Tag Archives: rac

World of Warcraft, Made Simple

Distractions, Hobbies

I know I’m years behind on this, but I’ve had Evil Panda breathing down my panties to sign up for this game. Last night I downloaded the demo and started to wander about. And then realized I have no clue where he would be, let alone what race he is.

Cue terse email to EP, asking to be brief about what to do next.

What follows is his hilarious response about races in WoW (edited for content):

Tauren: Big minotaur-looking guys, based loosely on Native Americans as far as culture goes. They can be Hunters, Druids, Shaman, or Warriors. They’re probably the most noble of the Horde races.

Orcs: Not like the Lord of the Rings orcs, they’re more like Star Trek Klingons…warrior culture highly based on clans and honor. They were enslaved by demons and brought through a portal from Draenor to conquor Azeroth.

Trolls: Jamaican accents. Think of every bad depiction of a headhunting tribe in Africa, and you basically have the basis for the Trolls. Dancing around a stewpot filled with white explorers, etc. There are many troll tribes, but all players are part of the Darkspear tribe, which is a little more civilized than their cousins. Trolls can be Hunters, mages, priests, shamans, warriors or rogues.

Forsaken (Undead): One of my favorite races, because they’re so tragic. They were basically humans and elves infected with a demon-created plague that has turned them into the living dead (HIV-victims). They’re bitter and pissed about it, some are trying to take revenge against the undead who are still fighting for the Lich King, others are trying to create a new plague that will kill the rest of the living on the planet (granted, the living are trying to kill them right back, and kind of started it to begin with). Undead can be Mages, Priests, Rogues, Warriors and Warlocks. They also get some pretty neat racial bonuses, including the ability to cannibalize the corpses of enemies to regain health. They also have the best racial mount (Skeletal Horse).

Blood Elves: The prettiest race on the planet. Imagine a city filled with lovely blond raver children, and you kinda get it. They’re also magic crack-addicts, as their source of magic was destroyed and they’re desparately trying to build a new one. Can be a hunter, mage, warlock, rogue, priest or paladin.

I made a Tauren character and went off and killed some birds to start. But now I want to be pwned!

England Memory #8 – Romance, or Wise Up Sucka!


Brighton holds the honour of being the location of the first romantic moment I’ve ever had in my life (Note: this story is completely trumped by many many many experiences given to me by SharkBoy. The ultimate being the day I got asked to be betrothed, of course).

I’m sitting in that crappy flat in Earls Court, expecting another penniless Saturday night, listening to the blubbering homesick basset hound when there’s a knock on the front door. It’s Nigel. By this time we have had two drunken nights out together and he had failed to mention that he’s got a boyfriend. I’m utterly clueless and only slightly wonder why he’s never given me his home number. Love and being in a new country blinded me, made me rather unsuspecting.

“Pack for one night,” he says. I’m out of that shitty flat like it was overrun with flaming cockroaches, and sitting in his Mini (a real one!) within seconds. We head south.

A little over an hour, we’re in Brighton. We stop at his brother’s flat, who is conveniently out of the country at the moment, and grab a post-road trip G and T. Then off to dinner.

It was my first French restaurant. Nigel bravely took up my dare of eating Steak Tartar while he ordered the Crab Salad for myself. He knew that it came in the hollowed out carapice of a King Crab, legs draped over the plate, face turned towards me as if to say “I ‘ope yew findz me, ‘ow do you zey… delishious? Mai oui!” When the salad arrived we both discovered that I had a fear of King Crab – insectoid and ugly and expecting me to touch it.

“Calmly lift the top,” Nigel instructs, and walked me through dinner.

Two bottles of wine later, Nigel pays the bill and we walk out into the night (£120 for two! To this date, that was the most expensive meal I’ve ever had. Later in our relationship he would regularly take me out to lunches in Covent Garden before my afternoon shift at the RAC and I would stagger into work, borderline drunk). He takes me down to the pier. To the ocean. I’ve never seen the ocean before. It’s bastard cold but the wine has made me giddy and I start running along the pebbled beach. I scoop rocks up as I run, laughing. I start tossing them into the sea, shouting, laughing. I’m really in that moment: the shitty flat, the homesickness, the crappy computerless job, all wash away and I feel Nigel’s hand, arm, encircle my neck and I lean back onto his chest.

Cue waves crashing on the beach.

To this day, when I hear waves, it always “centres” me, relaxes me. I don’t remember Nigel, but I do remember the happiness.

The next day he drops me off at the flat. As he drives away, it’s like being a puppy being brought back at the pound. Then it hits me: we haven’t made plans for another date, despite this one being so fantastic, nor has he given me his home number, just his office one. It was then that I smartened up and started to suspect Nigel wasn’t being honest with me.

Okay so I lied that there wouldn’t be any more adulterous posts, but this memory ties pretty much all my memories of England into one. I was happy, adventurous, independent and in love. I was also naive and innocent which was burst by my decision that it was ok to “be that other woman”. England taught me a lot about who I was becoming.

Brighton Beach 1986