Return of the Rat

Stairs.

I have been here before.

For the second time I find myself surrounded by stairs, up, down, sideways, there is no direction- or perhaps there is every direction- only hard , white, shadowless steps spiraling into the shifting distance, outlined with black stripes and handrails. It is silent but I can sense an echo nonetheless; I bet drums would sound really good if they were recorded here, I think stupidly.

My musing is answered by the gentle padding of footsteps and the whispering rustle of soft cloth as it glides across the endless stairs. I turn around and see what I expect to see- a human-sized grey rat, walking upright and clad in a white satin robe, the left sleeve rolled up and pinned at the shoulder. It's eyes appear black at first glance but as it nears me I see that they are of the deepest brown, there is an undeniable intelligence buried there and it is through those eyes that it speaks to me.

"You came back", intones the creature matter-of-factly.

"Well, yeah," I reply, " I'm not sure why but yeah...I'm back."

"Look at me", it commands," you know me."

I obey. I notice that my interlocutor has only one ear, where the left ear should be there is only a dark, puckered hole. I have seen this rat before.

When I was in my early twenties I took a job as a short-order cook at a corner bar. Circumstances had led me to be without a home, so my boss allowed me and my friend Ron ( the dishwasher) to live in the storerooms above the restaurant. Ron kept a pair of rats in an aquarium inside his room and one day the pregnant female escaped. A few days afterward, I was downstairs in the kitchen , preparing pizzas for drunken yuppies when I heard a faint squealing sound above the roar of the exhaust fan. I turned off the fan and tracked down the sound...it was coming from the pizza oven. The top of the oven.

Standing on a pickle bucket, I looked there and saw two tiny, hairless pink blobs on the hot metal edge. There was a terrible sizzling sound mingled with the high pitched squealing and I realized that the baby rodents were being cooked alive. I scooped the pair into the palm of my hand , stepped down and ran cold water over a dish towel. I placed the infants on the wet cloth and folded it over their tiny bodies...one of them was missing two legs. It was motionless and silent but the second one writhed and cried a tiny cry of pain and fear...it's eyes were not even open yet and it was already lost. I carefully covered it , hiding it from the customers as I walked through the bar and up the stairs to the room where Ron lived. Ron had just captured the mother, she had returned to her food dish and he had snared her while she was trying to get back inside the aquarium.

" Ron! I found these. They fell out of a hole in the ceiling and landed on the oven. I think one is dead but the other is still moving...it's lost an ear, a leg and it's tail..."

"Shit!", said Ron, examining the poor animals, " they are too young to have tails yet but the leg is gone for sure...and this one isn't going to make it at all." He placed the two blobs into the glass cage with the mother...she ate the dead one but groomed and nursed the other one and it survived and grew into adulthood, missing one foreleg and one ear. It never did grow a tail.

I remember this as I study my furry companion. I have seen this rat before.

"You have grown," I state at last.

"Yes."

"I saw you last week. I was here."

"Yes."

"You went somewhere the last time. I thought you went to Rat Heaven. I had a guide then but I can't remember what it told me..."

Rats cannot smile but this is no ordinary rat. It grins with those bottomless brown eyes as it speaks to me.

"Ha! 'Rat Heaven'...that's cute. There is no such thing, there is only here."

"Oh. Right.Sorry."

"Please. Don't apologize. I like it here. It suits me."

The eyes tell me that this is true. Part of me wishes that there was such a place as Rat Heaven and as that thought passes through me I understand that there is.

"Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it isn't there", I venture," I think you are so close to the tree that you can't see the branches. These stairs are limbs of that tree." How did I know that?

"Ah. That is interesting but it is not why I'm here."

"Um, Ok. Why are you here?"

"To thank you."

"Thank me? What for?"

"You saved my life. I was burning and you rescued me. My children and my children's children thank you."

"Um, don't take offense but I didn't really think about it that way. Actually, I thought the whole thing was kind of..." I grasp for words.

"Grotesque?"

"Well, yeah. No offense."

"None taken. Honestly, it was much worse from my perspective."

"Yeah, I can see that. Anyway, I'm glad you made it but you don't need to thank me, I just did what anyone would do and besides, you are just a rat. No offense."

The eyes grinned wider now.

" Ha! 'Just a rat'. That's a good one. It used to be true, you know."

"What are you then? A djinni? I could use a djinni right now. I have wishes."

"No...I have no wishes to grant. You have to do that yourself. I just wanted you to know that I am here and that I am grateful for what you did."

"But", I protest weakly," I didn't do anything. You got lucky is all."

"Luck", said the rat," is a joke and it is seldom funny. It was love that saved me."

"I don't love rats."

"I am not a rat."

"I don't understand."

"No one does but everyone will. When you find the answer I will ask the question."

"Now I really don't understand."

The eyes change color slightly, lighter, darker, lighter, shadows moving inside shadows. The unseen smile grows warm and friendly.

"You don't need to understand. Just know that I love you."

"Ah...OK. But you are just a..."

"No."

"I think that I have a lot to learn."

"Yes. Yes, you do. You will. Now go."

I went.

Escape Plan

I haven't had a "fun" vacation since the summer of 2006. That changes tomorrow.
In 24 hours, I will be nudging my old Volvo onto the highway and making the first leg of a nearly 800-mile round trip that will bring me to the doorstep of a friend I know very well but have never met.
(Teaser: We both have posts scheduled to "auto-publish" tomorrow which will explain and reveal.)

I've been tinkering and fiddling with my car and it feels good when it's on the road, running smooth and quiet... it's ready for a road trip and so am I. I have arranged to leave work at noon tomorrow, I should be with my friend shortly after suppertime Thursday and I gotta say I'm excited, nervous and thrilled.

The last few days here have been hectic and hurried and I'm starting to get a little frayed around the edges so this trip comes at a perfect time- we have been planning it for just over a month and now the time is nigh, be still my heart...I have met a few of my blogpals in real-life and it's always been fun, but this time is a little different.

Who am I kidding ? This time is a lot different.

I have never done anything like this before. I have tried with other women but things just never seemed to work out...I spent last year and the first part of this year trying to deal with my grandmother's long, agonizing death- and the sudden, unexpected death of my cousin- during that time I also managed to lose my job, my insurance and my life savings, I wrecked my car...it really has been a bleak time but I have held onto what I need to hold onto ( my sobriety and my sanity) and I'm trying to learn how to let go of things that aren't helping me...I have a lifetime habit of sabotoging my own happiness and I need to break that pattern.

I can't change this alone but that's OK because I don't have to. For the first time in years, I will stop being alone and start learning how to be with someone . It's a new world and I'm running to it, not away from it.


Wish us luck.

A Harsh Reminder

I got pulled off my new temp job this morning and was asked to help out in the Mail Room. The regular Mail Girl had complained of chest and back pains and was taken to hospital. After a few hours of sorting and stamping , we got a call that the doctors had found a blood clot and were admitting the poor girl for emergency surgery. If she hadn't gone to the ER she would have died within a few hours...Mail Girl is, I believe, in her early to mid 20's and she seemed fine yesterday- today she barely escaped death, she had to be talked into going to hospital, apparently she didn't want to go, which is understandable.

We were reallly busy earlier, but during lunch I had some quiet time to reflect on my own near-death experience and how I had to convince myself to go to the ER. If I hadn't done that, this post wouldn't be here, as I'd be dead. I don't know who talked Mail Girl into going, but I'm glad they managed to do it- otherwise she'd be dead and she's much too young to die. My heart goes out to her.

I am fully aware that any day may be the last...for any one of us. It's tempting to give into that fear and shut down, wall-off and deny, deny, deny...no, actually, it's not tempting at all.

I'll tell you what is tempting: I'm tempted to shed the last tattered bandage of fear and doubt and take a long, honest look at my own wounds and afflictions. Until very recently, I was unaware that I suffer from a common but rarely mentioned disorder: I have an Ingrown Heart.

I have done as much work on myself as I can but it's a serious condition and I can't fix it without help and help is not something that is easy for me to ask for. Fortunately, I didn't have to ask, it was freely offered.
Last year, I celebrated Independence Day by hitting a deer and wrecking my car on the way to visit my dying grandmother...shortly after I got back from that 'vacation', I was given the Pink Slip at work and life sort of went downhill from there, so I find it ironic that I have Open Heart Surgery scheduled for the July 4th weekend this year.
Don't fear, it's not medical surgery and I won't be in a hospital for it, but it needs to be done and so it shall.

What is a life worth? It's worth living, is what. I suggest you take advantage of it while you can.

That is all.

Too Young To Die

When I arrived at the Theater yesterday, I saw a construction nightmare. The Theater was a hardhat zone. In ten hours it was supposed to host a big Rock Show...was that possible? It didn't seem so.
I found my New Boss and he gave me a mop. The stage- which is huge, probably the best, largest stage that I've ever been behind- was covered in plaster dust and needed swabbing. Great.
Well, it did need doing, so I did it.The bands arrived on schedule, we rolled them in, set them up and the show went on without any hitches that the audience could see. It was a pretty remarkable accomplishment, really. I feel good about being part of that.

---------------------------
The opening act, The Radiators, were great; funky Louisiana rock in the vein of Little Feat. Every member of the band was well over fifty years old and still rockin' hard...there's optimism in that. They also didn't have to carry anything or set anything up- they arrived, played and left, they weren't in the building very much longer than it took to play.

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The headline act was a Grateful Dead clone band. Each member of the clone band portrays a member of the long-defunct Grateful Dead and what the clone band does is to take the set list from a specific long ago GD concert,Sept. 13 1982, for example, and replay the entire original show. Why anyone would want to see that eludes me, but there is a large following for this sort of thing.
I find it sad that people would rather watch clones than listen to something that they haven't heard. I mean, it's never been easier to find new music than it is today- thanks to the Interwebs, I've found countless new bands (some current, some not) and I don't really even try very hard.
Why go clone?
Immediately after every meandering song, the standing band members turned their backs to the cheering, adoring crowd and fiddled with their tuners. Every song. They never said "thanks" or bantered with the audience. I found them chilly and aloof but the crowd loved them.

---------------------------------
One of the best parts of a real Dead show was the intermission, during which the band stopped playing.

During last night's cloned intermission, a middle-aged man in a suit stood at the center mic. He gave a short, sincere speech of appreciation- his young son had a terrible form of cancer and was able to get medical care due to the charity of persons present in the audience- he wanted to say thanks. I thought it was kinda sweet.

Backstage, a stoned clone guitarist was making 'sock-puppet' fingers and mouthing 'blah, blah, blah' ...
He was mocking the man with the cancer story.
Something snapped.
It was the neck of a guitar over a malignant hippie's head.

"Dude", I explained as I wound a D-string around his neck in a form of improvised garrote,"you make your living pretending to be someone that you are not; therefore, it makes sense that in your life, you pretend to be something that you are not. Such as human.
Your lack of compassion compels me to strangle some empathy into you."

"Aaack", he replied.

"Furthermore", I continued, " I know who you are. You used to sell bootleg cassette tapes of Grateful Dead concerts, which is like a million times worse than dealing drugs. I mean, at least your dope dealer will sometimes sell you some really good shit. Now, do you feel the love yet?"

"Aaaack."

---------------------------
I wish.
--------------------------

Loading in and out was interesting. The loading zone doesn't exist yet, we had to push cases across traffic, onto a sidewalk that was covered with steel work plates, down a ramp and through a crowd of bustling construction workers. It was brutal, back-breaking work. During the final load I felt something start to tear inside. I was suddenly aware of every one of the internal sutures I received in 2005 and I couldn't help but cry out in pain, which is a gross violation of roadie protocol.

"I'm OK," I said, but my boss gave me 'easy' jobs for the last hour or so. During a break he took some time to talk to me. He was a little concerned. It was great that he didn't have to explain gear to me, but knowledge isn't everything. He needed people who could lift heavy weights, 14 hours a day, six days a week. He really wanted me aboard, but first he needed to know if I was capable of doing that.

14 times six is , um, er...84. That would be 44 hours of overtime per week. For that I would try my best, I assured him. I can't lift the really, really heavy stuff but you can let me loose on the mics and monitors and stuff. I can do lots of things. 44 hours of OT is a helluva motivator.


Well, no. See, I am considered an independent contractor. At the end of the year, I would have to report my own wages and taxes and there is no such thing as overtime . Oh.

I have to be realistic. I can't do 84-hour weeks of hard labor. This morning I could barely move. I have bruises, blisters and everything hurts except my feelings.

Today the boss asked me how old I was.

41.

He said he thought I was thirty. My youthful good looks and all...anyway, he politely said that 41 might be a bit old for what was expected of me. I saw this as an "out" and I took it.
Yeah, you are right, I said. I'm too old for this. Then I went outside into the cold rain and rinsed the stale beer out of two dozen plastic trash cans.

Boss asked if I could work until he found a replacement, a day or two? Apparently, his boss was pretty adamant about everyone lifting the heavy stuff, but he would try to cover for me- they needed hands though.
Sure, I can do an entire week if needed.

My replacement arrived this afternoon. I parted ways with my new job on good terms.

I don't feel bad though. I did my best and worked my ass off, but I have limits. 4 days a week, maybe...six is too much.

I've also been feeling differently about life in general. There was a time when getting paid beans to spend 6 nights a week at a rock show was my idea of fun; I thought my batteries were recharged but the accumulated years of rock-n-roll burnout haven't faded away after all.
The reality of a life spent moving heavy boxes in loud rooms with burly men who enjoy talking about their dicks is perhaps not the best reality for me.
Plus, I made a lot more money per hour as a secretary.

I have become a total square.

Trying etc.

For years I was what is known as a 'maintenance drunk' and one of the things I was able to maintain was a body weight of 198 lbs., which made it impossible for me to fit
into the suit I'm wearing in the pic to the left.

Once, back in 2001, I drank eleven Natural Ice beers in the two hour period preceding a job interview for assistant manager at a large retail shoe store.At the interview I was drunker than a lovesick astronaut, but I somehow still got the job...on 9/11, 2001, I was promoted to store manager.


In hindsight, getting promoted on 9/11 was a bad sign.

By January 2002, the store's ownership and myself had reached an agreement: I would withdraw my unemployment claim and they would convince our regional manager not to file assault charges against me for throwing a Nine West boot at his head . He's lucky that my arm was in a sling at the time...seriously.

I am a very adaptive and capable person, but there are some jobs that I am wholly unsuited for; selling shoes, thank Godzilla, is one of them.

One thing that I know I'm really good at is putting books on a shelf. CDs too.

So I donned my suit and went to a job interview at the Public Library. The meet went really well, I thought. I was able to answer all of the questions easily and kept my two-person interview team smiling throughout- the atmosphere at the library was a lot more relaxed than I'd come to expect from my old job, which was in a truly uptight law firm.

The position I was seeking involves shelving books and little else.
After our session, I was told that I'm considerably overqualified for shelving books and that the position is only part-time. Would I still be interested?

Hmmm....

I asked about advancement from within. Mrs. J, the older woman who was interviewing me, told me she had started working PT in 1974 and was retiring soon...well, OK, then.
I'm officially interested!

I hope to hear back next week- in any case, it felt good to have an honest-to-gosh job interview. It has been a long time since I'd been to one, a real one anyway. Phone and web stuff...not so good.

It's also been a long time since I've been on a real date.
I have a date tomorrow night.
Dinner and conversation with someone I've known and liked for a long time. We met shortly before I quit drinking, so she's already seen me at my worst...tomorrow I hope to be at my best. My friend has seen me pull off some pretty amazing accomplishments( if I do say so) but to me the most amazing thing of all would be if she were to like me as much as I like her, which is to say considerably.

That's all I'm sayin'.

An Awkward Place

My cool boss didn't finish out his two week sentence. Tuesday morning he said:" Fuck you, you back-stabbing weasels" and stormed out of the building. I don't blame him, the company terminated him for no given reason and then they expected him to stay on for two weeks and train his replacement? I'm amazed he didn't walk out on Thursday when they gave him his notice. The area manager told me it was because he was playing video games (a false charge), but Hole never told my boss that- I believe Hole was in breach of confidentiality , perhaps even flirting with slander or defamation just by revealing the unsubstantiated charges leading to termination of an employee. It was this slimy rumor-spreading that cause my boss to blow his top yesterday. They were talking shit about him behind his back to his staff- that's pretty low. It's despicable, really.

I missed his explosive exit but not the aftermath. When I arrived at the scene, his replacement pulled me into the empty office she has been hiding in since her arrival.
She was stricken, overwhelmed with the reality of her new job and her utter inability to perform it alone. Her support system, area manager Mr. Hole, left the job site Monday after I walked out on him during a lecture on attitude. One would think that he would have fired me on the spot for such a blatant display of contempt, but I think it was starting to dawn on him that our job is a lot more complex than it seems and that they have already fired the person who knows the most about it. If they fire me, they are fucked, plain and simple. My cool boss pretty much created the system and we both know it by heart, but there are no manuals or guidebooks- we learned by doing it and I'll floss my ass with a barbed-wire toothbrush before I write a training manual for $12 an hour. If they want a training manual, they can hire me as a consultant and quintuple my salary.

Anyway, Replacement was freaked out and she made a very risky decision. She was honest with me.

I have been telling her how bad the company treats it's staff, how certain people in the Firm can get away with murder and some can't , and especially what an incompetent buffoon I think Mr. Hole is. I had a lot to say and most of it was negative. The only good things I had to say were about my old boss. She has been with the Company for a mere 10 days and still believed the bullshit they feed you in orientation about "team spirit" and "company growth" - I told her to forget all that.
She is on her own, I said. My boss did a great job for two years and they swooped down and canned him without giving cause and there is no reason she shouldn't think that it can't happen to her.
We have had four area managers in the last two years- the company fucks with the managers- after watching this "transition", I'm not even interested in staying. It's just a paycheck to me.

I meant every word I said.

So she took me aside and said: " I need you a lot more than you need me. That much is clear. I really need you to stick around for at least a week or two. Please?"

That sort of honesty is dangerous. She has admitted weakness and by doing so is appealing to my benevolence for help in an otherwise helpless situation. It was hard to resist eviscerating her once I saw that underbelly, but I didn't. None of this is her doing. I have nothing to gain by tormenting her.

I can't hate her anymore. She's a green first-timer, it wasn't her fault that my boss got pissed on; he was a scapegoat, she is a sacrificial lamb.

So I said I would try to help but I couldn't promise for how long. I also told her that if Mr. Hole came back to the office, I was going to get fired- it's one thing for me to disrespect him behind closed doors, but I'm going to tell him to fuck off in public, and he really won't have any choice after that-he'll have to fire me.
And they can't fire me because I have all the "secret formulae" locked in my head.
I also said that as soon as I am released from my contract, I would also be released from my no-compete clause. I was going to the partners and explain that the Company provides no equipment or support whatsoever and is , in fact, a wholly unnecessary middleman that can't even cover travel expenses for it's employees. The Firm, by my estimate, could save $125,000 a year by switching to an internalized Records dept.
Which I could organize.
As soon as I said this , I wondered "why didn't I think of that sooner?"
I should ask the Firm.

Mr. Hole was in town today. He didn't come to the office, the new boss went to meet him somewhere off-site. A site manager walks off the job in a hail of profanity and the area manager doesn't show up to do damage control with the client? Instead, he has a covert , off-premises meeting with the new manager.
Bizarre.
If I was the Firm , I'd be questioning company wisdom.

The new manager spends her hours behind a closed door in an office without network access. After five business days, she has yet to get an Outlook account or even introduce herself to IT.
Her main function is to relay messages to me from Mr. Hole , who is not allowed to talk to me, and to tell my replacements to do busy work. I have refused to do busy work, another cause for dismissal- I have been begging to get canned, really, I have.

I thought she was going to report me to Hole for talking so much shit and I fully expected a red-faced Hole to come charging into the office, incensed and maybe even ready to fight. I mean, I called him a chronic liar, a useless clown and a dunce, just to name a few epithets and I said it all knowing that my interlocutor would most likely repeat my words to him.

I wanted Hole to come in and attempt to deal with me. Godzilla help me, but I really wanted to beat him down verbally and force him to fire me. He has insulted me and degraded my friend.
I feel vengeful.
I want to strike back.
I know it's wrong, but I feel compelled to make him as miserable as he has made me- and it doesn't help that he really has placed the company at legal risk- I am tempted to contact HQ and send a letter warning them of the discriminatory practices used by Hole. Unlike the Replacement, I have no empathy or compassion for Hole. I may still write that letter.

The company wanted to put a new face on the Records team so they brought in a manager who
stays behind a closed door in an empty office and an area manager who allows himself to be bullied and intimidated by the file clerk.

I'm sure I'll be gone sooner than later, but for now I'm enjoying the freedom to say exactly how I feel. I have nothing to lose or gain- my relationship with the company is beyond healing. This change will, I think , be better for me in the long run. I wish I hadn't spent all my money on car repairs, but I'll get by, find a temp job, do sound...something will come up.

Meanwhile I feel like a platoon sergeant who's been in-country for years with the same team; the good louie just got fragged by friendly fire and the best rifleman was discharged for having mud on her boots during trench warfare.
The green replacements ask me questions like: " Is my hand grenade supposed to be making this sound?" and it's my job to keep them alive until they learn the jungle.

Then I get fragged.

Five

Cruel Virgin has started a sort of personalized meme; she is providing bloggers- on a voluntary basis- with 5 custom "interview" questions. I will pass the meme along to the third blogger to request an interview (hey, I'm a DJ, I like caller #x stuff ).
Below are the 9 questions that I received, along with my replies, which may or may not constitute answers:

1. Is there another human being who can equal or even top you in musical knowledge (professional musicians excluded)? What would they have to do to know what you do?

A) I am not sure exactly what "musical knowledge" means (rock trivia, musical prowess, theory etc) , but in any case the answer is a resounding Yes. There are DJs at the station who have encyclopedic musical memories that shame me and I have friends who can not only play more instruments than I , but they also play them better. Some of the DJ's concentrate on one or two specific genres and are deep experts in those fields- I am more of a dilettante. I know almost nothing about music from 1995- 2007.

B) Do? I don't know. It's not something you "do" consciously, It's a passion that finds you. You have to really enjoy listening to music. I do. I think a lot of it comes from growing up in the era when the release of a new album was a social occasion and people would get together in person and listen to new records together in a party atmosphere. Perhaps this still occurs and I just don't have any friends, but I suspect that one of the unfortunate drawbacks to digital musical ubiquity is that music can lose it's virtue - art becomes corrupted, even usurped by commerce and henceforth falls into decay. I have heard songs by band like the Buzzcocks, Stranglers and Jimi Hendrix used in adverts for products and service affordable only to the upper-middle class and higher- today it seems as if hit songs are hyping product as soon as released, if not sooner.

2. You once wrote on my blog that if you believed in God, you would keep it a secret. Would you explain that statement?
I can't recall the context of the comment, but this sounds like an allusion to my opinion that many, if not most, Christian "leaders" who publicly proclaim their faith ( meaning mega-churches and gov't podiums- not community temples, homes, personal blogs etc) must certainly be atheists at heart, because their actions belie their professed values - if they were true believers, they'd be more careful with their souls.
I should have added "unless specifically asked under proper circumstances" to that statement- I generally try keep my ideas about faith publicly muted for the same reason I don't tell most people what I think would really happen if Superman fought Thor- people tend to get bored and/or offended and it makes me sound crazier than I already am.

3. What really pisses you off about American society, minus the current governmental regime (I know that does limit you.)?

The acceptance of mediocrity as the norm bothers me. The celebration of the insipid and the vacuous outrages me. Incurious makes me furious. Why are we, as a society, only now waking up and smelling the dog food that we've been eating for six years? If We the People had been paying attention we would already be minus the current regime.

4. If you could sit down and have a heart to heart with the President, name three questions you would ask him? What do you think would be his reply?

The trick here would be to ask questions that he might actually answer. Any direct 'tough ones' (was the war worth it?, etc) will be spun into deflective rhetoric. By appealing to his egocentric, baser self -the dominant aspect of his personality- it might be possible to gain some insight into whatever it is that happens between his ears.

A) What would you name as your single greatest accomplishment as President?

I ask this because I can't think of a single positive example. His pick would be telling...vetoing legislation supported by the majority of the public? I doubt that he'd pick Iraq.

B) It is well known that you have a history of alcoholism and as a fellow alcoholic I would like to congratulate you on your personal recovery. Well done.
How long has it been since your last drink?

Feint with the empathetic kudos, then riposte with the real question. I imagine he'd stumble, indicating dishonesty.

C) The 8th step of the AA recovery program states: "Make a list of all the persons we have harmed and become willing to make amends to them all". This is based on the Christian idea of Redemption. If you could only be forgiven for one sin, which sin would you choose to be forgiven for?

I doubt that Chucklehead is capable of admitting to any sin, which is in direct contradiction to his professed faith, which states that we are all sinners. I imagine I'd be waterboarded at this point.

5. You live in some part of the South. What do you think of us Yankees? Is it true that the South is talking about seceding from the Union again? (Just a nasty rumour I heard.) Is there a state in the US that you wouldn't miss if it said bye bye?

First, I must take some umbrage with sweeping generalizations like "us Yankees" ; my own biases and prejudices are much more specific. I dislike New York but not New Yorkers and I consider Chicago as my home away from home...to choose one generalized difference between North and South, I would say that Yankees have a sense of urgency that I sometimes find frustratingly lacking here.

Second, were the South to secede again, I wouldn't know until it was too late. I am not in that loop.

Third, no. Washington D.C. is not a state.

Roll Yourself Up

Is there anybody out there who doesn't understand the basic idea of Role-Playing Games (RPG's) in general and Dungeons and Dragons in particular?

Anyone?

Today, you can play D&D on your laptop ,but back in the old days we played it on a tabletop. A tabletop is not a form of computer, it's just the top of a table.

(A table is like a desk- only unlike a desk, you are supposed to eat at a table)

One person would assume the role of Dungeon Master, or DM. The DM's job in the game was to make stuff up. The DM would have an entire fantasy world mapped out , along with a general background story for the various regions and a few highly-detailed adventure scenarios for actual gameplay. The DM served as a sort of live-action interactive storyteller, explaining the settings and situations to the players-or Player Characters (PCs) - who would assume a 'fantasy' persona such as a wizard, warrior, priest or thief and respond to the information presented by the DM. A snippet of a D&D game might sound something like this:

DM: " You hear a rumbling, crashing sound in the forest to your right, it gets noticeably closer, and you can tell that it is the sound of large trees falling. It sounds like something big is
coming, and fast."

PC 1, Fighter: " I draw my sword!"

PC 2, Wizard: " I cast a protection from evil spell."

PC 3, Thief : (in a written note handed to DM): "I pickpocket gold from PC2 while she's distracted."

DM (Rolls dice) : " Wizard, you notice a tugging at your belt- it's the thief and his hand is in your purse. Meanwhile, a hungry manticore has lunged out of the woods and is charging directly at you. What do you do?"

The DM and players used polyhedral dice with 4, 6 , 8, 10,12 and 20 sides to generate the results of the various combats, magic spells, thieving endeavors, etc. that would take place. Events and actions were assigned a hierarchy of probabilities/outcomes and the results thereof would be determined by a combination of the DM's intent and a series of random numbers.

To generate a random number between, say, 2-16, one would roll a pair of eight-sided dice , or d8s. D&D dice came in a huge variety of colors and materials and were collected , envied and admired in much the same way that previous generations venerated glass marbles. Oooh, a glow-in-the dark d20! A transparent d4! A loaded d6! Cool!

These same dice were used to create (or "roll up") the player's characters, who were comprised of a series of attributes: Strength, Intelligence, Wisdom, Dexterity, Constitution and Charisma. The normal human range was based on a bell-shaped curve between 3-18; for example, a character with a Strength of 18 could knock most ordinary doors down with little effort, while one with a STR of 3 could scarcely slice bread.

(Typically, 3 d6 were used (3-18), although I usually allowed the PCs to roll 4 d6 and keep the highest 3 dice.)

Most 'normal' humans fall into the 9 to 11 range, but the fantasy characters generally needed above average scores in order to survive very long, hence the best 3 dice of 4 mentioned in the preceding paragraph. (A weak Fighter would not win many battles, a stupid Wizard couldn't cast many spells, etc...)

Each player also chose a class (profession) , such as magic-user, bard or fighter; a race -human, elf, dwarf etc , and an alignment- a moral compass to act under: Evil, Neutral or Good, which could be further catergorized as Lawful ,Chaotic or Neutral.

As these characteristics and attributes were determined, the players would write them down on a 'character sheet' ( piece of loose-leaf paper), which would be modified as the persona gained experience and powers over the course of their adventures. It might look like this (sans comments, of course):

Name: Mungo the Mighty

Class: Fighter ( uses all weapons and armor skillfully, cannot cast spells)
Level ( how skilled/experienced the PC is): 2 - barely starting, has killed a few goblins and a dozen giant rats .

Race: Human.

Alignment: Lawful Good- Mungo is an obedient, good-willed Boy Scout at heart.

STRength: 18- maximum 'normal' strength. Mungo is buff! If he hits you, it is gonna hurt.

INTelligence: 7- Mungo have hard time make complete sentence. He is vulnerable to mind-control magic.

WISdom: 12 - Mungo has enough sense to ask the Wizard for help with his grammar.

DEXterity: 14- Mungo is agile, making him a harder target to hit in battle. He's a good shot with a longbow.

CONstitution: 15- Mungo is quite healthy. He can withstand more punishment than most folks and rarely gets ill. He is somewhat resistant to ordinary poisons.

CHArisma: 6- Mungo's face has launched a thousand whips. Mungo is also sort of a drag to be around; Mungo lack tact but Mungo not care. You behave or Mungo be mad. Not many friends for Mungo.

Hit Points: 22 - For an unseasoned warrior, Mungo is very durable. (Zero hit points = dead)

What kind of character would you be? Here is myself in D&D terms:

Name: Me
Class: Bard - Bards are adventuring storytellers and musicians. They are mediocre fighters, have some thieving skills and can cast low-level magic spells. Their songs can inspire their comrades, giving the entire group bonuses in combat and other perilous situations. They are otherwise pretty useless. Not many people play them as characters.

Level : 8- I'm OK, but there are an awful lot of bards who are better.
Alignment: Chaotic Good - I try to follow my conscience; I despise rules, unless I have a say in making them. I change my mind but not my convictions.

Race: Human

STR: 13 - Me is a lot stronger than he looks. Me was once the arm-wrestling champ at his buddy's tattoo parlor . Me beat a bunch of burly dudes in an impromptu tournament, probably the most macho moment of Me's entire life.

INT: 25- This is as high as human intelligence gets in the game. The rules need to be re-written to accomodate Me's enormous intellect- and Me is just the man to do it, being a super-genius and all .

WIS: 6 (3) -Me really should know better, but he keeps making the same mistakes over and over. Me's high INT tells him he's doing dumb stuff, but Me's low WIS lets him do it anyway. The parenthetical '3' reflects Me's minus-three penalty when dealing with the opposite sex.

DEX: (14) 11- Me used to be quite nimble, but illnesses and injuries have permanently lowered this score. Two surgeries on his left arm, broken ankles on both legs, etc...currently 11, was 14 at first-level. Still OK. Dancing incurs an additional penalty of minus 4.

CON: (17) 13- Years of drugs and booze have caused a permanent minus-4 penalty here, but Me never would have survived at all without a really high base CON score. Currently 13, was reduced to 0 at one point , late 2005. Zero CON= dead.
That was why Me quit drinking.

CHA: 8- Yeah, Me may be beautiful, but if Me rates his own INT at 25, Me must be crazy in a delusional and possibly dangerous way, and that personality defect lowers his CHA to the point where the rules say Me can't even be a Bard , much less an accomplished one.
A truly great bard has a high charisma score and performs for royal audiences- Me has a garage band that plays at open mic night and keggers. Mungo plays drums.

Hit Points: 50- For a wimpy bard, I'm frustratingly difficult to kill.

Notes: Me suffers a minus-3 penalty to Wisdom when interacting with human women.
Me also gets an additional 3 bard songs per day, as Me is abnormally prolific.

Here's a blank sheet. Roll yourself up and paste it somewhere. Special powers are OK. Be psionic. Or not.

Name:
Class:
Level:
Alignment:
Race:

STR:
INT:
WIS:
DEX:
CON:
CHA:

Hit Points:

Notes: