As a child of the 90s, I grew up in a decade of innovation that sometimes moved at the speed of sound. I was the first wired generation; my mind was shaped by a combination of technology, ill advised fashion (platform sneakers anyone?), and the Spice Girls. My father once remarked that mine was a generation that was easily bored and constantly required entertainment and/or indulgence.
I’d have told him he didn’t know what he was talking about if I didn’t have my nose stuck firmly in the latest instalment of Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney on my baby pink Nintendo DS. Sadly, this was in the middle of a rather uneventful game of Munchkin. Hard to defend one’s self indulgence when it’s right out on display for all to see.
The need for escapism is palpable as we walk down the street with noise-cancelling headphones stuffed in our ears, eyes firmly affixed to our iPhones and BlackBerries. I observe the other twentysomethings toting their fake Coach bags, wearing fake Chanel earrings; playing at fashion but not quite understanding the meaning of it all. I observe the young men with their Christian Audigier Ed Hardy t-shirts; all faux glamour and no substance. And finally, I observe the young gamers whose ability to transcend the white noise of public transportation is indicative of reaching the ever elusive Nerdvana.
Gaming is often ridiculed for its frivolity and apparent lack of substance. Gamers are often shamed by mass media (or our parents) because our preferred method of entertainment requires a console or computer. However, games are no less relevant than cinema. The sophistication of games requires a sophistication of consumer that has gone previously unmatched in other sectors of entertainment.
One does not need swift reflexes to catch the simplistic plotline of Cameron’s Avatar. One does not require incredible hand-eye coordination to watch the latest episode of Survivor. And one’s leadership abilities will not be put to the test simply by attending an indie concert.
Being a gamer requires skill, dedication, leadership, passion, and a deep breadth of knowledge. No longer are games one (two)-dimensional, both in terms of graphics and story. Games require players to utilize cover, reload weapons on the fly, and plan elaborate tactical strategies in order to deliver a most excellent pwnage over the other team (or the artificial intelligence). Games require a sharp mind to deliver a strategic overthrow of two other masterful players during a Gold League StarCraft II match. Games require a skilled leader to propel their ragtag band of heroes to victory during raids and encounters.
Best of all, games require us to think, react, and move quickly.
Our subculture of gamers is rich, vast, and deeply accepting. The only entrance examination required is to show up, check your issues at the door, and play the game. For the most part, gamers are happy to share the couch, the console, and controllers. It’s only when you enter our world to openly mock it that you’re met with any kind of resistance or enmity.
We’ve slipped out of obscurity recently with our largest conventions garnering the support of tens of thousands of gamers worldwide. No longer are we toiling in basements with our friends, secretly hoping that our parents aren’t disappointed because we’re not playing sports. We’re out in the open with our handheld gaming devices held high for all to see. We attend conventions dedicated to the Art of Escapism in all of its glory; everything from cosplay to tabletop to hardcore gaming at its finest.
We are the Children of an Entertainment Revolution. We are no longer content to sit back and simply be entertained. We must be an active participant in the entertainment. The controller and console are no longer simply tools for delivering the entertainment. They encourage innovative approaches to how we play: if you’re a couch player, you can play from the couch; if you jump up and down, waving your hands wildly in the air in order to shoot a bullet across your 42” screen, then you can do just that.
Games are not bound by the constraints of stationary media consumption. Its only constraints are in the imagination that helps create it and the technology that helps build it. The technology is rarely an issue with new pieces of tech reaching the stage every couple of years at E3 and Gamescom.
This year’s slated release of both the Microsoft Kinect and the PlayStation Move has gamers wide eyed with anticipation (even though the competition has people likening it to the HD-DVD vs. Blu-Ray war from a few years ago). Both technologies promise to revolutionize how we play games and how games can help us. The Kinect will allow players to move freely without the use of a controller in order to exercise, gain feedback from virtual personal trainers, and work out in a virtual gym setting in EA Sports Active 2. Waving a controller through the air in just the right way allows the player to cast a spell using PlayStation Move (or the Nintendo Wii).
Ten years ago, we never would have thought these things to be possible.
Ten years ago, I was sitting in my basement with my parents plugging away at the latest Final Fantasy game (which, in my humble opinion, was the last great Final Fantasy) on my shiny new PlayStation 2. For its time, the PS2 was the most powerful console on the market, with graphic rendering that sometimes put our high-end gaming computers to shame. Final Fantasy X swept me off into a world that I never wanted to leave; a world of romance, beauty, sadness, and of course, Blitzball.
Ten years ago, I didn’t have a handheld gaming console. Since then, I’ve owned five.
Ten years ago, I was hiding behind my boyfriend while we played Silent Hill 2. I was always inexplicably incapable of playing the game without someone in the room with me. Since then, I don’t play horror/survival games anywhere but my living room with someone sitting nearby, even if they’re not in the same room. I mumble something about monsters and dark places before switching on my PS3.
Ten years ago, I was fourteen with a shock of blonde in my chocolate brown hair. I wasn’t particularly wide eyed or bushy-tailed but what I lacked in enthusiasm, I made up in gaming prowess. The Quake, Unreal Tournament, and Duke Nukem generation had been born with “come get some” on our lips and a BFG in our pixellated hands.
The game industry may come across as childish, testosterone fuelled (not always a bad thing, mind you), and completely pointless. In fact, it often does come across that way, even to those of us who have grown up watching it mature. But we gamers, more often than not, are discerning consumers. Those of us who have been brought up on a steady diet of geekery often compare new games to old and old games to retro. We reminisce. We sometimes pine for the simple days before gaming was so widespread… and then we think better of it because we now reap the benefits.
We are not all gamers or geeks or nerds or whatever subculture within a subculture that you don’t think you belong to. We don’t expect you to understand why it’s easy for us to lose twelve hours in a game before noticing we haven’t eaten (or moved). We certainly don’t expect you to join us. What we do expect is for you to respect us: we exist and have existed for the better part of thirty years. We are not all drooling fourteen year-old boys with a skin condition. Many of us are anywhere from our mid-twenties to our late-fifties. We are wives, husbands, mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters; we are not stereotypes and do indeed enjoy an evening out with our friends.
But we insist on coming back to the apartment for a Rock Band session afterward.
So the next time you hear yourself (or someone else) muttering that games are a waste of time, remember that the same thing has been said about the cinema, fashion, and television. We’re all escaping something. We’re all indulging ourselves in one way, shape, or form. We’re all a mite frivolous.
And that, my friends, is why the world is such an excellent place to be.
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Vive le revolution émotionnel (redux)
by Amanda on August 19, 2010
Figured that I’d revive one of my favourite pieces. It’s time for an emotional revolution.
…………..
“In this day and age, we are all feminists.”
I had a conversation with my father back in December about the strength of woman. He told me that behind misogyny is fear: fear of the strength of woman; fear that women will stand up and put our stake in the sand; fear that everything they know about the world is completely wrong and backwards. My father — the man who taught me to be a warrior princess — was raised by a man who didn’t believe or acknowledge the power of woman. He thought himself to be better than women because he possessed the right chromosomes. As soon as my father was old enough to make up his own mind, he chose to bask in the strength of woman; specifically, the strength of his mother.
My grandfather had no daughters to temper his disposition. He had three sons.
When I was small, my father didn’t turn his back on me like so many fathers do when they have first-born daughters. Instead, he embraced his sassy daughter and taught me to think for myself. To be strong. To yield but never break. To stand my ground. He taught me the magic and beauty of logic. He showed me how to separate myself from my emotions to take better task of the situation. He told (and tells me) that he loves me.
As a teenager, my father and I clashed in every way. The women in our family — the Hoffmans — are outspoken, intense, and opinionated. I am tempered steel; I am all these things and more. Teenage Amanda was brash and irrational, ruled by a hormonal emotional response to every situation, regardless of its nature. I failed my first math test. I raged. I seethed. I cried. I threw the test in the garbage, instead of learning from my mistakes. I failed several more math tests as a consequence.
As a consequence of tunnels and responsibility, I tried to distance myself from my emotions. I tried to be cold and logical. No one taught me to be that way. No one told me, “Amanda, detach from your emotions. You are now required to attain the emotional discipline of a Vulcan.”
Aside: it’s not a violetminded post without a geek reference.
It didn’t work. It was too much work to go against my code. I needed my emotions to survive and cope and compute. I needed to attach myself to people because that’s what I do best. Heart met sleeve. Sleeve met defeat many times. Heart met other hearts. I was stronger for it. I was more complete with my connection the great macrocosm of the universe.
I’ve often described my love of people as my great tragedy.
I love everyone in this world, in spite (and sometimes because of) their many flaws. And yet, I am so disgusted by the atrocities of people that it makes me sick to be around them. I want to hate them for what they do to each other. But I can’t. I sincerely believe that I’m completely incapable of truly hating a person. I may be able to hate their behaviour but I cannot hate the person.
“People are inherently good. You’ve got to give them the benefit of the doubt.” My husband has drilled that into my head during the five years that we’ve been together. Everyone deserves a second chance. Everyone is worth it.
To behave is to show respect to the people around you. We can’t go around and be completely wild and out of control. Restraint is an intrinsic part of the social contract that we must acknowledge as we step out of our homes and tread the same sidewalk as the rest of the inhabitants of this world. Intense, on the other hand, is the only way I know how to be. Those that know me, know that everything I do is done with fierce conviction and an intensity that has a tendency to freak me out.
Be bold. Be intense. Don’t tone it down just because someone tells you that it’s inappropriate. Are you hurting anyone by the look in your eyes? Is your passion killing the people around you? If it is, then it’s time to put the knife down and pick up a paintbrush.
Boys are taught that emotions are wrong. That compassion clouds judgment and sound decision making. They grow into men that are cold and unfeeling, unaware of the fact that they are hurting on the inside. They become violent monsters to compensate, somehow thinking that this is strength and not weakness. They kill and hurt other people — usually women — because they have failed to acknowledge their vulnerability and tears.They teach their detachment to their daughters and wives because it’s the only thing they know.
The strongest men and women in the world are those that acknowledge their fears, tears, and emotional needs.
My husband has embraced his Girl Self. My father is discovering his Girl Self. My mother and her capacity for goodness and forgiveness has never known any other way to be: she is the embodiment of Girl Self.
Let’s spread the word to every woman and man: your emotions make you strong. They allow you to see things humanely. They allow you to love fully and wholly and without fear. Your Girl Self is important. Your daughters need you to teach them that. Your sons need you to show them how. Your husbands and fathers and brothers need re-education. Your wives and mothers and sisters need to know that they are not crazy. They are whole and perfect in their capacity to love and forgive.
Vive le revolution émotionnel.
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