We'll Take "Chaotic Good," Please

Yesterday I took two boys, one of them mine, up to Capitol Hill for a visit to Gamma Ray Games on Pine Street. Simon had some birthday money to spend, and a couple of lacunae in his Dungeons & Dragons library to fill. Ioan was trying to avoid having to attend his sister's soccer game in the pouring rain. They were both suffering mightily from cabin fever after a week of stormy November weather.

Simon had begun angling for this outing at about 8 am, as I lay in bed, gazing groggily out at the dark sky and contemplating the long winter ahead. I managed to hold him off until 9:30, which, with traffic & parking, put us in front of Gamma Ray Games just before 10. We were a little taken aback to discover that the store didn't open until noon -- though when we thought about it, it made sense that the D&D trade wouldn't cater to early risers.

The three of us stood on the sidewalk, contemplating our options. "I know," Ioan piped up brightly, "We could walk around the city buying stuff!" The walk-around-the-city part of this proposal might have appealed to us, if the icy rain hadn't chosen this moment to begin spitting down once again. We considered heading over to the Bauhaus for some hot chocolate, but it seemed unlikely that this would occupy us for two full hours.

On a whim, we piled back into the car and headed for the Frye, where we figured we'd find a) something interesting to look at, and b) hot chocolate. Plus, it's free!

As we wound our way through the cobblestone streets of First Hill, we listened to a radio interview with skateboarding icon Tony Hawk, during which we learned that he had once skateboarded down the hall at the White House. When he confessed that this photo had caused a stir among people who felt he had desecrated the hallowed halls of government, the interviewer scoffed: "You were invited there as a professional skateboarder. What did they think you were going to do -- walk?" Simon and Ioan loved this.

The dash from the parking lot to the front door of the museum having left us drenched and chilled, we decided to start our Frye adventure with the hot chocolate, and maybe a bagel. The cafe was crowded, understaffed, and almost entirely out of food. But everyone beamed fondly at us, delighted that I was clearly devoted to bringing up the next generation of art-lovers, even if they were a little -- er -- bouncy. We ordered our beverages, snagged the last two saran-wrapped day-old croissants, grabbed a window seat, and began a conjectural conversation (inspired by a spherical moss-covered boulder half-buried outside the window) about what it would be like to live on a planet whose southern hemisphere was underground.

By the time we had consumed our little snack and cleared our dirty dishes, we were all feeling a little sticky; in the interests of art conservation we repaired to our respective restrooms to wash up. Emerging from the Ladies Room, we found the two boys down at the end of the hall exploring the musical possibilities of the Education Department's coat rack -- an elegant contraption featuring several dozen gleaming metal hangers spaced at 1.5 inch intervals on a notched crossbar. When you nudged one of the hangers, the movement spread, ebbing and flowing along the line, producing a delightful ripple of chimes that echoed hauntingly in the empty hallway.

It struck us that this was as good a way to while away two hours as anything else the museum was likely to offer, so we stood and watched, mesmerized, until the boys' enthusiasm seemed to wane. Then we took a quick tour through the galleries.

Our favorite piece by far was Cynthia Norton's mini-merry-go-round of frilly red square-dance dresses. "Do you know who would really like this?" I asked, after we had watched the four rippling skirts and petticoats whirling around for a while. The boys replied unhesitatingly, in unison: "Menna."

Then it was time to head back to Gamma Ray Games, open at last. After an extensive discussion with the cheerful guy behind the counter about the relative merits of v. 3.5 and v. 4, Simon selected a used copy of the Dungeon Master's Guide and some player figures, coming in well under his birthday budget. The guy, perhaps noticing Ioan's covetous expression and conspicuous lack of funds, offered to throw in a whole set of brightly colored plastic monster figurines for a dollar, suggesting that Ioan might like to have some of them. We know it's in his interest to hook as many innocent young people as possible on this game any way he can, but we appreciated this generous gesture all the same.

Back at home, I've enjoyed poring over Simon's growing stack of encylopedic volumes and helping him fill in his character sheets. It takes me back to my own D&D days, which mostly took place under a sycamore tree at Chestnut Hill Arts Camp in the summer of 1983, with Ruth & Daniel & Julie and a counselor named David (I think?), who seemed to be able to spin all these rules and charts and rolls of the dice into a magical collaborative adventure that lasted all summer long. Simon hasn't experienced this narrative side of the game yet, but rumor has it there'll be a Junior Game at Full Tilt soon, so he may get his chance.

Meanwhile, we're awash in this whole arcane world of philosophical, cultural, and technical questions. The Lawful - Chaotic continuum intersects the Good - Evil axis -- where do you fall on the resulting grid? Does your Cleric channel the power of the God of Retribution, or the God of the Road? You have 2 skill points left -- do you spend them on 'Diplomacy' or 'Intimidate'? Or maybe something more tangible, like 'Use Rope'? The symbolic overtones are difficult to resist.