fun doings
Here are some fun things that happened this weekend:
Friday
The nephews invited Kim and me to their last soccer game of the season, and guess who was their opponent? That's right, East Aurora again. This game was not as hilarious as the first one we attended, for my students were clearly over the shock and novelty of seeing their library teacher in the crowd, but it was still fun to cheer on both teams.
Saturday
Friend Scott being in town, a bunch of us got together at Tim and Karoline's for a board game night. What's more, I had the honor of having my game chosen. On a whim, not thinking anybody would go for it, I'd brought along War With the Evil Power Master, a story-driven game based on the hilarious Choose Your Own Adventure book.1
To my surprise, not only was this game chosen over several strong alternatives, but the entire group--Scott, Tim, Karoline, Adam, Lauren--enjoyed it quite a bit. I bring this up because this is a discerning crowd when it comes to board games. In the basement where we play, Tim has shelf after shelf of Warhammer miniatures arrayed in impressive ranks, and Karoline his wife has an obvious dice-collecting addiction (whereas some folks share pictures of pets or children, Karoline seizes the thinnest excuse to show off her D-20s). Scott, Adam, and Lauren, for their part, are likewise of the Dungeons & Dragons, excessively-complicated boardgame persuasion, so for the group to play my humble game and categorically enjoy it was kind of an honor.
If you're wondering, the game is hilarious--intentionally so, unlike the book. As you can guess, it involves a lot of reading, and the group so appreciated my first turn as narrator that they elected me to the role for the duration of the game (good practice for my enfeebled Summertime Voice, which lacks the range and resonance of prime Teacher Voice).
In addition to the usual narrative choices, which themselves can lead to disaster, the game incorporates certain weapon and ability cards, as well as a healthy dose of RNG. So, even if you make the right choice, if you roll poorly on the subsequent "check" (strength, piloting, diplomacy, etc.), you could still find yourself far up Shit Creek.
Unlike the books, a single good or bad choice does not end the game. It's cumulative. Too many bad choices, and the Evil Power Master wins (I'm pretty sure there's an ending, one I've never gotten to, where you literally become his toilet paper). But make enough good choices, and you vanquish him forever! We were doing very poorly for most of the game, the Evil Power Master's victory all but assured, but then we had an uncanny string of clutch decisions and dice rolls that turned the tide in our favor. The excitement of our ultimate triumph was genuine.
Sunday
Kim and I attended Shakespeare in the Park, a summertime tradition. The production this time was A Comedy Of Errors. We'd seen this one, I thought, just a few years ago, but it turns out it was a whole-ass decade ago. Time flies, I guess.
Anyway, we employed a similar strategy to last summer, arriving almost two hours early to secure a good spot on the hill. It's worth it. You just read a book in a beautiful park for a while, and then you have prime seats for the show. We were able to get even closer this time, because if you're willing to sit right on the ground (or on a low-slung beach chair, such as each of us carried), you're allowed to get right up close to the stage.
This production had a seventies Disco motif, which wouldn't have been my first choice (in my considered opinion, the seventies were dumb and I'm glad I missed out on them), but it was hilarious and I enjoyed it greatly. During a chaotic, slapstick swordfight with lots of smacked butts and yelps of pain, I fucking lost it and struggled to control myself long after the rest of the audience had settled down.
I once mused that Shakespeare might be even more entertaining if cast members were conscripted, similar to jury duty. Compensation would be substantial, so no one would object to this system. Further, we could throw out the usual business of understudies, those second-string performers who step in when lead actors are unable to perform. Instead, consider "emergency cast members."
In the NHL--this is rare, but it has happened--there have been times when a team has somehow lost both its goaltender and his backup. What do they do? Forfeit the game? No! There's a provision for an "emergency goaltender," basically just...a guy, maybe with a little beer league experience, but essentially just a guy, who suits up and plays. This happened somewhat recently. The visiting team somehow ran out of goalies, so the home team graciously loaned their Zamboni driver, a man in his late forties. Not only did he make several stops, but he helped the visiting team win--to the thunderous adulation of the home crowd, who knew a good performance when they saw one.
Now, just apply that setup to Shakespeare. Actor twists an ankle on stage. No understudy. The director looks out into the audience, her gaze sweeping over the assembled peons. "You," she says. Pointing to your own chest for confirmation, you get up, hand your beer to a mate. A couple of background extras usher you backstage. Minutes later you emerge, fully costumed. Cue cards, or maybe teleprompters, feed you your lines. Despite your flubbed dialog, despite your missing of marks, at curtain call the audience erupts when you stride to center stage. Roses fall at your feet.
Could give new meaning to that "all the men and women merely players" business.
Now, take heed. Bizarre, idiotic contemplation incoming, an oblique coda to all this nonsense:
Summer doesn't come nearly often enough. Autumn, winter, the holiday season--those seem to come around several times each year. Didn't we just do this? And yet, when I find myself sitting there in Delaware Park, basking once more in the life-affirming glow of summertime, it's like the sunshine never left. It seems the older I get, the less time behaves in a linear fashion. It's more like a series of snapshots, like the timeline on Google Maps, jumping from one moment to the next with no connective through-line. Each moment arrives unbidden, and announces itself: here we are again.
1 War With the Evil Power Master: Funnily enough, when I employed LJ Search to track down my own entry about this book, I found I was not the only one on this platform to mention it. Another user wrote a review of it within just a couple months of me, and the entry reads eerily as if I wrote it myself.
Friday
The nephews invited Kim and me to their last soccer game of the season, and guess who was their opponent? That's right, East Aurora again. This game was not as hilarious as the first one we attended, for my students were clearly over the shock and novelty of seeing their library teacher in the crowd, but it was still fun to cheer on both teams.
Saturday
Friend Scott being in town, a bunch of us got together at Tim and Karoline's for a board game night. What's more, I had the honor of having my game chosen. On a whim, not thinking anybody would go for it, I'd brought along War With the Evil Power Master, a story-driven game based on the hilarious Choose Your Own Adventure book.1
To my surprise, not only was this game chosen over several strong alternatives, but the entire group--Scott, Tim, Karoline, Adam, Lauren--enjoyed it quite a bit. I bring this up because this is a discerning crowd when it comes to board games. In the basement where we play, Tim has shelf after shelf of Warhammer miniatures arrayed in impressive ranks, and Karoline his wife has an obvious dice-collecting addiction (whereas some folks share pictures of pets or children, Karoline seizes the thinnest excuse to show off her D-20s). Scott, Adam, and Lauren, for their part, are likewise of the Dungeons & Dragons, excessively-complicated boardgame persuasion, so for the group to play my humble game and categorically enjoy it was kind of an honor.
If you're wondering, the game is hilarious--intentionally so, unlike the book. As you can guess, it involves a lot of reading, and the group so appreciated my first turn as narrator that they elected me to the role for the duration of the game (good practice for my enfeebled Summertime Voice, which lacks the range and resonance of prime Teacher Voice).
In addition to the usual narrative choices, which themselves can lead to disaster, the game incorporates certain weapon and ability cards, as well as a healthy dose of RNG. So, even if you make the right choice, if you roll poorly on the subsequent "check" (strength, piloting, diplomacy, etc.), you could still find yourself far up Shit Creek.
Unlike the books, a single good or bad choice does not end the game. It's cumulative. Too many bad choices, and the Evil Power Master wins (I'm pretty sure there's an ending, one I've never gotten to, where you literally become his toilet paper). But make enough good choices, and you vanquish him forever! We were doing very poorly for most of the game, the Evil Power Master's victory all but assured, but then we had an uncanny string of clutch decisions and dice rolls that turned the tide in our favor. The excitement of our ultimate triumph was genuine.
Sunday
Kim and I attended Shakespeare in the Park, a summertime tradition. The production this time was A Comedy Of Errors. We'd seen this one, I thought, just a few years ago, but it turns out it was a whole-ass decade ago. Time flies, I guess.
Anyway, we employed a similar strategy to last summer, arriving almost two hours early to secure a good spot on the hill. It's worth it. You just read a book in a beautiful park for a while, and then you have prime seats for the show. We were able to get even closer this time, because if you're willing to sit right on the ground (or on a low-slung beach chair, such as each of us carried), you're allowed to get right up close to the stage.
This production had a seventies Disco motif, which wouldn't have been my first choice (in my considered opinion, the seventies were dumb and I'm glad I missed out on them), but it was hilarious and I enjoyed it greatly. During a chaotic, slapstick swordfight with lots of smacked butts and yelps of pain, I fucking lost it and struggled to control myself long after the rest of the audience had settled down.
I once mused that Shakespeare might be even more entertaining if cast members were conscripted, similar to jury duty. Compensation would be substantial, so no one would object to this system. Further, we could throw out the usual business of understudies, those second-string performers who step in when lead actors are unable to perform. Instead, consider "emergency cast members."
In the NHL--this is rare, but it has happened--there have been times when a team has somehow lost both its goaltender and his backup. What do they do? Forfeit the game? No! There's a provision for an "emergency goaltender," basically just...a guy, maybe with a little beer league experience, but essentially just a guy, who suits up and plays. This happened somewhat recently. The visiting team somehow ran out of goalies, so the home team graciously loaned their Zamboni driver, a man in his late forties. Not only did he make several stops, but he helped the visiting team win--to the thunderous adulation of the home crowd, who knew a good performance when they saw one.
Now, just apply that setup to Shakespeare. Actor twists an ankle on stage. No understudy. The director looks out into the audience, her gaze sweeping over the assembled peons. "You," she says. Pointing to your own chest for confirmation, you get up, hand your beer to a mate. A couple of background extras usher you backstage. Minutes later you emerge, fully costumed. Cue cards, or maybe teleprompters, feed you your lines. Despite your flubbed dialog, despite your missing of marks, at curtain call the audience erupts when you stride to center stage. Roses fall at your feet.
Could give new meaning to that "all the men and women merely players" business.
Now, take heed. Bizarre, idiotic contemplation incoming, an oblique coda to all this nonsense:
Summer doesn't come nearly often enough. Autumn, winter, the holiday season--those seem to come around several times each year. Didn't we just do this? And yet, when I find myself sitting there in Delaware Park, basking once more in the life-affirming glow of summertime, it's like the sunshine never left. It seems the older I get, the less time behaves in a linear fashion. It's more like a series of snapshots, like the timeline on Google Maps, jumping from one moment to the next with no connective through-line. Each moment arrives unbidden, and announces itself: here we are again.
1 War With the Evil Power Master: Funnily enough, when I employed LJ Search to track down my own entry about this book, I found I was not the only one on this platform to mention it. Another user wrote a review of it within just a couple months of me, and the entry reads eerily as if I wrote it myself.