This past weekend, my friends and I got together for a LAN party, as we do every few months. Karen was kind enough to let me bring her computer as well, so one of the people with less-than-cutting-edge machines could play.

We were all set up by about 9:00 Friday night, and played until sometime after 5:30 AM the next morning We grabbed a few hours' sleep, then went right back to it, taking a break at around 6 PM to go have dinner at an Indian restaurant; then we played again until 5:00 Sunday morning. We slept long and hard, with most people waking up around noon, and then went back to it until 8:30 that night. A good time was had by all.

We played Deus Ex, Jedi Knight, Empire Earth and Medal of Honor: Allied Assault. We had some other games lined up (I bought Half-Life especially for the weekend), but we spent the majority of our time playing Jedi Knight and Medal of Honor.

Medal of Honor was amazing. It's the best-looking game I've ever seen, and great fun. One of our favorite maps was "Stalingrad", a bunch of bombed-out apartment buildings surrounding a courtyard. Everyone selected sniper rifles, and we had a blast popping up in windows trying to find someone on the other team before they found us. We also went through "Remagen" with bazookas on both sides. I know a lot of seasoned players are contemptuous of "rocket n00bs", but when everyone's using them, it pretty much evens things out.

Did I mention that the game looked amazing? I absolutely loved it -- trees swaying in the wind, great lighting effects, photorealistic textures, excellent character animation, and realistic movement (you can't make a 100-yard dash in five seconds, like you can in other games). Thinking back to what games were like ten years ago, and then looking at today's crop, it's hard to imagine what things will be like in another ten years.

But perhaps using MOHAA as the yardstick isn't a fair comparison. Return to Castle Wolfenstein, which uses the same gaming engine as MOHAA, isn't even in the same league. The first mission of the RtCW demo wasn't bad — you're escaping from a cell in the eponymous castle — but the second mission turns into a Quake wannabe, with zombies and other monsters. MOHAA restricts itself to the real world, and depicts it beatifully.

I rarely play games, and have only ventured into Internet gaming once (with Deus Ex), but MOHAA was such fun that I've got to see what it would be like on a 32-player server.

Spam is annoying enough, but now they've picked up a new tactic.

They're forging the emails using the address of someone else at the recipient's domain. Which means, since my wife and I are the only people with email addresses at shipbrook.com, I'm getting spam that looks like it's coming from her.

Spammers are unfit to be called members of the human race.

Last night, Karen and I picked up some friends at the airport. As they'd flown on an airline with no "frills" (meaning food or other necessities of life), we stopped at a restaurant on the way back home.

When we got out of the car, we paused to discuss something — when all of a sudden we heard an odd noise coming from the road. I looked in the direction of the noise, and the following thoughts went through my head in the space of about two seconds:

• What the hell is that?
• It sounds like the cars are driving through water.
• Huh, it's raining over there, but it's dry over here.
• That looks like a solid wall of water.
• It's coming right for us!
• AAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!

I don't know what the others' thought processes were, but we all reached AAAAHHHHHHH!!!!! at the same time. I made it about halfway to the restaurant before the deluge hit. Three seconds later, I was under the restaurant's awning, but I was already soaked. It was one of the weirdest meteorological experiences I've had.

Occasionally (less frequently than I used to), I follow links back from my referrer logs, to see where visitors are arriving from. Today, I found the blog of someone I know (not well, due to unfortunate circumstances, but he seems a decent enough fellow).

In the June archive of his blog, he refers to an earlier post on my blog:

Jeff Lee has left something interesting thing on his blog. Something about being dissatisfied with his musical buds because they have larger egos than he does.

(Actually, that wasn't quite what I was saying, but...)

He even sort of spells out who this person is so that I would know at least. On one level this is not at all surprising. On another level this seems just a little fishy. Who is this directed at? His group? Me? Both? Am I being paranoid? Well yes but as long as I believe I'm paranoid I'm OK, that's right isen't it it? Probably both are true.

It wasn't directed towards anyone: not at my group, as none of them read my blog; and certainly not to him, as I didn't know that he read it. It was just catharsis. Venting. No ulterior motives, just an expression of my state of mind.

Jeff doesn't do very much without a good reason. He likes to use the Internet to reel people in and he Jeff is pretty craft about how he uses this tool.

This was the bit that I really found interesting; the difference between intent and perception is always intriguing. Apparently, at least to this gentleman, I come across as very Machiavellian. In this particular case, I can understand why he would perceive me this way — those "unfortunate circumstances" I mentioned earlier, of which he really saw only one side. Quietem nemo impune lacesset — "Though I am peaceful, no one will attack me with impunity." Or my friends, for that matter.

Truth be told, most of the things I do are solely for the reason that I think they might be interesting or fun. (Of course, my idea of "fun" is not always congruent with the generally accepted definition; to me, sitting in front of a microfilm reader and printing out 15th-18th century books is fun.)

The bit about "reeling people in" amuses me; reel them in to what? I've always seen my Web site as a vehicle to share information that I think is cool, important or useful; foist my humor and art upon an unsuspecting world; and distribute stuff that I've created, if I think others might also find it useful. Not "Come here, my pretties; let me lure you in with information and Turkish Delight," but "Hey, I found this cool stuff. Here it is, in case anyone else thinks it's cool too." Well, either that or "I made this!" (to borrow the slogan of Ten Thirteen Productions).

In other news, I discovered tonight that Tim Russ (Tuvok on Star Trek: Voyager) was the trooper in Spaceballs who "combed the desert" with a giant Afro pick and reported, "We ain't found shit!" (Vidcap) I love this DVD-ROM drive. (It also showed me that maybe, just maybe, the TOS "slash" writers may have been right.)

A few days ago, Fark had a thread wherein readers were encouraged to post their favorite jokes. I couldn't resist, and posted one from Tales, and quick answeres (Anonymous, ca. 1535):

A man that was right jealous on his wife, dreamed on a night as he lay abed with her & slept, that the Devil appeared unto him and said: Wouldst thou not be glad, that I should put thee in surety of thy wife? Yes, said he. Hold, said the Devil, as long as thou hast this ring upon thy finger, no man shall make thee cuckold. The man was glad thereof, and when he awaked, he found his finger in his wife's arse.

Another Farker emailed me and wrote, "Thanks for that, mate. A refined sense of humour on Fark? Never thought I'd see it. *L*"

My favorite joke ends with "he found his finger in his wife's arse" — and he considers that refined? I'd hate to see this guy's idea of a crude sense of humor!

Tomorrow, I have to have two wisdom teeth extracted, a prospect which fills me with joy. Even more special is the fact that they're not going to put me out; just a Valium and nitrous oxide (hopefully, Novocaine will also enter into the equation). I've had a root canal, and I've had scaling treatments, but nothing fills me with as much dread as an extraction. I've had six or seven teeth extracted in my life (mutant that I am, I had some fully developed supernumerary teeth, so they had to remove some existing teeth in order to prevent the extras from breaking through where they weren't supposed to be).

My last extraction, over twenty years ago, involved the extraction of four teeth at once, and I was supposed to have been put out completely. However, I was merely paralyzed; I remained fully aware of everything that went on. I complained about this when the anaesthetic wore off, and the oral surgeon pooh-poohed my claims, saying that I had been put under, and had merely dreamed it. So I related in detail everything that was done, and everything that I remembered being said. And then I found myself looking up at the ceiling, with a circle of concerned faces looking down at me. (If there were any mercy in the universe, I would have passed out during the procedure, but noooooo.)

Most recently, when I had the root canal and scaling treatments, the dentists had to keep putting in Novocaine, because it kept wearing off. Apparently I metabolize it much more quickly than normal, which makes lengthy procedures ever so much fun.

So tomorrow, they work on the two teeth furthest back in my mouth, in opposite corners (one in the lower left, and one in the upper right). And I have a history of anaesthesia not working properly. Wheeeee.

But hey, at least I'll get out of the office for a while.

Well, yesterday was the big day. After looking at the X-rays, the oral surgeon strongly suggested that I have all four wisdom teeth out, rather than just two; the other two were severely impacted, and one of them was weakening my lower jaw. He said it was very close to a major nerve, so there was the chance that it might be bruised during the removal, resulting in a permanently numbed lip — which, I suppose, is better than a glass jaw.

So he gave me a prescription for three Valium pills, and told me to go take them immediately and come back. I got to the pharmacy, gave the pharmacist my prescription, and he said "Okay, that'll be about an hour." For three lousy pills?! While I was trying to frame a tactful response, Karen (who was there because I wasn't going to be able to drive myself home after the procedure) said "He needs them now! He's having his wisdom teeth pulled, and we have to get back to the oral surgeon!" He glared at her, and said "Well, have a seat. I can't promise anything." Freaking tinpot dictator.

We got the pills about ten minutes later, and then back to the dentists' office. I told Karen to give me her cellphone and go back home until it was all over (no sense in her waiting around with nothing to do). As I sat in the waiting room reading American Gods, I didn't really feel any effect from the Valium except that when I looked out the window, I couldn't focus my eyes on distant objects.

Eventually, they came for me and put me in The Chair. They put the N₂O mask over my nose, and told me to breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth. This I found difficult, because the way the hoses were arranged, the mask was pressing against my right nostril, closing it off — and I was partially congested, so the only nostril I could breathe in through was the right one. I remember that throughout the procedure, I kept trying to adjust it, which didn't make them too happy. They injected Novocaine and went away to give it time to work.

While I was waiting, with nobody else in the room, I pulled out my PDA and started making notes. I reproduce them here verbatim.

The first sentence was a response to my uncontrollable giggling, which didn't last too long. At one point, I realized that I hadn't breathed in a while, so I forced myself to breathe. I wrote the last sentence because I was finding it very difficult to make the proper letter shapes, but when I saw misspellings, I went back and corrected them. Ironically, I misspelled anæsthetic. Apparently, I wasn't too concerned with capitalization, however.

Then I felt myself going really loopy from all the drugs, and I put my PDA away. Some time later (I don't know how long), I found myself completely "sober". The thought of going through the procedure like that was terrifying, so I tried to write a note to the oral surgeon:

The next-to-last line was a stream-of-consciousness intrusion into my attempts to communicate; while I was writing, one of the nurses came in and saw me scratching away at the PDA, and said to one of her co-workers, "Oh, look — he's trying to do work even in the dentist's chair!" Anyway, when the oral surgeon came in, I held it out to him and tapped the screen. He read it, adjusted the nose mask, and said something along the lines of "Well, just breathe through your nose for a few minutes." Alone again, I continued writing.

It's true about the déjà vu; many of the things I was seeing and hearing had been images in my dreams for quite some time. Of course, this got me panicked, because I thought perhaps I was going to die in the chair, and these flashes of déjà vu had been warnings (apparently, I'm less of a skeptic about things like ESP when I'm drugged). Then I thought that perhaps I was still having my root canal done, and that everything since then was merely a dream I'd had in the chair. This prompted me to write:

The bit about the stain on the ceiling tile was because it had been a frequently recurring image in my dreams. I don't know how I remembered the current date, because I can never remember what the date is. Anyway, I thought, "If I'm still having the root canal done, maybe I can warn myself about the September 11 attacks." It didn't occur to me that I didn't even have my PDA before September 11, nor that something written in a dream probably wouldn't translate into the real world. Eh, but at least I tried.

Anyway, after that, they were ready to begin, so they took my PDA away. I have only vague memories of most of the procedure; I remember two out of the four extractions ("Now, you're going to hear a crunching noise, and you'll feel a pushing sensation."), and I remember opening my eyes and seeing the oral surgeon drawing a suture upwards. I also remember wanting to write something down, reaching for my PDA and finding the case empty, and the surgeon telling me "It's all right, we put it back there for you."

I drifted off for a while, and when I came too, a nurse was cementing my crown back in (apparently it had come off during the procedure). He said a bunch of things to me, but I was already drifting away again.

After it was all over, I remember pulling out the cellphone and trying to email a text message to Karen. At first, it rejected the message, because I'd somehow added an underscore after her email address, so I was trying again when the orderly came to take me up to the front desk. While I was paying, I remembered that the plan was just to call, even if I couldn't speak, because she'd see the phone number on the caller ID and know it was time to come pick me up.

They gave me a list of things to do (and acceptable foods), and a prescription for Vicodin. Unfortunately, the Vicodin doesn't seem to be doing much, because I'm still in excruciating pain. I can only open my mouth about a finger's width, and I'm very swollen under the jaw (and swallowing is very difficult). I'm told that this will probably last a few days, so on the bright side, maybe I can lose a few pounds. I slept about thirteen hours last night, but I still feel tired. I can't concentrate well (this entry has taken me over an hour to write), but at least the worst part is over.

When I took the gauze out of my mouth, I discovered that I couldn't close my jaw; the only point of contact was between my crown and the tooth above it. So I called the oral surgeon and asked if that was normal; he told me to come back in and they would fix it. Well, they couldn't get it off, so they ground the porcelain off the top, so I could at least get some contact between the other teeth, and I've got to go back in four weeks so they can make a new crown for me — but at least that'll be free of charge.

I was supposed to be teaching three classes at an SCA event this weekend, but the surgeon told me to take a few days off from work, and not speak (unless absolutely necessary) until the gums have healed. So I had to cancel my classes, which makes me feel really bad.

It turns out I had an infection, which abscessed. The right half of my face swelled up like a balloon, and I was in utter agony, especially at night.

Monday, the oral surgeon wasn't in, but the regular dentist gave me a prescription for Penicillin. My Vicodin had run out, and he gave me another prescription for Vioxx (which my insurance company rejected). So for twenty-four hours, I had to make do with Ibuprofen, which was nowhere near effective enough.

Tuesday, the oral surgeon saw me again. He cut some drainage holes on the inside of my cheek and under my tongue, removed some of the infected material, gave me a refill on the Vicodin, and told me to come back Thursday to see how things were progressing.

By Thursday, I was much worse. Even with the Vicodin, I had trouble sleeping (and when I did sleep, I was troubled by bizarre fever-dreams). The oral surgeon loaded me up with Novocaine and spent about half an hour cutting holes inside my cheeks and trying to squeeze out the infected material. Even with the Novocaine, it was excruciating; and because the drainage holes he'd cut on Tuesday had closed, he put a drain in, to ensure that the material would continue to evacuate.

As awful as that was, it worked wonders. By Thursday night, I was able to eat the first actual food I'd had since the previous Monday, ten days earlier. Never has Fetuccine Alfredo tasted so good. Of course, my atrophied jaw muscles paid for it the next day, but it felt great to actually have something in my stomach again. As a result of my extended fast, the clothes I bought last Saturday for a wedding, which fit perfectly in the store, now hang loosely on me; I've lost about two inches in the waist.

This morning, I went in for yet another followup visit. I was a little nervous; the doctor said that if I hadn't improved enough, I'd have to be hospitalized, and the infection would have to be removed from outside (resulting in scars on my face). Fortunately, that turned out to be unnecessary, but I'm still not completely out of the woods.

So now it's time to try and get back to the land of the living.