"I’m with the University of Wisconsin, Madison. Department of Anthropology."
His dairy and beer intake is unclear at this point.
Perhaps someone involved with the production is also a graduate.
The H.P. Lovecraft Society has a new Dark Adventure - The Temple, based on H.P.L.'s story of the same name.
As the Great War drags on, German U-boats prowl the North Atlantic, torpedoing military and civilian vessels alike. When a shipwrecked man is recovered at sea, he tells a strange and disturbing tale of his experience on a German submarine. Has the experience driven him mad, or did his voyage reveal unseen monstrosities at the bottom of the ocean?
So what is the difference between Lake Louie's Li'l Louie Lager and their Wisconsin Vacation Lager?
This question came up as I was checking out their website in preparation for this very entry you have before you. They both appear to be Miller/Bud types of beers. Perhaps the former is akin to Miller Lite since it has a lower A.B.V. than the latter. Lake Louie's website is one where ad copy reigns and revealing the ingredients comes piecemeal, if at all.
This reminds me of an exchange I had on Twitter several years ago. A beer writer whose name I cannot recall (wrote for Forbes, perhaps...?) posted a tweet saying that Goose Island was coming out with a new beer, Four Star Pils. I asked him if it had been brewed with then new, fruity tasting hops or with more tried and true Nobley ones.
Bad mistake.
Almost immediately, if not in his first reply, the guy turned into a snide jagoff and began addressing me as if I was the Mrs. Grundy of the beer world. Accusations that I was an obstinate puritan unwilling to consider the new and novel came first. My retort was that I simply wanted to know the ingredients before I spent my money. I am merely a humble consumer and in no way was I opposed to the existence of pilsners with nouveau, fruity hops; I just wanted help in deciding whether to go all in with a 6-pack or to dip my toes in the water with a single bottle.
Before long, his pal Michael Kiser (the marketer behind Great Beer Hunting) waded in and went on the attack. At one point, I told the original fellow that he had changed the direction of the conversation and moved the goal posts - in order to be an even bigger jerk, in my opinion, although I didn't write that. He sneered back "I can move the goal posts if I want to." I could easily imagine the guy hunched over his keyboard writing in response to disaster victims who are short on potable water, "Let them drink Westvleteren."
What an asshole. So were they both, both assholes.
It took me years but I eventually learned my lesson and left Twitter. A few or more years ago I heard that my original interlocutor was no longer reported on beer for a living and I now see that GBH is on indefinite hiatus. I would be lying if I said I didn't feel even a smidge of schadenfreude.
So back to Lake Louie. Their site's description of the beer at hand, Dark Side of the Loon, says "This rich and complex American Stout finishes as smoothly as a majestic loon gliding across a moonlit lake in hunt of its prey." Just ad copy. Can I get a bit more than a simile, please? I don't know what makes a stout American beyond being made in America, perhaps. How does it differ from an Irish or English stout? My guess is that either it has been laced with Citra hops or it is very potent and I see that it's 7% A.B.V. Does it lean sweet or dry? Was it blended with a soured portion of IPA?
Dark Side of the Loon is a recent addition to the Lake Louie portfolio. I think heard tell of it a month ago or so. An email I received shortly thereafter features a picture labeling it as a seasonal so, once it's gone, it's gone until at least next fall. I was going to lament that a brewery that has Kirby Nelson as an employee lets an autumn go by without a doppelbock is a crime but I see that Lake Louie does now have one called Mallaggie, a Märzen doppelbock. Not sure if it's being packaged or is just available on tap. And, to be honest, I am not sure if Lake Louie operates independently of Wisconsin Brewing Company or who. Brewmaster Kirby Nelson may spend his time fulfilling brewing contracts while someone else keeps the Lake Louie lamp trimmed and burning.
Even if the Lake Louie website isn't particularly helpful, the can does note some roasty flavors in addition to the major selling point of smoothness.
How many other beer labels are there that depict nature all red in tooth and claw and bill?
This beer got brownie points right off the bat for having a head that stuck around while I fumbled with my phone's camera. It was a lovely tan hue and jiggled when I moved the glass. And the beer's name was true to its word as this stuff was positively Stygian. If I held my glass up to a light at just the right angle it appeared a deep mahogany but, for all intents and purposes, this was the kind of beer that H.P. Lovecraft would have had at his side as he chronicled the events witnessed by Randolph Carter. A strong smell of roastiness wafted into my nose as I took a whiff as did an astringent one. Was this stuff really only 7%? I caught some stone fruit too as well as faint bitter chocolate and some herbal hoppiness. No fruity hop aroma!
My first sip revealed a medium body and a decent fizziness. I tasted milk chocolate, plum, some roast, and that boozy taste. Oh, and some of that herbal hoppiness and absolutely no tropical fruit. The stone fruit and chocolate flavors faded on the finish allowing the hops to share some bitterness to make for a perfectly dry denouement. I found that the much-touted smoothness appeared as the beer warmed and indeed the stuff became positively velvety as it went down. The smoothness helped minimize the boozy astringency, which I appreciated.
Once up to temp, this is one very, very tasty beer. The chocolate/mild roasty flavors are really nice and I was happy Loon steered away from the more intense roasted flavors that lend more of a bitter/burnt taste. It's not that I don't like these flavors, it's that American brewers tend to overload dark beers with them whether they be stouts, porters, dunkels, or schwarzbiers. You don't need to use black malts in every dark beer. The hops lovingly balanced the overall taste perfectly. Plus they give just the right amount of dryness to complement the luscious, satiny finish.
Junk food pairing: Dark Side of the Loon will pair well with nutty, smoky foods such at Barbeque Nutchos or Smokehouse Nut-Thins.
What do you get when you cross lutefisk with a hit of LSD?
A trip to Stoughton.
Hopefully a local reads that.
I've had Norway/Norwegians on the brain for a little while now. Next week I am off to Gamehole Con to spend a few days drowning in Lovecraftian chaos as I play Karsten Ekelöf, a Norwegian bacteriologist and physician who goes Beyond the Mountains of Madness. BtMoM is a Call of Cthulhu adventure that takes place in the Antarctic. Here's a bit of his backstory:
Karsten would join the Bratvaag Expedition led by Dr. Gunnar Horn.
Ostensibly an expedition to hunt seals and study glaciers and the Arctic seas, its secret mission was to claim Victoria Island for Norway.
The expedition first stopped at White Island where they improbably discovered the remains of Swedish explorer S.A. Andrée's Arctic balloon expedition. The official story is that only skeletal remains were found but Karsten and company stumbled upon corpses that still had flesh attached to the bones. Karsten examined the corpses and was horrified to discover that it appeared as if much of the adventurers' flesh had been eaten away as if by necrotizing bacteria.
The remains were stowed aboard their ship and Karsten examined tissue samples from them in transit to Victoria Island. Although he was not surprised to find that they were awash with foreign bacteria, he was shocked to discover that the invaders were unlike anything he'd seen previously.
They had strange tentacle-like protrusions and organelles unknown to science...
So there I was contemplating this Norwegian brew and what to do for a picture for this review and my mind started wandering. I thought about Nordic Noir TV shows but discovered that the ones I've watched are mainly Swedish and Danish with the odd one from Finland and Iceland thrown in. Where are the Norwegian TV producers?! Surely Oslo is as crime ridden as Stockholm. You can't tell me that there aren't maniacs living in the fjords or that the Norwegian forests are bereft of fae.
Then it occurred to me that I've been listening to a lot of Wobbler, a progressive rock band from Norway, lately and I have dragged them into this. Heck, they're probably the kind of guys who would drink this variety of beer anyway.
The brew at hand is Of Wood and Smoke by Haandbryggeriet located in Drammen which appears to be an exurb of Oslo. Thankfully some of it made its way to Madison at some point. The date on the bottom of the can was "12-7-202~~~" - the last digit was all smooshed so I guess its date of origin shall forever be a mystery. But, given that December was noted, I take it that this is a winter release.
This jibes with the beer, a hearty brew that was aged in akvavit barrels giving it a potency of 8% A.B.V. Of Wood and Smoke is an amped up version of Haandbryggeriet's Norwegian Wood, a smoked lager with juniper. This stouter iteration is apparently smokier and juniperer, in addition to having a higher alcohol content due to the spiritual comingling.
With the temperatures around here finally providing some much-needed relief from summer, I figured it was time to put this beer to the test.
My pour produced a big tan head which had shrunk a bit before I could take a decent photograph. Holding my glass at just the right angle, I could see that the beer had a deep ruby hue. I didn't notice any bubbles because I just couldn't see that far into the liquid. There was just blackness. Taking a whiff, I first caught booziness, that sharp alcohol smell. Apparently they weren't playing around with the akvavit. Luscious smoke then wafted into my nose and I attempted to discern what variety it was. Ultimately I failed but suspect it was from a fruit tree like apple or cherry. However, that impression may have been influenced by the inviting plum scent from some of the non-smoked malts.
My initial sip revealed a smooth booziness, as if the surely rather large malt bill was able to add enough sweetness to take the edge off of the akvavit. (I'd say the brew had a medium-heavy body.) Just as with the aroma, smoke came next followed by a moderate malty, caramel sweetness. I also tasted some milk chocolate. There was a mild fizz which struggled to penetrate the Maginot Line of malt.
On the finish I tasted a boozy heat which was joined by some lingering smokiness as well as bit of that caramel sweetness and a dash of the juniper. Everything resolved into a mild, slowly fading akvavit burn.
This is a really nice beer. I suspect it was past its prime but I liked it anyway. The smoke was just delicious and the sweetness wasn't anywhere near cloying. The hops and juniper were very much in the background keeping things from becoming a treacly mess and adding only piney/spicy accents. The akvavit I've had was flavored with caraway but I didn't detect any here.
Of Wood and Smoke is surely amongst the most boreal brews I've encountered. The smokiness was wonderful and it kept me warm on a chill autumn evening.
Junk food pairing: Until I can find some locally-produced lefse chips, I will recommend you pair your Of Wood and Smoke with a bag of Sørlandschips Original Spansk Paprika potato chips. The earthy paprika will go well with all of the malt flavors here and the oil will be swiftly cut by all that akvavit.
(Watch the prelude.)
(late September 2023)
Although I had great fun in the Eau Claire area, it was time to venture north for a hike around my beloved Chippewa Moraine State Recreation Area. I just can’t get enough of that place.
There were a couple cars in the lot when I pulled in but that was all. No school bus, unlike some previous stops there. It was a fairly warm out but overcast with a decent chance of rain so I had my new raincoat with me and an umbrella in my backpack that rested comfortably next to enough Deet for an army.
The trailhead always reminds me of the opening lines of Dante's Inferno:
Midway upon the journey of our life
I found myself within a forest dark,
For the straightforward pathway had been lost.
The area around the interpretive center is open and there's the parking lot so setting out on the trail means moving from an open, brightly lit area into the forest where the tree canopies do a very good job of blocking out the light. Those trees are all competing for sunlight so they gather all they can leaving the floor in shadow.
One of these years I am going to time my trek up here so that the trees are at peak colors. Climate change is messing with the forests. While there certainly were some lovely colors to be had, there was still much green.
About a mile and a half in I came across a sign saying that there was logging in progress. If I recall correctly, it gave a generic caution about being cognizant of your surroundings and to get the attention of the loggers so that they can help you pass safely instead of felling a tree on your head.
Before long I was at the logging area.
At points the trail was still visible while at other spots there was some guesswork involved. Despite having been here several times, I am still far from knowing it like the back of my hand. And, it being a weekend, there were no loggers around to give directions. When I came to a point where the trail was not visible, I consulted the map from the interpretive center and then peered up at the sky to see where the brightest spot in the clouds was and then back at the map once again.
I tried to recall about how far back the last trail marker was to get an inkling of an idea where I was but failed. As a last resort, I opened the map app on my phone feeling that I was cheating by using GPS but getting lost in the woods was not my idea of fun this day. But even this was in vain as I had no signal.
And so I went forward in what I thought was an easterly direction and found the trail once again. I’m not sure if it was luck or skillful wayfinding but the straightforward pathway hadn't been lost after all.
Or so I thought.
This trail didn’t look at all familiar and became especially foreign when it widened into what I presumed was an old logging road that was paved with leaves. The maples here had been shedding - damned climate change.
It was pretty, don’t get me wrong, but I had a nagging feeling that something was wrong. This road didn't appear on the map but I consoled myself by thinking it likely that it was simply disused and not marked. But, while there are multiple trails here, I saw no markers. Still, I pressed on.
About half a mile or so down the trail, I came to a building. There were missing windows and the grass around it was quite overgrown. I walked around it and saw that there were missing sections of the roof as well as large openings on the wall which were probably screened in at one time.
Creepy.
Very creepy.
Did I dare enter?
There was a lake not far from this ruined building and I walked to the shore to regain my wits and decide if I would go investigate the structure. The water was gorgeous.
I just adore these kettle lakes.
After taking a deep breath to steel myself, I wandered back to the building. Walking up to it I discovered a large open room and figured it must have been a recreation/meeting facility for a camp. At some point in the past, kids ate hamburgers, drank soda, and laughed as they ignored the lectures of the camp counselors.
It was positively eerie and a chill ran down my spine when I realized that the place reminded me of that abandoned military base in the movie Annihilation. Thankfully, I can’t imagine there’d be a pool somewhere near with all the wonderful lakes to swim in. Upon looking up, I briefly distracted myself by recalling the days when I built trusses at a lumberyard.
I’d cut the lumber using a gigantic radial arm saw that I nicknamed “The Widowmaker”, put the pieces of wood on rollers, and then laid down gang nails. Zip through the press and voila! A truss.
Thoughts about losing body parts to The Widowmaker were probably not the things to have in my mind at this point. What if a serial killer lived here, right?
Eventually I figured I’d done enough to frighten myself and got back on the trail. It wasn’t long before it led me up a small hill. When I got to the top, I could see cabins in the distance.
Oh boy. This was getting even creepier. In for a penny, in for a pound.
Continuing down the hill, I came upon several very rough and very abandoned cabins. Moss grew on most of the roofs which were also topped with leaves and branches.
They were little more than screened in frames. Very basic accommodations.
I became convinced that this used to be a Boy Scout camp.
Next to a cluster of these primitive cabins was one that looked much less primitive, perhaps a bit more luxurious as scout camps go, if you could call it that.
The doors on both sides were open and some of the deck boards by each doorway had been removed. Now, maybe this was where the serial killer lived.
I decided to forgo entering and encountering a madman or, at least, any wild animals that had made the place their home. Instead I hastily continued down the trail past more of those rough cabins.
Once I had gotten away from the spooky structures, I calmed down and was able to enjoy the scenery.
Coming down another small hill, I was startled by a gang of turkeys a little way ahead of me. More startled than I normally would have been, I can tell you. The feeling must have been mutual as the birds beat a hasty retreat into the woods.
It wasn’t even 2 minutes before another shiver shot down my spine as I heard movement off to my right. Something was fairly close and was coming towards me! Stopping, I stood there, rooted to the ground and, looking back, am unsure if I was prepared to fight a serial killer rushing towards me axe in hand or if I was just scared stiff and couldn’t move.
Suddenly about 20 feet ahead of me a deer bounded across the trail and disappeared into the woods on my left. Whew! I heard some more rustling of leaves and branches coming from the right but off in the distance. I turned just in time to see the white butt and tail of another bambi disappear into the thick treescape.
As I forged ahead, the sky turned a little greyer but at least the path became a little less sinister. No animals leapt out of the undergrowth and no more mysterious abandoned buildings emerged from the trees.
Well, until another one did, that is.
At one point, another path veered off to the right from the one I was walking. As I was contemplating whether to take it or not, I spied a building in the distance. I opted to investigate.
What appeared to be a shed stood on the shore of a lake that I didn’t know the name of. Bedecked with "No Trespassing" signs, I beat back thoughts that the madman had made this his charnel house with the obvious conclusion that this was where the scout troops or whoever it was that had used the camp had stored their boats or canoes.
Whatever lake this was, it was sure pretty with a shoreline dotted with red and gold.
And then I heard it.
CRASH!
All at once my admiration of the natural beauty of my surroundings was cast aside as that fight or flight feeling returned and my ears took in the troubling noise. What sounded like a metal canister hitting a concrete floor echoed from behind me.
Was it a critter such as a racoon nosing around where it shouldn’t be? Or was it that serial killer reaching for his axe and accidentally knocking aside something hideous like a bucket of severed fingers?
I didn’t stay to find out.
I walked very briskly around the shed and found another path leading into the shrubs and small trees which surrounded the building. My instinct told me that it looped around was that trail I saw at that spot just before I spied the doom-laden boathouse.
My instincts proved correct and I found myself back on the main path a fair distance away from the workshop of the madman. At this point it started to drizzle so I awkwardly took my rain jacket out of my backpack and I scrambled down the trail. It is not easy to put a coat on when you’re constantly turning around to make sure no one is following you.
Before long I was back at the camp and those ominous cabins. I zipped by them as quickly as I could. That leaf-covered road soon emerged and I was back at that spot where the logging was being done. Knowing only that I had to get put as much distance as I could from that camp, I zig-zagged around, leaping over branches and suddenly found myself on that trail I had walked so many times. I suspect that some kind of instinctual survival mechanism kicked in and I subconsciously intuited the path that would get me back to the trailhead.
After emerging from the dark forest, I went into the interpretive center hoping all the while that the DNR guy behind the counter did not have an axe in his back. He proved very much alive and flashed a welcoming smile and said "Good afternoon" as I made my way to the bathroom.
My bladder empty, I returned to my car – verifying that there was no one hiding in the back first – and got in. Locking my doors quickly, I immediately started the engine and it wasn’t long before I was again on that winding county road on the way back to Highway 53 where I could put distance between myself and that accursed camp at 70+ MPH.
I needed a tonic to calm my nerves and relax my muscles so it was off to Dallas for a stop at Valkyrie Brewing for some post-hike beer. But first I grabbed a bite to eat at the unfortunately named – given the circumstances – Jen’s Choppin’ Block.
I scarfed down my lunch as fleeing axe-wielding maniacs sure does give you an appetite. Afterwards, walking back to my car, I noticed this wonderful ghost sign across the street.
Odd that I’d never noticed it before. I put it down to being in self-preservation mode and my senses being extra keen, my powers of observation heightened.
The brewery’s taproom was inviting as always with its Nordic/Viking motif which I’ll take over the usual industrial chic any day.
As she had been the last 2 or 3 times I’d been there, Ann Lee, co-owner and label designer extraordinaire, was tending bar. I ordered my usual fall post-hike restorative: Whispering Embers, a smoked Oktoberfest.
Although I’d brought a book with me, I was just too distracted to concentrate on the text. I noticed one of Ann’s paintings that was on the label of their Rune Amok, an Engilsh-style Extra Special Bitter. What I take to be Lindisfarne is ablaze in the background as some Viking longships sail away to their next point of plunder.
As I grabbed my beer, Ann began to make her way from behind the bar and said she’d be back in a jiffy. She wandered into the back room while I ambled over to the other side of the taproom. That side is largely hidden out of sight from the bar area by a big support structure/part of a wall and I was keen on seeing any other paintings of hers that may have been over there. Turning the corner, I saw a couple pinball machines, the expected artwork, and an old duffer sitting alone at a table nursing a beer.
He wore a tan jacket and had a red and black plaid Kromer cap sitting on the table before him. The scene gave off some serious Ed Gein on a night on the town vibes. His face was weathered with deep wrinkles etched into it and covered in a couple days’ worth of stubble. It’s the type of face I saw countless times when I lived up north. No doubt this guy farmed for decades and the sun and wind have left their marks.
I was mildly startled when he looked up from his beer and at me. His pale grey eyes seemed at once gentle and piercing.
"Howdy," he said. "You’re not from ‘round here, are you?" he asked knowingly and with just the barest hint of menace. I felt oddly compelled to join him at his table.
"No," I replied as I took the seat across from him. "Just up here on vacation doing some hiking."
"Oh yeah? Whereabouts?" he inquired in a tone that seemed to betray that he already knew the answer.
I explained that I’d come up to hike the Chippewa Moraine State Recreation Area as I do every year and began to relate to him how I’d gotten off track.
"I lost the trail where they are logging and ended up at some old, abandoned camp."
The old man’s eyes widened a little and he proclaimed "So, you found the old Sybaquay Girl Scout Camp, did ya. Best not go back there again." He looked down at his beer, breaking eye contact.
It occurred to me at this point that he hadn’t actually drunk from his cup, he’d merely looked at it, wiping condensation from the glass occasionally. I’d never heard of this camp.
"Sybaquay Girl Scout Camp?"
Clouds must have moved in because the room suddenly darkened a bit. The light from the pinball machines cast shadows on his worn face that seemed to move as the bumpers and back board flashed excitedly. Slowly the old man lifted his head until his piercing grey eyes were looking into mine. It felt like he was peering into the depths of my soul.
"Yes, the Sybaquay Girl Scout Camp. Them girls died at the hands of the Chippewa Ripper!"
"The who?" I replied dumbfounded. While I hadn't exactly lived in the area back in the day, I had lived close enough to be sure I'd have heard tell of a killer making his way through a Girl Scout camp.
He spat out the name once again. "The Chippewa Ripper! Back in aught 2, there was a late season camp out there. They come up from Milwaukee. Just a handful of girls and a couple of counselors. One black night the Ripper, he sneaked into the camp and killed them all!
First he snuck into the main lodge and killed the counselors. He slit their throats real quiet. Then he snuck out to those screened-in cabins where the girls were sleeping. Those poor things. Like lambs to the slaughter." His voice trailed off with a bit of tenderness and my heart sank.
"He turned that camp into a slaughterhouse," he said with a more than a hint of anger. "Tore those counselors apart. The police found their limbs under the decks of the lodge."
That explained why those deck board were missing. I knew that there was something wrong with that place!
"Did they catch the Ripper?" I asked, shaking slightly.
He looked down and turned the beer glass around in his hand a couple times before regaining eye contact with me and replying, "No. They never did. Folks 'round here say it was the work of an evil spirit. The lost soul of a German soldier from Camp Barron who was killed trying to escape."
Just then my phone vibrated in a weird pattern. I looked down to retrieve it from my front pocket and found that it had strangely turned itself off. Cheap phone. Looking back up to ask the old man about Camp Barron I found that, mysteriously, he was gone. All that remained was his beer glass, now empty.
I quickly downed the rest of my Whispering Embers but I'd need a lot more to calm my nerves at this point. Making my way to the other side of the taproom I found Ann had returned and was there wiping the bar down.
"Did you see the old man in the tan coat go outside?"
She flashed a look of mild incomprehension. "No, no old man. We just opened a little while ago and you’re our first and only customer of the day."
********
I plan on ushering in the Halloween season by listening to the latest audio drama to enter my collection, The Black Stone, an adaption of the Robert E. Howard story of the same name by the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society.
It comes with a bundle of props including a half page of the Chicago Examiner.
Was there ever a real Chicago Examiner? I’ll have to look that up. Regardless, I am looking forward to some good scares.
********
Bonus photo! It’s an animal but not a cat. Here’s a cow in the middle of giving birth. She was at our favorite dairy farm, Sassy Cow. We hoped that the birth went well.
The H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society's Dark Adventure Radio Theatre has a new drama out: The Iron Maiden.
It is an adaptation of Prosper Mérimée's 1837 novella La Vénus d'Ille.
"Just a few years after being hired to teach at Miskatonic University, young Nate Ward uses his summer vacation to visit the Isle of Wight and examine some curious ancient ruins. While there he makes a surprising discovery on the estate of a local landowner. Will it bode well for the family, or has he unearthed inexplicable misery and woe?"
I am thinking the latter.
I did my level best to avoid summaries of the novels, much less spoilers, before I read them. However, after I’d read a book, I did seek out the opinions of fellow fans. The 12th VNA, Neil Penswick’s The Pit, was generally loathed. Received fan opinion of it was (and remains, I assume) that this tale is one of, if not the, worst VNA and is even in the top 2 of most horrible Doctor Who novels.
Baying packs of budding literary critics spewed their bilious commentary from blogs and forums alike and their words took me by surprise as I found that I rather liked The Pit. I didn’t find it to be the greatest Doctor Who tale ever nor the best VNA. There were definitely faults but all of the sheer derision heaped on the novel was unwarranted, in my opinion.
After a while of hearing and reading all of the vitriol, I vowed to re-read The Pit and reassess it. Had I been that far from the mark? A second reading always brings out new things in a text for me, elements that I hadn’t been looking out for because I was too busy trying to keep the plot in order. My vow, which was in truth more like an aspiration, was made several years ago but now, in 2024, I have finally fulfilled it.
As noted above, The Pit is #12 in the VNA series and I admit that I do not have an encyclopedic knowledge of everything that transpired in the 11 books that precede it. So I am hoping I didn’t forget something relevant. It’s Benny’s fourth appearance as companion. But, if I recall correctly, Ben Aaronovitch didn’t know much about here when he wrote Transit, her second outing, so she had a Nyssa pulled on her and was basically sent away for that story. And didn’t she just cruise around with some guy in The Highest Science? Her character got off to a slow start.
Bible reference noted.
The prelude is short and gives us a brief introduction to the planet Nicaea (a city where the early Catholic Church did some important business) where drug use is rampant and murder on the rise. It ends with a grieving stepfather talking “about divine retribution and Judgement Day.” More Biblical allusions.
The novel begins, unsurprisingly, with a Biblical quotation - from Isaiah chapter 14. Verse 19 reads:
Yet thou shalt be brought down to Hell,
To the sides of the pit
Although Lucifer is mentioned in the verses here, I think they’re really about earthly kings, though perhaps there’s an analogy to be had. Whatever the case, “the pit” is a bad thing. (The concept, not the novel!)
A prologue introduces us to a Gallifreyan veteran of the Eternal Wars which saw the Doctor’s people fight the Monsters back in ancient times. This is Atraxi and he is the sole survivor of the horrendous conflict. Everyone from commanding General Liall a Mahajetsu on down to the lowliest infantryperson is dead except him.
This depressing intro gives way to the first chapter which takes place in the last several hours of DAY THREE, though we don’t know day three of what. The Doctor is behaving erratically and Benny decides it would be neat to investigate a solar system that mysteriously disappeared called the Seven Planets. The Doctor has never heard of it and neither hide nor hair of it is to be found even in the capacious TARDIS databanks. Off they go.
Nicaea is the capital planet of the system and things aren’t going well. Major Carlson, we learn, is a member of the Justice Police and there’s no shortage of work for him. Society on the Seven Planets is falling into disorder and chaos. There are food shortages, rampant drug use, and crime is on the rise, including a serial killer. To make matters worse, Carlson’s wife leaves him.
Carlson’s superior is named Kopyion and the leader of the Seven Planets holds the title Archon. The society is ruled over, not only by the Archon, but also a deliberative body called the Academy which seems to be a reference to Plato and not just the name. Philosophers, priests, and military personnel comprise the membership of the Academy.
We learn that chess has fallen out of favor and that the types that populate the Academy have turned instead to Snakes and Ladders. Chess demands skill but Snakes and Ladders best represents real life - the vicissitudes of existence and the capriciousness of Fate.
We also meet an antiques dealer named Bulbir Singh Mann who is out to obtain a book of poetry by one William Ashbless using less than legal means. His buyer is Academician Brown who, in addition to being a scientist and member of the Academy, is also the leader of the opposition to the Archon’s rule.
The Doctor and Benny land on a planet but they’re not alone. A group of four androids are air dropped onto it to apprehend two shapeshifters, Butler and Swarf, who’ve absconded with the most powerful weapon in the Archon’s arsenal, “Pandora’s Box”. Also on the nameless planet are a scientist named Jarak and his wife Ell. They are there even though the planet has been declared off limits. Jarak is conducting some mysterious research.
An ominous red stain begins to spread across the planet like a nasty crimson weed. Anything caught in it freezes as if time stops for it and death quickly follows.
The Doctor and Benny run into Spike, the head commando android who was separated from his fellow troopers. At one point, our Time Lord hero suddenly disappears leaving his companion to stand there mouth agog. He literally is there one moment and gone the next. We eventually learn he has fallen through a wormhole and ends up in another world. In addition to running into the 18th century English poet William Blake there and becoming Virgil to his Dante, he also encounters a group of primitive people with skin painted blue and who ride pterodactyls. If that wasn’t enough, they also speak ancient Gallifreyan...
And so the plot fractures into several storylines. The Doctor and Blake ride the wormholes to various points in time and Earth history where they encounter various cultists wearing amulets featuring a snake wrapped around a globe; Benny is stuck with Spike on the mysterious planet; the remaining androids continue their mission and seek out the shapechangers; the shapechangers have enslaved some creatures called khthon who lug the Pandora’s Box around to its final destination, a castle. To make things interesting, the leader of the enslaved khthon, Chopra, can read the minds of others and see into the future. Lastly, we have storylines on Nicaea where Carlson is out solving murders and piecing together the sinister machinations of Kopyion.
For a book that falls just shy of the average VNA length, it sure has a lot of characters and many things going on. It’s a bit like Robert Altman decided to do Doctor Who with his pal David Lynch. Fans critical of The Pit for being convoluted perhaps have a point. Others note that certain matters were left unexplained. For example, how did Blake get to that other world? We never find out.
If Penswick’s propensity to not always adhere to typical storytelling conventions particularly closely is something that cannot be overcome, well, that’s fair. The Pit does have this feeling of trying to do too much without ever quite completing anything.
But on this second read, I think my initial take on the book was confirmed. Whatever it may lack in narrative acumen is more than made up by an uncanny vibe and various allusions that prop up a moody meditation on the eternal conflict between good and evil.
Whatever failings Penswick may have as a writer developing characters or making plot lines complete, his prose moves along at a nice clip and is dotted with humorous bits. One way this comes through is that the book is littered with instances of humor. Because the Doctor doesn’t say much to Blake and what he does say is mysterious, if not completely nonsensical, the poet thinks our hero to be an idiot. In another scene, Spike, the android commando, looks at Benny as if she were an idiot. Elsewhere we learn that on Nicaea there is an apartment complex named after Mikhail Gorbachev. Ah, the 1990s.
In another scene, Benny, Ell, and another android named Thomas have been locked up by one of the shapechangers. The jailers are the khthons and one of them falls for the old movie trick of having someone pretend to be sick and yell for help only to knock out the guard when he comes in to investigate.
“’I don’t believe it,” Bernice said, coming to the conclusion that the khthons didn’t have many cinemas.”
Towards the end of the book, there’s a spot where the severely damaged Spike closes his eyes. A couple carriage returns later we are back with the Doctor and Blake and witness the poet open his eyes. A minor match on action, true, but things like that make for more pleasurable prose.
Benny has a good reputation amongst fans and is considered by many to be one of the best things about the VNA’s. Fair. But, while I like Benny, she often times comes across as a dated 90s figure for me. That decade saw popular culture subsumed by irony and cynicism. It felt like everything had to imbued with snark and snideness and related in the most smarmy way. I spent my young adulthood here in Madison, home of The Onion, after all.
As I got older, I got tired of everything in pop culture being laced with sarcasm and sought out the genuine and the authentic. I wanted to hear what people felt in their hearts instead of insults. I didn’t want life to be a South Park episode.
For me, Benny’s sarcasm harkens back to that part of the 90s. In small doses, it’s funny and witty and I enjoy Benny. But when it becomes her primary contribution to a story, then I get turned off.
Penswick found a nice balance, for my taste. We get some sardonic commentary but also heartfelt emotion. She pokes fun at Spike but also fears him and, later, mourns for him.
The characterization of the Doctor, on the other hand, didn’t go so well. He’s not the kindly, avuncular mentor of the TV show who helps Ace mature but he’s also not the pragmatist who plays realpolitiks on a chess board. He begins cool and closed before a descent into a moody, sullen teenager who is either shrouded in silence or is spouting enigmatic phrases.
For a book that tackles the weighty topic of good vs evil (with an emphasis on the latter), I think the Doctor could have added more to the conversation. Instead he spends most of his time leading Blake through time, communicating in cryptic remarks and occasionally yelling at Blake to run. I’ve thought about it but cannot see how this quiet, brooding Time Lord adds to the themes of the story. He and Blake have some interesting conversations but they're few and far between.
When Kopyion reveals himself to be General Liall a Mahajetsu, the Doctor immediately prostrates himself before the ancient Gallifreyan. Why the submissiveness?
There are a lot of religious references here along with a few to the work of Philip K. Dick. Blade Runner came to mind several times (OK, it’s a PKD adaptation) including one instance where Spike, who initially thought Benny was one of the shapechangers, regards Benny as she sleeps. He wonders about her instead of simply feeling suspicious of her and views the archaeologist as perhaps something more than either an obstacle or a device to be used to fulfill his mission and then discarded, i.e. – killed. Roy Batty came to mind.
Immediately following this scene, Carlson reflects on his life and has to defiantly exclaim to himself that at least he’s better than androids. He comes across as rather pathetic in contrast to the androids which show more and more human traits over the course of the story.
There is even a reference to androids dreaming, though not about electric sheep.
It’s no coincidence, I think, that Spike, of all the characters, refers to the deities of the people of the Seven Planets and does most of the praying here. The androids seem to have more religious faith than the humans.
I’m not exactly sure what to make of a lot of the religious references here. Blake questions the Doctor about the existence of God but the Time Lord defers to faith and offers that the search for that being is a task taken at an individual level. The poet then asks how a benevolent God could allow the pain and suffering he has witnessed to which the Time Lord can only admit he doesn’t know.
Blake comments on the Fall of Man and says he seeks to understand it. At one point he tells the Doctor that humanity struggles against its own nature and its fall from grace. Perhaps he’s there to illustrate that there is a bit of the divine within us but a darker side as well. And perhaps if I were to read his Milton: A Poem in Two Books I might understand his inclusion here.
This leads me to note that the main supernatural religious figures here are the Prime Mover (God?) and the Form Manipulator (Satan?). I got big Gnostic vibes throughout the story but I suspect they mainly come filtered through Philip K. Dick and his VALIS period because I am not a scholar on the subject.
References to illusion, to reality being hidden abound here and I think it’s those that really give the story a Gnostic feel. I concluded that the Prime Mover is the demiurge. I dunno if there is a Satan figure in Gnosticism or a being that seeks to hide the truth behind of veil of illusion. Brown hypothesizes that “there’s a more powerful force in this universe than the Prime Mover” which lends credence to my own assertion that the PM is a Gnostic demiurge and that a more powerful deity - the real Big Wig - remains hidden.
Ooh! I learned that an archon is basically a handmaiden of the demiurge in Gnosticism and we’ve got one of those.
Chopra, the mind-reading khthon enslaved by the shapehangers, says he can see "beyond the veil of illusion". Later, the Doctor and Blake are in a truck and have driven through the wormhole to escape a baddie’s evil clutches. The Doctor notes that their environment is an illusion as the truck hasn’t yet run out of gas. The nameless planet is a fake. Behind the tree bark are wires and the giant snake turns out to be an android manufactured by Mirage Enterprises. During an argument with Academician Brown, Kopyion declares, "This is all appearance."
Another PKD reference comes when Ell is seemingly possessed by the bad guys and calls herself the “Empire That Never Ends” and Death. The Empire That Never Ends is a direct allusion to Dick’s VALIS.
The Doctor decries the taking of innocent life but soon concedes the point. Besides, he cannot change history. Kopyion tells Doctor to never interfere with his work (to keep Vampires from entering our universe) again or he shall pay the ultimate price.
The Pit ponders humanity and illustrates our good sides and our hearts of darkness. Another example comes to mind: while there is civil unrest and rampant drug use on the Seven Planets, we also find out that Carlson is essentially a good person and that his wife left him and has gone and volunteered to provide medical aid to those hurt in the unrest.
Kopyion is perhaps doing the ultimate good by protecting our universe but he kills a lot of people in that pursuit.
Penswick deals with some weighty topics here, good & evil, human nature, the meaning of life. He does so in a thoughtful way, even if not within the confines of a conventional Doctor Who story. You know, the TARIDIS lands somewhere, the Doctor and his companion(s) become separated, and the Doctor eventually saves the day.
I find The Pit to be flawed but fascinating. It has a great uncanny feel to it and Penswick doesn’t reveal things too early. He lets the mystery ride until near the end. I had a wonderful time trying to figure out what was happening and teasing out meaning from metaphysical tidbits. Plus, there was the simple fun of characters in peril and reading onwards to discover their fates. Some say the prose here is simplistic and boring; I say it's generally taut and well-paced. Harumph.
I had no problem with The Pit being a kind of morality tale where ideas take precedence over causality. How did Blake end up in the other world? Who was Benny’s guardian angel that mysteriously appeared in her dire moments of need? What were those mini-typewriters with messages for Benny? Products of a Great Deceiver? We never find out and these questions are really unimportant in the end. To need every loose end tied up neatly and for logic to win the day is the miss the point here. This story is a novelistic game of Snakes and Ladders where chance and random encounters abound.
I'm glad I read this a second time and I found that I enjoyed it even more. Perhaps its flaws were also thrown into sharper relief but I think I spent less time reading it as a VNA and took it more on its own terms.
The Pit is anything but your typical Doctor Who tale and it turns a lot of readers off because of this. But I enjoyed the mood and the interplay of ideas here. Like we humans, it’s imperfect but I found it easy to buy the ticket and take the ride.
It's been a while since I've had mead. At about this time last year I went on a little honey wine jag but I lost the momentum. Not long ago I noticed a bottle of Necro mead at the back of our refrigerator just waiting to be opened. I felt like the Doctor in "The Awakening" stumbling upon the Malus as I poked around only to be confronted by the face of a demon when all I wanted was some cream for my coffee. I've had it before, back in the days when it was still called Necromangocon.
Necro is made by B. Nektar over in suburban Kadath, er, Detroit. It appears they are no longer a mere meadery and have branched out into beer and cider as well. I don't know that B. Nektar was ever content with making a plain mead as they've added fruit and spices to their meads for as long as I can recall. The words "modern" and "sub-pop culture" appear on their website more than once giving me the impression they hired a sociologist to do their ad copy. And seeing all of those pop culture references on their labels makes me wonder if that sociologist had read some Foucault. What is "sub-pop cultury" about zombies and AT-AT's from The Empire Strikes Back and H.P. Lovecraft?
There's just this precocious 12-year old kid vibe about B. Nektar, always saying, "Look how clever I am!" in a bid for attention. Maybe that's what a meadery needs to do to stay afloat, in addition to making cider and beer.
But what's important is the taste and quality of, in this case, the mead.
Necro is a mango mead, i.e. - a mead with mango juice added, though I don't know where it gets added in the process of making the stuff, plus black pepper. It is 6.2% A.B.V. which is much less potent than your typical mead/wine. A session mead? A small mead?
I am not sure how I managed such a canted angle in this picture. My excuse is that I'd been listening to a podcast about film noir and the genre's use of them.
Despite the daemonic label and the sepulchral name with its Lovecraftian overtones, Necro was no stygian spirit but, rather, straw colored. And clear. My pour produced a lively, though short-lived, head of soda-like fizz. It smelled rather sweet and of - quelle surprise! - honey and mango.
When fruit is added to adult beverages these days, I assume that it'll be a prominent flavor with plenty of sweetness behind it so as to give it that Hawaiian Punch sheen. I was pleasantly surprised here to find that the mango was fairly restrained, setting it on a more or less equal footing with the honey instead of being its superior. The honey provided not only its lovely earthy-vanilla flavor but also a nice floral accent. There was a hint of that fizz - just enough to give a medium body instead of something heavier.
On the finish, the sweet flavors faded to a surprisingly dry finish. Not very dry, mind you, but drier than you'd expect for a mead with mango juice. Cleared the sweetness away quite nicely. I think I finally tasted the black pepper here. Nothing strong and instead a nice, mellow woody undertone.
I may find B. Nektar's ad copy and brand image a bit cloying but Necro is anything but. This is wonderful mead. Not particularly sweet - I'd hazard a guess and say it qualifies as semi-dry - with the honey and mango flavors perfectly balanced and the pepper making for a really nice accent. With a lighter body than your typical/ normal strength stuff, it goes down quite easily.
A drink fit for Abdul Alhazred himself.
Junk food pairing: Pair your Necro (sounds a bit disgusting - sorry) with a bag of Lay's Kettle Cooked Maui Onion potato chips.
The H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society has a new Dark Adventure Radio Theatre® adventure out called "The Temple of Jupiter Ammon". It's an original tale.
Celebrated treasure hunter Count Byron Khun de Prorok leads an expedition into the Libyan Desert in an attempt to find the lost tomb of Alexander the Great at the Temple of Jupiter Ammon. Can the Count succeed where countless others have failed, and recover one of history's greatest archeological finds? Or are some secrets buried with good reason, and those who seek them doomed to be met with madness and disaster?
(early-August 2023)
(Listen to the Hoosiery prelude.)
For the first time in a few years, I made the trek to Indianapolis with some friends for Gencon, the largest gaming convention on the continent. For most of us, it was our first time there since the pandemic made everything all topsy-turvy. We arrived the day before the con officially began and checked into our hotel which was just off of the lovely Monument Circle.
There would be 4 of us sharing a room and so we came prepared with air freshener and ear plugs.
My group decided to meet up at our usual gathering spot, The Claddagh Irish Pub. We had a hard time finding it, though.
"Isn't it this way? Like a block over?"
We all looked around and then at our phones and then at the street signs a few times before coming to the sad conclusion that it was gone.
It had been replaced by Hovito Ultra Lounge, which sounded like a place from A Clockwork Orange where Alex and his droogs would hang out after some ultraviolence. We ducked inside to see if it would perhaps suit our needs anyway. Gone was the instant sense of bonhomie along with the nice wooden bar, the cozy booths, and the more atmospheric lighting, shall we say. The Claddagh felt like a third space, a living room away from your living room where The Clancy Brothers would have felt at home. The well-worn and welcoming had been replaced by an IKEA showroom aesthetic, sleek and minimal. It had a vague 60s Space Age kind of feel for me, as if George and Jane Jetson might have frequented the place while they were courting.
We went elsewhere for some dinner and liquid refreshment. Then it was off to our secondary-now-made-primary gathering spot: the lobby/bar of the Omni Severin Hotel. It is where our pals in the Novus Ordo Seclorum group stay and run their Call of Cthulhu games every year. The Omni is over 100 years old and is a lovely Beaux Arts building with charm and character, unlike most hotels in downtown Indy. Being just across the street from Union Station, it surely hosted politicians, sports players, and actors needing a break on their whistle-stop tours back in the day. I can see Greta Garbo and John Barrymore strolling through the lobby. She checks in at the front desk while he stubs out a cigarette in one of the countless ashtrays before going to a phone booth and calling David Sarnoff to ask who this Katharine Hepburn dame is.
At the bar, I ordered a pint of the official beer of the convention, Hive Mind from Indy’s Sun King Brewing, which was an English mild with honey. Every glass came with a small dragon figure.
It was OK. A bit too sweet, a bit too much honey obscuring the expected leathery and caramel flavors from the malt. But the company was stellar. We chatted until the wee hours before hoofing it a few blocks to our hotel.
Oddly enough for a room of 4 middle-aged fellows, the snoring was quite minimal. I was up early - not long after dawn - and out the door before long.
While I was ostensibly there for a gaming convention, I had various other things planned. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to realize the value of getting away from the madness of the convention and tens of thousands of gamers, many of whom eschew soap & water. And so I decided to investigate more of Indy this trip.
Not even a block from our hotel was the classically-inspired courthouse and post office.
Just a block or so away from there was a neat mural.
As I noted above, our hotel was right by Monument Circle with the Soldiers & Sailors Monument in the middle.
This lovely, ornate obelisk is the state’s tribute to its own that served in the Revolutionary War, the War of 1812, the Mexican War, the Civil War, the Frontier Wars, and the Spanish-American War. There was work going on at the base of the memorial – I think the fountains and pool were undergoing maintenance – and some of Monument Circle the street was closed off. This allowed some of it to be transformed into a makeshift park featuring ice cream, ping pong, and space to lounge.
The whole weekend I encountered these things which were everywhere downtown.
They all have a sticker saying “Do not ride on sidewalk” but many people did. And at breakneck speeds too. Sorry to sound like an old man.
Get off my lawn, you kids!!
As I wandered the downtown, I found some nice ghost signs such as this one.
I cannot tell what it says. Maybe the name of a local department store from back in the day.
As the noon hour approached, I began feeling a bit hungry. At some point in the past, I learned from Aaron Renn (a native Indianan) that the pork tenderloin sandwich is the unofficial state sandwich of Indiana and I have fallen into the habit of sampling one at a different place each trip to Indy. My highly scientific selection process begins with googling “best pork tenderloin sandwiches Indianapolis” followed by some rigorous sifting and winnowing. This time I chose the Aristocrat Pub, some 6 miles north of downtown. I would ride Indy’s newish Bus Rapid Transit bus, the Red Line. We’re getting BRT next year here in Madison and I thought it would be interesting to try it out. That and I had absolutely no desire to drive.
My stop was near the Capitol, a gorgeous building.
BRT utilizes elements from light rail but transposes them onto streets. Buses are often articulated – i.e. have those accordion bits in the middle and the stops are dedicated platforms that are spaced at greater distances than ordinary bus stops. The platforms have payment kiosks on them so you buy or scan your pass and just hop aboard. Red Line buses come every 15 minutes.
Here was my stop:
I found that the payment kiosk here was not working so I hoofed it up to the next stop. Now, I most likely could have just gotten on the next bus and ridden for free – what were the odds of a fare collector being on board? – but I wanted the full experience. At the Vermont Street stop I found that the kiosk there was in working order. The northbound bus had a smattering of people on it when I stepped aboard and the air conditioning seemed to be busted. Oh well.
The first stretch north of downtown seemed to generally be gentrified or gentrifying neighborhoods. A quick jog east to Meridian Street and you are in a more ritzy part of the city with very large, old homes on big lots set back from the street quite a way. An old money part of town, I guess. Also, it’s a much greener area than parts south with acres of lawns and well-manicured hedgerows .
Another turn to the east takes us down 38th Street for several blocks. There are many boarded up buildings along this stretch and the businesses tend towards fast food, check cashing places, and others aimed at lower/working class folks.
We turn north onto College Avenue and the McDonalds give way to well-kept single family homes as we enter more middle class neighborhoods. The houses are nice, but not huge, and there are more trees and lawns, though more modest than was seen on Meridian Street.
I got off the bus at 52nd Street in a nice, quiet area. More of those single family homes with shops scattered about, including the Aristorcrat which was tucked away amongst some trees at the north end of an older building that housed 2 or 3 other joints.
The inside was just as charming as everything was wood giving it an old-timey kind of feel - everything the Hovito Ultra Lounge was missing.
I ordered the pork tenderloin sandwich which was called The Hoosier Tenderloin and a fine pilsner beer from Indy’s Metazoa Brewing called Mortal Wombat. By the time my sandwich arrived, I was very hungry but found that I had enough food for an army.
The pork tenderloin sandwich is basically Schweineschnitzel served on a bun. A slice of pork loin is pounded thin, breaded, and then fried. I had lettuce, onion, and pickle on mine. It was very tasty. The breading was lightly seasoned and the bun was toasted, which is a big plus for me. As someone who loves that taste of Maillard reactions, the more, the merrier, I say! The cole slaw was good as well.
This was the 3rd, I think, pork tenderloin sandwich I’ve had in Indianapolis and I am working on formulating the Platonic ideal of it. How much breading? How should the breading be seasoned? What kind of bun to use? What else should go on it? Red or white or yellow onion? Tomato?
I don’t doubt that, if I thought about this long enough, I’d come up with a version for every season. Perhaps something like a hearty rye bread for winter and fresh jalapenos in the summer. Now that I think about it, a rye bun and fresh jalapeno sound good year-round. Anyway, I have come up with this:
Breading as thin as possible and seasoned well, including white pepper and marjoram. Serve it on kaiser roll – crispy on the outside and fluffy inside. I like the lettuce, onion, pickle combination. The Aristocrat had yellow mustard on the table and I didn’t ask if they had another variety. Under optimal conditions, I’d go with a brown mustard, something earthier tasting than yellow and with a mellower taste – not so sharp.
I decided it was best to keep moving after lunch so I didn’t fall asleep on the bus only to wake up on the south side of town completely lost. A couple storefronts down from The Aristocrat was a record store called Luna Music so I stopped in.
The place had a bit of a High Fidelity vibe.
Most of the space was dedicated to vinyl but I don’t own a turntable nor do I have the space for a lot of records so I stick with CDs. I ended up buying a couple albums: Kick by INXS because it’s good pop music. I like to sing “Devil Inside” but insert our very curious and often times naughty cat Grabby’s (a.k.a. - Marilyn) name.
The Grabber inside, the Grabber inside
Every single one of us
The Grabber inside
Well, it makes my Frau laugh, anyway.
The other album was Secret South by alternative country band 16 Horsepower. My understanding is that their lead singer and bandleader, David Eugene Edwards, was (is?) a practicing Christian and he was not afraid to sing about topics near and dear to that religion's heart such as suffering and redemption. While The Louvin Brothers warned us that Satan is real and that the atomic bomb would be the end of humanity, their songs are mere nursery rhymes in contrast the gloom that 16 Horsepower conjured. On Secret South, there's “Clogger”, a great tune that moves along at a good clip but has some sinister overtones as Edwards warns:
You ride a faithless steed
Took you down the wrong road
Ye' in word an' in deed
Their version of the traditional folk song “Wayfaring Stranger” takes a melodic lamentation and makes it into an all-out dirge laced with churning waves of what sounds like distorted electric guitar meant to evoke going to the other side. It's moody and it's weird yet never abandons the hauntingly beautiful old folk melody.
The guy behind the counter was extremely friendly. With my purchase I got a sticker and a postcard to boot.
I had a game in a couple hours and figured that it’d be best to grab a cup of coffee. And I had a sweet tooth to satisfy. Luckily there was a coffeehouse just across the street from the record store – Prufrock Coffee Co.
The place turned out to be cozy little spot with a literary bent. One wall featured shelves full of books and there was also one of those rotating wire display thingies with even more. It was only later that Prufrock rang a bell but I couldn’t place it. One internet search later and I learned that the coffee joint was surely named after “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”, a poem by T. S. Eliot. I’ve never read it. The only thing by Eliot I have ever read is “The Waste Land”. Oh, and "The Hollow Men".
The coffee was very tasty and I threw in a Danish because, well, I was on vacation.
With some caffeine and dessert now inside me, I was truly a stuffed man when I walked 100’ to the bus stop and waited about 10 minutes for the next Red Line. Thankfully, the air conditioning worked on this bus and it was quite a bit more populated than the one I had taken earlier, with some folks wearing blue Gencon polo shirts which meant they were going to work. I felt a bit bad for them and hoped that they had safe jobs like working the concession stands or changing trash can liners and not cleaning the restrooms. Those men's rooms at the convention center can veer awfully close to EPA superfund sites, at times.
I got back downtown with a little time to spare so I met up with a friend and we walked through the con’s vending area which is huge and always packed with people cheek by jowl. It is surely is a major fire hazard but gamer folks need to buy rulebooks, t-shirts, and plush 20 sided dice . I’d hate to be in there if a fire broke out. There’d be more deaths from the ensuing stampede than from smoke or actual fire.
Countless vendors hawk their wares with close to every game and gaming accessory available to willing buyers. Need a deluxe $10,000 bespoke table to play Dungeons & Dragons on? Someone there has got you covered. Want to fill in your D&D rules collection with first editions worth the mortgage of your house? Done!
Are you a cat lover who wants to game with your cat? No problem! There’s a game for you.
Does your cat need a suit of armor for the adventure? They’ve got you covered.
We wandered over to the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society booth. Lovecraft, an early 20th century author, invented the Cthulhu mythos, a family of betentacled deities, the mere sight of which frays our fragile sanity. To them, we humans are not even pimples on the ass of The Great Old One, Cthulhu. The Society makes gaming aids for Cthulhu role-playing games, movie adaptations of Lovecraft’s tales, and audio drama adaptations of his stories and those of other, related horror authors. I always buy a CD of one of their audio dramas at Gencon and this year it was their adaptation of Robert E. Howard's The Black Stone.
Howard is known for having created Conan the Barbarian but he also wrote “weird” horror tales a la Lovecraft. My version came with props including a postcard sent by one of the characters, a map, and a page from the Chicago Examiner which, I have discovered, was a real newspaper.
HPLHS productions are of high quality with great voice acting and sound effects. Their shows mimic the radio dramas of the 1920 but add an occasional 21st century touch. They are just a lot of fun to listen to.
After showing some restraint and not buying anything else, we ducked out and I headed over to Lucas Oil Stadium for a game of Trail of Cthulhu. A role-playing game, Trail was created by Chicagoan Kenneth Hite. The scenario was called “The Case of Ernest Wheeden” and I played a private dick named Sam Clay.
I was a member of a group hired by the wealthy Wheeden family to figure out what happened to their son, Ernest, who had mysteriously disappeared about a month ago only to even more mysteriously reappear a week ago on a train unable to recall exactly what happened to him.
Well, it turns out he had been investigating family lore and dug a little too deeply into the occult studies of his grandfather. The usual kind of thing in any Cthulhu game.
Somehow we survived an encounter with the hideous, eldritch forces of the universe. Now, I am not going to claim none of our characters lost any sanity along the way, but we remained alive.
The game being done, it was off to find my friends which wasn’t too hard. More beer and good company in the Omni lobby until the wee hours of the morning.
********
Bonus photo. Seen while out buying cat food. Someone painted colorful carrots in their windows.
