Birthday Letter That I Wrote

I stumbled upon this letter which I wrote for my biological mother a few years ago. Reading back over it, I found myself chuckling. It’s not often I can look back at something I made and say that I was proud of it, so I’ve decided to share it here. Maybe someone else will find it amusing too.

Birthday Wishes and whatnot

Mother has gained a level!

+3 Aged and Experienced

-11 Decorum

+5 Wisecrackery

+6 Daydreaming

-2 Gracious Defeats

-1 Reactions

Mother has learned ‘Back in my day’ and ‘Whippersnapper’!

Mother can now use ‘Zimmer’ and ‘Nondescript Cane’!

I jest, I jest. I know you’d never use whippersnapper in serious conversation or otherwise. But I digress!
So, another year has come and gone, huh? You’re still here, kicking and screaming, which is always good, even if you are a bit of a pain in the arse. Hey, I’m an upstanding fellow; all mothers, however bothersome, are tolerated! So you need not fear. There’s a lovely little spot in the retirement home that’s not going away any time soon, right by the window, so you can gurn at passer-bys.
Oh I am such the merry joker! What luck you are blessed with to spawn a wiseassed trickster such as I! And yet the digression continues! I hope that you have a wonderful birthday. The £40 of HARD EARNED CASH I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW which you’ll no doubt evade like it bears the black plague may be spent however you see fit. Yes, that means you can go out and buy yet another pair of shoes with them. Dear god, you are like Sarah-Jessica Parker, except with hillwalking boots and trainers instead of high-heels.
… Anyhoo, I composed the MERRY DITTY you see below. I hope it is to your liking!

A Tale of Two Lessies
By Craig McAuley, aged 17 and 362/365

Oh mother, thou art so weird and yet wise,
Funny wee quips and crazy, mad eyes,
My life has been interesting, to say quite the least,
Always I have to contend with the beast
Of innuendo and double entendres which are
Too prolific to count, too common to scar.
Yet fruit bowls abundant, I live without care,
I’ve grown up quite well, thanks to you pair.

As the night rolls around, your mind is so smitten,
With fancy mittens and a ridiculous kitten,
Kettles brim with exotic teas,
A puppy or two mooches ‘tween your two knees.
A biscuit goes maw-ward, a look and a glare,
From Fluke, with her irritable, accusatory stare.
“Those dogs are spoiled rotten” she says in disdain,
“Oh christ, not again” as she acts like a pain.

A cushion is proffered, with an innocent smile,
Argentina v Brazil, won’t you play for a while?
Fun contest soon descends into absolute madness,
As poor Andrés Iniesta collapses in sadness.
The competition with great haste grows fierce,
As each of us desperately attempt to pierce
One another’s defences, with little obvious luck.
Successful blocks are punctuated with “FUCK!”

A dinner of Spag BoL (which my Dad still makes better)
Arrives on my lap along with a letter.
It says ‘Kisses muah muah’ and I do accept,
For never a night have I successfully slept
Without a peck on the cheek and a ‘Goodnight, sleep well’
From the abominable duo that were spawned from hell.
But I love you both dearly despite any flaws
(As specified in Part I of my Motherly Clause)

Kisses, darling! Muah muah muah!

Nancy~ xxx

The Word ‘Gay’

Alright, gather round everyone. Today I’m going to talk about the word ‘gay’. This is largely gonna be a tale of my personal experience with the term and how I feel about it today.

When I was just a toddler, my Mum and my Dad broke up. This was not a terribly impactful event in my life, and for a long time nothing seemed to change. My Mum was instead in love with her now-wife, Audrey, but the home environment was much as it was through my 3-year-old eyes. And there was nothing particularly odd about my Mum’s new relationship. It hadn’t occurred to me that her being with another woman was an anomaly, and there was no term to associate with their relationship.

Fast forward 4 years to primary school when I have my first encounter with what I might describe as a bully. It being one of the many times he was mean to me, I can’t remember the exact circumstances, but he said to me, at some point during the proceedings, “You’re gay!” I was a naturally emotional child and I recognised that the comment was meant to be hurtful and insulting, so I reacted by crying, even though I had no idea what the word meant. I went home that night and asked my Mum about it.

The following few years of primary school, I was intermittently harangued by this guy and a few others, and called “gay” on a semi regular basis, and it usually made me upset. Looking back, I want to say that I was hurt by the tone with which it was used and not the term itself, but part of me knows that that’s not true. I had already associated ‘gay’ with ‘bad’ and the word had naturally negative connotations even at this stage. The harassment continued to varying degrees throughout most of my school career, but in the middle of all of that, something happened. I hit back.

A guy was pestering me as I was leaving school (in Primary 6, I believe), jeering at me for eating an apple and asking for a bite (???). I dunno why he was acting this was or why I didn’t find it laughable, but I said to him “You’re gay” to rebuke him. His response was far more aggressive than mine ever was, and yet, I felt immensely proud of myself. I’d stood up and put someone who had been trying to upset me down! I felt like the anti-bully! I went home and proudly told my Mum what I had done.

Of course, instead of being happy for me for standing up for myself, she was disappointed. She lamented the fact that I’d sunk to their level, and that I’d used the term ‘gay’ in a hurtful way, and wielded it as an insult.

Out of everything she’s ever done for me, I am most glad that she responded that way to my news that day, because at that point, I finally got it.

I began at that point to question why it was so insulting to be called ‘gay’, and why I should feel insulted at the implication that I was. What would be wrong with that? It wasn’t a bad way to be, in my mind. So why was it used in such a way? Because in the minds of others, to be gay was to be sub-par. Less than in some bizarre way. It stripped you of your respect and dignity, even though at that age none of us really understood WHY it did. It became more clear as I went through highschool and came to understand stereotypes and prejudice and phobic attitudes.

At this point I was far less willing to take the term sitting down. I’d generally respond with “What’s wrong with that?” or “Why is that a bad thing?”, particularly when used by my friends. EVENTUALLY, after much scolding, a couple of schoolmates would suffix calls of “That’s gay!” with “… Not that there’s anything wrong with that!”

Baby steps, I suppose.

My coming out was fairly unspectacular, given my home circumstances. Having gone through most of high school not feeling particularly attracted to anyone, I was mostly of the opinion that I was asexual (which brought with it a whole host of other complications with schoolmates, but that’s for another rant). It sort of occurred to me that “Oh, so, men are pretty attractive”, and then I got on with it. Nothing much changed, and that was all fine and dandy.

Stuff started to feel a bit more personal though. I was always into video games, and as we all know, gamers aren’t exactly the most tolerant or accepting bunch. So I would entangle myself more readily in internet arguments with arseholes in game lobbies who had called people “Fags” or “Gay”. And it stung that little bit more when my friends casually described things as such, although I was generally more quiet about that at this point.

(Brief intermission to say that this post is, in part, penance to myself for all the times I’ve sat idly by while people around me have used ‘gay’ in a derogatory manner. the thought that you might become the prude or the killjoy in a group of friends for calling people out on as regular/natural an occurance as calling something ‘gay’ is spooky, and I wasn’t and still am not generally strong enough to stand up to people when the result might be ostracisation, even if the possibility of that is remote. I think people are generally respectful enough to back off if I tell them they’re making me uncomfortable. Irrationality made me weak though, and I sort of hate myself for that.)

So, the word itself.

Most people who you ask what gay means will respond “homosexual” or something similar. They probably won’t say “shit” or “bad”, because that’s not what people ACTIVELY think when they see the word in a vacuum. But when it’s used aggressively in a social situation, they meaning is pretty clear, and that meaning is strictly negative. It seems to be an underlying PASSIVE attitude that pervades our culture, where people will have gay friends and say they support gay rights, and yet use the word like it’s an insult. Where being gay is still less than to people who would claim otherwise.

It’s really frustrating because I’m extremely proud of my sexuality (one of the few things about myself that I can truly say that I’m proud of (even if I don’t “act very gay”, this has always been the case)), and hearing it be undermined on such a regular basis is really disheartening. Especially when people really don’t seem to see the harm in it. It’s just a word, grow a thick skin, etc. If I had a thicker skin I would probably be just as unwilling to sit by and take it. All that’d change is that I’d be slightly less hurt by it.

Man, I’ve been typing for a long time. Maybe I’ll wrap this up.

I guess what I’m trying to do is encourage people to consider their use of the term more carefully (if indeed they use it at all). I guess I could use the example of “what if we called things straight as an insult?!?” but that back and forth argument is really dumb, and at the end of the day, ‘straight’ makes no sense to be used in such a way. Why should that insult someone? Why would it be bad to be straight?

Why is it, instead, bad to be gay?

Narcissism and Me

So recently I’ve found myself mulling over whether or not an action that has groundings (but is not entirely grounded) in self-interest can ever be considered to be an altruistic one. I mean, there are the obvious cases where someone performs an action which benefits others whilst still gaining something physically or monetarily for themselves, but I was thinking more along the lines of benefiting on a more spiritual level.

The particular scenarios I’ve been thinking of (because they concern me personally and have led me to question my own morals) are when you go out of your way to help a friend, and part of your reasoning for doing so is because it makes you feel good about yourself. I’m talking about that warm, fuzzy flood of emotion that you get when someone turns to you and says “You really helped me”, or “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you” or even just “Thanks” with a particularly meaningful inflection. If that response is a thrill that you seek then does that not completely negate the otherwise altruistic nature of whatever it is you might have done? In benefiting in that way is some sense of sincerity or selflessness lost?

What if, in a more extreme scenario, you find yourself going out of your way to become friends with an individual because you recognise that they need help and you want to be the person to help them? Again, in a bizarre roundabout way, I feel that something is then lost. The friendship may continue healthily and not be reliant on that initial imposed dependence but I fear that it continues to remain tainted by the skewed intentions which initially helped forge it. And frankly I feel like a bit of a cunt about the whole thing.

So I’ve been wondering if it’s possible to get away from all of that, and asking myself if altruism is as cut and dry as all that. Basically, I think (and hope) that there are degrees of altruism. An action which benefits the actor can still be altruistic if the positive personnel outcome was not sought or intended. If there is no positive outcome then there is even less doubt about this fact. However, I feel that people generally do “The Right Thing” because their moral compass tells them what the morally good course to take would be, and people interested in performing good will be inclined to then take that route. Even this is grounded in some need to fulfill a goal, that goal being to perform good. A somewhat less selfish case, but you can still argue that some need is being fulfilled here. I think that this is about as close as you can expect to get to true altruism, except in truly special cases.

The next general step that takes us towards selfishness is the spiritual gain, and there are degrees of this as well, from relishing in the warm fuzzy feeling you get to expecting some sort of emotional repayment, often in the form of helping you with your problems, . But I feel that you should be able to (or attempt to) draw a line somewhere along the road and say “Up until this point, all actions taken can be considered to have a sufficient degree or altruism/lack of narcissism”.

I’ve been feeling incredibly selfish and pretty ridiculously guilty about the unspoken pretenses I have set upon forging a new or stronger friendship. When I tell someone “If you need to talk about what’s going on, I can be here for you”, I do mean it, but I want them to use me in that way. And frankly I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve been disappointed at times by the lack of gratification shown by this extension. If that isn’t evidence enough of my need for self validation then I’m not too sure what is. And that really frustrates me ’cause I feel like it’s subsequently invalidated a lot of the apparent good I’ve tried to do in my life. It’s a pretty big slap in the face when you realise that you’re actually a selfish twat, trapped in stroking their own sense of worth.

So I’m not really sure what to do about it at this stage. Part of me wants to try to continue doing what I’m doing because I fear that if I stopped caring about the good feeling then I’d stop ever trying to be a nice guy and just turn into an even more self involved prick. At the same time I don’t want to be that sort of person, the person who feeds on the unhappiness of others, whether or not it’s ultimately beneficial to both parties.

Perhaps somewhere down the road I’ll be able to say that I act without the boundaries of my own wants, but I feel like I have an incredibly long way to go until I reach that point. In the meantime, I apologise to the people who I have treated this way. You deserve more than a moron who can’t see past his own needs.

Liking Video Games for the Wrong Reasons

My direct experience of the Mass Effect series is fairly limited, something which I plan to rectify. I have, however, spent a decent amount of time watching my friends play. If my half-playthrough of the original and observations of these friends are anything to go by, the games are satisfying to play, well designed and generally as issue free as you could ask a video game to be.

However, the most fun I’ve had with the series is when I visited a friend of mine when he was in the middle of a combat intensive mission in the second of the games. His two teammates were Jack and Miranda for this particular campaign. Throughout the course of the ensuing firefights, I noticed something which I found particularly funny. Whenever the party members’ shields are broken and they continue to sustain direct damage, they vocalise their pain, and none too quietly either. The alternating, drawn out hysterical screams of both Miranda and Jack had me buckled over on the bed, clutching my stomach and laughing to the point that my chest and throat hurt. Every time one would quieten down about their discontent, the other would start up. It didn’t matter what the characters were doing; if they were walking calmly towards you at the end of a battle or returning fire on an enemy, or ragdolling onto the ground as the last of their health was depleted, they would continue to scream until the sound file had exhausted itself. The spectacle was, for me, one of the most amusing I’ve seen or heard in a video game.

This experience (and the chagrin of my less amused friends) got me thinking about my attitude toward video games in general, and I realise I have two different premises for appreciating a game, and that in special cases, both can apply to the same game.

The first is the more obvious of the two. When a game’s design is tight, it’s fun to play and the experience of playing it is a memorable one, or if it has affected you in a positive manner. Games can be high-octane and intense, in the manner of Split Second and the previously mentioned Mass Effect. They can be moving and provocative and beautiful, as with Journey. They can be over the top and bizarre, like Katamari Damacy and Rhythm Paradise. Or they can be unforgiving but extremely rewarding, like Dark Souls. The games which score you would struggle to give less than a 7/10, even if it isn’t your style. This one’s simple, and I doubt many would disagree that it’s a good premise by which to value a game.

The second category is dedicated to games which amuse for reasons not always intended by the developers, and generally not looked fondly upon by my peers. Again, I’ll emphasise that there’s a lot of potential for overlap between the two categories, and that a game that is found in the second is not exempt from fulfilling conditions in the first.

I played Oblivion for hours and hours on end, exploiting the hilarious glitches, observing the bizarre NPC interaction and installing mods to, essentially, fuck up the game. My favourite videos of the Grand Theft Auto games are if the peculiar interactions between cars and swing sets, and most of my in-game time was spent standing at the top of a tall flight of stairs, nudging passerby’s and watching them ragdoll to their doom. When my against-all-odds recovery from imminent doom in Super Smash Bros., or conversely when a powerful series of attacks being chained onto my opponent is suddenly, shall we say, hampered by a random bob-omb, I can get faux-mad at my friends because they lucked out in a game not designed to be perfectly balanced or predictable. When Heavy Rain allows for a main character to continuously scream “SHAUN” at the press of a button throughout an entire cutscene, my lungs end up aching. When the camera in Sonic Generations gets so utterly bamboozled by my incredible haste that it locks itself in entirely the wrong position, leaving me or my friends to rush headlong into oncoming traffic or off the stage all together, I yell “what the actual fuck”, but there’s still a huge smile on my face.

It’s gotten to the point where if a game is flawed in a similar sense, it adds, rather than detracting from the appeal. I’ll play games in search of abusable ‘features’, and readily endorse them to my friends. I don’t know if this makes me a bad gamer. I don’t know if attitudes like that are ultimately unhealthy for long-term game design. I don’t really care though. All I know is that if the fifteen Dark Elf Warriors I spent 5 minutes summoning decide to simultaneously leap off of the map to their death, M A is getting L’d O.

Here’s to a New Beginning

I have decided that I am going to write a blog, and so it has been made. I have endeavoured to also maintain the blog, although that one’s a tad iffier. We shall see if it actually makes it past three posts.

Expect to see things related to video games, card games, internet happenings and some degree of personal stuff.