Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Celluloid Lolitas and Dungeons and Dragons

For all those movie buffs out there who can't admit their secret fantasies about their neighbor's teenage daughter, check out my last feature as Movies.com's Movie Sexpert, 8 Great Little Tramps. There are so many underage temptresses not mentioned--Tuesday Weld in Pretty Poison, Kirsten Dunst in Interview with a Vampire, Uma Thurman in Dangerous Liaisons, Lindsay Lohan in Herbie Fully Loaded...the list goes on and on. But, of course, 8 Great is about great films, preferably one that we have lolita pictures for to put on the website. Next: 8 Great Stripteases.

Lest my audience and my mother think that I emulated these adolescent sex kittens, I must state that I had very little in common with those hot young things. I was no sunglass-wearing, lip-gloss pouting, bikini-modeling, boy-manipulating Lolita. My glasses were prescription--and big. I wore a training bra. And my only non-bullying contact with boys was when we played Dungeons and Dragons. That should tell you something about my social life; it can't be good if it revolved around 20-sided dice.

The number of girls who played Dungeons and Dragons (D&D) seriously in its heyday--the 80's-- is very small. I know this because every time I admit how fanatical I was, I get the same bored question: "Isn't that something boys did?" Yes, it certainly was. But that had nothing to do with my interest. I was a hardcore sci-fi/fantasy geek, and well before I discovered Tolkein or Poul Anderson or Elquest, I discovered Dungeons and Dragons. I was at a party at my parents' friend's house--I can't remember the night, because our families always got together on the weekends--but I remember opening up the 1st edition Dungeons and Dragons Guide and being amazed. Everything I would later love in Lord of the Rings, in the Arthurian tales, in Egyptology and mythology, told to me by the Grimms or Chaucer or Wagner seemed to be laid out in clearly analytical form. Role the dice, find out who you are, where you are, if you've succeeded. The fact that there was magic, and unicorns and elves, and lots and lots of storytelling only sealed the deal; I was hooked from the first roll of the hit dice.

It didn't occur to me that this was a "boy thing" until a few games in. For those of you who had lives, a game involved a Dungeon Master (or DM generally a control-happy type, detail oriented, story-telling type) and a bunch of Player Characters (PC's) with varying careers: cleric, magic-user, fighter, etc. The dice is rolled to see give them character traits (strength, wisdom, charisma--my favorite) They buy weapons, usually motivated by the coolness and deadliness factor. No one buys things like clothing or shoes or water, even though you're supposed to. They choose their spells, usually motivated by what would be really cool to impress their friends in real life. The DM opens the Dungeon Master's Guide, which holds the secrets of their adventure. The dice are laid out: 4-,6-, 8- 10- 20- sided dice. A collective breath is taken, as one PC takes the dice. And, the excitment begins--

Okay, he rolls the dice. Repeatedly. The DM throws monsters at the party of players ("Look out! It's a half-orc!") and the players kill it in ridiculous ways. ("I cast my spell on my lantern to set it on fire and throw it at the offending orc!). By rolling the dice. Repeatedly. If the orc dies, usually when the DM loses patience, or has found another really cool monster from the Monster Manual to throw at the party. And the adventure continues.

This sort of thing can go on for hours and hours, which may seem a trifle odd to some of you out there, it was absolutely fascinating to me. It allowed me to be part of the stories I found so interesting, to submerge into a fantasy life where adolescence didn't exist. This is precisely the thing my parents found so alarming, especially after they heard on 60/60 that Some Kid in Some Midwestern State killed himself because his player character got killed. They refused to buy me the books, but their resistance just made me want to play more. Ah, rebellion.

No, the real problem was that it was a boy thing, and something must be said about the rampant sexism that ran through the D&D population. If other girls played, they didn't want to play with the *real* game--rolling the dice, taking your turn, fighting the demons. They wanted to peruse the books and figure out if they'd rather date a paladin or a ranger, and whether they'd look pretty in the magic Cloak of Feathers. If you wanted to play a real role-playing adventure, you played with the boys.

And while that might sound sexy and fun, the truth was that it's no fun entering a boy's world. They got rambunctious and crazy when they fought dragons, and argumentative when they started incurring injuries. Sometimes the whole night devolved into bouts of arguing and truculence, with the DM throwing nasty creatures at uncooperative PC's. And the worst, as I said, was the sexism--let me say it out loud: I never got the cool magic weapons. I never got to tame the gold dragons. I never got to be a lycanthrope (werewolf) player character. Ah, I felt the discrimination clearly, as I was always in the back of the group, waiting to cast my spells, while all the fighters and thieves argued about how saving throws were allowed against the undead monsters. Sure, they wanted me around if I was a cleric and could heal their wounds, but when it was my turn to face exotic monster, a troglodyte, a kobold, a doppleganger? By the time everything calmed down, the monster would be dispatched and with a swift blow of a two-sided sword and the treasure divided.

I got the copper pieces. Sometimes silver.

Did they want me there? I don't think, at that age, it mattered. But it taught me a useful lessons--when you go where the boys are, don't expect to see them behave like gentlemen. This is why, when friends tell me their schemes to meet men--learning golf, or going to sports bars or working at the New York Stock Exchange or moving to Alaska--I can only shake my head. Anyone who has tried this will realize, very quickly, that a mob of fanatical men, whether British soccer hooligans, Indian adolescent nerds, yuppie stockbrokers--get together, you'd better shout awfully loud to be heard over them. And even then, it doesn't always work out right.

Once, I complained. "Fine," the cold-hearted DM said. "You can face the next monster." Was it his fault that the next monster was the 7-headed Tiamat, the Chromatic King of the Dragons? Actually, well, yes it was. As my poor half-elf cleric perished in a haze of noxious gas, I pondered the irony.

No, it was better to secretly collect the books as they tired of them, discovering video games and post-adolescent aggression instead. I prided myself in collecting the oddball books--the Deities and Demigods, a friendly helping of the world's mythologies (basically gods with overwhelming powers who grind games to a halt), or The Oriental AD&D Handbook, and equally friendly helping of all Asian history and myth (become a Wu Jen! kill with a Katana! kick ass with Tae Kwon Do! learn flower arranging!). And of course--the Dungeon Master's Guides, a pandora's box of fantasy, mythology and obsessive compulsive detailing. These books sit in a corner of my room, gathering dust, except for those rare times, usually late at night, when I pull them out and look through them, reading my offhand notes, marveling at every minute detail (wind speed when flying, types of mental afflictions, the dozen or so elvish races). Fascinating, unecessary, painstakingly detailed instructions to created your own universe.

Was it a waste of time? I don't think so. I look at the lolitas--celluloid and otherwise--and think of how much they missed. That awkward adolescenct games of Dungeons and Dragons allowed me to hang out comfortably with the boys before sexual blossoming made that impossible. It taught me a lot about storytelling, about imagination, and about the fact that there were others like me....E.T. phone home and all that. If I had rushed into sexuality right out of elementary school--or during, according to those strange Bratz cartoons--then I would probably see men in the way that women's magazine's encourage: strange alien creatures, dogs meant to be tamed, sexual objects, poor things. As ridiculous as the boys could get--competitive, aggressive and magic-weapon-grabbing--I saw them as friends, and still do.

So I appeal to my fellow AD&D expert Stephen Colbert (yes, lawful good paladin is redundant) to bring back the time-honored tradition of old-school TSR role-playing: the maps, the dice, the miniature figurines. Throw in a few bottles of Stoly, a hookah and some mood music, and the adventures can begin again.

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