Confessions of a Part-time D&D Dealer

Daisies & Daffodils? No.

Dean & Deluca. I wish.

Dishwashers & Detergents. Not quite.

Try, Dungeons & Dragons. It’s true. Or, it was true.

The following three statements explain how I got here:

1. I swore off board games. I thought.
2. Spokane was so much more romantic.
3. My husband is an accountant.
   

I swore off board games. I thought.

Growing up I used to play games quite often with the next-door neighbor boys, The Matthews: three intelligent, rambunctious, competitive boys. They were like family, and we’d have them over often. But, as I recall there was an evening that I thought would taint games for me for the rest of my life. We played Monopoly, with Trevor Matthews – the youngest of the Matthews brothers. Now, I can hardly stand Monopoly as it is…but played with probably one of the most intelligent people on the planet – who at the same time is ruthless about Pennsylvania Avenue and every utility on the board…well I had sworn off Monopoly and all board games from that evening on.

In college, I bumped into games – obviously through parties and such - but I remember one in particular that people went gaga over “Settlers of Catan” – I observed four friends who got together on a weekly basis to play –nicknames and all. I didn’t get it…sheep, wheat, wood, brick...what could possibly be entertaining about that???

Then I lived with Megan and eventually met Steve. Megan was my best friend and roommate in college – she was bonkers over a game called Skip-Bo. Anyone, and I mean anyone who entered our apartment for any amount of time was more than likely challenged to a game of Skip-Bo with Megan…it was a rite of passage...and they’d lose every time. Now, while it wasn’t a board game, it started getting me to accept and enjoy games once again…even though she beat me every time. Then Steve came along with fantastic unique, foreign card games that I had never heard of, but they were fabulous. I started to be intrigued with the fact that there was a whole world out there that did not include Parker Brothers. Instead there were European game makers that took board games to a whole new level – I liked.

Spokane was so much more romantic.

I lived in Spokane, WA before coming to Seattle. Spokane, it could be argued does not have a lot of the shopping that New York or Beverly Hills has to offer…slightly true statement. However, it DID have a charming turn-of-the-century brick building by the name of Liberty Square that housed two of the most romantic, independent shops that I have ever visited: Auntie’s Book Store and Uncle’s Games. You walk in and the smell of paper from thousands of books combined with the creak that comes from the old hard-wood floors was soothing and welcoming. One could hear either independent folk music or classical as they entered the shops. Softly lit surroundings and the white lights glistening through the large windows from the trees outside made for a picturesque environment. A little café sat to the side of both shops, and live music played on the weekends. This was where my love of board games flourished. Uncle’s was a fabulous little boutique carrying games from what I now know are renowned European game makers – like mentioned above. Beautifully illustrated, thematic, and strategic all at the same time…the games were a delightful change from tv, video games, and homework. Steve and I started to get sucked in; we spent hundreds of dollars on games in that little shop. From Pirates to the French revolution, to the Roaring Twenties, these board games were pieces of art and incredibly engaging.

I was certain that this would be a fabulous little part time job to wind down from the awful stress of a regular job and at the same time earn a little extra cash – perfect surroundings, learn about and play fabulous games while working, and help a patron find “their” game. Perfect.

My husband is an accountant.

Enter: Seattle, post-grad school jobs and loans, and “the” budget.

So, Steve and I moved from Spokane after graduate school, and that quaint little shop that we frequented so often was but a memory. We started jobs and all that money that it took to get through college? Well, it all of the sudden came knocking on the door…you mean, we actually have to pay that back?!?

Steve is an accountant, and well, excel spreadsheets and “budgets” are the norm in our household. I should like budgets, but I don’t. I don’t at all. They’re annoying and restricting and no fun. Now don’t get me wrong, Steve isn’t a scrooge by any means, and he doesn’t hold back on spending on fun things – but there was still the, “we have to allocate” aspect that, well, I didn’t want to abide by.

So, in addition to my “real” job, I decided: I want BURN money, that’s right…money that doesn’t get put in a budget, except for a: Valerie is wasting money on frivolous things budget. Fair enough, I’d spend a couple of extra hours each week at a “no-brainer” job to get extra money that didn’t have to be accounted for – that could disappear on Dior Mascara and no one would know.

But, what the heck would I do? And then I saw it, Uncle’s was in Bellevue. I couldn’t believe it, the dream of enjoying my evenings in that quaint, romantic shop returned. I applied, I was accepted and voila…my dream had come true. OR not.

To be continued.

Ravel, Rachmaninov and Romance

I should’ve known. Actually I had a sneaking suspicion. It WAS Valentine’s Day after all.

So, before I go any further, let me preface by saying that I had the privilege of learning classical violin and piano growing up. It was a serious deal, considering the fact that my mom at one point was a piano music performance major and my grandmother performed violin seriously for many years. As a result of learning these instruments, attending the symphony was a common occurrence…the music, culture and MANNERS have all been ingrained in me.

Back to now. My husband, Steve was the sweetest and got tickets to the symphony performance for Valentine’s Day. It included one of Rachmaninov’s piano concertos – and considering the fact that I think Rachmoninov could save the world – it was an excellent choice of activity for v-day.

The program was promising – romantic Russians and French composers – what failed register in my mind was, that v-day is a day that inspires people to engage in activities that they would not otherwise engage in or initiate, but for the expectation to do something “sophisticated,” “romantic” or “impressive.” The symphony for many, is one of those activities…need I say more?

So, we take our seats and immediately my attention is not drawn to the beautiful surroundings of Benyaroya Hall – rather, it is focused on the smacking taking place right in front of me. No, not a wife smacking her husband with her hand or purse – I’m talking about lip on lip “smacking.” Let me try to explain what this looked and sounded like – because every time I refer to it (and that will be many), I want you to, as closely as possible, experience what I experienced for two hours. Both the boyfriend and the girlfriend made a point to not lean into one another, but stretch their lips out as far as humanly possible, so as to provide a clear profile of what was about to happen. Following the extended fish-lip stretch came the “smack” which with Benaroya’s acoustics, could I’m sure, be heard at each tier in the hall. You think I’m exaggerating. Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with sweet public displays of affection – but really? Every, 2-3 minutes? Not exaggerating. The couple’s affections will now be represented by *smack.*

Almost everyone in the orchestra is seated and the concert master stands up to tune *smack*, the symphony begins to tune to her “A” *smack* and one could not help but notice the empty chair at the far right, the second violin section…everyone was seated except for that chair. The orchestra has stopped tuning and for a moment while we wait for the conductor it is quiet…*smack* and still no sign of the last chair second violin. Guest conductor JoAnn Falletta runs out and everyone begins to clap. My attention (aside from the couple in front of me) however, is fixed on that empty chair. Until wait, the side stage door opens and you see one foot step out with a violin – simultaneously however, Falletta starts to raise her hands and….in that moment of quiet anticipation for the performance to begin….*smack* the side door shuts. The Ravel Waltz begins without that second violinist…unbeknownst to the couple in front of me…*smack.* I think you get the point? I’ll spare you for the rest of this entry.

The Rachmoninov piano concerto was exquisite. So exquisite that after the first movement, what seemed to be twenty-five percent of the audience broke into applause – which in symphony world is a no-no. Generally speaking, with a piece that has “movements” or different sections you wait for the entire piece to be completed before the applause is appropriate. Nikolai Lugansky, the pianist, quickly moved on to the gorgeous middle movement. Delicate, languid, and dramatic, Nikolai made playing the piano look incredibly easy. In the middle of one of the most beautiful and quiet passages…a new sound could be heard – but it wasn’t from the symphony…it was from five rows up. It was the crackle and unwrapping of candy – perhaps the mentos or peanut M&Ms that were sold downstairs? This combined with the girlfriend’s need to snap photos throughout the piece made this an unforgettable portion of the program.

The final piece was from French composer, Faure’s Requiem. The Seattle Chorale was ushered onto the stage and a baritone and soprano joined for several movements. It was beautiful – but by this time, those not accustomed to two hours of classical music are getting antsy. Case in point, take our lovable boyfriend sitting in front of us – when he wasn’t engaged in reassuring his love for girlfriend – he started to crack his knuckles for the span of five minutes. He made it a point to make sure every finger on each hand was properly “popped.” I couldn’t believe it; I had almost all that I could handle. I looked over to Steve, sure that he was as disgusted as I was…indeed he was chuckling to himself and I whispered, “what, the knuckles?” Surely he knew what I was talking about. No, instead he whispered back, “no, I was thinking about how funny it would be if the conductor knocked the baritone in the back of the head.”
So, my experience has led me to the following letter of apology:

Dear Nickolai Lugansky and company,

You’re playing this evening seems to have brought out the romantic, snack-eating, impulsive hand-clapping, camera-flashing best of Seattle. We have Rachmoninov, Valentine’s Day, and your beautiful playing to thank for that. Please forgive our inability to appropriately appreciate the marvelous program that you were so graciously a part of. I look forward to your return…hopefully you will return.

Please come back, but not on the 14th of February,

Valerie

p.s. – oh and please, call me val.

So, hi.

For years I've heard about "blogging." And for years I've avoided it. It seemed to me to be a mix of scrapbooking and journaling...both of which I am lousy at and do not enjoy.

I remember visiting one of those crazy scrapbooking stores in the mall where every item in the universe was depicted in either a sticker or a stamp. Despite how overwhelming it was...for one hour, I was convinced that perhaps I could become one - a scrapbooker. I purchased more stickers that day than I ever earned in gradeschool, got myself scrapbooking paper and even a scrapbook.

The result? Family, friends, travels, and a wedding later those stickers and momentos from that initial purchase are nowhere to be found. Instead, pictures from the past are stuffed in shoe boxes, along with love notes, cards, maps, ticket stubs, metro passes, etc. The biggest day of my life exists on a cd and dvd - the cd of pictures, I don't even know where it is...maybe mom has it?!?! The DVD, thank heaven for the Erickson's who captured our reception on video and made a beautiful compilation of the events that evening.

Every Christmas, I'm given a journal. I have probably 10 - 15 empty journals, collecting dust on my book shelf...symbolizing years lost.

I think I've made the point; I've enjoyed life, but I haven't savored it.

Which brings me to this blog. Over a year ago I started a blog - nothing was on it - but I registered one. It was supposed to be the forum for my new hobby at the time: photo journalism. While I had both the film and digital SLRs, I didn't get around to the most important part - learning to use them. Pictures were never taken and well, I forgot about that blog I registered.

But recently, my interest has been piqued. I have several friends that write incredibly entertaining blogs - I admire their candor, wit and intelligence. While, I in no way intend to be anywhere near as entertaining as any of them - I can at least get off my duff and try.

So, let me introduce myself. My name is Valerie, and while I'd like to think I am as beautiful, romantic and sophisticated as Valerie suggests...please, call me val.