Digitally Incorrect A stream of consciousness can become a raging river.

Hey guys,

As some of you on Facebook and twitter know, my laptop died.  I don’t have any other compies, just my phone. My ability to save, is minimal at best.  So as much as I loathe to do this, I’m putting up my Paypal, and any donations are welcome, and greatly
appreciated.  I honestly don’t expect to get any, so don’t worry if you don’t.

Paypal:  just_different526@hotmail.com

So yes,  not one, but two topics today!  The kickstarting program by Doublefine and some conversations on twitter have led to a blog post of doom and sadness upon this topic.  The other is the uncanny valley, and just some small thoughts there I shared on someone else’s blog post.  Many inspired topics today, and by many, we of course mean 2. (Now quick, on to one of them before we start questioning why we are talking to ourselves in multiples!)

Kickstarting the Kickstarter Idea.

So Doublefine (the delicious creators of Psychonauts)  announced shortly after a pretty big publicity stunt (namely Notch of Mojang/Minecraft announcing potential funding of Psychonauts 2) a kickstarter program of $500,000 to fund an adventure game.  It has raised well over $1 million at the time of this post, and still has a month left.

This has of course started it’s own buzz.  Could community driven games work?  What do budgets look like?  How -could- this be used?  Will big companies notice this, etc. . . . .And sadly I think my opinion has to sit with that this is not a viable strategy to fund games, and not one many companies should look into.  One of the biggest issues is that for game development, the amount required is pretty staggering, and requires a certain amount of name recognition.  It can certainly be used for labor of love projects from people that just aren’t allowed to make their games (I really think Doublefine fall into this category) or to perhaps extend development time for already existing games, particularly for certain features.  To fluff the budget so to say.

I’ve kind of hovered around Kickstarter since I helped Allison from Extra Creditz on there, and I’ve seen a few game making ones go up, with nothing to show for it.  I hate to think that some innocent people got burned.  One person pointed out a self published author who did so via community driven, but publishing an already existing product is much cheaper than creating, perhaps publishing, then perhaps distributing a product.  Particularly when your product could potentially -require- so many specialized people.

I’m not one to be a naysayer to new methods, but this one just in the end I can’t see sustaining itself, particularly when people realize they pay to develop a game, that they then have to purchase.  They’d have to adore the game, or the developer.

What I do see more of and that I think is a great way to fund new games is the alpha model.  Sell it in alpha state, show people the potential of what your game -can- be.  Perhaps do some donations or community driven funding on the side, but when people have a tangible product that’s worth investing in, they will.  It certainly attributed to the success of Minecraft, and while it requires some initial money, loans, etc. . . at least the consumers have faith that you -can- and -want- to make this game.

All in all it’s very interesting, and I do hope some games that couldn’t be made any other way (particularly games that could never get greenlit, like Six Days of Fallujah) could make it this way.  Ones that are too controversial, or too niche to get any funding.  That’s the kind of game that needs to be looking at kickstarters.  Or adding something you know the community wants to your game, particularly in a market where modding is slowly dying out.

Heart of the Uncanny Valley Problem.

It’s odd where thoughts come from, isn’t it?  My friend who owns this odd and velvet cafe where they serve movie posts instead of food did a post that I’ll link right here  about how some missing details in movies can break immersion, cause stress, or take away from important parts of the movie.  When I commented on it, the words seemed to flow and this was my response:

I shall attempt to give my two cents, because this is the internet and throwing two completely untrained and unqualified cents is every person’s bandwidth given right, consequences be damned!

Annnnyyyyway, now that I have slightly more or less sanity again.

I actually think this little bit of stuff can apply to a topic I’ve seen hotspotting a lot of video game forums lately: the uncanny valley. If you don’t know the uncanny valley problem, here is an excellent video on it: http://penny-arcade.com/patv/episode/the-uncanny-valley but the watered down version is that there’s an interesting point where adding human characteristics to something and it getting ‘close’ makes it more uncomfortable than anything until it gets past that awkwardness. It started with robots, and has hit games pretty hard with their psuedo realistic responses.

While obviously the people in movies are generally real people, but when scenes are really just unbelievable and there isn’t enough to get immersed in the fantasy, the issues are glaring. Small required details for the scene to ‘work’ can break immersion.

Nailing down what is needed to keep immersion I think is a science most media is hitting, and one that too many aren’t throwing enough people at. Or perhaps they are and it takes a while to show? Too many details and you lose people due to boredom or unnecessarily fluff and raise expenses of having to add all ofi t. Not enough and you lose enjoyment.

Perhaps if all mediums were to throw people at these problems, we could tackle all sorts of different aspects of it, and a smart person could compile it, thoughts, words (literature), what scenes and what -in- scenes are most important (cinema), what reactions (video games), feelings (all), looks (art!), movements (dance), etc. . . make for a truly ‘human’ experience.

And perhaps once we can create a believable human experience, we can finally nail down that philosophical question, what does it mean to be human?

And I still stick by that, I think many mediums have an issue with the core problem of the uncanny valley, that we don’t know what it really means to be human and that we’re not even perfect at emulating the human experience in smaller chunks. Filtering out those little inconsistencies in fiction that keep us from quite falling into the worlds or scenarios drawn for us, particularly when it’s realistic.  I also think of more mediums threw money and heads at his, all media and artistic mediums would benefit from it.

Just a small thought that I thought was interesting enough to share here.  In other news, darn you Pcull, I have been putting -potamus at the end of everything now.

Staying completely incorrectopotamus,
Hollypotamus.

It’s been a very strange and long road, the last 100 posts.  I’m honestly not even sure why people read this, but I’m glad they do.  The entire point of this blog was to put my thoughts, opinions, and hopefully unique perspective out into the world, and let people that enjoyed them or found them interesting enjoy them.  It also became at least to me, a bit of a harbor, a place where I could be more myself than anywhere else, not because I wasn’t being myself, but because when you control the content, it’s easier to put out things that suit -you.-

I really wanted to do something special for 100 posts, but so much of the big, special things in my life have happened recently, and I already wrote about them.   The day the internet went dark, me coming out online, etc. . . .  I write frequently about the people that continue to impress and inspire me, and I probably won’t stop fangirling/crushing about them any time soon.  I can now wake up in the morning and be proud of who I am, and sit down here to write without feeling like a hypocrite for bending rules when talking about honesty and integrity.  I have a very sweet girl interested in me, though I’m not one to talk long and hard about that, so no post there.

For the first time in my life, I feel like I really belong, and it’s here.  The few people that visit here can maybe tell the change I’ve gone through recently.  While in some ways I’m more terrified than ever (I really am truly afraid that being trans has killed any chance of video game journalism.)  In others, it’s been a godsend and shown me some truly caring and helpful people who can look past what a person is, to who they are.  Thank you everybody for doing that.

So what took so long on this post you might ask?  Well I kept trying to figure out what to do.  I finally saddled up and decided to post the first 7,000 words of my book as a teaser, some have already read this (certain pink pigtailed people)  and I’m sorry I don’t have really anything new to offer them.  Perhaps putting this here will light the fire under my butt to finish it (I have notably more than I’m posting, but, I do want to try to get this book published, ya know?)  I’m really grateful to have good, kind readers, despite my terrible update schedule, my terrible writing, and well, all that other stuff that probably drives you off.  Anyway, I hope you enjoy, here you go:

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Prologue – Intentions.

 

Video games have enriched my life. Video games have hurt my life. Video games have moved me in ways few other mediums can and recognizing the near limitless potential I see in them. These were the themes, the motives, I originally intended to write about. Highlight the beauty of games, talk about the darker side to which I’ve abused them. Yet every word I typed in defense of this beautifully young medium, seemed empty, not because the feelings, or the beliefs weren’t real, but who was I to write them?

 

Soon I started pouring myself into the pages, you could judge for yourself what kind of person I was. I learned a great deal about writing during these times. I also learned some things not really ever explained, that when writing about one’s self, the flaws pour out much easier than the strengths. That if you are fairly self-loathing of yourself to begin with, writing about yourself is not only terribly difficult; “Who am I to be writing about myself.” crossing my mind every few seconds, but also the feelings are amplified exponentially, driving me to a depression that I am still struggling to find a way out of.

 

This book is personal, deeply so. I am a coward, and a terrible, ugly person. These are truths I solemnly believe. In the grand scheme of things, I first started to write this book in honor of the games that have managed to move me. In honor of the idea that they will move, affect, enrich other lives. In honor of people who are far more respectable than I who discuss and talk about this medium intelligently. People like John Bane, James Portnow, or the far superior writings of Tom Bissel. I frequently wondered while writing this book, and even now wonder if perhaps I’ve done them more dishonor than my intention to do the opposite.

 

Tom Bissel, whose book “Extra Lives: Why Video Games Matter” is perhaps the main inspiration for this book, is a wonderfully articulate and practiced writer. His ability to turn a phrase astounds me, and I find myself listening to the audiobook, read by him, at least once a week. I am not a writer, or a journalist. In the grand scope of things I’m an insignificant speck. I have no connections with which to talk to the people behind the games I reflect over. My writing skills are poor, my Honors English class in High School in the back-hills of Kentucky being the last literary course I ever took. The course started with grammar rules, and the opening statement by the teacher: “Just memorize these for the test and quizzes, you’ll never use this in your daily lives,” might explain the poor quality of what you read here. Though I am of course trying to find an editor I trust to look over it.

 

So why did I continue writing when I felt like me, just being who I am, may dishonor the topics and people I wish to address? When I can’t rate myself high enough to be worth reading about, and when writing threw me in the throes of depression? Honestly, I’m not sure. What kept me writing was the feeling that it was right, which as vague as that sounds, is the only answer I could give. I was willing to sit and talk about the praises of what this has done for me, and I still feel I should. The type of person I am I think will also help tell you what kind of person can appreciate this, for better or worse, this is honest.

 

Honesty may not be pretty, but it ended up being the true theme of this book. Honesty with myself, honesty with you, save for some minor changes to names and places in order to protect others and myself. In many ways, this book became my confessional and my distraction. Write about the medium I had escaped into for years, talk about the life of the terrible, lazy, horrible, and depressed person who felt the need for that escapism.

 

Akin to a drug addict talking about the praises of cocaine, then talking about how terrible the life of being an addict is. Yet there is one key difference that must be stated here and now, I do not blame video games for my condition, I do not think they aided in it, it was the tool I used. The medium I turned to, it could have easily been any other medium or hobby, I wanted to escape and this was the one that happened to be the one I chose.

 

So this book is about video games. It is about the effect games have on me. It will discuss many games. It will discuss many details of my life. It is honest, and painful, ugly, perhaps dull. It is about me, and me finding the courage to write about a medium that I think truly deserves it and in doing so, find the strength to talk about myself.

 

I am a nihilistic, transsexual, bisexual, hypersexual, hypnosis dominatrix turned submissive who works in construction/remodeling, makes walkthroughs of games with commentary on Youtube, has a computer engineering associates degree, and who aspires to be a video game journalist. A person who has hurt many people, who has run from many problems, who has not addressed many problems in their life, who has felt a lot of pain, and probably deserved much of it. This is me, and my story, and hopefully you can see something redeemable in the honesty of an abnormal gamer, who admires them deeply.

 

 

Chapter 01

 

1 – Hangman.

 

The first video game I can remember playing at all was on the Commodore 64, essentially a computer designed specifically for gaming, whose name reflects the fact it had 64k of memory. It was a virtual version of hangman. Purely text based, with a limited pool of words and hints.

 

For those who don’t know, all two of you, hangman was a game where you’d set out blank spaces to represent each letter in a word, like ‘apple’, and would proceed to let them choose letters in a very wheel of fortune like manner, with every wrong letter causing you to draw a man getting hanged piece by piece. If the man was completed, having a head, a torso, two arms, and two legs, the person guessing loses, and if the word is completed before this happens, the person guessing wins.

 

This text based simulation of the game, while enjoyable, was severely limited, and my vocabulary,which I can certainly say is larger, though perhaps not by much, at the age of 5 severely hampered my ability to play.

 

What it did do though is teach me the basic interaction between person and video game. It also was my first foray into modding, when I edited the list of words and hints. Needless to say others who played my version didn’t find it nearly as enjoyable. My sister would never guess ‘groginautible’ especially when given the hint ‘puppy.’

 

I did enjoy knowing I beat the pants off her though, even if the game was rigged to begin with. I had and still do have a terribly competitive streak, particularly with my sister, who I’m sure cringes at some of the things I’ve done over the years in order to best her at things that don’t particularly matter.

 

My memories of this game are vague at best, my memory being far from anything notable, and many of the memories I have of it are actually hearsay from family and friends who knew me at the time. Yet it marked the beginning of my journey into gaming and into technology. A source of play for a child, that I wanted to turn into my dream job.

 

A – Setting Out With My First ‘Man.’

 

I decided pretty far into this book I was going to turn this into a bit of self biography, and in looking back on how to do it, alternating chapters between looks at my life, and the games that help inspire and influence it seemed to be the best route. While some talk of games will happen in life chapters, and some talk of life will inevitably end up in video game chapters, the main focus of each should hopefully remain clear, particularly in games getting numbered, and life getting lettered.

 

I was born in a tiny town of Kentucky known as Versailles. Pronounced by the locals it is ‘vur-sales’ and I didn’t learn until much later that it should perhaps be called ‘vur-sye’ and hopefully these written pronunciations are understandable. I came out a little bit of a celebrity there though, I was the first baby the hospital ever had that gained weight the first day. Not perhaps the best thing to be known for, to have nurses come from other floors to see the ‘baby that gained weight.’ Yet my mother seemed to take an almost sadistic pleasure in explaining this story to many of her friends, to many of my friends, to romantic interests of mine, along with a myriad of other embarrassing stories.

 

The pregnancy leading up to the event and my future title of original obese baby, was pretty uneventful. I’ve been told my mom did have a severe addiction to beef sticks while having me. Yet there is one small footnote that should probably be said. In what now, given hindsight, seems like a bit of cruel foreshadowing, ultrasounds during the pregnancy were never conclusive on the babies sex. Always in a position to never see, despite multiple attempts, my parents were practically forced into picking two names for me. One was female, one was male, one would never be used, the other would be picked up later by choice in honor of my parents.

 

When I was born, and the doctors announced I was a beautiful baby boy, my father was certain I would be named after him, I would be a ‘jr.’ Luckily my mom had some foresight, and upon my birth filled out the papers with the first name she found in the bible, I became Jeremiah, with my father’s middle name, and of course my family name, which I will not disclose in this book. I do look at this as a funny moment though, because had my mom opened to a different part of that book, I could have been Ecclesiastes, and not been able to actually spell my name till the third grade.

 

My uncle Bill had given me a lot of things, one of which was a large pillow with a soft, silky pillow case. I still have it, it’s really difficult for me to sleep without it. I called it ‘soft pillow’ showing my naming prowess.

 

I’m unsure what my first word was. I’ve been told it was probably “no.” I heard this word a lot I’m told. It’s hard to write of one’s own childhood; obviously I do not remember any of it, and everything I say here is essentially hearsay. I can tell you stories I was told of the fact I had to get a toddler bed well before I was a toddler, because I was a suicide bomber baby. When I awoke in my crib, I would climb out of it and free fall into the floor, rather than cry and wait for somebody to put me out of it. How accurate this is, I can only assume it’s true, as I have some vague recollection of my toddler bed; a red sports car, and the people telling me these stories have no reason to lie to me.

 

After my suicidal infancy stage, I did seem to grow a fondness for TV, for reclining while watching TV, and for electronics in general. I loved to fiddle with them, press buttons, or try things that to my younger mind, made sense. I put bread into our very expensive VCR to see if it would play something involving bread, or perhaps make toast. I tried pennies in it to see what would happen. I was such a terror to VCR’s now that I think about it.

 

Eventually fiddling with electronics and ‘pushy buttons’ wasn’t enough. I picked up a new word, and with it a world of opportunities and hilarity arose. That word? Contraption. I made lots of ‘contraptions.’ Snapping turtle traps that relied heavily on toilet paper. A kitten trap that relied heavily on water coolers and string. A way to turn the light switch on and off from across the room use thumbtacks and fishing line. I tried making ramps, lights, I was a little inventor and the world was my oyster, I was limited only by my imagination, and sadly, reality.

 

I grew up a little bit of a prodigy. With the help of computer toys, the books that say things, and a very patient mother. I was reading, and counting, could tell you my name, my address, even before I ever went to school.

 

Many of my early childhood memories are very good ones, I don’t remember ever really going without anything I really wanted. I got books I wanted, and movies, and I never understood the toils my parents with through, in-particular my mother. I was born and raised in a very poor family. My father was an on again off again alcoholic. I’ve been told there were times we went without power due to not paying the electric bill, though I didn’t know that at the time, my mother turned it into times when we’d tell ghost stories; which I do remember. I never went hungry, I always ate till I was full, and I’m certain this sometimes came at the cost of my mother’s food sometimes. She’s never admitted to going hungry for me, but looking back, it makes sense that she did. In the end I’m grateful for her sacrifices and how hard she worked to make sure I didn’t realize how poor our position in life was. I doubt I live up to anything worth them though.

 

Yet even at a young age I seemed to realize how important my mother was. One more amusing story is me promising when I became rich, I’d make her a house with a pool, and it would have a water-slide directly from her window to the pool. The first of many promises to family and friends I’ll probably never keep. I’m very sorry mom, if I ever find the courage to hand you this book.

 

 

Chapter 02

 

2 -Mario Brothers, Super Mario Brothers.

 

The first game I have strong memories of, and perhaps easily the most recognizable and iconic game in the history of gaming, is Super Mario Brothers. I attempted to find the quote, and I sincerely apologize that I couldn’t locate it, but it essentially said that platformers are the one genre of video games that is unique to them. And no platformer is probably more recognizable than Super Mario Bros.

 

It was interesting, a game that has many fantastical elements seen in many fairy tales, though with less subtlety and purpose than those seem to hold. A magical kingdom made of mushrooms, where a princess has been kidnapped by an evil turtle dragon thing named Bowser. The level design, pretty simplistic, but it had an interesting very relatable protagonist: an overweight plumber.

 

I often wonder if Miyamoto realized how relatable the character would be in the United States, was that his intention? I have to think not. I’m unsure as to whether or not Nintendo thought America was a viable market then, and my research led to little advancement.

 

What my research did show was an interesting evolution of both the Mario and Bowser characters. Mario was originally going to have a gun. Mario was also originally a carpenter, though Miyamoto later made him a plumber, I’m guessing once he started designing the world and liked the idea of pipes as transportation.

 

Bowser on the other hand didn’t evolve the same way as Mario. He was originally a bull, but the artist, trying to work off Miyamoto’s sketch, thought it was a turtle with spikes. That led to the bowser we’ve come to recognize.

 

It’s hard to say exactly what made the game so addicting, but honestly I think it was just how different the world was, it might as well have been alien. With such a simple premise of ‘get to point b, rescue the princess.’

 

The first time I got a fireflower, I thought I was unkillable, only to fall in a pit roughly 10 seconds later. I remember getting so frustrated at not getting the top of the pole in every level. That little flag was odd, I think getting to the next flag was a better motivation than the castles. You had reached a checkmark, but how high were you still soring, how on the ball were you? If you were good, you’d already prepped and did their little obstacle course to leap onto the top of the flag. It was basically one of the simplest minigames in existence, and that sound effect is probably my favorite in the original game. Perhaps that’s just me though.

 

The game though, was an experience. It was set up in such a way that every level seemed to urge you on to the next. Every death gave you invaluable experience. World 8 still gives me nightmares. Smarter kids learned of the warp pipes either through friends, Nintendo Power magazine, or that little number in the back of the instruction booklet.

 

For a child, essentially getting to be the hero in a new fairytale, with stars and fireballs at your fingertips, you rode into danger against walking brown mushrooms known as Goombas, turtleducks known as Koopas, and various other enemies, to defeat the king of them all, the baddest bad guy in the land: King Koopa, later named Bowser.

 

It took me many years to be able to save the princess, but in the end, I think the effort was worth it. She’s happier anyway. Well, till game 3, when she’s stolen again.

 

B – Losing a Heart.

 

My prepubescent years are where in essence, my life started going downhill. I had come to note an oddness about me I wouldn’t be able to explain many years, but I disliked what I was seen as, and often did things that got me odd stairs.

 

‘Painting’ my nails with a marker for example. I had said at the time, after getting asked and poked fun about it, that a girl had did it. Since this was done in a church, I effectively lied in church. Sorry again, mom.

 

I recall one incident, where I had stolen a pair of my sister’s pantyhose. Mom had caught me, and thought I liked them because they were soft, like my soft pillow. And said if I liked soft things like that we could get me my own, I didn’t have to steal my sisters.

 

Speaking of my sister, I took out many of my frustrations out on her. She was the one who was able to do or be many of things I wanted to. My favorite method for torturing her was to find unique ways to destroy her barbies, who also seemed to mock me. Interesting note: if you freeze them, they just shatter.

 

This is also the time I started to learn what real pain could mean. Off-again, on-again, alcoholic father enjoyed power plays, physical and mental. Sadly, he was good at both. He was a constant liar while drunk, emotionally abusing me in ways I can honestly barely remember. I’ve tried to block so much of that from my head, coupled with a terrible memory I find the memories are hazy at best.

 

The kinds of things I do remember make me cringe, even today. That nobody loved me. That somebody I loved, like my grandmother, had been hurt when she hadn’t. That my plight was hopeless because he knew the state prosecutor.

 

That latter part was and is still true I guess, to a point. His physical abuse was the more painful part. He was smart; using open handed hits when nobody could see, no marks. I didn’t realize how smart that was till later. I never told mom, afraid I guess, that she already knew, or what he’d do if he found out she knew. I never told anyone, his fear and bullying tactics worked like a charm. I slowly began to tear down inside. Retreat into my own head, my books, and my games. Be elsewhere, be someone else. It was nicer, and more freeing than the real world.

 

This is really where I started to admire the beauty in games. They were a sanctuary, and by trying to immerse myself in their worlds completely I could pretend I was elsewhere. This complete focus helped me learn to really analyze mechanics, story, etc. . . Soon I was a connoisseur of games.

Chapter ? – A Brief Side-note.

 

Something that may surprise you is that what little I’ve written here has taken me almost four months. I can only write occasionally, and I’m taking this moment to explain why that is. Perhaps some insight into the way I write will help you understand my book and I.

 

I know I’m not very mechanically talented when it comes to writing. My ability to turn a phrase is not spectacular. My vocabulary, while I like to think noticeably larger than many people I associate with everyday, still does not compare to your average novelist. So what I lack in mechanical ability I try to makeup for with emotional value. I don’t want to write something that doesn’t matter and doesn’t come straight from the heart. Sometimes that’s easy, sometimes it’s not.

 

Why wouldn’t it be easy to write what I feel? Well I’ve made a brief summary of the kind of childhood I had last chapter, and that did not come without side effects. I’m a very dis-associative person now. My feelings are distant most times. Many of my interactions with other people are little more than a mask. Memories of real feelings, living up to certain minimal social expectations. Only occasionally does something tear through and open up my own heart to me.

 

I don’t mean this to sound very overly dramatic or ‘emo’ as it’s called in many of my social circles. In many ways it’s a strength. My ability to stay logical and calm when things hit the fan is certainly an asset. My ability to self-evaluate my own mental and emotional states is also pretty handy. It’s also given me a lot of practice observing other people’s emotions and while not making me empathetic (since I don’t feel very much.) It has made me extremely insightful into others feelings and emotions since I have to be to learn to emulate them.

 

For a very long time I was always afraid this emotional distancing would cause me to go insane, perhaps go on a serial killer homicidal rampage, but it never d id. Though my school psychiatrist did say that I fit some rather disturbing profiles for serial killers. My favorite car was the Volkswagen Beetle, apparently the most favored car by serial killers (who does these studies by the way?)

 

Either way, I only write when I actually am feeling emotional and in connection with myself. I hope the heart I’m putting into each and every word of this novel is showing. If it’s not then I’m not doing my job very well. Now we return to your regularly schedule chapter.

 

Chapter 03

 

3 – A Link to the Past.

 

Ah Zelda, what a wonderfully beautiful game you were. Honestly this was probably the first RPG I actually completed. An action RPG, released on the Super Nintendo, it won my heart (all 20 of them!) pretty quickly.

 

For those unfamiliar with the Zelda series, it tends to go akin to this: evil wizard Ganon steals princess Zelda, and Link, some lowly peasant in a robin hood like outfit who turns out to have hero ancestry in his blood, must go save her. You play as Link. Since A Link to the Past, he is also pretty famous for his sword spin attack. And linear dungeons of a->b->c->d where inside you get one treasure and one mcguffin, the mcguffin to advance the story, the treasure to get into the next dungeon and beat the final boss of the dungeon in order to get the mcguffin.

 

It’s real time, meaning you don’t take turns attacking, and your health is ranked in hearts, which you can get more of from heart containers. It’s straightforward and very fairytale-esque, but a very endearing series.

 

A Link to the Past was not the first Zelda game I played, but it is certainly my favorite. With a titanic 12 dungeon set-up (2 worlds, a light and a dark world.) it was quite a beast to tackle. You start with Zelda asking you in your dreams to come save her in the castle. You do as much, and take her through some hidden passageways to a church. Then go about getting 3 Medallions to get the Master Sword, the only weapon capable of defeating Ganondorf.

 

Around the third Medallion princess Zelda is taken from the church, and you rush to save her. You get in there but it’s too late, he’s sent her to the Dark World. So you beat Ganondorf and you get sucked into the Dark World. Where you learn the 7 sages that sealed Ganon away are the ancestors to 7 girls (Zelda included) that Ganondorf has sent here. You must then go rescue each girl, trapped in a crystal before the final fight with Ganon, evil pig wizard of evil, to reclaim the tri-force and turn everything right again.

 

The mechanics in this game were beautifully designed, responsive, easy to learn. It was also the longest game I’d ever played to this point, especially when getting 100% (all hearts, all items, etc. . .) I saw a meek little boy with a sword his grandfather gave him evolve into this mighty hero who could wield the very essence of fire & ice, who could shoot laser beams from his swords when he was at his mightiest defeat a wizard who would have been unbeatable at the start of the adventure.

 

I’m sure there’s a lot of subtlety I missed with this game, and dthere was some great imagery and expression. For example the Dark World the form you take (without a special mcguffin item) represents the kind of person you are. Our hero becomes a bunny. Ganondorf on the other hand is a big angry pig thing. I always wondered why the women didn’t change, but I have to assume it’s due to them being inside the crystals.

 

This was the first game that really made me feel like I’d accomplished something and made me want to see the hero win. It was also the first game where if you collected everything you became super powerful. My first ‘over leveling’ sort of experience.

 

C – Early Teenage Years of Doom.

 

Puberty is perhaps one of the cruelest parts of our life cycle. I remember a comedian once saying: “It’s not fair, puberty is when you start to notice and fancy people, and it’s also the time you will look, sound, and act your worst. Pimples will turn you into some sort of plague carrier. Voice changing will make you sound like a moron. And massive changes in height and weight will make sure you’re always tripping over your own two feet.” How right he was.

 

I certainly was socially awkward. I remember my first crush, her name was Julie Hammons. She was the daughter of a teacher, a cheerleader, stickly thin, and extremely intelligent. Usually second only to me in the classes. (Later, especially in high school, there were a lot of people that made me feel stupid, but early on I was usually brightest in the class.) I tried everything to woo poor Julie. Bought her presents including a very large valentine basket. I gave her mix tapes with songs I was addicted to at the time.

 

That mix tape, now that I look back at it, was probably one of the strangest things she’d ever heard. Especially coming from a guy, I can’t remember everything that was on it, but songs I do remember include: Reflection (Mulan Soundtrack), Genie in a Bottle (Christina Aguilera), Girl in Your Dreams (M2M), and Two Beds and a Coffee Machine (Savage Garden). Yeah, I was a loser, and also had strange taste in music. Still do actually.

 

Some people might want to interject here and ask why I was after a girl. I still fancy girls, and yes I consider myself a lesbian. I would honestly probably be bisexual if not for circumstances I’ll get into soon. But I can certainly admire the male form too. Just, I like other girls, what can I say?

 

Needless to say, I never got a date with her. My first date was actually a dance with a girl named Charlene Brown. It was a dance specifically for band members. Semi-formal attire. I don’t remember what she wore. I don’t remember what I wore. What I’ll never forget is her smile, her face, and her shining earrings. I’ll also remember the slow dance to Lonestar’s Amazing. I still can’t hear that without a knot in my stomach, as silly as it sounds.

 

This was also the only dance I ever danced at.

 

? – Witchypoo.

 

There was a time when our home was without an ‘official’ pet, though that didn’t mean I didn’t have one. Dad had started drinking again and I needed a friend, and I was still socially awkward in school. Enter a stray black cat with a cataract it made her eye a swirl of odd colors, thus I called her witchypoo. Still a genius at naming eh?

 

Anyway, I sat with that cat out by a cut stump for months it seems. Using the cat as a place to essentially recite a journal, sharing my feelings. She was friendly, clean, and a very strange stray. It was common habit for me to come home and just head straight outside to talk with this odd little cat.

 

One day though when I came home she wasn’t there. Days went by and no Witchypoo, my outlet stripped of me I started to have small breakdowns, crying a lot. Asking mom over and over why she wouldn’t come home.

 

I drew pictures, I wrote stories, all with the central focus of Witchypoo, it apparently tore my mom apart because she knew the truth, though I wouldn’t find it out for a few years.

 

See, Witchypoo was hit by a car, we live close to a highway. She went under our porch to die, and dad had taken her out and tried to get her to the vet. But she fell apart in his hands, still alive.

 

Something I try not to let myself think about is whether or not she would have lived if I hadn’t made friends with her. If she’d moved on instead of staying around.

Chapter 04

 

4 – Beta, Beta, Diablo 1 Beta.

 

My first foray into PC gaming was also my first beta. I had followed a link to play a free game so to speak. And had somehow lucked into getting into the Diablo 1 beta.

 

This game has a lot of really fond memories for me. The first thing I have to point out, is that the Diablo 1 Beta was very different from the final game.

 

To those who don’t know Diablo is an isometric game, the original ‘hack and slash’ game as I’ve heard it called in the vernacular. You walk up and swing your weapon or throw balls at enemies, large groups of enemies aren’t uncommon and it’s very simple but enjoyable, kill bad things, gain levels, be awesome.

 

Diablo 1 Beta had just a single class: Warrior. But it had skill trees, with varying spells, abilities and abilities. One tree buffed your physical attack, one gave you expertise over bows, and one was magical spells.

 

It also had an online multiplayer, something I’d never thought of before, two people in different parts of the world playing the same game…together? Preposterous! But, it was true, and mind-blowing.

 

When I learned it had a multiplayer I actually made a snap judgment that would effect many games, I went for a female name and persona. Though I didn’t realize why I felt more comfortable doing that back then.

 

One of the first people I met on there was a really kind and patient man who went by the name “BlueKnight.” He put up with the fact I had a habit of wandering off, of going to places I wasn’t ready for, etc. . . Wandering off is a bad habit I have in nearly any game I play, actually both those are. “I’m level 1 and there’s a giant dragon of uberdeath? LETS TRY IT!” Yeah, it takes a patient person to play with me till high level. Though occasionally I -do- kill that giant dragon at a low level and get a crazy boost.

 

BlueKnight was also a professional masseuse so my curiousity got the better of me, he taught me many tips and tricks, and even sent videos to demonstrate certain ones I was having difficulties with. So while we learned the game, I also learned how to give very delicious massages.

 

I’ve no idea if he was so kind simply because to him I was a girl or not, I like to think not, we’re still friends, though he’s currently on a 6 month hike.

 

Now something most people don’t realize is just how different the Beta for Diablo 1 was from release, other than the skill trees (which were fairly identical to how they worked in d2) There were also some overworld quests instead of just the ones inside the basement of the Cathedral.

 

? – Katie.

 

One thing I’ve always had an abundance of my entire life are pets. Dogs, cats, fish, I’ve always had a furry friend there to aid me in my days.

 

The first animal I have very clear memories of is a dog named Katie. She was a cocker spaniel border collie mix.

 

We adopted her from an animal shelter, I’m unsure which one. Though I do remember how hesitant I was at getting her, more accurately, I wanted a big fuzzy dog, and that was not Katie. They had a big fuzzy dog and I begged and pleaded, but in the end it had already been adopted. I ‘settled’ for Katie.

 

She came from a very bad home originally, we discovered. Her fear of a Nintendo Power magazine I dropped was our first sign. She also literally hid from Mom whenever she got the broom out. I don’t think she ever got over that fear.

 

Slowly she adapted and came to love us though, and we her. She had been crate trained, and was very intelligent. We taught her a lot of tricks.

 

One of my fondest memory of this sweet dog actually revolves around me ‘camping’ in the backyard. I was trying to put my tent together and well, failed, and it collapsed on top of me. Katie thought I was in danger, and rushed into the house, and did literally everything in her power from barking to tugging to running back and forth till Mom came out to see what had happened.

 

It was a very Lassie-esque moment. She was a very good and sweet dog. Because of that we had a habit of spoiling her with treats.

 

As so many of our dogs did though, dad decided it couldn’t be a house dog anymore. And moved to the backyard. Soon real life started to take over and I spent less and less time outside with my sweet doggy. My interest and love for computers grew quickly, keeping me inside.

 

Having her outside and lonely convinced us when we did see her to always give her more treats. It got to the point she wouldn’t even eat dog food.
She kept gaining weight, and one day I came home to find her dead.

 

E – Monster Spawned.

 

It was also about this time I started really getting into computers and internet play. I also got my first online girlfriend, named Christina Mainville. She was very sweet, and I do feel so sorry for that poor girl. Mostly due to me.

 

Christina lived in Arizona, Lake Havasu to be specific. She was interesting and funny, attractive with her blonde hair and gentle curves. And she was a gamer. She also for some reason actually gave a rat’s butt about me, don’t ask me to explain it.

 

She also had a very poor home-life, her mother was a drunk and a mean one at that. Something we had in common, a drunk parent. Unfortunately she did not have someone like my mom, caring, sweet and instilling the sense of morality and individuality I had developed. Christina occasionally drank and took her mom’s mediciness (muscle relaxers and pain killers.)

 

I was reading that fetishes tend to be locked into place very early in life. Something in the formative years causes something to lock in to the right place that gives you a need for that. Were I to guess dominance came from my father’s need to control and have power over everything he could, to the point of being cruel to show off that power. I’m unsure where foot fetish comes from.

 

If you’re wondering why I’m talking about fetishes, that dominant streak plays an important part here. See, I learned that when Christina took the medicines and drank at the same time she became pliant, submissive, and a little suggestible. It excited me in a way I’d never felt before. I also didn’t really understand the consequences.

 

Needless to say with me pushing so hard for her to take the medicines and drink, she became addicted to both.

 

I slowly watched her start to lose herself. She started sneaking vodka in water bottles to school. Her grades dropped, her fun, interesting sober moments that had drawn me to her got much rarer.

 

By the time I realized how deep this well went, it was too late, I couldn’t convince her to stop. Soon she came to resent me, that I got her addicted then asked her to stop when it ‘stopped being fun for me.’ I’m not sure whether she was angry at me suggesting she stopped, or whether it was anger at herself for not being able to, or if it was justified anger, at me causing all of this.

 

We started to drift then, I kept trying to get her to stop and she just got angrier. Soon she called it off, and she blocked me. I had ruined a life, worse yet, I had enjoyed it. I had been ignorant of the consequences. I would despise myself for a long time with this. It also was the event that made me start questioning my Christian upbringing.

 

Chapter 05

 

 

5 – Shadow of Colossus

 

If there’s any game that has had the most impact on me viewing games as a serious medium, it’s Shadow of the Colossus. This game is beautiful, not only graphically (especially at the time) beautiful in general. It has wonderful character development and a heart wrenching story.

 

The game starts with the player controlling Wander, a boy carrying his dead lover Mono (what a name, eh?). All we know about Mono is she was sacrificed for some reason involving a cursed destiny. Despite warnings to never cross into these lands he does and makes a deal that if he can destroy the Colossi, that Mono will be restored, but at a terrible price.

 

One thing you’ll notice in Shadow of the colossus is save for the intro and the very end, very little is said, or narrated in anyway. The characters tell their motivations, feelings, and story through their actions rather than their words, and this adds a level of complexity and depth that few games since have mastered. This subtractive storytelling is one of the things that really marks this game as unique, and why it’s important we notice things like Wander’s heedless resolve.

 

This heedless resolve of Wander’s marks the rest of the journey, as he travels through eerily barren and beautiful landscapes accompanied only by his pet horse Agro. The question a person must ask themselves is, is his heedless resolve to restore mono at any cost heroic, or foolish?

 

The colossi are larger than life, and after traveling through beautiful landscapes to get to one, the battle seems to turn the game upside down, The peaceful and beautiful path you’d just taken has you risking life and limb climbing up and over, swinging, and searching for the colossi’s weak point. When you find it and take this large, awe inspiring creature down though, the victory is bittersweet. You are struck by darkness, slowly tainting your body and soul. You then return to the place with Mono to see her regain her color.

 

You repeat this process, and by the end Wander can no longer stand, instead crawling to Mono before you learn that this has been a ploy and Wander will now be an avatar for a great evil. And the shaman who first warns Wander about this place, has to banish the evil, returning Wander to an infant-state, but with one noticeable change, he has horns. Mono wakes up and rushes for Wander, picking up the horned child and holding it in her arms.

 

The story is beautiful, and watching wander literally crawl toward mono is one of the most intense and emotion-inducing scenes I’ve seen in any game. I am very grateful to have known this PS2 title, and Ico, a game released by the same company with many of the same principles of storytelling. This game enriched my life, and I hope to find many more that can affect me half as much as this one has.

 

F – Band Nerd Powers Activate!

 

In Middle School (Grades 6-8) I had decided I wanted to sing. I tried out for choir, and well to put it nicely: dogs howled, children cried, and there may have been a casualty or two. Needless to say, I didn’t make the choir. They did give an interesting idea though: join the band.

 

Soon I was going into band, getting told about how getting an instrument would work. I wanted to play Saxophone, when I brought the thing to my parents though I got a very strict no. It was too expensive, it was something like $80 a month for a while.

 

I returned to school, a bit dejected. Told the band leader, a man named Thomas Pike, that I couldn’t afford an instrument. He then told me about school loan instruments, the instruments that were far too expensive for a student to buy, primarily the tuba, the baritone, and some larger percussion instruments. I chose tuba.

 

This would affect my life in many ways, the very short term was, being in band meant I got out of gym. The long term would be really getting to know a group of people I’d call my friends for a very long time.

 

The band really did enrich my life, it was also one of the few social activities I would have for many years. And as mentioned before this would be the catalyst for having my first date with Charlene.

 

It was also how I gained my very very limited knowledge of sports. Doing pep band meant sitting at school functions and getting food for free. I learned quite a bit about basketball and football. At least in the mechanics on how they’re played. Ask me to name a certain football position other than quarterback though and I might be up the creek without a paddle.

 

The tuba was a very odd instrument, back then I was very tiny, and my very nerdish stick build just seemed awkward playing such a large instrument. I often told others I didn’t play the tuba, it played me. It took most of what I had to properly maneuver the large metal instrument. Luckily the case had wheels.

 

I have a lot of fond memories from middle school, most revolving around band. Laughing with my friends, sitting at the ‘band table’ at lunch. Bringing home my tuba, to my parent’s pain.

 

I learned how to read and write music, I started a simple composition that I still remember how to play. A haunting bass filled melody. Looking back it was certainly not the masterpiece I once believed it could be, but I do still believe it was a nice tune. Another thing that will probably never escape the prison of my mind. I’d put it here, but there’s no good way to express music through text without it being a bunch of stanzas. Sadly that’s not something I can share easily with each of you. I can only tell you what it expressed to me: hope.

? – Tobias “Toby” Dotson

 

The animal I think I’ve had the greatest bond with was a black cat that I named Tobias. Named after my favorite character in a book series called Animorphs. An orphan with a home that didn’t seem to want him anyway, he gets stuck as a hawk, and despite the loss of his humanity he finds his group of friends and his new life gives him more joy and purpose than being human ever could.

 

Dad brought me this little black kitten that looked more like a bat, huge ears, sickly, dirty, meowing pitifully. He was so tiny I could hold him comfortably in one hand. I fell in love with him almost instantly.

 

My mom asked me multiple times over the course of the next couple of weeks if I’d like a ‘prettier’ kitty. She tried playing the ‘healthier’ option too. I didn’t budge though, this odd little fuzzball that already showed so much personality, in how he played, in how he cuddled.

 

He didn’t stay scrawny or sickly though. Soon he was a large, slightly overweight beautiful black cat. It’s hard for me to pinpoint when he stopped being my baby kitten and grew into a beautiful cat, primarily because as long as I knew him, he never grew up.

 

Sweet, affectionate, and slightly rotten he paraded around the house, annoying those he met with his aggressive, affectionate loving.

 

My mom has a favorite story with Toby. She had been pestering, annoying, and generally bothering the big black kitty. He was so angry, his tail poofed, twitching hard, but he went over and bit the blinds instead of her. He was a good kitty.

 

My favorite stories mainly revolve around my friend James, and playing the Nintendo 64. I was still extremely into games and gaming, and my kitty had noticed. I often let him fiddle with the second controller while I played. He enjoyed it, I still don’t understand why, maybe he thought he was helping. What it did end up doing though, was making him feel he had more right to the second controller than my friend James. So when we played, he’d often cheat for me, batting at the control stick, random buttons, etc. . . while James played.

 

Sadly though, the joy was not too last.