In which our intrepid hero ponders his blog, like some George III-era physician.

As you’ve probably noticed, posts have been sparse around here of late. Over the past couple of months, I’ve been trying to work out my life and finances; whilst it finally seems like it’s coming together, it may be a while yet before I’m fully back on my feet.

At the moment, for instance, I’m officially on the Carers’ Pension, providing for Mim K/W, with her broken neck and defective thyroid.

As welcome as the opportunity not to jump at any paying piecemeal work has been, however, Centrelink haven’t made it easy. Their requirement that I spend two months looking for full-time work, whilst waiting for payment to support the provision of full-time care, is a case in point.

Don’t bother re-reading that last sentence; it doesn’t make sense, and that’s the problem. As much as I need the break—and Mim needs the care—I’d rather not rely for income upon the paranoid, Byzantine and Kafkaesque bureaucracy which is the single greatest cause of mental illness in the poor of this great nation.

In the meantime, posts will be sparse-to-non-existent here. Amongst other things, I want to work out what I’m doing with the blog.

That said, I’d like to make a few parting shots:

  • I’m still not that impressed with 4e. For what it’s worth, I wasn’t greatly enthused by the mechanics of 3e or 3.5 either, but I feel the chaotic, open-source glut of ideas will still provide years of goodness, crunchy or otherwise. And that’s just the old stuff; props to Paizo and other companies who still provide new material for the old edition.
  • I have a burgeoning love affair with the GUMSHOE system, particularly Kenneth Hite’s adaptation of Call of Cthulhu.

    I’m not 100% au fait with Robin Laws’ GMing style, and I have difficulty retrofitting GUMSHOE‘s narrative structure to complex campaigns like Masks of Nyarlathotep, but overall, I’m overawed by its unique approach to procedural investigation.

  • On a more prosaic note, I’m constantly appalled how so-called free-market activists are the first to complain about government interference in the marketplace, but equally the first to demand that the government support them when said marketplace fails catastrophically, usually as a result of said free-marketeers’ acts.

    My opinion of how to fix this varies from tighter regulation on market practice, to quasi-nationalisation with equal citizen sharehold in “rescued” financial entities, to maintaining a roster of brokers’ amputatable body parts to sever in case of catastrophic market failure—an arbitrary value assigned to each—in the spirit of bloodier bodies of mediaeval law.

    When I’m short on sleep, however, and tired of wealthy men crapping in their diapers, flinging the contents at everyone until the government comes and changes them, my solution could best be described thus:

    “The Tree of Liberty… blah blah… Lynch mob on Wall Street.”

  • Malcolm Turnbull will be as great a Prime Minister as Andrew Peacock or John Hewson, and for much the same reasons. In the end, I think, his most enduring political legacy will be an ill-considered decree on the sale of incandescent light globes.

    Which is not to say that the Rudd government is much better.

  • Whatever Barry O’Farrell‘s other, considerable talents, he needs to differentiate himself and his lacklustre frontbench from those of Premier Nathan “Who the Fuck?” Rees—perhaps by portraying a media image as a potential leader of NSW, and not just some prick who likes kicking his opponents whilst they’re down.

    Or maybe re-growing his beard. Something—anything—so the punters can tell the Coalition and Labor apart.

And that’s that. I’ll catch you around when I feel back on my feet enough to post (semi-)regularly again. In the meantime, however, you can check my FaceBook profile, which by necessity is updated more frequently.

Oh, and feel free to friend me if you haven’t already.

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