I thoroughly love tragic horror. My favourite movies are the ones where it ends and you just feel depressed but fuck was it a good movie. Like, The Mist ? I mean, sure, you and I probably don't have the same tastes in movies, but that moment when the military rolls through and you're desperately wanting to scream 'FUCK YOU' at the screen because fuck man, that's dark? I live for those moments. I like the sadness and the impotence that follows, a helplessness you can't quite shake and it leaves you feeling a little vulnerable. Because let's face it, happy endings aren't realistic, common, or going to happen to us. We're always alone in the dark. No one gets out alive. When I sat down at Stephen Dewey 's table at Jiffycon, I was tired, a little grumpy, and really hungry. We had drove ten hours to sleep in a hotel for a few hours and then haul our asses over to this random campus in the middle of no where in the United States (which inherently
Showing posts from November, 2016
- Other Apps
Sometimes someone challenges the way you think and instead of having a witty comeback your brain stops and you go "huh." Well, that's been happening a lot to me recently as I get more and more into the various conversations around gaming. As one friend said, "welcome to the discourse." Well, it wasn't my intention to stumble into any discourse, but I guess I'm talking about stuff and that's entering into the conversations about our gaming space. Awhile ago I made a post about the X-Card and how I love it. That hasn't changed. I'm still a big advocate for safety in gaming. Yet my conversations around the X-Card have challenged some of my thoughts and perspectives on the safety tool. Most of the big questions that people new to the card ask "Well, what if someone abuses it?" Now, they don't ask it that way. They ask what do they do if someone's x-carding a big bad because they just don't want to fight a big bad, or so
- Other Apps
I remember years ago when I was first pretending to be a game designer, or at least, wanting to be one, and was getting my hopes up about what the industry would be like, that I saw problems in every corner, a shadow that clung to everyone and refused to be illuminated. It was so pervasive to me, that I quietly withdrew into the corner and just decided to focus on fixing something that I could fix: my local gaming scene. My white flag in the gaming industry meant the raising of a new flag in Toronto. With the help of my local community, we have changed what gaming looks like here. Our spaces are inclusive, our policies are in place, our harassment is met with reprimand (call ins) and validation to the harmed party, our GMs know to check in, and our conventions boast safety. Of course, that's what people see. That's the surface. Anyone who's been in a safe community that fell apart a little on an individual level knows how quickly that can change. One minute we feel safe.