In Translation (also, baking)

So, Nightwatch on the Hinterlands got picked up for Turkish foreign rights, and lo, this arrived in my mailbox this week. 

I love the cover art. It's kind of strange/cool to see your story in words you can't read, except for the proper names. While this isn't my first foreign rights sale, it is the first time I've gotten a copy. Pretty cool.

I would love to have more to report, but it is February. It's not even an especially dark month here (it should be raining. It isn't. That will change at the end of the week.), but it's a drag on the spirit. Nothing major, just many littles coming together to make a much. 

Thank the gods for steady D&D games and the friends that make them possible. 

And because I am (not so) low-key D&D obsessed, I took yesterday, Presidents' Day, to spend mostly in the kitchen, making D&D associated recipies. I've made Lord Eshteross's Maple Ginger Cookies with Turmeric (from Exquisite Exandria: The Official Cookbook of Critical Role) before, and they turned out splendidly this time as well. I don't actually own that cookbook yet, mind, so I can't speak to the rest. 

I do own Heroes' Feast, the official D&D cookbook (Shan, who is not Icelandic in any way, practices the Icelandic tradition of giving books as gifts on Christmas Eve. She figures cookbook and gaming is just doubling up on the awesome, and she is not wrong.) I did a test run of the vedbread (the D&D name in the book, and I have no idea what its real name might be).  It's a sort of savory not-at-all-cinnamon roll, where the dough is instead rolled around a combination of mushrooms, shallots, and cheese, and the dough itself has a fair bit of cheese worked into it as well. Tasty. A little more substantial  than "bread that accompanies soup" and more like "light lunch." They seem like a thing that may come with me to events where someone says "bring something savory, not a main dish, not a salad."  

And because I spent the day making dishes for my long-suffering husband to wash up, I feel better about the multiverse today. Also, I have tasty things to eat for lunches and snacks. 

And February is almost over.

what I have been doing instead of writing

Please be advised: the iPhone's camera is fine, but I may have been asking too much, and also I am not an especially gifted photographer. Don't judge.

This summer I spent mostly outside on the deck, binging Dimension 20 and, appropriately, painting D&D miniatures. Because it is monster season, aka October, aka Halloween Month, I share with you the biggest and finest of my monsters. 

Behold the beholder! He's an obnoxiously colorful fellow. I don't see why beholders need to be grim and dark (the one I am painting for my godson is, but this one is a celebration of neon). The beholder is an iconic D&D monster, right up there with the mimic, and one of my favorites. But not my very favorite....

 

This is my favorite, both in D&D and personally: the red dragon. 

Of the D&D dragons, I like the look of the red and the green best, and but if I have to choose between acid and fire, well. Fire. Obviously. 

NIGHTWATCH-related links, plus jack o' lanterns

 Y'all, it is already in the 90s here this AM, in mid-November, which is not old-normal but may be new-normal and anyway, it's hot, which does not segue naturally into hey here are some interviews I did about NIGHTWATCH ON THE HINTERLANDS, but we post with the segues we have, not the segues we want. 

An Interview with Nerd Daily

An Interview with Paul Semel

I have turned in the NIGHTWATCH sequel (heretofore referred to as WINDSCAR) to my long-suffering agent, who will probably tell me it needs an ending because it kinda just stops, and...well, that is fair. But it just stops at 115K, so there can't be too much more. I hope. 

And I hope even more that November remembers it's the month of rain and chill, or at least grey skies. If this nonsense continues, I'm gonna start looking for sandworms.

And because I missed Halloween (well, I didn't miss it, but I missed posting), here are the Eason Collective jack o'lanterns of 2021. I am not sure why it took us so long to go full D&D, but I, for one, am not turning back. The beholder is Nous's creation. He does one seriously artistic thing every year, and it is his jack o'lantern. I favor simple shapes, but I am a sucker for dragons, so... dragon. Red, of course. 

the trials of one's teens

Tinycat will be 13 in February. Since her check-up in June, she's lost almost a pound. That makes her Extra-Tinycat, now, at a mere 6.8 lbs. She's eating (as well as ever, which is to say not enough, but she's also a scarf-and-barfer, so we'd rather less that stays down than more that comes back up). She loves her treats. She's sassy and takes no nonsense from either of the boys. Coat quality is good. Eyes are bright. She's just...shrinking. 

Tinycat has no time for you

Obviously there is something not right, though we have no idea what. We took her in this weekend, because in the last two weeks she'd developed these big red bumps on her chin that seemed to be oozing. At first I thought Kaiju-kitten had popped her in one of their spats, but the proliferating bumps suggested something else. She's had autoimmune problems in the past, and coupled with her weight loss, we expected something dire. 

The vet took one look and said "cat acne" and proceeded to pop them all. She's home with a shaved, scrubbed chin and an antibiotic shot. The cat bowls are all stainless steel, so it's not a plastic allergy. (Well. Maybe. She licks plastic--the laundry basket is not safe--but she's done that her whole life.) The vet didn't seem as concerned about figuring out why kitty-zits as he did in why so skinny, so he drew blood and urine and we await results this week. Last time her bloodwork was done--6 months ago--everything was fine. Maybe that's changed. If not, we may be looking at an ultrasound. Something isn't right in there. Pix was voracious when her thyroid went whack, and she got super gaunt, but Tinycat's not showing the hyperactivity that goes with a hyperthyroid. Could be kidneys, if those numbers have tanked, but they were good 6 months ago. So we don't know. In the meantime, the tiny tyrant has been granted her fondest wish: baby food mixed with her real food. 

But in other teen news... we started playing D&D in the HS this week. We're using the Stranger Things starter-set, so all the characters are premade, magic-using (jhfc WoC. So much fucking magic), 3rd level. Also all good alignments. The kids did some customizing (we have a pet cougar named Tim now), names, genders, sexes, bonds and ideals and flaws, oh my. The idea had been to let them play their characters while taking turns DMing for the group. But attendance in high school is spotty, and I was not at all confident that a designated DM would be in class on their day. Hell, I still have kids who have not chosen a character, much less worked out their spell books. 

So I improvised. 

I grouped them by class and I DMed for them collectively. All the players of a particular class had to agree on an action and a spokesperson, and though there were a couple bumps with the stronger personalities dominating, it went... well. Surprisingly. I did bad accents and funny voices and kept the story moving (it's a pregen adventure that I've test-run before, but it's also pretty skeletally supported). They got to see real-time what happens when a DM has no notes in front of her to cover a player request ("We want to go to the infirmary to interrogate the wounded!" You...okay. Right.)  They cheered when I made the captain of the guard a non-binary human with obvious half-orc heritage named Bryce. The Wizards(tm) rolled at the end of the conversation to kiss this half-orc as a thank you for their help (player made sure to get consent first) and busted out a natural 20. "Bryce is into you," I said, while praying none of the administration came into the room. "With that roll, you can... you know. Whatever."

...which kicked off a flurry of speculation about what Bryce looked like, gods defend poor Bryce. All I said was "Bryce is cut. They're a guard captain and of muscular build." 

I fear for the fanfics I may've inspired.  

Next week: collective combat, while the students absent this week get up to speed on their spells. I have promised everyone they can play their characters individually when the groups write their own adventures to run for other groups, so that DMing duty is spread among all the group members. I look forward to the moment that I can intone, Gauntlet -style, "Cleric is about to die!" even if I'm the only one to get the joke. 

my borrowed sidekick*

So M. came over with a Schacht Sidekick spinning wheel on Friday, and I had a little religious experience. Or, like, I spun 2 oz. of wool in an afternoon instead of in 2 weeks on my trusty drop spindle. M. very patiently walked me through how to unpack and assemble the wheel and all that stuff that the instruction manual covers, but which I will learn better by observing, and then doing. Because as soon as she left, I had to change a bobbin and belts fell off wheels and there was physics** and I had to consult videos, but goddammit, I figured it out.

And! She brought me WAR BANDAGE 1.0, which is really...not war like? I mean, there's no blood. It's black/purpley blue instead. Blueberry Bandage? Bruise? YES. We shall call it BRUISE. Anyway, I have like 8 oz. of that, too, which will be something like 800 yds at the end, and who knows what will happen?

(Prediction: a conflict of duty vs. desire. I have a merit review file and four syllabi and the godsrotted WIP to finish this summer and all I want to do is spin yarn and binge watch Netflix.)

*There is not a good word in English for 'that which has been lent to me'. Loaned sounds like I was the agent of the loaning. Borrowed sounds like I asked. I need a word that means 'M. offered and I leapt gratefully upon the chance and clutched it to my cold little heart.'

**I took astrophysics in college, after I took astronomy; but I never took basic physics, like, ever. I took two years of chemistry in high school instead.

to be Faire

I need someone to explain to me why it is that I cannot go to a Renaissance Festival now, in my 40s, without getting eyed and oogled, when I was invisible as a 20-something. Maybe the sun? The heat? Too much alcohol on the part of the hitter? A couple of years ago, I think that's what happened. Drunk dude weaving all over the food court, decided he wanted to drape himself on me and babble about my beauty. I do not have a black belt in martial arts just to hold up my pants, and I deflected him (gently). When he came back around for another go, the Rat, who has many more degrees of black belt, and who is substantially taller, interposed herself, looking stern, and he toddled off.

Anyway, I don't think he was aware of much except there is a female over there and she is smaller than me and oh, I am about to fall down.

And he was an anomaly. One is not generally accosted by strangers, which puts Ren Faire on a slightly different plane than, say, everyday walking down the street in which accosting has always and ever been by strangers: hey baby, wolf whistle, little-girl-let-me-show-you-my-penis (truth).

But Faire, see. (Or Fair; much like the spelling of fairy, there is variation.) There's this thing about Faire, in case you've never been, this element of carnivale, of boundaries strained to breaking. There're some folks who try to be period, and then there are the people who are there to cosplay pirates or Doctor Who or their current D&D campaign or whatever. Mostly the cast is the former, and the dressing-up-public is the second. But point is, there's a lot of skin on display. Boobies, mostly, to the limits of legal. And, you know, great! Yay boobies (and whatever else).

Because of the high flesh factor of a ren faire , there is a corresponding bawdy factor. The sexual innuendo content of your average interaction with performers and cast (and even vendors) is pretty high. This is a ...feature, I guess, of Faire. Which is to say, I don't actually like that aspect overmuch, but without it (or when organizers attempt to suppress it) makes Faire seem childish instead of subversive.

I also realize I started off this post complaining about this very thing. Maybe I don't mind it happening, I mind it happening to me? Or I find it just... weird. Like, come on now. I mean look. Here.  This is a photo from 2015. I have a lot more ink on my right arm now, and less hair, but this is what we look like every year.  

I realize this is a strange, fine line I'm treading. Shit gets said in a Faire that I'd never think was okay in any other setting, ever. It's like we leave the norms at the door: this is how polite people behave. We don't wear corsets. We don't have shelves of cleavage, or people dressed as wenches, or belly dancers, or shirtless men in leather pants, in a general public setting.

Maybe it's consent. (I'm working through this as I write). You go to Faire, you know this sort of behavior's out there, you're...okay with it? Or at least, okay with it being around you. I definitely don't think you should have to interact with anyone's toadshit if you don't want to, and no one should touch you, like, ever. So not consent. Forewarning.

And maybe I, me, the 40-something woman, just want to be able to look at the hand-forged knives without having the shop owner, who is older than my father, trying to flatter me by telling me how sexy I am.  It's weird. Like, dude. Seriously. Stop.

I think maybe it's not about me at all. It's about Nous, and they assume he's the dude and so he's the one who's into weapons and so by complimenting his wife they are complimenting him...? I don't know.

When we go with the Rat and Shan, people stop Shan to take pictures of her--because she has this crazy hat covered with ostrich feathers, yes, but also because she's all curves and you can rest a dinner plate on the shelf of her cleavage. And I get that, but also just gods knock it off. And it is always, always the cis-het guys who do this. You don't see the dykes coming over and going oh, lady I do not know, can we photograph you and your boobies. The straight women and gay men don't swoop down on Nous and make admiring comments or ask for photographs.

Ugh. I don't know. I have loved Renaissance Festivals since I was a teenager. The Rat and I worked at the one in Colorado in college as street entertainment. It was cosplay before cosplay was much of a thing. It was this place where the Rat and I weren't the weirdest people in the room, hell, we weren't even in the top five. It was weirdly safe in a way a lot of our lives weren't at the time.

So maybe my willingness to tolerate and excuse the atmosphere is based in a romantic nostalgia. But even now--there's a certain defiance to the anything-goes attitude. No one apologizes for who they are, or what they look like, or any of the usual shaming weirdnesses. That's great! Let's keep that! The problem, though, is that the cis-het normative harassing bullshit falls into the same category of no shame, and I want it to. Like--y'all have had your time, okay? You still have it, outside the gate, every day. This is the place for the rest of us. Because you can't live out your fantasies and let the rest of us be safe to live ours at the same time.

at home with monsters

...is the name of the Guillermo del Toro exhibit at LACMA right now. OF COURSE I took Tuesday off manuscripts and research and went to see it with Nous.

the faun from Pan's Labyrinth

del Toro allegedly calls his home in Los Angeles the Bleak House, not because the décor is bleak (I suppose it is, if you're easily disturbed), but because it's full of unexpected twists and rooms. You turn a corner, you think you know where you're going, and --nope. Look. Another cranny, with and things in it. Beautiful things. Fantastic things. OMGWTF things.

another creepy dude from Pan's Labyrinth

The exhibit contains pieces from his personal collection, and it chronicles and illustrates (literally) his creative process. There are notebooks (his notebooks! so amazing), concept art that he's drawn, concept art that other people have drawn, original art from Mike Mignola and Will Eisner, old books, Giger paintings, Moebius paintings... and the seller for me, the life-sized models of the monsters from his films.

Imagine having THEM in your house.

But there were also just beautiful things. Strange things. My camera phone (and the photographer wielding it) cannot do justice to the play of light and shadow in these paintings.


And then the concept art from Sleeping Beauty. Ah, Maleficent. I always did like you. (It's the dragon. I wanted to be Smaug, see, so Maleficent was just about perfect in my estimation. And clearly maligned. Stupid prince, anyway.)

fantasy

I've been playing tabletop RPGs since I was 17, and except for a brief period when we were in different states, I've played with the Rat the whole time. She was my first GM, and we played AD&D 2nd ed, and my first character was a fighter. And although I have played mages and priests and rogues and multi-classed and scads of other games besides AD&D...the straight up fighter is still my favorite.

See, my fantasy-self isn't the mage, with crazy powers and All the Brains. Or the priest, for that matter. I am the  priest/mage/magic-user in real life. Those are my stats.

No, see, my fantasy is the tank. The physically powerful and capable and don't fuck with me character. Deals damage. Takes damage. Deals a little more. The monsters come at the tank first, but that's okay! Because the tank's gonna kick their butts.

It's totally a power fantasy, but it's the power fantasy of control. To be safe. To keep others safe.

Being a woman in gaming is a lot like a old-school dungeon crawl. You never know where the monsters are, but you know they're there and you're gonna see combat. It's just a matter of when. You even know who they are.

So this:  "Tabletop Gaming has a White Male Terrorism Problem" wasn't a surprise to me.

The Rat and I didn't do the gaming convention scene--in part because the one time we did go, to visit Nous and his then GF, we were Not Impressed with the crowd. (Nous  says he spent a lot of time at cons talking to "awkward" guys, trying to keep them away from the women at the gaming table.*) The other thing that prevented us from walking into that shitstorm was that we were, and are, wickedly introverted. The very idea of all those new people was exhausting and (for me) daunting as hell. Who the hell wants to play under those conditions? It's not fun! Let's go home and world-build.

The non/verbal shit, though.

The RPG club in college wouldn't even talk to us. I mean, we walked in to the first day meeting, the room of guys looked at us, the president wouldn't actually speak to us... it was amazing. Striking in its hostility. Like, put a sign on the door that says no gurlz and you'd have it.

There were two game stores in town. The one in the mall had a small RPG section and we went there most often for dice; the counter-help was blandly friendly. The guys lurking around the game section could be a little creeper-y. I learned not to make eye contact. Most of them wanted the Rat's attention (she was the more ideal physical type), but they'd make due with the short blonde sidekick. They'd get way too close and talk up in-game exploits like their characters were them. It was... awkward. And awful. I would have to physically leave to get the hell away from them.

The indie game store had a much bigger selection of books (and Magic cards), so we went there for those. Depending who was behind the counter... we could be ignored, or stink-eyed, or tolerated with barely-there courtesy. We didn't get as many no shit, there my 12th level necromancer half-elf was stories (I didn't); but the Rat got a lot more looks. I remember more than a couple oblique comments, too, about my unfuckability.**

Nothing to me. Certainly nothing to her. But we were meant to hear, and to understand where we fit. We certainly weren't gamers.

Which is not to say that it's all men who do this because duh. Lots of my gamer friends are, have been, men. White men, even. Not terrorists, but... well. Not exactly paladins, either.

So this: "For Good Men To See Nothing" didn't surprise me either. In fact, it rang even more true. Because I saw this a lot more. I saw my friends stfu rather than confront assholes, both in the game stores and not.

I once had a fight with an ex-boyfriend (and member of our gaming group) in which he tore apart the furniture while two other male friends (and members of our gaming group) sat in the back room, listening and doing nothing at all.

"We'd've come out if we heard anything, you know," one said later.

Any what? Screaming from me, instead of from him? Pain and fear instead of insensate rage? How exactly did they know the thumping was the chair's dismemberment and not me hitting the wall?  --I asked these questions.

"He wouldn't've hurt you," said the other, while not making eye contact. "He was upset."

This, this right here, is how men who don't act allow men who are trouble to get away with shit. This was all forgiven, by the way. When I expressed discomfort with being around this guy, well. You know. That was my problem. He apologized. He was sorry. I had to just, you know, let it go.

Right.***

So one official black belt and years of eclectic aikido and kendo and blade-training all around the edges ... I'd still run away from a physical fight if I could (because I'm not stupid) but I feel a little (little) safer in gaming environments where I'm getting the creeper-vibe.

Because I still do. Local-ish game store here, middle-aged dude wanted to talk to me, follow me around, gain my approval ("No shit, there my chaotic evil mage was, and..."). Other dude asked Nous how he could help him while pretending I wasn't actually the one picking through the bookshelf.  These were not teenagers. These were our contemporaries. And, as with most men, bigger than me. Heavier. Stronger. ****

So yeah, I still play tanks in D&D whatever-the-hell-edition we're on. Because, at least in my fantasy, I want to be the person in the room that no one will even think of fucking with.

The monsters are still out there.

---------
*He says awkward. I say poorly skilled predator.

**The Rat claims to remember none of this. She also can ignore people more completely than anyone I know, including my cats. I think it's her superpower.

***They weren't bad guys. But damn, did I learn a lesson.

****Thank all my various gods for online suppliers and the friendly comic book store across the street that has dice and understands why I need to try out every. Single. 20-sider to get the right one. 

Happy New Force Be With You

Star Wars: The Force Awakens. Let's talk.

I tried to watch cinematography more this time, and I did. But this post isn't about the framing or the ways in which JJ Abrams used light and dark to communicate about character to his audience. It's about the reason I actually like or dislike a movie, rather than critically appreciate it. It's about character.

The interwebs have many opinions about this film. I'm firmly in the camp of Loved It, somewhere behind The Empire Strikes Back and, after the second viewing, in a dead heat with Star Wars (ep. IV, which I stubbornly call the original because goddammit A New Hope). I think FA is maaaaybe a notch better, overall. Or even several notches. I'm only qualifying the maybe because, well, sentimental attachment. (I was five when I saw SW. I had feelings back then.) If I gather up my objectivity, then... yeah. Better.

Why?

The story's mostly the same. Hero's journey, blah blah, superweapon, blah blah, something Force-y and lightsabers and space battles and the good guys win! But. But.

It's about friendship. Rey's the protag and the hero, absolutely, but there's more of a sense of group effort, here. She needs Finn. More importantly, Finn needs her and his development comes about because of that need and the loyalty it engenders. Rey, for her part, doesn't throw a hissy-cow when she finds out Finn lied about his past or go on about oh, the betrayal! He becomes the person who does come back for her, and who will fight for her, and for whom she, too, will fight. I hope to see more growth and development of what I hope remains a friendship (I say, as if friendship is somehow inferior to romance. It's not. But friends first!).

And, well, the movie's about Rey. Savvy and capable, rather than feckless (and a little whiny. Sorry, Luke. You totally were). Confident. Capable. Brave. She's also seriously lucky with a lot of things (but that's part of being a hero: luck. Even Beowulf knew that).  She cries a fair bit, but she doesn't get all wobbly-lipped and trembly, which is a pet peeve of mine with young female protags. And she doesn't scream. She is also kind to things weaker than she is, like stray droids. She doesn't take the easy way and sell BB-8, or refuse to get involved in his business. YES, that's all light side stuff, but so what? The world could use a little more compassion and give-a-shit. She runs at trouble, instead of away from it. She doesn't need rescuing. No one makes a big deal about IT'S A GIRL. Everyone in the First Order calls her The Girl, but no one says oh, heavens. How can a GIRL be doing these things?

There's been some muttering that she's too capable, what with the piloting and the engineer/mechanic stuff and the so-many-languages and that Force business. To this, I merely shrug. Luke shot down a Death Star on the strength of his feelings, ffs. Rey bounces the Falcon off half of Jakku before she twigs to flying her right, and she uses her force on a) a stormtrooper (and Obi-Wan told us they had weak minds) and b) to resist Kylo Ren. (Which, yes. She's tough. He's...not. Reminds me of his uncle at that age. Cough.) She's no more capable than Luke was, back in the day. Or Harry Potter. Or a dozen boy heroes who manage, somehow, to kick ass despite being farmboys or neglected orphans or whatever else.

And then, Kylo Ren. Vader was super scary (I was five. Gimme a break.). But Ren is... relatable. (Dear gods, I hate that word. But it fits here.) He's not totally confident. He wants to be such a badass. But he's scared, too, that he'll fuck it all up. He's lonely. He gets frustrated. He's trying to measure up to something bigger than he is. He is, as Chuck Wendig has noted, vulnerable. He feels like a real person, which I think is more important sometimes for villains than for heroes. We want to be the hero, but we can see ourselves being the villain because we, too, have those issues. That weakness is in us. It's what we do with it that matters. And that's why Ren's the villain: because he's an asshole by choice. Because, you know... I don't think you should be able to come back from patricide. Even Luke didn't do that. Face Vader did not mean kill Vader. It meant settle your shit, kid, and become your own person. And Kylo Ren, well. We all know who he killed, and if that makes him his own person, because it was his choice...then I really wanna see Rey stomp him flat someday. Vader inspired fear, but fear is a reflex. Genuine dislike means there's an emotional reaction. I don't like Ren. I don't hate him yet, but the trilogy is young.

Leia was formative for me. Get that walking carpet out of my way and I thought I recognized your stench and mouthy and fierce and all that...so different from the Disney princesses of the day (this was, of course, long before Mulan). And without Leia, we couldn't've had Rey. But I'm so glad we do have her, and that we have Finn (a stormtrooper! The Rat and I have been wondering about them forever), and that we have a villain who we can really, genuinely despise.

So yes. Better than Star Wars.

happy star wars

A3-D3 (Back in Red) and 0R-E0

Went with the parents to Disneyland and while they rode some tame thing on a river, we ran off to Tomorrowland. There were storm troopers outside advising everyone that (Hyper)Space Mountain was down for repairs, and advising us all to "Move along."

So we did. We found a custom droid-building station in the gift shop and we built droids because that is what you do before Star Wars returns to theatres.

There are a billion posts out there about The Force Awakens.  John Scalzi and Chuck Wendig have good spoiler-free posts that pretty well cover my feelings on the matter, so go read them.

I will have more thoughts a) after I've seen it again and sifted through the immediate emotional reactions and b) finished a round of revisions on Book Three.

The Month of Many Things, Both Sublime and Awful

...is damned near over, thank you my various gods. That's what I'm thankful for.

That, and my gaming group. We spent yesterday--The Rat, Nous, and I--playing D&D (5e, which is a shock for someone who learned on AD&D 2nd and never bothered to upgrade, because why?). Hours of it, the culmination of Latest Adventure which the Rat has been planning for weeks, because this weekend she'd be able to come down to our place and run without distraction. And indeed: she walked in, said hi, and when I asked how T-Day went, said 'Later! After game.'

Because etiquette and pretty manners and petty conversation can wait, people. There are players' plans to upend, saving throws to make (or not), a high-level necromancer cleric to defeat. And math, because even streamlined 5e D&D has modifiers to add and damage to subtract from the ever-dwindling hit points. There were several several saving throws and oh shit, I'm so dead...am I dead? moments. (I was not dead, as it happened, thanks to race and class bonuses* and one hit point.)

The only sign of our age was this: green tea and beer instead of Dr. Pepper or Mountain Dew. Carrots and celery and hummus (oh my) instead of Doritos. Vegetarian chili for dinner instead of pizza. No dessert because we ate too much chili (and too many corn chips). Totally therapeutic.

*Half-orc templars** for the win.
** House-rules class, because we believe you can do good and be honorable without also being lawful.