Sunday, April 23, 2006

"Phlegm" is the watchword

"Today I live in the gray, muffled, smelless, puffy, tasteless half-world of those who have colds."

Robertson Davies

The Diary of Samuel Marchbanks

The Con went well enough, the only infractions fairly minor ones. When I was a kid, the ChaliceDad was given to snapping "nothing is to become airborne!" when things were thrown in the house. Much to theCSO's consternation, I found a few months ago that I had picked up this phrase when a kid in a store was throwing something and I scolded him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Turns out the phrase works well on YRUUers who throw frisbees in the sanctuary, too.

We were supposed to write our favorite vacation destination on our nametags. My area being my area, lots of people wrote "Cape Cod." Not one for vacationing, I wrote "Vacations are for slackers. Get a job, Hippie!"

It was a hit.

But I woke up this morning with a sore throat and my condition has not improved throughout the day. So now I have taken to my bed. Judge Judy is on in the background and the CSO is stopping by to discuss the roleplaying game we're working on to amuse Our-Hero-Charlie-the-Vanquisher and some of our other friends. (Premise: CC, who is leading the game, plays Sherlock Holmes who is sick in bed at 221B Baker street with a terrible headcold. The players play Baker Street Irregulars, whom he sends out to solve at first petty crimes. As they grow in Holmes' estimations and in street cred, they take on more an more interesting cases. If they get stumped, they can come back to Holmes for advice, but sometimes he will be more helpful than other times. We think we will play a few hours a week for a couple of months. Could be fun. I played a lot of RPGs in high school and every few years get a hankering to do it again for a bit. I write a plot, our friends play through it, then I forget about it for another few years. Two years ago, I did a game set in the 1930's at a Mobster's country home. Our friends had to play the members of a ladies band hired to play for the mobster's birthday and of course hijinks ensued when they got there and were hired to keep his daughter from running away with the town ne'er do well.)

Life is imitating art because my own headcold is plaguing me. My usual tactic when sick is to write letters to people I know who could use to hear cheerful words more often. I tend to get self-pitying when ill, and this is a good antidote. So I think I will go do some of that.


No comments: