The magic of interrupting casters

April 8, 2010 § 3 Comments

Because at one time I played a tank, my healing style is a little unique.  I am hyper aware of what the tank is doing, where she is placing her mobs, and how she is grabbing them together.  I will admit that from time to time I get a little bit critical of the way they choose to pull their mobs but I always keep it to myself.  Nobody needs to have some opinionated shaman telling the tank how to do their job in the middle of a run.  That’s what blogs are for.

Anyway, because I know what goes through the mind of a tank during a pull, I try to do what I can to help them.  Sometimes pulls can get a little bit messy–and quite often this is because of the caster mobs.  Occasionally we’ll come across a pack of five or six mobs, very spread out and most of them are casters.  Even the best of tanks can struggle with packs like this.  No matter how they pull or who they choose to attack first, there’s always at least one caster mob that refuses to budge.  You know the ones I mean–those really annoying casters that don’t ever seem to want to go after the tank?  The one’s that stand defiantly in place, carrying picket signs, locking arms and singing ‘we shall not be moved’?  Yeah, those ones.

With these packs the way I try to help is by gently encouraging those casters to stop tossing glowey balls of death and that it’s totally a good idea to move into melee range and slap the tank around with their fists.  As a shaman, my preferred method of interrupting is [Wind Shear].  I have it bound to one of my mouse clicks so it’s ready to go at a moments notice.  Wind Shear is awesome for three reasons.  1) It interrupt spells. 2) It causes a two second silence. 3) It lowers my threat.  Oh! Four reasons. 4) It’s off the global cool down so it can be used at any time.

Take the 5-mob pull in Pit of Saron right after Krick and Ick.  I wait until the tank charges in (usually going after the big lady in the middle) and gathers up some aggro and then target one of the other caster mobs.  In between tossing around chain heals I will interrupt their casting with a well timed [Wind Shear].  What this does, for those of you not quite with us, is causes said caster to move towards the tank’s melee range.  This makes it a bazillion times easier for said tank to get and keep aggro on the mob.

How am I able to do this you ask?  A combination of situational awareness, clever key bindings, and Healbot.  Because Healbot is set up so that I interact with it via my mouse (by hovering over the targets’ name and clicking), I am free to tab-target the enemies that want to get a piece of the tank like a tween at a Jonas Brother’s concert.  And because I have my key bindings set up so that [Wind Shear] is easily accessible at all times, I can cast it on a moments notice.  True, I may have to temporarily stop healing for a brief moment, but if everyone is above 50% health with no huge incoming damage it makes much more sense to convince the caster that really they want to go after the tank instead of me.  Then, while the tank and his new fan are having some quality time together, I am free to heal, and the dps are free to unload their ‘phat deeps’ without fear of reprisal.

Although that brings me to another point.  I know, because I checked, that many other classes have some sort of spell interrupt.  Granted some are more powerful than others (silences), and some are more useful (stuns), but everyone that has an interrupt is capable of doing it.  I know this is a frustratingly foreign concept for some dps to grasp, but taking the time to stop damaging and toss out an interrupt can actually be more useful than continuing your dps.  If you notice a caster, off by his little lonesome, trying to get the tanks undivided attention the only way they know how (by spewing firey, glowey, balls of death), maybe you could, oh, I don’t know, do something about it?  Yes, you will have to briefly interrupt your rotation.  Yes that means you might dip slightly in the total amount of dps that you are putting out.  But if you bring the caster to the tank with a clever interrupt, you help everyone.

Think of it this way.  Tank charges in, grabs everyone’s attention except that poor caster off by his own.  For whatever reason the tank is unable to get him to move (don’t bother speculating why, just go with me that he can’t).  You start unloading your super-mega-death-kill-maim abilities, steadily climbing the aggro chart.  Suddenly that caster that was so interested in the tank is now interested in you.  And while the tank is able to absorb the 10k hits like a windshield might absorb bugs on the freeway, you are not built that way.  You’re total health may only be 20k and if that caster hits you twice in a row, you’re going to drop like the price of heart shaped chocolate on February 13th.  It behooves you then, to briefly pause and interrupt the caster, so that he starts moving towards the tank.  Even if you aggro him, if he runs past the tank, then the tank will actually be able to pick him up and save you from death.

Because your ‘phat deeps’ don’t count for squat if your dead.

“[Insert clever sign off phrase here]”

~Fizz (and Zula)

A story; addendum.

April 1, 2010 § 1 Comment

So, by request, here is the additional post about the bickering couple on the subway.  To see what I’m referring to go here.

It was around one in the a.m. and I was in no mood to be listening to two people argue.  But I’d be chased out of the last two subway cars, and was just too tired to move again.  So I settled in and tried my best to ignore them.

This was no easy task.

The couple was the stereotypical Long Island/Staten Island New York couple.  They were both well dressed, but in a very trashy, over the top way.  As in, the clothes they were wearing were nice, but it wasn’t well put together.  They looked like they had just come from a night club because they looked tired and haggard, and a little sweaty.  And covered in body glitter.  Holy body glitter batman.

I came in mid way through the argument.  I tried not to listen but seeing as they were yelling, I didn’t really have a choice.  As best as I can put together here’s what was going down.  He was upset because he’d been unable to find this month’s credit card bill, and was pressuring her to tell him if she’d seen it.  She kept denying it but he kept pushing–pushing in that way where it sounded like he totally knew where the bill was, but was waiting to see if she’d fess up.

She didn’t.

Finally, he got fed up and whipped it out–which I thought was weird.  I mean, you brought your credit card bill with you on a night out on the town?  Were you planning on paying the bill during the dance breaks, or did you have this show-down with your lady prepared all along?

Up to this point she basically had not stopped talking.  Even when he was talking she was talking.  And it wasn’t always about the topic he was trying to address.  She just talked and talked and talked.  And she had this terribly shrill, piercing, nasally voice that made me wish I’d stayed back on the car with the old lady and her Gran Corona.  But as soon as he pulled that bill out she went silent.

I wanted to ask him why he hadn’t just pulled that bill out earlier and saved the rest of us from needing to get our hearing checked, but I decided to stay out of it.

She got this look on her face that is a little hard to describe.  At first, it seemed like she was busted, and knew she was busted and was ashamed, but then she got this look like she was really offended at him from busting her and spoiling her ruse, and then she looked angry like she was going to fight back, but then she had no idea what to say.  And all these looks happened pretty much simultaneously.

Before he could say anything like, “What do you have to say for yourself?” or “How do you explain this?” or “Did you really think you could hide this $40,000 charge from me forever?” (note, I don’t know if it was a $40,000 bill, but the way he was acting it sure seemed like it), she was on the defensive.  “I needed new boots for the party!  And then I had to have a dress to match the shoes.  And a purse.  And a necklace.  And matching earings.  You said you wanted me to look nice!  Really this is your fault!”

“My fault? Yeah I wanted you to look nice but I figured you’d wear one of the outfits you already own.  You’ve got three closets full of dresses and shoes and other crap!”

“Yeah but those are all old, I wanted something new.”

“Old? First of all some of those things you’ve never even worn–”

“Look, I shouldn’t have to ask your permission to spend our money on thi–”

“You mean my money.”

This is the point where if this were a’90s sitcom the live studio audience would have gone, “Oooooooo” and laughed awkwardly.

“What?” he said, “You don’t have a job, you don’t bring in any income, how is it ‘our money’?”

“I think a man should provide for his woman.  You should be giving me everything I want.”

This is the point I mentioned in my other post where she tried to get me involved.  She looked right at me and said, “Right? I bet you provide for your woman.”  I didn’t even respond–just went back to my newspaper.  The guy next to me wasn’t so smart.  He casually responded with, “Well, yeah a man should provide for his woman’s needs, but not necessarily her wants.”

Oh no he di’n’t.

I think, if she had been closer, and if her boyfriend/fiance/husband/whatever he wasn’t there to hold her back she would have walked over to that guy and slapped him across his poor, naive face.

She turned her rage and indignation on this poor fool, pretty much accusing him of being a misogynist and probably didn’t have any money to provide for anyone.  He said he was just trying to help.  She told him he was supposed to help her not her significant other.  Poor guy.  As soon as the train pulled in to 14th street he bailed.  I’d be willing to bet that wasn’t the stop he wanted but he got off.  He didn’t even move to another car–I guess he was a little worried she’d find him.

And so the argument continued.  They went on like this for twenty more minutes.  He would bring up a point and she would change the subject.  She would make a point and he would shoot it down.  At some point, I’m not really sure when (as I was trying to ignore them), the arguing stopped.  Against my better judgment I looked up to see why they weren’t yelling at each other anymore.  They were making out.  Like full on, groping, face sucking, heavy petting, back of a ’67 Chevy, high school passion making out.

‘Well,’ I thought to myself, ‘at least they stopped yelling.’

“[Insert clever sign off phrase here]”

~Fizz

A story.

March 31, 2010 § 3 Comments

I couldn’t really think of a clever title for this.  Sorry about that.

Anyway, allow me to tell you a story.

It’s been a long day.  I didn’t sleep well last night, and was up early this morning because for some ungodly reason my neighbor behind me decided to blast mariachi music through his ghetto fabulous outdoor speaker system.  I wasn’t feeling well most of the morning and was unsuccessful at my attempts to nap.  At 3 I had to head out to work, but it was pouring outside.  I then spent 15 unsuccessful minutes trying to find my rain coat.  Following a swim to the subway station, I arrived just in time to miss the train.  The good news I got to spend the next twenty minutes waiting in a station that had created it’s own strange weather system that seemed to be a mix of Siberian Tundra, tepid Everglades, and soggy bread.

When the train finally arrived, it was packed.  Not quite as packed as the Japanese subway system, but still pretty full.  Usually when a train is that packed I try and wait for the next one, but I was already running late, so I girded up my loins and squished on in.

Now I’ve been on packed trains before.  But this…this was a special kind of hell.  This wasn’t a train full of people–this was a hot, humid train full of wet, angry, frustrated New Yorkers.

I have to digress a little to provide context.  First, the winter here in New York this year has been particularly harsh.  We got DUMPED on.  Over 40″ of snow in a week.  But then, in March, the clouds parted, the sun came up, and the winter beast slowly backed back into its cage.  It was so nice out.  It was warm and happy and the birds were singing–I expected Snow White to appear at any minute.  It was so nice.  Up until a few days ago.  Seems the beast of winter wasn’t quite finished tormenting us.  And I tell you what, you tease a New Yorker with something like a warm welcoming spring, and then take it away, you’re poking a bear.

So these people were pissed off.  Not only were the trains running late and the rain making everything smell like wet dog, mother nature was jerking them around pretty hard.

By the way, there is a fundamental law of nature that says a crowded train will always move slower.  Like, painfully slow.  “I may as well have just walked the 120 blocks,” slow.

Luckily the crowd started to thin out and the train started to speed up.  The stench of wet, angry New Yorker didn’t go anywhere but at least I eventually got a seat.

I showed up to work 15 minutes late and really wasn’t happy about it.  I hate being late to work.

It was a long shift.  An eight hour day usually isn’t that hard, but I was already in a bad mood when I got there.  I felt like I was back in high school math class; trying not to watch the clock, and every time I do, it’s only been 60 seconds.  And occasionally the clock appears to be going backwards.

The icing on this cake made of anger and broken wills was that the theater was hotter than the Molten Core in summer time.  It was like a sauna.  And when I say that I mean that the only thing that was missing was a couple of fat, hairy old Italian men setting in the corner discussing how they need to, “handle the new union chief, and send him his ‘retirement check’.”

Eight hours and no dinner break later, I was finally on my way home.  I was relieved that the rain had gone from ‘monsoon’ to ‘light mist’.

Apparently the subway station didn’t get the memo.  Everything was dripping and leaking and oozing what I really hope was just water.

Because it was after midnight I had to deal with the ‘late-night’ subway schedule.  For those wondering, the day schedule is a train every 6-12 minutes.  The night schedule is a train sitting in the station while you try to swipe your metro card only to get “Too fast”, “Please try again” “Swipe again at this turnstile” errors, only to have the train close its doors and pull away when you finally get through the turnstile–and then wait 30-45 minutes for the next train to show up.

So 45 minutes later I was on an uptown number 3 train.  Not to be outdone by the 3 train I took nearly 10 hours earlier, this train had the old, angry, possibly drunk and/or mentally deranged homeless man peeing in the corner and singing the Star Spangled Banner. At the next stop I moved to the next car, which contained a nice looking old lady smoking a giant cigar.  Seriously, it was HUGE.  I wish I’d gotten a picture.  But I didn’t really want to inhale the smog she was emitting so at the next station I moved on to the next car.  I sat down across from a young couple arguing about the rent or car payment or some nonsense.  Since it was nearly 1 am and I was really tired, I decided not to press my luck by moving to yet another car so I just sat there and listened to them bicker.

I would tell you about these two in detail but that story would take up an entire post in and of itself.  So I’ll just sum up by saying they were absolutely stereotypical New Yorkers.  Imagine the Costanza’s from Seinfeld only in their late 20’s and you have a pretty good idea what I’m talking about.  And she wasn’t above getting the people around her involved in the argument to try and help prove her point.  I was smart enough not to fall into that trap, but sadly the guy next to me wasn’t.  Poor guy.  He got off at 14th St, but I don’t think that was his stop…

Aaaaaanyway, around 1:40am the train finally lumbered into the 116th street station.  Of course the mist had returned to monsoon status but at this point I just didn’t care.  I swam home and shook myself off like a wet dog in my entry way.  I took off my shoes, walked into the apartment, dropped my bag, and changed into my pajamas.  I was about ready to plop down on the couch for a lovely evening of relaxing television when I remembered that I still needed to feed the pets and take out the trash.

I put my clothes back on and hauled the garbage bag down to the curb.  I’m guessing that my roommate must be allergic to trash bags, or carrying things down stairs, or something, because I’ve never seen him take out the garbage.  I trudged back up the stairs, dried myself off, changed and fed the pets.

So hopefully now you have a good idea of how annoyed I was at this point.  It had been a long hard day and I was in no mood to put up with anyone’s nonsense.  I laid down on the couch and tried to decide if it would be worth gathering up all the garbage bags I’d taken out and putting them in my roommates room…but I ultimately decided it wouldn’t be worth it.

Just when I was on the brink of going over the edge, I noticed two little ears pop up next to the couch down by my feet.  It seems I’d left the cage open and a certain black and white lagamorph had taken the opportunity to escape.  Normally I would have been annoyed and tried to chase her back into the cage, but I was curious to see what she’d do.

I closed my eyes for a moment, and when I opened them again there was not one, but two rabbits on the couch down by my feet.  I closed my eyes for a second, and when I opened them again, they had moved from my feet to my waist.  I closed my eyes again, and when I opened them I was nose to nose with Samantha, my little black and white dutch rabbit.  Her sister, Kate (a white and gray Netherland Dwarf), was right behind her.  They had a very distinct look on their faces.

“We want raisins.”

“And petting.”

I couldn’t help myself.  I busted up laughing.  It was amazing how these two little bundles of trouble managed to make every bad thing that had happened during the day fade away until it was almost like they never occurred.  It was exceptionally cute because typically my rabbits don’t want to be touched at all, let alone spend time on my lap.  It was just so nice that they seemed to pick up on the fact that I’d had a terrible day, and even though they had an ulterior motive of getting raisins, they came to cheer me up.

They’ve got me trained pretty well though.  Anytime they prance up to me with those cute little eyes, I always give them raisins.  Even if I’m in the middle of a raid.  In fact Samantha jumped on my lap the other day during that ICC run I mentioned in my last post.  And of course, I gave her raisins and petting.

Now if only I can train them to stop eating the carpet…

“[Insert clever sign off phrase here]”

~Fizz

When do you say, “enough”?

March 29, 2010 § 6 Comments

First, a quick 5-man fail PuG story.  Then a 10-man fail PuG discussion.

I’ve been working on my shaman’s DPS set, in case I need to swap roles during a raid for any reason.  Because of that I’ve been queuing as DPS so that I can also get practice as enhancement.  I’m finally feeling the long-queue wait pains that DPS folks have been facing recently.  There were multiple almost-starts along the way, but someone would decline and I’d go back to the top of the queue.After nearly an hour hanging out in the queue I finally zoned in to the Nexus.  There were multiple almost-starts along the way, but someone would decline and I’d go back to the top of the queue.  I was unamused that it was the Nexus, but I sucked it up and stayed. (I hate the Nexus because for some reason, the color scheme makes it hard for me to distinguish the enemies from the environment.)  The group makeup was me (enhancement shaman), a marksmanship hunter, a subtlety rogue, a protection warrior, and a restoration druid.

Right from the start it went badly.  The hunter decided to take it upon himself to pull extra mobs.  The tank called him out on it.  It wasn’t in the most polite way, but he certainly wasn’t being a jerk about it.  He just very clearly and directly told the hunter to stop pulling.  The hunter decided not only to deny that he’d been pulling extra mobs, but that it would be fun to pull even more extra mobs.

When we engaged Grand Magus Telestra the hunter went back out into the hallway and pulled the extra packs of mob back into the group while we were fighting her.  Even though we didn’t wipe, it was really obnoxious.  This of course set the tank off.  The warrior and the hunter spent the rest of the time yelling at each other.  They were still fighting when we got to Anomalus.  The warrior then did one of the strangest things I think I’ve ever seen an angry, retaliating tank do.

As a form of retaliation he engaged Anomalus and proceeded to kite him away from us.  Back down the ramps, across the platforms, and back towards the hallway we’d just come from (where Telestra was).  And I know it was retaliatory because he made a point of telling us, “I’m doing this to annoy the hunter, and because I think it’s funny.”  The warrior got Anomalus a good way away from us and by the time we were able to catch up he’d gathered up additional packs and Anomalus had opened a bunch of Chaotic Rifts and tons of angry mana wraiths were coming through the rifts.

I know that some groups actually do this kiting technique on purpose for the achievement.  But they usually don’t also aggro as many extra mobs as possible, and then laugh about making it hard on the hunter.

The hunter died, followed by the warrior.  But the rogue, druid and I managed to take care of the rest of the mobs (shaman tank ftw!).  The hunter and warrior continued their pissy bitch fest.  Finally I gave up and said, “Look I can’t deal with this anymore.  I know it will be easy to replace me as dps, but I’d rather eat the debuff then put up with this nonsense anymore.”  And I dropped group.  The healer dropped group too.  (It took me a second to get from typing to clicking ‘leave party’ and in that time I saw him drop.)  I’m willing to bet the rogue left as well.  And I doubt that the hunter and the warrior even noticed through all their bickering.  I wouldn’t be surprised if they did their corpse run, got all the way back, pulled the first group, died, and then got mad at the departed healer for letting them die before they realized anyone was missing.

Blurg.

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I brokest-ed it

March 26, 2010 § Leave a comment

So I’ve been progressing through Icecrown Citadel with a nice group of raiders on my shaman. We have the first four bosses on farm, and can get Festergut down usually within the first two times.  Rotgut on the other hand is hitting us like a wall.  Last night we made fantastic progress on him, but I still ended up being incredibly frustrated.  Why?  Because we got him down to 7k health.  That’s right.  Seven. Thousand. Hit points.  That’s basically one crit from a dsp.  Hell, I could get that crit off my flameshock/lavaburst combo.  Of course that would require me to be alive to cast it.

GAH.

It is really nice to actually be seeing end game content.  Hopefully at some point, after we down the Lich King, we can do an about face and head back to Ulduar.  I’ve still never been past the keepers, and would really like to see what lies beyond that big round chamber.

I wish I had something clever or insightful to say.  But I really don’t.  So I’m going to end this before it gets out of hand.

“[Insert clever sign off phrase here]”

~Fizz

By the way…

March 25, 2010 § Leave a comment

I thought I would mention a few things by way of playing ‘catch up’.

First, I have really slacked in reading my wow-blogs.  I opened my reader today and had over 200 entries to catch up on.  But I am going through them, one by one.  So even if I don’t comment on the blogs I usually comment on, rest assured I am reading your stuff.

Second, for all intents and purposes, Thistlefizz is retired.  This is due in large part to certain events that happened back in January, but it’s also related to the fact that I don’t have anyone on the Alliance side to play with anymore.  It’s highly likely that come Cataclysm I’ll bring him back out of retirement, but it may require a server transfer.

Third, I found a new guild, but it’s on the Horde side.  They are awesome.  More about them later.

And finally, because I have effectively benched Thistlefizz, I’m been playing my shaman a lot more.  Like, all the time.  I have plenty to say on this subject as well because I’ve really gotten into the Resto Shaman world.  I would almost go so far as to call Zulaijang my main.  Except for the fact that my heart will always truly reside with Thistlefizz.*  So don’t worry, I’m not going to change the name of this blog to “the cranky old troll”; partly because that just sounds weird and partly because I still hold out hope that eventually I will find another group of people for Thistlefizz to run with.

“[Insert clever sign off phrase here]”

~Fizz

*I actually haven’t been called ‘Fizz’ in quite a while.  Now I spend my time responding to ‘Zula’.  Also, I must admit that in addition to the server transfer, I have been toying with the idea of a temporary faction change for Thistlefizz.  One that would only last until Cataclysm–it would be a great way to rekindle my love of tanking and getting Fizz in to raids.  But then I start to over analyze things and think about the philosophical implications of changing him from a gnome to a tauren.  I don’t think I could really do it.  We’ll see.

Bring your own tools

March 25, 2010 § Leave a comment

A few weeks ago we had ‘spring’ fashion week here in New York City.  I still don’t know why they have ‘spring’ fashion week in the middle of winter, especially when fall fashion week is actually in the fall, but I digress.  As a lighting guy, fashion weeks are my two favorite times of the year because I can usually make quite a bit of money (assuming of course I can get on the right crew).  This year I didn’t work a lot, so I was a little financially disappointed but I still enjoyed the gig nonetheless.

The main reason I enjoyed it was because everyone I worked with was the cream of the crop.  These were electricians that have been working in the industry for many years and really know what they are doing.  Everyone was on top of their game and really understood what they needed to take care of.  Nobody needed their hand held, or needed anything explained to them.  It was such a breath of fresh air to show up to a gig and just be able to get the job done, and get it done right.  So many of the jobs that I work on are staffed by people who don’t know their ass from a teakettle.  It’s not just that they are inexperienced.  In fact, some of them I know are experienced, because I’ve worked with them before.  The problem is they don’t seem to take anything from this experience.  They continue time and again to make the same mistakes.

One thing that drives me absolutely crazy is people who don’t bring their own tools.  Now, I don’t expect people to show up with a tool cabinet fully stocked from Home Depot, but it would be nice if they could at least bring the minimum amount of tools to get the job done.  I always show up with enough tools so that I can be self sufficient 99% of the time, and not have to bother the crew head to borrow their tools all the time.  It just boggles my mind that people who show up to electrics calls come without tools.  At the bare minimum they should bring a crescent wrench.  (Really they should have a c-wrench, multi-tool, flashlight, and gloves.)  In my opinion, unless it is expressly said that the company or theater you are working for are providing the tools you need, it is a sign of disrespect and laziness if you show up without tools.  And honestly, you should still bring your own wrench.

I’m having a hard time expressing how much I hate it when people show up without their own tools.  You’re an electrician.  And unless this is your first time at the rodeo, you know damn well that you need to bring a wrench.  I am so tired of having to loan out my wrench to people.  I really should not have to bring extra wrenches to gigs that I run.  (I only bring extras if I’m in charge.  Otherwise I try not to worry about it/get worked up about it.)  And don’t give me that nonsense about how you can’t afford to buy a wrench.  You know how much a wrench costs at the local hardware store? $10. Tops. And that’s for a really nice, solid, last a long time, wrench.  And you know how much most electricians in New York City make an hour? $18-$25.  So go, work for an hour, and then go out and buy a fucking wrench.  (You know I’m serious because I dropped the f-bomb, and I try not to drop said bomb in my writing.)

It says a lot about you as a person if you show up unprepared.  If I don’t know you, it gives off a terrible first impression.  It shows me that you just don’t care enough to take the time to make sure that you are prepared for the job you need to do.  And I know it’s not always fair, but first impressions are hard to shake.  And if I run into you again on another gig, I will expect less out of you and be able to rely on you less.  Oh and if you show up to the next gig unprepared then I will never want to work with you again.

I’m not completely unsympathetic.  If you show up without a wrench, but give me a good reason why you don’t have one I’m much more inclined to let it slide.  Maybe you broke your wrench on a job you had yesterday, and haven’t had time to go get a new one.  Maybe your grandpa just died and you’re a little preoccupied.  I understand that sometimes things happen.  But you really need to talk to me about it (this is assuming I’m in charge).  If you don’t–if you just show up without a wrench, and don’t  say anything about it, and then expect to borrow a wrench all day, then I won’t be happy about it.  And god help you if you show up day after day without a wrench.  Once is understandable.  Twice is forgivable.  Three times is unacceptable.

Now, how can we apply this to our favorite little pass-time?  How many people do you know that show up to raids unprepared?  How often do you show up without your own ‘tools’; buff food, flasks, scrolls, drums, etc.  I would even say having your gear properly gemmed and enchanted would fall into this same category.  Even if you can’t yet afford the top of the line stuff, you should have *something* to tide you over.  If you are always asking people for flasks, or never contributing your own fish feasts (even if your skill isn’t high enough, you can buy them from the AH), it shows a lack of respect for the people you are raiding with.  Basically you are telling them that you feel that your time and resources are too valuable to be wasted on them.

Stop behaving like this.

Even in the most casual of settings, you should have at least enough respect for your fellow players to show up with the minimum amount of supplies and knowledge to get the job done.  You should at least have some idea of what the fights are like.  Even if all you do is read the wow-wiki article it’s better than nothing.  If you aren’t contributing, then someone else has to pick up your slack.  And it’s just unfair to expect other people to do your job for you.

Bring your own tools. Find out what you need to contribute, and then do it.  Lay down a fish feast every once in a while.  Toss out a ‘scroll of fortitude’ or ‘drums of the wild’ now and again.  Everyone will benefit from this, I promise.

“[Insert clever sign off phrase here]”

~Fizz

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