I would think that after locking it in a drawer for six years, Gabriel Knight III would be dead from malnutrition. But when I opened the drawer yesterday it sprang out at me and devoured my weekend in a gulp, fresh as a morning daisy. Go figure.

The Gabriel Knight series was one of the last of Sierra’s ill-fated attempts to make adventure games aimed at the ladies. You alternate between playing as Gabriel, the smooth-talking Southern sexpot who drives a Harley without a helmet (which makes me, newly-educated biker chick, wince every time I see it) and Grace Nakamura. Grace is smart, sassy, and soberly-clad. It’s interesting to see the way designers think girls like me (i.e. girls who play computer games) want to be. Frankly, I would be happier if Grace was a busty Nordic chick who slept with all the male characters. Additional stereotype/role models are the lesbian couple, comprised of one (1) overweight hysterical artist, sort of a poor poor man’s Gertrude Stein, and one (1) makeup-free Welsh woman with very practical shorts. Yes, I guess these are my three options if I’m going to be a woman. Oh, and the French slut character who pretty clearly had something to do with murdering a few people, not unlike my award-winning role in the arthouse darling Fjords! The Musical.

I guess I should just be grateful that I have more options than the standard virgin/whore in modern media. Now I can be a brainiac virgin or a murderous whore. So it’s a wonder that Sierra’s “kid sister” line of games never took off, isn’t it? Let’s just blame our failure on the lack of market and not consider that the flaw might lie in the game, shall we? And while we’re at it, let’s add long, tedious conversations into all our girl games, because girls like talking more than problem-solving.

I want my weekend back.

Two job interviews yesterday. The first was with a woman who looked a lot like Molly Shannon. This made it difficult to take her seriously, so I did not utilize my mad interview skills as well as I normally do. But I was undaunted, even after flubbing three of her questions and sweating through most of my shirt, and on my way out I flung my hands in the air and announced “Superadmin!” At least I didn’t make the mistake of turning a slightly funny five minute sketch into a two hour movie, eh, Molly?

The next place I interviewed at gave me spelling, grammar, typing, and pattern recognition tests before beginning the actual interview. I successfully pounded all the red circles into the blue circular holes and was allowed to progress to first grade, although gainful employment might be a tougher step. No one at this place resembled anyone from SNL, so I was able to employ my patented “ingenue who will make your office happier and more wholesome” persona to good effect. I think I’m in there, but only Monday will say for sure.

And today I have an appointment with my school advisor for the first time since ever. For is it not written, “If you do things, they get done”? Three days away from the office and I am productive like a Malaysian factory worker.

– 16th & Castro

– Hardwood floors

– Living room, bedroom, study, big remodeled kitchen, laundry in building

– Communal garden in the backyard which is large and gorgeous

And today, for the first time in two years, I can’t call the Lad at home because he is at work. So I will tell all of you instead.

My happiness is the happiness of KINGS.

Plus I have an interview with a great non-profit on Wednesday. My whole life is changing and I stand back in awe and delight to watch.

Today one of my coworkers brought her toddler to work. Well, I didn’t need both eardrums, right? It’s 3:00 and I’m trying to figure out a nice way of saying “Go home early and take your child or my ears will fall off from listening to the tea kettle screech she emits.” Possibly I will just wait until the next time the little girl starts up and then say “Hey, your kid is boiling!”

The kid is actually pretty well-behaved as kids go, but she’s still a kid. This is not a space for kids. You can tell because the walls are beige and no one wears foam cartoon character outfits (except that guy on the second floor, but he’s not someone you want around your kids is my theory).

But then she comes over and puts her tiny little hand in my huge man-sized hand and I feel this huge wave of happiness and I think to myself You fucking knee-jerk body, pull it together, dammit. I will NOT be a slave to your reproductive whims! And the Lad everywhere breathes a sigh of relief.

I’ve started looking at apartment listings for real now that the Lad and I have only a month to find our dream home. Surfing craigslist every day with a very limiting set of parameters to work with is like commuting to work on MUNI. You recognize most of the people around you from the previous days; sure, every day there are one or two new faces and one or two people who aren’t around anymore, but mainly it’s the same crowd. The difference (apart from all the obvious differences) is that on MUNI, a regularly-seen face means respectability, someone who goes to a job every day and can be assumed to have a reasonable degree of cleanliness and sanity. On craigslist, a listing you’ve seen every day for weeks, maybe even being re-listed sometimes with a new rent amount or description, is probably neither respectable nor clean.

It gets me down, I freely admit it. I haven’t had to find a place with someone else since I lived in Santa Cruz, and then we just took the only place in town that we could afford. Now there are more complex requirements on both sides and sometimes I wonder if we will ever find something we can both live with. I mean, it’s been three days and still nothing. When I’m really depressed, I head over to the missed connections section. I figure it never hurts to cover all my bases; if the Lad and I can’t find an apartment together then maybe I can find a new boyfriend to live with, someone who saw me reading Anais Nin on the train and will describe me as “long-haired brunette beauty with sparkling eyes.” Or maybe some landlord will post for me:

Girl walking past Squat & Gobble on Tuesday night (landlord 4 w)

You: ponytail, paperback, strut. Me: hardwood floors, central Castro location, under $1700. Email me. This could be the beginning of a beautiful tenancy.

If you’re cool then you probably already know about the Kingdom of Loathing. But if you’re less cool, like me, then you may have yet to discover this wonderfully wacky waste of your work time.

In the KoL, I am a disco bandit named Didofoot and I am wearing bugbear pants and a ravioli hat and I have a pretty good amount of meat for my level (the unit of currency in the KoL is meat). You, too, could have a fine large store of meat. All you have to do is create a character! What could be easier! Healthy and fun!

I blog about this because I want all the CH people to join and then we can form our own CH clan and pool our meat and buy cool stuff, like a gym! Also, I don’t think we’re nerdy enough with just the blogs and the group website. I’d like to be a higher level of nerdy. I’d like to be twelve nerdy. So join up, people. In the largest nerd gathering in the internet world*, Cement Horizon cannot be found wanting!

*arbitrary measurement with no basis in fact

Didofoot wrote:

Hi,

I’m a student looking for an ombudsman to talk to about some academic concerns I have. Do we have such a thing at Unnamed University?

Thanks,

DF

Unnamed University Outreach wrote:

DF — We’re confused. Are you a Unnamed University student? Or are you a prospective student needing general information about Unnamed University?

—Unnamed University Student Outreach Services

Didofoot wrote:

Yup, I’m a Junior at Unnamed University. I looked on the website but couldn’t find an ombudsman, so do we have a similar position on campus?

Thanks,

DF

Unnamed University Outreach wrote:

DF — It all depends on what aspect you have your academic concern with. If it’s concerning your major, you would need to contact the department chair/dean. Or if you already have contacted the department chair/dean, then you would contact the Dean of your college. Or if it’s concerning an academic issue with a student affair, you would contact Dean Blahblahblah.

Hope this helps and good luck,

Unnamed University Student Outreach Services

Didofoot wrote:

Hi,

Actually, I’m specifically interested in talking to a neutral third party rather than a representative of one of the departments or a staff member. Don’t most campuses have a resource of this kind?

Thanks,

DF

Unnamed University Outreach wrote:

DF — Hmmmm….Unfortunately, the University does not have a neutral third party, but if you need to speak to someone in confidentiality, then Counseling Services would be able to assist you. They can be reached at 415-555-2208 to set up an appointment. Or you could probably contact the Dean of Undergraduate Studies at 415-555-2206 for assistance.

Again, hope this helps.

—Unnamed University Student Outreach Services

Didofoot wishes she wrote:

Hi,

Yes, that would help very much if it in any way addressed my need. But as it is, no. Not remotely helpful to me. Nevertheless, I’m sure there’s not a grain of truth in all the jokes floating around campus about the staffers of Unnamed University being utter jackasses.

Thank you for my time,

DF

I passed some firemen on the street yesterday and we eye-flirted. I thought about how if there was a proposition to cut funding for the fire department and the SFFD held a parade to raise public awareness and they asked me to be one of the scantily-clad girls on the float, I would. Because I think they are pretty great, mustaches and all. By the time I got to the Lad’s door I was mentally leading the other float girls in a pro-fireman cheer to the crowd, but I could only rhyme “your house in ruins” with “Newsom’s goons” and I was worried that Sean might be in the crowd and be disappointed in me for writing such a terrible rhyme. So then I tried to invent a verse about how this is the fire department, Sean, not the Pentavirate, but I couldn’t rhyme anything there either.

Before this, I wrote a song for the Lad which does rhyme excellently as follows:

My pumpkin bread

My peanut shell

My parakeet

My pimpernel

Sometimes when he is working away on the computer and I want him to come to bed for heaven’s sake I lean my head over the edge of the loft and sing it to him with various different tunes that I am trying out. He really likes it.

The baby-mama at work had these little candy bars made up for everyone with all the baby info (name, weight, birthday, etc.) on the wrappers. It is an adorable non-cigar item which I was really looking forward to eating, but it turns out there’s an etiquette to this. Apparently, to some of the women in my office it’s as wrong to eat the symbol of a baby as it would be to eat the actual baby.

The thing is, I would eat a baby if it was made out of tasty milk chocolate*. But announcing this fact did not go over as well as I had expected. So now I’m just sitting here staring at this chocolate bar which will slowly melt or go stale, even as the soul of the baby will gradually melt away to nothing or grow stale from disuse as he gets older and is forced to grind away 24 hours of every week in a thankless government job which torments him with chocolate bars he is forbidden to eat. Curse you, Adulthood, and the treats you promise but never deliver!

*whereas for the Lad a garlic bread baby might be more appealing.