News-flavored News!

I got shit going on. Nothing particularly world-ending or mind-bending, but it’s some shit, and it’s dang well going on.

First, DIY Days NYC registration is open. You’re going, right? I mean, if you’re anywhere in the Northeast, c’mon. You’re going. I know you are. You want to hear me stammer through a talk about “Using Games To Tell Stories.” It’s going to be exciting. C’mon. Other awesome people (meaning, those far awesomer than I) will be speaking. Ted Hope? Molly Crabapple? Brian Newman? This won’t suck. This will be the polar opposite of suck. Come. Show up. Did I mention it’s free?

Second, you know I’m going to be at SimCon, right? Doing a talk about game writing, and running two games (Hunter and Changeling, I think). It’s in Rochester. You want to go. I know you do. Hell, you live down in this area, I’ll drive you. (Yeah, it’s the same weekend as PAX. Shut up. I can’t go to that, anyway, and neither can you. So come with me, instead!)

Third, I got three words for you: Do. Some. Damage. Not only can you listen to me ramble and mumble over at their latest podcast, but I will be joining them over the next couple weeks to fill in while Jay Stringer goes to rehab to get himself clean. Poor lad’s addicted to those horse tranquilizers popular amongst youths, you see. He’s gone goofy on them, and they need someone to fill in. Since my horse tranquilizer addiction is nicely under control (I can quit at any time), they’re giving me a shot. The podcast, by the way, features discussion around Harvey Keitel’s penis and anal sex between dinosaurs. So, y’know. There’s that.

Fourth, hey! I got freelance work. It’s a goodly hunk from some great folks at a company that makes a very interesting roleplaying game. I’ll talk about that more when I can.

Fifth, hey! That doesn’t mean I still don’t need more work. Line it up, fellas. Seriously. Games? Scripts? Fiction? Whatever you got, pitch it at me. I’m a wordwhore. Stick it in me.

Sixth, you might want to keep your grapes peeled for this. Maybe I had something to do with it. Could be, rabbit. Could be.

Seventh, the script is done. Sixth rewrite of the script is done done diggity done. And I think it works, by god. This was a rewrite from the ground-up. Not a single scene or line of dialogue carried over from the previous draft. We truly killed our darlings with this one — the entire third act? A third act we loved? A third act I still love? It’s gone. Gone, baby, gone. Feels great.

And oh! Hey. Real quick. Codemonkeys. Help me out.

This is what I want.

I want the hyperlinks on this site to be highlighted in black (or dark gray) boxes with white text.

I’ll see if I can dig up the proper example. I had one, and then I lost it like an asshole. Er, an asshole who loses things, not a guy who lost his asshole.

(Ooh, wait! Found it. Example. His are highlight yellow. See? I want that! Help!)

Old Man Winter Can Suck It, And Suck It Hard

It has thawed.

And with it comes the annual Turd Hunt.

See, today I found myself occupied for a good hour, hour-fifteen, wandering the yard in a grid-like pattern, scooping up what look like mummified canned yams. When winter hits really hard — particularly with fucktons of grumpy snow — the dogs go out, the dogs do their business, and it just sits out there. No real way to scoop the poop. The snow eats it. And preserves it for later.

The yard is home to countless ashy piles of dogshit. At least 25% of them also feature what looks to be paper towels and tissues that have wound through someone’s intestinal tract and come out the other side because… oh, wait, that’s exactly that they are. The big dog, Yaga, loves to chow down on paper products, and then when he takes a dump, it looks like he’s evacuating a white, crinkly snake from his haunches.You ever use one of those paper towel dispensers that dispenses the towel in what is effectively a paper rope?

Yeah. It’s like that.

(And when he does the number two, he looks like a dude in a gorilla suit taking a crap. Let that image sit with you for a while. Let it pickle. It’s a good one.)

I got two full Target bags full of (sh)it. Each with the shape and weight of a bowling ball.

But you know what I saw as I scooped the poop, as I flicked the shit? Ants. Spiders. Moths. Living creatures. Er, not in the feces, but wandering around it, in the grass, in the flower beds. And you know what I heard as I woke up this morning? Birds. Motherfucking birds, chirping and tweeting and chattering to one another! Haha! Woo! It’s like someone tied a helium-filled Mylar balloon to my heart — internally, I experience a grand lift, a feeling of spiritual buoyancy. I fucking hate winter. The vitamin-giving daystar hides behind gauzy phlegm skies, and I just want to hibernate. At least for January and February, which are the temporal equivalent of gruel. Gray mush. Long slog. Moist. Cold. Gyeh. Muhhhh. Snergh.

So, Old Man Winter, you can chug a cock. And that cock is a bomb. And bomb blow up.

Because spring has sprung! Sort of! Woo!

The Oscars, Really Really Late!

Oscars!

Who cares?

Once the Oscars are done, does anybody give a shit? Probably not.

Let me just say: it was a fairly boring show, but they’re all fairly boring. Baldwin and Martin actually cracked me up, which I guess isn’t a common opinion. I’m happy with the outcome. Good films got good awards. Not sure any award recipient actually made my spit curdle, so that’s a pretty banner year. The Hurt Locker is an incredible film and deserves what it gets. It didn’t win because she’s a she. It won because she made a kick-ass fucking movie. End of story.

Holy Shit, Tron!

I loved Tron as a kid, but have long since forgotten the joy.

But now?

I am surprisingly excited. Maybe it’s because this is a kick-ass trailer with ass-kicking music:

Lightcycles! Discs! Flynn! Eeeee!

It makes me want to go back and see the first movie. I haven’t looked — is there a good special edition DVD? If you know of one, give a shout.

Because baby want.

Baby want bad.

Lynx! Links! Whatever!

Inexplicably, Julie Summerell says very nice things about me. And about the Internet. She is obviously mule-kicked. You do read her blog, right? She’s a great storyteller. Her personal life, laid bare.

Weddle and Hornor got this Needle Mag going — noir crime fiction, baby. Website: riiiiight here. No, you cannot submit to them, so stop asking them about it.

Will talks about TV, and it is good. I am particularly pleased by his weekly Lost recap, a show I love dearly. His recaps are good stuff. Not obtrusive. Not boggy. Clean. They get to the point. Read them.

Durian Fruit. Taste test. Hilarity ensues.

Tim Burton’s secret formula!

Seth Godin’s blog says: “Try Different!“

An admittedly irrational screed against popcorn! (And I happen to completely agree. Go to hell, popcorn. Popcorn always tries to kill me. It always launches one of those sharp little kernely bits into the back of my throat where it hangs there like an ill-swallowed fingernail chewing. I choke. I cough. I always choke, I always cough. Goddamn you, popped corn. Goddamn you to hell.)

Did you say, “A Leverage Roleplaying Game?” You did, indeed, Internet! You got my letters!

Jason Blair is rocking a new website! Go! Gaze upon it!