Wednesday, July 19, 2006
I loved board games as a kid -- Monopoly, Parcheesi, Clue, Checkers, Scrabble. I never was much good at Chess, but I never dreamt I'd end up being anyone's pawn; I'm usually the one doing the checkmating. Later on, when Trivial Pursuit came out, I loved that one, too, and bought several editions over the years.
Adult "board games," I'm not so crazy about. I have a message board, and a lot of other people have message boards. Some of them are informative and just plain fun; others, not so much. When people you truly loathe have a board of their own and use it for nothing much more than self-aggrandizement (Look at me! Look at me!), look out. Especially when they use it, one way or another, to poke at other people for their own self-glorification. At that point, it becomes a bored game. It's like some people live to torment the living hell out of other people. I poke; darn right, I do. The difference is, I poke in self-defense. I don't poke first, and I never, ever do it for the attention it might bring my way. That kind of attention I neither need nor want. I prefer the middle ground, somewhere between martyr and exhibitionist, neither of which I am. Nor have any desire to be. I respect other peoples' boundaries and try to maintain a sense of propriety. When I get jabbed in the back with one of those sharp objects, however, all bets are off. I can give as good as I get. I'm gifted that way.
I don't get it. But then, I don't have to. I do have to watch my back, and if you make it to the Shit List, so should you. I'm down to about a handful of people I actually trust -- and I'm one of them. That's not good.
A lot of crazy stuff happens under a Full Moon. The rest, I blame on potatoes. I'm sharp enough to know I'm supposed to wear tinfoil on my head to block The Voices. Thing is, there was a bit of a disagreement a while back regarding the proper method of affixing said tinfoil. I thought nailing it on was a bit extreme and advised other people against it. Only then was I informed that holes, in fact, vitiate the foil's efficacy. See, I'd been reusing foil that potatoes had been baked in. I was promptly admonished that the foil needs to be shiny and new, with no fork holes.
I got a bag of potatoes and did some experiments regarding nail holes versus fork holes as opposed to no holes. I went through the whole bag before I was finally satisfied that the cardinal rule regarding tinfoil is: don't fork it up. Unfortunately, the potatoes took offense, organized, and got up a Potato Rebellion. Trust me, nobody in their right mind wants to mess with pissed off potatoes.
Ho-hum. The Word Cops were out in force today. These author impostors are now safely behind bars for taking indecent liberties with linguistics:
Want to here it. (Sure, tell us all about it -- right hear. Can you here me now?)
Photagrapher. (I hope they didn't get my phota.)
All photos are copywritten by their respected owners. (Do tell! While I'm sure they're all quite well respected, how precisely would one go about writing photo copy?)
The (publisher's) guild lines. (Heh.)
I don't noticed. (I noticed it right away.)
I perferr. (It offends me that anyone who would write this in public would dare claim the title "writer.")
If they are not an intrest to me. (Spell-check would have caught this interesting boo-boo; takes about 10 seconds.)
Sayith. (Say ith with flowers, so saith Miss Begotten, except when she sayeth it.)