No Lie

 

 "I liked that. I'm not gonna lie. That was pretty fun."

That was the verdict of one of Les Freres Corses after we played the Rescue from the Hangman's Noose scenario from my skirmish game. Of course he had a great time. What's not fun about King's Musketeers and Cardinal's Guards exchanging shots with flintlock pistols, rushing through the clouds of acrid smoke to trade cross words, cross swords, and wound, wound, wound, and slay the enemy? He fired pistols, threw knives, stabbed, slashed, and swashbuckled his team to victory. Two of his musketeers made running leaps to the scaffold just in time to stop the hangman from completing the execution. They overcame superior numbers by superior ability to slay four guardsmen and send the wounded fifth running with his bloody tabard between his legs.

For the record, it looked nothing like the picture above, or this picture below:

 I'm going to label the venture a success, even though I was running the losing side. It was proof that the system is simple and fun. The next step is to include the role-play aspect and do a tavern fight and rescue. Although, he did express an interest in the King George's Bust scenario set during the Revolutionary War. I'll see which he decides to try.

 ________________________________

In the battle that rages (or ebbs and flows) in getting book 6 completed, I've crossed the midpoint, and the path to completion is becoming clear. I had an epiphany regarding a couple characters who need to make an appearance soon for maximum impact at the conclusion of the book. Book 6 will not complete the series, but it does get us closer than we've ever been before.

I finished Jeff Wheeler's Doomsday Match yesterday--in between mowing, trimming, spraying, and motorcycle riding. It's a fun read. I may say more about it later if I remember.

I was up late watching a Star Trek movie marathon. I caught part of The Wrath of Khan, The Search for Spock, and The Voyage Home. Of course, Wrath is the best of all the ST movies and Galaxy Quest takes second place. Search for Spock may get third, and Voyage is a flawed beauty whose fun factor almost makes one forget the flaws. 

What makes Wrath the best? Mostly it's Khan. I've said it before, Ricardo Montalban is the best Khan. He is Khan. Sure, Dr. Marcus and David are annoying, but it's a small price to pay for the poignant reunion of the main cast after the snooze-fest that was ST The Motion Picture. Wrath begins the trilogy that is pretty decent overall. I should go into greater detail on my thoughts on Wrath, but that will have to wait for another time when I've made an effort to organize my thoughts--perhaps in the the 6 point pattern as set forth in The Tyranny of Public Discourse, which I recently finished. However, (let me ramble a bit) I will mention that the plethora of quotable lines, especially from Khan help. Also, the battle in the Mutara is fantastic. It's the sea battle (and TOS was in many ways a Hornblower adventure in space) from of Hornblower v. El Supremo combined with Ahab's obsession with the whale. The crippled ships fighting it out in low visibility conditions with no shields is the piece de resistance in this magnificent tour de force (and I'm not just stacking foreign phrases for the fun of it). Tension and suspense are key ingredients for a great story and they are plastered all over this baby. The battle, the trading of hits, the maneuvers, crippled Defiant hobbling away with the mere stub of a leg, and Spock's self sacrifice to save the Enterprise and crew in the nick of time as the Genesis wave threatens to engulf them all--and don't forget Khan's venomous invective with a little help from Melville--combine to provide fans with the rich payoff they had waited more than a decade to receive. My three required elements for a great story: the trauma, the drama, and the dream are all there. (I should write about that sometime using Wrath as an example). Don't forget the cost. Spock dies. He's dead, dead, dead--but we who watched it when it was brand new knew about the Genesis thingy--and we hoped.

Search is nestled in between the two that get all the attention--Wrath, because it's outstanding, and Voyage because some people are completely and unreasonably enamored with it--and is thus overlooked or underrated. Search is a celebration of friendship and more. If Wrath brought Kirk's old sins to the surface, Kirk and crew go the extra mile, kellicam, solar system, or galaxy to do the right thing and do the darn near impossible to help redeem Kirk all on the mere chance that it will help bring back their friend. McCoy, addled by Spock's consciousness banging away inside his head, gets some great moments and funny scenes. The way the team pulls together to do the right thing in the face of official resistance and imbecility is inspiring. Sure, the movie makes every other Star Fleet captain look like a supercilious cliche or cowardly idiot in uniform, but Dr. Emmett Brown as the cunning Klingon villain adds another dimension to a simple search and possible rescue story that makes us overlook the problem with the other captains. He is merciless, motivated, and has revenge on his mind when Kirk kills most of his crew. The fight between Kirk and his Klingon adversary in the ships and then on the ground mirrors the Kirk-Khan conflict of Wrath. So what if there's some heavy-handed writing and bothersome statements, mostly from Saavik, which usually begin with, "So like your father..." to make obvious points that should've been left to the viewers to realize on their own or mentioned once and never harped on again. The Klingon's 2nd hand murder of David, and the fabulous sacrifice of the Enterprise (and remember, this was the first time that the true star of the old series had been destroyed--not to be confused with the seemingly mandatory multiple and less impactful destructions of later iterations), all while a planet goes into self-destruct mode, promising to take the resurrected Spock with it, carries us to the payoff confrontation on the wreck and ruin of a surface in the process of internal demolition (again mirroring the clash with Khan but on the ground instead of in space behind the masks of stars ships). That is some good action/adventure--and Kirk can only save Spock by defeating his adversary and tricking Maltz to beam them both to safety. The completion of the Spock's resurrection is the final touch on this hearty and satisfying meal.

I've rambled too long. I'm out of time, so I can't discuss Voyage, but I'm sure there is no shortage of discussion and opinions on the topic. Perhaps another time.

 

My time as a Scalosian

Before I get to the main story: The first proofreader has completed the read through of Smoke, and pronounced it very good. She wasn't even disappointed in the ending. I would say more, but I don't want to spoil anything. Another proofreader has provided lavish praise from both herself, and her husband (I'm slightly wounded by the fact that his praise seemed to be of a surprised nature). Other comments from readers include: "Emotionally evocative," "Very good character development," "Excellent plot going on," "The descriptions are very clear." I could go on, but I don't want to boast--although I don't mind other people boasting for me.

***

"Stop talking to him!" I wanted to shout...but I didn't shout. I just said it loud enough that I could hear it; maybe the first two people in front of me heard it too; I don't know. They didn't react. Why did I care if one person talked to another? It was important. It wasn't just that I was in a desperate hurry (think Jackie Chan in one of the Rush Hour movies where he's scrambling for the detonator to the bomb that's taped inside his mouth kind of desperate hurry), I was about to miss watching my daughter perform in her team's final show at the state tournament; and I was trapped. 

I had already given my money and placed my order with the young lady who took the money and orders at the beginning of the sandwich line. She was quick, quick, I tell ya, quick at taking both orders and money. She also quickly placed the specified meat, cheese, and vegetable toppings on a plate. From that point on, everything progressed in slow motion. I'll get back to this.

The venue was one of those places that puts you through a metal detector and strip search before you enter. They weren't looking for weapons (although I think they do take those away if they find them). They were checking to make sure that no one was carrying anything to eat. Woe to the individual with a Snickers bar secreted in his pocket, or a club sandwich cached inside his coat. Possession of water was a capital offense.

After we made it through the food-free decontamination chamber, we had to find our seats. I had purchased reserved seats on-line. I had wanted to print them out. Not allowed. The reserved seat tickets could only be accessed via an app on the smart phone. As we had passed through the no-nourishment security zone, the guard had tapped the phone screen to validate the tickets. The tickets promptly disappeared. I couldn't remember the seat numbers. I thought that I did, but I wasn't sure. I went to the numbers that I thought that I remembered. There were already people in them, and they said that those seats were not reserved. We sat down in someone else's seats to be out of the way while I tried to recover the tickets on the phone. I knew they were someone else's because we hadn't been there one minute before some nice people showed up asking about those seats, wondering whether we had tickets for them. I admitted that we did not, but were only using them as a resting point while checking my phone for our actual seats. We moved back up to the area walkway. 

While I got much of the ticket information to materialize on my phone, the seat numbers remained trapped in the inscrutable ether of the nefarious app. I had my wife watch for security to see if they could help us. After a few minutes, she told me a security person was coming our way. I looked, expecting to find a hulking shaven-headed brute in an undersized t-shirt, and carrying a dumbbell and a walkie-talkie. Instead, I discovered a short lady who looked like she would've been more comfortable roaming the aisles of Wal-mart (Ooooh. New fictional setting idea: The Isle of Waal Maart--probably not). She couldn't make it work either. We thought maybe part of the problem could be the poor reception at our location. She said that her daughter could help, and that there was good phone reception where her daughter was. 

Reluctantly, I agreed to go with the woman to see her daughter. I was picturing a teenager. Nope. She was a hulking brute--not really. She was larger than either her mother or I. She was also a member of security. 

She took my phone, and said, "These tickets have already been validated."

I found her tone somewhat accusatory. "Yes," I said. "They validated them when we came in."

"Okay," she said. She did something very quickly that made the tickets appear, with seat numbers and everything. 

The seat numbers were those that I had remembered, except for being one section over. So I remembered the right seats, just the wrong section. The seats were very comfortable. We sat beside a nice couple from the other side of the state. The woman thought my wife looked familiar, but they couldn't ever put themselves at the same time and place. The man didn't say much. 

Fast forward about 5 hours. We're getting hungry; famished we were, and the nasty hobbitses wouldn't give us anything to eat. We hadn't wanted to buy anything at the 3 billion percent markup at the venue. At last I crumbled, mostly because I knew my wife needed something, even though she wasn't saying anything about it. At the break, I went in search, and found The One Ring little doughnuts with chocolate syrup and whipped cream. I didn't want those. That's all there was. I filled out a small title-loan application and received the doughnuts on the easy financing plan. My. Wife. Refused. To eat. Any. Of. Them. 

I noticed that the couple next to us had some bags of nuts. I asked the man where they got them. He told me that they got them on the other side of the stadium; there were many more food offerings over there. The break was nearly over, but I thought that I could go over there and kill a burger or something, and bring it back before my daughter's team performed--there were a few teams in front of hers; I had time. I had not accounted for Slow-Motion Man in my reckoning. 

I had chosen the sandwich line, rather than the burgers, or any of the various other splendid offerings, because I was in a hurry; it was the shortest line. I hadn't realized that the line passed through another dimension, a dimension of sight, of sound; a dimension where time stood still. No. Time didn't stand still, just the old guy who was supposed to be completing the sandwiches--he stood still. I felt like Kirk watching his crew after he had been drugged with the Scalosian water (See Wink of An Eye S3 E11). All the guy had to do was to put the meat, cheese, and vegetables on the bread (which all seemed backwards to me). To say that he moved at a snail's pace would be an understatement. I had to shave three times while I stood in line. 

So when the people who had been at the front of the line when I arrived (and by front, I mean already at Mr. Slow-Motion Man's spot), wanted to stand and talk to him after they had already received their sandwiches, I had difficulty maintaining the sweet, happy-go-lucky attitude for which I am known. I felt like John Pinette.

Eventually, Slow-Motion Man proved himself capable movement slightly faster than the shadow on a sundial. I got my sandwich, half for me, and half for my wife, along with a single bottle of water (I could't borrow enough on the second mortgage I had to take out to afford a second bottle). I hurried back into the stadium just in time to hear the announcer saying the name of my daughter's team. Great! I was just in time. 

It turned out that I was just in time to see them march off at the conclusion of their performance. Curse you, Mr. Slow-Motion Man!

But my wife was happy to have the sandwich. So I got that going for me.

Smoke and Lights

The little things, like an acknowledgment from a friend, can brighten an entire day. The first day of the year was a beautiful day.

Here's the rest of the day in a jumbled order--like you often get at many fast food places.

"Did you need anything else?" the cashier asked.

"No," I answered.

"Beautiful," she said with a smile as big as sunshine.

"Lots of people call me that," I said.

"I bet they do," she responded with a laugh.

"At [name of another store in town] the cashiers even ask for my phone number."

She looked puzzled. Apparently she found that difficult to believe. I felt slightly wounded. 

I elaborated. "In fact, they refuse to sell me anything if I don't give them my number."

"Oh," she laughed, understanding that that other store has that whole loyalty reward system based on customer telephone numbers.

After that it was pretty much just the total and, "Do you need a bag with that?" to end the conversation.

In fact, I did not need a bag...what with only getting the one item and all.

Backup. When I had found the item that I needed, and went to check out, the two open registers were backed up. Both had folks with baskets full of stuff. One of the registers was at a dead stop; there was either a problem with the register, or someone was checking a price; or perhaps invisible alien brain rays were slowly sucking their life away; I don't know; I'm just speculating. The lady at the register for returns saw my predicament and called me over. I recognized her. She's always trying to make conversation, so I felt safe with the, "Lots of people call me that," rejoinder.

Why was I at the store? I needed a temperature gauge for my smoker. The smoked prime rib I did for Christmas Eve dinner had been so delicious that wife wanted me to smoke something for dinner. I was going to smoke potatoes, and peppers, and steak. I had been doing all the smoking on the best guess principle and checking the temperature of the meat with a thermometer from time to time. I wanted to try something a little more precise. The system is completely manual, with charcoal and wood chips or chunks added whenever I feel a disturbance in the force requires action to bring balance.

I couldn't find a temperature gauge for a smoker. I did find one that goes inside an oven. It was cheap, a temporary measure.

The meal was delicious. The steaks took longer to cook than I had planned,but the low temperature smoke and the final searing really made them tasty--with no small thanks to my ad hoc rub creation. (I didn't actually add any hocks, or hawks, just various seasonings.) The little potatoes, bathed in olive oil and sprinkled with salt, pepper, Italian seasoning, and a hint of parsley pleased everyone. Daughter said it tasted just like fire--apparently she meant that in a good way, because she kept eating them. I should have made more of the potatoes, but I didn't expect daughter to like them. Wife fabricated a delicious salad that, with the olive oil and vinegar based dressing, created a refreshing palate cleanser between bites of steak and fire-flavored potatoes. I give the meal five stars.

Before the great fumigating of animal parts and edible flora began, I completed the traditional removal of the many little points of Yuletide radiance with their accompanying wire leashes. Although the temperature soon induced me to put on some gloves, I didn't need a hat (though I could have kneaded one to keep my fingers warm). The sun beamed in pale brilliance that lit the day like Capt. Kirk's face in a close-up with an alien babe. Speaking of babes, alien or otherwise, Wife assisted in boxing the lights as I took them down from the house and the trees. 

The lights are now covered by their cardboard bushels, to sing their message of cheer no more for 11 more months, but the refrain of their soft lustrous voices will linger in the heart the whole year through.