In winnowing down some of my boxes marked “memorabilia,” I discovered these instructions I’d written to myself for l33t l00t in a classic Nintendo game. Can you guess which one?
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Introducing Bouganvillea (right), my troll shamaness on Icecrown. Today I realized she should probably be the one to demonstrate to Dr. Broughton my ideas about Lev Manovich’s The Language of New Media. Now I have to teach myself how to make machinema. In the next 72 hours.
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Some time ago I was hanging about in Rachet as Bouganvillea, when all of a sudden a swarm of unclothed, low-level gnomes (and one or two human males, equally nude) appeared out of nowhere and began to dance with anyone and everyone they saw. This caused considerable ire among the gnome-haters, but I thought it was brilliant. I haven’t laughed at a bunch of naked dancing small people in such delight since my younger sisters escaped from the tub and went running down the street at age five. Or maybe since Ally McBeal made me regret I’d known about the Dancing Baby meme before most people I knew.
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I was going to blog about how baffled I was by the fact that Australia’s customs agency demands I not send anything to the country which bears the name Anzac, but instead I’ll send you to someone who’s already posted a whole list of unusual customs demands. I wonder if Bangladesh still pays any attention when people send quinine water colored pink.
Today I didn’t want to play for more than an hour or so, so I sat down with an alt of mine on Icecrown. Rozalind has so many things to take care of these days that there’s just no accomplishing anything — certainly nothing which would make any kind of progress toward levelling — in less than three hours at a pop.
This alt is a troll, now level six. Her name is Bouganvillea, a favorite flower of mine, chosen with Jess’s plan for a Horde guild called Flower Power in mind. She is not pretty, with bluish skin, a hatchet face and tusks protruding towards her beaky nose. Her limbs are awkward, and her gait is not made any more ladylike by the two-toed clodhoppers she has to run with. But she doesn’t look angry, at least. And she has a fetching spray of bright pink hair to match her name.
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