Ethnicity in Video Games

(Taking a page out of Kaye's book with this post)

So, I've been an avid gamer for about nearly twenty years. As such, I've seen, and been part of, the rise in the female gamer, and the evolution of the portrayal of women in video games (which a good friend of mine occasionally comments on) from 8-bit skanks to...

Hey there hot stuff!

...well, yeah. Not that there aren't positive female role models in games as well, but that's a whole Pandora's box that I don't want to touch. Anyway, the main thing I really plan on getting into is ethnicity and diversity in video games. As the "core" gaming community expands and diversifies, developers seem to finally be trying to catch up. But there's a lot of ground to cover. When the first non-typical "important" character in a video game that comes to mind is Elesa from Pokemon Black and White... well, let's just say we aren't quite there yet.

Aunt Jemima ain't got shit on me....Now let me sic my giant, mutated, mustaschio-ed Scottie on you!

This isn't to say that there aren't haven't been any notable steps forward in portraying different races in a positive light as main characters in games; James Heller of Prototype 2 and Faith of Mirror's Edge, are the first examples that come to mind. But it seems, to me at least, that for every one of these characters there's a Carl Johnson (GTA: San Andreas) and a Sazh (Final Fantasy XIII): a swing and a miss.

Chocobos are like chicken, only more useful.

Image Sources:

Topless Girls: God of War II
http://arstechnica.com/gaming/2007/03/god-of-war-2-sex-minigame-found-m-rated-goodness-inside/

Elesa: Pokemon Black/Pokemon White

http://wn.com/Pokemon_Black_White__Gym_

Sazh (Token Black Guy): FFXIII

http://gaiaonline.com (Though I am not proud to admit it.)

Important Announcement II

Attention! I have a very important announcement to make!















Boobies.



That is all. :)

4 AM and Wide Awake

I'm beginning to wonder if I've been rendered as broken as I feel sometimes. Hardly a day goes by where I don't find myself thinking about it. Sometimes, the broken, hazy images come back in a flash, triggered by a simple act of intimacy; a simple caress against bare skin may leave me shaking, panicked and crying.

Why would he do this to me? Someone who was supposed to be my friend. He betrayed my trust completely. And I was lost. I didn't know what to do, who to go to. I tried to blow it off as nothing, but it gnawed at me as constantly as it does now; it festered in the depths of my memories. I blamed myself. It was what I deserved for acting like a slut. It was a punishment bestowed on me by the universe for not behaving as a good, Christian girl should.

I was too afraid to tell my friends. They wouldn't believe me. If they did, they'd dismiss it, or tell me that it was all my fault. It's been my dirty little not-so-secret for three years now. It's been plaguing my emotions. It's been robbing me of intimacy, for fear of mistaking it for his touch. And even though many know what happened now, somehow I still feel like I'm Pi, floating on a tiny life boat with a tiger waiting to consume me.

I want the memories to disappear. I want to be at peace.

I'm a Mongrel

MONGREL [muhng-gruhl]:

any cross between different things, especially if inharmonious or indiscriminate.

There are a few other definitions of the word, but quite frankly, I don't want to degrade myself quite that much. But, in any case, I don't know what I am. I don't know what I'm made of. Not physically. Genetically.

I've always been a bit jealous of people who knew where their ancestors came from. A lot of people I know are like: "Irish Pride! German Pride! Viva Italia! Black Power!"

Yay, unidentified mixed-race origins!

I have, on the one hand, the quandary of being Black in America. Some of my ancestors were inexplicably ripped from their happy lives in indisclosed African villages to live a life of servitude, until they died.

That's my mom's side.

My father's side is much more of a mystery. Those who know me know (or at the very least deserve to know) that my father was a little bastard that left my mom after I was born. This may or may not have blessed me with the severe abandonment problems I have to this day, who knows! But, you know, good riddance to bad rubbish; we got along fine without him. The only real problem that left is: what was he?

When I look at myself in the mirror (in particularly in the winter, when I haven't had much sun) I see a girl who is much too pale to be purely African-American far down the line. I see brown eyes, too light for the only ethnicity I've only known to identify myself as, but too dark to be most of the variations of White I know offhand. So, I'm a bit lost. I don't know what I am. Not entirely.

But I want to.

I've, in fact, wanted to know what I was since the moment I noticed I was different from the other kids I grew up with. Now that I'm an adult, maybe I can finally find out.

I don't know why I'm putting this up on the internet or anything. But, who knows, maybe I'll get lucky and someone will happen across this who will know something that can help me.

Not all Alders are trees

I've been working on a couple pieces for a local magazine.  This is one I just started (today), and I could use you smart people's help.  So...yup.  Here's the first page.

 I saw an angel today in Algebra class. Her long black hair curled around her neck and shoulders like a shadowy embrace. When her eyes met mine, I knew I was in love. She was the most beautiful girl in the entire school. I think. I've only been here for a couple of hours.

Wait, why are they all staring at me?

“What's your name, dumbass?” a boy who looked like gorilla shouted at me. I'd gotten so lost in metaphors I hadn't realized we were doing roll call. “Oh! Um, Alder Jones!” I sputtered. I put my head on my desk. I was already beginning to feel out of place here; this school was too high class for people like me. This school, with its twenty thousand dollar tuition, state of the art buildings, rolling green hills and fields... it was a bit of a step up from my old, run down Catholic high school. I got lucky. Yeah, I knew I was smart, and I was pretty good at wrestling (the sport paying my grant) but...I was very different. I knew it as soon as I came here this morning. I almost regretted my decision, until I saw her.

I spent too much time zoning out. I didn't even hear her name.

“Alder you said?” the boy sitting on the other side of me whispered. He raised an eyebrow at me; he looked a little confused. “Yeah. Why?” I responded, probably sounding more annoyed than I intended.

“We're on the same team, dude” the boy said with a laugh. “Same weight class and everything. Funny though, coach said you were a chick. I guess you do got a girly face.”

“I am a girl.”

The boy flushed, and looked back at his notebook for a moment before turning back to me. “Heh, that explains why you got a girly face, though,” He looked at his desk a the teacher shot a look in our direction. When he went back to writing on the whiteboard, the boy turned back to me. “Didn't mean any harm. I'm Zach, by the way. And, I won't be going easy on you cuz you're a girl, either.” I couldn't help but smile at the boy. He was friendly enough.

“Good. I want to pin you fair and square.” I gave Zach a confident smirk. It might have seemed a little cocky, but I didn't really care. I held up three fingers. “I'll have your ass pinned in thirty seconds.” Zach laughed.

“I'll bet you twenty bucks you won't.” Crap, I didn't have twenty bucks. Well, that just meant I had to win. I noticed the angel watching us out of the corner of her eye. I really wish I'd heard her name. I just got lost in those deep brown eyes and...

“Double or nothing.” I added.

Dammit, I'm an idiot.

Crap.

I don't know how to plan a wedding.

Screw You, Depression!

I'm gonna start doing shit with my life!!!

I'm currently about 90% through finishing a short story that I plan on submitting to Philadelphia Stories, a magazine which I'm sure if you have any sense, you can figure out what its all about.  Of course, when I say 90% done, I mean, I still kinda sorta really need to edit it.... BUT FINE DETAILS....

I've also been playing around with RPG Maker.  I actually have a working, playable (ish) thing going.  It's nowhere near done, but... it works!  That's all that really matters to me right now.  And it's intensely silly, so that's fun.

Another thing.  I was employed.  For about a week.  Then I quit, because the place was super sketchy, and I wasn't getting paid.  So, I guess it was really: I volunteered at an inner city horse stable and listened to the same, tired history tours over and over again, when I wasn't standing around, bored to death, holding the useless rope leash to a one ton creature on a busy city street as its actual handler sat on the side, bitching about money and chain smoking.

Finally, I may finally be moving soon.  After lots of drama with my family (which is thankfully beginning to get resolved in a favorable manner) me and Sam started taking this moving thing a lot more seriously.  And since we just plain CAN'T afford to live in the city without an employed roommate (sorry Kaye), we've been looking at other options.  We'll see if all this pans out; I'm not going to be announcing moving out until I actually KNOW it's in the foreseeable future.

Um, I think that's it, I guess.  I'm done wallowing in my own self pity.  I'm finally really trying to pull myself back to my feet.  So yeah, my depression can suck a big, fat, hairy dick.