Monday, December 31, 2012

Tiny Story Time: Unexpected

Ceniza tried one more time. The person she thought was a friend, a dear friend, had caused unexpected tears to well up, yet again. No one would understand this. The only advice she had received was to get over it. Always good advice, and as with most intentions, easier for the giver and not the receiver. Thinking of gifts, was it--no this could not be--gold? Gifts that were given in friendship must have had an invisible cost she did not realize at the time. No matter what happened, though, she could not develop the callouses she needed to prevent the hurt. Never had she been so completely shut out, so harshly denied reason or logic to the end of a friendship. She was terrible at guessing games, but then again-- if the gold wasn't returned, the gold she tried to pay back for the gifts, so she had to reason that is was about that. Overwhelmingly, her worst character trait must be denial of pain and insult. This had broken her heart time and again. No matter what, she could not believe this person would be so petty, so spiteful, over gold.

What a shame.

The back of a hand makes for a lousy handkerchief however.

In a tiny corner of Teldrassil, a Night Elf hunter was trying to do something, well, that shouldn't be done. "Get in that mailbox!" he laughed as the tried to capture the squirming otter, to send whirling through the twister nether to his friend. Not too long ago, he had seen that she had put out an invitation to one and all in friendship, a welcoming home to any who are kind and friendly. Well, he supposed, he was kind and friendly, so why not? The otter zipped around the box, leaving puddles and a tuft of fur in its wake. He tried with another, and another. The otters were far more crafty than he. He wiped the otter spit off his hands with his pet, who almost went insane at the smell of mammals around his neck, and looked through his treasure trove of pets again. He finally conceded when the crab scuttled away, the cats scratched his face, and the snakes look indignant. He found a shy little penguin, a very special one she did not have, from the Kalu'ak. He sent that to her --and had no idea the joy he help rebound in her heart. His timing was perfect, as timing often is not. Turns out, penguins are perfect for drying tears.

My note:
This is not exactly how it happened, except for the timing, and there is a very angry sifang otter out there somewhere. Zwingli of Zwingli's Weblog of WoW saw that I posted my battletag out there, and took me up on my welcome mat of friendship offer. I love his blog, and let me tell you, he is a great guy! I couldn't figure out what to trade in return, but sent him a few things from the pet shop. I hope it's enough--who am I kidding? It'll never be enough. He was the spring in my emotional bounce-back. Thank you, Zwingli. And you're rocking the Safari Hat!

Postscript: I have no idea what to use those stones on.

Sunday, December 30, 2012

Tiny Story Time: Deal with the Dragon

Mataoka stood frozen. This diminutive elf of a dragon's son was obviously not what he tried to make himself seem -- a diplomat, an ambassador, a far-fallen acorn from a catastrophic tree. He was the growth, the spawn of death incarnate. His fine silks and embroidered speech gave the appearance of avoiding taint or suspicion. But Mataoka's instincts bubbled and boiled in her heart, though she did what she could to quiet them. She squelched them for her own gains.

He sent for her, and made her feel like the only one in the world he trusted, that was worthy of this quest.

She brought him what he asked for, a Chimera of Fear. A chimera? That is odd -- a chimera is an amalgamation of many mythical creatures--she supposed -- one of fear? What did I just hand over to him? What did I receive in return?

He offered her three choices: one, clearly for healing and spell casting. One for strength and power. And one for agility. Mataoka could not breath: not a single one represented who she was.

She herself was a chimera--created for agility, and groomed for healing.  How could she possibly choose one, when she was so much more than that?

No matter what choice it would be the wrong one. What was wrong, what was wrong? How did a gift feel so much like a debt, a price of a piece of her heart, her soul?

She chose the prize for deftness, agility. That was her instinct, and she chose to listen to this small, uncomfortable voice.

"I know nothing,"she admitted to herself. "And if I know nothing, I can help no one, not even myself."

Mataoka never felt so alone.

Operation Shieldwall:


Saturday, December 29, 2012

Series: I am a...monk.

An offering to Buddha at my local nail salon...pretty sure Buddha likes lattes, as do I.
From National Geographic

Since I had no authority to broach the subject of monks, I do what any one should do: go read something. In my World Religions book, the index lists monks, in page sequence: Buddhist, Christian, Jain, Japanese, and Tibetan. I will add Shaolin, as well. 

Many years ago there was a story in the Seattle Times about a mother whose son was deemed the reincarnation of a Buddhist monk. Long story short, she ended up sending her son to the monastery half a world away, and I believe he was only nine years old or so. Oh wait, no, he was four. That test of Abrahamistic-level of faith is beyond me. Though the filmmakers deny it, some would assume the (awful) movie, Little Buddha, is based on this. Please don't watch the movie. Ever. The real story is fascinating enough without bad acting.

When one thinks of monks, few keys words spring to mind: discipline, austerity, ritual, and meditation. Whereas a shaman may seek visions using drugs (peyote) sometimes pain, monks seek spiritual enlightenment with repetitive thinking and actions or deeds, mantras, mediation, or denying little or no possessions or comforts. According to history, many a young man would become a monk simply to have a roof over his head and food, but the cost is personal freedom, family, and material possessions. Buddhist monks are not allowed to have jobs to earn money, but may receive donations for their sustenance: I find this concept fascinating. Family and friends routinely support the monk in training perhaps as their own means of spiritual enrichment. The daily life of a monk is ritual, practice, and stillness. This is true for monks of all faiths. One gives up many things when one chooses this path. But like all religions, too, politics and the strife of humans causes pain and conflict. It is tragic.

Tibetan Prayer Kites

For their sacrifices, monks lives may also be envied. We may view their simple works as a much needed release from the technological and world noise, mental and physical pollution we stain our world with. But even monks need a new roof over their heads, so if you want to help out, please! 

Kung Fu Master

This time of year of feasting, family, and festivities brings about our own doubts about the nature of spirituality. It is tough to deny ourselves those material goods, the new thing, the latest. The Dalai Lama would have us practice contentment:

This philosophy is counter-intuitive to any gaming activity. The purpose of a game is to gain--gain a new skills, a new lesson, a win. Let me repeat that: gain a lesson--even in loss. So perhaps the meditative, repetitive nature of our Azerothian endeavors are leading us to spritual enlightment.


These are both irreverant and serious looks at being a monk:
Kung-Fu Hustle (one of my guilty-pleasure movies)
Enter the Dragon
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (all stories are love stories)
Pain-free Shaolin Monk video

Friday, December 28, 2012

My name is Matty. And I'm an altaholic.

Welcome, Matty.

I know that's an old joke, but I'm a in a post-holiday funk. I'll get over it. Nothing a little cleaning and Bacchanalian destruction can't fix. Friend says to me today, something about my "gold" issue, or lack thereof, some suggestions on how to fix it. Alas, I know how to fix it. Quit playing so many damn alts.

I have a former colleague, a great guy, ex-Marine, well-educated, awesome guy. He and his beautiful wife just welcomed their...fifth...sixth...child? Lost count. I teased him on number four asking him if he knew what was causing it, hardy har har- pretty sure he does. Now, he is not the one to have a grand discussion about zero-population growth necessities, global footprints, and all that silliness. But I do look at him and ponder where does he find the resources? I admire folks with larger families - that is a path I may have walked myself if circumstances were different. I make no judgment in their family planning: it is their business. For myself, my mother told me, "Never let them outnumber you." Advice I heeded.

But she does not play World of Warcraft.

Pretty shaman? Sure. I'll start with that. Complicated class, versatile, powerful. Sure. Let's spend almost three earth years (not sure of the play hours--I'll look it up later). Paladin? Naturally. Priest? Thank you, yes please. Mage, hunter, warlock, druid, death knight? Why sure! Always room for one more! But alas I fear, and this is tough to admit, I've become more Octa-mom than Mother Earth with all these damn alts. They're fun to make, but damn expensive.

And yes--I know. I KNOW. Time is money, friends. I understand game economics. But I feel compelled to share my thesis once more: I am not sure all the power holders at Blizzard understand the nature of fun.

For those changes that have benefited players with many alts, I applaud you. You get it. I know you're there, at the meetings, championing for fun-- there are the account-wide mounts, pets, BOAs, and when one is honored with a faction, all boats float so to speak with the commendations. It's grand. And yes, I feel somewhat like a fishwife, asking for one more thing, one more thing...but please: flying.


It doesn't even have to be Master. Or Artisan. Just one or the other account wide.
If I bought flying for the characters (whom I love to play) it would be upwards of 20,000 for the remaining faction mounts (not including the Cloud Serpents only Mataoka can ride, thinking they would be account-bound after exaltation) and the Tiller goats, which thankfully are account-wide. The flying lessons would be 42,500 for Artisan/Master on those who don't have it already, plus 15,000 for Cloud Serpent riding once they are all exalted with Cloud Serpents. Grand estimate: 77,500. And I can't even talk about the jewel crafting panthers, or the big yak thing.

I know many of you are masters of the gold game. I applaud you, too. Those of you who had the pocket change to get your Brawler's invitations, or a rare mount on the Black Market Auction House, or saved your coppers for just the right moment, and especially those of you who only play one or two characters. You spend the same monthly fees as I do, and have the same love of Azeroth as I do, yet seem to spend your time much more wisely. I must cry foul on this one though. I'm not asking for charity or a handout because I have a large brood of alts: I know some of you are thinking I'm like a welfare mom who can't seem to figure out "what's causing it." I can't ask for anything more to relieve the pain of dailies on so many alts: that is my own damn fault. I can't ask for anything more on account-wide mounts and pets, except to say if one gets exalted to ride pretty dragons, then all should be. Don't ask me to punch Saurok in the faces times six alts, please. Let me go do something else that's fun. And please don't tie up flying skills per character.

Remember, time is money, friend. And it's my time, and my money.

Maybe that's my cue to go do something else for a bit.

But not until I get my Scourged Whelping.

Theme song: Crash Kings/Mountain Man

Dear Matty: Amore

Dear Matty:
This is somewhat mortifying for someone of my former status to write, but I have nowhere else to turn. My mate doesn't thrill me anymore. There used to be so much heat and fire in our relationship, but lately, since my brood has left the nest, I'm just in the mood anymore. I keep telling myself that this should be the best time of our lives, (and they are long lives indeed, one might even say immortal), and yet, the ennui that has set in our bedroom would chill even Arthas's, um--codpiece if you will. Maybe it's that we of my kind are no longer relevant. We just fly around all day, brittle, cold, and annoyed. Every day it's the same thing: dead Vykrul lugging around their maces, (quite depressing), disgruntled mages doing something or another to ice and eggs, and those whelpings are brats, straight up. Just the other day they mocked me as I, well this is embarrassing to admit, knocked down a boulder with my large flank. Hey, what can I say? Sometimes a pint of Ben & Jerry's is sexier than my mate. At least they don't judge. And what is the deal with all these forsaken and gnomes hovering around? Are they expecting a show? Well I got news for them. There ain't gonna be no show. Until I can get in the mood again, until the old spark is back, I feel as frigid as Jaina being stood up. So Matty--please help. I do love my mate, even though his old dragon breath is sweeter, and he skulks around that trash in Mt. Hyjal. What can I do to rekindle the flame?

Disheartened Dragon

Dear Dissed:

In an effort to keep things anonymous, I will just say I do regonize that your race was once the terror of the skies. I too, have been anticipating a resurgence of pheramones by the Vigil, which has been Silent for far too long. I wish I was a sex therapist, but alas, am not sure I am qualified to help grease the wheels of a dragon affair; however, I shall give you advice I know the Draenei have long valued: don't overthink it. If your mate is still interested in you, which from your letter I have to assume he is, just relax. Have a cocktail or some small sheep, whatever it is dragons need, go off and destroy a small village or two, carry off screming yeti, you know - just for fun-- and see if that gets you laughing again, the best aphrodiasic of all. Now I'm not suggesting the Draenei carry off livestock to get down and funky, but they do tap into their animal instincts. (It's the hooves and horns--no matter how civilized, it always comes down to those.) Intimacy is what keeps us all paradoxically grounded and closer to heaven. If nothing seems to work, just shut your eyes and think about Thorin Oakenshield. Seems to work for some. Just saying. Not that I would know, but. Anyway. Now get out there, bite him hard on the neck, and show him how awesome you are! Get busy, girl! Those spawns ain't gonna hatch themselves!


Editor's Note: I am fairly certain there are no scourged whelpings in the game. 

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

I am a...mage (with Mr. Snergguls editing)

This is a replica of a plaque my mother gave to me, framed, years ago. I put it out every Christmas. It kind of drives the men in my life a little crazy cause, well, I guess it is reverse sexism. "Funny cause it's true, gents?" (Considering what happened just going on an outing the other day, and the effort it took to get them to make one damn phone call to get information, they were playing well into those sexist stereotypes.) But I digress. 'Tis the season for happy happy joy joy and all that! And, I realize it's Boxing Day today. We don't do Boxing Day in the States, but damn, we should. Boxes and consumerism are our specialty. Oh wait. It's not about that. It's about giving to others. Huh. (I'll connect the dots in a bit.) When I was little, I would seeing Boxing Day on the calendar, and wonder about it. Back in those days research was done with clay tablets and scrolls: you had to go to your local Alexandrian-style library and hope everyone was careful with the torches, in order to find things out. Point is, I'm a little late on the three wise men and their gifts with no gift receipts. Gold, okay, that would have been nice, but then the whole manger scene would have left hundreds of Sunday school productions bereft of who could play a sheep, and who could be the donkey: not everyone can play the three central characters. Frankincense. Sure. That's practical. It would have gotten rid of the scent of donkey doo-doo. And Myrrh. Just the thing for a newborn. Works great as diaper rash cream? I don't know. Still say a package of onesies, some washcloths, and burping blankets may have come in more handy, but what do I know?

What does this have to do with mages? Well, duh! The three wise MEN were magi. O'Henry wrote a sweet Christmas love story of sacrifice and irony, The Gift of the Magi.  The word "magic" has its roots deep in history, and as always conjured up images of sorcery.

Now magei are not always as competent or kind as the three wise men may have been. One important character catalyst in Game of Thrones is Mirri Max Duur. No, she's not nice at all. But can you blame her, in some ways? All that she healed and cared for was destroyed. According to Martin, maegi are practitioners of blood magic. Which, if I wanted to pick up this thread, may be one of the propaganda tools used by men in power to get the midwives out of the birthing rooms. Okay, no - another time.

The thing is about mages, while priests, shamans, and druids have a sense of healing, mages, well, consider them the technical assistants, the conduits of dimensions, either 'smoke and mirrors' trickster variety, or the real deal, like Mirri's blood magic. Mages don't heal. They will cross the streams, but heal? No. Bandaid? Nada. Boo-boo kiss? Turn ya into a newt, more like it.
Everyone consisted of an agglomerate of souls that could move apart and meld together. To bring order and structure to the world the humans developed ritual and eventually magick.
When I think of arcane energy, I think of it as the electricity, the energy, the sparks and lights many dimensions together. Now you see it, now you don't. Mages like to alter things, change things, and seeing is most definitely not believing. When the Glyph of Critter morph first appeared, and I didn't know about it, I gasped at the sight of the rats of Stormwind as cats. I thought it was a bug, and yes, should have known mages were behind it. One of my favorite mages, Circe, makes no apologies for turning men into the beasts she believes them to naturally be. Remember those dots I was going to connect? Mages aren't in it to help others. If you have something that needs boxing, give it to them.

In studying the history of mages, I found it somewhat odd that there is no definitive or straight path to its definition. Guess I shouldn't really be surprised. Mages turn into whatever they desire. And they turn you into what you don't.

And that ain't no hat trick.


Some links that may be of interest:

Addendum: I meant to post this quote, too:

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Birth of Genius

Nascita di Venere, 1486, Sandro Botticelli

Right before I needed to take my leave of a former guild, a group of players had done Gokk'lok's Shell, and it sounded right up my alley. But alas, at that time, it wasn't meant to be. The good news is Cymre put this on her blog, Gokk'lok's Shell, and it reminded me of one of those fun things I had wanted to do. And, pro tip! From what it sounds like, whenever Miss Matty-Goddess-Pants does her debut on the half-shell, I'd better be ready to get that screenshot stat, because like the Lady Venus, there is a matron who only wants to get some decent clothes on her as quickly as possible, and the moment is gone. Boo!

Postscript: Anyone up for seafood?

All I want for Christmas...

Is my two Hobbit feet.

Well, thought I had everything. Good friends, family, baby giraffe, you know, the usual. But I saw The Hobbit yesterday, and now all I want are Hobbit feet for walking miles.

At least I got the next best thing:

And yes, I didn't think I could love Dwarfs more than I do, but I was wrong. Thorin Oakenshield, will you marry me?

"No, Matty, alas, I cannot marry thee..."

A very Merry Christmas to you all, and much love, grog, and laughter -

*Hobbit feet can be purchased from Tell them Matty sent you.

Monday, December 24, 2012

Tiny Story Time: Dark Angel

I am not good. I am not pure. I have a wicked heart, sometimes, and don't always want to do what's best for others, but only for myself. And yet you still love me. How is that possible? How is it so? Do you see the faults in all of us, and have the patience of a saint, the flaws of a human, and the desires of a spirit? How is it so? How can this be? I will thank you for what seem like little gifts: the fish, the spells, the antidotes to tired worlds, and just for a little while, just for a moment, you take me away from it. I am not good. I am not pure. But you make my wicked heart and help me walk in grace.

Love to all of you in this season of light, hope, and triumph over darkness.

Sunday, December 23, 2012

Tiny Story Time: Jaguero Isle

Rain on Jaguero Island was rarer than one might believe, given the lush tropical vegetation. There was an odd current between the straight of Northern Stranglethorn proper and this little piece of forgotten land that ran counter to seasonal expectations. Some rumored the goblin off-shore drilling may be having an effect on the climate, though no one had the authority to regulate their business practices. Rökkr knew it did have some effect, but not on this. The troubles on the island were brought upon by a different kind of monster. She waited for the rain with the best skill she had: patience. Her commanding officer had dismissed her as a weak link in the guild of rogues; she had been out of practice for some time, and never did seem to find the assassinator's heart her peers had. This mission was demeaning, she believed, but she was loyal. She had been sent to wait, wait as long as it took, to capture and protect the endangered baby apes. Poachers had been coming to this island for years, taking advantage of the rarity and the black-market trade of ape fur and ground teeth for aphrodisiac potions.

When the rain first hit her face, the baby apes on the island rambunctiously ran away from their protective mothers to play, and see saw that poachers were waiting on fiery mounts, killing their mothers, and snatching the babies in crates and bondage. She saw a weak one, and as quickly and stealthily as she could, grab it as its mother was shot. Rökkr had zero maternal instincts, but when the tiny ape wrapped his bristly arms around her neck, she knew her mission to rescue animals around Azeroth was the right path. She would just never admit that to her CO, however. He would think she was getting soft.

Saturday, December 22, 2012

Tiny Story Time: Sanctuary.

Ceniza saw ghosts and shades behind every pillar and post. She tried to dig her way out of the pain. She had blinked herself from mountaintop to sandy steppes hoping for reprieve from the taint of sorrow. One evening, she even tried to drink herself blind, but only succeeded in creating a nesting of darkness. Nothing worked. Would no small thing find peace? Was it all to be laid to waste, time and again, with monsters of fear and lizard-creatures who only practiced destruction? She flew over the acidic remains, smoking trails that stunk like a devil's arse and guarded by Hate's own soldiers. She could never blink away fast enough, or fade away long enough.

But light shines differently when it's a light of peace. From a distance, the orb glowed like the moon in love. She went down to investigate with great caution, and in fear, because the shrine was surrounded by tiny sprites worshipping and bowing: if these sprites saw her, they would rip her to shreds. A few of them were easily manageable and killed; however, this swarm would overrun and destroy her. Death by a thousand shards of tiny teeth. One of them spotted her, and paid her no mind. She stopped breathing, stomach clenched. And, she realized, they were peaceful, and would bring her no harm whatsoever.

Slowly she walk further into the glen, and tried to softly speak to the tallest one who was bold, and most likely their leader. He did his odd dance of one foot, hop to the other, and the other again, as if the ground was too hot for his tender feet. They all did
this bizarre act. She wished she could ask him why. He just pointed, and she saw hills of the tiny sprites; some obviously babies or children, and others somewhere in between this tall one here. None touched her, and none seemed to mind that she was there. Ceniza took out a fishing pole, and caught a few spinefish in a pond that seemed more complicated and alive than most large Azerothian cities.

 She wondered if others knew of this place, how the sprites appeared to be safe here, even in one of the most dangerous zones of the new land. She didn't want to linger too long, otherwise she may never go home, wherever that was.

 Writer's Note: I want to add sprites and more dragonlings to the list of companions, please.

Fangirl Confessions

Okay -- okay. I may have to call in Navi on this one. She's pro at making everyone feel amazing, special, talented, and worthy of fanfare. On the other side, there's Tome, who can whip up a dry, yet sweet tale to make everyone smile and comment. I'm not sure I'm worthy, so I'll just ram into it all Draenei-horns and stomping cloven-hoof: I am a bit of a fangirl of...


Shush, you.

He writes the Crimson Hammer, one of my favorite blogs. He's such a gentleman, so witty, and like Thunderspank and Matticus, make me want to get all "Jewish Mother" up in their grill and fix them up with nice girls (if they don't have one already).

And then this happened:

Now I am asking myself, if he was such a gentleman, why didn't he pack smelling salts, too? It took five gnomes and a drunk Dwarf to pick me up off the floor in the Golden Lantern! The Dwarf didn't care, in fact, he copped a feel on my bum on the way up, but the gnomes were nonplussed.

So, I immediately wrote him back, even though I realized he probably already deleted the character on the sagging but comfortable Whisperwind server:

I bought the gnomes a round of cheap beer, hugged them tight to my chestguard, (the Dwarf stood by, looking hopeful, but I just shook my head "No"), and brought the adorable cub out of its wrappings:

I named him Arvashtini. Why? It's cute. Got a problem with that? This is us taking a break, watching Big Keech walk down the path. Big Keech supplies the orbs that make the panther mounts, which will stay wrapped until I figure out that AH game. I heard it's tricky. Buy low, sell high, or something like that. In any case, all my holiday cynicism, of which, admittedly, there has been an abundance of lately, melted away like snowflakes in Tanaris.


You are truly a gentleman and a scholar.

Thank you good sir. With all my heat. Er. heart.

Friday, December 21, 2012

Australia Saves the World!

Mayan prophecies got you down? Not sure which calendar to trust, Gregorian, Julian, or other? Well, I'm putting my stock in the Aussies, once again. This morning, a bit worried about apocalyptic visions and whatnot, what do I find in my mailbox, but a beautiful gift from Cymre! Not only did she and Navi let us Yanks know that the world would not end, but gave us all something to care for, too!

I am indeed a Jewelcrafter, but alas, had no idea how to get this spell, or if I knew, the information was lost. Here is my beautiful little cub:

And then, wouldn't you know?! I haven't done Golden Lotus dailies in a fortnight it seems, and got a key from some punk Mogu, and look!

What a way to start the winter solstice! Very lucky indeed!

Postscript: Yes, yes I know Australians and other Oceanic folks would have met with the zombie apocalypse the same time as the Northern Hemisphere. I khow how time zones work. I had a very earnest lecture from cross-dressing rogue about this.



Tiny Storytime: The Storm

Ricket grabbed her stag buckskin gloves, encrusted with oil and blood of unspecified origin, and carefully threw the tarp over her baby: a twin-engine turbo combustion AirSkye Angel 2000. She never understood why she and her clan left the warmth of the south for these northern hills. She often laughed at how stupidly they were named: Storm Peaks! It rarely snowed, so that was a blessing, because when it did, the snow had a life of its own. It blew from all directions: from the trees, the sides of the steep cliffs, it even seemed to slice down from the Vykrul village just up the ridge, as if they controlled the fierceness of the storms with their blue, angry moods. The tarp secured, she gently patted the plane, muttering under her icy breath, “It’s okay baby, storm’ll be over soon, don’t worry sweetheart, ya, it’ll be okay.” Out of the corner of her eye she caught of flash of purple and fuchsia…it was hard not to miss. What in Thrall’s name was this?! A human, no, a warlock, was out in the middle of the storm, talking to a turtle and a fox? Some sort of bizarre ritual was taking place, that is for sure, and it was none of Ricket’s business. She shrugged and went inside for some hot nog and smuggled rum. Crazy humans.

Editor's Note: So as to keep the arctic fox population viable, Kellda immediately used her beast stone to raise its level to rare.

And there is no better name for this fox than "Kitsune."

Thursday, December 20, 2012

Sho. Kewl.

You know when Navi says "Go do..." or, "Go to..." you should do it. Immediately. Tell your guildies there's no more run. Tell your friends and family they'll just have to wait. Because when Navi says she has something for you, it's going to be grand:

Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!!!!  The thing doesn't even need batteries. Runs on pure arcane power and Mountain Dew. I logged onto neglected Escalarta, whom Navi has graciously allowed to stowaway on her guild, and there he was! I have since renamed him "El Corazon," which means "the heart" in Spanish, because that's what he is---

Watch out world...he's a heart-stopper!

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Blog Azeroth: Effy's Question

Hey, I have a few suggestions for some new pets, too! Me! Me! 

These are just off the top of my noggin

(Can you tell what zone I was in when I thought of these?)

Mini Garms!

Pocket-Sized Mastadons! Makes your opponents EXTINCT!

Any kind of fun-sized revenant would be awesome...
More ideas to follow!

It's the most wonderful time...

All I wanted to do yesterday was sleep, my long winter's nap, don kerchief, have a night cap, something like that. But all that was on was "How It's Made," and I just didn't feel like watching the manufacturing of goods. (Oh, perambulator makers: those are gorgeous, and your craftsmanship is excellent, but watching Cheetos made is actually more interesting.)

Go to Mt. Hyjal? You ask. Sure!

And, wait...what is this?

Thrall's festive tableau
and one more thing to ask for:

This would be a great glyph to have: Thrall's Dire Psychedelic Dire Wolf!
And whoa whoa whoa...

A that a....Winter Veil hat?!?!

Stonecore never seemed so...festive

Now I've seen everything.

Any festive surprises that have delighted you out there?

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

RTMT: Fifty Shade...lings's only server restarts, this is pretty damn random. It is tough to indulge my flights of fancy when the world wants to keep me grounded. 

So these are just some sprinkles, some ephemera, of recent play:

Finally beat Bloodknight Poopypants, of the Hair Gel Clan.

This may be my Christmas card...

Best time of the year...

Desecrated oil is another one of those potions that has interesting side effects...

I may never beat Nearly Headless Jacob (Nick's younger brother?) but damn, his pets are awesome!

So, I was reading up on Shadelings, and the advice was that they are up early in the morning, Hey! I'm up early in the morning, too! I can do this! 

Once I found my way in the Basements of Karazhan, there they were! (Had to get that spirit out of my way first...)

And oh yeah baby! First one, a blue, and you are mine! I shall take you home and love you, and squeeze you, and hug you...

Not sure why this happened.
So, I'm a little behind my blog writing. It's cool. Holidays are right around the corner, and nothing a few gift cards can't fix. Got plenty of food in case of snowstorms, and as long as my power stays on, all is well. 

Monday, December 17, 2012

Real life...

Last night we watched "Life in a Day," a film by Ridley and Tony Scott. It's available to watch on Netflix instant play.

I wish there was a word, in any language, that meant, "deep despondency embraced by unadulterated hope."

Watch it, please.

Thursday, December 13, 2012

Strength in numbers...

‎"Because nerds like us are allowed to be unironically enthusiastic about stuff. We don't have to be like, 'Oh yeah that purse is okay' or like, 'Yeah, I like that band's early stuff.' Nerds are allowed to love stuff, like jump-up-and-down-in-the-chair-can't-control-yourself-love it... When people call people nerds, mostly what they are saying is, 'You like stuff', which is just not a good insult at all, like 'You are too enthusiastic about the miracle of human consciousness.'" - John Green

I had a [bad] boyfriend once. I remember two distinct turning points in our relationship -- the red flags, if you will. One summer's night we were watching the cars go across the Ben Franklin Bridge on patio-style bar and restaurant, and I remember marveling at the sheer beauty of it, the architectural genius that is a bridge, the man hours, sweat, engineering, and --love--of creating something enduring---I probably just made some comment like, "Wow, did you ever think about how cool a bridge is...?" and I don't remember his exact wording, but it was kind of raging, an angry, mean moment of "You are too stupid to live!" kind of response. Now, if I had been a stronger young woman, and wasn't trying to work out 20-something self-esteem issues, I would have tossed my warm beer in his face, slapped it Bette Davis style, and gotten a cab right then and there. If only I had had my future self tell me that my enthusiasm was grace embodied. I eventually did do all that, at least metaphorically, but that one conversation has always struck me as poignant. 

Kellda the Adventurer

Well, that's an interesting word, "poignant." Because when I think about him, and all of his fears over not being cool, not being perceived as hip or awesome or stately, those fears crippled him.

Tomorrow is this blog's second year anniversary--and oh poor Navi and Tome. They each have gotten a long string of pink pity-party tells this past week. I have one real id friend who, for reasons he has not shared, hasn't spoken to me much. I have another one who dropped me without explanation. I have had some stress at work (it goes with the territory). And of course, the usual love and concern for family and friends. They both ended up giving me some amazing pets: Ragnaros and Lil KT - seriously, how cool is that?! Owning a tiny version of Ragnaros may be the only way I can control him. He is unfinished business. And guess what?! One of my battletag buddies noticed my warlock's name, Kellda, and asked if it was from a Terry Pratchet book -- yes, indeed! YES! Wee Free Men, and the name Kellda is not only Kelda in the story, but, oh, never mind. Let's just say I like the name. We kept chatting and we're now Goodreads buddies and Facebook friends. Isn't that grand?

So, weighing it out, here and there, this and that, I am going to remind myself of a few promises:

1. Write what and when I feel like, and if real life needs attention, try not to let it irritate me. Find a way to gather the ideas, keep them in water until I can get to them.

2. Know that not every one is going to dig my sh*t. I am an acquired taste. Every one has their own reasons for doing what they do, and I give every one the benefit of the doubt. It's actually part of my real life job description, so I can do that in the virtual world too.

3. Learn to cope with my altaholicism. And that I may never find a raid team. And that's okay.

But before one more word gets typed, let me just say, "Thank you."

PS Tome, I told this new friend your recommendation of The Night Circus--my raid team's name (if I ever get one) will be called the Azerothian Literate Society Book Club

Red Sword of Courage

Today CDR is having some minor heart surgery, (which strikes me as an oxymoron), and I wish I could give him this. He's pretty damn brave, but sometimes...well, let's just say I hope the doctors have epic skills.

While he's having done whatever they're going to do, I'll be bravely squashing monsters and picking flowers and chasing blue-level Silky Moths. Times like these it's good to have a real virtual distraction for (oxy) morons like me.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

*humble gratitude*


thank you.

A proper post will follow later this evening.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

RTMT: Got my Hobbit Tickets*

My mind is about to explode: I completely forgot about update Tuesday. I really thought I would have some time to myself to stroll around the Sunsong Ranch, drink Gina's bad coffee, finish up revered on the Klaxxi (yes, I am doing this rep thing ALL WRONG) and now I am faced with a cargo hold full of blog post ideas, and -- gasp! The time to write them!?! Activate spin-out NOW! What to do? WHAT to write FIRST?

Enter Mr. Snergguls, my blog editor-in-chief, with his daily mud-sluice pomegranate smoothie and i-Pad (he follows Reddit like a Breaking Bad fan), and casually looks over my shoulder as I write- don't be surprised if he interjects a thought or two.

Hold My Nose. Bikini Top and Bottoms Secured. Ready? Okay? Jump:

Winter Veil

There is a shared topic on what we would all like to receive from Great Father Winter, the Saturnine jovial of Joves, who is patient but definitely sets up his boundaries. Don't try to click on his lap, folks, you can't sit there.

What do I want for Winter Veil?
Well I have already gotten the hozen elites neutered to plain old baddies that Ceniza can readily take on in the patch, so finishing up Tillers was easy-peasy. But, yes, being the grubby-pawed girl that I am, I do have a few requests:

1. Change the rep grinds NOW*. I am acquiesced to dailies. I am resigned. Sometimes I even like them. But for those of us who aren't lucky with drops, and want to stay current, trying to get a belt or trinket and then not being able to because we're weeks away from revered on a fraction of factions is fatiguing. (Hey, my alliteration buff isn't faded!)

*This is spoken in a Veruca Salt voice, complete with stamp patten-leather clad foot and white stockings.

No, not this Veruca Salt, although they are greatly entertaining: Seether.

2. Spirits of Harmony BOA. Please. Please. Please.

3. Bigger bags and cheaper tabs. (Sounds like the line from a country-western song...)

4. Flying cheaper, or BOA, across alts. (Ever heard of BOA? It's Blizzard Occasional Airlines. Sometimes they get you there, and sometimes they don't. Canceled reservations seem to happen quite a bit these days.)

5. This is going to sound odd, but I wish we had a "Goodwill" place. I even took a screenshot with this in mind yesterday, but it's on the laptop, and I'm too lazy to get up, find it, and post it. (It's bee a long week and it's only Tuesday, cut me a break.) The screenshot is of all the glyphs I try to sell, for super cheap mind you, one gold even, and they keep getting kicked back to me. I read Tome's post this morning, and she was talking about something similar. What I wish was this: Yes, after an attempt at selling stuff, or keeping it hanging around, I could put those lowbie materials in a place where players could just take what they need. I don't want to deal with it anymore, and I don't even need a receipt. But that might entice players -you get to write it off on your taxes! Hey!

6. Last: I wish we had free-agent guilds: Consider this a cross between LFR and standard guilds. Sometimes you just can't keep a character/toon in a guild, but this costs the guild time, recruitment hours, etc. For whatever reason we change guilds, it would be cool to be able to put together alt runs or other functions cross-guild and have it "count" somehow. The current guild system is blocky and chunky, and adheres to a culture which I don't think exists any longer in game. But what the hell do I know?

But everything else I wanted: great LFRs, more solo play and NPC interactions, are coming to fruition.


Mr. Snergguls tells me that if one wants to know all sides of the truth, (which is never linear, you black/white world seeing folks, but faceted like a fly's eye), one must include original sources and primary documents. The Horde's Warchief writes a blog of his own, did you know that? Of course you did. Granted this is from his POV, but aside from being a world-class baddie, he is also funny as hell. This post entitled Anger Management caused multiple spit-takes on my part. Bear has speculated on where all this is going, and in my own metacognitive processes, while reading it thought to myself how much of a noob I am when it comes to lore. I mean, really, truly, I don't know anything. So I looked it up: Why do the Horde and Alliance fight? Yes, there are great forum postings on WoW sites, but I thought this one summed things up nicely, too.

Oh, and King Varian? Kind of a ........Who is he calling a peasant?

Read ID Friends

Edited for content- Snergguls

Book Recommendation

When I have a moment here and there, I jot down haikus and collective nouns. I came across this charming book: A Dignity of Dragons by Jacqueline K. Ogburn and illustrated by Nicoletta Ceccoli This should be on every parent's shopping list this year.

Navi Knows: Loved this post by Navi. Check it out.

JD the MasterMind: He's nominated Navi for something that's cool, and I couldn't agree more!

Oh, I know there's more, but Mr. Snergguls is looking at his watch like it has naked murlocs on it, and tapping his flappy finned foot. He's shooing me out the door, which is probably a good thing. 

*All I really care about now anyway. Did you catch the Colbert Report week on the Hobbit? Holy Gandalf, does Stephen Colbert know his shit about LOTR or WHAT?! It was incredible. Highly recommend finding the original episodes if you missed them.