Musings on a game of Mechwarrior: Dark Age
The simple fact of the matter is, as much as I enjoy all kinds of games, I am a rotten loser. It’s just something built into my personality, and I’ve never been able to overcome it. I honestly don’t know how to be casual and cheerful about losing a game; I envy those who have mastered that. I sympathized greatly with Jim Kirk in The Wrath of Khan when he stated flatly, “I don’t like to lose.”
Still, I want to be a good sport. Win or lose, I’ll want to play again, and throwing a fit can make it hard to find repeat opponents. So, when the burning feelings of anger and embarrassment hit, all I know how to do is to try to keep them hidden inside, let them sear through me quickly, and be calm and normal by the time I’m asked if I’d like to play again.
Well, I have to face facts… that’s not working very well any more. Shutting down my feelings fails completely around friends who know me and can see right through my mask. Besides, I can tell that my spirit is beginning to rebel against the decades of attempted stoicism; the mask is getting thinner and more transparent with every use.
I just have to figure out how not to let it bother me when I lose. Or give up all forms of competitive gaming; but that’s not exactly the answer I’m looking for.
Very Personal Stuff
Well, we all have a face, that we hide away forever
And we take them out and show ourselves when everyone has gone
Some are satin, some are steel, some are silk, and some are leather
They’re the faces of the stranger, but we love to try them on
— Billy Joel, “The Stranger”
So often, I want to bring my stranger out into the open, and just openly be that facet of myself. I repress him and keep him locked away, but he won’t stay there, and I can always feel him rattling the bars of his cage. Sometimes, he gets loose for a bit and expresses himself – in fact most of my self-expression comes from my stranger.
I dream of just breaking the lock, showing everyone I care about my bare naked self, and being free of the pressure. In my fantasy, this makes everything in my life okay, and we all live happily ever after. I rather doubt that reality would work that way.
Over the years, thanks to my friends and the semi-anonymous means of expression that is the Web, I’ve been able to let the stranger roam farther and for longer periods of time before he’s locked away again, and I’m thankful for that. Half a loaf really is better than none, and I can accept him a little easier than I once could. Rain, of course, has had a great deal to do with this.
My stranger is, of course, mainly responsible for this post. It make my heart race and my body tense simply to write these words, but I hope he’ll be satisfied for a while.
It is most unfairly nice outside right now. Sunny and warm but cool in the shade, light breeze, clear blue sky, one or two thin filaments of cloud for texture…
A less responsible person than myself would be out there playing hooky from work and enjoying himself right now. However, I am much more responsible than that.
… darn it.
The more things change…
This train of thought began as I watched Adobe Photoshop go through a complicated scripting sequence without any assistance from me… I began thinking of Rick Deckard’s wonderful photo-processing “Esper” machine. (Yes, I want one.)
So, I’m thinking about Blade Runner and the fact that, in an unscientific poll of science-fiction fans, I’m one of the few viewers who prefer the theatrical release to the director’s cut. (Voiceover, less uncertain ending, and all).
I’m not going to debate the merits of the two versions here, though it has occurred to me that it is the theatrical release that made Blade Runner one of the classics of SF film (and made it possible to produce a director’s cut release, before DVDs made such releases common).
However, the discussion of the versions made me think about how we revise things in our heads. I watched hours of the old Robotech series last weekend, but used the remote to skip over the dull, boring, or actually painful parts. (Yes, I’m referring to Minmei.) The Internet produced the “Phantom Edit” version of Star Wars Episode I – in many opinions, a superior film. Douglas Adams himself wrote multiple variants of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy – all official, and all contradictory.
Then, while looking up information on Apple’s “Final Cut Pro”, I found this web page that compares such revisions to the Bible itself, where the Gospels contradict each other and concentrate on the parts that the individual writers found interesting. And I realized that people have been arguing about this for nearly two thousand years.
So, the next time I go to a con and find an earnest discussion of how Enterprise has re-written the established history of the Star Trek universe, I’ll be less likely to jump in with both feet. If we’ve been revising our most sacred texts to personal taste for this long, Kirk and Picard don’t have much of a chance. *grin*
Maybe there is some kind of cosmic balance…
Dumb thing I did yesterday:
Nearly forgot check for month’s rental of storage unit. Reminded by much smarter wife with 10 minutes to go – barely made it in time.
Smart thing I did yesterday:
On panicked trip to rental office, thought better of cutting off nondescript white Ford. On closer inspection, saw multiple radio antennas and uniformed driver – breathed sigh of relief that good sense had kicked in.
A Question of Identity (long-winded)
I’ve been looking at sites about gaming on the Macintosh, and read again an article I’d seen a few weeks ago. Seems that Mark Adams, a well-known Mac gaming figure who runs one of the major porting houses, publically announced New Year’s that she would now be known as Glenda Adams. Yes, she was remaining with her spouse Suellen; yes, she was having the medical therapy to adjust her body to her personal identity, etc. As has happened so often, articles like these get me all philosophical.
Maybe it comes from growing up a fan and being exposed to a lot of outlandish ideas, but for me, identity is all in the head. Nothing external is a true part of your identity – I’ve often tended to think of my body as simply a vehicle which I used to expose my mind to various things. Kind of a small, somewhat fragile, organic BattleMech for my psyche. 🙂
I don’t think of myself as “a brunette” – I just am brunette. I don’t consider myself “a Caucasian” – I just happen to have skin at the paler end of human range. It helped me deal with my Borg replacements better, not to think that I was “losing” part of myself, but just swapping out a broken part. (In fact, I’ve been heard to complain that they could at least have installed the 100 MPH legs while they were in there.)
So I don’t consider myself “a male” – I just happen to be a person in a male body. (Which, btw, I’m quite satisfied with – don’t get me wrong.) People are people, and common courtesy dictates that we let them be who they are, not who we think they should be. I think that if more people would take that into account, we’d have a less stress-ridden society.
This philosphy is what gives me the confidence to wear a vinyl dress to Halloween and freak out some people. :p
