So, I needed somewhere to post my story - somewhere where I could shout it out loud and link those who needed to know.
As the length between blog posts may say; I have computer issues. On a regular basis it seems I get knocked off the interwebz because, as far as I can tell, I'm a Calibite and have this anti-technology entropy field around me (bonus points for getting the reference). Or it may have something to do with being a theatre person and running forth with cobbled together old equipment. Maybe both?
Anyways, heart of the story. Last week my computer died. Why? no clue. Vista up and took a crap all over itself and when my boyfriend tried to fix it (he's a computer programmer who used to be an IT tech guy) he damaged the boot files. It was a fix he said "Worked on XP!"
"Um, hun..." I replied. "The computer wasn't running XP... it was running Vista."
We have learned something very important here: XP =/= Vista.
So, days stretched by. The computer lay dead. I struggled on with my craptop.
What is a craptop, you ask? Well, it's a crappy laptop. Of which I have 2: The original one my mom got me when I went off to college which runs Windows *ahem* 95 and the 'upgrade' which my production manager in VT gave to me when he decided to swap over to all Mac products. It runs Windows 2000. The latter is the one I was struggling with. The former exists so I can play "Starship Titanic."
So. I roleplay. You guys know this, right? Well, for those who don't there is it.
I not only roleplay but I "ST" (aka: storytell, aka Dungeonmaster, aka Gamemaster, aka turn into a schizophrenic running in multiple personality mode who plots horrific ways to tantalize and torment poor PCs) and have done so for... more years than I can count. (ok, I started the year before I went to Grad School which was 2003 which means... damn. 7 years)
Roleplaying is done on a chat format. However chatting with the craptop is like running the Boston Marathon with your grandmothers high heels that are 3 sizes too small. Slow, painful and ultimately frustrating. But I would soldier on! Slowly.
Here starts my story.
I have long held I have the best damn players of anywhere on the web. Seriously.
Some of the story lines we have pulled off are the sorts of things you only get when everybody trusts one another and everybody wants to play the game for fun - not to be a jerk or get their jollies by trolling or stealing the glory. One of the reason I have done it so long as because over many years we seem to have garnered the best damn following of players possible. They recommend the game to other people they know - which is a tremendous compliment and then we get more players of similar mind. So we can run stories and have fun - how freakin' cool is that?
STing is a volunteer job. I don't know why I started doing it in the first place. I guess I thought I'd be good at it. It ended up that I created the game I wanted to play in and ran it instead of played it. And along the way I met a lot of super cool people, and made a lot of friends.
Holy shit do I have good friends.
10-Something AM, CST.
Jamie is at work, on the stage, dragging dance towers across the floor, setting them up and focusing them with her teenaged interns Collin and Bridget. We have a tech for a dance show that night so we are putting the finishing touches on the lightplot and dance set-up. I do remember I had been up in the booth grabbing frosts and gels while my crew were in the box booms ready to focus the lights there. And the phone rings.
Me running across the theatre to grab the phone before it goes to voicemail is not unusual. This one I just barely got to in time, a beat or two after the third ring. It's switchboard. OK. There is a call coming in for me. OK. Not the most unusual thing.
But it isn't someone asking to schedule the theatre. It is Christy. Who is on the west coast. And sounding devious. Wha? Last time one of my western state friends tracked me down at work was because she wanted to tell me that a mutual friend had, indeed, come out of a very hit-and miss surgery OK and giving me an address to send cards.
This was far more devious. I was given a number. I wrote it on a orchestra program, because, well - it was there. I was told to bring this number and a photo ID to Best Buy in Plover. I was told to call her before I got there.
Hoo-kaaay. Curiosity piqued. Certainly. Mind a bit swimmy. Goodbyes are given. Lights are focused. Lunchtime comes about 2pm.
I call as directed. My cellphone sucks. It cuts out about a dozen times (contract is done at the end of June... can anyone else say "landline?!" I can.
Best Buy idles around a bit. And then they bring me a box.
A big freakin box.
Holy shit that's a big freakin' box.
You guys are crazy.
My cat however, is unimpressed.
Several of you have not given me your addresses, but if you guys could investigate and track me down at my place of work ("Hm, how many insurance companies have theatres in Stevens Point, WI? Only one? Ah ha!") I shall track you down with a personalized thank you. See? I am devious and I have needles (have to have aknitting picture in here somewhere since this is, technically, a knitting blog)
I cannot tell you how awesome this is. I have been more upbeat and stoked in the past few days than in months. And now I can be online without curing the hardward every two minutes. ("Craptop, you DO have a harddrive. Please remember that.")
You guys rock my world, as players, as characters, as people and as friends.