Games, Games, Games
I know my grandfather didn't drag himself out of a coal mine to have me sit around all day telling stories and making up games, but it's just so irresistible!
The Scion game begins tomorrow, when Rob is going to run a prologue session with me. I'm excited and a little nervous, and I haven't roleplayed in some time, and my character is wildly different than any other that I have played. Plus, Anthy will be there, so there's extra pressure to be Oscar-worthy.
The alternate reality game... just launched a few days ago. I'm absolutely terrified that I'll screw it up somewhile, and it's been very difficult to stay calm during the process. I'm more or less the only person behind it, after all. I don't have an ARG team or even a partner - Codi and Casey may help sometimes, but they're not really a part of the project so much as consultants. I hope I can handle this all by myself. Luckily, I made my first puzzle so hard that hopefully a lot of people won't want to play, and I won't be overwhelmed.
Word Article
My article on drinking with Richmondites was published in the Earlham Word this week. I'm surprised most of it made it through the censor. They even posted the expletives. I'll have to do better next week, asking Richmondites about Obama or ghosts or something.
Better yet, I could skip the drinking with Richmondites part altogether and ask ghosts about Obama. I mean, I do have an ouija board somewhere around here, and I could do plenty with that, huh?
ARG
Okay, now I'm going to be completely honest with everyone reading this. I am, indeed, working on an ARG (alternate reality game) at present, but obviously can't say too much about it. It will be short, sweet, and it isn't /x/-related, thankfully.
Nothing. And Fuck You
Why is it that whenever I'm in a slightly off mood, the first question everyone asks is "What did you take?" followed swiftly by "What did you not take?" Shouldn't those questions be reversed? It isn't as if I make an extremely regular habit of dicking around with my medications. I only do it occasionally, and usually only in ways that I know from experience won't kill me.
Shiny New Game
So, today was my birthday. I'm 23 now. I ran around with Anthony for most of the day, there was cake and ice cream, and in general I had a pretty good time. Another sign that Anthony really knows me comes from the gift he got me:
Except he didn't get me the quickstart; he got me the whole version, which is sweet. I have a ton of World of Darkness books already, and was happy to add this one to my collection. I played Geist at Gencon 09, and really liked it, enough to possibly run a game in the future. I also got a copy of Pokemon LeafGreen, my first ever pokemon game. It'll be fun to replay.
On the subject of upcoming games, it looks like Rob's going to be running a Scion game this semester. He's keeping the numbers down for it, so hopefully it'll be fun. I'm currently working on some character drabbles. This may or may not get as elaborate as Michel Gaudin did last year, but I'm hoping it does, because damn, that was fun.
I'm more or less promising myself I won't kill anyone this time around. I killed way too many characters at Gencon, and from the game last year, my body count was in the thousands by the end. As awesome as that felt, being the bad guy and all, I don't want to get typecast as such a roleplayer. I need to diversify. Besides, there'll be plenty of time to kill characters when I'm running games myself, right?
Ohyeah, and through some crazy miracle, I was able to retrieve my entire high school blog via the wayback machine. I wonder what I'll do with it. Blogging was so much more fun when I was a depressed, whiny teenager.
fictionkin.doc
I was cleaning out my computer, and I run across a huge-ass file called fictionkin.doc. Was it my term paper? The stuff Anthy and I wrote? Nope, nope.
I open it up and it begins "INT - CLASSROOM," and I remember that, prior to thesis-doom, I actually wrote a movie script. What kind of idiot actually forgets that she's written a movie script on fictionkin? I should probably do something with it. Maybe I'll clean it up and stick it on the internet.
How did I forget something like this?
I haven't posted here in awhile. The summer just drags on and on. I just got laid off, and I can't expect anything better until my diploma arrives in December. Until then, I'm stuck at my mom's house cleaning things and mowing everyone's lawn for the hell of it. The PE classes suck, for the most part and usually involve randoms hitting on me.
I... might not graduate until the spring. I sort of cut this crazy deal with my grandmother to keep from going insane. I'm not bred for life outside academia, even if its just a gap year. I noticed this when I gave everyone at Habitat for Humanity a 20-minute impromptu lesson on Derrida after someone mentioned "deconstructing" a house for resources.
So, basically... I'm going back to Earlham, sort of. My grandmother's willing to fund my long-time dream of having a double major in history on one condition: my area of geographic concentration has to be Appalachia, to, y'know, get in touch with our Melungeon roots or somesuch. It goes without saying that I'll need to not talk to my grandpa about it, because he has a habit of looking very distressed whenever anyone mentions that we're not technically white. 
I'm crazy bored. I actually started running five miles a day whilst listening to the Harry Potter audiobooks just to have something to do. I need a new hobby.
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Earlham Tales of Interest 2
I already told the story about the time the guy ate all my gummi bear vitamins while stoned. I thought the people reading this might appreciate yet another Earlham TALE of INTEREST! etc. This one's about a cat, but no one can figure out where or what said cat was, or how the word cat even came into the situation. Took me months to figure out
The Cat
By my fourth year at Earlham, I had taken to using the philosophy department corridor as a living room of sorts. I'd wander up there, pull out my pink DS, and chug down some of their coffee, review my notes for class, etc. I handwaved my massive coffee consumption by telling myself that, since I'd suffered through the Kant class, I was worthy of drinking their coffee. "The Kant class" is exactly what it sounds like; an entire semester spent slogging through the Critique of Pure Reason. It's required for the major.
At one point, I was curled up on the sofa in the corridor, flipping through a bunch of creepy old occult books. This was back when I was writing a term paper on the relationship between the early-20th century occult revival and the crisis of modernity. I was going through this book by Aleister Crowley, line by line, and comparing it to something Nietzsche'd written fifteen years earlier. This line of thought eventually panned out, but at the time, I was pretty overwhelmed.
Eventually, this guy I know shows up. He walks in, gets some coffee, and says hi. I probably would've barely noticed, except after saying, "Hello, Kerri," he paused and said, "are you a cat?"
I shook my head, because I was still trying to sort out all the Nietzsche from the Crowley, and the guy was off to his next class before I realized he'd just asked me if I was a furry, stuck-up quadroped. I spent the next fifteen minutes trying to figure out why the hell he would ask me if I was a cat.
was wearing gray and black, but well, most of my wardrobe was gray, mainly because hey, I was in college and didn't want to do too many separate loads of laundry. That, and well, he hadn't asked if I was a black cat, just a cat. There was nothing particularly cat-like about the gray dress I was wearing. It wasn't even one of the fuzzy sweater-dresses I sometimes wear. I went to the restroom and looked in the mirror. My makeups weren't even particularly cat-like; at that point in the semester, I just dusted on foundation and added some blush and eyeliner.
At that point, I turned to the books I had with me, none of which had anything to do with cats or even mentioned cats in the slightest. Nietzsche had a nice (and famous) passage about a camel, a lion, and a child, and while a lion is a type of cat, it didn't seem related. Crowley's stuff was kind of occult, after all. Maybe he thought it meant I was some kind of witch. But witches have cats - they aren't cats themselves. Bizarre.
I searched my brain. Had I said or done something catty recently? I couldn't recall. Oh god, was the kid trying to say that I was a furry? Why would he think that? Did he think I was a cat in some other way? I left the lounge pretty freaked out. I mean, a cat? What the fuck? I'm not saying I have anything against cats; I just usually don't get mistaken for them.
It was a whole two days later when I realized what it was. I'd been sitting in a particular way, with my knees tucked under me, that deserved to be called "curled up," and the kid was probably just saying that my posture was like a cat. I still think all my theories were cooler.
I CAN DRIVE
I got my drivers' license back. Since it expired, I had to take the test again, but I passed, so I can drive. Except on country roads and night, because then I'd probably have a panic attack. Still, I can drive now, which brings me one step closer to finally destroying metaphysics or whatever other lofty goals I set for my philosophy career.
I'm also bored. Secret project time.