Wow, months go by, and one day I wonder where they all went…
The Fedora Project is proceeding quite well from what I read on the exclusive backer’s blog. I submitted my photo for the game a long time ago, and I’m getting anxious to see where they put it. Will I be a mutant? Nah! Everybody’s thought that about me from birth; me too. They keep asking me what planet I came from, but I’m not sure. My folks didn’t tell me. I really hope it’s not on an “evil Tex” path because I’ll never find it that way. The next challenge is to figure out which photo I want to be used for the poster with Tex Murphy. I have some ideas about that, but it will have to be a secret for now.
As a high level backer, I’ve downloaded and played through the two Rita James episodes from Big Finish Games, (BFG) “Escape From Thunder Island,” and “The Race To Shangri-La.” I highly recommend them. Each game took three or four evenings in two or three hour shots, or, perhaps more, it’s easy to lose track of time playing these games. (Note to people who can’t spell: lose means it’s lost – gone – you can’t find it; loose means it’s running free or it’s rattling around in the scuppers making noise you don’t want to hear. For example: Did you lose them? Yes, I lost my marbles, and I don’t know where they are. Is it loose? Yes, it’s rolling around in the scuppers making a terrible noise.) This grammatical interlude is brought to you by the memory of Bob McGiffert, former/late UM professor of Journalism. Also note: Journalism is the ancient and long dead art of reporting the news in an impartial manner. The last known commission of an act of journalism was some time in the 1950s, although this is only a rumor. The occupation of Journalism has been replaced by “social justice” and “social engineering.” See also: local newspaper, network “news.” I know: I have a university degree in “journalism.” During my years at J-school there were two token journalists and umpty-something social engineers.
And now back to our irregularly scheduled ramblings.
Of course, you can spread these games out over more evenings if you want to, but I found the stories compelling enough to keep at them long after I should have gone to bed. The crazy thing is I’m not sure where anyone can get them. The Big Finish Games web site doesn’t seem to have a way to buy them. Hmmmm. This place may have “Race To Shangri-La.” 10 bucks.
I also played the BFG Jess Silloway game, entitled “3 Cards to Midnight.” I truly regret that I cannot recommend this game. The Tex Murphy and Rita James story lines are fun. Rita James certainly is fun; I love that dimwit: Tex is fun if you are, but that’s up to you. Jess Silloway is not even close to fun or satisfying. I was definitely uncomfortable with its occult basis. As a Christian, I found it unsettling and unsatisfying. I played the easy wimp route, and that was more than I should have. We have enough trouble in this world without trying to pretend that Satan is the good guy. Satan is why bombs blow up in Boston. Satan is why the World Trade Center is a hole in the ground. “He who has ears, let him hear.”
Give me a minute on the reference; my bookshelf is a mess. I can’t find my King James version, only the New International Version that I read in Papua New Guinea.
Okay, got it; in many places. It seems it was one of Jesus’ favorite exhortations to people who refused to listen to truth. Start with Matthew 11:15. I think the point is that the truth is not always what you want to hear. Satan is always trying to bypass your brain to tell you that what is undeniably true is a lie. Perhaps that is why Jesus said it so often.
… and then you readers wonder, “why did I read this?” Because I Just Come Here For The Music. Ahh, the lovely Allison Krause.
And now that I have you in my clutches, BWHAHHH HAHHHH HAHHHH, Why don’t we Imagine That. Don’t walk, RUN out to your local music store and buy Don Williams’ latest album, “And So It Goes.”
For those inclined to torture themselves with my ramblings, stay tuned for me playing the bass to Dwight Yoakam’s and Buck Owens’ version of “Streets of Bakersfield.” Oh wow, that means setting up a goober tube channel and buying a decent vidcam doojingle, but I think I have to do it. You will regret it, but remind yourself that it could be much worse; I could try to play the mandolin intro to “Streets of Bakersfield.” I can’t even play the mandolin part of Rod Stewart’s “Maggie May,” but that would probably be sweet music compared to “Streets of Bakersfield.” Better get that Fender MandoStrat soon.
Mandolins, Stratocasters, Telecasters, Bassmasters, etc. My fingers rebel. Don’t do this to us, they say. We are old and slow, and the Irish Washerwoman is but a pleasant memory of our youth. Yet my super duper el cheapo Metallic Blue Squier Precision Bass sings Siren songs to me… “come play me… I’ll make you a star…” To which I reply….[deleted] and I did too. But I’m catching on to old Mr. Root Fifth with his chordal notes. I’ll have him nailed in a week or so.
My coworker says I have to name my musical instruments. I am not sure why; Eric Clapton has something to do with it. Anyway, the bass is “Wump” because it sits on its wump most of the time. The Fender Stratocaster (Midnight Wine with Rosewood fretboard) is “Sleeping Beauty” because it is beautiful and spends most of its time sleeping. The Metallic Blue Squier Telecaster (it’s super-duper cheap, but it sounds great) is named Mug; you get the picture. Third note or whatever: The metallic blue on the Indonesian-made bass is not the same as the metallic blue on the Chinese-made Telecaster. They’re close, but noticeably different. Dear Mr. Squier Fender Corporation, take a lesson from the folks at Gatorade. Send your people around the world to make sure the colors match; it’s important. I mean, really, would you give Buck Owens and the Buckaroos instruments that didn’t match? That’s like Marty Robbins singing “A White Sport Coat and a Pink Crustacean” in a Hawaiian shirt, short pants, and deck shoes. The last time I was was in Indonesia, the exchange rate was somewhere near 1750 rupiah to the dollar. Now I think it’s somewhere in the range of 247 googleplex rupiah to the penny. They were using aluminum for coins of less than 100 rupiah; I have some in my collection.
Still with me? Now you know why I call this Roger’s Ramblings.
I haven’t come up with a name for the mandolin. It is simply “my mandolin.” It’s lovely, so I should call it Olivia, after my first and only true love whom I never met and who doesn’t know me from whale poop in the Marianas Trench. The problem is that Olivia is from Manchester, England, by way of Australia, and my mandolin is from China by way of steam ship, diesel, row boat, cargo container on a canoe, whatever. Definitely not as romantic. But Olivia it is from here everafter.
Have a nice day, and a better tomorrow. That’s not the correct name of the song, but I did say RUN to get Don Williams latest album.