I've been on a board game kick this past week and thought I'd share. Last Thursday I rode over Chinook Pass on Hwy410 and down through the Yakima Valley to Tri-Cities, where lives my childhood friend, Brian. I love these visits in part because they are excellent motorcycle rides, and in part because my time there consists entirely of B.S.ing and playing games: a great short-term getaway.With a play time of three to four hours, Runebound is not a game lightly begun. We managed to cram three plays into less than forty-eight hours, and I enjoyed every minute of them. You can check out Runebound on Board Game Geek, and if you like board games and have not heard of the Geek then OH MY GOD YOU ARE WELCOME!In short, it's a DnD/Tolkeinesque style adventure game in which you are represented by a little plastic dude (or dudette) who runs around a map slaying monsters, visiting towns, and generally getting all medieval on the place. The basic game is fun for several plays, and there are any number of expansions, from full boxes to smaller packs of cards that add monsters, allies, and items. If you like these kinds of things (swords and sorcery, also Dragons) I highly recommend Runebound. If you're close enough to my physical location, let me know if you'd like to try.
A friend recently purchased a garage-sale bicycle for himself. Looking to recoup the exorbitant cost ($25) he sold me his previous garage-sale bicycle ($20).
It's a sad thing, this old Raleigh. Someone drove a car over the back tyre (yes, we're spelling in English today), yielding a the profile of a Pringle potato-based-chip. The seat is mouldering (see, there I go again), the cables missing or askew, and neither of the brakes perform in a manner that you might hope they would. Not that you can build up much steam on the deformed wheel.
I've long been an admirer of human powered vehicles (HPV in the parlance) of all sorts, the more esoteric the better. Bicycles--being the dominant species of HPV on our planet--have generally played a prominent role in that admiration. I've owned all kinds of bikes over the years: BMX, 10-speed, mountain bike, cargo bike, triathlon bike, and Dutch bike, to name those which I can recall in specific.
It would feel something like completing a set to own a fixie. I'm puzzled by the intentional dis-utility of them while simultaneously intrigued by their simplicity, to say nothing of the compulsion/revulsion of the hipster ethic that goes along with these machines.
So. Piffling concerns aside, here is the instigating opportunity, in this old frame and fork. Yesterday I stripped it down to the constituent elements I think I can save and/or will need.
Thursday I will have occasion to visit Recycled Cycles, and will inquire of the hipster mechanics therein how to go about this resurrection.
 Appaloosa by Robert B. Parker Growing up in a region where actual cowboys did not exist (nor had they ever, really), and yet where the “cool kids” liked to wear western boots and drive stupidly oversized vehicles loosely based on trucks, I have a long nurtured aversion to all things “Western.” Western needs to be in quotes there, because I realize the word has other meanings, some of which I’m very fond of. I think you know what I mean by those quotes. (Punctuation Nerd Sidebar: remember when quotes meant dialogue? Or that you were quoting something? Now they mean irony. I’m cool with that, but then I’m not an English major). So I ran into my neighbor Matt at the library last week, and he was checking out a couple books by Robert B. Parker. The covers had unsmiling men standing near rustic buildings wearing period clothing including hats. “Are you reading Westerns?” I asked (Ooh look! quotes for dialogue!). He was. He recommended. I picked up Appaloosa. Chances are not great that I will become a huge fan of westerns. I like my cowboys battling steampunk zombies rather than punching cows. I raced through this novel though, and plan to read the next couple in the series as well. Western may only ever be a secondary genre that feeds into my first love, but I recognize good stuff when I see it. The best thing about Appaloosa was the dialogue, and how that shaped the two main characters. One reason the book read so fast was that much of it was dialogue, and most of the lines of said dialogue were one word long. Maybe three, if the guys were feeling loquacious. The incredibly sparse conversations nevertheless carved the characters in sharp relief. It was a masterful depiction of two men, both reticent and showing close to zero emotion, yet very different from each other and not hard to feel connected to. Part of what I’m experiencing is probably the difference in conventions from one genre to another, but at least some of it transfers I’m sure. I’ll be reading more of Robert Parker in an effort to abscond with some of his dialogue skillz. View all my reviews
 Sons of the Profits by William Speidel You know how, generally about the middle of one project, you start daydreaming about the next project? That’s where I was when I decided to read a little Seattle history. I’m about three-quarters of the way through the first draft of the novel I’m working on, so naturally I’m already thinking about the next writing project, for which I need some inspiration/research about my chosen setting. I have this thing about reading history: I really enjoy reading history, but only if the book is quite good. History for the sake of history feels like the parts of school I didn’t like. Creatively written and interestingly presented history (Two favorites are Salt: A World History and The Big Oyster: History on the Half Shell by Mark Kurlansky) I can devour. Which makes me dependent on good recommendations if I’m going to read me some historicals. So when I decided I needed a good history of the city of Seattle, who did I ask for a recommendations? Cherie Priest, of course! Via Twitter, mind you, and very respectfully and not at all in a creepy, stalkerish kind of way. Once she replied, and I calmed down, I ordered up Sons of the Profits. The book is fun, but don’t come into it expecting highly polished prose. William Speidel has a very colloquial, informal style that other reviewers have often disliked. It’s clear he isn’t writing because he wants to be a great writer, but just because he loves Seattle, and its past, and wants to share. He’s got a couple of authorial ticks that can get on a nerve if you let them, but I had no problems forgiving him because I was otherwise occupied enjoying his stories. In terms of the information shared, it seemed to me (from an admittedly uneducated perspective) that he had done his research. He certainly doesn’t spare the reader the seedier bits of Seattle’s past, which I enjoyed. Speaking of which, the book was published in 1967, which was occasionally jarring: the author was often disparaging of earlier attitudes towards women while simultaneously espousing attitudes towards women that are no longer acceptable. Half the time I couldn’t tell when he was being tongue-in-cheek and when he was being a chauvinist. Oh well. If you’re interested in the history of Seattle, I’d highly recommend the book, not least because the book and its author have nearly become a necessary chapter in that history. By the way, if you’re in Seattle, the best way to buy the book is at the authors eponymously named World-Famous Underground Tour. Cheers, Ben. View all my reviews
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