On the road with Rubberneck Ruby...
The adventures of Rubberneck Ruby have begun! Can you continue her tales of adventure? We invite you to write the next installment and send them in to Gill at Rubberneck Games. The one we like best will become the next chapter and will win one copy of each of the two 'On the Road...' games. See Page 3 of the journal for all the details. If you would like to be notified when the next installment comes out, please subscribe on page 3.
ARLOSSOH
On the lower slopes of the Himalayas, on the Indian-Chinese border, there is a range of hills called the Missmi Hills. They are home to the Missmi people and the Missmi people are a people who love to party. Hundreds of people make long, arduous journeys to get to Missmi parties, and the feasting, dancing and merrymaking can last for several days. When the party is finally over the host finds himself richer in status but materially poorer, whereas the Missmi language has only gained. Besides the new expletives and terms of endearment that have been coined during the festivities, the end of these occasions have given birth to the word 'arlossoh'. Arlossoh describes the feeling of melancholy you get at the end of a social gathering when everybody else disperses, leaving you all alone.
I don't know if the Missmi language or any other language has extended its vocabulary of loneliness enough to have a word for the feeling you get when you arrive jetlagged at Toronto
Airport at 3 o'clock in the morning, and watch all your fellow passengers whisked off by their loved ones leaving you with just a few cold, hard chairs and a surly cleaner for company. I'm pretty sure there isn't a word in any language that captures the 
feeling you get when, after completing your airport vigil, you make your way to the coach station, revive yourself with a stale muffin and climb aboard a Greyhound bus for thirty-six hours and more. Then, a thousand miles and a few Dr Peppers and Pop Tarts later, when you finally reach your far-flung Canadian destination (in this case, Antigonish in Nova Scotia) 
you call the man you've come all this way to see and he doesn't answer, and he continues not to answer for the next three hours. And then just as it's getting dark, the coach station guy says, 'Sorry, you'll have to leave. I'm closing up.' That was the situation I found myself in a few hours ago. I don't know what word best describes it, but I do know it didn't feel good.
