There's something in the newspaper today that really pisses me off. Our ministry of education wants to do something to help the emancipation of homosexuals, whatever that means. So then, a reformed christian group stands up to advise schools that homosexuality should not be a taboo, but youngsters should still be deterred from having homosexual relationships. De chairman of this reformed christian group says: "Homosexuality should not be seen as normal." Now I have heard sounds like this from the reformed christian sides of our country before; they say that they are ok with people who are homosexual, as long as they don't practise it. (praktiseren)

WTF! I know a few homosexuals, and about all of them have or are looking for a steady relationship with one person. What exactly do those stuck-up religious people mean by "practising"? Can't homosexuals live and sleep with the person they love, just because that person happens to be of the same sex? I don't think that's what they mean. I think they mean that they don't want those men having anonymous sex in the bushes of the park. Well, let me tell you, most homosexuals who have been accepted as such, live with their partner and have sex in their house! The ones that go to the park at night to have anonymous sex, are the ones that can't admit that they're homosexual, because those stuck-up christians won't accept that!

Why are people always trying to force their ideas on others?
/very big sigh

Yes! I'm starting a new D&D 3.5 campaign and it's really making me bounce! I came up with an interesting setting, scavenged from other fiction I know well, scrambled and put back together with a little of my own imagination as superglue, and I feel very comfortable with it. I hope the players will like it too.

Remco is not playing with us, so he can help me with the plot and some guest roles whenever he feels like it. Daniel and StH will be there, two very reliable players. Marlix, whose play style I like very much, is coming and he brings a friend, who is known to be a munchkin. And last but not least, Fub! 

Really looking forward to our first session this Tuesday.

So far: five wasps, two live ones and three dead. Four in the attic and one in the bathroom. Some of them were freaking huge. I hope we don't have a hive under the roof somewhere...

Also, fabric softener. I have no idea how it works. I add it the right way around in the washing machine, but when my towels have dried, they feel like sandpaper... Must be doing something wrong. Again.

Sigh

Good thing we're not playing tonight; my internet connection is imitating a stroboscope. But when will we play then? Marlix is off on holiday tomorrow, so the options are: 

edited 

Looks like Wed 28 May and Wed 11 June are our best bets for now.

chicknstu pointed out this article to me, and I don't know whether to laugh or cry about it.

read it yourself

I hope that when I have kids, and I decree that the rule is that the nintendo will be shared equally, my kids will reply with: "Yes mum." I realise that the game machine will be the subject of fights, because it's just so much fun. But I think I will find ways to keep my children from hitting each other over the head and playing the games on the toilet or after bedtime. And I think that if I want my children to have their hair cut, and they are still under the age of ten, I will just take them to get a haircut. Jeez, this woman needs to learn some discipline...

My characters are always sides of me; things I have in me, exaggerated, a burlesque of something that could have been me. The character I play at Aon, Akklanna the barbarian, is very dear to me, because she's an extract of my "strong" side. Though she has the intellect and the attention span of a child, she is fearless and feels the need to protect others. It's very satisfying to see the respect she gains because of these qualities, and I feel powerful when playing her. Not to mention attractive. I can't deny that the armor helps, because it is very flattering to my figure (and I will add links to pictures taken of it later) but somehow Akklanna's confident attitude also contributes to her attractiveness.

This Aon, the Schnoodaard family organised their annual pig throwing festival, and though I didn't participate as much as I could have, it gave me a chance to show off Akklanna's more violent side. I could have passed up the invitation to the Raikua camp so that I could throw a few pigs, but since the pig-throwing still depends or your OC throwing skill and OC I throw like a girl, I chose to spend my time building a relationship with a group of characters who were very interested in me, and the feeling was mutual. I could have let Sna's character Gino talk me into the Miss Pig Pagent so that I could wear a gorgeous dress, but I would have strayed away from Akklanna if I had. It would just have been Nathreee enjoying a pretty dress, and that's something I can enjoy somewhere else, perhaps at the Raganorck ball that Evolution Events is planning...

I did however participate in the most brutal part of the festival: pigball. A sport much like English rugby, only with a live pig instead of a ball. At least at the beginning of the match. Wrestling and clawing at my opponents was a huge adrenaline rush, and though I will not deny that I was not as tough and devoted as some of the guys (Sorry to Martijn for that very stupid moment, and sorry to Smokey for ripping his shirt) I embraced the violence of the game. It was a rush, something I will not forget soon, but it was not me. My aggressive side is not my prettiest; I showed off my loud voice, calling both opponents and teammates wussies, swearing and screaming every time we lost a point, and I made rude gestures when we were congratulated on a splendid match. I was on the losing team, and Akklanna clearly had trouble dealing with losing. I think it was an amusing spectacle, or that's what the other players told me, but in my heart I was a little shocked and ashamed. There she was, the noble and strong protector of defenseless old ladies like Rawenda, ready to snap someone's arm because he had beat her at a game.

Another thing I hadn't expected was the energy it took. I was utterly exhausted after the game, and though I thought I would be alright after a shower, I retreated to my bed soon after. Dennis, who had watched the whole thing and who had graciously allowed me to put my bed in his tent, had expected this. He knows me so well. He drove me home this morning, because I was still tired even after a full night's sleep. Not physically tired, but emotionally. I had never chanelled so much rage in my life, and though it was immensely satisfying, it left me drained. Even now, after a hot bath, a quiet walk in the park and some relaxing on the couch, I can't say I feel like myself yet.

All in all, Akklanna is a very intriguing character to play, but I doubt I will be going back to Aon. Though I respect and admire some of the decisions made by the orga of Enneade, like initiative to offer all the players "broodjes Eef" for breakfast for one euro , which will be donated to the Cancer Foundation, and the fact that the IC coins and alchemy components are made of natural materials, so that it doesn't matter if some of them are accedintally left lying around in the forest, I don't agree with other decisions that make Aon into the event it is. I'm not saying that those decisions are bad, because they aren't and I understand how some players would love Aon. It's just a matter of taste.

So, a very interesting weekend this was, thanks to Enneade, the NPCs and my fellow players. 

Here is a picture of the pigball match I have been able to salvage:

There's a whole lot on my mind. Explaining it all would take hours. So let me just give you a summary.

Symbols 7 was very intense. I'm not used to being an NPC, changing roles several times per day is something I haven't got down yet. I kind of enjoyed playing each character differently, but I had trouble pretending every time was my first time in the village and forgetting the rumours I had heard with a previous character.

I thoroughly enjoyed playing Lily. I hope the players of Lotus and Vaj enjoyed it too. I also had a lot of fun as Vivi, especially with all the raunchy jokes I made witht he Nocona. Varaashi and Vivi will continue their experiments next time, I guess. Though I still wonder who silently killed Devios...

Out of character, Symbols was intense too. That's a little hard to explain, but it just was. Even apart from the people worrying about all the IC-reasons they had to just pack up and leave and how that would mean the end of Symbols.

Generally, I'm proud of myself. Life is good. Work is relaxed. But the house is a mess. I don't know where to start. The garden is a huge green deluge of grass that just keeps coming, and I have no lawnmower. I need to get a new mouthpiece for the vacuum cleaner, and every time I use it I feel like it's in vain, because the dust and cat hair will just be back in a few days. The laundry isn't bugging me as much as it used to in the apartment, though, because we can now hang it to dry in the attic, out of the way.

Other stuff in the house bugs me too. The cupboard for our clothes is still not fixed. All our clothes are still in suitcases and boxes... There are still some leftovers from the painting we did in January scattered about the garage. Boxes full of stuff we haven't unpacked yet. Sigh...

Aon is coming up this weekend. I was really looking forward to it, because I simply love my character there, and a lot of friends play there too. I hope it will me more fun and less tiring than I fear.

That's some of the things that are on my mind.

Sna has just let me know that he can't make it to Crossfire. We will have to find another date. 

EDIT: How about 13 May? Sna?

Many thanks to Palanthe and Stormcrow, who helped accomplish this. Also thanks to Lupijn and Alactus, who helped when they had time.

I saw this on Danicia's LJ and it's simply lovely :P

It's just past six o'clock and Mama Lulu's diner is quiet. At the table in the corner by the window, two scruffy old men are enjoying a glass of wine and a game of checkers. Mama can be heard in the kitchen; she's singing "Vogliatemi bene" in her loud soprano voice. Tony the Pitchfork is collecting used glasses and plates from the empty tables. His black T-shirt fits a little too tightly around his bulging muscles, but his stainless white apron is tied around his middle with care. His nose looks like it was once broken, but his eyes have a rather sharp look in them. As he returns behind the bar, he dusts the only decoration that adorns the diner's flowery wallpapered walls: the pitchfork that earned him his nickname. 

The bell chimes and the "we are open" sign clanks against the glass as the door opens and a mousy man wearing a long, grey raincoat enters and wipes his feet on the mat. The sounds echo through the diner again when he closes the door behind him. Tony looks up from the dirty dishes and smiles. "Hey Lucky."
Lucky runs a hand through his thinning hair before he approaches the bar and climbs up on a stool. "Evening Tony, how is business?"
"What do you think?" Tony raises an eyebrow. "At least Mama is in a good mood today." Laughing, he reaches for a glass and pours Lucky some gin. "And how is your business?"
Lucky doesn't answer, he's nervously searching the pockets of his coat. After a few seconds, he seems to calm down again as he puts a pack of cigarettes and a wad of money down on the bar. He flashes Tony a timid smile as he lights a cigarette with his shaking hands. 

Mama's puffy hand suddenly wrenches the door to the kitchen open and her round silhouette fills the doorway. She looks around the diner for a moment and her eyes light up as she sees the mousy man on the barstool.
"Lucas! I'm making carbonara, you want some, no?" She exclaims in her heavy Italian accent.
Lucky nods. "Yes, thank you Mama."
"Bene!" As she slams the door shut again and continues her singing, Tony smiles. "Carbonara..." He licks his lips.

Holding his cigarette between the fingers of his left hand, Lucky is searching his pockets again with his right. From an inner pocket he produces a yellowed notebook which he puts down next to the wad of money before bringing the cigarette to his lips. The diner's door opens noisily and a young couple comes in. As Tony shows them to a quiet table and takes their order, Lucky thumbs through the notebook in front of him and unwraps the wad of money to make several stacks, which he carefully counts. 
Tony carefully opens the kitchen door. "Mama, two pizzas with salami and pepperoni."
"Si, Antonio."

With a worried look, Lucky picks up one of the stacks in front of him and counts it again. Tony opens a bottle of beer and takes a large swig of it as he leans against the bar. He studies Lucky for a moment.  "Are you short?"
Lucky shakes his head and reaches over the bar. "Lemme use the phone, please."
Tony picks up the big black telephone from under the counter and puts it on the bar, chuckling at his own joke. "Of course you're short, you're only five feet two."
"Very funny." Lucky mumbles as he fingers the numbers on the telephone. His eyes shift nervously from the stacks of money to the notebook and back to the telephone as he sucks on his cigarette, waiting for someone to pick up. Tony watches him as he goes back to washing dirty cups and glasses.

"Hello Whitey? Oh, you're his secretary? Sure lady, whatever." He sounds little annoyed. "Listen, this is Lucky... just Lucky. Mr. White knows me... Ok, just let him know that I talked to Vito... The Vito with the big moustache... Mr. White knows who that is, capiche? ... You know what? Just pass me Mr. White, will ya? ... Sure he is, lady. Just pass the phone to him." Lucky puts out the cigarette and drums his finger on the bar. "Whitey! Yeah, it's Lucky. Listen up, I talked to Vito today and... Exactly!" Lucky nods fervently and rolls up the stacks of money as he listens to the telephone. Finally he replies: "I don't know why you keep asking me. You know that's not something I can arrange." Suddenly his face flushes red and he looks up at Tony. "I don't like the sound of this, Whitey... He's a dangerous kid, Tony and I don't like him much." 
Tony frowns as he arranges the clean glasses neatly on the counter. "What's going on, Lucky?"

"Ok, alright already. I'll ask him... Yeah, see you there." Lucky puts down the phone and takes his cigarettes, the money and the notebook back into his pockets. He casts a nervous look at the kitchen door and says: "You gotta ask Mama the night off, Tony."
Tony nods. "I see."

About three years ago, friends of ours, a couple with two young children,  arrived home from holiday. They unlocked the house and opened the door to the garden to let everything air, and they were greeted by a chorus of "Mieew!". A stray Calico had decided that their garden was the perfect place to have her four kittens. The children were immediately smitten with the kittens and this meant that the parents ended up buying catfood. Consequently, the Calico decided to make this her new home.

Our friends had no intention of keep four cats in their house, and strated to inquire whether anyone wanted a kitten. Two of the kittens were orange and white, one was black and white and one was completely pitch black. I had been wondering whether I wanted a cat of my own, but I was hesitant to buy one. So when our friends told me I could get a little black kitten for free, I could not resist.

Bimfoodle was named after a D&D character and he came to live with us when he was about three months old. Remco and I developed ourselves as rather strict cat-owners, with rules like: no clawing the couch, no sitting on the tables or the kitchen counter, no sleeping in our bed. Bimfoodle caught on rather quickly, and now he knows all the rules; he never does those things when we're around.

Curious and ingenious as Bimfoodle is, he quickly taught himself how to open doors, so that he could hang around us more often. He doesn't like to be alone, but he doesn't like to be cuddled either. He hates being cold and will try to sit in people's laps to get warm, but only if you sit still and don't touch him. Now I'm not the type to sit still, plus I love to pat and caress him, so Bim and I have a problem there. Whenever he really wants to warm up against a human body, and Remco is not around, he jumps into my lap and squints at me with a look in his yellow eyes that says: "If you caress me even once, I will bite!" A promise he always keeps.

Our new house was a big adventure for Bim. The floors are all wood, which he doesn't like, because of the slipperiness, and those stairs... Dangerously fascinating. The first day in our new house, Bimfoodle had been studying the stairs for a while from afar, when I suddenly picked him up, put him at the top and went back down myself. He was like: WTF are you doing to me? Don't put me down here! How am I going to get back down? Come back! Oh no, this is really high... Hey! I can jump down here, now I'm closer to the ground... Well, a bit. Hey, there's another step here. Oh, so that's how it works... Does it work the other way too? Eek! Nope, that's still really high. Ok, another step down. Hey this works! Etc. 

Bim and the stairs have been great friends ever since.

It was 20:00 sharp when Glok signed in and we promptly summoned him to Caer Darrow. Without further delay I graciously opened the door to the instance and we carefully started to clear the mobs. Sna was very disappointed to learn that even though the school is the home of many hideous creatures, we would be encountering no oozes tonight. We tried to compensate by giving him stuff to do, like shackling undead, and occaisionnally even healing.

Poor Smokey was not having a good day. The large amount of casters in the first part of the dungeon required him to cast counterspell, which is usually enough to make any mage pretty miffed, and as we made our way deeper into the instance, the ghouls that excrete deadly gasses when they are vanquished really became a threat to Smokey's rather modest health bar. But Smokey was not the only one who needed to be brought back from the dead. Both Marlix (even in his invincible Chicken form) and I succombed to the gasses too.

Quite unexpectedly, we found the Helm of Valor, which Glok immediately put on. Sna remarked to him that it was really a very nice helmet, it made his tentacles look good, and Glok replied: "Tentacles... I almost forgot I had those..." We demand a screenshot, dear Glok.

The mobs in this instance were no big challenge for Crossfire, which meant we rushed through it so much like a bulldozer on nitro, that I can hardly remember which boss we killed where, and what we found on its corpse. The only really big problem we had, was that the batteries in Glok's mouse were dying and replacing them didn't help much. While he was off trying to find some way to make his mouse work, Smokey ran off towards the cellar to kill some of the undead there, stating that we were perfectly capable of getting ourselves killed without Glok's help.

At the end of the evening, Crossfire dinged level 60, which means that we've been hanging out together for quite a while now. Next time is on 6 May and we will be heading to Lower Blackrock Spire. Glok said to pick up all the quests, except one, but I've forgotten which one. I'm going to bed now. Albine signing off.

James died while my parents were on holiday here. The story sounds so familiar... Candy passed away a few months ago, and I guess he just couldn't live without her.

I remember that Chana died while we were on holiday too. Chana was a lilac point siamese, and about eight years older than I was. She passed away when I was 11, quite a respectable age for a siamese. My mum said she didn't know whether we would have another cat after that, she just really missed Chana's loud voice. Chana would talk back to you. "Hello Chana, how are you?" Maaaooooooooow, she would reply in her typical siamese alto.

The house was too quiet when she passed away. My dad started to inquire about young siamese cats again. He found a breeder of siamese cats in Amsterdam, who recommended James to us. He had previously sold James to some really posh people, but they had returned him because his colour didn't quite go with the couch and he demanded too much attention.

At the same time, a friend of my mother's had a rather feral abessynian cat who came home one night with a single kitten. It was no doubt hers, because the stripes were definately the same, but the pregnancy had gone unnoticed and the mother had no intention of taking care of it. She dumped the teeny kitten in the kitchen and promptly went outside again. My mother helped her friend with advice on how to feed the kitten, and in the end decided to take the kitten into our family. My brother named her Candy.

We had received James just a few days before Candy arrived into our family. James was a chocolate point siamese with a hesitant soprano voice. Whenever he spoke, it sounded nothing like Chana, but more like a baby attempting to say mama, which my mum found very flattering. Candy was a tiny tabby with white legs and a white face. She didn't say much, unless she was hungry, and the bottle feeding because her mother was too busy flirting to take care of her, had left her with a strange taste for rubber.

On the first day the tabby kitten entered our house, she was afraid. James had installed himself as the owner of the windowsill and had been testing out whose lap was the most comfortable and warm, and the sudden entrance of this little creature was a bit of shock. She looked nothing like his family at the breeder, and though she was afraid, her temper was foul. The second day, James went into hiding. Candy had probably made it clear to him that she was not his cuddly toy with her infant but razorsharp claws, and since James was such an inbred that he had no idea what his claws were for, he cowered in a corner while she explored her new territorium.

The third day, the central heating broke down, not a very nice thing to happen in mid-november, and the two rivals were huddling in the basket in front of the electric heater together. From that day onwards, they were inseparable.

Candy would go out to hunt mice and frogs and lizards while James basked in the sun during the day, and during the night they would sleep together in the basket. Not immediatly, mind you. Candy would claim the basket, after she had claimed dinner (which was fine with James, because siamese don't care much for food anyway) and James would tentatively approach. If he dared to put one paw in the basket with her, she would bite him and slap him over the head. James would then sit down next to the basket and wait until she had fallen asleep, before crawling in next to her. If she woke up, he would wash her head with his tongue, lulling her back to sleep.

Sometimes Candy would bring live mice or frogs and dump them in front of James. Stupid as he was, he would look at these creatures and sniff them, fascinated. I remember this one time when the mouse sat up on its hind legs to sniff back, wondering what kind of cat this was that didn't eat him. This would last until Candy lost her patience and devoured the little thing as a demonstration. James would shrug and try to cuddle her, but as always she would reply with a slap.

When Candy died a few months ago, James changed. The basket was more empty than he could handle and he demanded that my mum and dad cuddle him constantly to compensate. He discovered his real siamese voice and he would stand in the staircase yelling louder than Chana had ever done, enjoying the echo. He stopped eating and passed away just a week or two ago. Mum and dad complain that the house is so quiet now, but they have assured me that they will have no more cats.

Looked like Wed 23 April or Thur 24 April were good options, until Smokey said he can't make it. I think we're going to have to postpone until Tue 6 May. How is that for everyone? 

EDIT: I have reserved 6 May, but I'm still hoping for this Wednesday or Thursday too, Smokey please let us know if it's possible soon, then we can do Scholo this week and DM North on 6 May.

Friday night, Jelka came to our house to sleep over before we would go to the EFF. Together we picked out what we would wear to the fair and we turned it into a girly evening, watching Bridget Jones and eating chocolate. Saturday morning Stijn returned from Spain, and since his plane departed at 4 in the morning, he had had practically no sleep. 

Remco drove us all to the fair and we dressed up. The weather was nicer than expected and it felt like the crowd wasn't as suffocating as last year. Mascha's stand got her share of attention, though she was so tired and nervous that I'm rather curious to hear what she thought of it. A good point: all the business cards are gone!

It was good to walk around on the fair, greeting some familiar faces as I went along, enjoying the sights of people in beautiful and hideous costumes. Two people asked me specifically where I had my armor made, and I explained with much pride who Gerard Gooier is and how he works.

Moeke and Pap were especially impressed by the size and the crowd at the fair. Moeke was utterly overwhelmed. "You always said that you play with about 80 people." Yes, Moeke that's right, I don't like the big events. But this is the Fair, there's 20 000 people from all over Europe here... She also was jubilant about my armor: "It really does wonders for your figure!" I got a little annoyed; I wanted to say: "Actually, it doesn't, it just fits really tightly." But I just smiled and thanked her. Pap took some pictures, I wonder what they think in hindsight.

By the end of the afternoon, Stijn was falling asleep, and we headed home.

Sunday was the Symbols NPC meet at Wouter's house. Maglok explained to us what the main plot would be all about, and Wouter and Glimworm interjected from time to time. Symbols has really got me excited, not just because it's going to be a great weekend, but also because I'm very happy with the roles I have been cast for.

When the plot explanations were done, Glimworm took us all to the park and with some theatre exercises helped us understand how our style of play can contribute to the atmosphere of the event. He asked me what I had learned afterwards, and I said I needed time to think about it. I think the exercises about how to get noticed and how to not be noticed were very useful, as were the things he taught us about playing emotions. I hope everyone will use the things we practiced together, because it would add so much.

I do feel the need to apologize too, because I sat down during the exercises. My back was killing me, and the pain was preventing me from really letting go and participating to the max. But there's more than that to it; I'm really bad at theatre play. I understand the theory very well, but I'm a horrible control freak, who is really bad at thinking on her feet. I can feel that Maglok and Glimworm have a lot of faith in me, and I hope I won't disappoint.

So Symbols is coming up. Looking very much forward to it. I feel ready. All that still needs to be done, is rewriting a song, because I promised to sing at the IC wedding. I hope it turns out as well as the last time I sung at Symbols, because everyone was really enthused that time.

Yay for Symbols. Can't wait!

Ordering items online is always a joy, because it's like getting presents. A friendly postman delivers a parcel with something nice. Well, that's usually what it feels like, but not when the postman is from TNT.

When I order something, I usually let them deliver at work, because if I let them deliver it to my home, four out of five times they come by when no one is there and I end up having to go to the post office to pick it up myself. Today, I got a call from our warehouse that a man from TNT had a parcel for me and wanted me to pay the customs duties. Does that sound strange? Let me explain.

Customs duties are taxes on goods upon importation. In the Netherlands this tax is imposed by customs, and when a consumer receives a package from overseas, the customs duties are paid by the delivery service. Now package deliverers like DHL or USPS include these taxes into the costs of their services, which is why their delivery prices have risen over the past years, because the customs duties have risen as well. But TNT insists that the recipient of the package pays these costs. It is more clearly explained on the FAQ of the TNT package delivery service, but this is what happens in practice:

So I get the call that my parcel has arrived, and the man from TNT is expecting payment. I go to the warehouse where a rather grumpy man and my parcel are waiting for me. My parcel is no longer in the original wrapping, but instead in a sealed plastic bag from TNT. I try to inspect the parcel, but the man doesn't let me take it and instead shows me an invoice of 19.14 euros; 10.64 euros VAT and 8.50 euros service fee (inklaringskosten). 

Naturally, I feel slightly ripped off, since I have already paid for the contents of the parcel, but this man will not give them to me unless I pay again. But ok, fine, these are the rules. I dig a 20 euro bank note out of my wallet and give it to him. The man looks in his own wallet and proclaims he has no change. Now usually, I'm not someone who makes a big deal out of a few cents, but this a matter of principle. If I am obliged to pay this man in cash, I expect he has the correct change. So I ask whether he accepts any other forms of payment, and he doesn't. It's either pay now, in cash, without the correct change, or he takes the parcel with him again.

Luckily, I didn't lose my temper. I quietly asked the man to follow me to the reception, where I asked the receptionist to change my 20 euros into smaller bank notes and coins, so I could pay the man the correct amount. That's when he finally gave me my package and left. At that moment I could inspect the contents, and luckily I found that it was all there and unharmed. Still, you can understand that I'm not overly happy with the way this went.