1058: Badvertising Revisited

[Preamble: I know I said comics would be back, but I realise this was a rather foolish promise to make given that I am in the process of moving house and my Mac (which holds the Comic Life software I use to produce them) is now packed up. So you can live without them for a little while, I’m sure — at least until the chaos of the next couple of weeks is resolved!]

As I grow older, I find myself less and less tolerant to the tactics of marketing people. I can’t quite work out if this is simply my own intolerance building up as a result of my advancing years, or if adverts really are significantly more annoying than they were in the past. I have a feeling there’s a touch of both, because there’s a whole lot of new technology to make advertising more annoying these days.

Specifically, let’s consider Internet-based advertising. Now, the vast majority of content on the Internet is available for free (connection charges notwithstanding) so it has to make its money somehow — and it just so happens that advertising is a reasonable way to do that. (Whether or not it’s a “good” way is a matter of some debate, as traditional advertising models seem to be becoming less and less effective among savvy Internet users, many of whom use ad-blocking software to make their life considerably less intruded-upon by marketing people.)

I have no real problem with advertising being used as a means of keeping content free. I’ll sit through a couple of pre-roll adverts when watching, say, 4OD on YouTube. I’d have to sit through adverts on TV, and there are actually fewer adverts on YouTube than when it’s broadcast live on TV. No problem there.

What I do have an issue with is when adverts start to get too big for their boots and start engaging in any of the following behaviour:

Making noise without me telling them to
Monopolising my web browser and/or actively getting in the way of what I’m trying to do
Urging me to “interact” with them
Urging me to share them on Facebook.

All of these things are monumentally irritating, albeit for different reasons.

In the case of noisy adverts, they are a pain simply because they make noise and it’s usually difficult to shut them off. And there tends to only be a couple of them available at once, meaning that it’s entirely possible that several times in a session you’ll hear that stupid woman from the air freshener advert whingeing about being “stuck in bad odours” or something. You can stay there, love.

Monopolising my web browser is something that really pisses me off because it ruins the experience of the site. The most recent example I’ve seen is on GameFAQs’ mobile site, which occasionally gets completely taken over by a Samsung advert. You’ll be looking at the page, trying to tap on a link when suddenly these stupid arrows appear, inviting you to “swipe”. “Fuck off,” you’ll say — possibly out loud — until you realise that you can’t do anything on this page until you do as it says, and then you’re stuck in a stupid interactive “experience” about a phone you probably don’t give a shit about. (Alternatively, you refresh the page until it goes away.)

This brings me on to another point: interactive adverts. Why? Why would I want to play your stupid game where I get to actually clean the grime off the filthy worktop? Why would I want to pick which one of your vapid Z-list celebrities tells me about your awful product? “Get ready to interact!” they’ll say. “Get ready to fuck off!” I’ll say, particularly if, as they so frequently are, are also browser-monopolising and noisy ads.

Finally is the seemingly-obligatory necessity to connect everything to Facebook and Twitter. I’ve lost count of the number of adverts I’ve seen recently that include hashtags, Facebook pages or even, in some cases, buttons to share the advert on Twitter or Facebook directly. Pro-Tip: if you click either of those buttons, you are a dickhead. And if you don’t know why, well, I don’t think I can help you.

Advertising serves a purpose, and if it keeps out of my way I’m happy to let it sit there to help pay the bills for a particular site — I don’t use an ad-blocker and will probably keep it that way for the moment. But the moment advertising starts actively obstructing what I’m trying to do, that’s when I start thinking about installing one. And that’s not going to make me think positively about your product; it means I’m not going to see it at all.

1057: The Week from Hell

Page_1 This week… I have been both looking forward to and dreading this upcoming week, as I believe I’ve already mentioned a couple of times. There are a number of reasons for this.

I’m looking forward to it because we now have the keys to our new apartment, which means we will soon be living in our new apartment. Our new apartment, I believe I mentioned, is in Southampton, which is a place I’ve been trying to get back to for the last couple of years ever since Bad Things happened and caused me to have to leave.

I am dreading it because the moving process involves 1) packing all my shit up and 2) moving all my shit. To be fair, Andie has done the vast majority of the packing, meaning there’s actually relatively little left to do. But that last bit of packing is always the worst bit, involving, as it does, picking up all those stray bits of rubbish you’ve been inexplicably hoarding for the last few years, and which have moved house with you several times for no discernible reason. It involves finding all those bits of paper that you think “might be important” and deciding not to throw them out “just in case you need them.” You never need them. I have a (now-broken) expanding file full of such pieces of paper, which I’m strongly considering just whizzing instead of dragging it with me yet again. Obviously I will remove important pieces of paper like my driving licence, insurance documentation and that printout of my friends and I from the Leonardo da Vinci machine in Sega World before I throw it away. Or perhaps I will just take it with me yet again.

I am also dreading this week because of the fact I’m on some very inconveniently-timed jury service. Obviously as this is going on at the time of writing I am unable to say anything about this, so you’ll just have to take my word for it that it is very inconveniently timed and I could really do without it right now. (It’s a shame, because if I weren’t in the middle of moving house, I’d probably find the whole experience quite interesting — I have a mild fascination with the workings of the law, perhaps sparked by my love of the Ace Attorney series of DS games.)

Still. Despite all the chaos surrounding me, somehow I have been organised enough to complete almost all of my week’s work in the space of a day and a half, with only a few bits and pieces to clean up as the week progresses.

It’s all going to be fine. It’s all going to be fine. By the time Christmas is here, I’ll be living back where I want to be with a person I want to be with, and everything will be fine and dandy. Hopefully.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to go and lie face-down on my bed and scream into my pillow for a bit.

1056: More Things I Thought Were True, But Aren’t

[I have written twelve articles of between 500 and 1,000 words each today so I am too tired to do a comic strip. They’ll be back tomorrow.]

A long while back, while I was in my faintly delirious “holy shit my life has just fallen apart, I need to distract myself in any way possible” phase, I composed a series of fever-dream blog posts that I have a feeling might have actually been relatively amusing. (Or at least I found them amusing. Your mileage may, as always, vary.) One of these posts was Things I Thought Were True, But Aren’t, in which I explored a selection of things that I had ingrained into my brain for various reasons — either I’d overheard my family or friends say them and gullibly believed them, or I’d simply never seen anything to prove my opinion wrong.

So, in the spirit of that original post from way back when, here are some more Things I Thought Were True, But Aren’t.

1. Taking a drink into the bathroom is forbidden.

You just can’t do it. You shouldn’t do it. I never questioned why this was — I believe the somewhat vague explanation of it being “unhygienic” may have been bandied around at some point — but over time I just sort of gradually grew to make up reasons why people didn’t take drinks into the bathroom, unless they were attending a house party, in which case everyone must take their drinks into the bathroom.

My favourite explanation of why you shouldn’t take drinks into the bathroom is because of all the “poo particles” floating around in the air as a result of whoever last had a dump or did a really big fart. If you take a drink — particularly a hot one — into the bathroom, then all the poo particles are naturally attracted to the drink and infect it with poo. So when you start drinking your drink that you took into the bathroom, you’ll then be drinking poo. And no-one wants to drink poo. So don’t do it.

2. You can make yourself dream about a thing by thinking about it really hard before you go to sleep.

I’m actually in two minds as to whether or not this one is actually true. Because certainly when you do something intense (get those thoughts out of your mind, hentai) before going to sleep, you’ll often dream about it. See: playing too much Tetris/Klax/Dr. Mario before bed and consequent surreal dreams. (My favourite was the one where I met the lady who said “Klax Wave!” before every level and “Ooh!” every time you got a 4-tile Klax in Klax on the Atari Lynx, and she was like totally fit and into me and we… wait, what was I talking about again?)

For a long time, though, I was utterly convinced that lying there with your eyes shut trying to picture something really vividly would influence your dreams. Of course, it doesn’t; your brain occupies itself too much with trying to picture something really vividly rather than actually attempting to shut off and get to sleep, making the whole exercise a fruitless endeavour. I’ve also found that as I’ve got older, my concentration span for lying awake trying to think of things has lessened considerably than it was when I was a teenager. This is perhaps a side-effect of the build-up of depression and anxiety over the years.

3. The first time you see something is the first time it ever happened/existed.

I genuinely believed this as a kid. The first time I got a copy of Fast Forward magazine, I thought it was the first issue. The first time I saw things on television, I thought it was the first time they’d been broadcast. Kind of silly, now that I think back on it.

This attitude did sort of perpetuate itself even after I left home, though. When a friend referred to baseball cap and tracksuit-wearing white trash as “chavs”, it was the first time I’d heard that word and I thus assumed that it had originated in our social group. Of course, it transpires that the word “chav” is very much in common usage to mean exactly what we thought it meant. It must have spread around the country somehow. I wonder where it originated? I’m pretty sure it didn’t originate from my friend Cat on the No. 11 bus heading to Safeway in Portswood, Southampton.

4. If you fart when you’re not ready, you’ll shit yourself.

I have no doubt that in certain circumstances, this may be true, but for the most part, the act of farting and the act of shitting are two distinct motions — unless, of course, you’re attempting to force out the fart, which carries a significant risk of following through. Let it come naturally and you’ll be safe. Probably. Right? OH GOD NOW I NEVER WANT TO FART AGAIN.

5. If you sleep on your back, you’ll…

To date, I’m not entirely sure if this actually happened or if I dreamed it at some point, but I am absolutely convinced that for a sex education class at secondary school, all the boys were taken to the library while all the girls went off to talk about periods, and we watched a video of a 1950s-style very British man explaining how if you slept on your back, you’d probably spunk your pants in your sleep. He obviously didn’t use that exact terminology — I forget the exact words he used, probably “nocturnal emissions” or something — but I vividly remember it. At the same time, though, I also have the strongest feeling that I might have made it up. Because it just doesn’t seem very likely.

That said, I used to have a recurring dream where I was going to have sex with someone on the London Underground, but couldn’t go through with it because I didn’t have the sheet music for it, so… wait a minute, that doesn’t really help at all.

I’m off to bed now. To sleep on my side. I have a hellish week coming up. See you on the other side, and apologies in advance for any day’s entries that are just “AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH”.

1055: Tim’s Wedding Day

My friends Tim and Sophie got married today, and I’m sure they’ll be delighted I’m marking the occasion with a blog post hastily composed on my phone because the Wi-Fi at this hotel doesn’t seem to work properly.

It was a very nice wedding, all told. I know people always say that weddings are at least “nice” if not “beautiful” and “wonderful” and so on, but it really was. Taking place at Cain Manor, an old big house (remarkably similar to the one Tim grew up in) near Farnham in Surrey, the whole affair was pleasingly compact in nature — the ceremony started at 4, was over by 4.30 and after not too much milling around we were sat down waiting for dinner. An electrical mishap delayed the food a bit but even with that delay, it didn’t feel like there was too much standing around doing nothing, which was a blessed relief.

Tim and Sophie also decided not to have an official photographer either, which meant there was no standing around waiting for all that shenanigans either. I was relieved about that — one of my least favourite things about other people’s weddings is standing around in the cold while waiting for some person with a camera to finish shouting “Friends! University friends! Obscure cousins neither the bride nor the groom recognise!” Don’t get me wrong, wedding photographers do a great job and I know several people who make a good living from it, but man, that waiting around is dull. I can only imagine what it must be like for the bride and groom, having to pull increasingly-false smiles as their fingertips slowly succumb to frostbite and they’re surrounded by relatives they don’t know the names of.

Andie and I are back at the hotel we’re staying at now. It’s about 4 miles away from the wedding venue, and is called The Devil’s Punchbowl after the nearby park. It seems like a pleasant enough place, though it would be nice if we couldn’t hear all the drunkards in the pub part of the hotel doing karaoke, and it would also be nice if the Wi-Fi worked properly. The room also smells like a dental surgery for some reason, but that’s all right.

It’s been nice to get away for the day. There’s a super-stressful week coming up for both of us — I have jury duty and we’re moving house. I also have to squeeze my usual work in somewhere! Still, I’m not thinking about that right now. Just going to have a nice rest and return to stressing out tomorrow!

1054: Death Means Nothing in Miami

Page_1 So, after being repeatedly bugged by almost everyone I know to try Hotline Miami, I tried Hotline Miami. Actually, to be more accurate, I sat down to play some Hotline Miami several hours ago and somehow here I am at 1am having completed it. What happened there?

I had been warned of the strange time-distorting properties of this curious little game by those who had played it, but having experienced it myself this evening… yes, there’s something very odd going on there. A genuine feeling of, for want of a better word, “addiction” — of not wanting to stop until you’ve seen it through, even if the level you’re on is ridiculously difficult. My “Die 1,000 times” achievement attests to the fact that I apparently did spend quite some time on it this evening.

But allow me to back up for a moment for those who are unfamiliar with Hotline Miami and its dubious charms.

Hotline Miami is basically that game the Daily Mail have been worried about for years. It’s a straight-up game about murdering people with a variety of implements. It’s gory, it’s gross… and after about five or ten minutes of playing, it completely desensitises you to the acts of wanton violence you’re committing. It then shows its true (neon) colours — despite its hyper-violence, it’s actually a sort of puzzle game, a sort of lightning-fast strategy game, a sort of… I don’t know. I don’t like throwing this word around as it’s rarely true, but I have a suspicious feeling that it’s *whisper* unique.

The setup of Hotline Miami is that you, the faceless, nameless protagonist, repeatedly receive strange phone calls from a variety of sources. The phone calls themselves seem relatively innocuous, but when you get to the location you were told to go to, you apparently feel a strange urge to don an animal mask and then slaughter everyone who is there. Which is sort of convenient, because everyone there also wants to slaughter you.

You work your way through the levels by killing all the enemies. You have to scavenge weapons from dead enemies or the environment, and guns only have a small amount of ammunition in them when you do find them. Melee kills are silent, whereas attacking with a gun will often bring enemies running. When enemies are unaware of your presence, they follow very simple, predictable patterns. All you have to do is complete each stage of each chapter by killing all the enemies, at which point you’ll receive a score breakdown showing how you did. The better you score, the better your grade and the more stuff you unlock.

Unlockable stuff includes weapons, which show up randomly in the levels, and masks, which you can equip before the level starts. Each mask has a special ability — one provides larger amounts of ammunition in guns, for example, while another makes your bare-handed attack (which normally just knocks enemies down, necessitating a ground attack to finish them off) a fatal strike. After unlocking the latter, I found that I didn’t really use the others all that much. Perhaps I’m just unimaginative.

There is a plot that gradually unfolds as you progress through the levels. Like the swirly, pixelated, colourful visuals, it is rather vague and dream-like, and the end leaves a large number of questions. There are a few nice twists and turns, but it’s not really the star of the show here — it simply provides a loose justification for the various top-down locations in which you visit and kill everything.

Hotline Miami is tough. There are levels that will repeatedly kill you over and over and over again — a thousand times or more, apparently — but somehow it will keep you playing in that same, inescapably compulsive way that Super Meat Boy encourages “just one more go”. The fact that respawning after death is completely instantaneous helps this somewhat — there’s no real feeling of being “penalised” for dying, it’s simply part of the learning experience for each level. Death ceases to become something that makes you want to throw your controller out of the window, and instead becomes an exhortation from the game to try again and do better. It’s still frustrating — I called the game (or possibly myself) “dickhead” a good few times while playing — but the important thing to note about it is that when you die, it’s usually your own fault rather than that of the game. This is the sign of a well-designed difficult game — one where you accept that you’ll make mistakes and learn from them, rather than where dying repeatedly simply makes you want to switch off and play something that repeatedly massages your ego, gives you a cuddle and tells you everything is going to be all right.

Anyway. That’s Hotline Miami. If you have no issue with your games being borderline abusive in terms of difficulty, hyper-violent with little to no remorse, and leave you feeling like you’ve had some sort of drug-fuelled experience for several hours, then you should probably check it out. Conveniently, it’s 50% off on Steam this weekend. How about that.

You should also check out this “two-headed review” over at Games Are Evil.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to sleep… and probably have some very peculiar dreams.

1053: Kira Kira, Sparkle Sparkle

Page_1 Having completely and utterly 100%-ly finished classic visual novel Kana Little Sister, which you can read all about here (and in the book I’m still fully intending on writing and have already written just under 3,000 words of), naturally I immediately started on a new project, and one of a markedly different tone.

Kira Kira (which, apparently, is Japanese onomatopoeia for “sparkle sparkle”) is a game about a bunch of high school kids (natch) who decide to put together a band. I haven’t got far enough to know whether or not their band is particularly successful, but given the intro sequence showed them well and truly rocking out with suitably ridiculous hairstyles and outfits, I can only assume that they enjoy at least a small degree of success. Given that there is also a sort of sequel called Kira Kira Curtain Call, too, it’s probably a fair assumption.

The reason I’m playing Kira Kira now is actually because of a completely different game I picked up a while back called Deardrops. Deardrops is also about a bunch of high school kids who decide to put together a band — I think, anyway, as I haven’t played that one at all yet — but a fellow (and considerably more experienced) VN enthusiast on Twitter recommended that I play Kira Kira first, because some of the characters have cameo appearances in Deardrops. Got all that? Good.

I like this sort of “crossover” idea, and apparently it’s not all that uncommon — I understand that the story of Kana Little Sister is depicted as a movie in another game by the same developer called Crescendo, which is also in my growing pile of shame. (I have a sub-pile purely devoted to VNs, but given that the damn things are so time-consuming yet enjoyable, I’m not getting to anything outside it at the moment! That’s… fine by me, to be perfectly honest. But I digress.)

Anyway. Kira Kira. As I say, I’m not all that far into it yet so I’m hesitant to say too much right now, but so far early impressions are very positive. Coming off the back of Kana Little Sister’s 640×480 visuals and distinctly synthesized music — both of which are great, I hasten to add, just obviously dated — the super-sharp, crisp visuals, glorious digital music, quality voice acting and wonderfully atmospheric ambient sounds of Kira Kira make it obvious that this is a much more recent production. It’s a much more multi-sensory, “multimedia” sort of experience, and it makes a massive difference. Kana immerses the player with its compelling story and interesting characters despite its relatively simplistic aesthetics; Kira Kira has, so far, immersed me with its presentation — it’s a bit early for me to comment on the characters and plot so far, but they seem to be an interesting enough bunch.

Kira Kira isn’t just interesting from an audio-visual presentation perspective, however. No, the way it’s written and the way the text is presented is quite interesting, too, adopting a full-screen “novel” style similar to that seen in Kana Little Sister rather than the more common “adventure” (smaller text box, larger, unblocked image) interface seen in many other titles.

In terms of the way it’s written, it seems to be quite wordy so far, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It allows the player to understand the thoughts of the protagonist quite deeply, and the narration is presented almost as if the protagonist is talking to the player at times — not quite breaking the fourth wall, but certainly testing its structural integrity. Maejima-kun, it seems, thinks about things a lot, including his feelings about people, the things he’s seen and where his life is going. His introspective nature makes the beginning of the game seem rather slow paced — it’s a good hour or two before the OP video plays — but, as I say, I have no issue with this personally; he seems like an interesting character thus far, so I’m happy to have the opportunity to get to know him. Plus on subsequent playthroughs, the “Skip” button is right there if I want to fast-forward through all his exposition.

What’s really interesting about the writing, though, is that it provides a uniquely Japanese take on something that is peculiar to the Western hemisphere — rock music. The setup of the game is that the school’s “Second Literature Club”, which Our Hero is a member of having quit the tennis club some time back, are struggling to think of something to do for the upcoming cultural festival. Naturally, after Our Hero and the resident squeaky-voiced, faintly annoying ditzy girl Kirari attend a live show by local legends “STAR GENERATION” (the capital letters are important), they decide that forming a band is The Right Thing To Do, despite the fact that none of them play an instrument or indeed know anything about music whatsoever. Enter Our Hero’s friend, a fan of punk music that hasn’t been to any live shows himself, who decides to educate the club with an informative video about The Sex Pistols and the punk movement. The club are understandably rather bewildered about all this, having hilariously little understanding of culture outside of Japan (“R&B? Isn’t that music for black people?”) but decide that yes, they’ll give it a shot.

That’s as far as I’ve got so far, but it’s an intriguing setup with potential for plenty of hijinks — yes, hijinks — along the way. I’m looking forward to seeing how it progresses — and to hearing more of the excellent soundtrack.

1052: Kiss, Kiss, Fall in Love

Page_1 During November, as you know, I was writing non-stop fiction in my own NaNoWriMo spinoff. This doesn’t mean I wasn’t doing anything worth talking about in my spare time, however. You may recall that a relatively short while back I well and truly “got into” anime and had some enthusiastic words to say about a number of different series. I thought I’d share my thoughts on one more that I finished at some point in the middle of last month: Ouran High School Host Club.

This was a recommendation from my anime-enthusiast friend Lynette, who has been the source of many good recommendations to date. I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from it, though armed with my relatively limited knowledge of “host club” culture that I’d picked up from playthroughs of Yakuza 1, 2 and 3 (I’m still yet to tackle 4, but I’ll get there) I had a general idea.

(For those unfamiliar with this particular quirk of Japanese culture, host/hostess bars are establishments in which patrons can come in and settle down for a pleasant evening’s chat with a host/hostess of their choice. Their chosen companion will ply them with drinks and food and attempt to get them to spend as much money as possible, though if Yakuza is to be believed there’s every possibility that the host/hostess and their client will strike up a genuine friendship “and maybe more” in the process — good for the people and good for the business, too. It is, it should be said, rather different from prostitution.)

Anyway. Ouran High School Host Club revolves around a group of bored, rich male students at a very exclusive high school (the titular Ouran Academy) who formed their own host club in an attempt to entertain the equally bored, rich female students. The club covers a diverse array of “tastes”, ranging from pretty boy Tamaki to the borderline-incestuous twins Hikaru and Kaoru via the… whatever the male equivalent of “loli” is embodied by the childish, cake-loving “Honey”.

Enter Haruhi, who is a girl. Haruhi stumbles upon the Host Club’s premises — the disused music room — and inadvertently breaks an incredibly valuable vase in the process. She is saddled with a debt that she couldn’t possibly repay, so the club agrees that if she joins as a host and entertains the girls of Ouran Academy, they will let her “work off” her debt.

Thing is, certain members of the club initially don’t realise that she is a girl, since she first appears dressed in a boy’s uniform and sporting a rather boyish short, shaggy haircut. Hilarity, as you might expect, ensues, and the series progresses as Haruhi and the gang get into a series of increasingly silly scrapes, all the while learning new things about each other and their backgrounds. The rich kids of the Host Club learn about Haruhi’s poor background, her deceased mother and her cross-dressing father — one of the more memorable characters in anime I’ve seen recently — while Haruhi learns to come out of her shell a bit, and solidifies her own idea that gender doesn’t define her personality.

At heart, Ouran High School Host Club is a very silly show. The characters are heavily exaggerated, and the visual aesthetic is very stylized — everyone has noses that you could cut glass with, for example, and the show isn’t afraid to pop up captions to explain various things or even to put big flashing arrows over the top of something that will become important in a few minutes’ time. Similarly, the show is a textbook example of anime not being afraid to have characters that defy the laws of physics for comic effect — there’s lots of exaggerated facial expressions, black clouds looming around the depressed and angry people suddenly becoming inexplicably huge. The whole thing is presented with an almost childish degree of enthusiasm, and the energy is relentless. It’s perhaps for this reason that I actually found it difficult to watch more than one episode at a time, whereas conversely I can and will watch a whole bunch of slower-paced stuff in a single sitting. (I devoured the entire series of AnoHana in one go, for example, but that’s a story for another post altogether.)

As well as being silly, though, there’s a tender heart beating within. The characters have very real affection for one another and their relationships deepen and blossom as the show progresses. It manages to pull this off without dropping into the realms of cliché, either, except where it is deliberately lampshading romantic clichés — usually through the identical twins duo of Hikaru and Kaoru.

The show is gloriously, gloriously camp, managing to pretty much out-gay both Bayonetta and Space Channel 5 (both of which are games, I know, but they’re the yardsticks by which I measure relative campness) but it also knows when to show restraint. There’s a time and a place for shenanigans and prancing around, it seems to say, and a time for people to be serious. The good pacing that the show enjoys means that it builds to a very satisfying payoff come the end of the series — and not necessarily in the way you might expect, either. I shan’t spoil it for those who are planning to watch it, but suffice to say it’s worth sticking it out for the whole run, even if the seemingly-relentless chaos of some episodes feels like it might be a bit much sometimes.

In short, I enjoyed it a lot. It doubtless won’t be to everyone’s taste — what is? — but I found it a lot of fun. Give it a chance if you’re looking for something a little bit different from the norm.

1051: Take This, Right in the Feels

Page_1 (With apologies to Jeff Green for the gratuitous use of “Feels”.)

I was going to write something positive and happy today as a counterpoint to 1) yesterday’s post and 2) the amount of anger that has been circulating on the Internet yet again today, this time as a result of an ill-conceived PR stunt by Square Enix. I’m not going to get into that now, because everyone yelling about it is already getting very tiresome. But I decided there was something else I wanted to discuss instead.

Instead I wanted to talk a bit about something which started up during the course of the last month — the Take This project, an attempt by a bunch of games industry professionals (including my good self) to do something positive about the stigma surrounding depression, anxiety and other mental health issues. Over at the site, numerous people are sharing their stories of their experiences with these issues in an attempt to encourage others to do the same, and to help people realise that they’re not alone with the feelings they might be experiencing. Here’s my contribution — more will probably follow in the near future.

I may well post something along these lines over on Take This at some point in the near future, but for now I thought I’d share it here.

I wanted to talk a bit about crying.

If you see someone else crying, chances are you’ll start feeling pretty shitty too. It’s not a nice thing to watch, particularly if you don’t know what caused it. There’s that air of immense awkwardness around the situation, particularly if a stranger’s involved, where you’re not quite sure if you’re “allowed” to talk to the person and see if you can help with what they’re upset about, and generally the whole thing is something most people like to avoid whenever possible. There’s also an element of gender stereotyping that comes into play, too, where it’s somehow “more okay” for women to cry than men. (I don’t agree with this at all, but “big boys don’t cry” is still a real stigma that stops many men from effectively expressing their emotions.)

But consider how that person who is in tears is feeling. It’s sometimes difficult to judge from outside, because only the person who is crying knows exactly what they’re feeling. Crying isn’t always an unpleasant thing, either — sometimes it is a sweet release from pent-up emotion that has been bubbling away inside that person’s head. Of course, sometimes it is outright hysteria, too — a complete inability to deal with a particular situation and a desire to simply let rip with some absolutely raw emotion. Only the person who is crying knows, and they’re often not really in a position to talk about it while it’s happening.

Oddly, though — and this is where I might lose a few of you — sometimes it’s desirable or even enjoyable to cry. The feeling of being affected so profoundly by something that you actually want to weep is oddly intoxicating at times, and it can, at times, be outright pleasant.

It’s not as strange as it initially sounds, though. How else can you explain the fact that most forms of media boast a “tearjerker” genre or equivalent?

Most recently, I’ve been playing a visual novel called Kana Little Sister, which I talk about in greater detail over on Games Are Evil here. Kana is described as an “utsuge” — a “depression game”, or a title that is specifically designed to elicit “negative” (for want of a better word) emotions in its audience, in this case sadness. (Other examples include Silent Hill 2, which evokes reactions ranging from slumping back in one’s chair and sighing to crying bitter, bitter tears.) I have played through Kana five times now, and even though you know from the very outset that the titular little sister character is going to die at the end (spoiler: except in one ending), it still gets me every time, and the tears fall without fail.

This doesn’t make me feel bad, though. It’s a perversely enjoyable experience. I like responding to something in this way. I like the feeling of being overtaken by emotion and being physically affected by a work. It’s an impressive mark of how much something has engaged me fully if it can make me cry — or if, for that matter, it can make my pulse race, or generate that hard-to-define feeling of “butterflies in the stomach” that a good, epic final confrontation in something like an RPG can sometimes manage.

Even now, though, as open as I generally am about this sort of thing, there’s still a slight feeling of embarrassment when it happens. It’s perhaps because when you cry, you’re making yourself quite vulnerable. You’re “letting go”, turning off the safety switches that let you behave “normally” in polite society without breaking down into tears every five seconds. If you do it around someone else, you’re showing a great deal of trust in them — trust that they won’t laugh at you for having emotions in the first place, and trust that they won’t think any less of you in the future because of your reaction.

Basically, I think what I’m saying is that you shouldn’t be afraid to cry — regardless of whether you need to or just want to. So, you know, let it out.

1050: I Said A-Snark, Snark, A-Snarkitty Snark, A Snark-Snark-Snarkitty-Snark

Another day, another day of snark on the Internet. This time the sources were twofold: firstly, the Pope joined Twitter (and, apparently, his first tweet will be on December 12, begging the question why the account has been set up and announced now) and secondly, it emerged that Kate Middleton (or whatever we’re supposed to call her now) is pregnant and suffering from “acute morning sickness”, apparently.

Neither of these things are of particularly earth-shattering importance, and both of them can be easily ignored. I have spent most of the day ignoring them both completely, and am only mentioning them now out of frustration — not at the things themselves, of course, but rather at the reaction to them.

The Pope’s presence on Twitter was, of course, greeted by numerous sarcastic replies and fake retweets; the news of the “royal baby” (as it is now known) was greeted by general disdain and constant repetition of “THIS ISN’T NEWS”. Well, whether or not it is is a matter of opinion, of course, but if you don’t think it’s news and have no wish to contribute to making it news, you could always, you know, stop talking about it.

I don’t know if my weariness with this sort of thing is just a symptom of getting older or general fatigue at having seen so much snark over the past couple of years in particular, but either way… yes, I am tired of it. Because it doesn’t let up, either. You can unfollow and block the people who are being a pain, but they’ll get retweeted and quoted; you can close your social media windows altogether, but then you can’t talk to your friends. (And when you are, at least for the next couple of weeks, a long way away from your nearest friends, yes this is a big deal.)

It is probably related to my general fatigue with the Internet-based slacktivists (previously discussed here) who rant and rave about a particular issue (usually, at the time of writing, sexism) until they’re blue in the face but then don’t appear to actually do anything beyond declare certain blog posts and articles “mandatory reading” and then ignore any attempts to actually engage in discussion or education.

The ironic thing with this behaviour is that it drowns out the actual message they’re trying to convey. In the case of the fervent anti-sexism brigade, who are quick to splatter anyone who disagrees with them with the “privileged white male” brush — perhaps fairly in some cases, perhaps not in others — it means that the underlying message of tolerance, acceptance and equality gets lost in all the noise of people shouting and screaming and demanding that everyone unfollow a particular person on Twitter because they said something they don’t agree with. (It wasn’t me.)

Not only does it drown out the message they’re trying to convey, it makes me care less, which is the complete opposite of what they’re trying to do, surely. I don’t know if anyone else feels this way, but I certainly do. The more these people froth at the mouth and shout and bellow and point fingers and demand that people read this article by their friend, the less of a shit I give — because I don’t want to be associated with them. Not because I disagree with their ideals — as I’ve mentioned a number of times previously, I agree with what they’re arguing for in most cases! — but because the confrontational, aggressive way in which they try to get their points across is just so completely loathsome to me that I don’t want anything to do with it.

So I block them. I literally silence them. Which is exactly one of the things that they complain about, usually without any sense of irony that their own furious, righteous anger is itself intimidating and silencing people who genuinely want to discuss, engage and understand these complex, non-binary issues in greater depth.

I didn’t take the decision to block a bunch of these people lightly, and I occasionally feel guilty that I have done so. Many of them are supposedly “respected” figures, and some are friends with people that I consider to be friends. But I haven’t unblocked them.

Why? Because I have tried to engage them in discussion. I have tried to see these complex issues from a variety of different perspectives and talk about them accordingly. I have tried to have a rational, reasoned debate. And yet the last time I attempted to do this — I forget the exact topic now, as I unfollowed the Facebook comment thread shortly afterwards feeling genuinely upset — I was shouted down with the words “get a grip”. No attempt to engage. No attempt to discuss or debate. No attempt to help me understand their points of view. A simple shutdown.

I gave up at that point. That is when I wrote this post. That is when I simply decided to avoid confrontation altogether and “stay out of trouble”, as it were.

This isn’t how it should be, surely. People should be aware of these issues and feel able to discuss them openly without fear. Fighting hate with hate is counter-productive and achieves nothing except alienating people like me while causing both “sides” of the debate to dig their heels in and argue ever-more aggressively.

1049: Season Finale

Page_1 It occurs to me that while I was spending the last month doing creativey things, a lot of things happened and, being dedicated to blogging 1,500-2,000 words per day of the narrative nature, I really didn’t have the time or energy to devote any blog space to these things that were happening. So let’s rectify that today.

The main thing that has happened is that Andie and I are moving (back, in my case) to Southampton very shortly. And yes, I mean very shortly — our new rental starts on December 10 (pending references) and to be honest I’m not convinced it’s quite sunk into my own mind yet. Hopefully writing this will convince me that yes, it is happening and yes, I need to do that thing with the boxes I hate so much. (Packing them, obviously, not sticking them up my arse.)

Those who have been paying attention and/or following me for a while will know the rough chronology of what happened to me over the last couple of years — my wife and I parted ways; I failed to find a new job; ran out of money; moved back in with my parents; gradually built back up to full-time freelance employment that earns enough to live on; met Andie; moved back out, to Wiltshire this time; witnessed the catastrophic collapse of the second website I’d been a regular contributor to (GamePro this time — the first was Kombo); secured my current gig and, well, here we are.

Both Andie and I had been becoming a little despondent at our relative isolation. Andie was a few minutes down the road from her job, which was convenient, but neither of us really had any friends in the area. We spent a day celebrating the Queen’s jubilee earlier this year in which we got to know our immediate neighbours a little bit, but I found the whole thing painfully awkward and certainly wouldn’t count them as “friends”.

My true friends were (well, are) still in Southampton, as it happened, meaning that any time I wanted to spend time with them there was a 1.5-2 hour drive involved. Andie’s friends, meanwhile, were scattered everywhere from Southampton to Australia, so we decided that looking to move back towards the South coast would be a good idea. (Australia’s a bit far.) Since I can work from anywhere, it was up to Andie to find a job in the area suitable for her talents, and she hates job hunting almost as much as I do. Possibly more. Thankfully, though, she successfully managed to score a position recently, and so our quest to find a new place to live began.

House hunting is rubbish, as everyone knows, but we happened to be down in the area anyway last weekend as I’d taken us away on a short break to celebrate Andie’s birthday. We made some appointments and called in at a few estate agents to make some enquiries, and decided that if we found a place that looked acceptable, we would just take it rather than faffing around for weeks. Largely because we didn’t have weeks.

The first place we saw was a reasonable (if rather small) house that was in shitty condition, and probably wouldn’t be ready in time for when we wanted to move in. Next we saw a decent (but, again, small) house with an abnormally narrow staircase that would have been all right were it not for its location, which suffers something of a dearth of parking spaces.

Then we saw The One. A flat in a good, conveniently-located area with awesome large rooms (including a massive kitchen) that looked to be in excellent condition. It costs a little more than we’re paying right now in Chippenham, but that was an expected part of the move, plus given the location I’m probably going to get rid of my car once we’re in place, which will save some money.

It was pretty apparent that The One was The One after we gave it a cursory once-over, but we still had a couple more to see, so we went and had a look just to make sure. One was a nice-quality flat in a great location, but the rooms were far too small. The other was another nice-quality flat in a not-so-great location, but again the rooms were a bit small and the layout was a bit weird.

So, The One it was. Assuming our references come back all in order shortly, we’ll be moving in mid-December, meaning we’ll hopefully be in place well before Christmas. Then, once 2013 starts, we can really feel like a new stage of our lives is starting.

You have no idea how much I am looking forward to this. It feels like things are finally starting to fall back into place. I realise that, of course, I’m probably cursing myself by uttering those words, but what the hell. I can’t wait to be back in that slightly crappy town that I still consider to be “home”; to be near my friends and to be able to actually socialise with people without having to make plans weeks in advance.

I’m extremely grateful to Andie for her major part in making all this happen. Without her, I wouldn’t be back on this path to “recovery”, for want of a better word, so I don’t know, everyone bake her a nice cake or something. Or just come to our inevitable housewarming party! We might have a Wii U for everyone to play with by then.

See you in December, Southampton.

Shit, that’s this month. ARGH