In honor of Comic Con, I’ve decided to finish this blog about dice.
All tabletoppers have a special relationship with our dice. It starts with the first time we see any shape other than the standard d6. For me, it was the d4: its equilateral triangles glistening in my husband’s palm.
“How the hell am I supposed to read that thing?” He then showed me a second four sided and instructed me in how to read either. And how it could be used as a d2 (which I still maintain is nonsense…even when I do it).
My favorite is, predictably, the d20. It’s weight and size are satisfying. Landing on a 1 is as gut-wrenching as a 20 is gratifying.
Buying dice is a personal thing. Ever had someone buy you dice as a present? It kind of sucks. Even if the person knows you very well…even if they picked out exactly what you would have chosen…they still robbed you of the experience. There’s always that level of doubt: “What if there was a set I would have liked better?”
Picking out dice is almost spiritual. Of course your favorite colors catch your eye first, but there are other factors to consider. Are the numbers easily readable? Do they feel right? Will these dice decide, in a moment of desperation, to save my life, or throw me to a dragon? Will they cooperate with other dice in my bag? Will they conspire to botch at a crucial moment? Are they destined to be my lucky set, or my I’m feeling lucky set? You have to hold prospective dice in your hand ( if the guy behind the counter is too busy leafing through the latest Walking Dead trade) and weigh the possibilities. You pay the exorbitant amount (ok, they’re not all expensive, but the ones I pick out are always the ones that cost twice what all the normal ones cost).
I currently own several sets of dice. Different dice for different games. My silver-blue ten-sided set for Hunter. My purple blue marbled for D&D. My “Griffindor” gold and red dappled are for when I play a superhero. And, of course, that’s all fluid, because there’s something else we gamers do with our dice.
We begin a game, but before we start, we dig out a set and give it a trial roll. Low numbers come up? Pick a different set. Once the game starts, if our luck turns, we change out our dice. Don’t question the logic. Luck isn’t logic. Dice believe in Karma and Fate, even if the player doesn’t.
I have a friend I play with who, when I’m down on my dice-chuckin’ luck, has a ritual for “zeroing out” the dice. God help me, it works.
We’re all superstitious about our dice. I’ve played with other people’s when I’ve forgotten mine at home or a random game breaks out…and it’s never the same. If I’m having a bad game, I’ve CLEARLY angered my dice.
So, as the weekend begins, and we get ready to play in or run our favorite games (I’ve coined a phrase today – the “geekend”), take a minute to thank your dice or the dice gods. Hopefully, the odds will be in your favor.
This was posted by a FB Community I follow on FB: Geeky Girls from the Dark Side.
I read the Twilight series. I’m a strong believer in trying something before you knock it (kinda how I became a gamer in the first place…). I can understand why teenage girls (and boys) enjoy the books. They’re very appealing to young people who crave love and attention and are wrapped up in the “Oh, I want a boyfriend/girlfriend and I don’t have any worth if I’m alone” cycle. Not only is it understandable, it’s possible I might have gotten involved in the craze had the books been around fifteen years ago when I was fifteen.
But I wasn’t fifteen when I read them. I was old enough to be troubled by the obsessive natures of both the protagonist and her love interest. Don’t both of them attempt suicide when they think they can’t have the other? Yeah, it didn’t work out for Romeo and Juliet either, and they were far more honest about being sexually frustrated teenagers. Oh, and Edward Cullen? You’re a pedophile. Yes, you have the body of a teenager, but you’re a hundred years old. Why are you hanging out in a high school (that goes for your creepy “brothers and sisters” too)? If I were a vampire, I’d hang out in a high school, but I’d do it for the bountiful feast sitting in the uncomfortable desks and brooding in the hallway between lockers. The Cullens don’t have that excuse: they’re vegetarians. Continuing with the pedophilia…I don’t care how often Stephanie Meyer tried to explain how “imprinting” wasn’t the same as “creepily-being-in-love-with-an-infant,” I’m not buying.
Game of Thrones is less sexually perverse.
Sure, vampires can be sexy. But please don’t forget they’re actually monsters and any interest they have in humans should be limited to one of two things: 1 – I’m hungry and 2 – The only way I can procreate is if I bite you. (I’m aware of the mythology that supports Bella getting knocked up with Edward’s baby. I’m just being traditional. Vampires shouldn’t sparkle and they shouldn’t be able to impregnate someone.)
Dear Stephanie Meyer: please grow up and read Dracula or the Anne Rice novels. They might scare you a little, and you won’t be comfortable with dealing with “non-vegetarian” vampires, but I promise you: you will understand why the above picture is hilarious. You may also want to consider the psychological reasons behind your need to sympathize with a brand of “vampire” that clearly should be on the losing side of any supernatural war.
xoxo – All of us.
The first time I saw Doctor Who…I hated it. Yeah. You read that right. Wanted nothing to do with it. Although my memories of that first time are hazy, I believe the episode I was watching was #187, “Utopia.” That’s the episode where the Tenth Doctor runs into his arch nemesis, The Master. I didn’t like any of it. Thought it was dumb. Hated Jack Harkness.
It happened slowly over time. A little bit here. A little bit there. And then I got Netflix…I started watching Chris Eccleston as the Doctor. Fell in love. Rose Tyler was fantastic. The two of them together were brilliant. Jack Harkness came into play. How could I have hated him before. He was…I have to say it…delicious.
David Tennant stepped in. Surely no one could replace Chris Eccleston. But Tennant had me at “It…is…protected.” Fell in love. Again. And this time, I found I was a “Tenth Doctor” kind of girl. Cracked.com recently published an article about insane fan boys becoming involved in their obsessions. There, they discuss how David Tennant’s craze for the Fourth Doctor and his amazing scarf inspired him to be the actor who would one day become THE TENTH DOCTOR!!! He introduced us to the weeping angels (the episode that finally made me put Doctor Who in my Netflix queue). He defeated The Master. I wept like a baby when Rose (SPOILERS) got trapped in another dimension. I laughed like an idiot when he and Donna saw each other for the first (second) time in the Adipose office. And with him, we met….River Song. *Squee* I cried when he regenerated into Matt Smith. I didn’t want Matt Smith. Booo to the 11th Doctor.
And then I fell in love with the Eleventh Doctor. Matt Smith’s brilliance is that he so easily shifts between the young, manic madman in a box and the old, old world-weary man. Yes, Doctor, fezes are cool, and so are bow ties. Also, Neil Gaiman wrote “The Doctor’s Wife,” which was a brilliant episode. Love.
I can’t wait for next season to start, and I’m so glad I got into the show. I have to watch it when my husband isn’t home, for he is a “hater,” but I guess it’s fair. I hate Magic: The Gathering. He can hateThe Doctor…
Nevermind. He so can’t.