Our friend and fully-compensated minion-manager Janci Patterson ran an RPG last night at Dragon’s Keep. The rule-set was “World of Darkness.” The setting? Dragon’s Keep, July 3rd, 9:00pm, in the Utah we know… only faced with zombies. The characters? Us, as ourselves. Me, Drew (Janci’s husband and business partner), Timothy and Rebecca, Tim, Jared, and Big Mike. Oh, and my 14-year-old daughter.

It turns out I’m a fairly robust RPG character. Good firearm experience, solid knowledge of the lay of the land and back routes, and healthy enough to keep up. Most of us were probably a dot or two overpowered in places and I’m sure I was no exception, but the stuff you know how to do by the time you’re 40 actually does count for something in games like this.

Game play began at around 8:00pm and ran with a few breaks until about 6:00am. The Keep was full of people until 1:00am, and downtown Provo had people camping along University Avenue all night in anticipation of the parade in the morning (which, following the game, I decided I would love to miss. So I drove me and mine home before the road closed.)

In-game, in a nutshell… there was a big crash, and we realized that there were dead people coming into the store. Hasty barricades and improvised weapons kept us alive long enough to get to cars. We zombie- and traffic-clogged roads prevent us from getting to Jared’s house and his firearms, so we settled for my house (and MY firearms.) Another stop for ammo and supplies (Jared’s Mom’s place) led to our first real combat. We all lived. From there we headed up the canyon to this place I know, a place that is pretty defensible. Except when it’s being swarmed by big stitched-together conglomerations of undead.

Still, all of us except Timothy lived. Timothy died once, and then undied a second time. It was sad. We almost lost the whole group, but the zombies rolled badly during those last three rounds, and I managed to get behind them with a semi-automatic shotgun and a pair of assault pistols while their attention was focused on trying to finish off the other party members (two of whom were unconscious.) And then morning came and the dead stopped being undead. No explanation for why. Life’s like that. Apparently so is un-life.

It was an intense play session. So intense, in fact, that my daughter decided to bail out and play a different RPG upstairs with Bob and Gary and friends. We gave her a happy ending early — the life-flight pilot came to get his wife near Jared’s Mom’s place, and had an extra seat, so Kiki flew to safety before the real fighting started. In that game she played some buccaneer sharp-shooter, popping off the guys with the fancy hats as the ships closed with each other. Oh, and apparently she accidentally seduced her way through Port Royal. I’m going to have to talk to her about that when she wakes up…

Speaking of which, I’m not as young as I used to be. That all-nighter was draining. I suspect I’m ruined for any sort of thinky work until Monday at the earliest.

I’ve picked up the figpainting thing again for the first time in months. It feels nice to have actually finished something. It feels even better to be happy with how it turned out (even if the pictures do reveal my haste and slop in a few spots…) photo behind the cut

I’m grateful for the good father I had. As I grow older and (in my own estimation) wiser I imagine that I can see more of the particular challenges that he faced, and the hurdles he both cleared and failed to clear. This passing-of-judgement in hindsight doesn’t mean I’m any less grateful for my Dad. He stepped up and did the Dad job the best he knew how. He was a great man, and I miss him.

He’s been gone almost 20 years now, so while there’s no emotional scab to be picked there is certainly a scar. I know its shape intimately, having poked at it for the better part of the last two decades. The scar is shaped like “what am I supposed to do in THIS situation, Dad? Oh. Right. No problem… I’ll figure something out.”

My Dad loved being a dad, and I guess that’s the part I always try to remember. Well… that and the fact that heart disease killed him at age 56. There’s a reason I’m kind of obsessive about staying fit and getting fitter — I love being a dad, too, and I’d rather not stop before I have the chance to see what being a grand-dad is like. But I digress…

That bit about loving being a dad… that’s the important part. If there are men in your life who are like that, let them know you appreciate them and the job they do. And if you happen to be one of those men, I bow to you in sincere appreciation of what you’ve undertaken.

Keep up the good work, Dad.

When we went to bed last night Sandra left her braids in, and yesterday’s braids were kind of a knotted, braidy bun at the back of her head.

Sometime in the wee morning hours Sandra and I snuggled together, her head resting on my right arm.

When I woke up this morning my right arm felt oddly numb. When I extracted myself from the snuggle I found that it was REALLY numb, and wasn’t working right.

In fact, it wasn’t working at all. The flexor system (make a fist, drop your wrist) was engaged, and the extensor system (extend your fingers, raise your wrist) was… gone? I couldn’t extend my fingers or raise my wrist.

Also, there was a set of near-bruised indentations in the crook of my elbow that seemed to match the knotty braid pattern from the back of Sandra’s head.

After about a minute of not panicking I managed to restore circulation to the sleeping extensor muscles. I expected the pins and needles to feel a lot worse than they did. Slowly the feeling returned and I was able to extend my fingers and wrist again. Yes, this was my right hand, the one that draws all the comics. Yes, I was frightened, but only a little. Mostly my brain was occupied with “how do I fix this” and “wow, this is kind of cool.” As of now, five hours later, there’s no trace of the problem.

What I’ve arrived at by way of conclusion, however, is “Sandra is not allowed to wear the evil knotty braid-bun to bed. And if she does, I’m not cuddling.”