Thursday, April 29, 2010

The Bongwater

Fringe kills me. The opening scene is a partially open door and the sound of a long bong hit being taken. The mad doctor absolutely makes the show.

In related news, my buddy, also a cop and the guy who linked me into writing for 93 Games Studio, is trying to get another gaming group together.

He had some success, but then learned from his point of contact that one of the players of this new group smokes marijuana. They claim the smoker has a prescription and medical card, but as LE, it's a red flag. Not that the fellow is a criminal, but why risk it? I'm not against medical marijuana either. I think it has it's place.

The problem is that if, heaven forbid, one was exposed to second-hand smoke and then involved in a shooting, the drug test would come up positive. None of the fun, all the pain.

LE sometimes feel like they are second-class citizens. Sometimes it's just our perception that makes us feel that way. Other times it is quite clear we are not 'regular' citizens. Having to worry about such shit is a prime example of not being regular joes. There aren't easy answers for this and other things that challenge us in daily life, like wanting to give another driver a piece of one's mind without fearing for job security. Or expressing one's true opinion while working...

Drinking the bongwater isn't an option.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Friday Was A Good Day

No, really. I had a most excellent time with my two new friends, Didier and Frederic. Both are great guys, with bright futures in law enforcement. We all found it very interesting the differences and similarities between the policies of our departments, the policework we are called on to do, and the people we police.

I was unable to take them on a ride along, as someone completely blew that. It appears that there is a lawsuit pending. Many times, police are our own worst enemies. They were very happy with some patches and shirts I was able to find for them.

We then walked about the Mission District, and I told them some tales of those days. They told me some stories of my still-older stomping grounds, and policing the city I grew to love as a teenager and young man.

We visited with a French-American friend of mine who lives in the Mission that I met and befriended walking the 24th Street footbeat. He had tales for them as well, and helped to entertain the pair.

For dinner we went to Truly Mediterranean, a hole in the wall that is the best place I have found in the US for a shwarma. Gnoshing on the flatbread-wrapped bit of heaven, and remembering the days of my youth, I asked about an old friend of mine, Daniel.

Wildly, both knew him. Frederic is a sometime houseguest at his place, and worked for him for a year on finishing the academy. Daniel and I met while I was still at Ecolint. He was already an attorney then and a few years older than I, but always treated me as a friend and equal. If I understood properly, my old friend is now the equivalent of the attorney general for the Canton of Geneva, married, with two children.

Then it was off to Blondie's, a favorite watering hole of mine. I know th e owner, who is fun and employs a great crew. Two other officers of my aquaintance showed up, one of whom is quite the cut-up. Later, a DA friend of mine also put in an appearance. We called it quits at about midnight, having had quite the night.

I was tired as hell when I came home, having spoken french for at least eighty percent of the night, spanish for ten, and english for the remainder... It had been a long time, but I do so love the language.

But Friday was a very good day!

Friday, April 23, 2010

Riding Along

One of my sister-in-law's friends is a police officer (burglary inspector) with the Geneva police. He and a buddy of his (homicide inspector) are here for a few days.

My sister asked if I would take them on a ride along. I agreed to try for tomorrow and laid the ground work yesterday with my captain. Last night I called them to get a feel for what they wanted to do and what they were like.

Both were very excited, but my French is very dusty. It always pleases me to hear that language spoken, but I had forgotten how speaking it fairly well can get you into trouble with a native speaker: man, but he spoke fast.

Tonight I'll take them out and around town in a short little patrol, assuming I can get permission from the boss. I look forward to it, given the oddities I know about the town I work in.

As The Last Captain is set on Nouvelle Geneve, a planet initially colonzied by Genvois, I am also excited to pick their brains for idiosyncracies of their police force and Swiss police.

Thursday, April 22, 2010


I heard that the definition of insanity is repeating the same tinbg over and over again and expecting a different outcome each time. This should be extended to include people who don't bother to observe the process before them when another engages it.

Lemmings come to mind. Lots of sad silliness.

People need open their eyes and ears, and try and learn from the mistakes of those they have had opportunity to observe not five minutes prior.

It would save a lot of disappointment.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

The Last Captain

Another dash of The Last Captain. Trying for some humor...

Devereaux called Baptiste and Venkman into his office. The partners cooled their heels for a few minutes while the Lieutenant thumbed back a few pages in the report and reviewed something. The viewscreen built into the watch commander’s desk was set at an angle that didn’t quite match the layout of the office. No matter how the various officers sharing the room moved it about, which left the lieutenants unable to access files and pay attention to whomever was in front of the desk.

Baptiste shuffled his feet impatiently. Venkman shot a warning look at his partner, knowing how annoying Baptiste found waiting on supervisors when he had work to do.

“So,” Devereaux chose to address the pair just as Baptiste flashed Venkman his best look of injured innocence. If the lieutenant saw the look, he chose not to comment, continuing, “Your IMP friends took the lab down and seized about five liters of this new drug. The bad guys lost two and a third man is in IMP custody, and he’s the guy had the last of the milspec weapons, but we haven’t any real leads on who headed up the drug operation.”

“The IMPs might yet provide us with some intel in that direction, Lieutenant,” Venkman said.

Devereaux nodded, looking back down at the display in his desk, “True. Different rules and all that.”

“Yes, sir,” Venkman said.

Baptiste raised a hand to waist level and pretended to jack off.

Venkman shook his head minutely, hoping that the lieutenant wouldn’t see either gesture.

Baptiste ignored his partner, holding his breath and continuing to stroke an imaginary cock.

“Did Captain Schrader give you any idea when they will have completed their interrogation?” Devereaux asked without looking up.

“No, sir. I believe she was distracted by the security concerns that caused her early departure from our scene.”

Baptiste nodded, face purpling and fist pumping.

Venkman tried to concentrate on anything but his partner's craziness, but found his eyes drawn inexorably back to his partner's purpling face.

Bap mouthed an “Oh, Yeah!” and squeezed his eyes shut.

Venkman shook his head helplessly and pinched his nose right between his eyes to prevent himself from laughing outright.

“You’ll want to knock that shit off right now, Baptiste,” Devereaux said without turning from the screen.

“Oui, Lieutenant!” Baptiste gasped, sounding like he was reaching orgasm. Despite his tone, he snapped to a crisp attention.

Venkman laughed, turned it into a cough as the Lieutenant turned back to face them.

“Listen you two,” Devereaux said, his expression serious, “While you continue to do very good work, and I appreciate it, you still need to toe the line and show some discipline. I don’t mind some high spirits and fun, but don’t go pulling faces behind my back and think I can ignore you acting like a jerk off.”

Baptiste spluttered and lost control, laughing outright and setting Venkman off.

Covering his mouth, Venkman tried to choke back the laughter, but just couldn't. Even the Lieutenant smiled in response to their laughter.

As he gained a measure of control over his laughter, Venkman that recognized the lieutenant’s smile in response to their laughter was a clear sign that Devereaux hadn’t seen what Baptiste was doing.

"Get out of here and finish this up," Devereaux ordered.

"Yes, Lieutenant," Baptiste said through his smile.

The pair fell out into the hallway, still laughing. Venkman wiped tears from his eyes as they returned to the report writing room.

As he resumed his seat he snorted a bit and turned to face his partner, "Lucky fucker."

"That's Mr. Lucky Fucker to you," Baptiste retorted.

Monday, April 19, 2010

And... Yet More Scores

Griffin 6, Rats 4

I have resumed offensive operations against the enemy with much success. The quality of the enemy trooper has diminished in the intervening few days. This last infiltrator was almost half the size of the initial storm-troopers I took.

The War goes well, and the rats scurry, squirt the musk of fear, and tremble at the mere mention of my name!

Raised Beds 6, Griffin's back and ass 4 :

Purchased lumber for the raised vegetable gardens yesterday. We are making two 4'x8' beds. Built both frames in a flurry of activity that has my lower back, glutes, and gut screaming, "Make it stop!"

The frames assembled, I have to run water from the existing sprinkler system to both sites in preparation for the drip system. That done, it will be time to dig the frames in and lay the pest mesh down and get soil to fill our little suburban fields. I have an indoor composter, which has been very useful, but it hasn't produced the quantity of compost to even partially fill the beds.

I am excited to see this project done. Even though I am not a huge vegetable fan, my family is quite accomplished at gardening, and I would like to carry on that tradition. Plus, it'll be cheaper than going to the store.

Taxes 1, Griffin 1

The taxes are done for this year. I have been doing my own since I was 15, so this isn't a hair-loss time for me, but it is a chore. One never wins with taxes. As Ben would say, "Nothing is sure in life but death and taxes."

Monitor 10, Griffin 0

Not sure why, but the sony flatscreen monitor I had in the kitchen went green-screen and would not return to normal color. I initially thought it something with the video card or the like, but after cleaning the dust bunnies from the computer and cursing and swearing through the settings, I finally listened to the wisdom of my wife and discovered that it was the monitor by hooking another monitor to the computer...

The Last Captain:

I cranked a page out yesterday, but otherwise did not get all that I had hoped to done this weekend.

Sinus Infection 1, Griffin 1

I am about even with my sinus infection, having had the energy to do all that I did yesterday... But man the allergies are going to be brutal this year.

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Boy Was I Off

Called both of the early fights wrong.

Mousasi appeared a bit off before the fight. Pasty and sweaty. Mousasi, who maintains an almost sloppy calm similar to Fedor, just got bullied around the cage by the stronger Mo. I thought he might win with an up-kick, but Mo took several of them in the gob and kept coming. Mo took the belt in a long, punishing fight, earning the decision. If the few fights he's had can earn anyone title bout, Mo earned the belt with this fight.

Aoki disappointed the shit out of me. I like Melendez, and think he's an excellent lightweight, but I've seen Aoki pull insane submissions in the Dream promotions. He's a savage if he gets a grip on you. Melendez continues to impress with the quality of his study of and strategy against opponents. He studied hard to wrest the belt from Thompson, and it was obvious he had done it again before last night's fight, refusing Aoki any opportunity to even start a submission. Melendez proved the smarter and stronger fighter, pummeling Aoki, who had no answer.

I missed the late fight as I had set my DVR for the scheduled time. MVN told me in an email that the fight was pretty good, but that Shields took it in the end. I had hoped to watch this fight, as Shields is an amazing fighter I think will go very far. I failed to realize that each bout was a title bout and would go five rounds, hence I didn't set the DVR to record more than the two hours scheduled.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Late Picks For Strikeforce

DVRed the fights tonight and just sitting down to watch.

My picks are as follows:

Aoki with an insane submission.

Mousasi with a submission.

Shields with a decision or sub late in the bout.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

The Ick Strikes Again, as Does the Dark God

The Ick Strikes:

Lost my voice night before last, then had my head and throat packed with steel wool all day yesterday. I slept 16 out of twenty-four hours. Came in to work today because I would just assume be miserable at work as at home. I cancelled my overtime gig too, which hurts the pocketbook, but I can't be the hypocrite that calls in sick and then works overtime.

The Dark God Visits:
Peter V Brett's The Desert Spear arrived the night before last as well. Shortly followed by a visit from my jealousy, my personal Dark God. Peter has done it again, this time on a greater scale than The Warded Man, and with a character it is even more difficult to like.

I have not finished it yet, partly because of the Ick, but also because The Dark God commands me to draw out the flagellation and suffer in the knowledge that Brett retains and expands on his abilities. He continues to write original story and deomonstrate his exceptional skills at creating characters who live, breathe, and suffer through changes wrought by the world they live in. The Desert Spear is yet another piece of the altar to my Dark God.

Griffin Vs Rats:
As I am ill, I have not been prosecuting the war as I would have normally. The vile clan of rats goes unpunished. Soon I shall rise again, and reduce their numbers nightly.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Rats Gaining...

Griffin 5, Rats 4

The rats managed to infiltrate and abscond with the bait yet again. It may be time to change tactics. I remain confident that sooner or later the ring-leaders shall perish, and their will to continue the infamy of these unprovoked attacks broken.


My allergies have caused a raw throat and sore sinuses. I fear another illness coming on.


Yesterday I managed to crank a page on The Last Captain. It has been a while between blogging, 93 Games Studio writing, RPoL, kid's soccer, work, and the rat war. I think it good.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Still More Scores.

Griffin 5, Rats 3

The rats continue their headlong drive to extinction in my territory (Yes, it is my territory. I have marked it. Drives the dog nuts.)

It must be quite depressing to watch, as life flees body, your clan-mates enjoying the very snack that drew you to your death.
I know this goes on as the bait is always gone, even when I have been successful as reaper of rats.

I have also noted that those taken in my trap-o-doom appeared quite healthy at the moment of their demise, with long, thick tails, healthy pelts, and shiny, dead little eyes.

The scent of their fear and loathing grows with each corpse consigned to an early grave. It smells of victory.

My daughter's soccer matches:

Victory, though we don't keep score, of course. My daughter has very good eyes, and seems to know the ebb and flow of play very well, judging well when to attack the ball or fall back.

Two of her team-mates stand out. One for aggressive ball handling and dual foot skills, the other for a Zen-like state she appears to achieve naturally every time she gets possession of the ball, resulting in what I think must be the highest scores of the league.


Lots of fun writing done this weekend for the RPGs I play online at RPOL, but nothing that's going to earn me money or fame. This week I shall write much and rest little.

I have late-night OT scheduled this weekend, traffic control. I'm not a fan of whoring myself, but my recent loss of cellphone and wallet make prostituting my body a necessity.

Friday, April 9, 2010

Keeping Count

Griffin 4, Rats 3: The war continues. Three times the trap has been robbed.

The latest raider waited until the deep night to set his assault in motion...And lost.

I can hear the squeaking of the little ones, lamenting the losses to their clan. I am the night trapper, terror of little squeaker's dreams. The musk of fear a lies like a blanket upon their warren, wherever it lies.

I have a lot of writing to do, and feel time pressing on me. I have set a hard date of June for completing The Last Captain. I had previously hoped to be done with the first draft by the end of this month, but real life reared it's ugly head.

I find it ironic that the main cause of the delay is being published. I have more work to do for 93 Games Studio. I have three more scenarios to write after the one I am wrapping up right now. Speaking of which: sometime today I my voice will be a part of show touting the top ten selling RPGs of the past two weeks. Everytown and First Contact are #3 and #4 on their list. The show should be up here sometime this afternoon.

Now, back to writing.

Monday, April 5, 2010

April Ain't All That

God, but this April hasn't been kind to me so far.

Lost cellphone and wallet on Friday:

It will be some weeks before all the fallout from this is over with, if ever. If you are a reader and have my cell number, please text or call me with your current contact information.

Asshat comments from strangers on Sunday:

I already posted my thoughts on that. My blood is still a bit hot over it. I'm striving for the zone with it, but it is difficult.

I suffered from tank balls this morning:

I was caught by a heavy, localized rainstorm on my way into work. The rain was very cold, very heavy, and seemed to be falling just for me. After about ten minutes my hands went numb and I had a bad case of Tank Balls. For those of you who might not be familiar with the nomenclature of this terrible condition, allow me to illuminate for you: Tank balls is a condition brought about by the cold water sliding off the gas tank of a crotch-rocket or streetfighter-style motorbike and freezing the beans and frank. Uncomfortable, to say the least.

I lost my motorcycle key on arrival at work:

I found it about ten minutes later. Still, not fun. I believe I dropped it because of the numbness in my hands, not balls.

I then got asked if I slept in the wet spot:

As a symptom of tank balls, I had a spreading damp spot on my lower belly, which a sergeant and pleasantly attractive female officer were kind enough to point out to me.

I but said, "Tank Balls."

Their reply, a uniform, "?"

I described the condition, which garnered another laugh from them. While I am only too happy to please, they have obviously never suffered from the condition.

Here's hoping April improves. I need a crotch-blanket, a drink, a muzzle, and a month-long nap.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

The Score

Rats 2, Griffin 2. The trap got robbed of it's bait twice, and I have disposed of two of the daring little bastards. The war goes on. I believe I have enough birdseed and peanut butter to eventually vanquish the foe.

Griffin 2, Dicks 1:

Everytown got lit up on the forums of 93 Games Studio:

Re: Anyone alive?
Adam F wrote:
"Have the courage in your own work to say; 'okay here's a module on ... Kazakstan in 2013' (for example), and the confidence that people will then want to use it because you've done it as well and imaginatively as you can. This 'generic vagueness' is not a good way to go. It just means people will use the system as a rules system and not bother buying anything else from you. I'm guessing not something you want to happen?"

Keep in mind that this wasn't all of his post, and it's some guy who hadn't bought Everytown, hadn't bothered to read the description of it, and yet felt qualified to put his two cents in.

Even so, I was suprised at my first gut response, which was to administer a back-alley beating should I come across him. That reaction was far stronger than I'd have thought could be provoked in me by some stranger. I tamped that reaction down and gave this response:

"Some who purchased the product, read it, and chose to use it have said the Everytown setting is innovative. It is unfortunate that you did not enjoy it or, lacking the interest to purchase it, think it unworthy of your atttention.

Please do not question the courage of the 93 Games Studio staff and management. Writing, illustrating, editing and producing any book is a challenge that few have met, and fewer still have had any success with.

Now, I thought that a reasoned and healthy response.

His response:

"Innovative? I don't see it. It's a generic, non-specific, small town. At best it's something that's going to need work from GMs to get to useable levels for any length of play beyond the brief. The old school modules were useable just from reading.

I'm not having a go, I'm simply saying what I personally would like to buy in future from the T2013 line (ie books more in the style of the old T2K sourcebooks).

Feel free to continue producing books I don't want to buy. That's of course your perogative.

This is, in my opinion, typical hobbyist bullshit, "Don't do anything if you aren't doing what I like (And haven't even read)."

Also known as, "You can guide a man to wisdom, but he'll probably complain the whole fucking way, then complain again about how it tastes, and then finally, complain about how it felt when he pissed all over himself trying to void himself of it."

I feel better for the quality of my response and the writing of this post.

Now, to make more "generic vagueness" that sells well, fucker.

Saturday, April 3, 2010

It Sucks To Have No One To Blame But Yourself

It was supposed to rain, so yesterday I loaded my iPhone and wallet into a ziplock bag and prepared to leave for a doctor's apointment before work. I zipped to the gas station and re-fueled. I then got on the freeway and went in.

I got off the freeway in SF, and realized that the pocket the phone and wallet had been in was now empty. I failed to zip it up. I failed to feel it fall out. I had made a rather bad mess for myself.

Now to try and clean it up.

It sucks to have no one to blame but yourself.

Thursday, April 1, 2010


I may now add ratcatcher to my career path, even though I have no small but vicious dog.

We have a clan of rats that like to use the the fence line between our house and the neighbor's as a highway. They have been at it since we moved in, a fact I carefully didn't make my wife aware of.

My daughter left some bird seed on the ground. The rats made a feast of it and left sign they'd been there. Then they were so foolish as to be spotted by both child and wife.

Thereafter I was told, in no uncertain terms, that the freeway was closed to rat-kind.

So last night I set the trap. Five minutes later, a little squeaker was breathing his last. Tonight I do it again. I foresee a lengthy battle with the general population of the little buggers. It's not the war I wanted to fight but it is the one I got, and the one I will win.

Rat-kind will soon be squirting the musk of fear at the very mention of my name.

It is a shame that they couldn't resist the bounty my daughter inadvertently left them. If they had, the I-Griffin through town would still be open to traffic, none of the rat-kin would have had to die, and I would not have become their nemesis, the Ratcatcher.