15 Oct / So I’m… not a gamer?
Today I arrived late at the #gamergate party. Apparently it’s been going on for a while, but I waited until it had fully metamorphosed into full-on abuse before I bothered to check it out.
And was rather disappointed to discover that the label I’ve been applying to myself I apparently can’t.
Suddenly I have to be a white male who only plays games with set structure and little exposition to qualify? Dicks.
Apparently Dear Esther and The Path don’t count as games. I haven’t bothered to find out what the community I’m suddenly excluded from thinks of Dinner Date or Thirty Flights of Loving.
You know I have my own criteria for what constitutes a game – something that can be downloaded from Steam or bought on disk from EB Games. That means everything I play or have ever played instantly constitutes a game and I’m happy. If you insist on breaking it down further then get some freaking self-respect and invent your own genres.
I didn’t become a bestseller in the genre of Kindle>Mystery, Thriller & Suspense>Crime>Kidnapping without steering my way through a few genres mind-bends you know. If you can’t be bothered to think of a genre like death killing ray guns – zombie so you can easily tell it apart from visual non-interactive novel then that’s your own look-out.
How about you get off Twitter and start sorting yourselves out? Perhaps if you wore yourselves out by putting in the effort to categorise every item you can purchase in the world that might be reasonably (or unreasonably) be referred to as a computer game you won’t have enough time to call members of my gender c***s and send them death threats when they threaten your white masculinity in some way. Perhaps you could get all inspired and at the end of your categorisation you will have made a contribution to society instead of being an endless drain.
Of course I have drawn and formed all of my opinions from one evening spent trawling with ever-increasing horror through a downwards spiral of twitter hashtag doom, so I could’ve got the wrong end of the stick. Perhaps I wasn’t looking at the dregs of humanity and instead missed the whole point due to the English language’s sad failure to provide us all with handy satire or sarcasm punctuation marks.