In September 2021, Blizzard Entertainment released Diablo 2: Resurrection. This was a game that a buddy introduced me to in about 2001 and we played many a late hour into the night this role playing game (RPG) It was my first foray into the "fantasy" world, and twenty years later, I returned to the remastered original game. On a Saturday morning I sat down to chronicle my return.
0900: Turn on computer, upload game, press play. Entered the waiting cue to access the server as player #238.
0945: Finally entered the game.
0946: Game crashed to desktop.
0947: Reentered the waiting cue as player # 132.
1016: Crash to desktop prior to entering server lobby.
1017: Reentered the waiting cur as player 78.
Approximately 1105: Server converted me to off line play. Press online and reenter the waiting cue as player #314.
1215: Game crashed to desktop.
After three (3) hours of "gameplay" I balanced my checking account, requested a copy of my credit report, finalized some end of month bills before they were due, discarded motor vehicle repair orders predating 2015, defrosted some frozen food for dinner this evening, and surfed the yachting classifieds for a replacement.
Blizzard get a big fat F for their theft of US$60 for unavailable downloadable content.
Here we go again, another lap around the globe as we grapple to "flatten the curve in fourteen days", now in its second year.
I have returned to writing after an extended absence in another country fulfilling the obligations of emergency management in the Covid era. Returning to writing I have been presented with atopic that continues to plague me, grief.
Twenty one days to complete a manuscript for publication.
Yup, we go again. Damaged goods.
Welcome, my child.
A little girl.
...and once again, the Bourgeois family has provided the Madden family with another lost link.
The following is a reproduction of an article that I wrote for the Fathers Rights Movement California State Chapter on 6 Feb 2021.
My parents were divorced when I was young. As a teen and later as a college student, I'd occasionally visit Dad at the Army base he lived and worked at. On his desk were photographs of my brother and I but they were old photos...as toddlers, the first day of school - there was nothing recent.
I never understood why.
Come forward sixteen years and I'm divorced with two daughters. On my last day in Australia before coming to the USA, Dad took us to a fine seafood restaurant. At the end of the meal a photo was taken of the people present, including my Dad, my brother, and my daughters.
Come forward another sixteen years and and the photo pops up on my Facebook memories.
And suddenly...I understand why Dad only had old photos of my brother and I.
It was all he had.
The photograph taken at the restaurant was the last time my Father saw his granddaughters. It was the second last time I saw my daughters.
Now, it is all that I have.
Happy birthday Ming.
It's a been a long time since we last spoke. I can't recall how long it is. I recall what was said, and how I was away.
In the last sixty days I've lost the man who taught me to parent, a parent I cared for and a co-parent. I kept to myself since I got here because of the damage that was done before I left.
How's your Goddaughter? You might know more than I, but the loss of the girls broke me.
I went back to work on my book last week. In particular, I changed the part where I mentioned you and your wife. I had not used your names through the first few drafts - not because I didn't want to, but because I felt that you and D didn't need the "publicity" that might come when the book came out. I prefer to think of the two of you as the couple who could point to the book and go "he's talking about us there." There is a section where your words read "If he comes here, it's because no one else believe in him."
I have change it, to include your name, not because the words have changed, the relationship has changed. You were #thefirstfan and people should know, even if it's not the case now.
Happy birthday Anthony, from your fan. Your friend.
