Articles in “Strange Conversations”

Watching Nick trying cycling on the Wii Fit:

ME: Zig-zag to go up a hill. And lean forward.
NICK: How do I do that?

I’m afraid if you don’t know how to lean forward at your age, I can’t help you there, sweetie.

When fishing for compliments backfires horribly:

MAGGIE O’CONNELL IN NORTHERN EXPOSURE: It’s all surface and no substance. Why can’t they be attracted to women who are intelligent and focused and competent?
ME: You were. If we ignore the last two categories.
NICK: Well, she is a good pilot.
(Pause)
ME: I was talking about me.
NICK: Oh.

In which I become over-invested in a game of Peggle Nights too soon after we rewatched Spaced:

ME: Soon I shall have my revenge!
NICK: On the Jedi?
ME: On anyone, really. I’m not fussy.
(Pause)
ME: Why? Have the Jedi been slagging me off behind my back?
NICK: Yeah.
ME: Really?
NICK: Yeah. I tried to stop them, but they kept Force-pushing me away.

ME: Because I quite liked those photographs I took of my books in their natural environment, and I want to take some more.
(Pause)
NICK: This is one of those conversations where you started it in your head a while ago, isn’t it?
ME: No! It’s why I asked you to find the battery charger. And we had a long conversation about it then. Five minutes ago.
NICK: Oh. I mustn’t have been listening.

Frantically tidying my house before my father-in-law comes around for dinner.

ME: Nicholas! Oh, so not.
NICK: What?
ME: Don’t think I didn’t see that Wii Fit box hidden behind the sofa.
NICK: I didn’t think you didn’t see it. I just didn’t think you’d care.
ME: Why would you think that?
NICK: It’s so hard to predict.

It’s really not, you know.

When shopping this morning (during which we cracked and bought Wii Fit, which has just assessed my age as 44, and asked me if I trip over a lot while walking), Nick and I split up, so that he could grab lunch and I could take the groceries to the car:

NICK: Maybe I should take the Wii Fit with me?
ME: Why?
NICK: Aren’t you going to have too much to carry?
ME: No. What am I, a delicate flower?
NICK: Of course not. You’re robust!
(Pause)
ME: Thank you, sweetheart.
NICK: You’re welcome!

Sadly, the Wii Fit agrees with him.

Catching up on the “Rage Gets Hairy” special, which I’m too lazy to tweet tonight: by this point, we were up to “November Rain,” and Nick was washing up, necessitating a certain narrative role on my part.

ME: Ooh, look! It’s the symbolic, melancholic, windswept guitar solo!
NICK: Is this song still going on?
ME: Oh, this song goes forever. I think it’s still going on, somewhere.

Slightly later:

ME: Slash is standing on a grand piano for the guitar solo.
NICK: Awesome.
ME: Not that it’s a guitar solo.
NICK: How isn’t this a guitar solo?
ME: Because there are other instruments.
NICK: That’s still a solo.
ME: It’s not!
NICK: Solo doesn’t mean solo. Solo means that a single instrument comes out to take the main melodic role in a composition.
(Pause)
ME: You know, that’s really not what the word “solo” means. I think the world needs to know about this.

And now you do.

ME: I don’t know—it just seems as though me not liking Crowded House is akin to me not finding George Clooney sexy. (Note: I don’t. I know: it’s weird.)
NICK THE KIWI: It would be worse if you were a Kiwi.
ME: Everything would be worse if I were a Kiwi.
(Pause)
NICK THE KIWI: Just move your wine glass, so I can throw something at you, would you?
ME: No. That’s what you get for making broadly nationalistic comments.

ME: You’re not listening to me, are you?
NICK: But you were talking to yourself!
ME: Honey, remember when we talked about how I’m not actually talking to myself? That I’m talking to you, but you’re not listening?
NICK: It sounds like you’re talking to yourself.
ME: There is no sound of me talking to myself! That’s just something you made up to get out of listening to me!
NICK: Oh. Really?

This conversation was conducted while I was in the bathroom and Nick in the kitchen.

ME: Did you buy bacon?
NICK: Yes!
ME: I thought so. I saw the bread rolls, and figured you were planning on bacon sandwiches for breakfast.
NICK: (Shouts incomprehensible gibberish)
ME: Sorry?
NICK: (Shouts incomprehensible gibberish a little more loudly)
ME: “Forking”?
NICK: What?
ME: Why did you just shout “forking”?
NICK: Warcraft.
ME: Warcraft?
NICK: Yes.
ME: What does that have to do with forking?
NICK: With what?
ME: With forking.
NICK: For. The. King.
ME: Oh? Which king?
NICK: I don’t know, in the context of the game.
ME: And in the context of this house?
NICK: Um, I like making stupid noises?
ME: Fair enough.

These conversations all occurred during a game in which our first major action was to return to the scene of our great defeat in the last encounter (where we had suffered psychic damage at the hands of an invisible wizard), nick all his furniture, including his chamber pot, and sell it in the nearby town.

As far as we’re concerned, this is the second strangest thing we’ve ever done—and only comes second because of the time our Wizard decided that the soft furnishings in a desecrated temple were evil, and tried to set fire to them.

Oddly enough, it was shortly after this that the Halfling Rogue became so annoyed by the Wizard that she crawled under the tavern table and tied his shoelaces together—aided by the fact that every other member of the group failed their perception rolls and had no idea what was happening.

Sadly for us, the Wizard aced his acrobatics roll, and failed to fall over.

The conversations, in no particular order:

Overheard between the Warforged Paladin and the Eladrin Wizard:

WARFORGED PALADIN: Why are you going to see that guy?
ELADRIN WIZARD: He’s my special friend.
WARFORGED PALADIN: Oh, I suppose he’s your “wandmaker.”

(The fact that our Wizard carries a wand is of constant amusement to us. In fact, the Eladrin Wizard was later to wonder aloud why it is that we all turn into fourteen-year-old boys when we play.)

Overheard slightly later in the game:

WIZARD: I’m only going up against Reavers if I can have River Phoenix with me.

And slightly later again:

RANGER: Next time we try to convince a group of hobgoblins to sell us human slaves, I think the clerics should stow their holy symbols away.
HUMAN CLERIC, WHO SPEAKS OF HIMSELF IN THE THIRD PERSON: Ash doesn’t approve of that.
RANGER: Keep it in your pants, cleric.
HUMAN CLERIC: I’m pretty sure Ash likes to flash.

And finally, as we walk into the room full of hobgoblin slave traders:

ELADRIN WIZARD: What are all those d6s scattered around the room?
DUNGEON MASTER: Those represent rough-hewn tables.
ELADRIN WIZARD: That’s going to be confusing for the waiters: there are two table 3s.

ME: Right. Things we need to do. Number one: get rid of this headache.
NICK: Do you want some Nurofen?
ME: No, I’d better not.
NICK: Why not?
ME: It’s about endurance. I can outlast this headache.
NICK: You look like you’ve been hit by a bus. You know that, right?
ME: Thank you, sweetheart.
NICK: I’m just telling it like it is, Treena.
(Pause)
ME: So I look like I’ve been hit by a bus?
NICK: It was important that you knew that.
ME: Why?
NICK: I don’t know. I just have these strong beliefs that are quite weakly supported.

NICK: Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own for four days?
ME: Oh, I would think so. Unless I’m attacked by a vampire. And even then I’ll probably last four days.
NICK: And then I’ll come in and save you! With my stake held high!
ME: Oh, yes. Because that’s just the sort of thing that appeals to me, the feminist.
NICK: If you were attacked by a vampire, you’d be pretty happy to see me and my stake.
ME: Honey, if I was attacked by a vampire, I’d be pretty happy to see anyone with a stake. It wouldn’t have to be you.
NICK: But it would most likely be me. I have the knowledge.
ME: No, you don’t.
NICK: I do!
ME: You don’t. And you don’t have a stake, either.
NICK: No. No, I don’t. But I could fashion one, out of . . . I don’t know.
ME: Wood?
NICK: Possibly.

This conversation brought to you by a seriously beautiful Brazilian library:

ME: By the time you get home, our living room will look like that.
NICK: Woo!
ME: Yeah, you would be excited. You don’t have to do any of the work. It’s not easy, building revolving bookshelves.
NICK: Well, neither do you, strictly speaking.
ME: Um, what? You think it’s magic? I’m cutting a hole in the ceiling as we speak!
NICK: Well, I’m just saying it’s not work you HAVE to do. You could . . . Wait. What?
ME: Well, I need that skylight effect.
NICK: True.
ME: And the living room isn’t tall enough for a second story. I’m using a bread knife. Maybe I should go and buy a chainsaw?
NICK: I think so. Make sure you get a petrol one. Because you’d have to turn the power off first. Before using it.
ME: Ah. Really?
NICK: You don’t want to cut into power lines.
ME: Does that explain why I can’t remember the last fifteen minutes?
NICK: It might do, yes.
ME: Oh, good. I thought I’d been drinking too much. As long as I’ve only been electrocuted.
NICK: Well, it would be understandable. Did you get superpowers?
ME: I don’t know yet! Hopefully.

Just goes to show: there is no topic on Earth that doesn’t come around to gaining superpowers. Eventually.

Discussing the Sci-Fi Channel (or, apparently, “SyFy”) rebooting of The Phantom:

ME: Worse than the Billy Zane version?
NICK: Well, I didn’t have the sound on when I watched it, but it makes the Billy Zane version look like Citizen Kane.
ME: I often wonder why people say that. Because if the Billy Zane version of The Phantom had been like Citizen Kane, it would have widely missed its mark and its demographic.
NICK: Fine. It makes the Billy Zane version look like the original Superman movie.
(Pause)
NICK: Which is widely considered to be a benchmark film.
ME: Why can’t you just say that it makes the Billy Zane version look good?
NICK: That’s not suitably hyperbolic.

UPDATE: Here, watch it for yourself. And if you don’t spend half of it saying, “No! That’s . . . No!”, I’ll be surprised.