Category Archives: Uncategorized

Playing Board Games as a Kid

I’ve always enjoyed table top games, and my family were not gamers. We played games occasionally, and I think I largely encouraged what we played.

I could be wrong. On vacations, my extended family played Canasta, Spades, and “The Dictionary Game” long before it ever was published as Balderdash. Perhaps my older siblings brought some board games into the house, because we had an old edition of Parcheesi and an art masterpiece game long before I was old enough to show interest in them. In the early years, I was interested in PayDay, a silly, pun-filled game about making it to the end of the month. (I think that’s where I learned of the classic book Running to the Outhouse, by Will E. Makit.)

We played harder games in a gifted program in which I was placed for grades 4-6, games like Avalon Hill’s TUF, a dice game that asked you to make the longest working equation you could from the roll you made. You always had an equals sign and some kind of math symbol with the numbers, maybe eight dice total. It was hard. Other games I remember were Word Power and The Stock Market Game. Avalon Hill made great games back in the day. I wasn’t good at Word Power btw.

One of the project choices in that class was to design a game. I think I worked up two of them, neither entirely successful. One was an adventure. I vaguely recall a board that resembled a Narnian map with a sea serpent in watery sections. There was some kind of Sasquatch and a UFO too. Players could move in any direction on the grid in search of treasure, which was hidden by someone controlling the enemies.

The thing I remember most about this is working with my dad on how to design the game pieces. He cut up a broom handle to make each piece. The rounded tip of the handle was the UFO. Dad made smoothly sanded player pieces in different colors. I don’t remember how we handled the two monsters. I think the other kids liked it. It didn’t totally work as a game, but it was good project.

As a teenager, I wanted to play more complicated games but didn’t have a regular group to do it with. My sister married a guy who played chess with us often and enjoyed large games like Kingmaker, with a four-hour play time that probably begins after you study the rulebook for an hour or so. Diplomacy was another one we started and never finished (six-hour play time?!). I wasn’t good at these games. How could I be without playing a single full game?

I think I did play a single game of Squad Leader. That’s the kind of game my best friend in high school enjoyed. Military tactics was one of his strengths, and this was a complicated game that could be expanded into many more tiers of complication. He destroyed me. And I enjoyed it, I think.

Winning is not the main thing in a game. I want to enjoy the challenge of it, even if I lose, which is certainly a strength, seeing that I have had only marginal success in my life. Enjoying the challenge with some good people makes for a fun evening.

If you can tolerate it, I’ll write more about games in upcoming posts.

Icelandic ways

More translation work today, and that’s always good news. I generally work with something playing on the TV in the background (for fear that the full force of my intellect, if applied to the text undiluted, might burn out my computer ). Today I’ve been watching something a friend recommended, an Icelandic mystery series on Netflix. It’s called The Valhalla Murders.

Since I never worked on this project, I can comment freely. I won’t describe it in detail tonight – it’s no formula-breaker. At the center, as has become almost mandatory these days, is a Plucky Single Mother. It ain’t entertainment in the 2020s, unless you’ve got a PSM in there. Also a local boy who moved to Norway because he has Issues, and is not happy to have been ordered home to help the Reykjavik police – who aren’t that happy to have him in the first place. Nor in the second place, because when he shows up he’s Intriguingly Rude to everybody.

But what surprised me was the subtitles. I always turn the subtitles on with streamed movies nowadays, because I’m old and sometimes dialogue gets garbled (don’t tell me I’m going deaf, you whippersnapper).  You don’t have to use subtitles to watch it yourself, mind you, because it seems to have been double-filmed – the actors are speaking English in the English version. (Though some of it looks like it was overdubbed. Not uncommon even in English-language productions.)

But here’s why I’m confused. What I’ve learned through being a script translator is that the people who write subtitles NEVER look at our translated production scripts. Because of this, the subtitles tend to vary quite a bit from what we wrote (translation is more subjective than I care to admit). They usually seem to have been produced through transcription by someone watching the film. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

But in this production, the subtitles vary extremely from what’s being said by the actors. It looks very much as if the subtitles were produced by following a production script in English, like the ones I and my co-workers do. But that those scripts weren’t used for filming the English version.

Maybe they do things differently in Iceland.

‘The Way You Look Tonight’

What shall we discuss when we wish to remain a-political, on a day that will live in infamy in the annals of our national decline?

Sometimes, when I’m awfully low, and the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking, “I’m not in graduate school anymore.”

Or words to that effect. Astaire and Rogers did it better, above.

‘Weariness and water were our chief enemies…’

The war itself has been so often described by those who saw more of it than I that I shall here say little about it…. Through the winter, weariness and water were our chief enemies. I have gone to sleep marching and woken again and found myself marching still. One walked in the trenches in thigh gum boats with water above the knee; one remembers the icy stream welling up inside the boot when you punctured it on concealed barbed wire. Familiarity both with the very old and the very recent dead confirmed that view of corpses which had been formed the moment I saw my dead mother. I came to know and pity and reverence the ordinary man: particularly dear Sergeant Ayres, who was (I suppose) killed by the same shell that wounded me. I was a futile officer (they gave commissions too easily then), a puppet moved about by him, and he turned this ridiculous and painful relation into something beautiful, became to me almost like a father. But for the rest, the war—the frights, the cold, the smell of H.E., the horribly smashed men still moving like half-crushed beetles, the sitting or standing corpses, the landscapes of sheer earth without a blade of grass, the boots worn day and night till they seemed to grow to your feet—all this shows rarely and faintly in memory. (C. S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy, Chapter XII)

I floundered for something to post tonight. Like so many Americans, I’m upset over a war strategy that seems both foolish and suicidal, with the fighting men (as always) paying the costs. Add to that that I’m reading a novel about the aftermath of World War I, the same sort of thing on a massive scale. So I settled on the excerpt from Surprised by Joy above, Lewis’s greatly softened public reminiscence of his war experience. (For a more candid view, see if you can find a copy of Jack’s Life, by Douglas Gresham, in which he relates what Jack told him in private about the war.)

I’d love to do a political rant, denouncing certain officials who shall remain nameless. But I haven’t the heart for it these days.

Media alert

The local PBS station in Brainerd, Minnesota did a report on our festival last weekend. My red Viking banner is prominently featured, and I can also be seen from a distance, at my book table beside my tent, under my awning.

It really was pretty cool.

Viking Festival report

Since I’m sure you were praying fervently for my safety this weekend, considering my age and deteriorating mental state, you’ll rejoice to know that I and my loaner car both returned intact from an intensive experience.

First, at noon Friday, a lunch meeting with the board of the Georg Sverdrup Society at a restaurant in Fergus Falls, Minnesota. That went fine, except that I have lots of work to do now on delayed projects (delayed, surprisingly, by other causes than my personal laziness).

Then on eastward to the Brainerd area, where I met my hosts for the weekend. They were an extremely gracious retired couple who fed me sumptuously and listened to my tales and anecdotes. I, for my part, actually asked some questions of them, which is not my usual way. I must have been transitioning into Public Lars mode, which is more outgoing than my true personality.

In the morning my host guided me to the Crow Wing County Fairgrounds, where some of my group were already waiting. We set up, and other Vikings from other groups showed up and set up as well. In the end the Crow Wing Viking Festival looked like the photo above.

Things were slow starting off. I suspect the weather had a lot to do with it. It had been stormy overnight (everyone was grateful for the rain after a dry summer), and some clouds and sprinkling moved through before everything lightened up. It became a beautiful day – about 70 degrees – the only problem being strong wind gusts that bludgeoned us now and then (at one point one actually knocked the post out from one corner of my sun shade awning).

And the crowds came, as we hoped, as eager as the Vikings to finally get out and do something with people under God’s sun. The fighting contingent had enough participants to form reasonable shield walls in the battle shows, and – judging by my business – people were eager and willing to spend their rapidly devaluing dollars. I took home a nice amount that had previously been in other people’s pockets.

Then, because I had a young guy carrying my impedimenta in his big vehicle, we convoyed home, stopping for burgers in St. Cloud. I was the old man in the party, and did my best to appear clueless and opinionated. Pulled in at home a little after 10:00 p.m., and unloaded. Dragged my stuff inside, and collapsed to a better night’s sleep than I’d had in a while.

Oh yes, somebody asked for a picture of my Viking chest. I forgot to take one at the festival, but here it is in its customary spot, subbing for a desk chair in my home office.

Crow Wing Viking Festival 2021

Above is a locally produced video from Brainerd, Minnesota, promoting the Crow Wing Viking Festival this Saturday. I’ll be there, God willing, selling books (God also willing). I neither endorse nor critique this video. I just found it, and haven’t had time to review it. Still have to pack tonight.

Finished my intense translating job. Tomorrow, a meeting to attend, then on to Brainerd. They had a fun festival two years ago. Last year nothing happened, it goes without saying. This weekend, with typical Viking courage, we’re getting the (rover) band back together.

Information here. Nothing from me in this space tomorrow.

As usual, my house will not be empty while I’m gone. My renter will be here. He may or may not be on his meds.

“I don’t know, I’ve never Wisted”

I’m happy and not happy to say I got some more translation work. I wanted the work because I need the money, but it also means I’ll have to prepare for this weekend (a meeting in Fergus Falls, then a Viking event in Brainerd) during whatever chinks of time I can find in between work sessions. It’s times like this when I feel kind of old.

Older than usual.

For your entertainment, I found a trailer for one of the previous projects I’ve worked on. “Wisting,” based on the book series by Jorn Lier Horst, one of whose books I listened to driving to Madison and back last weekend. This was one of the first projects I worked on (not much of my work actually survived the revisions), but I was taken with it, and found the books enjoyable. You can view it, as you’ll see, if you subscribe to Acorn TV. (Assuming they’re still running it)

Nitpick: In the books, Wisting has dark hair.

Back to work…

Let me just get this off my chest

Reading a long book, and I have a heavy translation project to fill my hours. So, nothing to review. About what shall I write today?

I don’t want to write about the state of the world. I’m not very happy about the state of the world, or the nation, or the state, or the community. I’m not all that happy about the state of my house, either. One of my sinks just clogged up.

At bedtime, I’ve been reading Jeremiah. Appropriate, in a tragic way. There’s Jeremiah, this young man who loves God, and what job does God give him? “Tell the people to repent or they’ll be punished. They won’t listen to you, but tell them anyway.”

“God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life.” The problem is, His idea of wonderful is different from ours. From mine, anyway.

If I didn’t have a strong impression (very likely wrong) that I have a Calling to finish my Erling saga before I die, I’d be strongly considering taking up an even more unhealthy lifestyle, just to avoid the disaster that seems inevitable now.

Anyway.

I did accomplish one thing. With my hands, for a change.

I built (with my brother’s extensive help) a Viking chest, some years back, for use in reenactments. The picture above (my chest is red with yellow decorations) isn’t a very good one, but it’s the best I can find in my collection. A Viking chest is wider at the bottom than at the top (prevents tipping) and the two end boards are longer than the rest, creating “feet” that keep the chest off the ground (or out of the bilge water). It’s a practical design. I used a lot of construction cheats to make it looked joined, though it’s actually all screwed together.

A while back one of the feet broke. It’s been breaking off again periodically, under stress, ever since. I’d been planning to fix it for some time, by running a couple long screws up inside the boards the long way.

Last week I drilled starter holes for the screws, but found that the holes were too short for the very long screws I’d found somewhere. I went to the hardware store for a longer drill bit, and the guy sold me one he swore was the right size. It was not. It was too wide; the screws barely bit.

So yesterday I unscrewed the screws (not very hard) and dumped some toothpicks into the holes, along with Elmer’s glue. Then I coated the screws with glue as well, and tightened it all down. Seems solid.

I needed some sense of accomplishment. Finishing my translation work will help with that too. Better get back to it.

Gone before my time

Ah the adventurous life I live! And mostly from correcting my own mistakes.

I had it on my calendar that I was speaking to a meeting in Madison, Wisconsin on Saturday. I made plans and booked a hotel room. Then I happened to look at the scheduling information this morning, and discovered I’m not speaking on Saturday, but on Friday. This required moving my travel plans up, and changing my hotel reservation. And everything I’d planned to do in a leisurely fashion, I must now rush so I can leave tomorrow morning.

I’m an obsessive, so I’m obsessing about all this a little.

Okay, I’m obsessing a lot.

Surprisingly (even to me), I’m not lecturing on Vikings this time. I’m lecturing on my home church. I’ll tell you about it on Monday.

Meanwhile, note to potential burglars: My house will not be empty. My renter will be here. They used to call him Psycho, in the joint.