From my Old Guy Blog: Blowface

I wrote this piece when I was 40, so 14 years ago (2006-ish).  The book I mention was Men of the Skull.

I'm re-posting it because it's a time capsule so to speak of who I was at that point.  Drinking was one of the most important part of my life.  It was part of my identity, and the cornerstone of my manhood was that I could out-drink almost anyone (German/Scots/Irish genes).

I'll insert comments here and there and they will be italicized. 

I did a light punctuation/grammar edit, but that aside it's exactly how I originally posted it (I also obscured an identity.)  Also, I'll close the entry by doing a "where is it now?" and such.

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As I’m at a writer’s block on the book, I thought to tell you a different albeit similar tale.  It’s really long, so I divided it into three parts.

 Not really- it was only in two parts.  Nice editing (eyeroll.)

The origin of Blowface is shrouded in mystery.  Perhaps it was brought by alien life forms to the ancient Mali Empire.  Is that Blowface depicted on the inside walls of the tomb of Ramesses II?  Most scholars place it in the mid to late 1980s.  I heard of it in 1989.  It was this legendary drinking game with all kinds of strange antics and guaranteed drunken good times; the type that blackmail pictures and denials are made of.

Of course, I had to play it!

                The problem was that no one had one.  The only person who might have one didn’t drink anymore.  I was told that the game boards were disposable, as they often became beer or vomit covered.  Shit.

I still haven't seen any other version, but then again, I haven't looked.

                So, being young, dumb, and full of cum, in 1991  I took it upon myself to make a Blowface game.  I gathered two people, like-minded, to join me.  We’ll call one of them M and the other C.  M had played the original many times.  C was a US Ranger standing by for deployment to Desert Storm.

The Result was a game of Blowface done on a large white poster board.  Previous versions were linear- you rolled dice and followed the path to the bitter end.  I figured it’d last longer (more drinking) if it were a ring, like monopoly.  M remembered many of the original spaces which we included, and we added new ones from our disturbed minds.  We added cards that you did NOT want to draw.  Physical challenges, like dancing.  We had all original artwork, as all three of [us] had some talent with the pencil.  We added fragments from every drinking game we knew, or spaces that had similar effects.  To be safe, I had it laminated.

The cards were "Punisher" cards, most of which involved chugging multiple beers.

It sucked.  No one wanted to play it more than once.  No repeat playability.  I mean, if you land on the “Talk like Mr. Ed and drink 6” space, that’s all you do.  In any case, it was our baby, and we played it once in a while when C wasn’t overseas.  Eventually, we lost interest, I got married, etc.

Jump ahead to 1996.  C is getting married.  Two nights before, M flies in from *************.  And I have a surprise for them- I found the Blowface board- and the pieces and Batman mask that went with it (for the “Bat-Fuck” space.)  So the three of us played.  Below, you see the results.

M is “Bat-fucked.”  C is amused by this turn of events

Yeah, I was first to puke.  I lose!

We agreed that the game was a lot rougher to play at our advanced ages (I was turning 30 the next day) and C had a great idea.  On that same day, twenty years hence we would play the game again.  He was given custody of board and pieces (but not of the Batman mask.  That was fucking expensive.)  I have not seen Blowface since, nor do I expect to.  See, C moves around a lot, and so I’m sure Blowface disappeared into oblivion during one of those moves.

I still have no idea if it still exists.  

Part 2

 

Years passed.  History became legend.  Legend became myth.  Then, at a company Christmas party in 2002, I talked about the game to some co-workers.  GW was a drinking company then- lots of people from the UK, and we all loved to drink.  Several of them expressed enthusiasm for the game.  So, being stupid, I decided to make Blowface II- my own drinking game.  After all, I worked at a Game company!  I should be able to do this easily!

So I did.  First- what did I NOT like about the last one.  Well, several things. 

One: We made it on white poster board.  This meant that there was a lot of white space (duh).  In fact, it looked like a bunch of scribbles on a big poster board.  It was ugly as hell.  Two:  as three of us worked on it, there were three different styles of handwriting on it, some of which was small and illegible.  Especially when smeared, which it was. Three:  Some of the spaces forced chugs and chugs and chugs.  One space could wipe a person out.  (See picture above).  Four, there wasn’t enough goofy shit.  The reason for drinking games are to 1) prove yourself and 2) laugh a LOT.  Aren't games supposed to be FUN as well?

Ok.  Fix number one: instead of white poster board, I used black.  That would mean that all artwork would have to be attached, which led to Fix number two: create the spaces on the computer to be uniform size and font.  Everything neat and legible.  The art would be painted onto the board or pictures would be drawn (or color photocopied) and attached.  Fix number three:  Simple enough.  Eliminate the really ugly drinking spaces.  Well, most of them.  I kept the deepest pit of Hell.

I wrote out all my possible ideas, made some sketches, and thought of other things.  How to make it more interactive?  Add spaces that involve everyone- but make them special.  Also, I stole from an old GW game (Curse of the Mummy's Tomb) the idea of a piece that everyone moves:  the Chug Monster.

The Chug Monster was simple enough.  If it passes over your piece, you drink.  If it lands in your space, you chug.  If you rolled doubles, you moved the Chug monster. (Talisman Reaper expansion, as well as other games, also use the concept.)

I also added a short cut- the “Bridge of Death.”  (Monty Python reference.  Duh.) This is where the interactive spaces went, and it features the biggest single drinking space on the board- up to 18 drinks.  Still, complete the short cut and you cut off time.

The objective of the game remained the same: collect Golden Chair passes.  To go to the bathroom, you’d have to use a pass.  The new version made it easier with the short cut and two other possible spaces.  Like the old game, there is a section called Hell, but it’s not as bad (no “chug 1d6 beers”).  To balance it, the opposite corner is Heaven.  Mr. Ed stayed in the game, as did Captain Kirk, but those spaces were adapted to provide more variety.  Instead of everyone who lands on that space doing the same silly voice, a die roll would determine what voice the person would do.  (similar to Talisman) There are three of those spaces.  I also added spaces that I stole from another GW game- places to “explore” by rolling a die for various possible effects. (Talisman, again.)

I decorated the board with copies of pictures that I had of friends and other stuff.  In the end, the whole thing looked like this:

Colorful, isn’t it?  The shine you see in the pic is lamination.  I didn’t want it getting ruined.

The lamination and color photocopy cost me $50!!  I did the color photocopy so I'd have a backup copy, and to make it look "smoother."

Here’s a close up of Hell.

Heaven and hell were hand lettered.  Flames, arrows, and that thing in the corner (“Deepest Pit of Hell”) are all hand painted using acrylics. The devils were coworkers at the time, from Halloween parties.

Here’s Heaven:

Same thing: hand painted acrylics.  Photocopies of pictures.  The angel is the wife of a co-worker.  In any case, you can see what some of the spaces are like.

Here are the cards I made:

So- I had the board, I had cards, what next?  Playing pieces!  Working for a miniatures company, I figured that everyone who played would be co-workers and expect some miniatures as gaming pieces.  So I modified a few models to be holding Beer Mugs and painted them.  I then cobbled together a Chug Monster.  However, after a few games, people complained that the Chug Monster didn’t stand out- it just blended into the background.  It was a Chug Wuss.  So, in response to that I made a New & Improved Chug Monster.

Above (L-R): Pirate with Beer Mug, Chug Wuss, Chug Monster

Rear view, in case you like Chug Monster Ass

So then I tested it.  I called a gathering of souls to my house and we played a few times.  It was a LOT of fun, but still needed tweaking.  One person suggested I sell the idea.  Ok.  But what would Joe/Jane College think of the game? 

I tried to set up a group of Penn State students to test it, but after I arrived they all bailed out.  So, sitting alone in a bar with my game, I spied a group of four students eating and drinking.  A little bribe (free beer) later and they played.  They LOVED it!  (They suggested the same tweaks that the other group did.)  I still have their written suggestions for the game.

So the game floated around Maryland for a while.  I brought it to parties where it was played with much enthusiasm.  At one party, someone made a rule that everyone drinks double the amount prescribed.  That killed the game in a hurry.  Then, quietly, it was stored away as I moved back to Pa.  It’s been played once.

That therefore is the story of Blowface II: my drinking game.  I’m now 40 years old.  Would I still play it?  Is it something I should grow out of?  Well, HELL YEAH and maybe.  I’m sure that playing it would crush me for several days, as I don’t recover as gracefully as I used to even a few years ago.

I still have this game.  The board is in storage; the cards and minis are here in my apartment.   Would I play it now?  I really don't know.  I KNOW that I would be sick for days after.  Besides, at my age, who would play?  I could bring it over to the fraternity house, but I'm sure I'd get side-eye and laughed at. I keep it because it cost me so much to make, and because it's a relic of a time in my life long passed.  

The person who made that game was so different to who I am now.  I no longer have to "prove my manhood."  I also don't drink to deaden the howling Pain of my life.   My DUI has a lot to do with that as well.

Still, it LOOKS like fun...

7

 Dearest Lisa,

It's September again, and the now familiar sorrow intensifies.  As I write this, it's the day before my birthday.  I will be 54- two years older than you were.  I wonder if you would even recognize me now- so many changes.

I wonder what you would think of the times we live in now.  Knowing you, you'd probably have a mask to match every outfit.  Aside from that, I'm not sure.  I guess you'd be railing against the evil of the GOP (your former party) for destroying itself by aligning with a mad man.  You'd be out there on the protest line like a few of us.  I assume that after seven years you would've gone full time some years back.  Knowing you, you would've already had the surgeries you considered.  Or not.  Definitely a boob job. 

Dancing at Angela's Laptop Lounge, August 6, 2012.  

Seven Years.  Seven whole fucking years since that horrible day.  Seven years since you left Sandy alone- left your children without you.  Left the trans community behind.  Left all the unbearable Pain that you suffered and surrendered to the Darkness.  You left after promising me that you wouldn't. 

You left me wondering how I didn't see it coming, and how I was going to get through this Darkness without you.  Yes, I see you in my dreams when you visit, and I know you're watching out for Sandy.  Yet, you can't speak to us anymore.  We can't see your smile except in pictures that are becoming old. 

There are so many "new" girls who never got to hear you laugh, yet know of you from the stories that I and others who were blessed to know you tell.  I sent a message to someone who never got the chance to meet you.  I said "She [you] was a phenomenon.  She was so strong in so many ways, yet so fragile.  That was, in a way, her glory, and it was her end." 

The last message

In seven years, the world changed.  We now have a world-wide pandemic, which in this country was made worse by the lack of precautions and actions from leadership.  Tens of thousands died because the mad man lied.  Nearly 200,000 Americans dead.  Life completely changed. 

As for me, I still have the same dead eyes I've had since you died.  Thanks to inactivity due to quarantine and depression, I've gained thirty pounds.  I look like a globby parody of a person.  I'm still here at Penn State, doing my best to continue with my studies.  I rarely doll up or go out anymore.  Linda is too busy with work, and I'm far older than everyone in my school cohort.  Besides, not many places remain open.  And I just can't muster the desire.

Seven years, Lisa.  What you could've accomplished- for yourself, for Sandy, for the community... I guess we'll never know.  All I see is who and what you left behind.  I get it.  I know that Pain that is so incredibly intense that living each second is agony.  Each breath is a regret.  Yes, I understand, and you know I do. 

So all I can do is write letters you will never see, and speak to people you never knew in places you never saw- and have them wonder why I still hold that torch of your memory.

You know why.  I say it every year.  Every fucking year for seven years now, and I'll say it as long as I suffer on this Dark world. 

I love you; I miss you; and I always will.

Yours,

S

Working on...

Disclosure:  An earlier draft of this piece was posted on TGForum a week ago.  


Some months ago, I was emailing back and forth with a new friend.  Nora Simone is a writer among many other things, and she wrote something that really made me think.  I reproduce it here with her kind permission. 

Sophie Lynne - At this point in my life, I am working on my obituary, not my resume. I want to be thought of, and remembered for having the right priorities, few regrets, and helping others. 


Wow.  

I thought about that.  For days.  Months.  

And I think I arrived at a revelation.  Yes, me.

Maybe my employment problems, and by that I mean my whole life. are because I've ALWAYS worked on my Obituary instead of my Resume.

Let's look at this, shall we, dear reader?  

As I've written many times, I've always felt a compulsion to help others.  I also have an massive death wish.  This doesn't look good on a resume.  

I've always wanted to help others, because I see their lives as having far more value than my own.  As I've written (too) many times, that's why I chose education as a path.  "I touch the future- I teach" Christa McAuliffe said.  

I've always figured that I'd be forgotten within days after death.  I still believe that.  But if I am remembered for anything, I would want to be remembered for trying to make the world a better place.  

I figured if I had a tombstone, it would read "She failed" because by definition, if the world isn't better (and right now it's FAR worse than when I came into it in 1966.) I think the best I could ask at this point is "She tried."  Then again, it won't be up to me, will it?  I won't be there to see it through.

At this point- nearly 54 years in- my resume sucks.  My masters degree was an impediment.  Working the same retail job for 14 years is fine... if one is a manager.  If not, there are questions about your competence (which I've had asked of me.)  

Still, in the end, what lasts longer- a resume or an obituary.  In many ways, an obit is the "last word" on a person, unless some historian starts digging around for dirt.  Kind of like an epitaph.

F. Scott Fitzgerald used a line from his book The Great Gatsby as his (and Zelda's as they're buried together) “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”  Al Capone has "My Jesus, Mercy."  And of course, Lester Moore has “Here lies Lester Moore. Four slugs from a 44, no Les, no more.”  Maybe an appropriate one (if I earned it) would be “Pertransit benefaciendo.”

Or, more accurately, "She hated life, and is happy it's finally over."  

In any case, I'm here studying for my PhD while the country disintegrates under a tyrant's rule.  Poor timing.  Maybe I should go where the trouble is and earn that epitaph.  

Be well.