 A CLOSER LOOK: DENIAL
by Elin
Denial is a wonderful thing, and is
a survival trait in many situations. Who could stand to
drive to work or cross the street if they had to
constantly review all the opportunities for catastrophe
that present themselves? Sure, the economy could go boom.
Meanwhile, somebody still has to cook dinner.
Its usefulness elsewhere is more
questionable. If someone says on the one hand
"this" and on the other hand "that",
and all you see is the "this" because it fits
with your previous thinking, are you really listening? A
number of people liked my last column, saying variously
that it was about time someone said something about the
DHL or that it was about time someone spoke up about all
the sex in Fed.
People, people, people. The last
column was about seeing things as either black or white,
good or bad. OK, so some people harbor ancient grudges or
dislike our friends for reasons we find incomprehensible.
Other people seem determined to hurt themselves, or to
get involved with the wrong friends or lovers, choosing
inappropriate partner after inappropriate partner or
questionable friend after questionable friend. Maybe
these people lack insight into their own motivations, but
this doesn't mean they have nothing of value to say.
Other people confuse Fed with
therapy, and tell us way more than we want to know.
Decent people follow bad leaders, either through
gullibility or failure to question what they hear.
Honorable people can have really strange ideas. But
because they are wrong or fail in this specific way does
not make them a total loss as individuals, and we
shouldn't believe those who say so, or we will lose the
opportunity to know some great people.
So maybe I am preaching. Somebody
needs to. Collectively, I think we should all look at
what we do and why we do it. I see a lot of people out
there pointing fingers, worrying about the mote in their
neighbor's eye. OK, gossip can be fun. But realize that
this is what you are doing. So maybe you get a warm glow
of self-satisfaction after you call someone names. Don't
kid yourself that you are doing either you or them any
good though, whether you cloak your name-calling in
sanctimony or not.
It is just as sanctimonious to call
someone immature for questioning your morality as it is
to call people immoral or evil simply because you don't
like their ideas. People can have wrong ideas, and still
be good people. Questioning a person's ideas does not
constitute a personal attack on the person that had them.
Geez. It is about time some of us learned this.
A
CLOSER LOOK: BEING WHO YOU WANT
by Elin
I sing the game as it is in our
thoughts, a place where we are what we wish we were or
who we would sometimes like to be. In secret places we
are all people we have no opportunity to be, because of
gender or education or money. All of these are irrelevant
in Federation, where we can as easily be princesses as
frogs, truck drivers as ballerinas. Some of us are in
fact several contradictory characters, all of which are
genuinely us.
Let me praise a place where people
who would never know each other in their daily lives can
explore reaches of themselves and of each other. Outside
of Federation, would I ever have met Whimsy, the lovely,
ethereal Whimsy, with her shy smile and long hair, in
real life a male college student who grew up on a ranch?
I suggest that had we met, on campus let us say, it would
never have occurred to either of us that we might have a
basis for conversation, let alone the discussion of our
secret selves that we shared in midnight talks on
Sunfire.
This past Christmas, unprompted
players made characters named Donner, Blitzen, Rudolph
and Grinch. Where else could you decide that you would
like to be Mrsclaus or Cindylouwho? I still laugh when I
remember poor Billclinton, being relentlessly pursued by
the dastardly Kenstarr. At times you can revel in the wit
and intelligence of other players. The infrequency of
these occasions makes them no less stellar.
The delight of Fed is that it is
not just a momentary escape but can in fact be a totally
separate life, where people know you and where old loves
and old arguments can resume after one or both parties
have been gone for months. Unlike chat rooms, which only
rarely progress past name/age checks, Fed players grow to
know each other well as they see each other under stress,
under attack, while flirting, and yes, while doing more
than flirting. I know some of my Fed friends better than
I know my sister, and like them more too.
The lack of limits and strict role
playing guidelines allows the players' imaginations to
spark each other, and at times you can almost hear gears
grinding as the Grinch tries to decide what to say to
Fatherchristmas or a cobra encounters a mongoose. In real
life would you ever have to decide what to say to someone
who has just sprayed you with whipped cream? I have
complained about the game as loudly as anyone, and
possibly more incisively than most. But we all come back,
we always come back, because where else would we meet
each other?
FOOD
FOR THOUGHT
by Horatio
Read the bar posts. Listen to the
comm chatter. Talk to a lot of people and they all may
say essentially the same thing: Fed's being ruined by
real life. In some ways, it's true; we have our political
spats and real-world-esque problems, but there is at
least one case that we have thankfully left real life at
the doorstep: in-laws.
The bane of many people's marriages
(and I can't say I blame them) are the in-laws.
Constantly badgering and meddling, trying to fix or
sometimes break everything - they can be a giant
economy-size pain. Sure, there are the fun events that
happen, like the gatherings and cookouts on holidays, but
frankly, watching two grown men nearly come to blows over
whether or not the burgers are medium or medium well is
not my idea of fun.
However, those same two men will
probably never be caught in a bar rolling up some hapless
Squire into a ball and rolling him along the floor into a
phalanx of other people set up like pins. Nor will they
be likely to both go to a Mardi Gras celebration on the
rowdiest planet available with their entire families.
It just doesn't work that way.
But thankfully, it does in Fed!
Come on, folks! When was the last time you saw your
father-in-law dance drunk on a bar table for ten minutes
singing in his loudest possible voice? (All Irish persons
like myself should probably disregard that; you've
probably seen it.) So instead of doing something negative
like yelling, hollering, or plotting to blow up Mercury
because Slarti laughed at your plans, grab mom and dad,
pack the kids in the porter, and head on over to
Diesel's! With the waitdroid problems they've been
having, it could be a ton of fun! Who knows? Maybe I'll
see you there. If I do, I promise not to mention how dad
was hitting on Diesel before she hit him, and how mom put
the fruit basket on her head and danced for a half an
hour.
Promise.
A WHOLE
NEW CLASS OF FEDDERS
by Tickenest
Ok, let's face it. Federation has
become stagnant. Even my return from the void of the
offline world hasn't helped (heh). Ok, Fed's not really
stagnant, but let's just assume that it is. Otherwise,
this article won't be nearly as funny. How to correct
this great calamity? I suggest an infusion of new ranks
sprinkled among the current ranks, thereby giving
everyone new purpose within Fed. Here are just a few of
my proposed new ranks:
Idiot: This is a person who has
mastered the step of setting up an IB account, but has
not figured out how to log into the game. Now, we must
forgive Idiots for expecting some sort of Java access to
Federation (we were promised this about two years ago,
no?), but really, telnet's not that tricky, is it?
Catholic Schoolgirl: I think the
gents will appreciate this addition. Now, Catholic
Schoolgirls, as everybody knows, have potential to be
serious hotties. Mastery of the Catholic Schoolgirl rank
is required for all female Fedders, and promotion to
Merchant requires picking up and then dumping ten
Catholic Schoolboys in a ten-day period. Likewise,
Catholic Schoolboys promote by being dumped by ten
separate Catholic Schoolgirls in a ten-day period.
Catholic Schoolgirls are given a boost of 20 dexterity
points to help them fend off, uh, "overactive"
Catholic Schoolboy hands. Likewise, Catholic Schoolboys
receive a boost of 20 stamina points to help them run
around, desperately trying to pick up chicks.
Hazee: No, nothing to do with the
demi-goddess. An Explorer promotes to Hazee by
successfully constructing his planetary link. The Hazee
promotes to Squire by enduring a ten-day period of
extreme hazing at the hands of the current POs, or,
lacking any available POs, Fed Staff. Hazees must do
whatever POs or staff tell them to, including, but not
limited to, waking up in the middle of the night to haul
in deficits, memorizing large chunks of the Idiot's
Guide, games of Rover Red Rover in the radioactive dome
on Titan, hide and seek in the Martian Ruins, forced
marches through the Venusian mines, and streaking through
Earth's terminus.
Exile Due to Communist Revolution:
Ok, pop quiz-Natural Planetary Progression: Agriculture,
Mining & Extraction, Industrial...Technical? Don't
think so. As everyone knows, it goes Agriculture,
Mining & Extraction, Industrial, Communist
Revolution. People, we all learned this in History class,
didn't we? Upon completion of an Industrialist's 30th
build, the oppressed proletariat rise up in revolution
and overthrow the PO, who flees to Chez Diesel. Promotion
to Baron occurs after thirty days of exile, when a coup
takes place due to serf discontent with the failing
economy and government intervention, the exiled PO is
brought back by popular demand, and the planet is
automatically designated Leisure to keep the work force
from becoming disgruntled again.
Lastly, the Duke class needs to be
renamed. After all, what is a Duke but someone of royal
blood who wasn't born soon enough? This does not describe
a Duke's tasks very accurately. Let's see. What exactly
does a Duke do? Well, a Duke tricks POs into joining his
duchy and then leeches all of their money while doing
nothing in return except bossing everyone around. I think
the title of Robber Baron or Bureaucrat would be more
appropriate, no?
Additionally, Guild Masters should
be required to actually form a fully functional guild
before promoting, and all Groundhogs should have to pass
a drug test first before being given their licenses.
UPGRADE
PROBLEMS IN POPULAR BAR
Disaster struck Chez Diesel
yesterday as the WaitDroids went haywire. Angry patrons
stormed out in disgust, with reports of being served the
wrong drinks, given disgusting undrinkable concoctions,
and in extreme cases having the drinks poured over them.
"It's chaos in there,"
said Squire Trelawney. "I ordered a beer - it was
twenty minutes before a WaitDroid brought me the drink
and when it arrived it had cherries and icecubes and
cocktail umbrellas and god knows what floating in it.
There was even a goddamned monkey hanging off the side of
the glass."
JourneyPerson Petalhat was furious
about what had happened to her. "Look at my dress -
it's ruined," she said, almost in tears. "The
WaitDroid brought me my drink alright, it just forgot the
glass. It poured the bottle all over me. Do you have any
idea how difficult it is to get blackcurrant syrup out of
white silk? I'll sue!"
The problems started when Diesel's
chief mechanic upgraded the WaitDroid software to a newer
version. The upgrade was intended to add an array of new
features to the mechanical waiters, including a speech
program allowing them to listen sympathetically to
drunken customers' woes, and a telepathic mode to help
them bring drinks to people before they even asked for
them. But the upgrade was a fiasco, introducing a whole
slew of bugs into the WaitDroids which prevented them
from carrying out even basic functions.
"I just don't understand
it," whimpered Nurd Geekback, the engineer in charge
of maintaining Diesel's WaitDroids. "We tested the
software thoroughly on our bar simulator and none of
these problems showed up. The supplier assured us that
the upgrade is being used in many bars throughout the
Galaxy without problem. They say it must be a problem
with the hardware."
Whatever the cause of the problem,
it's a disaster for Diesel's trade. It doesn't take much
for fickle drinkers to find a new watering hole, and the
other bar owners in Sol are ready to take advantage of
her problems. The manager of the Lounge Bar on Mercury is
already offering refugees from CDs cut-price drinks, and
Fedruckers promises free cookies with every pint of beer
for the next week.
But Diesel is determined that the
damage from this will be brief and that her bar, formerly
known as the Social Center of the Solar System, will
recover. I asked her about her plans.
"First, we back out this new
software and get the Droids working again. Once they are
capable of following orders, they'll clean the place up,
fix the broken furniture, and we can reopen for business.
We'll be offering twofers on all drinks and meals for the
next month, to show our customers that we care."
She sighed and for a moment looked
every one of her two hundred and thirty seven years old.
"It'll be hard work, persuading people it's safe to
drink here again, but we can do it.
"Next, I've got an opening for
a new engineer. That's after I make a new opening in the
current engineer." She swung her baseball bat,
leaving me in no doubt what she meant.
"Of course, I should look on
the bright side. It could be worse. Much, much
worse." How, I asked her? "That idiot engineer
wanted to upgrade the software of the Executive Services
Droids first... can you imagine the damage that would
have caused?"
YOU
CAN'T TRUST ANYBODY...
Stumbling round with stolen porter
Jamel has just arrived.
"Whose porter have you
stolen?" Hazed asks.
"it was lying on my LP so i
just took it," says Jamel.
"Lying on your LP? A likely
story," Hazed says.
Jamel says, "big party, lots
of drinking."
"Didn't you think someone
might be looking for it?" Hazed asks.
"Someone musta flew home
without it," says Jamel.
Hazed says, "You should have
taken it to the lost property office on Venus."
"No, I kinda like it, I think
I'll keep it," says Jamel.
"A few squires have tried to
claim it," says Jamel.
Hazed exclaims, "Some Baron or
Duke probably woke up next morning, hungover, tried to
teleport into the shower and just fell out of bed!"
"I suppose you go around
testing airlocks to see if people have left their ships
unlocked," Hazed says.
"Well of course", says
Jamel.
Hazed makes a note to check her
ship.
"The dragon Dahzin does a lot.
Very forgetful, dragons," says Jamel.
"Oh well, she's got wings, she
doesn't really need a ship to get around," Hazed
says.
Jamel says, "and when Phiddie
went away for the weekend I used her ship all weekend.
Very good fighter."
"She even left the keys in
it," says Jamel.
Hazed says, "How silly of
her."
The moral of the story: lock your
ship, don't drop your porter, hang onto your spybeam...
otherwise you'll lose them!
TO SAVE
OR NOT TO SAVE
HER: I met him at the
terminus on Earth one night as I was drinking a beer and
looking for a party. He was so sweet, gentle and
considerate. We went for a walk along the main road on
Earth, and he told me he dreamed of being a Duke one day.
He slipped his hand into mine as he said this, and said
he hoped I would share his future. No girl could resist
anything so romantic.
HIM: She was... perfect. We
sat and talked for hours. Or, we didn't even talk. We
didn't have to. Then I found out who her friends were.
Now, I am all for giving someone the benefit of the
doubt. But her friends... are animals. I can't believe my
sweet girl talks to them, let alone calls them friends.
HER: Then one night I told
him this story about my best friend. This guy she is
seeing actually got upset cause she slept with someone
else, can you imagine it? I mean, it's not like they are
married or anything, who does he think he is, her father?
And my sweetie got so upset, I couldn't believe it. He
said the most horrible things about her, and I slapped
him.
HIM: I've heard they sleep
with livestock. Livestock! I've heard they'll do
it anywhere... on LPs, in the Cantina, CDs... even on the
Sol Link. So I told her, plain and simple. "Your
friends make love to animals. I don't think I should see
you anymore." Then she slapped me. Hard, too.
HER: Nobody talks about my
friends that way. I don't care what they do. As long as
they aren't hurting anybody what business is it of his?
Well, maybe that guy she was seeing got a little hurt,
but serves him right for getting his feelings involved.
After all, my sweetie has surely been involved with
someone before!
HIM: She asked me if I had
ever had sex, and I almost wet my pants. I couldn't
believe she would think such a thing. Nice people don't
have sex, they make love, I told her. She informed me
that my friends would shun me because we had held hands
in public. She said I was a Puritan (whatever that is - I
don't like history). I tried to explain to her. We're
very affectionate. Yes, we do have a moral code, unlike
the heathens she associates with. Sex with chickens on
Interstellar links. Madness.
HER: And here I had this big
wedding planned, with a long white brocade dress and a
veil and three bridesmaids. What am I supposed to tell
them, I ask you. I am going to have to find someone else
to marry, I guess.
HIM: But after she slapped
me I went back to our code of conduct, and I see now
where I went wrong. I see the light, I do, I do!
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