1991: Reddit in Trouble?

I find online social networks a fascinating thing to observe and sometimes participate in. Twitter is the main one I'm a part of, and over my time using it I've been part of a number of different subcultures that make use of the site as a means of talking to one another about common interests, regardless of geographical location.

In this sense, social networks are a bit like real life; you tend to gravitate towards people with whom you have common interests, and you drift away from people you find objectionable or simply don't mesh well with. It's exactly the same online; I know exactly the sort of people I'm likely to get along with, and exactly the sort of people I want to avoid at all costs. The nice thing about online interactions is that you can — for the most part — take a lot more control over your experience than you can in reality. You can't, for example, choose the people that you work alongside, so if you dislike, say, your manager or another member of your team, you can't get away from them. You can, however, mute or block people you don't gel with online; while there's an argument that this can lead to an "echo chamber" effect in which people are unwilling to have their viewpoints and opinions truly challenged, for the most part I find this a good way of minimising the stress that social interactions (be they real or virtual) can sometimes cause me.

One social network that I've never quite managed to integrate myself into is Reddit, and that's simply because Reddit as a whole is such a hugely sprawling entity that it's difficult to know where to start. There are popular subreddits for pictures, jokes, games and all sorts of other things, as well as highly specialised subreddits for niche interests or simply running jokes. Effectively, each subreddit is like a forum with message threads and discussions that follow on from an original post, but there's also a sort of "metagame" aspect to the site, where you earn points for posts and comments according to the community's overall reaction to them. This metagame doubles as the site's main means of automatic "curation" — high-rated content shifts to the top and becomes more visible, perhaps even hitting the front page of Reddit (which often describes itself as "The Front Page of the Internet", though Facebook might like to believe differently) if it's really popular and transcends its original context.

Reddit's an interesting site to browse even if you don't actively participate, though. It's the birthplace of a number of now-commonplace Internet memes and jokes, and the community as a whole can usually be relied on for some highly entertaining, quick-witted responses as well as scathing takedowns of stupid, ignorant or bigoted people. Assuming the subreddit you're in isn't specifically designed for stupid, ignorant or bigoted people, of course.

Now, this latter aspect is where things have got a little bit interesting recently. Reddit has traditionally positioned itself as being a bastion of its interpretation of "free speech" online, trusting individual subreddit moderators to set the rules for their individual communities and enforce them accordingly, while at the same time ensuring that nothing actually outright illegal is posted, and if it is, that it is removed quickly. To date, it's worked pretty well; while there are some subreddits that are the online equivalent of a notorious dark alley you probably wouldn't wander into alone if you didn't have a very good reason to be there, for the most part each individual community has kept itself to itself, content with its own little space of the Internet for its discussions, even when said discussions might not be welcome elsewhere on the Internet. ("Gamergate" subreddit "KotakuInAction" is a good example of this, and there are plenty of others along the same lines.)

But there have been Happenings recently. As someone who isn't an active participant in Reddit, I haven't really been following the whole drama, but so far as I can make out, Reddit brought on a new CEO recently known as Ellen Pao, and she has not been a popular "leader" for the site. The popular conspiracy theory is that she's attempting to "clean up" Reddit prior to selling it off to the highest bidder — likely Facebook, who would doubtless very much like to get their hands on "the front page of the Internet" — and in the process is ruffling a whole lot of feathers of people who have traditionally found Reddit to be a good home for their discussions and activities.

Pao's actions coupled with a widely-criticised lack of communication between the overall Reddit administrators (who run the site as a whole, and have the power to ban and "shadowban" users according to their behaviour) and the firing of a number of Reddit employees for seemingly questionable reasons have been causing rumblings of discontent for some time, but it seems that today, for whatever reason, was the tipping point; a number of popular subreddits, including front-page, "default" subreddits that are automatically included in a new Reddit user's list of subreddits, have "gone dark" in protest against Pao's management, the aforementioned lack of communication, a very inconsistent application of the "rules" for the site as a whole and, in some cases, a rather opaque sense of what the "rules" actually are. These subreddits have "gone dark" by setting themselves to "private" mode, meaning that only users who are already approved to post there (usually just subscribers to that particular subreddit) can see what is going on and being discussed; casual browsers, those who are not logged in or those who are not subscribed, meanwhile, are simply shown a default page explaining that the sub is private, and the reasons for it.

Over the course of the day, more and more subreddits have "gone dark" in protest, effectively crippling Reddit's traffic as a result. It's been absolutely fascinating to see, and while I don't 100% understand the reasons for the protest at this time, I think it's a potent reminder that when you create something as sprawling as a social network, as much as you'd like to think you can stay in complete control of it, ultimately the site it made or broken by its users. Without users, the site is completely useless, so if you piss off those users then you're going to have a big problem.

It remains to be seen whether Reddit will pull through this debacle, or whether a young pretender like Reddit clone Voat is ready to pick up the baton and try not to make the same mistakes. (I mention Voat specifically because they have reported record amounts of traffic since the controversy really exploded today.) This isn't the first time this sort of thing has happened, after all; Reddit originally grew to prominence thanks to the once-popular Digg fucking itself up beyond all recognition, so while it may seem dramatic to contemplate that this might be The Beginning of the End for Reddit, it's certainly not beyond the realms of possibility.

Basically, the lesson from all this appears to be pretty simple: don't think you know better than your users. Because you probably don't.

1971: don't bully!!

Here's a curious paradox for you: how much of the supposed epidemic of "bullying" and "harassment" going on on the Internet these days is down to people bringing it upon themselves?

This isn't a question of "victim blaming", as the buzzword has it, but it's an actual phenomenon that I've observed — and, in my younger days, even engaged in myself. I can't explain why I did such a thing, but I know I did it, I know that I was aware I was doing it even at the time, and yet I simply couldn't stop myself.

I suffered dreadfully at the hands of bullies in primary school. I'm not sure what it was about me — my hair, my accent, the fact my ears appeared quite large in comparison to my head (I've since "grown into" them, I think) or some combination of all of the above and a few other things besides — but I was a regular target for some of the schools more notorious troublemakers. And it wasn't to do with my friendship group, either, as on a number of occasions my supposed "friends" actually sided against me in an attempt to win favour points with the bullies (who, inevitably, were the "cool" kids). Perhaps it was self-preservation, perhaps they'd really had enough of me; either way, it was a betrayal, and it hurt.

But I know that I was partly to blame for some of the incidents that happened. I recall deliberately goading the bullies on more than one occasion — swearing at them, insulting them, trying to attack them — and inevitably being knocked to the ground, winded and crying. The teachers on duty would do their usual "come over and look concerned" bit, but then nothing would ever happen to the people who had assaulted me. And so the cycle would repeat, over and over again.

Perhaps it was an attempt to claw my own little bit of "power" on the playground, because I was very much at the bottom of the food chain. Perhaps it was an attempt to let out my frustration about what I now recognise as social anxiety and difficulty interacting with some people. Perhaps I was just a little cunt. I honestly don't know the reason. But what I do know is that despite the fact I was the "victim", I was also genuinely to blame for a goodly proportion of those incidents — not all of them, mind, but a fair few of them.

And I'm reminded of this as I watch interactions on social media today. Mr Brandon Orselli, the chap who runs NicheGamer, an independent games site that I've become quite fond of, regularly has to fend off people who start attacking him, his work and his staff without any sort of provocation. Their reasoning? His site has, at times, been sympathetic to the consumer revolt known as "GamerGate", which has now been raging for some ten months and, despite a considerable amount of evidence to the contrary, is still regarded as a "hate group" of "misogynists".

Now, I'm not here to talk about GamerGate and whether or not it's right (largely because I know it's a topic of discussion that tends to become irrational very quickly — both "sides" are very much at fault in this regard, and frankly I want nothing to do with the perpetual arguments and finger-pointing) but one glance at the front page of NicheGamer will tell you that it's absolutely not any sort of GamerGate propaganda rag. Rather, it's an up-and-coming independent site with a clear focus, a staff that is obviously passionate about their work — including some highly knowledgeable specialist writers — and an editor-in-chief who is not afraid to stand up for himself, his work and his site.

Orselli does admittedly, at times, come across as a little arrogant on social media — but you know what? I understand the pride he takes in his work, and the pleasure he feels when things go well for his site. And I very much respect his choice to take the bull by the horns and engage these "critics" in an attempt at conversation even as they are, at times, spreading information that simply isn't true.

Why am I reminded of my own playground experiences? Well, the sort of people who are attacking Orselli and his staff remind me of the young me. They poke and they poke and they poke and they goad and they goad and they goad… and then they call foul (or, more accurately, "harassment") when the person they've been poking and goading bites back. (It has to be said, mind you, that it's not quite the same situation: Orselli is not a "bully", has shown admirable self-restraint and civility in these interactions, and has been a lot more calm and collected about them than I probably would be!) In other words, observing from the outside and recognising this behaviour as something I once did (as a child!) makes it seem very much like those attacking Orselli, his site and others like them are specifically going out and looking for trouble so they can further their "harassment" narrative.

Certainly nothing I've seen of NicheGamer's output — and since I've pretty much stopped following big games sites as they don't cover many of the games I'm interested in these days, it's one of the few sites I do check in on semi-regularly — warrants the sort of unpleasantness I've seen hurled at Orselli and his team on a seemingly daily basis, whatever your feelings on GamerGate (which, as previously noted, is not the same thing as NicheGamer). If anything, NicheGamer should be applauded for trying something different in a world of identikit big magazine-style or blog-type games sites, and catering to a specific audience rather than casting a very wide but very shallow net.

But anyway. It hopefully goes without saying that this isn't any attempt to diminish any instances of genuine harassment that actually goes on on social media — after all, I've dealt with it myself, so I know how shitty it is. But this sort of behaviour — deliberate provocation — just rubs me up the wrong way, particularly as I've suffered at the hands of bullies many times over the years, both by bringing it on myself and through no fault of my own. So in the words of Twitter's favourite anti-bully ranger:

https://twitter.com/antibullyranger/status/609751052125016064

Or, to put it another way, don't be a cunt.

1949: My Continuing Mission

As I tick ever-closer to 2,000 daily posts (this blog crossed the 2,000 posts in total mark a few days ago, incidentally) I find myself once again contemplating the meaning of this little exercise and how it has changed over the last few years.

Initially, as those who have been following since the beginning will know, it was a community effort. The #oneaday hashtag on Twitter brought together a small group of people of varying levels of commitment who decided to try and post something every day without worrying too much about "quality" — instead, simply helping to flex the creative muscles a bit by getting in the habit of writing every day, even if it was complete tosh or stream-of-consciousness nonsense.

As more and more people dropped out — the person I originally saw the hashtag via dropped out after less than a month, as I recall — it became a matter of pride for those of us still going to make it to the full year. Some of us decided to continue beyond that point, others didn't. I helped to get together a group of people who were interested in participating to form the One A Day Project, a somewhat more organised collective of bloggers with slightly relaxed "rules": participants didn't necessarily have to commit to daily posts — though many did — they simply had to commit to posting regularly, and at least attempt to make it through the whole year. (Professional floppy-haired twat Matt Lees took great umbrage to this clause and posted a lengthy rant expressing his disapproval about how it diluted the original meaning of #oneaday, but then he didn't stick it out for very long in its first year, so he wasn't really in a position to complain. Said rant has, however, seemingly been deleted since. What a pity.) There was also a charitable component; we invited people to sponsor us to motivate our efforts. We made a bit of money — not a huge amount, but some, at least — so we did some good in the process.

This particular year was quite interesting, as it exposed me to a wide range of people, many of whom I probably wouldn't have come across otherwise. Some I've stayed in touch with, others I haven't, but I was happy to have encountered them, even if it was only briefly, and interested to read their perspectives on their life, loves and passions, which ranged from arts and crafts to amateur radio via archery. (And some other things that didn't begin with "A".) It was an interesting and enjoyable experiment, all told, but it was a surprising amount of work that I'm somewhat inclined to believe was a little more trouble than it was worth — particularly as other people were somewhat reluctant to step forward and help me with some of the responsibilities and expectations I'd set in the beginning. I didn't mind, though; it just might have been able to go on a little longer and be a little more successful, high profile and beneficial to the charities if there were a few more people willing to work behind the scenes. But oh well.

After that petered out, I continued to write on here every day. Why? Difficult to say; I think it's largely just become habit now, more than anything. Plus, I've always found it helpful and cathartic; in the early days, this proved particularly helpful as I was going through my separation from my first wife, one of the most traumatic experiences I have ever suffered though. Much like writing a diary allows you to empty your head of wayward thoughts and express things you might not have anyone to talk to about, so too has this blog performed that function for me.

The only difference, of course, is the fact that this blog is public and therefore open for people to look at and comment upon. Sometimes, when I have written on controversial topics that I have strong feelings about, this has attracted the ire of people who want to lay into me for my opinions — though this has only really happened on a couple of occasions, and I've only ever had to close comments on a post completely once. It's easy to focus on this negative side of publishing your thoughts online, though; it's much more beneficial to focus on the more important, positive and almost infinitely more frequent occurrence of people coming along, finding my blog, discovering a like-minded individual and striking up a conversation or even a friendship over something I've written.

None of that is my priority, I have to say; the original point of #oneaday was not to write "for" anyone but yourself, and I've continued with that credo since day one. This blog has always been and always will be a completely honest, open and (mostly) unashamed look at the real person I am inside; the person who may not always be entirely comfortable expressing himself in person, but the person who is there nonetheless. Ultimately you, the reader, can take or leave me based on that, but it's the person I truly am.

As the number at the top of these posts advances towards 2,000 — a significant milestone by anyone's calculations — I find myself contemplating what the future holds, too. Will I continue after 2,000? Highly likely. Will this blog still continue to look the way it does today? Probably not; I revamped the "look" at post 1,000 and will probably do so again at 2,000. Will I continue to post occasionally coherent ramblings about everything from video games to music to pretty anime girls to board games to how people should really stop being such shitheads to one another? Almost definitely.

It's been a long and sometimes difficult ride. And I don't think I'm ready to get off any time soon.

1900: 20th Century

Post 1900. Feels like a significant number. I feel I should do something significant, but I'm not sure what.

Perhaps a reintroduction for those who are just joining me, and an explanation of what that "1900" is all about.

Hello. I'm Pete. I've been writing on this blog every day for the past 1900 days. It initially started as a Twitter-based challenge called #oneaday in which the participants were challenged to write absolutely anything every day for a year. I joined a little late, only hearing about it midway through January of 2010, but I decided it was something I wanted to be a part of, so I jumped in. Not everyone who started made it to the end of the year — hell, some people didn't make it to the end of January — but I did. So I carried on. And on.

And now here I am, over five years later, still doing this for my own amusement more than anything else, but also as a means of self-expression, catharsis, stress-relief or simply a place to enthuse about things I'm excited about when no-one else wants to listen. I do that last one a lot.

The last five years have been a rocky road, and not in the pleasant chocolatey way. I'm still in the midst of a fairly unpleasant time of my life thanks to not currently having a regular source of income after a series of unfortunate and horrible episodes of being screwed over, though hopefully the income situation will change soon following some recent events.

I live in a house that I own with my fiancee Andie; we're getting married in June of this year. We have two rats called Clover and Socks. We would like either a cat or a dog, but haven't decided which yet, and figure the former in particular might be an unwise choice while the rats are still around — which hopefully they will be for at least a little while yet.

I'm a musician. Piano is my first instrument, and recently I actually bought my first real (albeit cheap and slightly battered) piano, having been getting by on an electric piano for the last few years — it's just not the same. I also play the clarinet and saxophone; just recently, I've been doing some clarinet teaching for the first time in years in some local primary schools. While sort of fun, it's also been reminding me why I don't want to go back to classroom teaching ever — oh, yes, I'm a qualified classroom teacher with a specialism in music.

I play a lot of Final Fantasy XIV. My character's name is Amarysse Jerhynsson, and you can find her on the Ultros server. To my surprise, Andie started playing a little while back and now possibly plays even more than I do, even coming raiding with me on Sunday nights.

I love Japanese games. I often celebrate them on this blog, but also write about them in more detail on my other site MoeGamer. I set up MoeGamer after being laid off from Eurogamer offshoot USgamer last year. I don't get to update it as often as I'd like to — at least partly because lots of Japanese games are pretty long and I like to have beaten them before I write about them in detail! — but it provides a means of continuing the thing I enjoyed best about my time at USgamer: my weekly JPgamer column, in which I regularly enthused about the Japanese games that other publications ignored at best, ridiculed at worst.

Aside from Final Fantasy XIV, I am currently playing Hyperdevotion Noire and Senran Kagura Shinovi Versus on Vita. I am absolutely loving both. Noire is a surprisingly competent strategy RPG (or unsurprisingly, if you're more familiar with developer Sting than I am) featuring characters who have become firm favourites over the last couple of years. Senran Kagura, meanwhile, continues the series' tradition of blending enjoyably cheeky fanservice with genuinely good stories about the nature of good and evil, what it means to be a shinobi and how you go about finding your place in the world.

I am fat. I have recently started attending Slimming World sessions and have so far lost over 2 stone in 10 weeks, so that's going quite well. I don't know if I'll be able to keep up that pace, but if I can get even vaguely close to my self-imposed target I'll be happy.

I am depressed, and have lost at least one job as an indirect result of this. Recently, I finally plucked up the courage to go to the doctor and talk about it. The doctor complimented me on my thoughtful, philosophical attitude towards it — she caught me on a good day — and prescribed me some anti-anxiety meds. I can't say whether or not they're actually doing anything yet, but, well, baby steps and all that.

To the person who came to this blog by searching for "video games with a lot of pantyshots", may I recommend the Dead or Alive series, Rival Schools on the PSone, Senran Kagura, and any visual novel that errs on the side of "eroge" without getting into weird shit.

To the person who came to this blog by searching for "huniepop kyu", this is for you.

To the people who have been following along for the last 1900 days, thanks for indulging me for so long. To the people who have joined me recently, hello, welcome, and perhaps you understand me a little better now.

1883: Social Justice, Public Shaming and Why I Want My Friends Back

I'm probably going to upset a few people with this post, but this is something that has been festering inside me for quite some time; something that I need to release by talking about it. I hope doing so will help me feel a little better, as well as make the people who care about me aware of the way certain increasingly prevalent attitudes in popular culture make me — and, I'm sure, others like me — feel.

I'll kick off with an immediately contentious statement: I completely understand why the term "social justice warrior" is used as a pejorative.

I will immediately qualify this by saying that I do not think the concept of social justice is unimportant, nor that it is something that should be swept under the carpet and ignored. There are still problems with attitudes towards marginalised groups in society. There are still groups out there whose sole reason for existence is an irrational, burning hatred of certain people. There are subsets of passionate fans in all interest groups — be it video games, sports, movies, books, anything — who do not have a positive influence on the community as a whole.

However, I believe that for the most part, human beings are fundamentally decent people. I've met my share of assholes, sure, and seen evidence of people being mistreated, insulted and even threatened online — although, on that note, I will also say that we're collectively a little hasty to jump to the descriptor "death threat" when it isn't always particularly accurate. But I've also met enough decent people in my time in this world and on the Internet to find it difficult to believe that the world is the seething morass of hatred and prejudice that the most passionate advocates of social justice — the aforementioned "social justice warriors" — believe it is.

Let me clarify my earlier statement. The term "social justice warrior", as I see it — and as many others see it, too — does not simply apply to anyone who believes in social justice, otherwise there would be no need for it; it would simply be a means of describing pretty much everyone who isn't an asshole. Rather, it describes, as noted above, a particularly passionate and outspoken advocate for social justice — and someone who is not above using particularly unpleasant tactics to try and get their point across. Tactics like public shaming; insulting; "othering"; discrimination; ignoring opinions based on socioeconomic, ethnic, gender or sexuality groups; dogpiling… the list goes on, and, you'll notice, these are all things that anyone who truly stands for social justice should really be against the use of, regardless of who they're aimed at. A "social justice warrior" would discount my opinion on all this, for example, because I'm a white, straight, heterosexual, cissexual male: the very definition of the concept of "male privilege" that many of them cling to so very desperately.

Why is this a problem, though? It's easy enough to ignore and filter out other bile-spewing groups based on hatred — when was the last time you accidentally stumbled across neo-Nazi ravings without deliberately going looking for them, for example? — so why not just tune out these people? Well, the answer to that is simple: unlike other hate-spewing groups, these loudmouths are increasingly infiltrating mainstream popular culture having positioned their approach as being "correct" from a moral perspective. My experience of them has largely been in the video games sector, but from what I understand, they've had a fair crack at numerous other communities over the last few years, too.

Let me explain why they bother me so much, and hopefully, my dislike of their tactics will become a little clearer.

A few years back, a games journo friend of mine — Jeff Grubb of GamesBeat — wrote a news story. I forget the exact details of the story (and can't seem to find the original since GamesBeat's numerous refreshes over the last few years), but it involved, as I recall, Twisted Metal creator David Jaffe making some contentious statements that involved the hypothetical punching of a woman in the face. Jaffe wasn't advocating for violence against women, of course; doing something like that directly would be tantamount to career suicide; if I remember correctly, the context was something to do with playing multiplayer games and reactions to winning and losing. The details of the story itself are somewhat unimportant, anyway; what I'm really concerned with here is the reaction to it.

Jeff wrote the piece on Jaffe's statements from a factual perspective — as a reporter, without editorialising. Different publications approach this sort of thing in different ways: more blog-style sites like Kotaku have no problem with their authors saying exactly what they think about a particular issue, whereas GamesBeat's parent site VentureBeat is more of a business-centric publication that is less concerned with drama and more with simply reporting what has been going on.

Because Jeff didn't condemn Jaffe's statements in the article, however, he attracted the ire of an early incarnation of the "social justice warriors". The situation became worse as he attempted to defend himself on Twitter; as time passed, more and more people, including high-profile games journalists with large followings, started attacking him — rather than Jaffe, who arguably should have been the subject of their ire, though even that's debatable, given what I recall of the context surrounding his comments — and publicly shaming him, denouncing him as an "example of white male privilege" and effectively setting hordes of followers on him. I became seriously worried for his safety and wellbeing while this was going on.

This wasn't an isolated incident, either. Numerous times over the last few years we've seen outspoken members of the industry with social justice leanings adopt the tactic of publicly shaming and bullying, even going so far as to threaten people with ending their career. Most recently, we've seen Polygon's Ben Kuchera attacking a member of EA's customer engagement team over the latter's concern over community-made Twitter "blacklists"; in previous months we've seen the widely celebrated writer Leigh Alexander threatening to end people's careers, feminist critic Mattie Brice throwing a hissy fit when someone called her out on a sexist joke and all manner of other atrocious behaviour. It simply isn't acceptable.

All this isn't to say that these people can't voice their concerns. What I do find myself violently disliking about this culture of public shaming that has been growing over the last few years, however, is that there's little to no "right of reply" in most cases. Once someone is branded as a misogynist, sexist, transphobe, racist or whatever by these self-appointed crusaders of morality, there's no recovery from it. They have no opportunity to say "well, hang on a minute, here's why you're not quite right there…" and no opportunity to criticise the arguments being levelled against them. More often than not, critics of Kuchera, Alexander et al are swiftly blocked, silenced and/or mocked, simply because the "social justice warrior" position has been successfully positioned as the "correct" attitude. The same thing happens when anyone attempts to start a conversation surrounding feminist critic Anita Sarkeesian's Tropes vs Women video series; while she does attract plenty of hate-filled bile — and that, let's be clear, is always unacceptable — she and her team appear unwilling to engage with or discuss legitimate criticisms of her work, and often post deliberately provocative statements seemingly with the sole intention of drawing the trolls out to point and laugh at them.

Now, I've been standing on the sidelines throughout all of this. I have, thankfully, never been attacked by these people, even when I was working in the mainstream games press on GamePro and USgamer, even when I was writing about notoriously provocative and controversial games such as Senran Kagura and other titles from Japan. Perhaps I was just too small fry for industry "megaphones" (as Alexander calls herself) to bother with, and I'm not complaining; the fact I made a point of remaining positive while acknowledging these titles weren't for everyone helped me build up a decent audience who appreciated the work I did, particularly as it was in stark contrast to the majority of other sites out there.

So why does all this bother me so much? Well, because it's deeply, deeply frustrating, and because the culture of fear that these people are perpetuating online makes me very nervous about speaking on certain topics for fear of being ostracised. More important than that, however, is the feeling that it's driven a wedge between me and a number of friends whom I no longer feel particularly comfortable talking to because I know they've drifted more towards the social justice side of the fence — or, in some cases, become outright zealots. I miss those friends greatly, and it makes me extremely sad that I can't talk to them any more simply because I don't share their ideological viewpoint — or, rather, I do, but I fundamentally disagree with the methods through which they go about expressing that viewpoint.

What should people do instead? Simple. Champion the things that you're fond of and believe in, without putting down other people for what they enjoy. Diversity isn't just about creating experiences that "everyone" can enjoy, though that's part of it. Diversity is also about creating experiences that appeal to specific audiences. There's nothing wrong with that; in fact, it makes for more interesting, more focused pieces of entertainment that feel personal and relatable. Cater to men, women, heterosexual people, homosexual people, cissexual people, transgender or transsexual people, white people, black people, Asian people, anyone you like. Accept that some things are not "for" you — though that doesn't need to stop you from finding enjoyment in them, as the number of otome games I've enjoyed over the last few years will attest — and celebrate the things that are. If you believe that there aren't enough works catering to the groups you consider yourself to fall into, throw your support behind those that do or even make your own. Just, for God's sake, don't ever position yourself as The One Correct Attitude and point the finger of shame at anyone who doesn't fall within your own specific worldview, because that's where the majority of this nonsense is coming from.

I'm not a misogynist. I'm not a sexist. I'm not a racist. I'm not a transphobe. I'm not even an anti-feminist or a men's rights advocate. I just want these "social justice warriors" to understand that what they are doing is not, in fact, championing diversity; it's stifling conversation and creating a culture of mistrust between developers, players and press — and between friends.

I hate it. And I wish it would go away. And I want my friends back.

1847: Your TV Is Not Trying to Kill You

So another outlandish "privacy scandal" looked set to erupt on Twitter earlier. For the benefit of anyone who might be considering sharing anything regarding Samsung Smart TVs sending your personal information to third parties, allow me to clarify a few things.

Samsung Smart TVs have a voice recognition feature. I know this because I have one. (I also never use it, because voice recognition is, for the most part, stupid and pointless when you have a remote control right there. Assuming you have hands, it is pretty much always just as quick to use the remote as it is to remember exactly how you're supposed to phrase a voice command.)

Anyway. The way this voice control works is very simple. You press a button on the "special" remote, not the "normal" one, and the microphone in the remote starts picking up your voice. When you've finished speaking, it sends what you said over the Internet to a speech recognition service (that more than likely converts the speech into computer-friendly text for more accurate processing) and then your TV receives an instruction based on what you said. The TV itself isn't doing any real processing; that all happens remotely, and the TV simply receives the instruction to do something based on what the speech recognition service thinks you said.

Astute iPhone-owning readers will know that this is exactly how Siri on Apple devices works — it's why you can't use Siri when you don't have an Internet connection, even to access information stored locally on your phone such as your address book and suchlike.

The reason these services work like this is to take some of the processing workload off the phone/TV/other device with voice recognition. It's not an ideal solution, but it does mean that the devices in question can be less expensive because they don't need hefty processing power or software to recognise voices pre-installed on them. One day we may have devices that can recognise our voices accurately without requiring an Internet connection — although chances are by the time we've perfected that, the Internet will be "everywhere", rather than just in Wi-Fi hotspots and mobile coverage areas — but until then, this is how voice recognition tends to work.

As such, a necessary part of the entire process involves sending a recording of what you said to the third-party speech recognition service. This means that if you press the microphone button on your Smart TV remote and then decide that the appropriate thing to say at that moment would be "My credit card number is…", a recording of you saying your credit card number will be sent to this speech recognition service. Chances are, nothing will happen with it, but as with any sort of unencrypted information transmitted across the Internet, there's a slim risk of nefarious types intercepting the transmission and taking advantage of it.

Because of this slim risk of stupid people telling their TV remote what their credit card number is, Samsung have had to put a disclaimer in their Smart TV documentation that the TV may send your personal information to a third party, and of course, people have misinterpreted this as the TV always listening to what you're saying, and it therefore being unsafe to share any personal information while within earshot of your TV. This is, of course, utter nonsense, because as I've outlined above, you have to specifically press a button in order to activate voice recognition mode, and the "third party" it's being sent to is doing nothing more than converting your babblings into something the computer in the TV can recognise as an instruction to do something.

That is it. Nothing more. Nothing sinister. And if you're still uneasy, you could 1) not buy a Smart TV, since technology clearly terrifies you, 2) not use the voice recognition function (which, in my experience, is patchy, slow and pointless anyway) or 3) not talk about credit card numbers or other personal information when you've pressed the button that specifically asks your TV to listen to you.

So there you go. This has been a public service announcement. I thank you.

1834: Rate Us Five Stars

I rarely leave user reviews on things, be they App Store/Google Play downloads, Amazon purchases, eBay sellers or Steam downloads. And I've realised that in not doing so, I'm being a bit of a fool.

Why? Because whenever I consider purchasing something, one of the first things I do is have a look at the user ratings and reviews and determine whether or not they're 1) genuine 2) worth listening to and 3) something that might need to make me reconsider or confirm my purchase.

Of course, user reviews are very much open to abuse. You only have to look at some of the more notorious examples on Amazon or Metacritic to see the system at its worst… although these incidents can often provide a certain degree of amusement. (There's at least one Twitter account devoted to amusing Amazon reviews alone.)

But when they work, they can be extremely useful — and every time I write one, I'm reminded how much I have always enjoyed reviewing things. Not necessarily critiquing them in depth or from any sort of theoretical perspective, but providing a simple, straightforward analysis of how much I liked something, how it made me feel, whether I think other people would like it and all that sort of good stuff.

It's also really fun to write a negative review, though it's also very easy to be extremely unfair when you're doing so, which is why I try and remain positive most of the time. (People are also more inclined to disagree with something negative than positive in my experience, too, and I really don't enjoy arguing with people.) I have made one fairly consistent exception over the years, though, and that's with mobile games that have been truly, truly awful, particularly those that have desecrated beloved franchises like Dungeon Keeper, Theme Park and SimCity. (Oh, hi, EA.)

But I've decided as a belated and rather lame resolution that I'm going to start making an effort to review things that I've bought, played, used, whatever. Because if I make use of user reviews for their intended purpose — to find out what the average Joe on the street thinks of something that I'm considering purchasing — then I'm sure other people will do too. And, not to blow my own trumpet too much, but I feel like I'm quite good at expressing myself about the things I do and don't like about something.

I give it a couple of weeks before I stop doing it, but for now it's a little something I can do to help make the Internet as a whole a slightly better place. I made a start this evening by reviewing HuniePop on Steam; see if you can spot my review if you're pondering whether to drop some cash on a pornographic puzzle game!

1774: Last Chance, Twitter

I know I've been very anti-Twitter and very anti-social media in general recently, but an unfortunate side-effect of "going dark" is, to be perfectly frank, loneliness.

It kind of sucks that social media is the default means of people communicating with one another today. I'll grant that it's a convenient and easy means of people to talk to each other without sharing completely "personal" details like email addresses or phone numbers, but I sort of miss the days of sending lengthy emails back and forth with people. I know the option is still there to do that, but how many people would actually respond, I wonder?

This is a preamble to the fact that I have rejoined Twitter in an attempt to reconnect with the people I effectively severed social ties with when I went dark a while back. I don't regret doing that — remaining clear of some of the most ridiculous Internet drama in years has been thoroughly pleasant, and it makes me glad to have the close friends I do have who have stuck by me even as I was harder to get hold of — but I have found myself somewhat wanting for conversation at times.

And so we come to this, then: an attempt to recapture whatever it was that attracted me to Twitter in the first place, and kept me as an avid user for a long time until I became thoroughly disillusioned with the whole thing.

The temptation with Twitter is to follow everyone and everything. A follow isn't the same as a friendship request on other forms of social media: it's not reciprocal. You can follow someone and they remain completely unaware of your existence. This isn't necessarily as harsh (or creepy) as it sounds, since many Twitter users make use of the social network primarily as a broadcast medium for keeping people up to date on the latest happenings or pointing them in the direction of posts, forums and articles that are a better place to hang out and talk in detail. Twitter is, after all, shit for nuanced discussion, as anyone who has ever attempted to discuss anything deeper than how nice the sausage you're currently eating is will have undoubtedly discovered.

I'm not going to do that this time, though. I'm not going to use Twitter as the noisy, messy hodgepodge of microblogging tool, text messaging service and RSS reader that it once was: the emphasis for me now is on the thing I always enjoyed using it for most: talking to people from all over the world.

I'm not going to follow hundreds of people. I'm not going to feel obliged to follow people who follow me unless I find them interesting. If people start retweeting things that upset or annoy me, I'll simply turn off their retweets — retweets, after all, are by far the most irritating feature of Twitter in my experience since it's a means of someone shoving a third party's opinion in your face — and if they remain annoying or upsetting after that then, well, maybe I don't really want to be following them after all.

My account is public at present, but once I have a nice little collection of followers gathered once again, I'm turning my account back to private, which means my tweets won't be public and people will have to request to follow me rather than just being able to do so. My professional life is now completely separate from my online existence, and as such I have no need to "network" online by sucking up to "important" people and trying to make them aware of my existence by building up as much "social capital" (to co-opt a phrase that means something else) as I can.

I can instead concentrate on using Twitter as a means of talking with friends and — hopefully, anyway — having a bit of fun. And with any luck, this will help at least partly deal with the feelings of isolation and loneliness I've been feeling recently.

1747: I Still Don't Care

Just slightly over two years ago (really quite surprisingly close, now I look at the dates), I pondered the subject of how I Don't Care about certain social issues.

That particular rant — kind of shocked how little things have changed in two years, to be honest — was inspired by the amount of time certain people spent pontificating on Twitter about how awful certain groups were towards other groups. Whether it was racism, sexism, ableism or any of the other bad -isms, there was always someone on hand to loudly denounce anyone who displayed one or more of these traits as The Worst Person Ever.

I've tended to find over the years that the more I find myself seeing the same things said over and over — and the more hyperbolic those things are — the less I'm inclined to care about them, until eventually you cross some sort of apathy event horizon and find yourself feeling completely and utterly unmoved by even the most tragic of human suffering. Desensitisation is very much a real thing — although I'll qualify that at this stage by saying that I am by no means desensitised to things like violent imagery or things happening to those who are close to me and that I care about.

I was reminded of this feeling today when a friend got in touch and told me about some dude I'd never heard of supposedly sexually assaulting a whole bunch of people, the dodgy things he'd said on Facebook and the rather specific, creepy details that his alleged victims had said independently of one another. Now, I knew that I was probably supposed to feel outraged about this apparent miscarriage of justice, but the fact is, I just couldn't bring myself to care even a little bit about it. I couldn't bring myself to Google who this dude I'd never heard of was; I couldn't bring myself to look at the news stories; it just didn't matter to me.

And, you know what? I don't actually think that's necessarily a bad way to be thinking about things. While it would be nice if all the good people in the world could wave their respective magic wands and make all the bad people's dicks fall off (where applicable), we all know that isn't the way things work. And it's all very well and good and probably morally admirable to get upset on other people's behalf, but there are an awful lot of bad people out there and only so many hours in the day. I know I'd much rather be concentrating on my own life and the wellbeing of those immediately around me (in social, not necessarily geographical terms) than wasting time — yes, I do think it is a colossal waste of time — getting angry on behalf of people I've never met, will likely never meet and have absolutely no means of relating to, helping or indeed having any impact on the lives of whatsoever.

Why do I say this is a good thing? Doesn't that make me some sort of woman/ethnic minority/disabled person-hating narcissist? Well, no, of course not — although a woman/ethnic minority/disabled person-hating narcissist would say that, wouldn't they? The simple fact is this: very few people are real "heroes". Very few of us have the power to make a true difference in the lives of people we've had absolutely no contact with whatsoever. And it's not good for one's mental health to continually get upset and angry on behalf of everyone who is wronged in the world. I've seen one friend go down that road, and frankly they became rather insufferable as a result. More than that, though, it seemed impossible for them to ever be happy, because there was always something new to get upset and angry about; they were perpetually in a state of anguish and fury, because there was no way to fix this broken world we live in. It was heartbreaking to see, and there was nothing I could do to help them.

Ultimately all most of us do is try to be the best people we can be to the people who do matter to each of us: family, friends and the acquaintances we come into contact with on a regular basis through work or other activities. If everyone simply tried to be a bit more excellent towards one another in their own social circles, the world would probably be a much more pleasant place overall.

Unfortunately some people simply appear to be hard-wired to be as un-excellent as possible to the people around them. And that's not at all cool, but if you have nothing to do with those people, harsh as it may sound, they're not your problem. They have to either recognise the problems they have themselves and do something about it, or the people who are close to them and care about them have to take action. You, as some random stranger on the Internet, have no influence, no power and, moreover, no real right to interfere with that person's life. Concentrate on dealing with your own issues, because everyone's got them to varying degrees, and if you're one of the lucky few to be in a place of relative contentment? Enjoy it, for fuck's sake; don't go looking for trouble.

So, to sum up: I Still Don't Care. And, I have to say, ditching social media has made it a whole lot easier to do just that. While my own issues mean that I'm still a way off feeling truly, completely 100% happy and content with my own life, I sure feel a lot closer to that ambition than I once was. And, should I ever reach it? I'm damn well going to enjoy every minute of it.

1736: Traffic Report

It is traffic that drives the modern Web, whether we're talking about a commercial site or a personal social media page, but I'm gradually coming to regard the relentless pursuit of this easily measurable but sometimes quite misleading metric as something I'm keen to step as far away from as possible.

Why? Because the behaviour of the Internet hivemind — they who create the traffic — is predictable. Write something interesting and compelling — but, crucially, not controversial — that you've poured blood, sweat and tears into and came away from feeling yes, this is one of the best things I've ever written, and you'll inevitably barely register a blip on the graphs. On the flip side, write something controversial or angry — preferably with plenty of finger-pointing — and you'll get hundreds, thousands of hits. But are they the kind of people you want to be attracting to what you're writing?

In the case of a commercial site, it doesn't actually matter all that much; in the case of the biggest sites like IGN, the comments section moves so quickly with all the commenters' vapid nonsense that there's no time for anyone to be able to fixate on the actual people who have been reading it in most cases — unless, of course, it becomes clear that the community at large has an opinion contrary to that of the writer, in which case it usually degenerates into a battle of snark via Twitter within hours of publication. But even on smaller sites, comments sections are easily ignored; ultimately, it is those traffic figures that are totted up at the end of each week to determine how "well" things are going — the theory runs that if you lure people in with more "clickbaity" stuff, they will hopefully enjoy it and stick around to click through to some other, less controversial but much better pieces. It doesn't necessarily work like that, sadly: bounce rates are high, and tricky to "fix", particularly if you contemplate how your own personal browsing habits tend to go.

In the case of a personal site like this one, however, it very much does matter who you're attracting to read the things you've written. I have a small group of semi-regular to regular commenters on this site, all of whom I've gotten to know and come to regard as friends. When someone new shows up, their first comment is important; it determines whether or not I actually want to engage with them, or whether I never want to speak to them ever again. It's nice when the former happens; when the latter happens, however — something which is seemingly exponentially more likely on a high-traffic day — it can be anything from mildly annoying to actually quite scary, particularly for someone with anxiety issues around certain social situations.

It's for this reason that I've come to dread the WordPress notification that reads "Your stats are booming!" because it means that, for whatever reason, lots of people have come to my site and are doubtless just itching to leave a comment on something and tell me how much I'm wrong. (The side effect of the aforementioned anxiety is that one negative comment counts for about 20 positive comments, making it very hard to get a nice, calming balance, and making me very anxious and nervous about the possibility of arguments, even over the smallest of things.) Today was one of those days: something I wrote a little while back — something which I stand by, but am also keen to put behind me now my life is moving forwards — got linked a whole lot. Judging by my stat reports, it seems it was linked from Twitter, Reddit and a few other places and, at the time of writing, has produced my "best" traffic day for a very long time.

I can't say I'm particularly happy about that, though, because all it means is that I've written something contentious that I anticipate those who agree will stay quite and maybe give a Like, while those who disagree will jump in the comments and yell at me. (The comments on the aforementioned piece are now closed, so this makes prospective yellers' lives at least a little bit more difficult, which is something.)

Since ditching the hustle and bustle of social media, with its constant pursuit of validation through Likes and Comments, I've become much more content to simply continue along on my way without interference from wider society. And while you may point your finger at me and say that I'm just trying to live in a bubble or an echo chamber, to that I simply say so what? We don't need to open everything we say and do up to public scrutiny, and just because you publish something online for family and friends to read doesn't mean that you particualrly want it shared with the wider world.

It's a fact of life, however, that with this modern, connected world, if you publish anything online, whatever it is, you open yourself up to it being shared more widely, possibly well outside of your own safe place, and consequently run the risk of attracting… undesirables, shall we say. And that sort of thing is starting to make me increasingly uncomfortable — particularly after I've been the victim of an organised Twitter harassment campaign in the past; something I'm really not keen to repeat in any shape or form through any online medium.

Oh, don't worry, this blog isn't going anywhere; personally speaking, it's been a valuable outlet and almost a form of "therapy" for me over the course of the last four and a bit years, so I can't seem myself giving it up any time soon. I would, however, ask anyone reading any post on this site and contemplating sharing it or leaving a comment to take a step back for a moment and think about the person behind the words: a 33-year old dude who is just now finally starting to get his life moving in a vaguely normal direction after numerous years of upheaval, disappointment, upset, anger and chaos; a 33-year old dude who, after 4+ years of working "on the Internet" is now keen to have a bit of a quiet life. I'm not saying don't share; I'm not saying don't comment; I'm not sure what I am saying, really, if I'm perfectly honest: just please take what I've said above into account. That's all I ask.