Upon the Burning of our House

Recently, I read a very interesting article on the Woot.com blog. The inciting incident: because there is some nominal cultural cachet associated with the 'geek' identity, more and more people who wouldn't have claimed it before are doing so now. The message from the author: Cut it out. The sentiment resonates with me in low and sturdy places, and I'm uncomfortable with how much I want to chastise anyone who disagrees.

To begin with, I reject the fundamental idea that geek is cool. It's no more fashionable now than ten years ago to be, say, a person who debates dubs vs. subs in the middle of a Paranoia game on Usenet, all while cosplaying unpopular Star Trek characters in a barely lit basement apartment. It's acceptable to play Call of Duty, watch Battlestar Galactica, or have played D&D in high school. But these are all more things that intersect with nerd culture, if such a thing exists.

Here's the thing: before the modern era of about five years ago, there was not a "nerd culture". Nerds from different spheres often don't get along with each other, or consider others too below them. Consider the classical text, courtesy of the Brunching Shuttlecocks:

Uncomfortable, but true. The Venn diagram of geek is a near-infinite number of spheres, barely intersecting. This loose confederation is united by the accumulated derision of a lifetime of unpopular choices. Some are hardened by it, some are damaged, some take it as a call to rise above, and some barely notice it, but it changes their perceptions. In a world where their pursuits had mainstream acceptance, there wouldn't be a common ground between a Warhammer 40K player and a furry MUD user. Geek culture without rejection isn't a culture.

But is that a bad thing? This is where my argument falls into hesitant hand wringing, because I'm not even a little sure. I can't try to extrapolate who I'd be if geek had been cool when I was small, and the me that would be produced by that experiment would probably have a different outlook anyway. Geek culture would be more like a series of tribes than the current loose alliance bound by a T-shirt-based hanky code. What is the opportunity cost of unpopularity, measured in wedgies?

I know I lack the objectivity necessary to confidently answer to that question. The thought that my culture is being infiltrated by carpetbaggers leaves me queasy. Some actor claims in an interview to be a "huge nerd" because they play Modern Warfare with their friends, and it feels to me like they're wearing some kind of blackface. Our culture, as it is, exists as a shelter against these people, and now they're co-opting it.

The phenomenon fills me with odium, but I don't know if it's a fair response. A lot of hipsters are at the front of this wave, but a decent proportion of them have authentic claims to citizenship in Geek Israel. Maybe it's like gay people coming out of the closet in the 80's and 90's: now that the water's a bit warmer, everyone's willing to take a dip. See, this paragraph is pure rhetoric: I put a positive counterpoint at the end of a series of negative sentiments, trying to make myself appear hopeful. But I'm not. I dislike people taking advantage of the only culture I've ever been able to call my own, and I want them to get the fuck away.

Seriously?

I don't know whether to feel contempt or pity for the bastard who had to write this copy. Mother's Day is a Hallmark holiday devoted to awkwardly celebrating Mom with brunch and a card. There's an Oedipal brazenness to celebrating by jerking it to the older-than-30 women who make up Silicone Valley's refuse. The artiste who had to jam these sentiments together deserves both a slow clap and a hard slap.

The Unfocused Lawlessness

I've learned how to make a damn good burger and fries. I got this cast-iron grill pan, which I heat up on high for a few minutes, then I throw the beef on there. Flip it, press it, and after around eight minutes throw burger and pan into the oven at 500 degrees, going about another five minutes. In the middle of all this, I drop the fries into a pan of canola oil at low heat, wait 'til they reach a "pale blonde" (internet's words, not mine), then take them out and re-fry them under high heat. Boom! Hamburger heaven. Reader, this is an instruction manual for how to find your bliss.


Also, playing the new Mortal Kombat game, which is frustratingly dubbed . . . "Mortal Kombat". By all rights, it should be "The Mortal Kombat" or maybe "Mortal Kombat: Origins", just to save me from having to distinguish it from the original specimen or the series as a whole. Great game, play it, etc. But! Shao Kahn is some bullshit. He's a legacy arcade boss, an archetype made from wasted quarters and crushed dreams. Every hit you land on him does half damage, every move he has is about fifty percent over the normal damage curve. Half his specials are unblockable. You can't grab him. His super move takes away over half your life bar. All things I expect from a fighting game boss, and traits I can forgive, to a certain extent. But in addition to giving his moves crazy priority over yours, he will often flash yellow and ignore your attacks.

Fight-wise, this makes things near-impossible on your end unless you resort to spam techniques. Personally, it is an insult. See, there was always that kid. Whenever I played tag or cops and robbers or whatever gotcha-based game, this kid would devise a novel strategy: he would simply ignore it when he got tagged or shot or slimed, claiming it never happened. I hated that kid. You probably hated that kid. If you were that kid, I bet you hate yourself. Adding that layer of uncertainty to the outcome of a game destabilizes it. If the rules stop applying at random points, eventually it stops being a game, and everyone goes home. Shao Kahn is that little "nuh-uuuuh" shithead, and he makes me want to stop playing his damn game.

Part of me just wants to shake Ed Boon and say "THIS IS WHY MIDWAY DIED". The Mortal Kombat is a game that trades heavily on arcade nostalgia, but its greatest asset is the long, involved single-player story mode, an approach unheard of when MK cabinets still roamed the earth hungry for quarters. The unreasonable final boss helped arcade operators make quotas, but it serves no function in a post-Diversions world.