Friday, October 16, 2009

Thou shalt...

I've had a list for a while now, that I've occaisionally talked about, but not written about, which is odd, in retrospect.

So. Here are the four games that I think should be mandatory to play, before anyone is allowed to write, design, organize, or run a game.

- a freeform RPG. No formal rules beyond "I have final say over what happens to my character"
- the social/party game Werewolf. In it's most basic structure; 10ish villagers, 2 werewolves.
- Diplomacy. I'm not responsible for any fallout among the people you play it with.
- a oldskool competative boardgame, like Risk. Caveat: play it hard-nosed, and strictly by the book, without table chatter or distraction.

So, having done all of these things, what's the point? And why these particular things? Because each of those games, or styles of play is fun, in it's own particular way. Those games are also two faced monsters that will deceive you if you haven't played them.
Because from the outside, freeform blends into werewolf blends into Diplomacy blends into Risk. But viewed from within, those styles of play are very different, and further, actively damaging to each other.

Worth saying again. Those styles of play are actively damaging to each other, and I'm absolutely certain that anyone who has played games for any length of time, has seen this, a thousand times over.

But for some incredibly baffling reason, we keep thinking that if we only design "well enough", that we can make all of those people happy.

You can't. Stop trying. Focus on one style of play, design for that style of play, and make it clear up front. Some people will, indeed, try your game, expecting it to be something it isn't, and declare that it sucks.

But the people who like what your game will like it very much indeed.

James

Labels: geekery, I think too much

Tuesday, June 02, 2009

On value.

Our society places too much emphasis on the value of things.

Have you ever tried to give things to a stranger?

James

Labels: I think too much, Stuff and Things

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Change.

I have been tearing up randomly today.

Ok, not randomly. It's happening whenever I think about what's happening south of the border today.

Please God, help him to be the leader they, and we, need.

James

Labels: I think too much

Monday, December 08, 2008

Spot the missing info...

So, another writing exercise from knife fight, this time.

Real Characters

Pick ten people you see throughout the day or week and write a one-sentence description for each of them. Spin off a fictional character based on what they suggest to you. Tell us something of who they are, not just what they look like.

(exercise from PoeWar, http://www.poewar.com/fifteen-craft-exercises-for-writers/)

------
The intern leaned forward, playfully flirtatious, still getting the job done.

Clothes, attitude, everything was casual, until you saw the eyes.

Alone, chain-smoking, facing but never watching the endless T.V.

Hurrying out of a meeting, cell phone attached, arguing with the ex.

Calm and collected, skilled and confident - every inch the role model.

A ready smile and a joke to hand, good humour turned bitter when the company downsized.

One look, and you knew all those people who had mastered self-deception were amateurs by comparison.

Violence roiling under the surface, kept in check with daily hard labour.

Regimented, sterile, some people just look like they were born in a lab coat.

Eyes, crinkled and laughing, make an ordinary face beautiful.
---------

So, exercise for the reader: what haven't I told you?

James

Labels: geekery, I think too much

Tuesday, December 02, 2008

"ZOMG, Teh markets r asplode"

Title citation.

So, there's a global financial meltdown and all kinds of jazz. The banks can't extend credit, and huge stuff-generating industries, like the Big Three are suddenly teetering on the brink, as people cut big purchases, and the house of cards collapses.

There are places, I'm quite certain, where this would get me lynched, but: I'm not entirely sure that's a bad thing. In the short term? Yes, horrible. I am deeply suspicious of the various government and corporate bailout plans and responses to the global financial crisis: My cynicism suspects they are not intended to mitigate the disaster at all, just to allow the priviledged few* to cut their losses before things really go south.

I think we're going to see another huge depression. And that's the "yes, horrible" from above - industries will collapse or violently restructure, and a lot of folks will get dumped ass-first below the poverty line. But I also think our lifestyle in north america is not sustainable without ongoing cultural and economic and literal violence committed against the rest of the world. And the rest of the world is getting fed up with our bullshit.

James

* For those keeping score at home, I'm in those ranks.

Labels: I think too much, Stuff and Things

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

November 11

All our kids were silent for the moment of silence this year; that's a first. Kalen actually seemed to understand some of what was going on, and participated in the conversation about what it all means, which was also good. Usually, she fidgets and flees as soon as she can manage it.

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

— Lt.-Col. John McCrae

Labels: I think too much

Saturday, May 10, 2008

We aren't quite there yet, dear.

In the last century or so, western society has take some huge strides in social awareness and acceptance. Some member cultures moreso than others, but still. Even the most "backward" and parochial of societies in the western world will agree that slavery was probably bad and - as long as they don't do it here - gays don't need to be shot on sight.

We're in an age of information, where hard numbers about inequality and injustice can be generated, and each generation is, roughly, growing up more aware.

But we're not there yet. I hope someday to see a world where the inequalities we see and are aware of are dealt with, and we can begin to tackle the next set of monsters from our psyche.

This is a fantastic article. You should go read it.

James

Labels: I think too much

Tuesday, April 01, 2008

Izza Poll!

...Because that's what weblog authors do when they're short on content and desperate for feedback!

So, I played Death's Door with Ben Lehman and Jake Richmond at Gamestorm, and it went really, really well. It wasn't "awesome" because one of our Boundaries was "Do not Bring The Awesome" - short hand for keep it real; no action-adventure bullshit. But if not for that caveat, you could describe it as awesome.

In post game chat, we talked about the little scraps of paper that people use to scribble what they want to do before they die, and what happens to them. Right now, they are all saved. Yes, all of them. Could you throw out someone else's dream?

Which means that, on the corner of my desk, I have a ever-growing pile of other people's hopes and dreams - and let me tell you, that is a seriously motivating thing to be responsible for.

But it's a touch selfish to hold that too close, I think. Ben suggested I should do something with them, and I agreed, but ran into the same thing I keep running into when I think about it: What?

So, a poll.

A) Keep them selfishly to myself.
B) Make a new weekly blog catagory "Hopes and Dreams" and post a few every week.
C) Make a new weekly blog catagory "Hopes and Dreams" and post one each week, with some discussion.
D) Load them into some kind of funky java applet and have a spot on the website that has "Somebody out there wants to..." and fade/cycle them through that.
E) Make some kind of craft art or scrapbooky thing.
F) Something else.

Reply in comments with your thoughts, if you agree with any, or have variations, or other ideas. I trust you, internet.

James

Labels: I think too much, pimping my stuff

Monday, March 24, 2008

The Sad State of Men's Swimwear

It is, nominally, Monday, when I blog about stuff and things. But my receipts for what I bought in the last week (or two) are back in Edmonton, and I am not.

So, instead, I will mark the occaision with an epistle.

A letter from James, to the blogreaders, on the sad state of men's swimwear. May this find you in good health.

When last I chanced to need swimwear on little notice, I was puzzled and a touch dismayed by how poor the selection was. A tiny rack, with perhaps a dozen or so sets of trunks, in various sizes, off in the middle of nowhere. Not only could I not find it, it took the salespeople I asked quite some time to track it down for me. "Out of season", I was told. Reasonable, I thought. It was, after all, middling to late august, and stores were no longer paying attention to summer things, but the seasons coming up, Hallowe'en, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. I bought the one least offensive to my sensibilities, a single colour red set of trunks. Boring, and not what I would prefer, but what do you expect from the dregs of summer gone?

Today, I thought, today will be different. Spring is in the air, so stores must be selling all their summer stuff - what with spring things having been sold back in February. And, lo, it was different. This time there were two racks with possibly as many as two dozen sets of trunks. And it only took me fifteen minutes to find it, without needing to call on the ever-absent and inattentive sales staff. (This, I note, in marked contrast to the women's swimwear section, which was approximately the size of a football field, with lovingly photoshopped models displaying what I presume to be swimwear, though I'm not sure what is to distinguish it from underwear. Perhaps the beach in the background? To be fair, the football field of women's swimwear and the two racks of men's swimwear contained roughly equal amounts of total cloth, so perhaps that is their idea of equality? Enough, I will not be digressed - further - with thoughts of gender bias.)

These two racks of swimwear came in a singular type: knee length trunks with pockets. They did, to their credit come in a variety of styles, as many as five or six different colour patterns were available, that I might find something akin to pleasing. Or at least, not too offensive. For, you see, the styles fell into two broad catagories. The first evokes images of California beaches, surfboards, and blond, tanned boys saying "duuuude" and smoking pot. Not, I'll grant, an entirely bad image, but the intensity of the image was striking. An apt comparison might be using a leather hairband, tie-died shirt, bell-bottom jeans and sandles to evoke hippie. It certainly accomplishes the task, but with nothing that resembles subtlety or style. Rather, it bludgeons the senses with the impression until you wander away, dazed, trying to remember where you are, and why the sound of surf is so strong in your ears.

The second style was rather the opposite. They were so inoffensive, so muted and drab as to go beyond the pale and offend with their sheer lack of interest. Anyone, woman, or man, no matter their actual age or appearance, upon donning these shorts, would have no difficulty getting a seniors discount anywhere such things are granted. These are not the swim trunks your father buys. These are not the swim trunks your grandfather buys. These are the swim trunks your grandmother buys for your grandfather because his old pair, acquired shortly before Edison patented the lightbulb, are "getting a touch ratty".

Eventually, I settled for the least offensive of the srfr duuude stylings, a sort of khaki affair with camo on the inside of the waistband (The inside? Why, pray tell?). But I was not content with them, and couldn't help but wonder why there was so little choice and variety, and further, if I was particularly unlucky, or if it was always like that? I don't miss The Baywatch Years, but just because not everyone should wear Speedos doesn't mean they should be banished from the racks. And what's wrong with some variety in length? Knee length isn't everyone's preference in a swim trunk. And pockets. Why, pardon my brief foray into foul language, the hell do swimtrunks have pockets? one pocket that seals shut for a locker key, or a credit card I'll grant is a good idea. But big front pockets like casual pants? There's really only one good reason for hands to be in your swimwear, and you don't need pockets for that.

How about styles? Surely there is some middle ground between California surfer and retirement trunks? What about something tight and black, for the goth crowd? Or, on consideration, something lacy and black, for the goth crowd? Where are the swim trunks for punks, the one that say "Screw you!" to the establishment? Designer trunks, exactly like the other ones, except with an expensive logo stitched in a corner for the too-much-money crowd?

Is this too much to ask, my friends?

Labels: I need a tag for this sort of thing, I think too much

Thursday, February 14, 2008

A new perspective on a childhood favorite

Shame

I think I need to re-read Earthsea. I also think that, should I ever succumb to temptation (as I almost have in the past) and watch the travesty that is the film version, I will stream it illegally, so that I do not incent the creators to repeat their behaviour.

James

Labels: I think too much

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

I can still learn, I must be human.

So, I'm at Dreamation, minding the IPR booth.

Folks are around, hanging and chatting, and the discussion turns to art. Don't recall how, but not surprising, given that Jennifer Rodgers and her booth of fantastic stuff is right there, too. So, a space happens for me to contribute to the conversation, and I offer my standard art disclaimer. "Yeah, I can't draw." and Krista does this head whipping around thing, like she's caught me beating my children and comes back with "Not true. Anyone can draw." And Jennifer is just sitting there nodding, like Krista just said "we breathe air." My standard response emerges "No, seriously. Like, my stick figures have hunchbacks."

And I can't remember if it was Krista or Jennifer who said what, but one of them was "It just takes practice." and the other one was "Yup. Lots of practice." And everyone else in the room was nodding and "Yep"ing along and that was it. Conversation over.

And I'm sitting there, and thinking, "No really, I can't draw for shit! How can you just dismiss that? I'm bad at it, damn it!" and, and, and... fuck.

See, I've been consciously struggling with this thing lately, which is acknowledging other peoples' experience and authority. When my mom used to offer cooking advice, I shut up and listen, 'cause I knew she could cook. And because I shut up and listen, now I can cook. And when my brother or my friend Jay start talking about carpentry, I shut up and listen, because they can really bend wood to their will. And again, now I know some of how to speak to wood and shape it to my desires. But there's lots and lots of places where I don't do that. Where experience and authority mean shit in the face of my own opinions. And I'm trying really hard to beat that out of myself. It's... challenging.

These are people who know art, and know how to make it, so where do I get off telling them I know better than they? I go back to my hotel room and ponder, among other things. And it comes down to two things, I think.

One of them is High School Me. HSM is the me I sometimes see in the mirror, who is a skinny little nerd with zero self-esteem that will never amount to anything and exists nowhere but in my head. Like, not even in highschool did HSM ever really exist.

The other one is Perfectionist Me. Perfectionist me is the angry guy who sits right behind my eyes and colours everything I see and hear and smell and touch and taste. He's the one that notices that the corners aren't quite square when I'm making dessert that gets me laid, and that isn't happy with anything I do. Sometimes, he's pretty useful. I'd write some pretty bad prose without him pushing me to make it better, and he's the guy who drove me to produce Blood and Bronze in the Without Peer! edition. But sometimes he's also a pain in the ass. Especially when he starts listening to HSM.

High School Me is the guy who can't draw. Perfectionist Me is the guy who tells me that what I do draw sucks. Then High School Me tells me that what I draw will always suck, so I might as well not try. Then Perfectionist Me gets angry and throws out the drawing I just made and I don't bother trying again for a long time. It begins to dawn on me: I'm being tag-teamed by those fuckers.

So I'm thinking about this (not consciously, not in so many words, but you know what I mean), and it occurs to me that I've been tag-teamed by these two before. Except that wrestling match was writing, not drawing. And for writing, I had teachers with experience and authority for whom I shut up and listened.

And so, up in my hotel room, I drew. I dragged out some paper and a pencil, and I sketched out the image for Reality Cops that's been haunting me for months - years, now. The image that is driving me to write the game. The image that I keep having to describe to people in halting, poorly expressed language that never conveys it well, because it's a picture, damn it, not words.

And Perfectionist me tells me it sucks. High School Me tries to tell me it will always suck, that I will always suck. Perfectionist me is right. It really, really does suck. But it conveys, so much better than the language I've been trying, what Reality Cops is about. And the ghost voices of Krista and Jennifer tell me "It needs practice." and I tell High School Me to fuck off and I keep the picture.

I'll scan it and post it here in the next day or so, after I finish unpacking so that you too can see the suck.

And.... I think I'll need to practice. There is a natural talent for art; an affinity which I lack. But it was foolish and short-sighted of me to ignore the voices of experience around me and think that lacking the affinity meant I lacked the capacity to learn.

James

ps: Also, I've noticed I swear more when I'm talking about myself. Bastard.

Labels: I think too much

An amusement

Heard on the radio today: "Weather is causing problems all across Canada. A snow storm is affecting PEI and Vancouver Island [...]"

A snow storm? Holy crap, that's a big snow storm, no wonder the rest of Canada is having problems, what with the rest of Canada being between PEI and Vancouver Island...

James

Labels: I need a tag for this sort of thing, I think too much

Monday, December 10, 2007

Social programming is weird.

So, on Friday, Star was feeling sick and I was tired of people, so I kicked out of Friday gaming to spend some time with just her.

I had a pot of lamb stock boiling on the stove from earlier in the week, so thought 'I can make scotch broth, and bring over some soda bread'. Star was enthused about this idea.

Then on the way home from work, while mentally going over ingredients in my head (need buns for the Friday gamers I'm skipping out on, need celery for the scotch broth) my brain freaked out.

"Crap! I can't make Star scotch broth and soda bread! I made scotch broth and soda bread for Raven on Tuesday! If I do this, bad things will happen!"

And then I sort of drove for a while wondering where the hell that came from. It's patently nonsense. And then it clicked. I had a Jack Tripper moment. Because in Three's Company, and other 'romantic' sitcoms of that ilk, when the guy makes plans with two girls, it always ends badly. Every stupid time.

So I made scotch broth and brought soda bread for Star and we cuddled and watched a movie and RP'ed a bit, and nothing bad happened.

Unless you count what our characters have planned for one of the NPC's...

James

Labels: I think too much

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Reciprocation, or mixing metaphors, philosophy and math, oh my.

There are few things that feel as desolate as unrequited love. I certainly recall that feeling as a Young Teenager In Love (capitals required). But isn't all love unrequited? When we love, we don't attach strings - or rather, we shouldn't. Because it's the attaching of strings that makes the pain. Consider the central tragedy to the classic unrequited love scenario. Is it "I love her!"? No, although ironically that's the part we often blame or try to change. It's the followup "...but she doesn't love me!"

Hunh. Look at that string, or more often and accurately, that high-test steel cable. The expectation of reciprication is the single most common condition we attach to our love. Love is, simply put, placing the well-being of a person (or thing) above all other considerations. So if you truly love someone, you will not let your desires and wants place those strings on them - because that is restricting their freedom, which modern philosophy links rather intrinsically to well-being - you will simply let them follow their own path until and unless that path becomes destructive.

So where does that feeling of desolation come from? My christian roots bring me back to that old biblical command "Love your neighbor as yourself" and my modern education makes me take a closer look at that statement than is often given. It's an equation, and as mathematics has taught us, both sides of an equation must be equal. So you may well be loving your neighbor - but are you loving yourself?

James
(re-run: originally posted February 2005)

Labels: I think too much, reruns

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Think about what you drink.

Spoken word by Evalyn Parry.

Bottle This!
Let’s just hold on before we go any farther
I want to take a little moment to talk about water
that liquid that you’re holding, that bottle in your hand
you though it was water you were drinking, not a corporate brand
you were thinking it was safer, cleaner, and better for your health.
but were you thinking about who profits from the wealth
of the public water that’s been taken for free
and sold back to you for an exorbitant fee
listen my friends, listen up folks
Aquafina is Pepsi; Dansani is Coke
they’re selling filtered tap water, and this is not a joke
these corporate giants buy water at a tax-free super-discount
then filter it five times and sell it back to you
for five thousand times the amount
that you pay for running water from your tap
and when I start thinking about that
my blood starts to boil, my head starts to spin
as I try to understand where to begin
that H20: that bottle you just tossed
it represents garbage, safety and cost
water table depletion, which is all our of loss
let’s talk about land-fill: plastic bottles piled high
slowly decomposing, leaching toxins back into our water supply
furthermore, the more water bottles we buy
the more we send a signal to the powers that be
that we believe the fear that they’re selling us about water safety.
we’re swallowing the idea that good water isn’t free
that of course one must pay for water of quality
meanwhile, beyond the periphery of our rich country
--where, incidentally, tap water is actually tested far more stringently
and more regularly than bottled water --
elsewhere, women walk farther and farther every day to find water for their families
a desert spreading rapidly
while we sit sipping on a billion dollar industry
they say water is the new oil, water is the new oil!
and Canada’s got it, so this war will come to our soil
but oil is a luxury: water a necessity
we’re fighting over oil because we like to drive cars
because trucks must deliver, because we want to fly to mars
but a body can only live with out water for so long
water should not belong to anyone: it belongs to everyone
water must be public, water must be free
clean water should not be a commodity
to be bought and sold on the open market
which pits those who can afford it against those in need
water is a human right, not a luxury
water is a human right, not a luxury
let’s talk about India, let’s talk about Africa
let’s talk about China, and right here, at home in North America
let’s talk about the watershed, and the aquafirs
let’s talk about Walkerton and Native reserves
this matter is urgent, it requires our attention
it demands immediate public intervention.
if we’re going to be paying, it should be for water from our tap
ensuring it remains reliable, clean and safe, so that
we can take a container, fill it again and again
fill our bodies with the water we need and then
leave enough for our neighbours, enough for the farmers
enough for the future, our sons and our daughters
that’s the blood of the earth in that bottle right there
a resource we have no choice but to share
before you buy another bottle and down what’s in there
you’ve gotta think about what you drink
think (think!) about what you drink
maybe I’m preaching to the choir, to the converted masses
the concerned and conscience, the educated classes
but even you, out there, who already know everything I’ve said
how many times does convenience win out instead
of what you know is right, and what you know what you should do
you know ignoring the facts doesn’t make them less true
you’ve gotta think (think!) about what you drink
you’ve gotta think (think!) about what you drink
tell your friend, tell your neighbour, write a letter to your leader
it is never true that there is nothing you can do
water is must be public, water must be free
water is a human right, not a luxury!
think about what you drink
think (think!) about what you drink
think (think!) about what you drink

Bottle This! is spoken word from Evalyn's double disc Small Theatres If you were so inclined, it would make an excellent Christmas gift, for me, or someone else.

I heard it on CKUA: Listener supported radio.

James

Labels: I think too much

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

The ones they don't make comics about

A gymnasium full of highschool kids that don't want to be there. A principle who knows this, but has to pretend otherwise. A hastily assembled wheelchair ramp up to the stage. Just like every other night this week. And last week. Combination freakshow and motivational speaker, that's me.

I roll up onto the stage. Lots of eyes pointed at me. Morbid curiosity; they all want to see. I turn on the mike.

"Hey. So. Question for the floor. Have you had one of the drunk driving victims come out to your school before?"

A few nods.

"Any of you drink and drive? No? Or at least, not that you'll admit? Good. Shows that you know what stupid is, at least when you're sitting around bored in a gym."

A couple desultory chuckles.

"Any of you folks not want to be here? Show of hands. Who wants to be just about anywhere else than sitting in this fucking gym?"

A couple brave souls risk the wrath of their teachers by raising hands. Time for the freak show.

"Me neither." I raise my right hand, good and high so everyone can get a look at the skin as it drips and runs down my arm like warm wax. Some kid in the back retches up. Bastards always schedule me for after lunch. I drop my arm and bring it back inside my envirochair before I lose any bits. That's never fun.

"Where I want to be is working a desk job somewhere, or going for beers with the gang, or maybe raising a family, or just about fucking anything other than living in a damn envirochair. And you know what? I'm one of the lucky ones."

"Every year in this country, about 3000 folks hit some kind of transformation. They get bit by a radioactive spider, or get exposed to gamma rays, or fall in a vat of weird chemicals in an industrial accident or something like that. I'm here to remind you that not everyone gets to be your friendly neighborhood Spiderman."

I cue the projector, which starts to show statistics, interspersed with some pretty gross pictures. I mean, I live with the fact that I melt at room temperature, and I still can't stomach some of those shots.

"Of those three thousand or so, fully 95% die either immediately, or within months. 75% of those are no longer identifiable as human by the time they are dead."

"The remaining 5% can live. Usually with some pretty damn expensive equipment. Of those, some, like me, are the lucky ones. We can still think, talk, get around after a fashion. Of course, no sex when your dick melts from friction, but still, better me than him." I jerk my head in the direction of the screen, where some poor screaming bastard is on fire, but not getting burned up. "He committed suidide. Hung himself with an asbestos rope that his wife smuggled in. Can't say as I blame him. Or her."

I turn around and roll off the stage. Can't say I envy their teachers this afternoon. Of course it'll all wear off - teenagers always think they're fuckin' immortal. Six months from now, one of these dumb kids is gonna throw himself into a reactor, dead certain that he's gonna be the next Molecule Man.

Some days I don't know why I bother.
------------
This was sparked by seeing the Sandman's genesis in the most recent Spiderman movie and thinking "What are the odds, even accepting super-hero physics, of that actually ending well?" And just a general fascination with the underbelly of shiny-happy comic worlds. Spiderman and Molecule Man are trademarks of Marvel Comics, used without permission or apology, yadda yadda yadda.

James

Labels: geekery, I think too much

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

So, yeah, complicated...

If you read Raven's blog, then you know that my dad's health took a sharp turn for the worse. What she doesn't mention, probably because she wasn't sure if it was a boundary she could step past, is that it's in large part due to the alcoholism that us kids have known about and let slide for years. So yeah... there's some complicated emotions tied up in that, beyond the already not-simple "My Dad's old and sick".

Beyond that, my van has died - and while Dirk has been a White Knight in the truest sense and gotten it back on the road, it's a temporary measure at best. I need a new vehicle, before the summer is out.

Also, Raven's computer has died, so if you're breathlessly awaiting e-mail or blog updates from her, be patient.

Work has been a bit stressful - not in a bad way, just in a busy way. When you're an IT service company, and you change out your phone system, call center and ticket tracking/parts ordering/sales management tool all at once, it's significant. Necessary, in our case, and ultimately way way better for the work environment, but stressful in the change over.

I haven't finished all the writing and layout, let alone printing and assembly for the games I'm bringing to Gencon.

We're crazy busy this summer, with camping and SCA and trips and all the rest of that jazz.

We're (and here I mean Raven is) potty training Jasen.

Raven's cut back her work hours, and I've carved a chunk of my paycheck out for RRSP's, so our household income has dropped a bit sharply. And neither of us are good at that sort of thing.

Still, in all that, I can look to a lot of positive:

I'm spending a lot of time with my dad, and talking more with the whole family.

Gencon! I'm a major sponsor of the forge booth this year!

We're potty training Jasen!

We get to go on a lot of trips and SCA and camping and stuff!

We're saving money for retirement!

Connor has a therapist again!

I was already looking to get a new vehicle in the fall, so it's just a timetable change, not a huge unexpected cost!

--------
Complicated. But not all bad.

James

Labels: I think too much

Thursday, June 21, 2007

What will you say?

[Stolen from Mo Turkington, in a forum somewhere]

In X years from now, when you're 90 (yes, you made it!), and you've been rolled into the activities room of the retirement villa that you've been living in, the candy striper kids have come to talk to you. They look at you with a mix of compassion and and respect and revulsion: empathy for the state of being so old and weak bodied, amazement that you've lived through so many years that they can not comprehend, disgust at the process of aging and mortality and a new found there-but-for-the-grace-of-god-go-I commitment for living fast and dying young. What will you tell them about the world they've inherited? What will you claim to be your generational hardships? What is the gift or curse you'll inflict upon their minds? What will you claimed has changed so greatly at so terrible a price? Bonus points for doing it in your you-at-90 voice, and for exhibiting eccentricity or curmudgeonishness or contentious ideas that you have learned between now and then.

My response:
------------
Miss, I appreciate the attention you bring to me and the other folks here who have outlived their family and friends. And while it's been a long, long time for me, I remember what it's like to be revulsed by age; by confronting mortality. Don't be ashamed of your revulsion: it's yours. Own it, understand it, embrace it. Because when you know and understand that it's your reaction, shame goes away; revulsion and disgust go away, and you see me for who I am, here and now, and not who you fear to be in six decades.

Also understand that I can't sit here and tell you about my long and varied life - I haven't lived one. I've lived hundreds of short and different lives, and been hundreds of different people. I can introduce you to the people I still am, or tell stories about the people I used to be, but life isn't an epic unified tale. It's a collection of short stories, by different authors, in different styles. Here, I'll reminisce for you about one of the people I used to be. When I was a game designer, back around the turn of 21, information was just starting to flex it's muscles, and really grow into itself. It's hard to imagine from the person you are today, or the person I am today, but ideas did not always flow freely. So for a long time, the only games available were those that a bare handful of people had created. Before the turn of 21, probably less than a thousand people, with maybe a few hundred popular games, strange though it sounds. So communities would form around certain games, or game designers or styles of game, and as communities do, they would grow insular by outcasting the Other - denigrate other games or styles of play as "Wrong", or "Bad". As information first began to crack it's shell and peak out at the world, suddenly there were tens of thousands of designers, and tens of thousands of games. And a mantra became popular to break the insularity - "There is no 'One True Way' to play". Take each game on it's own merits, in it's own time, in it's own place.

The wisdom that the game designer back then learned, and passed on to me - which in turn, I pass on to you - is simply this. "No One True Way" is true for life, just as it was true for games. Let yourself be more than one person and live more than one life. Let the people you've stopped being pass away gracefully. Learn to accept the new people you become. Grow. Change. Be human.
----------

Every once in a while, I kick out a piece of fiction, and think "Damn! How the hell did I produce that????"

James

Labels: I think too much

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

"Honesty" box? I don't think so...

So it seems like, in the last couple weeks, every time I turn around, Facebook has added another 3 weird plug-in applications. Mostly I ignore them and the invitations.

One that showed up today in my profile is "The Honesty Box", which is described as "Honesty Box lets your friends tell you exactly what they think of you, anonymously"

... am I the only one seeing the problem, here?

One of the things that has proved remarkably true throughout the history of the internet is that communities that aren't underpinned by real identities and connections are the ones that go downhill in a blaze of flaming spite. Fast. What appeals to me about Facebook is that it encourages (but does not require) real names, and that it's strongly based on real connections. You invite the people you have an address for. You connect with people who have common interests or friends.

Maybe it's just me, but anonymously being able to say things that only the recipient can ever see just screams out as a bad idea. That's a recipe for adolescent power games and bullshit.

Honesty starts right here:

James

Labels: I think too much

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

I am not a rapist, part III

Preface to part III: It's been mentioned more than a few times that the language around this stuff is fuzzy. So, defuzzing: I consider rape to be refering to penetrative sex, which is a subset of the broader, equally horrifying catagory of sexual abuse. However, in these posts I am using rape as a shorthand for 'sexual abuse, including rape'. /preface

So, the less comfortable route. "Some of [the people I love and trust] are rapists."

Let's accept this, for the purpose of intellectual exercise, as being true. How can I possible love and trust rapists? Two possibilities come to mind: either the rape is a past event and they have significantly changed, or I can't tell they are rapists.

Now, I'll conceed I'm not the brightest bulb in the pack, but I'm not burnt out either. So if I can't tell someone I know well is a rapist, then either there are no significant social cues, or they are abnormally good at hiding or supressing them.

Either of these is pretty frightening; I don't think I need to dig into the ramifications.

So, stepping back out, we come back (with one modification) to: either my loved and trusted aren't rapists, or they are and I can't tell.

I reject option B. There must be cues and indicators that this type of behaviour has happened or is happening. So, back in happy "rape is a thing that happens to other people" land, right?

No, unfortunately. Now that I've hauled out this huge mirror, I need to use it. I can't stop just because I've hit an answer that makes me comfortable.

How do I know my loved and trusted are not rapists? By our interactions and awareness and shared history. By our common context. The only reason my loved and trusted get a pass on those nasty stats is because of that context. If I do not have that context, then I can't give them a pass. The numbers are vile, but they are impartially so. If I'm looking at some set of people without that context, I must assume that the numbers apply, and work from that.

Well, hang on then. How do I know I am not a rapist again? Same thing: context. How do I know you (impersonal, third person) aren't? Well, I don't. Flipping that around, how do you know I am not a rapist? You don't. Not without that context.

James

Labels: I think too much

Thursday, April 12, 2007

I am not a rapist, part II

I am going to preface this with a note, responding directly to one of the comments.

All they know is that someone they like and respect has felt attacked by blog posts, but they don't know which ones.

Anyone who knows this is flat out wrong, and boy does it explain why people are responding like they are. I don't feel attacked by anything I read. I am not attempting to attack back. I feel enlightened. The things I have read lately have connected rape to me in a visceral and emotional way, when before it was a remote and intellectual problem. I am trying to explain how the commentary I've read has made rape real and personal as an issue.

/preface.

So, here is me digging into some specific language, and how some of it prompted my post.

From kyaram's lj comes a couple quotes:

There are instances when the man is coming on to a woman, for sexual reasons, and there is no force, but she is uninterested and unable to express her lack of interest with words, and he just doesn’t see her lack of interest. He is not purposely raping her; he just can’t see that she’s not interested. It’s still rape, though not as clearly defined.

The Canadian Panel on Violence Against Women found that 38% of sexually assaulted women were assaulted by their husbands, common-law partners or boyfriends.

From Anna's LJ, another:

[the media stereotype of rape] makes it easy to spot the victim, spot the rapist. It means never having to consider what rape is about, what rape statistics show us. Rape victims vary from infants and toddlers up to great grandmothers in long term care homes. The vast majority of them know their rapist. A significant number are related to their rapist.

These last two quotes are just example citations and reinforcements that [physically coerced, violent, perpetrated by stranger] is a small subset of rape. That the bulk of rape takes place in an existing relationship, and is at least as likely, possibly more so, to involve non-physical coercion. What this does to 'not exclude' me is expand the concept of perpetrator to "anyone". If a rapist is usually not a violent stranger, but in fact a trusted associate, then I and most everyone I know becomes a potential rapist.

This scares the hell out of me. If trust and caring do not significantly act to block rape, what does? How can we deal with it? How do we stop it? If, as kyaram suggests above, someone can perpetrate rape without even realizing it then how can we even identify it? If rape can happen across lines of trust and love, then I can be raped. Then I can rape. If rape can be perpetrated without conscious intent, then I may have already done so. If I do not then examine myself and my actions, then I am intellectually and emotionally dishonest at the best, and a monster at the worst. I am ethically compelled to seriously consider if I am a rapist. I am ethically compelled to seriously consider if I have been raped.

So I do this. I review my life and my relationships pretty carefully, and as objectively as I can, and conclude "Nope, I call bullshit. I'm not a rapist." I examine my life and those close to me, and do the same.

I get kinda mad then. So I go back and dig into the stats and the numbers, pretty comfortable that I'm going to see misrepresentation of the actual studies, or sloppy research or the like. And I'm stonewalled. The numbers look solid. Enough different groups in different areas are coming up with consistent data that either it's:
A: A conspiracy. (Which I reject out of hand. I find most conspiracy theory kind of mysterious and cute and utterly full of garbage.)
B: A statistical anomaly. Technically possible, but wildly unlikely. Like "pigs will develop wings through natural selection arising from being fenced in but not roofed over" kind of unlikely.
C: Pretty much true.

So now I'm forced to again reconsider myself and the people I love and trust. Again, I'm faced with a pretty limited answer set. Either:
A: None of them are rapists. A statistical anomaly, but entirely supportable given the sample size.
B: Some of them are rapists.

A is the comfortable answer. It lets me say "Whew, that was close. For a second there, I was from a family of monsters and horrible people. Good thing rape is still something that happens to other people."

B is the less comfortable answer, but again, intellectual and emotional honesty compel me to examine it.

...

This is really being hard to write, and is sucking up half my working afternoon, which isn't fair to my employer. I will keep writing about it, though, because I'm not even halfway done unpacking my thoughts. I have yet, for example, to explain how this leads me to the 'people are calling me a rapist'. I will add one clarification: When I say people, I mean everyone who is talking and discussing rape, including myself. It's linked to that thought above, that everyone is a potential rapist, because the comforting illusion that only monsters rape has been removed.

James

Labels: I think too much

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Let's be clear: I don't think I'm a rapist.

Ok, hindsight is 20-20 and all that; it's very obvious that I wasn't being as clear as I needed to be when approaching such a hot button topic as rape.

So, first things first: I don't think I'm a rapist, I don't think anyone in my family is, and I'm not claiming statistics apply directly and personally to my family.

In the comments, Anna asked for examples of what I mean when I say that I feel discussions of rape do not exclude me [as a perpetrator]. That's really, really hard to do. I mean, I can (and will, shortly) find some examples of things that demonstrate what I mean, but they're going to be out of context, and like words everywhere, can get read multiple ways, so it's very likely you won't see what I'm seeing. What I'm really referencing is the totality of the actual discussion and culture around rape discussion, and how it is affecting me. So I'm going to crack that egg first, before I try and tackle specific language.

First off, I feel excluded from conversations about rape. I've never been raped. I've never felt the target of unwanted sexual attention¹. There is not (in most places) any kind of specific bar to entry on discussions around rape, but there is an overall impression that if it hasn't happened to you (or sometimes, someone close), you can't understand or contribute usefully. This is perfectly normal, social behaviour² for humans, not specific to rape discussion.

Second, many of the men who do "participate"³ in rape discussions are being asshats, and not attempting to contribute, but attempting to keep the status quo of existing power relationships. This makes me hestitant to step in, because I'm a guy, and benefit all the time from that status quo, without even realizing it. I have a fear that I'll offer something to the conversation, and end up sounding like an asshat⁴, because there's all kinds of assumptions and givens that I'm not even aware that I'm making. This is absolutely⁵ my own hangup; I recognize this.

Third, the statistics thing. I personalize statistics. I can't help it; that's how my brain works. That does not mean I take them and literally apply them to my own life. "10% of the population is gay, that means one of the people I work with MUST be gay, I wonder which one it is?" is an example of what I do not do. But "Wow, 10% is really high; is that... really? wow. Well, X and Y are gay, and so is A... how many people do I know about as well as X, Y and A? Hunh, 25 or 30. I guess 10% is born out by my personal experience. Whaddya know." is the sort of thought exercise I might run through. I will still recognize that my experience is totally anecdotal and doesn't necessarily bear out the validity (or lack thereof) of the numbers.

This is getting long, and my lunch break is pretty much over, so more later. Is this making sense so far?

James

1: Uncomprehended sexual attention, on the other hand, totally. "She wants to have sex with me, she's being very direct and clear and patient... uuhhh... uuuhhh...help! nothing in my conservative christian upbringing tells me what to do here, panic, panic panic!" but it wasn't unwanted. Just awkward as hell, because I didn't know the language she was speaking.

2: For example, someone who knows de nada about cars, like me, trying to be involved in a conversation about cars with a bunch of auto mechanics. I flat out don't have the context and knowledge to contribute usefully.

3: Sarcasm quotes.

4: See, for example, Exhibit A, titled "I didn't know I was a rapist..." in which I demonstrate asshattery.

5: I just realized, when I first typed this as ABSOLUTELY that I treat All Caps differently than teh intarweb. I use all caps is a way of bolding when I'm using plain text and don't have formatting tags. To teh intarweb, it's yelling. Sorry, Anna; now I know why you thought I was yelling.

Labels: I think too much

Monday, April 09, 2007

I didn't know I was a rapist...

I'm not sure how much of this is legitimate, and how much is venting. Please keep that in mind as you read: I'm still conflicted about what I'm saying.

This started boiling in my backbrain, partly from reading various forums, generally raising my awareness, and partly from reading a lot of relevant commentary on or around Blog Against Sexual Violence Day.

There's a common thread (theme?, something) I've seen a lot of lately, which is that any time someone doesn't want sex, and sex happens, it's being called rape. I've never seen it tagged to specific examples, but generalized, which is maybe where my distaste for it comes from.

There's been days when I've come to bed wanting sex, and my wife hasn't. We've ended up having sex. Maybe there was seduction involved, maybe some other form of covert or overt manipulation; maybe there wasn't. There was no explicit permission given or denied.

There's a lot of folks out there that are, through generalizations, calling me a rapist, and that really stings. So I find myself thinking "manipulation=rape" and working through permutations of that. Thinking of things that are equally as intimate and important as sex, like childcare. And I'm thinking "so, what makes manipulation for sex rape, and not this? My wife doesn't want to get up with the kids, neither do I - we bargain and manipulate and someone gets to sleep in, and someone has to deal with Saturday morning kids." This is the gentle form of Cohen's "homicidal bitchin' that goes down in every kitchen".

But mostly I admit that when I do stuff like that I'm pushing the metaphor beyond it's reasonable limits, and keep to rape being a sexual thing. But then I think "Sometimes my wife comes to bed wanting sex, and I don't. We end up having sex. Now people are calling my wife a rapist? What the hell?"

And that gets me even more pissed off, for a couple reasons. One is that anyone calling my wife a rapist makes the caveman in the back of my head all growly and reach for his club. The other is that I get the strong impression that there are people who would NOT call my wife a rapist, while maintaining that I am.

But there's clearly places where it IS rape - date rape, whether it's drugs or social pressure used to elicit agreement to sex, is often really rape (although sometimes not). I'm sure that in abusive relationships there is a lot of sex that could be described exactly as I descibe my hypothetical rape above, and it would be really rape. The only difference being that my relationship isn't abusive. (How do I know that? 'Cause I do. How does generic third party person know that? Uhh....)

So there's part of my brain that wants to keep rape and sexual violence to the commonly accepted view (violent, coercive, usually from a stranger). But there's a part of my brain that also recognizes that's not enough. That sees the stats and studies that show most incidences of rape involve someone known to the survivor, and can't deny that they are well-conducted, and probably true.

And the rest of my brain HATES that part. Because it says "1 in 3 women are victims of rape. You've got a mother and 5 sisters in law. So, pick two males in your family and call them rapists". And I can't. I mean, I recognize that "my family" is way too small a sample to be used statistically like that, but I still see "1 in 3" and read "pick two guys in your family" - I can't help reading the numbers that way. I personalize statistics all the time. So I personalize the rape statistics and my brain rejects them. Can't possibly be true; that's not my family. But they (they = 'the one's I've dug into some') give every appearance of statistical rigour and my science brain says "Not much margin for error, bub."

So I go around in circles, wasting energy in undirected anger, and not getting anywhere. Which, of course, makes me mad...

James

(Please, by whatever you hold dear, no "don't worry James, you aren't a rapist" comments. If you're going to comment, offer something from your own perspective.)

Labels: I think too much

Thursday, March 22, 2007

Grar.

The thing that's really cheesing me off about the "new" blogger is that no matter where I go, what browser I use, what magic incantations I bleat at the Gods of Google,

It. Does. Not. Remember. My. Fracking. Login. Ever.

Sometimes, if I'm particularly good, and haven't sinned against Google in my thoughts, I will stay logged in for a few hours. But that's about the best I can do.

I miss cookies that work.

Also, I promised eggs! and haven't delivered. I am bad. Maybe tonight.

James

Labels: I think too much

Monday, March 19, 2007

Comments

Hi! I like comments!

They tell me people are reading! They tell me that I'm not Don Quixote shouting in the wilderness! They tell me if people like what they read, or roll their eyes!

Please comment more? [Insert cute picture of a big-eyed kitten, or something.]

James

Labels: I think too much

Sunday, March 18, 2007

Weddings and Funerals

It's rerun time! I discovered recently that I still have access to all the posts on my old blog. I will be reposting some of the better ones from time to time.

This was orginally posted in January of 2005.

Weddings and Funerals

"Hey, it's Uncle Fred! I haven't seen you since Doug and Sarah got married - what was that, 3 years ago now?"
"Four, almost. What have you been up to?"

Sound like a familiar conversation?
When I was younger, it often seemed that the only time I saw far-flung uncles and cousins was for weddings and funerals. Now that I'm getting older and have a family of my own, it's starting to seem that I only see far-flung brothers and nephews at weddings and funerals. So it comes as no real surprise that weddings and funerals, aside from their main purpose, also serve as touch-points for friends and relatives.

But really, how separate is that from the main purpose? Are we honestly that interested in what Uncle Fred's been doing for three years? If we were, it wouldn't have been three years since we talked to him. So are we talking to Uncle Fred because it's expected and "oh no, here comes Aunt Ginny with her stories about the damn cat again", or something like that? No, becuase it always seems that, no matter how small the gathering, it's always possible to avoid the Aunt Ginnys and catch up with the Uncle Freds. And also, it's easier to tolerate Aunt Ginny than it is when she phones on a random Tuesday.

I think that it's because we recognize that weddings and funerals are turning points. Unconsciously at least, we acknowledge that this is a momentous event and that things will not be the same. So we touch and reaffirm that all is well with our social world. We seek to confirm that, despite this change, things will go on as they were. It's a very important tribal function - both for us and even moreso for the immediately affected.

The married couple needs the confirmation that the tribe is around them, and the bereaved need the awareness that the tribe survives despite the loss of a member. From pop psychology all the way up to the serious stuff it is widely acknowledged that facing something alone makes it substantially more stressful.

So catch up with your Uncle Fred and listen patiently to Aunt Ginny. It's an important social function, and when you make vague plans to keep in touch remember that the important part isn't really the keeping in touch, it's your presence in the tribe that counts. If you ran through the room dressed in furs and beat your chest it would still serve. People will just shake their heads and say "Oh, that would be your cousin James. He's a little weird, but you know what they say: you can't pick your family."

James

Labels: I think too much, reruns

Monday, March 12, 2007

The Bad twins: Change and Same.

Originally posted as a comment over on *'s blog.

Warning, this may or may not be coherent.

I think we all have two little monsters inside. One is called Changebad, the other is called Samebad. Each time you try a change and it doesn't work, it's like you poke Changebad and he gets a little bigger. Vice versa with Samebad. As long as they stay more or less the same size, they keep each other busy and you get to change or stay the same, whatever you like. But if one of them gets too big, it gets to ignore the other one and boss you around.

The catch is that if you aren't paying attention, other people can poke your Changebad and Samebad.

When other people get upset because you tried a change and it worked out, they're listening to their Changebad. Nothing you can do about that; that's between them and their monsters. But when they grump at you, or withdraw, then they're trying to poke your monsters. Just say "Hey! Stop poking my Changebad!" They' look at you like you're on glue, and you can tell them this story, and maybe it'll help. Or maybe they'll smile kinda funny and edge away like you're a crazy person. Either way you get your space. :)

Now I want to make T-shirts that say "Stop poking my Changebad!" on the front and "Stop poking my Samebad!" on the back.

James

Labels: geekery, I think too much