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I don't normally find the webcomic PVP nearly as emotional as I did last week.

Which is another way of saying, [livejournal.com profile] papersource and I are pregnant.

Which is to say, she is. But I'm involved somehow.

The due date is late April. We found out in September—in fact, the first ultrasound was the day of my first class. We've had a couple of doctor's appointments and ultrasounds since then, and the Seamonkey (our current nom de fetus, though "Secret Squirrel" is also in contention) apparently has hands and feet and was about 63mm long last time we checked. L is doing very well. I'll let her decide for herself how much or how little she'd like to share with you about alternating nausea, narcolepsy, and craving for deviled eggs, but I can tell you that she is a rock star and a trooper and a machine. I love her so much.

Oddly, LJ doesn't seem to have a mood icon for "simultaneously thrilled, elated, scared as hell."

Edit: Thanks! for the congratulations and well-wishes that are already pinging in. But don't forget to share the love with [livejournal.com profile] papersource too. She told me I could spill the beans, but I'd feel bad if I hogged all the comments. :)

1997

Jun. 15th, 2005 12:20 pm
robotnik2004: (Default)
That's you! You're a triangle! You!

OK, it's 1997, and can we have something a little more cheerful this time? In my second and third year of grad school, I lived with three friends from the dorms (see, I did make friends in the dorms eventually—they were all Americans, mind you) in a gorgeous apartment in Inman Square, one that four grad students couldn't possibly afford today. Once or twice a year, we threw massive house-shaking parties there. I don't know quite how we did it, to tell the truth. I've never thrown parties like that before or since. But the emails went out, and the guests poured in, and our place would be packed with bodies, some in attractive shapes, and nearly all shimmying and shaking and bumping up against each other in a way that belies my usual portrait of grad school as a social wasteland. This was soon after the Chemical Brothers muscled into the mainstream, and I can remember the aptly-named Block Rocking Beats rattling windows all the way down the street. For years to come, people I'd never met would tell me about the epic parties they attended on Marie Street in 1997.

But my signature memory is not one of the raging parties—it's the hour or two after one of them. Read more... )

Shout-out to Inman Square: Dining too fine to waste on grad students, so get those property values rising! East Coast Grill, the first good place in Boston I managed to take my parents! The Druid, which is fun to say in a ridiculous Irish accent ("tha' DROOOOOOD!"), and where they pass the hat for the I.R.A! Jae's (not there anymore), with great-for-beginners sushi and killer pad thai! 1369, when you absolutely need coffee served by a lesbian but you can't make it all the way to Jamaica Plain! Olé, for awesome $8 guacamole served in an infinitely dense chunk of black hole! The Thirsty Scholar, where I got to hang out with Jim Carroll! That Portuguese sandwich place, where L and I went after several early dates! That Indian place, that wasn't actually that good! That Southern place, that I never went to!
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Today is my last day at the Academy. A year goes by fast when it's only nine months long. What a great, great experience it's been. Odd coincidence department: [livejournal.com profile] allegedly had a job interview at the Academy yesterday. I think I may have seen her in the morning, looking professional and bobbed, and managing not to look too intimidated by the humongous portrait of John Adams they left her sitting under. So, digits are crossed for her. Fitting if she got the job just as I was packing up. One enters, one leaves. That's the Circle of Life, isn't it? Whatchacallit, Hakuna Rwanda.

I have exactly one month left in Boston. Today is May 27, and I'm going to drive to London in advance of our stuff on June 27 or 26. Which is, coincidentally, when it is scheduled to stop raining. (HEY-O!) Since it's Friday, I'm going to make like [livejournal.com profile] rollick and do a fill-in-the-blank:

One thing [livejournal.com profile] robotnik should definitely do before leaving Boston is ___________.

Comment below. I welcome suggestions of restaurants or museums or bars or spots you love, activities you feel are quintessentially Boston, invitations to parties or social events or games (but no, I'm not running Starchildren), or just orders to return things I've borrowed over the years. Help me make the most of my last month here!
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Eep. Our gung ho young realtor wants to put the condo on the market by April, which, as I'm sure you can tell by the beautiful balmy weather we're having, is not very far away. This means doing all the little home repairs we've put off doing for the four years we've actually lived in the place. It also means getting rid of, or at least packing away, about two thirds of our possessions. Apparently crap like "books" are a total buzz-kill when you're selling a house, somewhere in desirability between "infestation of roaches" and "unquiet Indian dead." I'm actually psyched about paring down my material possessions. ("You are not your khakis, you are not your graphic novels, you are not your ironic collection of amusing cereal boxes and Mao-ist kitsch...") But it's a little more sudden than I expected.

So yesterday I grabbed some torches and a gnomish hireling and ventured into my office closet to see what possessions I could liberate myself from. Look what treasure I unearthed!



Care to take a peek inside?

CHECK FOR TRAPS )
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OK, it's a nice sentiment, but why do the geeks get the girls? You can't just assert that they do without any further explanation. It's the same narrative flaw as that Wheatus song. There's nothing in the first three verses to suggest that Noel (Noelle?) has any interest in Iron Maiden whatsoever. Would Nerf Herder have resorted to such a flimsy deus ex machina? Would Super Deluxe? I think not.

Edit: Come to think of it, how did I get the girl?
robotnik2004: (Default)

Goddamn, you half-Japanese girls / you do it to me every time.
—Weezer, "El Scorcho"*

Read more... )
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Dungeons and Dragons Club, Somebody's Yearbook, California, 1980.
robotnik2004: (Default)


Planetary #16, only eighteen months late. Capsule review: Pretty, pretty pictures. Advances plot about one half of one baby step.
robotnik2004: (Default)
"We entered macrospace. Splintered across the endless, infinite worlds of the superspectrum: the immense rainbow of realities where everything you ever imagined is just as real as everything else and all at once."

"Big deal. Then what?"

—Marvel Boy & Oubliette, Grant Morrison's Marvel Boy

My freakish tear of game-related writing continues, with thoughts towards running a straight-up uber-powered superhero game. The notes are all hidden away behind an LJ-cut because these are fragmentary, stream of consciousness jottings, and because I have no idea when or if I would ever run this. Certainly not before Unknown USA ends. Read more... )
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After talking about it for ages, I'm finally trying to get an Unknown Armies game started. Everyone who reads this journal has, I expect, already gotten the e-mail about the game (except, I guess for [livejournal.com profile] mgrasso—feel like commuting to Boston for the game?), but I'll post it here anyway so I can point people to it online.

Unknown Americana Teaser )

I've got a handful of interested players, all of whom I know would be great. The X factor for everyone, including me, is scheduling. If we can't make it biweekly, I might end up running this as linked, monthly one shots, with a recurring cast of characters but a more episodic structure than your standard campaign. Like the annual Cthulhu games I ran in college—there were connectors between stories, but because the gap between games was so long, each one had to be a satisfying chunk of story on its own.

I'll post some character ideas and campaign frames I've cooked up soon. This game has been in my head for a while and I've generated a fair amount of stuff.

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