What Makes a Good Video Game [for Me]

I'm rather picky when it comes to video games. I generally don't enjoy first-person shooters, MMORPGs, or sports games. I've come to realize that there are a few important things I look for in a game that many other people probably don't really care about.

MUSIC
In order for me to fully enjoy a video game, it should have an appropriate soundtrack that goes far beyond background music and actually contributes to the mood of the game. Be this mood horror, sorrow, thrilling suspense, or pure unadulterated epicness, a game's soundtrack should fully complement the action that's taking place. My favorite movies tend to have excellent soundtracks as well. I guess being that music tends to consume my life (in a good way!), it's not surprising that video game music, of all things, would be so important to me.

GAMEPLAY
Probably a big ol' DUH. At least it should be. But people tend to buy those stupid Madden games every year. When it's essentially the same game. With slightly different teams. And nowadays not even slightly improved graphics. EA Sports has suckered in so many stupid, rich bros into buying sports games every year, so good for them, I guess? In any case, the game just needs to be FUN to play. It shouldn't be too much of a labor, or merely addicting, or anything like that. That's why I can't get into as many Western RPGs and MMOs; once you get down to it, the gameplay is really boring. You press attack, and then stand there. Sometimes you cast a spell. Then you run to the next guy, hoping to get a good random drop from each fight. Booooring. At least in something like Shadow of the Colossus, where you're running from fight to fight, the way to the fight is actually REALLY PRETTY and interesting, and then the fights themselves are epic as all hell. I'm also a big fan of interesting and inventive gameplay, ala Heavy Rain, Katamari, and Flower. A game should, in some way, entertain me.

STORYLINE
Sometimes this isn't so important, but games with interesting, emotional storylines tend to be my favorites. I'll often play video games for the same reason that people read and watch Harry Potter. I want to be sucked into a world with real characters making real decisions, having real effects on the world around them. This is why I love Final Fantasy. On top of the fantastic music that I already showcased, Final Fantasy has great storylines. It's not Shakespeare; there are sometimes gaping plot holes and completely undeveloped characters and shoddy writing in general, but the game is big enough that you can ignore the little things and focus on the big, epic picture. Even if the storyline is only implied through visuals, like in Flower, it can make or break a game. On the other hand, I can forgive games like Katamari, Fat Princess, and LittleBigPlanet for having outright stupid storylines, because those light-hearted games would suffer if they had some kind of immense story with heavy character development and such. But even games like Silent Hill or Metal Gear Solid need good stories to push them from "decent game" into "great game" territory.

~ * ~

That's, uh... that's it.

--Jon

Sequim: Land of Death

I have a friend named Joey who I met in high school and lived in Sequim for a long time before moving to Bellingham awhile after he graduated. I was talking to him about Sequim one time, and why we both didn't like it. He said one reason, maybe even the main reason, is because Sequim is a place where people go to die.

He was, of course, referring to Sequim's status as a huge retirement town. I think some magazine rated it one of the top retirement communities in the country (http://www.ehow.com/list_6018059_retirement-places-west-coast.html). Old people are the majority in Sequim. The median age is 59. The newspaper obituary is never empty. The overall mood of the town is affected by this, I think. Working at Radioshack, I see a lot of people at the ends of their lives, some holding on by a few threads. I'm always half-expecting someone to fall down dead in front of me. It's unnerving and depressing. I don't particularly enjoy thinking about or being around death. Maybe it's some supernatural thing where all the death in the town just gives off weird vibes. Or maybe it's just my dad being an asshole giving off weird vibes.

For whatever reason, I'm never as happy in Sequim. I never feel as good. I'm never as inspired to do anything. I don't enjoy life as much. I always just want to leave as soon as possible, or at least forget that I'm here by distracting myself with video games, friends (when they feel like calling me back), books, music, the internet via coffee shops and work, and anything else that can make me forget how miserable this town seems to make me. I've tried to tell myself it's all in my head, that I can be happy here. I'm beginning to think that I can't.

When I moved to Bellingham, my average happiness level went through the roof. Elie definitely had at least some sort of impact on this. But it was also being away from the old people of Sequim, the death, the warped and tired perspectives, finally being outside of the social/political/general-worldview bubble that is the northern Olympic Peninsula (I've lost count of the number of times people have come into Radioshack talking about TV or radio, in the process revealing that they basically just like to watch Fox News or listen to Rush Limbaugh/Glenn Beck). I enjoy being around people that at least try to know what they're talking about, people who want to be where they are... I don't know, I'm about to start babbling, so I'm just going to stop while I'm ahead. I need to stop writing depressing blogs; I swear I'm not as depressed as this makes me seem, I just can't stand being in Sequim and cannot wait to get back to Bellingham.

--Jon

Those Evil "Illegals"***

I don't know if you were all aware, but those Mexicans are all out to get us. Yep, it's true. They're invading from their foreign country specifically to take away our way of life from us those of us who work so hard to keep it. Those liberal hodge-podgers may tell you that they're just looking for an escape from the ridiculous hardships of their own country to find a better way of life, and anyone in their right mind would do the same, because what other reasons would they risk death from dehydration by crossing hundreds of miles across the Arizona desert for days... BUT THEY LIE.

No, those gorsh-durned "illegals" are out to get us. They want to be forced into jobs where they're underpaid (but still paid more than they would ever be in Mexico) under the table by the completely righteous and proud and Jesus-blessed American industrial farms, and then take advantage of the gaping holes in our welfare system, so that they can take away food stamps from the people that really deserve it, like my pregnant teenage daughter that I and my underfunded overly Conservative school district failed to teach proper sex education to!

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not racist, no sir. I have one friend whose great great grandmother was a Mexican! That right there proves I'm not racist. In addition, I thoroughly respect any Mexican who was born fortunate enough to come from a family that was able to get him the training to be considered "highly qualified" by our standards, then is able to jump through the endless hoops to be able to even be in the USA legally, let alone live here [see here for a detailed flowchart]. Yep, those people and no others deserve to be here. Undocumented workers from Canada and Europe are okay, though, because they're wh--er, uh... WELL THEY JUST ARE. THOSE MEXICANS ARE STEALING FROM US I TELL YOU. YEAH.

--Jon's Ignorant Evil Twin***

***The character portrayed by this post is fictional. Undocumented workers are human. They deserve our sympathy. If you were in their shoes, and you had the opportunity to risk your life for the possibility of a better one, would you not do it simply because it's against the principles of "AMURRICUH!!!11!"? Remember, these are the people that make those cheap TV dinners at Wal-Mart possible. They essentially run the farms and factories where your food comes from. Open your eyes.

Just Another Way McCleary Screwed Me Up

Western Washington University has this nifty program called Blackboard through which students can have access to documents used in class and such. Some teachers post grades on this program. Until recently, it used to show your grade for individual assignments as well as a comparison to the average score. This comparison to the average was helpful in showing me if I did well or poorly. For example, if I got a B- on a test, I didn't feel so badly if the average was a C, but if the average was a B+, I would not feel so great.

Within the last few months, Blackboard has changed dramatically, and I was surprised and rather upset to find that our grades are no loner compared to the class average. How am I supposed to know if I did well or not?! Then I thought, wait. My best should be compared to ME, not other people. And then I wondered where this obsession with comparing myself to other people came from.

I thought back to my previous schooling and found the answer. When I was in late elementary school and all throughout middle school, students would pass their papers to a fellow classmate to grade. The teacher would read off the answers out of the grade book while someone else was responsible for grading someone else's assignment. Then, to save time, no doubt, the teacher would move to his/her computer. One by one, he/she would call out students' names. Whoever graded that person's paper would call out that person's grade in front of the class.

The issue was first created by having our answers seen by another person. What if you messed up and looked like a fool? Well, being obsessive about grades, I often did very well on my assignments, so I usually didn't have much to fear. But because I was known as the smart person of the class, it was always a huge deal when someone else got a better grade. Of course everybody knew if they got a better grade than me because our grades were shouted across the classroom daily. Even from my friends, I would receive a slap in the face if I did worse than anybody. Doing better than me was a huge accomplishment for other people, and they made sure they let me know how pleased they were to be better than the smart girl. The situation worsened in 8th grade when my friend from Alabama moved to McCleary and joined my class. He was clearly smarter than me (than I?), but I worked much harder, and I spent my 8th grade year trying to be better than him, and everybody knew the competition I had. My bad grades were always rubbed in my face.

Due to those experiences in my early schooling, I have continued to compare myself to other people constantly. So perhaps this lack of class average on Blackboard is a step in the right direction. But darn it, McCleary, you really screwed me up.

Love,

Elie

Various Babblings That Deserve Far Better Articulation

I don’t talk about my brother very much, mostly because we don’t have very much in common. In short:

My brother is a Marine, currently stationed in Afghanistan, with a home, wife, and dogs (I think three) in Arizona. I’m a comparatively yuppie college kid studying music in the Pacific Northwest.

He likes music that a lot of normal people his age like, ie Sublime, mainstream rock, country, hip-hop, etc. I think. I haven’t talked to him about music in awhile. I like music that’s often bizarre for the sake of being bizarre.

My brother likes big trucks driving around in the mud and going really fast. I like wimpy little hybrid cars that can do little more than get around town (if any I have to like any cars at all).

My brother’s in the military. I’m essentially a pacifist.

Even on the psychological level, I’m really introverted and passive, while my brother is definitely extroverted and active.

Other than the fact that we are brothers, we look like brothers, and our voices sound the same over the phone (which my grandma never fails to mention when I talk to her), it’s hard to find anything in common between my brother and me. But our parents are the same, we grew up together; we are family. Still, I rarely talk to him anymore, not because I don’t care about him, but because I’m caught up in my own little world, and I figure he’s caught up in his own little world, and I figure we won’t have much to talk about anyways, and we won’t really see eye-to-eye on much.

I don’t really know where I’m going with this. Maybe I don’t appreciate my family enough. Maybe I don’t really “get” family. Probably both. But no, I do appreciate my family; I’m just very bad at showing my appreciation. Whenever anyone else talks about their family and how close they are, my mind is boggled a little bit. I can’t imagine actually being “close” to my family, mostly because my dad is so alienating and my extended family is even more different than the way I even think.

Family in general is just something of an anomaly to me, which is probably one of the many reasons I have absolutely no desire to have one. Why don’t I understand it? How did I end up this way, when my dad often expresses how family is “numero uno”? My dad is such a strange person, and I doubt I’ll ever actually understand him. Likewise, I doubt he’ll ever actually understand me.

Ugh. Life. I can’t wrap my mind around it. Hence, I throw these thoughts out the window and just try to make the most of it on my own.

Anyways, back to my original purpose for writing this, I think: my brother, Carl, is in Afghanistan, where people kill one another over religious and nationalist and tribal bullshit. I can’t imagine what it’s like knowing that a group of people outside my bed want to kill me and everyone around me. He chose this life, yes, but no one should have to experience that. War is absolute crap. Yes, I “support our troops,” because I want them to come home where they belong, my brother included. You don’t have to support “missions” and wars to be patriotic.

I love America. There are many worse places. But I’ll be damned if this place couldn’t be better, starting with our leaders’ general gung-ho attitude about our place in this world.

Is war ever truly necessary? Of course. That’s the one thing I can’t stand about it. World War II. How many more lives would have ended if we didn’t fight back? How many lives ended because we fought back? What if we’d never needed to fight back? What if we’d fought back earlier? Would our view of the war be different? I don’t know. It scares me that we have the capability now to end all life on this planet in an instance, and I really, really hope we, as a species, don’t put that capability to use.

In other words: cherish your life, cherish your loved ones, cherish the people that you don’t really like at all. You never know when they’ll be gone. Be thankful for what you have. Happy early Independence Day.

--Jon

Vegetarian Criticism

I kind of hate that this is my third post about this, and my second in the past few days, but I feel the need to address it.

For a few reasons, I've been pretty adamant about not pushing my new-found vegetarian views onto my friends and others. One reason is because it's such a recent thing, and although I definitely plan on doing this for the rest of my life, at this point I understand that it would be hard for most to believe this given the number of people that try vegetarianism or veganism for a short period of time and then decide to go back to eating meat. The second reason I've been relatively quiet about this recent lifestyle-choice-change is because I know there are some vegetarians that are very pretentious, elitist, forceful, and just plain mean to meat-eaters about their diet and such. I don't want to be one of those people. What I choose to consume is my own choice, and what someone else chooses to consume is theirs.

The third reason I don't like talking about becoming/being a vegetarian has become more apparent since becoming one. People will criticize me for it every chance they get. Often time, they will criticize me based on common misconceptions, assumptions, stereotypes, and misunderstandings. I've been accused of being a vegetarian simply because Elie did, and I'm just following her because I want her to like me more or something. As a matter of fact, if you read my last posts, you'll find this is false; Elie decided to follow my choice (although it was probably less hard for her, as she already ate far less meat than me). I became a vegetarian by my own accord, although it was largely influenced by arguments presented in videos by YouTube's popular vegetarian/other-stuff guy Onision, as well as by things I've learned in environmental studies and environmental science. Even in those classes, though, I tried to play devil's advocate and imagine that they were presenting the extremest side of things. This was a hard position to defend. All things considered, vegetarianism is the most rational choice to make from what I can see.

People tell me that humans evolved to eat meat, that the reason our brains became such enhanced specimens is because of the nutrients we got from eating meats, and the reason we were able to eat it is the incisors in our teeth. This may be true, but it's also true that we can now obtain these nutrients without eating meat. We now have the choice to eat meat or not to. Most people choose to eat meat because it is socially accepted and because it's traditionally what is available to those that need the nutrients found in them. Because alternatives are available, I'd rather not directly create demand for the killing of animals, simply because I cherish their lives too much.

I watched videos of animals being brutally and cruelly killed (although the videos were assembled by PETA, who I admit has rather questionable tactics; regardless, animals are slaughtered, and I can barely watch), and I told myself that if I wanted to keep eating meat, I should be able to watch it without feeling remorse. I failed my own test. Honestly, I thought I would pass. At the time, I enjoyed a nice, juicy double bacon cheeseburger as much as the next guy. Now, after watching a cow's or a pig's throat get slit while it's still conscious and screaming in agony, that cheeseburger doesn't seem so appealing.

When considering all environmental factors and everything, vegetarianism does less total harm to the planet, too. This is a very important factor. I've been trying to be environmentally conscious for the past several years, and this is the next step in that growth process for me. Helping keep this miracle of a planet as habitable as possible for future generations of all living things is important to me.

If you're reading this and you're a meat-eater who would criticize me, I challenge you to test yourself the same way that I did. Watch some videos of farm animals being slaughtered. Then cook yourself a cheeseburger or your meat of choice while watching it. Do you still feel like you're making the right choice?

In short, stop criticizing me. I'm not judging you, so stop judging me. I'm not going to force my beliefs on you. If you don't bring it up, I won't. If you offer me meat, I'll simply say, "No thanks, I don't eat meat," and it can end there if you want it. I'd like it to. Just leave me and my choices alone, because even after only a couple of these kinds of conversations, I'm already sick of answering the same aggressive questioning and rebutting the same inane accusations.

--Jon

It's Summer and I'm Sitting in a Classroom

As I was reading through some of the older blog posts from Squirrel Baggers United, I came across a few posts I had written about stress. And yes, this is yet another blog post about stress. You may skip if you wish.

My summer classes started this week, and my stress level has hit the roof. My brain is like, "Reading? Aaaah! Projects? Aaaah! Lesson plan? Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!" It's like my brain has forgotten that I've done all this before (maybe minus these in-depth lesson plans). So brain, please just calm the heck down.

While I've been stressing, I've been thinking. The issue is that I'm now learning how to teach and being graded on it. I'm terrified that I'll not like what I'm learning, which means I won't like the content I'll be teaching as a professional, and/or that I'll get a bad grade which means I am not a good teacher now. I'd like to think I'll LOVE what I teach (even if it's grammar) and that I'm already a pretty decent teacher, although I know I have a lot to learn. I just can't stand the idea of getting a B on a lesson I've taught. So now my brain is freaking out in anticipation of any of these things happening.

I keep telling myself that once I receive a grade on my first lesson plan and lesson I actually carry out, I'll feel better. But what if I do horribly? Shut up, brain. Just shut up.

Oh, I also realized that today is the 23rd of June. Where did the month go? It's almost July. That means summer is like half over. Then it dawned on me that I'll be a teacher before long, especially if time keeps moving at such a ridiculous speed (it didn't used to go this fast, I swear). So now I'm like "I need to become a great teacher NOW. There's not much time left!"

The more I write this down, the more ridiculous I feel. Okay, so getting a B on a lesson plan isn't going to kill me. It may not even mean I'll be the world's worst teacher.

Just calm down. Sheesh.

Happy summer, everyone.

--Elie

I M 4 Rlz

^^^translation: I am for reals.

With that out of the way, in the last post I made about vegetarianism, it was more of a "I'll try," "hopefully" kind of thing. Well, in the words of Yoda, "Do or do not; there is no try." And I am doing. Meaning, I am now "officially" (whatever that means) a vegetarian. Eating meat is a no-no for me nowadays. But I'm not going to eat that stupid imitation meat crap; most of the ones I've tried taste like crap. And that's just lame. Tofu, beans, etc is where it's at.

Today I was riding my bike from my house to Port Angeles, and I passed a field of cows. I stopped by one that was near the fence; its eyes were absurdly pretty. I couldn't eat that! Meat doesn't look appealing to me anymore, especially the more it looks like part of an animal's body. That was part of what made meat okay to eat before; often it didn't look like a creature's flesh. But now I'm forcing myself to think about the fact that it IS a creature's flesh, and I shouldn't be eating it. Or at least, I don't think I should be. I have too many other options, to the point that I do not feel comfortable eating an animal.

As a disclaimer... if some sort of apocalypse or complete societal breakdown were to happen, and my options became more limited... I would likely eat meat. But I don't think that's going to happen any time soon.

--Jon

My Place and Amy's Place

Hello world! It is summer!

With my roommate gone, the apartment is empty and incredibly quiet (not like she was loud anyway), and Jon is at his home. Well shoot, there went 97% of the people I interacted with.

At first, right as classes were ending, I was like, this is going to be great. I can stay up late reading books and watching movies and not have to get up early and go to class. I can cook real food (more real than throwing some vegetables and cheese onto a tortilla, adding heat, and calling it a quesadilla), read a million great books, hang out downtown Bellingham, go the the park...

And all that was working out fabulously. But then Jon left and I thought, oh my goodness. I'm on my own now. Nobody's here to take care of me or take the bus with me to fun places. Feeling sorry for myself, I tried to keep myself busy. Then I thought, I'm doing this wrong. Normal people are working. At jobs. Real people have jobs. And they talk to people (and drink...mostly drink). I'm not a normal person. Why aren't I normal? Why am I doing this wrong?

I tried to remind myself that finding a part-time job in Bellingham would probably be nearly impossible...and I don't really want a job. I'm happy getting paid here and there from Fair Portia...which is sort of a job.

As I continued to feel sorry for myself, I finally got in touch with this guy running this organization-type-thing which brings college students to a local teen shelter called Amy's Place (google "Amy's Place Bellingham" - I dunno how to put a link into this blog). I got to the shelter at 6:00 pm and stayed until closing at 11:00 pm.

While I was there, I sorted and organized clothes and chatted with some of the people, both volunteers and local homeless and/or battered peopled aged 18 to 25. I was nervous before going there tonight, as I hadn't been there before. Although I want to teach inner-city youth, I was afraid that my first interaction with these people at the shelter wouldn't go well. I thought that I wouldn't be able to converse with them and would be too busy thinking, oh my god. They're homeless and on drugs. I have my own apartment and go to college and have nice shoes. They'll hate me.

Actually, it all went well. Some of the youths talked about being beaten by their parents and others talked about taking drugs, but I surprised myself by not being judgmental. I knew these people were good-hearted, even if they took drugs, and I didn't pity them to the extent where I wasn't comfortable talking to them. It just made me want to help them.

Once again, I found myself wondering if I should be a teacher. I looked around at the building and saw all the wonderful clothes, food, furniture, and friendship Amy's Place has created, and I had a desire to devote my life to this. But my place is in the classroom, and I do believe I can help students to succeed at and say in school. Shelters and schools are both vitally important, and I choose school as my area of focus.

Maybe I'm still not feeling like a normal person who should be working and not living off her grandmother's money, but at least I did something worthwhile today.

--Elie

There Will Be Blood

I haven't been following the Gulf of Mexico oil crisis very carefully, but I've read enough (see: 'very little') to know that this is turning out to be a serious tragedy. Over twenty years ago, we experienced a similar environmental disaster. In 1989, 11 million gallons of oil spilled into Alaskan waters and killed thousands of animals, in the worst oil spill the country had ever seen. This spill has almost definitely already surpassed that one in amounts of oil; best estimates were at 30 million gallons as of May 27, and that was a week ago. Species are likely to go extinct because of our carelessness. We're destroying our planet. You'd think we'd have learned after twenty years, but it's obvious we haven't. We're madly in love with our oil, and we'll go through any means to obtain it, even turning a blind eye to meth-use/porn-watching on government computers/cronyism amongst government overseers and BP staffpeople. This is absurd. We can't do this anymore. None of us are innocent. I don't know what we can do to fix it, but we need to right now before we kill ourselves and everything else off.

~ * ~

“All our lauded technological progress -- our very civilization -- is
like the axe in the hand of the pathological criminal.” -Albert Einstein

~ * ~

--Jon

p.s., the title of this blog is a reference to the movie of the same name.

[edit (6/12/10): I find it funny that people are most worried about the oil hitting the coast, as if there is just empty water between the coast and the rig. THE MARINE HABITATS are what we should be worried about, not our precious goddamn coasts.]