The El took me down to Belmont and Clark, a border zone in which an uneasy truce exists between hipsters, the homeless, queer folks, and yuppies. I had to leave my house. A copy of Alicia E. Goranson's Supervillainz came in the mail from Amazon today, and I needed a good reading spot for it; therefore, a ride on the Red Line.
But that was also pretext. I spent today avoiding a prescheduled meeting with my cousin. He's living here in Chicago now, having fled the open-air prison that is Iowa. He borrowed a game from me and, while I'd like it back, I just don't want to see him. I'm convinced that we'd exhaust our subjects of conversation in 5 minutes, after which there would be the awkward 5 minutes of attempted small talk, followed by a third 5 minute period during which I'd muster up the courage to give a lame pretext for leaving. So I just stood him up.
I feel bad about that, but not bad enough to actually get in contact with him. I can't think of a good excuse, and I lack the appropriate gall to give him my actual reason. It's the same way I fall out of contact with most friends: we set up play-dates, I cancel and give a lame excuse, repeat until communication peters out. Surprisingly effective.
I don't know what to say. I have a long mental list of topics to write about, but I can only commit a single full thought to page before I'm spent.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Sterile Paradise
I've decided to hate my body.
Mostly as a pragmatic choice. I'm way fat. Not, like, "I feel so fat today." At 5'10", tipping the scales at 320 lbs., my ass is big enough to have its own LaGrange points. Where before I accepted my body, if grudgingly, I am now declaring total war. Really, mostly it's the trans thing: it's hard for those with a male phenotype to fit into most women's clothing, but once you get into the 4X territory, the sales clerk just hands you a tarp, some scissors, and a bit of velcro. I shop at Torrid when not thrifting, but they charge boutique prices for department store clothes.
Combine sartorial difficulties with the swarm of body issues that come with being a transwoman, and my odium strategy makes a certain kind of sense. While the object of my scorn is quite corporeal, the hatred part is a bit of an abstraction. I don't hate myself, I hate my body. Now, I have an enemy to work against, a narrative instead of a tally. I guess I'll see how it works.
Mostly as a pragmatic choice. I'm way fat. Not, like, "I feel so fat today." At 5'10", tipping the scales at 320 lbs., my ass is big enough to have its own LaGrange points. Where before I accepted my body, if grudgingly, I am now declaring total war. Really, mostly it's the trans thing: it's hard for those with a male phenotype to fit into most women's clothing, but once you get into the 4X territory, the sales clerk just hands you a tarp, some scissors, and a bit of velcro. I shop at Torrid when not thrifting, but they charge boutique prices for department store clothes.
Combine sartorial difficulties with the swarm of body issues that come with being a transwoman, and my odium strategy makes a certain kind of sense. While the object of my scorn is quite corporeal, the hatred part is a bit of an abstraction. I don't hate myself, I hate my body. Now, I have an enemy to work against, a narrative instead of a tally. I guess I'll see how it works.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
The Power of Gold
I've been itching to hit Penny Arcade Expo next year. I went there in 2007, and it was a fine adventure; the sense of community made me feel warm and snuggly. Finding a space for people who share my identity is important enough for it to be a recurring theme here. The city of Seattle has a hold on me. It's beautiful, the weather's just right for this Chicago girl, and it reminds me of Canada. If I could find a Tim Horton's, I'd be forced to join the many homeless living on its clean, poorly-lit streets.
Serendipity, then, that I found out about the Gender Odyssey Conference, located in the same city, happening in the same convention center, occurring over the same 3 days. Splendor! What a coup, should I be able to fit both into a weekend. The perfect fit for the weird mish-mash of personal transgender diary and vague videogame rant that this has become.
Now, the trick is to secure the funds for transportation and lodging. Maybe I'll stay in a hostel this time!
Serendipity, then, that I found out about the Gender Odyssey Conference, located in the same city, happening in the same convention center, occurring over the same 3 days. Splendor! What a coup, should I be able to fit both into a weekend. The perfect fit for the weird mish-mash of personal transgender diary and vague videogame rant that this has become.
Now, the trick is to secure the funds for transportation and lodging. Maybe I'll stay in a hostel this time!
Monday, September 15, 2008
Tender Rondo
I was fast-forwarding through an interview with Peter Molyneux when I heard him say something that I had to chew for a while. I'm not going to go back and quote him (there's a reason I was skipping it,) but it was to the effect of "I don't want to give [the antagonist] any clear motivation because I want the player to wonder why he's doing [all this shit.]"
So, part of me wanted to rail against this viewpoint for being regressive. Most games in the late 80's/early 90's had an unexplained antagonist who only existed to give you a kickin' final boss to waste quarters/hours on. But then I thought about the game I'm playing right now (still Tales of Vesperia, wow is that game long.) The villain wants to wield ultimate power so he can bring happiness to the world, even if it means hurting countless people in the process. I don't give a damn about the conflict, because it is a Xerox of an archetype.
I think that a well-motivated, unique antagonist is an agreed-upon ideal. Which means I don't care if you disagree, for the sake of my point. I find myself asking, is it better to have a villain that is a blank slate, or an outline, made to quickly and unerringly be recognized? I feel like my writing is slanting towards Mr. Molyneux's bent, but I'm honestly not sure. Does it change depending on the type of game? Do people who play bullet hell shooters really care if their villains have a reason to exist? Does it matter more in RPGs or adventure games? Or is it simply a function of the player and her preferences?
So, part of me wanted to rail against this viewpoint for being regressive. Most games in the late 80's/early 90's had an unexplained antagonist who only existed to give you a kickin' final boss to waste quarters/hours on. But then I thought about the game I'm playing right now (still Tales of Vesperia, wow is that game long.) The villain wants to wield ultimate power so he can bring happiness to the world, even if it means hurting countless people in the process. I don't give a damn about the conflict, because it is a Xerox of an archetype.
I think that a well-motivated, unique antagonist is an agreed-upon ideal. Which means I don't care if you disagree, for the sake of my point. I find myself asking, is it better to have a villain that is a blank slate, or an outline, made to quickly and unerringly be recognized? I feel like my writing is slanting towards Mr. Molyneux's bent, but I'm honestly not sure. Does it change depending on the type of game? Do people who play bullet hell shooters really care if their villains have a reason to exist? Does it matter more in RPGs or adventure games? Or is it simply a function of the player and her preferences?
Friday, September 12, 2008
Discontinuity
I just walked a good five miles or so in the rain. I was out of sorts at the beginning, trying to get away. It always amazes me how inspired I feel by the landscape of Chicago's residential streets. The part of my brain that perceives beauty feels fully stimulated when I take a post-midnight walk through an unfamiliar area. I'll stare through a window and construct a life for the person who lives inside. I want to put that into words.
Anyway, I was in a funk. I'd seen a video of this girl, now doing porn. She's 19. Those earlier feelings of inadequacy, they were there a little bit, but what got to me and really got me down was seeing her vulnerability, tinged with that awkward optimism endemic to teenagers. I've seen all of these pictures of her just doing things, hanging out with her friends, and sort of being young, and now I see her doing porn.
To see what I perceived as innocence ruined in a very public way freaked me out. Which isn't fair, because I'm pro-porn and I'm judging the hell out of the whole affair: her, for throwing away her modesty, and the pornsmiths for taking advantage of her. Both of which are bullshit. If someone offered me decent money to do porn, I'd do it in a heartbeat, and it wouldn't be exploitation. Would it? I don't know. I don't think so, but I don't know.
I guess a lot of it is seeing the arc of a transperson from before transition, to after, to porn. It bums me out. I can't bear to look for a job as myself, and here's more validation that sex work is the most viable career for a tranny. This girl kind of formed the standard against which I measure myself, for better or worse, and the comparison depresses me for reasons I can't fully talk out. I want to make progress in my life, so if, god forbid, some guy or girl out there uses me as a yardstick, I'll point them in a positive direction.
I want to keep writing. I want to make money from writing, because I can't think of anything else I can do. I want people to read this, or whatever it becomes.
I'm going to start an experiment: if you read this sentence, go down to the bottom of the post, click my name, and send me an email. Tell me something, anything you want, about your world.
Anyway, I was in a funk. I'd seen a video of this girl, now doing porn. She's 19. Those earlier feelings of inadequacy, they were there a little bit, but what got to me and really got me down was seeing her vulnerability, tinged with that awkward optimism endemic to teenagers. I've seen all of these pictures of her just doing things, hanging out with her friends, and sort of being young, and now I see her doing porn.
To see what I perceived as innocence ruined in a very public way freaked me out. Which isn't fair, because I'm pro-porn and I'm judging the hell out of the whole affair: her, for throwing away her modesty, and the pornsmiths for taking advantage of her. Both of which are bullshit. If someone offered me decent money to do porn, I'd do it in a heartbeat, and it wouldn't be exploitation. Would it? I don't know. I don't think so, but I don't know.
I guess a lot of it is seeing the arc of a transperson from before transition, to after, to porn. It bums me out. I can't bear to look for a job as myself, and here's more validation that sex work is the most viable career for a tranny. This girl kind of formed the standard against which I measure myself, for better or worse, and the comparison depresses me for reasons I can't fully talk out. I want to make progress in my life, so if, god forbid, some guy or girl out there uses me as a yardstick, I'll point them in a positive direction.
I want to keep writing. I want to make money from writing, because I can't think of anything else I can do. I want people to read this, or whatever it becomes.
I'm going to start an experiment: if you read this sentence, go down to the bottom of the post, click my name, and send me an email. Tell me something, anything you want, about your world.
Saturday, September 06, 2008
Brick Road
I'm ass-end of an odd staycation right now. My basic aim was to sit and play video games the entire time, but I don't think I was able to really enjoy it. First, I spent a good chunk of it with Mercenaries 2, a game with toxic properties. But after it was out of my home (if not my conflicted psyche,) I still lacked the ability to fully enjoy the fruits of my sloth. The bit of Calvinist guilt I get from my father, compounded by the knowledge that I'm not really doing anything with my life, has slowed my roll.
I come back here to write because it feels like I'm accomplishing something, even if I know I'll never show this blog to anyone I know or make any money from it. My sister's the only person with any success in my immediate family, and she writes, so I'm at least somewhat doing this because I want to be like her. From the other side, I ... can't communicate as well face-to-face as I can through text. Even if I'm functionally writing to no one here, I can more accurately relay my feelings to the void. I'm spending a lot more time in IRC, as a result of this. I don't believe that real companionship develop between people over the internet, so I don't necessarily know what I use it for.
Sleep fails me. I'm going to go play more Tales of Vesperia. I want review more games, just to stretch those muscles, but I can't do this one. I have no distance whatsoever.
I come back here to write because it feels like I'm accomplishing something, even if I know I'll never show this blog to anyone I know or make any money from it. My sister's the only person with any success in my immediate family, and she writes, so I'm at least somewhat doing this because I want to be like her. From the other side, I ... can't communicate as well face-to-face as I can through text. Even if I'm functionally writing to no one here, I can more accurately relay my feelings to the void. I'm spending a lot more time in IRC, as a result of this. I don't believe that real companionship develop between people over the internet, so I don't necessarily know what I use it for.
Sleep fails me. I'm going to go play more Tales of Vesperia. I want review more games, just to stretch those muscles, but I can't do this one. I have no distance whatsoever.
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Mercenaries 2: World in Flames is the sort of game that drives miserable people to do desperate things.
I rented it, played it for three days, then returned it, unfinished, before it was due. I did this because it ruined my self-esteem. In the realm of abusive relationships, Mercenaries 2 is the one where the other person professes his unending love, but doesn't want to be seen in public with you. This is a game that will sometimes reward you and more often subtly undermine your belief that you have a right to exist.
Beyond my hyperbole, it's a third-person shooter, like its progenitor (2005's Mercenaries: Playground of Destruction.) It's in a sandbox, much closer to Crackdown than the GTA series. You do missions for different factions, managing their moods toward you by doing jobs for them and not blowing their shit up. You get little side missions where you capture guys and blow up buildings, the latter being made way easier by to the fact that you can call in airstrikes and watch buildings and structures shatter with impressive graphical flourish.
Before I explain why this game resembles an uneven middle school romance, I've got to come clean about my baggage. I loved Mercenaries 1. Super loved it. My relationship to Mercenaries 2 is that of a widower with his second wife: I make her wear her predecessor's jewelry, style her hair the same, and generally spend the bulk of the marriage pining for a lost love. The viability of True Objectivity is part of an interesting discussion that I will do nothing to further here, because Mercenaries 2 has hurt me in a far too personal way.
The thing is, I was willing to give Mercs 2 a pass if it had just been a good-lookin' expansion pack for Mercs 1. But no. Mercs 2 is buggy and uneven. It's a rough-cut piece of lumber, unsanded and splintery, that your host expects you to sit on bare-assed. I played the 360 version, and had issues with:
Mercenaries 2 feels unoriginal, even for a sequel. Specifically, this game is Just Cause. Just Cause is a ... fuck it, Just Cause is this. And Mercenaries 2 wants to be Just Cause so bad. It has the same grapple gun, used to hitch a ride on enemy helicopters. They're both set in the same generic South American countryside, populated by citizens who speak poorly-accented English (Mercenaries is technically set in Venezuela, but the only difference I could find was that Just Cause had more water.) It even has the same first couple missions: bust this guy out of jail. Now drive this truck full of weapons somewhere while being pursued! Be careful, don't get hit too much, or your cargo will fly out and you'll get paid less!
I'm not ragging on Mercs 2 for being derivative, but for being derivative of Just Cause, a game that was not good. Not bad, just not good.
For some reason, you need to pre-buy your airstrikes in Mercs 2, whereas you could use them indefinitely (cash permitting) in Mercs 1. It's a solution to a problem that didn't exist, and can leave you in a situation without the airstrikes or item drops to solve the problem at hand. To add challenge when hijacking bigger vehicles (tanks, APCs, helicopters,) you're required to complete a little button pressing minigame every time you dismount the driver. Which would be okay, but the buttons are always the same for each vehicle type, making it more a matter of memorization than skill. In addition, it makes what used to be a seven second interlude in the mayhem now take upwards of twenty seconds.
I really want to go on. There are a lot of little things that irk me about this damn game, but it really doesn't deserve my vitriol. While it was limited, I did have fun playing Mercenaries 2. The core gameplay of blowing shit up remains enjoyable here, if muddled. Buy Mercenaries: Playground of Destruction. Y'know, the first one. It's a fantastic, well-crafted game, and you can get if for ~$12 used. Mercs 2 is a rental at best, and you may find yourself breaking up with it before the return date, just as I did.
My Judgement: Prodigal Son
I rented it, played it for three days, then returned it, unfinished, before it was due. I did this because it ruined my self-esteem. In the realm of abusive relationships, Mercenaries 2 is the one where the other person professes his unending love, but doesn't want to be seen in public with you. This is a game that will sometimes reward you and more often subtly undermine your belief that you have a right to exist.
Beyond my hyperbole, it's a third-person shooter, like its progenitor (2005's Mercenaries: Playground of Destruction.) It's in a sandbox, much closer to Crackdown than the GTA series. You do missions for different factions, managing their moods toward you by doing jobs for them and not blowing their shit up. You get little side missions where you capture guys and blow up buildings, the latter being made way easier by to the fact that you can call in airstrikes and watch buildings and structures shatter with impressive graphical flourish.
Before I explain why this game resembles an uneven middle school romance, I've got to come clean about my baggage. I loved Mercenaries 1. Super loved it. My relationship to Mercenaries 2 is that of a widower with his second wife: I make her wear her predecessor's jewelry, style her hair the same, and generally spend the bulk of the marriage pining for a lost love. The viability of True Objectivity is part of an interesting discussion that I will do nothing to further here, because Mercenaries 2 has hurt me in a far too personal way.
The thing is, I was willing to give Mercs 2 a pass if it had just been a good-lookin' expansion pack for Mercs 1. But no. Mercs 2 is buggy and uneven. It's a rough-cut piece of lumber, unsanded and splintery, that your host expects you to sit on bare-assed. I played the 360 version, and had issues with:
- Achievements being locked after I'd fulfilled their conditions
- Missions failing abruptly for unclear reasons
- Getting stuck in invincible bushes of death
- Having my support operative tell me, every five minutes, well beyond the point where a deaf 5-year-old would've gotten the hint, that I could go back to home base to find out what to do next
- The worst AI
Mercenaries 2 feels unoriginal, even for a sequel. Specifically, this game is Just Cause. Just Cause is a ... fuck it, Just Cause is this. And Mercenaries 2 wants to be Just Cause so bad. It has the same grapple gun, used to hitch a ride on enemy helicopters. They're both set in the same generic South American countryside, populated by citizens who speak poorly-accented English (Mercenaries is technically set in Venezuela, but the only difference I could find was that Just Cause had more water.) It even has the same first couple missions: bust this guy out of jail. Now drive this truck full of weapons somewhere while being pursued! Be careful, don't get hit too much, or your cargo will fly out and you'll get paid less!
I'm not ragging on Mercs 2 for being derivative, but for being derivative of Just Cause, a game that was not good. Not bad, just not good.
For some reason, you need to pre-buy your airstrikes in Mercs 2, whereas you could use them indefinitely (cash permitting) in Mercs 1. It's a solution to a problem that didn't exist, and can leave you in a situation without the airstrikes or item drops to solve the problem at hand. To add challenge when hijacking bigger vehicles (tanks, APCs, helicopters,) you're required to complete a little button pressing minigame every time you dismount the driver. Which would be okay, but the buttons are always the same for each vehicle type, making it more a matter of memorization than skill. In addition, it makes what used to be a seven second interlude in the mayhem now take upwards of twenty seconds.
I really want to go on. There are a lot of little things that irk me about this damn game, but it really doesn't deserve my vitriol. While it was limited, I did have fun playing Mercenaries 2. The core gameplay of blowing shit up remains enjoyable here, if muddled. Buy Mercenaries: Playground of Destruction. Y'know, the first one. It's a fantastic, well-crafted game, and you can get if for ~$12 used. Mercs 2 is a rental at best, and you may find yourself breaking up with it before the return date, just as I did.
My Judgement: Prodigal Son
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