In attendance: Sylvus, Nate T., NatDay, NinjaBob, Craniac, Marc Johnston, Ed-- (I feel like I am forgetting someone, sorry)
We started off Playing No Thanks, and then half the group played Race for the Galaxy (Bob, NatDay, Sylvus, and did Ed play or just watch?). Nate T., Marc and I played three-player Neuroshima Hex. I was pretty excited because I hadn't played in a while and playing experienced gamers is different from playing my sons, ages 9/12. Fortunately Nate T. had read the rules recently and was able to help me stumble through an explanation. A game of Monty Python Fluxx was played in there somewhere, and it looked pretty fun. Also Levi, the owner stopped by and greeted us, and told us to let him know if he's doing anything wrong or anything right! I believe Nate T. had mockup membership cards that looked great. Afterwards, NatDay, Nate T., Sylvus and myself played Vegas Showdown. The game always seemed a little blah to me but Nate T.'s and Sylvus's enthusiasm was contagious, and we had a good game. I'm wishing I hadn't traded my cheap Tanga copy now. It would be a great gateway game. Marc, Ed and Bob played Neuroshima Hex again, and then Marc played it one more time (way to be a good sport) against Ed, I believe. So NH hit the table a lot last night. All in all it was a wonderfully pleasant evening that helped me get my mind off of work and life stresses. Thank you! Miscellaneous: Sylvus mentioned a David Eddings series he was reading that Nate and NatDay had both heard of--was it the Belgariad? While playing Vegas Showdown I was reminded of Tim Powers' Earthquake Trilogy-- A review: http://www.sfsite.com/10b/erth19.htm Tim Powers rights historically rich Urban Fantasy. But if you just want to read one book, check out his cold war spy novel with a fantasy backdrop, "Declare" which I thought was pretty cool. Here's an excerpt: Chapter One London, 1963 Of my Base Metal may be filed a Key, That shall unlock the Door he howls without. -- Omar Khayyám, The Rubáiyát, Edward J. FitzGerald translation >From the telephone a man's accentless voice said, "Here's a list: Chaucer...Malory..." Hale's face was suddenly chilly. The voice went on. "Wyatt ... Spenser..." Hale had automatically started counting, and Spenser made four. "I imagine so," he said, hastily and at random. "Uh, 'which being dead many years, shall after revive,' is the bit you're thinking of. It's Shakespeare, actually, Mr.-" He nearly said Mr. Goudie, which was the name of the Common Room porter who had summoned him to the telephone and who was still rocking on his heels by the door of the registrar clerk's unlocked office, and then he nearly said Mr Philby; "- Fonebone," he finished lamely, trying to mumble the made-up name. He clenched his fist around the receiver to hold it steady, and with his free hand he shakily pushed a stray lock of sandy-blond hair back out of his eyes. "Shakespeare," said the man's careful voice, and Hale realized that he should have phrased his response for more apparent continuity "Oh well. Five pounds, was it? I can pay you at lunch." For a moment neither of them spoke. "Lunch," Hale said with no inflection. What is it supposed to be now, he thought, a contrary and then a parallel or example. "Better than fasting, a -- uh -- sandwich would be." Good Lord. "It might be a picnic lunch, the fools," the bland voice went on, "arid here we are barely in January-so do bring a raincoat, right?" Repeat it back, Hale remembered. "Raincoat, I follow you." He kept himself from asking, uselessly, Picnic, certainly-raincoat, right-but will anyone even be there, this time? Are we going to be doing this charade every tenth winter for the rest of my life? I'll be fifty next time. The caller hung up then, and after a few seconds Hale realized that he'd been holding his breath and started breathing again. Goudie was still standing in the doorway, probably listening, so Hale added, "If I mentioned it in the lectures, you must assume it's liable to be in the exam." He exhaled unhappily at the end of the sentence. Play- acting into a dead telephone now, he thought; you're scoring idiot- goals all round. To cover the blunder, he said, "Hello? Hello?" as if he hadn't realized the other man had rung off, and then he replaced the receiver. Not too bad a job, he told himself, all these years later. He stepped back from the desk arid forced himself not to pull out his handkerchief to wipe his face. Raincoat. Well, they had said that ten years ago too, and nothing had happened at all, then or since. "Thank you, Goudie," he said to the porter, and then walked past him, back across the dark old Common Room carpet to the cup of tea that was still steaming in the lamplight beside the humming typewriter. Irrationally, it seemed odd to him that the tea should still be hot, after this. He didn't resume his seat, but picked up his sheaf of handwritten test questions and stared at the ink lines. Ten years ago. Eventually he would cast his mind further back, and think of the war-surplus corrugated-steel bomb shelter on the marshy plain below Ararat on the Turkish-Soviet border, and then of a night in Berlin before that; but right now, defensively, he was thinking of that somewhat more recent, and local,... --~--~---------~--~----~------------~-------~--~----~ You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "utah county boardgamers association" group. To post to this group, send email to [email protected] To unsubscribe from this group, send email to [email protected] For more options, visit this group at http://groups.google.com/group/ucboardgamers?hl=en -~----------~----~----~----~------~----~------~--~---
