalist. For that kind of reporting, you've got to have tenacity of character, a keen, restless mind and a patient managing editor who's willing to wait weeks or months for a story to pan out, not to mention the backbone to stand up against the inevitable push-back. I had none of that, which explains all the spot news and sports reporting I did. But working on my Chicken Ranch book (and yes, I absolutely had to work a reference in for that project) has given me a newfound respect and somewhat deeper understanding for what investigative reporters go through. I've ferreted out obscure, curious and downright scandalous facts. I've encountered boundless encouragement from some parties, outright hostility and scorn from others. I've even received anonymous emails warning me not to revisit the topic (granted, the grammar left something to be desired, but still)!
Despite all the journalistic tools and experience I'm drawing on, I know what I'm doing isn't the same as what Bob Woodward & Carl Bernstein did. Heck, I'm not even in Roland Kenneth Towery's league. The trouble is, increasingly, nobody else is, either. Television and radio "news" programs are increasingly driven by personalities and opinion, non-stop op-ed soapboxes that are incredibly profitable but short on fact or substance. Traditional dead-tree newspapers are rapidly dying off themselves. When I graduated with my journalism degree from Texas A&M University, the industry was bemoaning the loss of second dailies in metropolitan areas--the Houston Post, Dallas Times Herald and San Antonio Light all bit the dust within 5 years of my graduation. Now, Texas A&M doesn't even offer a journalism degree, and the largest-circulation dailies in the nation are filing for bankruptcy. To stay alive, budgets are being sliced to the bone and beyond. When CNN can't even cough up the resources to fact-check reports of a Coast Guard gun battle on the Potomac River, resource-intense investigative journalism is looked upon as an unaffordable luxury and is taking a huge hit.
Of all the Jeffersonian ideals of a free press, investigative journalism is the foundation of the Fourth Estate and protection against corruption and tyranny. Muck, for want of a better term, does not rake itself. Until somebody figures out how to make real money with online news content, I don't see the trend for shallower, more superficial news reportage reversing any time soon. Yet corruption and abuse aren't likely to abate in the interim.
Is there a solution? I don't know. The talent and knowledge is out there, undoubtedly. There are a shrinking number of investigative journalists still investigating for news organizations, there are former investigative journalists who have moved to other forms of reportage, and there are those who are out of journalism all together. Presumably, given the character of said reporters, the drive to kick over stones and expose the vermin beneath to the light of day still resides within them at some level. So why not harness this latent investigative potential? Could not a freelance bureau, alliance or guild-type infrastructure organize, connecting registered investigators with proven track records in various regions around the country--or indeed, even the world, since there's no need to restrict our vision in this era of online globalization--with media outlets in need of such singular talents? As newspapers and like media outlets reduce and eliminate support for investigative reporters, it is not unreasonable to envision situations--rumor, accusations, etc.--arising which promise significant payoff from an investigative standpoint, but for which the specific media outlet is lacking the skilled personnel and experience necessary to pursue effectively. Instead, said media could directly contract the experienced reporter with preexisting contacts and knowledge of the city/region via the freelance bureau/guild/alliance on a case-by-case basis. Ultimately, the media outlet would pay more on a per-story basis, but save money overall by not having the overhead of full-time investigative reporters on staff. And the investigative reporters, well, they'd have work. As a bonus, they'd still have terrible pay, work awful hours and get no respect from editors or the public, just like they did when they were full-fledged staff.
That's not going to happen, though. I'm not so much a Pollyanna that I actually think, given the choice to spend money for outside reportage on a critical investigative piece or to let said investigative piece die due to lack of personnel to pursue it, most newspapers and TV stations would guard the bottom line and choose the latter. Make no mistake, the news media has always been about profitability, but in the halcyon days of decades past, the smaller ownership groups occasionally allowed the quaint concepts of public good and idealism to take root in the newsroom and editorial offices. I don't see that in the corporate mentality of today's marketplace, with the emphasis on short-term returns and relentless profitability growth. Journalism is passe, and news is just another entertainment commodity, to be gussied up and sent out to cha-cha with Tom DeLay on Dancing with the Stars.
Now Playing: The Kinks Face to Face
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
A little brag
The Wife taught her second photography class last night. Last week there were 14 students enrolled. This week there was 19. Wow. The students had dutifully done their homework and returned with photographs, and The Wife amazed and astounded all by correctly identifying the aperture and shutter speed used on individual photographs. To the students, it came across as some weird, prescient ESP. As a photography instructor, you can't buy street cred like that.
Turns out enough of the Intro to Digital Photography students have been impressed enough by The Wife to go ahead and register for the more advanced follow-up Digital SLR Photography course she'll be teaching later this fall. So many, in fact, that the Community Education people have placed an enrollment cap on the class. Apparently, that's unheard of. The Community Ed people seem ecstatic, and The Wife has a bit of a bounce in her step as well.
Now Playing: The Police Message in a Box
Turns out enough of the Intro to Digital Photography students have been impressed enough by The Wife to go ahead and register for the more advanced follow-up Digital SLR Photography course she'll be teaching later this fall. So many, in fact, that the Community Education people have placed an enrollment cap on the class. Apparently, that's unheard of. The Community Ed people seem ecstatic, and The Wife has a bit of a bounce in her step as well.
Now Playing: The Police Message in a Box
Monday, September 21, 2009
Drama queen
So, The Wife just got a serious inquiry for a wedding photography gig. This is good. She's also contracted to shoot a major event for Texas State University next month and delivered contracted images to the New Braunfels Chamber of Commerce today. Did I mention the huge, gallery-wrap canvas art prints of her work that are being hung in the new Schobel's Restaurant in New Braunfels? Lisa on Location is one of the top Google hits for New Braunfels photography, and steadily climbing the charts for San Antonio searches as well. She's a member of the Professional Photographers of America as well.
Which is why I take umbrage at someone questioning her professional credentials. Particularly nincompoops.
We're actually getting a good laugh out of this, so bear with me, as I like to vent in grandiose manner on occasion. There is a person we shall refer to as Prima Donna. Prima is an aspiring model, and a year or so back, The Wife friended Prima on a social networking site as a friendly gesture. Prima curtly responded that The Wife wasn't professional enough for Prima to waste time with. Ouch. It's not as if Prima could've done a quick Google search and found The Wife's website and galleries that way... oh, wait. They could have, but chose not to. Fascinated by such boorish behavior, we decided to keep tabs on Prima. In the ensuing six months, Prima flaked on photographers (ie not showing up for scheduled shoots) then abruptly quite modeling all together, making the announcement with a mass email dripping with melodrama. We laughed and rolled our eyes. A short while back, however, Prima announced their triumphant return with an equally melodramatic mass email, inviting recipients to a networking event for models and photographers. It also encouraged recipients to invite like-minded folks along as well.
Fine. We've attended these things before. It's a good opportunity to meet models and discuss shoot concepts as well as network with other photographers and talk shop in a non-competitive environment. In short, it'd be a business-related date night for The Wife and I. We both RSVP'd.
Shortly thereafter, Prima sends The Wife an email asking to see her online portfolio, the not-so-subtle implications being that her professional status is suspect and needs Prima's personal vetting before being deemed worthy of coming. This comes, you'll note, AFTER Prima specifically included her in the original invitation list. The Wife, wisely, ignored such crass behavior. So Prima approached her again, this time more insistent. So this got us to thinking--Is Prima playing these petty games of palace intrigue with other people on the invite list? We knew several, so we made some discrete inquiries. Oh lordy! Other folks are getting messages from Prima far more insufferable and impudent. Narcissism and arrogance are bad enough on their own, but they are most definitely not two great tastes that go great together. Apparently, in Prima Donna's world, photographers and models live in isolation bubbles and never speak to each other under any circumstances, much less compare notes.
Fun stuff. What new and exciting dramas does the future hold?
Now Playing: The Gypsy Guerrilla Band Ernie's Pot o' Gold
Which is why I take umbrage at someone questioning her professional credentials. Particularly nincompoops.
We're actually getting a good laugh out of this, so bear with me, as I like to vent in grandiose manner on occasion. There is a person we shall refer to as Prima Donna. Prima is an aspiring model, and a year or so back, The Wife friended Prima on a social networking site as a friendly gesture. Prima curtly responded that The Wife wasn't professional enough for Prima to waste time with. Ouch. It's not as if Prima could've done a quick Google search and found The Wife's website and galleries that way... oh, wait. They could have, but chose not to. Fascinated by such boorish behavior, we decided to keep tabs on Prima. In the ensuing six months, Prima flaked on photographers (ie not showing up for scheduled shoots) then abruptly quite modeling all together, making the announcement with a mass email dripping with melodrama. We laughed and rolled our eyes. A short while back, however, Prima announced their triumphant return with an equally melodramatic mass email, inviting recipients to a networking event for models and photographers. It also encouraged recipients to invite like-minded folks along as well.
Fine. We've attended these things before. It's a good opportunity to meet models and discuss shoot concepts as well as network with other photographers and talk shop in a non-competitive environment. In short, it'd be a business-related date night for The Wife and I. We both RSVP'd.
Shortly thereafter, Prima sends The Wife an email asking to see her online portfolio, the not-so-subtle implications being that her professional status is suspect and needs Prima's personal vetting before being deemed worthy of coming. This comes, you'll note, AFTER Prima specifically included her in the original invitation list. The Wife, wisely, ignored such crass behavior. So Prima approached her again, this time more insistent. So this got us to thinking--Is Prima playing these petty games of palace intrigue with other people on the invite list? We knew several, so we made some discrete inquiries. Oh lordy! Other folks are getting messages from Prima far more insufferable and impudent. Narcissism and arrogance are bad enough on their own, but they are most definitely not two great tastes that go great together. Apparently, in Prima Donna's world, photographers and models live in isolation bubbles and never speak to each other under any circumstances, much less compare notes.
Fun stuff. What new and exciting dramas does the future hold?
Now Playing: The Gypsy Guerrilla Band Ernie's Pot o' Gold
For whom the gnoll tolls
For a variety of reasons, this weekend the girls and I only had time for one shortish session of Dungeons & Dragons. Fairy Girl actually didn't want to play at first, and it was up to Monkey Girl to handle all the treasure distribution and divvy up the earned experience points. Fairy Girl eventually did join the game, though, so the adventure was able to continue as before.
The party returned the rescued hostages to the keep safely, and were rewarded for their efforts. The merchant's guild gave them 100 gold and exempted them from any taxes and fees for a year. The rescued merchant's wife gave them a magical dagger +1. With a bit of money in their pockets, the adventurers spent about a week at the keep, resting and healing wounds in preparation for another expedition.
Returning to the Caves of Chaos, they elected to re-enter the goblin caves that started off the previous adventure. Inexplicably, they chose not to explore any of the cave complex they hadn't ventured into before, but instead stuck to the rooms they'd fought through previously, noting someone (or something) had cleaned up after the fight to some degree. The door to the hobgoblin's lair was locked this time, but Monkey Girl successfully picked the lock. They followed the same patter in the hobgoblin tunnels, eventually covering all the ground they'd previously explored and then venturing into new tunnels. They soon found the heavy door that led to the outside, and again, decided to leave with out exploring any further.
I found this somewhat puzzling, I have to admit. When I was playing--even at an ignorant, early age--once we started in on a particular cave complex or whathaveyou, the party would continue exploring until the monsters were all cleaned out. This whole approach of cleaning out a few rooms then venturing on to a different cave is new to me. But we'll see what happens.
Back outside, the party decided to look for a new cave, and climbed further up the hill until they espied a previously undiscovered opening in the hillside. They entered boldly, and immediately ran into four gnoll warriors. Gnolls, interestingly enough, weren't listed in my AD&D Monster Manual, so when the girls wanted to know what they were, I had to dig out the old D&D basic set rule book to find out they were large hyena-like humanoids. Big, powerful and ugly, particularly when facing a party of first-level adventurers. Remember how the girls (and my dwarf) were over-matched by orcs the first time out? Yeah. Gnolls are worse. Still, buoyed perhaps by their success against the hobgoblins, they pressed the attack and killed two gnolls as two others hung back shooting at the adventurers with bows. Then the bow-wielding gnolls fled, apparently to get help. The party charged after them, but lost sight of their quarry and ended up taking a wrong turn. Remember that scene from Star Wars where Han Solo and Chewbacca chase those stormtroopers through the Death Star, only to run into a battalion of the white-suited canon fodder (original or special editions doesn't matter--the principal is the same)? That's what happened to the party. They ran right into the gnoll's grand hall, with a bunch of warriors and many, many more females and the like. Bravado fled, as did the adventurers without a second thought. At which point they ran smack into the original two bow-wielding gnolls along with a handful of reinforcements. A sharp, pitched battle ensued, resulting in the defeat of the gnolls but also the quick exhaustion of my dwarf's healing spells to bring several characters back from the brink of death.
And that's where the adventure suspended for the night--with the party, weakened and battered, magic spells all spent, stuck deep inside the gnolls' tunnels with a bunch of warriors chasing after them from the grand hall. How's that for a cliffhanger?
Now Playing: Jim Croce Photographs & Memories
The party returned the rescued hostages to the keep safely, and were rewarded for their efforts. The merchant's guild gave them 100 gold and exempted them from any taxes and fees for a year. The rescued merchant's wife gave them a magical dagger +1. With a bit of money in their pockets, the adventurers spent about a week at the keep, resting and healing wounds in preparation for another expedition.
Returning to the Caves of Chaos, they elected to re-enter the goblin caves that started off the previous adventure. Inexplicably, they chose not to explore any of the cave complex they hadn't ventured into before, but instead stuck to the rooms they'd fought through previously, noting someone (or something) had cleaned up after the fight to some degree. The door to the hobgoblin's lair was locked this time, but Monkey Girl successfully picked the lock. They followed the same patter in the hobgoblin tunnels, eventually covering all the ground they'd previously explored and then venturing into new tunnels. They soon found the heavy door that led to the outside, and again, decided to leave with out exploring any further.
I found this somewhat puzzling, I have to admit. When I was playing--even at an ignorant, early age--once we started in on a particular cave complex or whathaveyou, the party would continue exploring until the monsters were all cleaned out. This whole approach of cleaning out a few rooms then venturing on to a different cave is new to me. But we'll see what happens.
Back outside, the party decided to look for a new cave, and climbed further up the hill until they espied a previously undiscovered opening in the hillside. They entered boldly, and immediately ran into four gnoll warriors. Gnolls, interestingly enough, weren't listed in my AD&D Monster Manual, so when the girls wanted to know what they were, I had to dig out the old D&D basic set rule book to find out they were large hyena-like humanoids. Big, powerful and ugly, particularly when facing a party of first-level adventurers. Remember how the girls (and my dwarf) were over-matched by orcs the first time out? Yeah. Gnolls are worse. Still, buoyed perhaps by their success against the hobgoblins, they pressed the attack and killed two gnolls as two others hung back shooting at the adventurers with bows. Then the bow-wielding gnolls fled, apparently to get help. The party charged after them, but lost sight of their quarry and ended up taking a wrong turn. Remember that scene from Star Wars where Han Solo and Chewbacca chase those stormtroopers through the Death Star, only to run into a battalion of the white-suited canon fodder (original or special editions doesn't matter--the principal is the same)? That's what happened to the party. They ran right into the gnoll's grand hall, with a bunch of warriors and many, many more females and the like. Bravado fled, as did the adventurers without a second thought. At which point they ran smack into the original two bow-wielding gnolls along with a handful of reinforcements. A sharp, pitched battle ensued, resulting in the defeat of the gnolls but also the quick exhaustion of my dwarf's healing spells to bring several characters back from the brink of death.
And that's where the adventure suspended for the night--with the party, weakened and battered, magic spells all spent, stuck deep inside the gnolls' tunnels with a bunch of warriors chasing after them from the grand hall. How's that for a cliffhanger?
Now Playing: Jim Croce Photographs & Memories
Friday, September 18, 2009
Friday Night Videos
This one goes out to The Wife, who's started teaching a community ed photography class that is proving to be one of the most popular classes offered this fall... for obvious reasons!
Previously on Friday Night Videos... Jimmy Buffett.
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Previously on Friday Night Videos... Jimmy Buffett.
Now Playing:
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