stratblog

stratblog! why do you not die!
grrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Well, just cause im sick of that running fat kid, here goes:

Brenna does this thing that really pisses me off. You know how when you use a whole roll of toilet paper, you're left with just that cardboard tube - the solid memory of toilet paper past? She has a college degree, but apparently her avenue of study wasn't "changing the fucking roll of toilet paper," because it's an activity she's clearly not capable of performing. Yes, it's true - sometimes, when she's feeling benevolent, she will get a new roll and just set it on top of the old, spent roll, when the entire process of putting the new one on would take all of seven seconds. She and I have discussed her deficiencies vis a vis tissue replacement, and I've secured certain assurances from her regarding her inability to execute in real and hypothetical bathroom scenarios. It's something we fight about fairly regularly. Well, perhaps I should say fought.

I actually woke up two separate times on the 11th - the first time involved Brenna shaking me awake, telling me that airplanes full of people had been employed as massive exclamation points in a terrorist agenda, obliterating buildings which could literally be called totems of America's global prestige. I don't remember going back to sleep. I must have, though, because by the time I woke up for reals, I had to learn all over again why people will, for the foreseeable future, remember a particular and horrible Tuesday in early September. Not that Tuesdays are ever very good, but I suppose that's beside the point. I listened to the same thing over and over again on NPR, read the same things over and over again on websites, and when I couldn't hold it anymore I made my way to the restroom resolve a simple matter of bladder economy. She hadn't changed the God damned roll again. What a stupid thing to be angry about, I thought to myself. My life is full of such stupid things.

For several days, this refrain gripped each conscious thought: My life is full of stupid things. It was as though the full accounting of the values I'd affixed to my life and interests were being re-evaluated simultaneously. Even now, I look around the room that houses my computer, and as my eyes move from thingy to tchotchke to doo-dad, I internally label each item as "Dumb." My guitar, for whom I have a sort of lazy disregard. The role-playing books I simply must have and then never fucking play. The Web Design and MCSE materials I always plan on studying. The fallow microphone I always meant to record my miserable folk-rap with. And what is it, exactly, that I spend nearly all my time contemplating - videogames? Toys? Jesus Christ. I spend all day trying to imagine better toys. I am the biggest waste of respiration in recorded history.

But that was just a part of an overall theme.

Through whatever grim confluence of events, our generation got its catalyzing event. I felt miserable and guilty, because everyone was grieving so openly that it accentuated my own response - or, I should say, the absence of it. I didn't feel anger, and I still don't. I didn't feel solidarity, and I still don't. I was beating myself up about it. Aren't you from, like, a country or something? Isn't there a prescribed response when people fuck with your country? Don't you own a fucking flag?

The reality - and I only understand it now, as I'm stirring from it - is that for a brief time, the part of me whose job it is to feel things broke down altogether. Shock. The area I tap into - it feels like a physical place, let's just call it the Funny Cortex - was a perfect vacuum. Let alone the fact that I didn't feel comfortable making jokes about anything at all (at least partially because absolutely nothing, anywhere, seemed terribly funny, only terrible), until very recently I wasn't capable of committing words to any medium. I tried. There's people who were capable of delivering under the circumstances, and I don't begrudge them that. They're more (wo)man than I'll ever be. They provided the service which the "artist" - which I suppose is the correct term - must necessarily perform. Comfort and reflection are high and holy callings.

I assumed that taking the site down in the face of marked and historic evil would be the (only) appropriate response, but as is commonplace when I do the right thing, I get no end of shit about it. We're hypocrites. We're lazy. Well - and I'm certain that I speak for Gabe as well - I'd like all the idiots that read our site to form a single-file line and walk directly into the ocean. I'm ashamed that I ever wrote so much as a single line that brought you pleasure, deeply ashamed. Leave and don't come back. We don't need you, we don't want you, and if you never existed to begin with maybe that would have been better.

I got a message that said (plainly enough) that by shutting the site down, we were allowing the terrorists to win. I know what he means now, but it was so ridiculous to imagine a terrorist claiming our brief downtime as a victory for, well, any sort of cause - see Exhibit A. What I am given to understand about Penny Arcade is that, however it may have happened, we provide an intangible something which you could have used more of during the recent and enduring misery, as opposed to less. I'm sorry I didn't have your back there, but please understand that even if I'd had the capacity to entertain people, I wouldn't have been able to reconcile it with the mess our planet now finds itself in.

It's fair, I think, to assume that this country will visit a nearly legendary form of horror on its enemies, once properly identified. You won't be reading about it here, because frankly, we're really not qualified to discuss the full complexity of this shit. What we're qualified to discuss is videogames, whether they matter in the grand scheme or not - and in that arena, I'm pleased to announce, we are singularly well equipped. Up until now, I've felt so powerless in all this. But if what we can do - namely, depict two chumps under siege by radioactive arachnids - can do anything to improve your state of mind, then God dammit, welcome aboard. The motherfucking Funny Train leaves in ten minutes. Please have your tickets handy.

the world is a horrible, horrible place and i want to cry

Gother than anyone on this blog at least.

All Hail Satan.

Uncle Gabby loves everyone, is kind to small animals, and only uses his powers for the purposes of goodness and sweetness! Aren't you glad there's an Uncle Gabby in the world to make it that much cherrier!!!??

i shall now disrupt the silliness to make a brief announcement and post the speech i gave to (a very empty) Strat Club the other day:

Ok, so it’s the end of the year, and I know I should just shut up and get out of here already, but I wanted to say a few words before I left because I like giving speeches.
I’ve notice a greater and greater split between the two groups. Some of you are extremely focused and concerned on gaming, in fact a few of you are probably incredibly fed up with my stupid speech and are counting the seconds ‘till it’s over so you can begin campaigns. I applaud you for that. There are also those of us who are concerned with the social aspects of the club. Very few organizations have the difficult privilege of such close friendships between their members, one hardly sees the members of WHAG or saferides all sitting together at communal tables. This camaraderie also presents a lot of problems, social issues often carry over into club politics, and the president has a greater responsibility as a leader and mediator.
In the next year you will have to make a lot of decisions about the direction of the club together. It’s going to evolve, god knows this is not the same group it was six years ago. The very nature if a high school group is that in four years most of this will be forgotten; old friends will graduate and move on, and a new crop of frosh will be all set to take our places. All that will be left of us are our yearbook photos and a few silly relics in Mr. Baske’s strat scrapbook. (which he inherited from Mr. Randall)
Things change, that’s a given, games get old, or get stupid, and new things come out. Objectives also change, we started out as the peace club!!!! (and I’ll be glad to tell this story to those of you who haven’t heard it afterwards… to spare those who’ve heard it a million times.) I probably could have been more organized, or a better leader, or a better player, or a more reliable storyteller, but nonetheless this group, and so many of the people in it have meant a lot to me. The entire point of this club is to make your years at this school more enjoyable. I implore you not to let petty differences tear us apart. Thanks for all the good times and the crazy memories, and best wishes for the future.
~e~