"With a right intention, you quietly face the risk of losing the fruit of your work. With a simple intention you renounce the fruit before you even begin. You no longer even expect it. Only at this price can your work also become a prayer.   A simple intention... prefers what cannot be touched, counted, weighed, tasted, or seen..." T.Merton, No Man Is an Island.

Why am I including Klimt here?  I am responding to his raw unfinished images- they straddle the thin line between here and there (unseen), they don't insist on completion, content to let the eye wander in the potentiality of what might have been.  Once touched by the unseen, the painter does no longer insist on result, on the perfection of the outcome.  The reaction of the viewers disappears from the priority list, if ever it was important in the first place. The images remain a testament to an experience of ineffable, signpost pointing vaguely in the direction should one want to follow.

En er gebeurt genoeg om over te schrijven.
Terri vult constant haar lijstje aan.
Er ligt nog een vel papier met woorden voor haar Wiki.
Het idee spookt zelfs rond om haar Wiki nog wat uit te breiden.
Nu ze sinds 1 september naar school gaat, is er hier en daar al wat opgevangen aan uitspraken.
Geinige kost.
Vind ik.

Liedjes dwalen continue door mijn warrige hoofd.
Gekke vertaalslagen, echt te hilarisch om allemaal op te noemen.

Klaverjassen is al een poosje niet meer aan de orde.
Ik denk dat Ad en Jan niet meer durven.
Maar het kan ook een kwestie van tijdgebrek zijn.
Hoewel tijdgebrek niet echt bestaat.
Het heeft alles te maken met prioriteiten stellen.
Prioritijd.
Maar nu val ik in herhaling.
Heb ik al eens erg grappig over gewoordspeeld.

Dat is misschien wel het grootste punt.
Ik denk dat ik in herhaling ga vallen.
Of werkt het zo dat als ik denk dat ik in herhaling val, dat het dan ook echt gebeurt.
De zichzelf vervullende voorspelling (ook al eens besproken).
Soms is herhaling de toverkracht van reclame.
Maar dit is geen reclameblog (op zich natuurlijk een uitermate mooie woordgrap: reclameblog in plaats van reclameblok).

Nog erger wordt het als een zelfbenoemde schrijver zijn eigen woordgrappen uitlegt.
Het is toch geen legpuzzel?
Legbatterij-ei.
Of: Leg een batterij, ei.
Over onmogelijk gesproken... Tss!

Inmiddels zijn we al weer heel wat tekens, woorden, zinnen, spaties en witregels verder, maar heel zinvol was het nog niet.
Maar ik pretendeer ook niet zinnig te zijn.
Of dubbelzinnig.
Onzinnig.
Geen zin.

Zie ja, daar ga ik weer.
Gemaakte grappen nemen geen keer.
Hohoho, het is nog te vroeg voor uitgemolken Sinterklaasrijmpjes.
Ook dat is relatief, want de pepernoten zijn al weer uit de magazijnen gereden en schapsgewijs gestapeld.
Zelf de Hé, Ma! heeft al rekken voor chocoladeletters staan.
En zij zijn vast niet de eerste.

Ik ben nog maar amper bekomen van de zomer die allang geen zomer meer is en nu moet ik alweer de confrontatie aangaan met mannen met witte baarden die ieder moment de hoek om kunnen stormen.
Kijk, als het mannen met zwarte baarden zijn, dan weet je dat zij meer weten en dat je dan dus vooral een eindje met ze mee moet rennen.
Behalve als ze deel uitmaken van een zelfmoordexpeditie; dan kun je alleen maar hopen dat Allah zo Akbar is dat ook jij als onwetende varkensvreter een afgelebberde maagd tot je beschikking hebt als je in duizendenéén stukken het HiernaMoslims wordt binnengeveegd.

Ondertussen gebeurde er nog van alles in mijn gelukscurve.
Wat te zeggen van een onverwachte opkomst aan publieke belangstelling voor The Weak And The Strong in NIVON?
Het is alweer bijna twee weken geleden, maar ik ben er nog ondersteboven van.
Op zich jammer dat het daarbij bleef, maar dat mag geen naam hebben.
Die zes bezoekers wel (in willekeurige volgorde): Anton, Marieke, Pepijn, Nina, Csilla, Jacomine: jullie aanwezigheid werd zeer gewaardeerd.
Dat je het weet.
En natuurlijk waren jullie niet echt de enige aanwezigen.
Maar ik had het over bezoekers.
En dat is een ander slag mensen.

De avond ervoor voegde Cradle een memorabel optreden aan haar lijstje toe.
In Belgenland weten ze nu ook wat een strakke set inhoudt.
En dat is geen Manneken Pis!

Terug naar de kleinste dame in mijn gezelschap.
Het eerste echte gesprek met De Juf zit er op.
Terri mag blijven, we hoeven niet op zoek naar een andere school.
Haar gedrag ende vlijt worden zeer geapprecieerd.

Dan is er een ruime twee weken geleden (zo lang alweer?) ook bekend geworden dat JV70 zich niet heeft weten te handhaven in de achte divisie.
Het Bestuur was voorbereid op de terugkeer naar divisie negen, maar desondanks was er sprake van een teleurstelling.
Inmiddels staat het vizier weer op scherp en pochen de fans al van een heuse kampioenskandidaat.
We zullen zien.

Zo is het bijna eind oktober en mogen we ons op muziekgebied weer verheugen op de komst van onze Engelse vrienden.
Calvin Party komt de laatste week van oktober naar Nederland en wij van Cradle reizen fijn een stukje met ze mee.
Om het feest compleet te maken trapt de CP/C-combinatie de maand november af in muziektempel Taverna.
Heel veel mooier kan die maand niet beginnen.

Morgen staat mijn eerste bezoek sinds juli aan de UWV-vrienden op de agenda.
Arbeitssturmführer besuchen.
Ik weet nog niet in welke gedaante ik kom.
Volgens het bijgevoegd rapport was ik eerst een docent en later een docente.
Vinden ze het gek dat ik een identiteitscrisis doormaak?

Oh, ja, ook leuk was de J3-uitzending van afgelopen maandag.
De uitzending had als thema Het Zwarte Goud.
Twee uur lang fijn plaatjes draaien.
En we hadden deze keer een gast.
Een razendenthousiaste Bertje die met een plasser van heb ik jou daar twee uur lang door de LON sopte.
Dat noem je in spreektaal een zogenaamde Haagse Pikkienees.

Veel gekker wordt het niet.

In all your glow surround my soul.

Hold me in your arms, listen to my tears,

listen about all my lonely years

Let me sink deep down inside you, I wanna hide out for just awhile.

Been a long time since I've had any peace, my soul starves for release.

In all your glow, surround my soul.

hold me tight, if just for tonight.

Tell me everything will be alright, and all this pain will subside.

That there will be another sunrise.

Tell me all this is not in vain, wipe away the years that cloud my head and fill my  eyes.

In all your glow, surround my soul.

Cradle me in your arms if just for awhile.

Look down upon me with your beautiful smile.

Tell me the pain will go away, that tomorrow is another day,

that all my trials will pay off in the end, and I will smile again.

More Here...

LIVE: White Lies in Manchester @ Night & Day Café 22/09/08

‘DEATH FOR SALE’ reads the ‘welcome’ poster, hospitality White Lies style folks. We’ll get to that shortly but first things first and not knowing who the support bands are I’m treated with the first of two most welcome surprises when Post War Years take to the stage. Visually they’re quite the proposition, Daman Albarn look-alike on lead vocals, Joey Barton look-alike on Bass, a keyboard player whos hair has just escaped from Wolfmother and a grinning drummer who resembles Aphex Twin from the ‘Window Licker’ Video. Musically they run through some tasty Friendly Fires like grooves, where the keyboard samples and group vocals make for a very enjoyable listen. Check out ‘Whole World On It’s Head’ for evidence.

Surprise number two up next and it’s only the bleedin Joy Formidable, get in there. How this slender front woman blasts out her vocals with such ferocity is pretty impressive. It’s a none stop rock attack from beginning to end which includes stomping new single ‘Austere’, the 7" of which is a bargain at the merch stall by the way. At a mere £4.50 it comes with free badge, a personalised signing from the excellently named sassy songstress ‘Ritzy’ and a quick photo with her to boot (well it does it you’re a cheeky bastard like me anyway). By the time the three piece have rattled through the sublime buzz of ‘Cradle’ there can be little doubt that they’ve won over a small legion of new adorers tonight and rightly so.

All of a sudden the queuing time for that overly priced and only just cold can of Red Stripe has increased five fold and the ‘cozy’ venue has turned into a sardine sauna of sorts. The air of excitement is now very apparent. With a large skull looming ominously from the rear wall, four dudes take to the stage wearing all black. Fair play, for the first time in a long while I can see we’re looking at men who look like they’re in a real band. No trilby hats and string vests here mate. What follows is nothing short of jaw dropping. Harry McVeigh bellows out the lyrics to his indie power ballad anthems with heartfelt intensity and effortless poise in equal measure. He clearly means every word of these excellently crafted songs and about thirty seconds into opening belter ‘Fairwell To The Fairground’, we all believe them too.

When I first heard White Lies I thought they sounded like 90’s also rans ‘Witness’, since then popular media comparisons seem to be towards ‘The Teardrop Explodes’ and ‘Echo And The Bunnymen’, fair game you may think. However having seen them live, comparisons to any band seem pointless and faintly ridiculous. Purely because only Joy Division and Radiohead would get a look in, in terms of passion of front man (Harry must have shed at least half a stone in sweat tonight) and the significance they (are about to) have on the musical landscape. In 20 years it is doubtful musical boffins at The University Of Killer Tunes will sit through a seminar to discuss the merits of The Pigeon Detectives middle eights. However, I believe in 20 years time (and more) White Lies will be more than discussed, they will be adored.

You see the power generated in this visual, vocal, lyrical and musical display is truly second to none. Debut single ‘Unfinished Business’ sounds iceberg meltingly MASSIVE as does new release ‘Death’ (ah so that explains the poster then). When Harry bellows ‘He didn’t cry when the Priest gave the sermon’ during ‘From The Stars’ you feel like you could well be in a Church, attending a Funeral. This kind of dark subject matter is seldom a source for excitement among gig goers but tonight death is for sale and its selling out fast.

As we make our way out of the venue like mud caked cars in a Monday morning festival car park, my mate receives a tap on the shoulder, presumably we thought for another Manc to pay respects to his Joy Division T-shirt (an earlier example in the night being ‘I was there mate! I was there 1980 whatever it was…). However this time the patron asks, ‘Err excuse me mate, how exactly do you know about this band’, almost as if he was checking if we were ‘real’ fans or that we truly appreciated the significance of what we had just witnessed. As it happens both of us were long time fans of the previous White Lies incarnation Fear Of Flying, an explanation which proved to be sufficient for the drunken quiz master.

As strange as this encounter was, it just seemed to show that as we heaved out of this tiny building we had all been privileged in seeing a band in their thrilling prime. Even the individual who took the spinning drumstick to the chops in the closing seconds of the set wouldn’t dream of complaining. White Lies are a very very special band. Which is why in the year 2028 when I’m down at The Night & Day Café and I see some young pretender in his retro White Lies T-shirt I can (and will) say ‘I was there mate! I was there 2008 mate!!

Debut album ‘To lose my life or lose my love’ is due Jan 2009. Buy it and love it.

Rich Melvin

Dat is als je na een prettige maaltijd in gaat zitten kakken.
Even een tukkie doen.
Je lichaam is hard aan het werk om alle vetten, suikers en overige rommel om te zetten in een acceptabele vorm van ontlasting.
Het eten moet zakken.
En dat gaat niet vanzelf.
Dat kost energie.
En daar word je moe van.

Ik ben ook moe.
Van de heerlijke maaltijd die Engeland heet.
Vier dagen duurde de trip slechts, maar het was bijzonder intensief.
Lange dagen, korte nachten.
En een man op leeftijd heeft een periode van herstel nodig.
Ik ga me niet groter voordoen dan ik ben.
Tenminste, nu even niet.
Ben kapot.

Het schakelen naar de realiteit kost me energie.
En daar word ik moe van.
Mijn eigen after diner dip.
Na het zoet, komt het zuur (JP).
Ik ken mezelf inmiddels redelijk goed, dus het komt wel weer in orde.
Ontwaken uit de reisroes.

Hoe dan ook was het meer dan de moeite waard.
De reacties waren mooi, aardig, bemoedigend, vol lof, overweldigend.
Gastvrijheid en hulpvaardigheid.
Ian, Cathy, John, Dave, Howard, Tamsin, Kees, Elaine, Ken, Ding, Dan, Lucy, en dan zo nog wat mensen die zomaar bij me opkomen.

Muziek.
Calvin Party.
Kin.
TamsinA.

Pubs.
Laatste ronde.
Voetbal (Blackburn Rovers - Fullham 1-0).
English Breakfast (WHAA! En toch lekker... in a very special way).
Fish and chips.
Oploskoffie.
Veel te zwarte thee.
Ranzige cappuccino.
Heerlijke cappuccino langs de snelweg (Costa!).

Service.
Tanken.
Links en dan weer rechts rijden.
Of was het toch links?

Nog een pub, nog een laatste ronde.
Nachtbraken.
Praten tot in de vroege uurtjes.
Nazitten.
Babbelen.
Hints met prettig aangeschoten gasten.

The Kings Arms was ons tweede huis.
Onze spullen mochten er blijven staan.
De bus stond er relatief veilig.
En het voelde ook alsof we in de veilige armen van de koning waren.

Man, er valt zoveel te vertellen, maar ik kan niet kiezen.
Het is te veel in een te korte tijd.
Adem in.
En weer uit.
Even bijkomen.

Grote kans trouwens dat we in februari weer naar onze vrienden gaan.
Mensen willen ons terugzien en -horen.
Kijk, dat zijn fijne berichten.

Nu snel weer terug in mijn schemerige hol.
Het licht doet pijn aan mijn ogen.

Rock-a-bye, baby
In the treetop
When the wind blows
The cradle will rock
When the bough breaks
The cradle will fall
And down will come baby
Cradle and all

The next two verses are less freaky, but nobody sings those. I looked up a little history on Wikipedia, "It is rumored that it was written by a young pilgrim who sailed to America on the Mayflower. He was said to have observed the way native-American women rocked their babies in birch-bark cradles, which were suspended from the branches of trees, allowing the wind to rock the baby to sleep. However, the branches holding the cradles sometimes had a habit of breaking, causing the cradle to fall and the baby in it to get hurt." There are a few other theories, but this one seems to hold the most water.

I guess after you read the history it's a little less disturbing, but still, I'm not sure I'll be singing it any time soon. :-)

Anyway, his character is a halfling thief. He's the son of a cabbage/corn farmer, although Bebkin himself knows nothing of agriculture. Rather, he studied winemaking under the vinters. Alas, he dumped INT, so he actually sucks at winemaking. He needs a roll of 7 or under on a d20. But I suppose that's all the more reason to turn to thievery. Keith describes him as a sort of 'diplomat' who can get along with everyone. His primary weapon is the bow, which is probably just as well. He doesn't sound much like a melee character, especially as he's only 2'11" tall.

Bebkin is a carefree, happy-go-lucky fellow with an emphasis on helping people. We'll see how well Keith sticks to that last one. The idea, I suppose, is that he will grow bored with the slow life of Lindendale and will seek to adventure in the Outerlands, providing the role of scout, archer, and diplomat.

Keith described Bebkin's 'diplomacy' as so: "I see him using his special brand of diplomacy to get the party out of trouble (probably that he got them into)." Now, I said before I wanted to give each PC a special ability, so I chose one that I felt fit this persona. It's called Smooth Talk, and it was originally part of the Bilker kit in the Complete Book of Halflings and Gnomes:

When confronted by a potentially hostile person or persons, he may attempt to smooth talk the other party (naturally, the attempt is only possible if both parties speak a common language, and the ability will not work if combat has already been joined). His Charisma score is subtracted from the victim's Wisdom score, and the victim must then roll under the resulting number or he will find himself nodding in agreement with whatever the smooth talker is proposing. Naturally, truly outrageous proposals will give the victim a hefty bonus (+1 to +5, depending on the nature of the suggestion). The victim also gains a cumulative +1 bonus for each previous time the smooth talker has used this ability on him. Still, this ability is very useful to help get the smooth talker and his friends out of a tight spot. Alas, the effect is temporary, lasting only a minute or two, so a smooth talker soon learns to get while the getting is good.

I think this ability could come in handy when the party is in trouble and needs to talk their way out of it quickly. It's not great for long-term situations, like trying to hammer out an alliance with another nation, but in terms of short-term, quick fixes, it will no doubt come in handy.

Let's hope that when the time comes that Bebkin needs to use this ability, it's not because of a situation he himself caused.

Well, that's two down--one to go. Hey, maybe we'll actually be ready to play in a couple of weeks.

I am really missing my game now. This is due to the frustrations I'm feeling toward the other two games I am participating in, no doubt. Matthew seems to have given up on his game, which I suppose was an inevitability. Play-by-post games, I've learned, are like television shows on FOX. They either suck or are canceled before they have a chance. Since I enjoyed Matthew's game more than any other pbp I've ever participated in, well...naturally it would die.

It's nice to know I'm still cursed.

See, I have this affliction. I must always be a DM. Any game where I am a player has to fail, usually before I hit level 2. Games I run can last for years, but games I play in usually can be measured in months, weeks, or even days.

The biggest exception was Ice's game. I participated in it for over 30 sessions and made it from level 2 to level 5. But god, did it suck.

Another example of this phenomenon is Joe's Pathfinder game. The first session was in mid-July. The second session has not yet to come to pass. On the rare occasions I don't have work and Joe doesn't cancel on me, my internet connection inexplicably craps out. Despite taking my sweet time, I suspect Cradle will be ready before Gimak steps foot outside of Sandpoint.

In any case, I'm eager to get my own game up and running now that I'm gameless. I'd prefer to have it ready before the holidays arrive and throw everyone's schedules off kilter again. Here is a list of things I still need to do:

1. Finish Keith's character. I'll probably do this tomorrow.
2. Roll up Joe's character, as soon as he's available.
3. Finish the website. I need to work on Geography, Timeline, and Politics. I also need to set up the page for CC1.
4. Finish up the first adventure: NPCs, maps, quests, missions, treasure, encounters, and so forth.

As I'm off tomorrow, I'll hopefully get at least some, if not most, of this done then.

Donderdagavond begon het feest.
En vierentwintig uur later had ik mezelf wijsgemaakt dat ik weer voldoende was hersteld om de ABC Treehut in Den Haag te verblijden met mijn bezoek.
Ik negeerde het lichte gevoel in mijn hoofd, de lichaamstemperatuur die dan weer aanvoelde als min zes en dan weer als plus zestig en het bijpassende zweterige hoofd.

Achteraf is het niet zo heel handig geweest, maar op het moment van spelen ging het heel behoorlijk.
Sterker nog, het ging goed.

De dag er na ook weer volop bezig, weg en onderweg.
Ik voelde me weer helemaal goed.

Nu betaal ik de rekening, want zowel gisteren als vandaag voel ik me zwaar lamlendig.
En uitgerekend nu er morgen een akoestische sessie en later deze week een trip naar Engeland op de rol staat.
Goed bezig, jongen, goed bezig.
Een klassiek voorbeeld van de zichzelf vervullende voorspelling.
Als de dood was ik dat ik deze week wellicht een fuck-upje zou hebben, et viola!

Dus nu ook maar niet verder zeuren.
Het is zo en ik kan er niets aan veranderen.
Behalve net doen alsof het er niet is.

Nog even de andere activiteiten updaten.
Mijn cluppie JV70 staat op punt van degraderen.
Geen ramp, wel jammer.

En volgende week moeten de tere luisterzieltjes het doen met een herhaling van het fantastische radioprogramma J3.
Ook niet heel erg, want iedere week maken we topradio.
Dan is een herhaling van zetten nog steeds een traktatie voor het oor.

"I'm Feeling So Real."
Echt waar, joh?

Dikke shizzle.
Ik ben fietsen, lopen, rennen.
Schuitje varen, theetje drinken.
Samen naar de overkant.
Engeland.
Enge land.
Engel and...

We're gonna rock da Cradle of music!

At coffee hour I was talking to a convert who doesn't show up often for liturgy. I asked him if he typically goes to the Greek church. He said no, he'd only been there twice. He then said "I don't like it over there. The chanting sounds like what you would find in a mosque".

A few hours later I met a cradle Orthodox woman, originally from Greece. She said she only goes to church for the epitaphios and for anastasi. She didn't like going to church here because it's too "American Orthodox". For her, going to church was a cultural thing, not a religious thing.

So two people, two vastly different complains about the exact same church. For the convert, the ethnic church was too ethnic. For the cradle, the ethnic church wasn't ethnic enough.

How ethnic should our parishes be? A convert can wonder about why he has to listen to this foreign-sounding Byzantine chant. Or why he has to hear about these obscure Saints from distant lands. The cradle misses the ornateness that she find in the churches in the land of her ancestors. She despises the "water-downess" of it all.

I predict that in the coming decades American Orthodoxy will hit her stride. Inevitably, Orthodoxy in American will be somewhat "protestant" in flavor. This is rather unavoidable, as the Orthodox will never be a majority, let alone declared the state religion. Furthermore, converts coming into the church will be the driving force. These people, who chose to become Orthodox and are therefore more likely to be enthusiastic about Orthodoxy, will become the leaders. They will become the priests. They will become the bishops. I tend to think that Orthodoxy will be stronger for it.

However, things will continue to become more "water-downed" unless the people step up to the plate and start embracing traditions that are Orthodox. I'm going to give an example that will guarantee that I will never be invited to a Christmas party again. Oh well.

It's wonderful that people open up their houses and throw Christmas parties. But I find it somewhat scandalous that Orthodox Christians have Christmas parties (with a majority of Orthodox guests) before Christmas. This is not the way it us supposed to be in Orthodoxy. We have our nativity fast, and once that is over we celebrate for 12 days. But Americans consider Christmas to be over on December 26. We Orthodox are emphatically not over Christmas on Dec 26; in fact, Christmas is just begining. The parties are for the 25th and after.

And so it is stuff like that that bothers this American cradle-born Orthodox gal. Some things are done for a reason, and the "ethnics" are better at holding on to those traditions than converts. When converts become the majority, that will be lost.

Ah well, as long as Tradition is kept, I 'spose that's what matters.

Don’t you just love those mini-skirts and go-go boots? The all girl band featured above isn’t the Runaways, the Go-Gos or the Bangles, the band pictured above is The Pleasure Seekers, formed in 1964 in Detroit, Michigan by 17-year-old Patti Quatro and her 15-year-old sister Suzi Quatro. They gained a reputation during the 1960’s as perhaps the best all-female garage rock band.

The band started out at a teen club called The Hideout and soon after were touring the Midwest and eventually even USO shows to Vietnam in 1967. Their first single, on the local Hideout label, was Never Thought You’d Leave Me. The flipside, What A Way To Die, was spotlighted in the cult drive-in film Blood Orgy of the Leather Girls.

They were also the first all-girl rock band to sign to a national label. Mercury Records inked the band in 1968 and they immediately released the single, Light Of Love that was aired nationally. The flipside was Good Kind of Hurt. I remember we had it in our 45 collection not long after it came out.
 
Another early recollection I have of the band is seeing them on the Upbeat TV show based in Cleveland, OH on WEWS Channel 5. After seeing them it finally hit me, Hey! Girls can rock n roll and play guitar too! What a novel concept!
 
The original line-up included Suzi Quatro (bass & vocals), Patti Quatro (guitar), Nancy Ball (drums) and Mary Lou Ball (guitar), and Diane Baker (keyboards). Eventually Arlene Quatro came on as keyboardist through 1969. (Of note, Arlene married manager Leo Fenn and their daughter is actress Sherilynn Fenn.) Other replacements included sister Nancy Quatro, Darline Arnone on drums and vocals and Eileen Biddlingmeier on rhythm guitar.

By 1970 they adapted the name Cradle and went with a much harder sound. Soon after Suzi left for England and a solo career and Patti went to California (in ’74) to join the all-female rock band Fanny.

By while they never achieved national superstardom, they rocked the house, with attitude, throughout the Midwest and the east coast during the freewheelin’ sixties and helped pave the road for other all-female bands to come along and be taken seriously as hard rockers.

Friday was a crazy day.  I ended up passing a Michael's craft store.  Ever since the Ragg Shop went bankrupt I rarely go to a craft store.  On my way home I was determined to go to that Michael's to pick up some yarn for another project for my niece.  This required quite a little detour. Well I finally got to the Michael's and had some cash to burn.  But none of the yarn inspired me  Apparently I have become a yarn snob when it comes to this little girl.

Before I start this post I want to make it clear that I love Psychonauts. It's a brilliant, brilliant game with most excellent platforming elements, sometimes laugh out loud humour and a wonderful art style. It's probably one of the best games I've played in a few years. However, it's got one glaring flaw that I'd like to rant about, because it had me so utterly frustrated I was close to giving up on the game entirely and not even bothering to see the ending.

I've managed to be quite insulated in my playing of Psychonauts, to the point where I hadn't really heard of many of the levels, I didn't know really how the game was played or anything to do with it's story beyond the fact that it was a brilliant game, it involved psychics, and it containted the level known as 'Meat Circus'.

I can't think of many games that contain a level perhaps more famous than the game itself. The obvious one that comes to mind is the Cradle from Theif 3, a level that really did stop me playing the game, because I'm a pussy and I couldn't handle creeping around a orphanage cum aslyum in the dark, while ghosts and hideously deformed mental patients hounded my every step, and the most I could do was sprinkle holy water at them. No, when you make something that scary, I'm just not going to play it, simple as that.

However, stubbornness in the face of pure, mind numbing difficulty is obviously something I possess where my courage at hearing little girls laugh where no little girls should be lies. You see, Meat Circus is a test of endurance. There are four stages to it (five if you count the first encounter with the Butcher), and each one is more frustrating than the last. It's almost a feat of game design that they managed to make the escort mission the least frustrating of the lot, but somehow they managed it. I mean, all you have to do is hold up the rabbit and let a little boy walk over to it while mangled mutant rabbits attack both you and him. And then, once he has the rabbit, he flies off and you have to swing, jump and balance your way up to him while the mutant rabbits try to kill him. Simple, right?

Then you get to the 'Tunnel of Love'. Oh, Double Fine, how your irony knows no bounds! what follows is a trip down the tracks of the ride, most of which are missing, and most of the missing pieces are after abrupt turns, so you have to have the reflexes of a time slowing Persian Prince to jump over them. Ten tries later, once you've mapped all the holes in your mind, you get to the main tent, and your first encounter with the Butcher.

Now, the Butcher isn't so bad. You just have to run up his arm and bop him in the head a few times, no questions asked. Once I'd figured that out, it was rather simple. But the fact that he's 20 foot tall, wielding two 20 foot long cleavers and running after you tends to hamper your problem solving skills a little, and the previous frustration of the last two stages are kind of lingering, making everything hugely irritating. However, you take him out, and that's fine. Then you get to the really astonishing part.

Perhaps the only thing worse than escort missions and sudden miss-a-step-and-die sections are timed pieces. You see, after the Butcher you have to beat rising water to get to the top of the tent. Not only are the platforming sections here fiendishly difficult, to the point where you're gasping with exasperation and throwing your hands up in the air at every mistake, but there is some utter tosser throwing spiked juggling pins which are lit on fire. I mean, just making it timed and fiendishly difficult was enough, but no, they had to have some bloke throwing flaming maces at you. I mean, come on guys, seriously?

I'm not going to go into the details of all of the platforming puzzles, because, quite frankly, I don't want to think about them. The fact is, I made it through, defeated the Butcher a second time and completed the game. But man, if it wasn't frustrating. Somehow, the picture that rolls with the credits makes it all seem alright.. I mean, they're all smiling, right?

It was a dozen years ago when I first met the elderly man who came to stay in our apartments along with his wife. He was very soft spoken and smiled at me when ever he went for a walk. For the past two years, he rarely came out of the house and used to watch life from his second floor balcony, atop mine. He became very reclusive off late and hardly spoke to anyone. On Tuesday evening, he came from the balcony to the 'living room', rubbed Vicks on his chest, and sat in front of the TV. He slowly collapsed on the sofa, and died in the 'living room'. The sun set in his life literally at sunset time.

He left for his last journey yesterday morning, and a young one started on life's adventurous journey in the evening. The lady opposite our flat entered the apartment complex with a young bundle of joy.

Rare to see life and death at such close quarters on the same day!

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I did change things a little, though. I made the mayor a cleric, put up a spooky forest to the north, and fleshed out a few things. I created four recruitable NPCs for the party (based off of people I used to know in real life). I'm also setting up a second town to the south, if I should need it.

I discussed in an earlier entry my dilemma on whether I should go linear or nonlinear. I've decided on nonlinear at the moment. It could blow up in my face, but as the party is so small right now, it shouldn't create too much indecision (hopefully). I intend to cater the first quests on the party, coming up with stuff that matches their abilities. For instance, if someone plays a druid, I'll create some nature-based quests. If someone plays a miner, I'll use that second town I mentioned (a mining village).

The players will be encouraged to follow whatever plot hooks they want, as well as possibly create their own. However, I'm still counting on the idea that they take the game outside of the Deltalands and explore the rest of the world. That's sort of the main premise of this game, after all.

Anyway, regarding Lindendale...in the past, I had a history of just plopping towns down on a random spot of the map, without any consideration for resources. So with this town, I'm trying to be more realistic, like I did with Voxis in the last game.

The process I use is to consider the following: Food, water, metal, lumber (or other construction materials), defense, and trade.

Lindendale is in the Deltalands which means the land is extremely fertile. There are several farms built into the town itself, so food is covered. It's built next to a river, which covers water. The forest to the north covers lumber and the town to the south can provide metal and trade. This second village, called Tinsville, can trade its metal ores and goods to Lindendale in exchange for its surplus of lumber from the forest. Seems like a good deal to me.

That just leaves defense. However, I intentionally and not giving Lindendale any kind of militia or walls because life has been very peaceful up to this point. Nobody attacks them and monsters tend to stay confined to the deep wilderness. This may change later on, though, when the party discovers all the dangers in the Outerlands.

The quests found in Lindendale will be pretty simple and straightforward. It won't be anything grand or terribly exciting, because I want to encourage them to go out into the world. That's where all the fantastic, crazy stuff can be found.