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bacchanalian
Friday, 26 August 2005 11:08 pmTen-day vac! Joyous joy, no teaching for a week and a half. This is fortunate, since the combination of mad socialising and insomnia over the last week has reduced me to an average of something less than 6 hours of sleep per night, which means that, practically speaking, I'm a zombie. I believe that there was a tornado in Cape Town last night. I may have emerged from the somnolent haze briefly in the small hours to note, muzzily, a certain amount of wind without, but otherwise I missed it. Darn it. (It's freezing cold at the moment, which makes me very happy, except that my bedroom heater has died. Woe.).
Apart from the sleep-deprivation, it is a strange and inevitable thing that time spent with the dynamic jo&stv duo is inseparable from tippling, as in wine, lots of it. Wineroute on Tuesday (with wine), stv's killer Thai (and wine) on Wednesday night, book club (jo and more wine) on Thursday. Tonight's Falkenstein game lacked jo&stv, but made up for it, surprisingly, with wine, suggesting that their insidious influence has caused moral degeneration already. This weekend, for an encore, it's a Trappist monastery for me. There must be some balance in the universe. Besides, the already endemic pacing and cohesion problems in my Falkenstein party become deeply problematical when, in addition to rampant player bloody-mindedness*, the DM is unable to form coherent sentences.
Book club was, as usual, a blast, and I staggered home with a weighty bunch of books. This is a somewhat eccentric and eclectic collection, including the third Nightingale Floor volume, two Joanne Harrises (she of Chocolat), China Mieville's Iron Council, Master and Commander, Douglas Coupland's Microserfs, a Tom Holt, and the first five of the Number One Ladies' Detective Agency series. All of this should successfully distract me from the Worthy South African Novels, which are giving me the pip. However, I also successfully ignored all of them all day in order to succumb unblushingly to the entertaining fascism of Heinlein's Starship Troopers. The boots! The leather! The mindless machismo!
* I love my Falkenstein party, but they take individualism to new heights. Depths. Whatever.
Apart from the sleep-deprivation, it is a strange and inevitable thing that time spent with the dynamic jo&stv duo is inseparable from tippling, as in wine, lots of it. Wineroute on Tuesday (with wine), stv's killer Thai (and wine) on Wednesday night, book club (jo and more wine) on Thursday. Tonight's Falkenstein game lacked jo&stv, but made up for it, surprisingly, with wine, suggesting that their insidious influence has caused moral degeneration already. This weekend, for an encore, it's a Trappist monastery for me. There must be some balance in the universe. Besides, the already endemic pacing and cohesion problems in my Falkenstein party become deeply problematical when, in addition to rampant player bloody-mindedness*, the DM is unable to form coherent sentences.
Book club was, as usual, a blast, and I staggered home with a weighty bunch of books. This is a somewhat eccentric and eclectic collection, including the third Nightingale Floor volume, two Joanne Harrises (she of Chocolat), China Mieville's Iron Council, Master and Commander, Douglas Coupland's Microserfs, a Tom Holt, and the first five of the Number One Ladies' Detective Agency series. All of this should successfully distract me from the Worthy South African Novels, which are giving me the pip. However, I also successfully ignored all of them all day in order to succumb unblushingly to the entertaining fascism of Heinlein's Starship Troopers. The boots! The leather! The mindless machismo!
* I love my Falkenstein party, but they take individualism to new heights. Depths. Whatever.
