If you're anywhere near the city of Racine April 4 through the 26th, you're in for a real treat, and I'm not talking kringle. The Over Our Heads Players are presenting the Wisconsin premiere of Adam Szymkowicz's play, Deflowering Waldo. This fresh, funny and thoroughly theatrical love story is built on a series of cheerfully anarchic one-liners that bring to mind Groucho Marx by way of early Woody Allen. If you're in need of a good laugh, you'll find it. If you're not in the need of a good laugh, go anyway and build a large store of hilarity you may find useful at a future date. Those of you not within a reasonable traveling distance to the Belle City should take this opportunity to pick up a copy, because this intelligent, very contemporary play is a pure pleasure to read.

The Over Our Heads Players Present
Deflowering Waldo by Adam Szymkowicz
Sixth Street Theater
318 Sixth Street Racine, WI 53403
April 4- April 26th Fridays 8pm, Saturdays 5:30pm, Sundays 2:30pm

In his essay, Run Fast, Stand Still, Or, The Thing At The Top of The Stairs, sci-fi luminary Ray Bradbury asks writers to trust in the powers of the unconscious mind. What does this mean? Early in his career, Bradbury created lists of nouns, taken from childhood memories. Many were frightening totems with a visceral power that carried over into adulthood. For example, "THE ATTIC, THE BASEMENT, THE TRAPDOOR, THE BABY, THE CROWD, THE NIGHT TRAIN, THE FOG HORN..." These simple lists, drawn from the wellspring of his own personal mythology, provided the impetus for countless classic tales like R is for Rocket, and Something Wicked This Way Comes. Why not take five minutes to make your own list of nouns? Put pen to paper, don't judge your answers, and let your mind wander wherever it likes. There's something very appealing to this organic and individualized method of story-finding. I'll post my results soon, and if you're game, send me the results of your lists and I'll share those too. And if you haven't read Bradbury's inspirational and energizing manifesto, Zen in the Art of Writing, pick up a copy here or check it out of your local library.

"When Charles Lamb's farce Mr. H failed disastrously on opening night, the author joined in the hissing." Why? For the answer, visit the delightful odditorium, Futility Closet.

My faith in the lost art of the music video has been restored. Created by German filmmaker Markus Wambsganss for the 2005 album Hymie's Basement. This video is the last IMDB credit listed for Markus. Where are you now?

Gary Gygax died this week. The Wisconsin native and co-creator of Dungeons & Dragons was 69 years old. I was introduced to the game by my Junior High science teacher, Mr. Jozwick, who started an after-school D&D club. I remember picking up the oddly shaped gaming dice for the first time and creating a chaotic-evil thief who was nimble (Dexterity: 15) but ugly (Charisma: 8). Almost instantly, my gifted program peers and I were hooked. The game's genius came from the flexibility it gave to players. The rules merely provided a launching pad from which your imagination could take off from, your enjoyment bounded only by your creativity.

It wasn't long before The Monster Manual and the Dungeon Masters Guide became like the two testaments of the Bible for me and my friends. Weekend afternoons and and late-night sleepovers were spent exploring scenarios dreamt up by the cruel minds of my brilliant and socially awkward compatriots. There were glorious battles with Orks and Beholders, forbidden liaisons with Succubi, violent deaths, and endless arguments over the byzantine rules of play.

At the height of my gaming obsession, a friend's Mom generously drove us to Gen Con, a yearly convention held for enthusiasts in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. I remember the excitement that took hold when we found the TSR store, overwhelmed by the amount of figurines, books, and role-playing accoutrements that were unavailable to us in town. Then, someone in the store said that Gary Gygax, the man, the legend himself, was leading a game as we spoke. Gary Gygax Dungeon Mastering his own game? It was like getting a chance to see James Naismith shoot hoops, or Les Paul play electric guitar. I think I left a contrail behind me as I took off toward the convention hall.

There he was, looking much as I had imagined; gray beard, wise eyes, a 12th degree Wizard with high charisma and many hit points. We watched him rapt, as he effortlessly made his fantasy world come to life in way that was immediate and completely captivating. When the man signed my Dungeon Masters Guide, I was in awe. At the same time, I also recall looking at some of the unkempt middle-aged men holding court behind their three-ring binders and making a mental note to myself, "Don't let that happen to you."

That thought was the beginning of the end for D&D and me. Though it's hard for me to quantify how much an impression the game has made on my life, some fifteen years later I wrote a play called The Gifted Program, which is in no uncertain terms a love letter to Gary Gygax and a game that continues to enliven imaginations everywhere.

So, Mr. Gygax, today I pour a few of my 20-sided dice on the sidewalk in your honor, sir.

(Image, "Bietka the Succubi" by Melissa Szeto, courtesy of the artist.)