Wow, it's really been forever, hasn't it? 2L kinda ate my life and forced me to spend my waking hours doing things other than blogging. This was a problematic development to say the least, as I kinda liked having a place to muse to to the wider world. I'm gonna try to keep this updated more often, and I've got two posts in the works about the major events of 2010; these will be out in the next few days, along with a larger post about 2L. I guess that, for now at least, I'll start with the most recent occurence:
With the one day of full freedom I had, I followed Amanda and Jessica (Amanda's roommate) to the National Zoo. I don't know how in hell I've been here for nearly two years without going to the zoo. I love the zoo, and I went to the Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago all the time when I lived there. I guess law school got in the way.
The National Zoo is relatively impressive, for not being Lincoln Park or San Diego. They have pretty much what you'd expect to see at the zoo: Large Cats, Elephants, Monkeys of various sorts, etc... However, the two things that stood out the most had nothing to do with these animals, but with my two favorite animals at the zoo: Otters and Turtles.
Otters: I love otters; they might be my favorite zoo animal. I was definitely spoiled by the one in Chicago: he would swim right up to the glass, and follow you when you walked back and forth, which is surprisingly fun. The National Zoo has a smaller breed of otters, and they didn't look like they were doing much. There was a small half-log, about 18"x9", and I could only see one otter head and one otter tail poking out. I assumed that there was only one otter in there, which isn't nearly enough for such a large habitat. Soon, the tail at the end turned into a head, which was good, as two otters are always better than one. When the two wriggled out from under the log, they were soon joined by a third. These three otters walked over to the other end of the habitat, laid on rocks, and completely refused to go in the water. I swear they were doing this on purpose; the habitat is laid out for the specific purpose of allowing people to see the otters swim underwater, and I think that they'd had about enough of living up to the expectations of others. This would have been awesome enough on its own, but upon looking back to the log, I noticed three entirely new otters wriggling out, who then proceeded to do the same routine as their ottery predecessors. This log was like an otter clown car; I actually went back at the end just to make sure there were no other otters in there. Fantastic stuff.
Turtles: The turtles were at the very end of our trip, having accidentally passed them the first time. The National Zoo has a thing for turtles; they own turtles of almost every shape, size, and color imaginable. The final turtles we saw had two notable characteristics: 1) they were very large, and 2) they were very obviously having Turtle Sex. Turtle Sex is a very awkward-looking thing; it's kinda like one turtle is trying to climb the other and continually failing. So, having moved on from the Turtle Sex, I was looking at the other, less amorous turtles, when a little girl walked up to the den of iniquity and said "Awwww! It's so cute! That turtle is trying to climb the other one!" Now, its not my place to tell small children about the birds and the bees, especially if their mother is in no mood to do so, so I just sat there and tried to crack up as quietly as possible. Turtles rock.
Again, apologies for taking so long to post. More stuff upcoming.
May all your hits be crits,
B
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Monday, November 2, 2009
The Halloween Parade
I realize it has been a while since I posted, but as will tend to be the case from now on, I'm going to post only when things are too good to let go.
So, Saturday night rolled around, and Marie and I appeared to be pretty content not to do much. We'd had a bunch of plans at different points, but all of them had either not formed or had fallen through. Worse yet, after looking through a bunch of thrift stores for M*A*S*H* related costumes, we had come up empty, and didn't really have anything to wear. At about 8:00pm, we got a call from Amy, who was in Marie's grad program, saying that, if we wanted to, we could get dressed and go to TOWN with a whole group of people. This set off 40 minutes of Marie and I frantically looking for something to wear. I very quickly found my freshman year soccer jersey, and was set to go. Marie, after looking around for a while, took my drunken advice from the previous night (though the costume was originally meant for me) and went as a sexy cow.
We met up with the rest of the group, and after some getting ready and a few beers, we walked out into a drizzle. Our parade included: A drag Dorothy (with S&M Toto), a Tin Man (complete with paint), a Scarecrow, two Swine Flu pigs (H1 and N1), a chef, another soccer player (with ref), an Amish woman, a punk, Jackie O'Lantern (if JFK had married a pumpkin...), with Marie and I bringing up the rear. We had to walk about half a mile down U Street in order to get to the club (U Street is the bar district). Needless to say, we were VERY popular, with people shout-outing/catcalling nearly all of us at one point or another.
While the club was fun and crazy (I still believe our Dorothy got screwed in the costume contest), the other truly-noteworthy moment came after we got back home. Marie hadn't eaten, so we stopped in for some Chinese near our apartment. Right after we came in, Batman and a bee entered and took the table across from us. While this wouldn't normally be noteworthy, the look on the faces of the staff (especially when Batman didn't take his mask fully off, even through dinner) was priceless. Halloween, where costumed eating happens...
May all your hits be crits,
B
So, Saturday night rolled around, and Marie and I appeared to be pretty content not to do much. We'd had a bunch of plans at different points, but all of them had either not formed or had fallen through. Worse yet, after looking through a bunch of thrift stores for M*A*S*H* related costumes, we had come up empty, and didn't really have anything to wear. At about 8:00pm, we got a call from Amy, who was in Marie's grad program, saying that, if we wanted to, we could get dressed and go to TOWN with a whole group of people. This set off 40 minutes of Marie and I frantically looking for something to wear. I very quickly found my freshman year soccer jersey, and was set to go. Marie, after looking around for a while, took my drunken advice from the previous night (though the costume was originally meant for me) and went as a sexy cow.
We met up with the rest of the group, and after some getting ready and a few beers, we walked out into a drizzle. Our parade included: A drag Dorothy (with S&M Toto), a Tin Man (complete with paint), a Scarecrow, two Swine Flu pigs (H1 and N1), a chef, another soccer player (with ref), an Amish woman, a punk, Jackie O'Lantern (if JFK had married a pumpkin...), with Marie and I bringing up the rear. We had to walk about half a mile down U Street in order to get to the club (U Street is the bar district). Needless to say, we were VERY popular, with people shout-outing/catcalling nearly all of us at one point or another.
While the club was fun and crazy (I still believe our Dorothy got screwed in the costume contest), the other truly-noteworthy moment came after we got back home. Marie hadn't eaten, so we stopped in for some Chinese near our apartment. Right after we came in, Batman and a bee entered and took the table across from us. While this wouldn't normally be noteworthy, the look on the faces of the staff (especially when Batman didn't take his mask fully off, even through dinner) was priceless. Halloween, where costumed eating happens...
May all your hits be crits,
B
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Waxed
As so often happens, I plan to blog about things, but then something comes up that is way more worth blogging about, and i forget to blog about the original thing. This is what it about to happen, and since i'm discussing it instead of Perry's visit and the Green Day concert, it must be something worth noting. And it is...
So I'm a hairy motherfucker. This is not my terminology, but that used to describe me the summer before my senior year of high school. Now having a hairy chest is apparently not so bad, but the back...not so much. Marie has complained about this in the past, and finally I told her that if she booked the appointment, that I'd get it done. I didn't believe she'd actually go through with it, but lo and behold, she got her act together enough to set today as the date.
So I go into the salon, and the first thing they ask is "Are you here to be serviced?" My first, mental response was, "Yep, I'm here to lay some pipe. Bow Chicka Bow Wow..." Fortunately, I occasionally keep things to myself. So after filling out a form or two, I was escorted to the back by Marie, and a woman with a pleasant Jamaican accent. This would turn out to be essential; you REALLY don't want a woman with a German accent ripping hair out of you, but a Jamaican accent is somehow more soothing.
I laid down on the table, and the ripping commenced. As it turned out, it wasn't so bad. Kinda like a backrub for masochists. Plus, when they were done, I got strips of cloth dipped in tea placed on my back, so I smelled funny on top of everything else. In the next 90 minutes, I learned a lot of things:
1. I jump when hot wax is poured on my back. This is a fact of life. It's not like it was too hot, but the hot wax barrier is one that I heretofore had yet to broach. It's a weird sensation, and doesn't get any less weird after having it done multiple times in a short timespan.
2. There are more and less sensative parts of my back. You can yank the hair out of my lower back with abandon, and it doesn't really matter. The neck, on the other hand, is REALLY REALLY unpleasant to have abused multiple times in a row.
3. My back is really really pale without any hair on it. I don't normally go outside to tan, but I think I'm going to have to. It's pretty ridiculous looking.
4. Anyone who has this done anywhere near their private parts is batshit insane.
They say this needs to be done every 3 weeks. This is NOT happening, but I probably could be talked into doing it again. Worse things have happened.
May all your hits be crits,
B
So I'm a hairy motherfucker. This is not my terminology, but that used to describe me the summer before my senior year of high school. Now having a hairy chest is apparently not so bad, but the back...not so much. Marie has complained about this in the past, and finally I told her that if she booked the appointment, that I'd get it done. I didn't believe she'd actually go through with it, but lo and behold, she got her act together enough to set today as the date.
So I go into the salon, and the first thing they ask is "Are you here to be serviced?" My first, mental response was, "Yep, I'm here to lay some pipe. Bow Chicka Bow Wow..." Fortunately, I occasionally keep things to myself. So after filling out a form or two, I was escorted to the back by Marie, and a woman with a pleasant Jamaican accent. This would turn out to be essential; you REALLY don't want a woman with a German accent ripping hair out of you, but a Jamaican accent is somehow more soothing.
I laid down on the table, and the ripping commenced. As it turned out, it wasn't so bad. Kinda like a backrub for masochists. Plus, when they were done, I got strips of cloth dipped in tea placed on my back, so I smelled funny on top of everything else. In the next 90 minutes, I learned a lot of things:
1. I jump when hot wax is poured on my back. This is a fact of life. It's not like it was too hot, but the hot wax barrier is one that I heretofore had yet to broach. It's a weird sensation, and doesn't get any less weird after having it done multiple times in a short timespan.
2. There are more and less sensative parts of my back. You can yank the hair out of my lower back with abandon, and it doesn't really matter. The neck, on the other hand, is REALLY REALLY unpleasant to have abused multiple times in a row.
3. My back is really really pale without any hair on it. I don't normally go outside to tan, but I think I'm going to have to. It's pretty ridiculous looking.
4. Anyone who has this done anywhere near their private parts is batshit insane.
They say this needs to be done every 3 weeks. This is NOT happening, but I probably could be talked into doing it again. Worse things have happened.
May all your hits be crits,
B
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Wow, WoW
So the big news of my morning was that Sam Raimi just signed on to direct the World of Warcraft movie. Pair him up with the producer from Dark Knight, and this seems like one hell of a movie. I mean, this could be the first decent video game adaptation since the first Mortal Kombat. However, the problem with this movie is that they're inevitably going to do it from the point of view of the Alliance. Let's see: We have an epic quest being taken on by a human, an elf, a dwarf, various other little people. I think I've seen this movie before, but I can't remember where...
Now, imagine, if you will, if they made the movie from the point of view of the Horde. You still have an elf, but your other heroes are a troll, an orc, a zombie, and a 7 foot tall cow-person. While the possibilities of romance are slim (and would be kinda ooky even if they happened), this would be such a different and interesting movie that it would be worth watching. But oh well, maybe a sequel?
May all your hits be crits,
B
Now, imagine, if you will, if they made the movie from the point of view of the Horde. You still have an elf, but your other heroes are a troll, an orc, a zombie, and a 7 foot tall cow-person. While the possibilities of romance are slim (and would be kinda ooky even if they happened), this would be such a different and interesting movie that it would be worth watching. But oh well, maybe a sequel?
May all your hits be crits,
B
Saturday, June 20, 2009
A Voyage to DC
This has been a long time coming, but it needed to be documented.
So I got into Chicago the Thursday before Alumni Weekend, and after a brief stop at Costco, rushed off to The Snail in honor of Hollie Gilman's birthday. For those of you who aren't UoCers, there are two important facts to know about Hollie Gilman:
1. Louis Potok is NOT Hollie Gilman.
2. Hollie knows EVERYBODY.
So I shouldn't have been surprised by the scene that awaited me upon entering the restaurant. The Snail is a tasty, if somewhat small, Thai restaurant, and our party took up nearly the entire thing. There was plenty of food, plenty of booze, and not nearly enough chairs (to the point where Marie spent most of dinner sitting half on a chair and half on my left leg). After the party, most of the group ended up at Jimmy's (which I hate), then mercifully, I was allowed to collapse in bed.
Friday was the first day of Alumni Weekend, and after putting on my nametag (with accompaning spiffy ribbons), I walked around campus to see who was around. The nametag was very fortunate, or else I don't think people would have recognized me. I guess losing 40 lbs in a year will do that, but it was tons of fun to see people do double-takes when they realized who I was. Marie and I hopped around on the reception circuit, getting from a faculty reception on campus, to a Metcalf reception (where we picked up an increasingly tipsy Arianna), to the Goose Island brewery in Wrigleyville. After spending some time there, eating chicken wings and drinking a bunch of beer, Marie and I grabbed a few of her friends and we jumped a cab to the far north side to do karaoke. Upon arriving in the room, two things were readily apparent: There were a lot of people in a very small room, and (along with the words to the songs) there were nude women on the screens. I don't know whose decision this was, but someone decided that the softcore porn channel would be the perfect accompaniment to karaoke. This gets even funnier when the porn goes on regardless of what song it is, and that the porn doesn't change between songs by Metallica and those by Weezer. One would at least assume that this would necessitate a change of porn, but not according to the powers that be at the karaoke place. I actually put forward a passable rendition of Enter Sandman before heading back to Hyde Park.
Saturday was the major fraternity/sorority day on campus, and it started with a trip to AEPi for the alumni barbecue. I don't know what they did to the pledges this year, but they actually appear to be human beings for the second year in a row. They cleaned the place up, were good to talk to, and do all of the things that we failed to do. We managed to be decent at Greek Sing this year, and it was incredibly fun to sing the Jews in Space song from History of the World, Part 1, in front of everyone. The GO Party, which Chicago always pumps up as something to look forward to, was not so exciting. I think that next year, I will make this the NO GO party, and go do something cool instead.
The rest of the week was filled with a whirlwind of packing and moving things, but there were a few highlights mixed in:
* Wok-N-Roll with Aaron after filling 3/4 of a U-Haul with Marie's stuff.
* Tapas at Cafe Iberico with Marie's friend from Texas, complete with phallic dessert.
* A BBQ hosted by the head of Marie's program, and enjoying the company of his large, poorly behaved dog.
So basically, we ate, we packed, and the days passed quickly.
Marie graduated on Friday, and it was a lot more enjoyable than last year. First, I didn't have to wear that damn gown, making it less than 10000 degrees. Secondly, the speaker was less awful than last year's. And most importantly, it was shorter. Marie was happy, and looked awesome, and both of those are always a plus. The experience was only slightly marred by the fact that I had to go be part of the best dressed moving company ever, along with Marie's friend Stuart, who joined me in running back to Marie's to get the final moving done and to help sell her microwave. After an epic final dinner at Greek Islands with assorted friends and family, it was back to Marie's (now empty) apartment to sleep the precious few hours before the journey was to begin.
On Friday night, we promised to get ready to leave for 7am. This didn't happen. It was about 11am before we got on the road. When we did finally leave, I was well packed into the back seat, meaning that I had stuff packed in all around me, to the point where I wasn't going anywhere even if I'd wanted to. Fortunately, I had Ellie packed in the back with me, and once she figured out that she wasn't going anywhere, she stopped yowling and chilled for most of the car ride. The trip, surprisingly, wasn't too bad. The music was solid, the conversation was pretty interesting, and the billboards in the middle of nowhere were fascinating. I mostly want to point out that there are a lot of billboards for fireworks in states that sell them, and that in Pennsylvania, you can buy an automatic camoflage crossbow. I don't really want a crossbow, but this did tell me what kind of place I was in, and it looked really cool. We only made a handful of stops, and made almost no turns (just hopping from turnpike to turnpike), and at about midnight Sunday morning, we finally arrived at our apartment. (Sidenote: Its REALLY REALLY cool that I can call it our apartment now.) After stopping in at Eat First (a Chinese restaurant at which you Eat First, and ask questions later), our journey was over, and we were finally home.
Its been three weeks now, and our apartment is nothing short of amazing, at least since we finally unpacked it. Hopefully we can attempt to keep it clean (which would be the first time I've ever been able to do that), and start inviting more people over. But so far, so good.
May all your hits be crits,
B
So I got into Chicago the Thursday before Alumni Weekend, and after a brief stop at Costco, rushed off to The Snail in honor of Hollie Gilman's birthday. For those of you who aren't UoCers, there are two important facts to know about Hollie Gilman:
1. Louis Potok is NOT Hollie Gilman.
2. Hollie knows EVERYBODY.
So I shouldn't have been surprised by the scene that awaited me upon entering the restaurant. The Snail is a tasty, if somewhat small, Thai restaurant, and our party took up nearly the entire thing. There was plenty of food, plenty of booze, and not nearly enough chairs (to the point where Marie spent most of dinner sitting half on a chair and half on my left leg). After the party, most of the group ended up at Jimmy's (which I hate), then mercifully, I was allowed to collapse in bed.
Friday was the first day of Alumni Weekend, and after putting on my nametag (with accompaning spiffy ribbons), I walked around campus to see who was around. The nametag was very fortunate, or else I don't think people would have recognized me. I guess losing 40 lbs in a year will do that, but it was tons of fun to see people do double-takes when they realized who I was. Marie and I hopped around on the reception circuit, getting from a faculty reception on campus, to a Metcalf reception (where we picked up an increasingly tipsy Arianna), to the Goose Island brewery in Wrigleyville. After spending some time there, eating chicken wings and drinking a bunch of beer, Marie and I grabbed a few of her friends and we jumped a cab to the far north side to do karaoke. Upon arriving in the room, two things were readily apparent: There were a lot of people in a very small room, and (along with the words to the songs) there were nude women on the screens. I don't know whose decision this was, but someone decided that the softcore porn channel would be the perfect accompaniment to karaoke. This gets even funnier when the porn goes on regardless of what song it is, and that the porn doesn't change between songs by Metallica and those by Weezer. One would at least assume that this would necessitate a change of porn, but not according to the powers that be at the karaoke place. I actually put forward a passable rendition of Enter Sandman before heading back to Hyde Park.
Saturday was the major fraternity/sorority day on campus, and it started with a trip to AEPi for the alumni barbecue. I don't know what they did to the pledges this year, but they actually appear to be human beings for the second year in a row. They cleaned the place up, were good to talk to, and do all of the things that we failed to do. We managed to be decent at Greek Sing this year, and it was incredibly fun to sing the Jews in Space song from History of the World, Part 1, in front of everyone. The GO Party, which Chicago always pumps up as something to look forward to, was not so exciting. I think that next year, I will make this the NO GO party, and go do something cool instead.
The rest of the week was filled with a whirlwind of packing and moving things, but there were a few highlights mixed in:
* Wok-N-Roll with Aaron after filling 3/4 of a U-Haul with Marie's stuff.
* Tapas at Cafe Iberico with Marie's friend from Texas, complete with phallic dessert.
* A BBQ hosted by the head of Marie's program, and enjoying the company of his large, poorly behaved dog.
So basically, we ate, we packed, and the days passed quickly.
Marie graduated on Friday, and it was a lot more enjoyable than last year. First, I didn't have to wear that damn gown, making it less than 10000 degrees. Secondly, the speaker was less awful than last year's. And most importantly, it was shorter. Marie was happy, and looked awesome, and both of those are always a plus. The experience was only slightly marred by the fact that I had to go be part of the best dressed moving company ever, along with Marie's friend Stuart, who joined me in running back to Marie's to get the final moving done and to help sell her microwave. After an epic final dinner at Greek Islands with assorted friends and family, it was back to Marie's (now empty) apartment to sleep the precious few hours before the journey was to begin.
On Friday night, we promised to get ready to leave for 7am. This didn't happen. It was about 11am before we got on the road. When we did finally leave, I was well packed into the back seat, meaning that I had stuff packed in all around me, to the point where I wasn't going anywhere even if I'd wanted to. Fortunately, I had Ellie packed in the back with me, and once she figured out that she wasn't going anywhere, she stopped yowling and chilled for most of the car ride. The trip, surprisingly, wasn't too bad. The music was solid, the conversation was pretty interesting, and the billboards in the middle of nowhere were fascinating. I mostly want to point out that there are a lot of billboards for fireworks in states that sell them, and that in Pennsylvania, you can buy an automatic camoflage crossbow. I don't really want a crossbow, but this did tell me what kind of place I was in, and it looked really cool. We only made a handful of stops, and made almost no turns (just hopping from turnpike to turnpike), and at about midnight Sunday morning, we finally arrived at our apartment. (Sidenote: Its REALLY REALLY cool that I can call it our apartment now.) After stopping in at Eat First (a Chinese restaurant at which you Eat First, and ask questions later), our journey was over, and we were finally home.
Its been three weeks now, and our apartment is nothing short of amazing, at least since we finally unpacked it. Hopefully we can attempt to keep it clean (which would be the first time I've ever been able to do that), and start inviting more people over. But so far, so good.
May all your hits be crits,
B
A Musical Dilemma
I change my favorite song pretty frequently, as favorites go, but for the better part of the past year, my favorite song has been "Chelsea Dagger" by the Fratellis. Had I told this to ANYONE in the US before very recently, their response would have been something like "What by the who now?" However, the song has recently been featured both by the Chicago Blackhawks (as their goal song), and by Amstel Light, supporting the fact that their beer is brewed in Amsterdam by using a song from a Scottish rock band that is most commonly associated with soccer teams that do not hail from the Netherlands.
My dilemma is: Is the fact that my favorite song is getting exposure a good thing for me? On one hand, it's nice to know that other people know this song, and (I assume) kinda like it. However, I don't want to seem like the kind of person who likes the song ONLY because they heard it in a beer commercial. I mean, I have all of their albums (granted, there are only two), and I liked the song long before Amstel Light got the idea. Furthermore, I dont like Amstel Light. Maybe I need a new favorite song...
May all your hits be crits,
B
My dilemma is: Is the fact that my favorite song is getting exposure a good thing for me? On one hand, it's nice to know that other people know this song, and (I assume) kinda like it. However, I don't want to seem like the kind of person who likes the song ONLY because they heard it in a beer commercial. I mean, I have all of their albums (granted, there are only two), and I liked the song long before Amstel Light got the idea. Furthermore, I dont like Amstel Light. Maybe I need a new favorite song...
May all your hits be crits,
B
Friday, May 29, 2009
In Defense of Nerdery
This actually happened to me during the write-on competition, but I was busy enough that I didn’t want to waste time putting it down on “paper.” Now that I’ve got some time (original composition of this post happened on a bus from DC to NY), I feel like I should get this out there.
So, it’s Thursday, and I’m relaxing by the Mass Court pool, finishing up my write-on reading, when a group of the other residents sit down near me, and start talking. The conversation wasn’t the most interesting thing ever, and it was pretty clear that they weren’t the type to be friendly to people they didn’t know, so I tried my best to just tune it out. However, my interest was piqued when they moved to the subject of gamers. As usual, these “popular” kids couldn’t possibly understand why anyone would want to play video games for fun, surmising that it must be because “they can’t go to a bar and pick up a girl.” Now this kinda annoyed me; who’s to say that going to a bar to get hammered and pick up some floozy for meaningless sex is the end-all/be-all of existence? But what really got me was the last comment they made on the topic, which came from one of the women in this conversation:
“So I was at a bar last weekend, in the ladies room, and I hear this girl talking to her friend. The friend asks, ‘Where’s your boyfriend?’ The girl is like, “He’s at home, with his friends, playing WoW. I think I’ll go over later and play WoW with him.” And this is a HOT girl. What’s the world coming to?”
This just pissed me off. Ok, we get it, it’s “cooler” by some arbitrary standard to get wasted and act like a moron than it is to stay at home and play Warcraft. But who are you to say that acceptance others is not a good thing? I agree, the stereotype of the gamer is some overweight, pimply kid who never showers and lives in his parents’ basement watching internet porn and is entirely incapable of normal human contact. But we’re not all like that. Along with those who I’m sure would fit your stereotype, the gamer community includes students, people with jobs, and parents who game alongside their kids. Just because we don’t fit some ideal of what one should be doing with their Saturday night doesn’t mean that what we choose to do is not just as valuable to us as your drunken weekend escapades are to you. To belittle anyone for not fitting themselves into whatever small social compartment that you believe their outward appearance would force them into is wrong, and more than a bit pathetic.
To quote the classic Revenge of the Nerds (which has been on G4 pretty much constantly), “none of us can be free until nerd persecution ends.”
May all your hits be crits,
B
So, it’s Thursday, and I’m relaxing by the Mass Court pool, finishing up my write-on reading, when a group of the other residents sit down near me, and start talking. The conversation wasn’t the most interesting thing ever, and it was pretty clear that they weren’t the type to be friendly to people they didn’t know, so I tried my best to just tune it out. However, my interest was piqued when they moved to the subject of gamers. As usual, these “popular” kids couldn’t possibly understand why anyone would want to play video games for fun, surmising that it must be because “they can’t go to a bar and pick up a girl.” Now this kinda annoyed me; who’s to say that going to a bar to get hammered and pick up some floozy for meaningless sex is the end-all/be-all of existence? But what really got me was the last comment they made on the topic, which came from one of the women in this conversation:
“So I was at a bar last weekend, in the ladies room, and I hear this girl talking to her friend. The friend asks, ‘Where’s your boyfriend?’ The girl is like, “He’s at home, with his friends, playing WoW. I think I’ll go over later and play WoW with him.” And this is a HOT girl. What’s the world coming to?”
This just pissed me off. Ok, we get it, it’s “cooler” by some arbitrary standard to get wasted and act like a moron than it is to stay at home and play Warcraft. But who are you to say that acceptance others is not a good thing? I agree, the stereotype of the gamer is some overweight, pimply kid who never showers and lives in his parents’ basement watching internet porn and is entirely incapable of normal human contact. But we’re not all like that. Along with those who I’m sure would fit your stereotype, the gamer community includes students, people with jobs, and parents who game alongside their kids. Just because we don’t fit some ideal of what one should be doing with their Saturday night doesn’t mean that what we choose to do is not just as valuable to us as your drunken weekend escapades are to you. To belittle anyone for not fitting themselves into whatever small social compartment that you believe their outward appearance would force them into is wrong, and more than a bit pathetic.
To quote the classic Revenge of the Nerds (which has been on G4 pretty much constantly), “none of us can be free until nerd persecution ends.”
May all your hits be crits,
B
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