2292: Thirty-Five

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It was my birthday today; I am now thirty-five years of age, which means on some forms I’m officially in the next age bracket. If ever there were a more obvious marker of our respective mutual creeping towards the grave, it is surely moving down through the age ranges on official forms. I’m not sure if this means I count as “middle-aged” or not yet and honestly I don’t really care all that much; age has always just been a number to me, and, for better or worse, I’ve always preferred to act the age I feel rather than the age I am.

It was a pleasantly quiet day today — something much-needed for both my wife Andie and me after numerous recent stressors. We had a lazy morning, Andie made a “mug cake” in the microwave for me (delicious), and then we went out to our local Japanese eatery Zen for some sushi and deep-fried goods (also delicious). The remainder of the day has been spent writing an article about Senran Kagura’s art and soundtrack, playing Final Fantasy X HD and, as a lazy post-dinner activity, a spot of Dead or Alive Xtreme 3.

I’m probably supposed to reflect on where I’ve come from and where I’m going on such a momentous occasion as my age going up by one. Right now that’s a fairly depressing prospect, though, to be honest, so I’m going to refrain from going too much into that. Let’s just say that things haven’t been great, but plans are in motion to make life a little better, even if it takes a while to bring them to fruition.

For now, I’m pursuing home-based work so I can be with my wife while she’s off work with her chronic pain condition; hopefully this will provide enough of an income to at least survive on, if not live a particularly exciting life, but then I never really lived much of an exciting life anyway, with the most exciting things I tend to buy being either video or board games. With that in mind, please do get in touch if you have any (paying!) writing work that I might be able to do from home — or if you’d like to support me directly, please consider making a pledge to my Patreon, which was set up with a mind to making my work on MoeGamer a bit more regular and in-depth.

You may ponder why I don’t pursue writing gigs in the games press any more. To be honest, I wouldn’t mind that, though the way I’ve been treated in the past has somewhat soured me on the business as a whole — plus there’s the fact that the mainstream games press (i.e. the ones that pay) all still have the “feminism” stick firmly jammed up their collective asses which, far from promoting the amorphous concept of “diversity” as they’d like to think, actually just stifles criticism from a variety of perspectives, not to mention thoughtful, meaningful exploration of games on the more provocative end of the spectrum. And as my good friend Chris was kind enough to say the other day, I’m better at writing about games than 1,200 word reviews talking about how nice the graphics are and whether or not there’s any screen tearing, or 500-word news pieces on industry Twitter spats and inevitably fake rumours about new Nintendo hardware.

MoeGamer, as it stands, is an experiment in sustained long-form writing on very specific topics in games, and if this proves to be worthwhile I’ll consider expanding the project into perhaps putting together a book or two. That would be exciting. As longstanding readers well know, I firmly believe that there’s an absolute ton of scope for thoughtful, interesting, meaningful analysis of games beyond what the current clickbait model of games journalism focuses on, and longform articles not beholden to advertisers or honest-to-goodness books are clearly the way to go for this sort of thing.

Other people out there are already doing this sort of thing; Boss Fight Books is a particularly interesting project, though it takes a somewhat scattershot approach to which games are noteworthy for one reason or another, and many (though not all, thankfully) of the authors involved are members of “the clique” of games writers and developers that has made viewpoints that deviate from the standard (and fallacious) “everything is sexist and gamers are awful people” rather unwelcome. In other words, I don’t see them publishing a book exploring the satire of Hyperdimension Neptunia or the meaning carried in the sexual content of The Fruit of Grisaia any time soon.

Basically, now I’ve made the decision to, at least for the immediate future, stay at home for work, I can start looking at ways to 1) pin down a reasonably secure monthly income and 2) start pursuing passion projects in earnest. Because for all the noble intentions in the world, the last thing you want to do after coming home from a 9-5 is sit down at the computer and do something else that feels like it’s “productive”, even if it’s something you do genuinely really want to do. I’m going to have to make some decisions on how to proceed from here — do I keep attempting to promote my Patreon, or look into something like Kickstarter to fund a book series? Do I look into monetising MoeGamer’s content somehow, or share it across some other channels such as video? (I kind of hate video for anything other than TV shows and the occasional Zero Punctuation; give me some nice words any day, millennials’ attention spans be damned.) Do I attempt to pitch some articles to mainstream games press sites? (Probably not.)

There are lots of things to think about and it’s both exciting and scary. I want everything to be all right, as it emphatically isn’t right now, but at least I have options to explore, so everything isn’t hopeless quite yet. I hope, anyway.

Now, I’m off to bed to hopefully sleep soundly, and then I’m going away for the Bank Holiday weekend to play some board games with friends and probably get attacked by a dog. I sincerely hope this coming weekend is as relaxing as I need it to be, as the last few… weeks, months, I lose track… have been pretty hellish stress-wise, and I’d rather have just one weekend where I can just enjoy myself without having to worry about anything.

Thankfully, I don’t see anything standing in the way of that happening, so expect suitably enthusiastic reports throughout the weekend, and be prepared to commiserate with me on my inevitable losses at games that involve any sort of strategic thinking.

1197: 32-Bit Power

It’s my birthday today. I am 32. Big fucking whoop.

I still have a somewhat childish outlook on a lot of things, I will freely admit — come on, it’s endearing — and birthdays are one of those things. I still feel that birthdays are special days, that they should be celebrated and enjoyed — and that preferably, nothing unpleasant should happen to you on them. Ideally, you wouldn’t even have to work on your birthday — it would be a guaranteed holiday for each individual person — and you could just spend the day eating cake, reading cards, opening presents and wondering how you’ll spend your birthday money.

Which is why I’m here at just after 10pm in the evening feeling a bit glum. Today has… well, not “sucked” exactly, but it has been nothing but a normal day in which I got a significantly larger number of posts on my Facebook Timeline than usual. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for people taking a moment to wish me happy birthday after Facebook reminded them to do so, but it’s not really the same as, you know, something exciting happening. And absolutely nothing exciting has happened today. At all. It has just been a Monday. Any other Monday.

It doesn’t help that Andie is ill and thus we can’t really do anything exciting and celebratory, though we are going to Canada at the weekend, so I’ll look at that as a slightly-belated birthday celebration. I also had some friends over at the weekend for board and computer games, and had the chance to catch up with some other friends I haven’t seen for ages on Sunday, so that was nice, and I’m grateful for that.

I can’t shake the feeling that today should have been more “special” than it was, though. It just wasn’t. At all. And I know that as you get older, birthdays do get less and less special — largely because you’ve had so many of them, but also because you start to get to a point where you want to forget about them — but, you know, I still like to feel like there’s a day that’s “mine”; a day when I can enjoy myself, when I can be immune from the unpleasantness of the world and just enjoy a bit of selfishness for once.

Today wasn’t that day.

Oh well. There’s always next year.

BALLS

#oneaday Day 831: Another Year

So, as of the time of writing, I’ve just turned thirty-one years old. As becomes increasingly common as the years pass by, it doesn’t feel any different to being thirty.

I was mostly prepped for the supposed horror of turning thirty by my parents. My father in particular apparently didn’t take to turning thirty all that well, so I was expecting a semi-to-fully traumatic experience. It actually turned out to be a rather pleasant experience, as I was whisked off on a weekend to London by my girlfriend Andie, and then had the chance to see a bunch of friends for curry and good times.

A lot has happened in the space of the last year. Having been forced to move back home with my parents due to my shattered personal life from the year prior, in August I moved back out again. At the time I was working for GamePro and was earning a decent wage from it, too, so Andie (who was also living with her mother at the time) and I decided that we were both in a situation where we could get a house and move in together. So we did. And that was good.

Since that time, GamePro collapsed — in December of last year, to be specific. I was very sad about this, as I felt I’d found my “calling” — I did a great job of posting the daily news there, and my hard work was appreciated by the people I was working for. I was grateful for the opportunity, grateful to be accepted and appreciated in what I was doing, and grateful to, for the first time in my life, have a job that I actually enjoyed.

I was half-expecting the collapse of GamePro to signal another disastrous collapse in my own personal circumstances. At the time, I didn’t have enough money saved up to survive for very long and still be able to pay my tax bill at the beginning of next year. I started frantically applying for jobs and finding the same situation I had done prior to starting at GamePro — no-one was interested in me. I don’t know whether it was my lack of “relevant” qualifications for certain sectors, my wide-ranging experience that covered both teaching and writing positions, or something else. Whatever it was, it carried a significant risk of making me feel like absolute crap again.

Fortunately, I found myself with a new job before long, and I’m enjoying it. I’m constantly learning new stuff, too, which is a big bonus. My writing may not be quite so much in the “mainstream” public eye any more, but I’m find with that; it means that I have to deal with far fewer hormonal teenagers who can’t spell, punctuate or formulate an argument. I also haven’t had any accusations of being a paedophile since starting my new job, either, which is always nice.

What else? I’ve bought a new computer, bought an Android tablet, discovered My Little Pony, played all three of the “Operation Rainfall” role-playing games on the Wii, finally started playing Nier, started a few creative projects, started, stopped, started, stopped and started again at the gym lots of times… the list goes on. When put that way, it probably doesn’t sound all that interesting, really. But I can’t say it’s been a shitty year, unlike certain previous years I could mention. On the whole, it’s been a reasonably good year and hopefully things will just continue to improve.

Now it’s time to go to bed. I’ve had friends over playing TrackMania, Dungeon Defenders, 7 Wonders and Catan this evening, with more arriving tomorrow for further board game fun and frolics.

See you on my “proper” birthday.

#oneaday Day 817: Countdown to a Non-Event

It’s my 31st birthday on the 29th of this month, something which I am neither massively looking forward to or dreading — it’s just happening. (That said, there is the distinct possibility of nerdtastic board game action in the name of celebration, so I guess I am sort of looking forward to it.)

Birthdays are one of those things that seem massively important when you’re a kid but decline in relevance as you get older, with only the big “decade change” birthdays being a particularly big deal in most cases. My 30th was pretty awesome, as it happened, since not only did my awesome girlfriend take me to London for happy funtimes (on royal wedding day, as it happened, but that didn’t make things as inconvenient as I expected it might) but I then got to hang out with a goodly proportion of my UK-based friends (and one US-based friend who happened to be in the country at the time!) and eat lots of curry. Which was nice.

Thinking back on it, though, I’m not sure I can remember that many birthdays from my past. I was never particularly big on the whole “party” thing even when I was little — I remember going to plenty of other kids’ parties at the local village hall, eating cake and playing Pass The Parcel, though I don’t have any traumatic clown experiences to have revelations about in therapy (unless they’re particularly well-hidden and repressed) and I was rarely — if ever, I forget — the actual “host” or “guest of honour” of such an event.

I’m fine with this, as it happens, though it may have begun to carve my personality into the shape it is today. A big “party” full of people I don’t really know very well all putting pressure on me to have a good time is not a situation I particularly want to put myself in, particularly as it’s considered impolite and/or drama queen-ish to tell everyone that you’ve had enough and you’d just like them all to, you know, fuck off right now please.

I think the best birthday celebrations I’ve had were loosely-organised affairs where I maybe had the opportunity to hang out with a few friends, but there was no real pressure on anyone to be wild, wacky or drunk. Oftentimes there was all of the above, but rarely was it forced.

One particularly memorable occasion came during my first year at university, so I guess it must have been my 19th birthday. The halls of residence flat in which I lived had become a pretty close-knit group (most of us, anyway — there was one girl who perpetually did her own thing) and so we decided that we would go to local student hotspot and well-known grot spot Clowns, a “wine bar” that had an attached basement nightclub known as Jesters.

To call Clowns a “wine bar” was to polish a turd, really, since it was simply a “bar”. Okay, it served wine, but the phrase “wine bar” implies a certain degree of classiness that Clowns most certainly did not possess. Rather, it was the sort of place in which you stuck to the floor if you stood still for too long, and its companion nightclub Jesters (which seemed to be perpetually open, even during the day) was the kind of place whose toilets regularly overflowed and coated the dance floor with a sloppy mess of urine, cigarette butts and all manner of other unpleasantness. The theory was that by the time you got into Jesters, you were usually so wasted that you didn’t mind what you might be stepping in/on, so it was something of a moot point.

I digress. This particular birthday celebration was one of those “unstructured” sort of occasions. Clowns was running some sort of summer special whereby they’d provide you with a four-pint jug of its signature “Juicy Lucy” cocktail for about four quid, and as such most people there were clutching said jugs like giant tankards, pouring the luminescent green concoction down their throats with gay abandon.

I remember relatively little about what we were actually doing at the pub — drinking, probably — but for some reason I have oddly lucid memories of what happened upon our return to the flat. My flatmate Chris, for one, decided that the thing to do would be to sit in the corner of my bedroom with a pair of my (clean) underpants on his head. (I believe he was later sick on his door and subsequently refused to come out of his room for the rest of the evening, though this may have been another occasion.) My friend Simon, who did not live in the same halls of residence as us, fell asleep on my bed. All I really wanted to do at this time was fall asleep, too, so I opened up my wardrobe, rested my head on the bin-bag full of laundry that was in there (surprisingly comfortable) and drifted off for a little while.

I awoke a couple of hours later to find Simon just rousing from his slumber, too.

“I’m just going to run my head under the tap and then leave,” he said blearily. He stood up, and from my low vantage point I heard him go into the kitchen, run the tap as he suggested, and a few moments later, the front door banged to indicate that he had indeed left.

This occasion was clearly a silly situation in which almost nothing of any note whatsoever occurred, but for some reason it has stuck in my memory for many, many years. I can only wonder what strange memories future celebrations may burn onto my brain.

#oneaday Day 119: Birth Day

It’s my birthday today! I’m 30. Changes of decade are generally assumed to be significant events, but really, once you pass the age of 18, there are very few really meaningful age milestones and the number of years you’ve been alive is just a number. So I’ve been alive for 30 years, and I’ve not achieved many of the things I’m supposed to achieve before you’re 30. In fact, I’ve never bothered to make a list of “things I want to do before I’m 30” and when probed recently, my friends couldn’t come up with many things worth doing that I would no longer be able to do after today. So that’s good.

Birthdays have been something of a non-event for a while. They’re one of those things like Easter and Christmas that cease to have any real meaning after you’ve “grown up”, whatever that means. So I haven’t been expecting that much from them for quite a few years. And, generally speaking, this has meant I haven’t been particularly disappointed — they’ve been pleasant enough, with a few presents, cards and whatnot, but nothing particularly remarkable.

This year’s a bit different, though. Despite the fact that turning 30 is ultimately meaningless, I’d figured it might be nice to do something to remember. And my awesome girlfriend agreed — so it is that we’re currently sitting in a nice hotel in London having just seen Chicago at the Cambridge Theatre, and tomorrow we’re off to Southampton to eat curry, see friends and generally have a good time.

Chicago, for anyone considering seeing it, by the way, is awesome, clever, full of catchy tunes and a selection of fine lady-arses and rippling man-torsos (depending on what you’re into, of course.) Also, most of the cast is inexplicably dressed in their underwear throughout, so bonus.

So this birthday has been awesome for many reasons, not least of which is the fact that my last birthday was just before lots of things went to shit. But the less said about all that the better now, as it’s hopefully been pretty clear from here and Twitter and whatnot that things — while not perfect just yet — are at least on the up and improving.

This is good. I approve of things getting better. And I have a feeling they’re going to continue to improve. My thirties could well be the decade where Good Things Happen. Where I find some sort of “life course”, as it were. Because although I’ve technically had a “career” when I was a teacher, it clearly wasn’t the right thing for me.

So here’s to being 30. It’s been pretty good so far, frankly, and let’s hope it continues to be awesome.

Oh, right, and two rich white people got married today too, apparently.

#oneaday, Day 102: Many Happy Returns

As you get older, some things become less and less sacred.

You realise the Tooth Fairy isn’t real when you catch one of your parents sneaking in to collect the tooth and drop off 20p. (It was the 80s. Kids in the class I used to teach get a quid now. Inflation at work!)

You realise Santa isn’t real. (I don’t remember how this happened.)

You realise the Easter Bunny isn’t real.

You start to care less about “big” annual events like Christmas and Easter. Especially given that the shops start selling crap for each of them earlier and earlier each year.

In short, things start to matter less. But for me, one thing which will always be absolutely sacrosanct is one’s birthday. Your birthday is a day when you should be immune to all harm, be it physical or mental. Of course, in reality it’s a day just like any other, but to me, something always feels special about my birthday, and I always respect this feeling towards other people too. I feel particularly sorry for people who have bad things happen to them on their birthdays. I’d feel sorry for them anyway, but to me, having something terrible happen on your birthday just seems like kicking someone when they’re down.

I’m also firmly in favour of people not having to work on their birthdays. Like a personal Bank Holiday, if you will. It’s your day, it should be yours to do with as you please.

But unfortunately, the world doesn’t quite work like that. Other people don’t care that you’re a year older. In fact, most people don’t even know that you’re a year older, as one of the things that ceases to happen as you get older is the wearing of badges to helpfully inform those around you that “I AM 6”. And so when something doesn’t go your way on your birthday it feels like an enormous injustice has taken place.

Fortunately, that hasn’t happened today. It’s been a pretty quiet one for me. I wrote a few articles, drank some coffee, ate some cake and then went to see some friends and try out new board game Mystery Express, a Murder on the Orient Express-style deduction game. We didn’t get time to finish the whole game before some people had to leave and head bedwards (the perils of having a regular day job) but we got a good grasp of the rules and it seems like an interesting game. I’m looking forward to giving it a proper try sometime when we have a bit more time to spare.

So, I’m 29. So far it doesn’t feel that different. I wonder if next year will feel different. 30 feels like it should be some sort of milestone, but at the moment I feel rather like I’m drifting and haven’t found my true path yet. Well, as it stands, I have 364 days left to get that sorted. That’s doable, right?