I've accidentally discovered something more important than flawlessness

I never expected college to bring out so much of my creative side. Never would I have guessed that in one year, I would have invented my own language, written a play, and helped to create a board game. By far the hardest of the three was inventing the board game. Though Jim, Tristan, Michael, and I had several meetings, 2/3 of them were spent coming up with a concept. Thinking back on it, we had a plethora of terrible ideas (including one which had the word "shank" in the title), and when we finally stumbled on a good one, we realized we had accidentally recreated Agricola, a German-made game centered around 17th century farming. But luckily, this slight error was merely a drought in our planting season, followed by a thriving and lush field of ideas.

Once we came up with a concept, our biggest problem was remaining on topic. One minute we'd be talking about whether or not we'd be using cards or a board, and the next, we were discussing card design. Constantly, we had to interrupt each other with exasperated cries of "but what is the point of the game?!" It seemed, that far more difficult than coming up with interesting visual design was inventing a cohesive and sensical mechanic that would allot for maximum fun. Throughout our discussions, we strived to keep as many things in mind as possible: don't make the game take too long, don't make it too easy, don't make it too difficult, don't make it offensive (at one point, one of us suggested the name "Queebo," to which another responded with a chuckle, "sounds like an anti-homosexual slur." When another person laughed and said if we're going to call it that we may as well call it "Gayme," we realized we had going hilariously off-topic). But it's difficult to please everyone, and especially difficult to make a game appropriately complicated without making it terribly difficult to master. I don't even think we came close to doing that until our penultimate meeting, where we fine-tuned Gemtastic to the best of our ability in such a short time period. Too me though, the most rewarding part of that experience was working with a group to achieve a common goal. So rarely does a group function well together. Usually there's a slacker, or a person who takes charge, and while I group had both of those stereotypes to an extent, mostly, I just enjoyed spending time with my group members, and it's always fascinating to hear what they have to say, and even more fascinating to discover their abilities to create things that I never would have thought of. Conversely, I discovered things about myself that boosted my self-esteem. My group members took my ideas and actually implemented them, rather than sloughing them off as silly comments. I had honestly never been in a group with such polite, respectful people before. 

But besides being extremely polite, each of them were incredibly, almost intimidatingly brilliant. Michael had an excellent ability to come up with card statistics, Tristan had amazing marketing ideas, and Jim, ah, Jim... One afternoon he asked me "Want to see something a little disturbing?" Naturally, I chirped, "Always!" and flounced after him. When he opened the door to his room, there were game prototypes littering every inch of it. There was not one corner that wasn't full of little hexagonal tiles or cut up pieces of paper. But rather than find this pathetic, I simply felt lucky to have Jim in our group. Jim, who was clearly born to do this sort of thing. So even though our game design may have been rough, (yet extremely pretty if I do say so myself), what I take away from this project is social experience, and I couldn't have felt more achieved if our project were as honed as a farmer's scythe. 

Mediocre Techno and Disembodied Faces

Sometimes I astound myself with how silly I can be. Why, WHY would I download Snood during finals week?! (Ooo... Snood. Excuse me while I go play a round before continuing to write this) It's sad, that like chocolate, watching re-runs of Frasier, and traveling, simple games are so incredibly addictive. Is it the mind-numbing easiness that allows me to become so immersed, or is it the pretty colors that relax me and pull me in further? In any case, I can't decide whether or not I'm terribly upset over the fact that every time I close my eyes before bed, all I see is Tetris blocks falling, Snoods exploding, or big neon Chain Reaction circles growing. Surely normal people think of, oh I don't know, how to attract boys, or how they're going to ace that test tomorrow, or even if that they skirt were planning to wear tomorrow is too revealing. Maybe thinking about games is better than thinking about the daily grind, but to be perfectly honest, as my eyes start to burn and my wrists start to show those gleeful warning signs of carpel tunnel, I must admit: I wish I were less susceptible to addiction. 

Now, saying something like that makes it seem like I secretly do heroin, but in actuality, I don't get addicted to things other than games. This is not to say that being addicted to games is somehow superior to other addictions (though it might give heroin a run for the money), because I feel like if I didn't have such a Snood problem right now, I'd be getting that beckoning computer science work finished. And that's what confuses me: I need to work on computer science. I in no way need to be improving my Snood score. Even as I play, I'm regretting the time I'm wasting while simultaneously enjoying every bit of it-- sort of like when I sleep past noon. Should I quite cold turkey, or should I methadone my way into a cure, playing less and less Snood every day? Or am I treating this too much like a serious problem? 

Snood does relax me, but it seems like it's gotten to the point of deterring somewhat from academic progress. How could I possibly look at java script when the soft glow of the Snood world tempts me so? Sadly, even as I write this, I know what I have to do...

I have just deleted Snood, and the world makes sense again.

Hello, my name is Sally Neumann, and I am a game-aholic. 

Brontosaurus vs. 2,000 Men

As the days of my freshman year of college quickly dwindle down, I can't help but think about how much I'm going to miss my friends. Sure, they're ridiculous, and yes, they frustrate me more than normal because of the inordinate amount of time we spend with each other, but really, I can't imagine being around better people. 

More than anything else, playing games with them will remain prominent in my memory. Sadly, most of them are ruthless strategy savants, out to make me feel terrible about my gaming skill, but luckily, there are games at which I destroy and thus retain my status as acceptable girl. A few months ago, we were playing games at a bubble tea shop when we stared to play Guesstures. I had  never played before, but have always loved charades, so I was delighted by its fast-paced and hilarious gameplay. I'll never forget flailing my arms around for a brief moment, sure that no one would guess my impossible noun, only to have my friend Ben shout triumphantly "AIR!" Never was a high five of more epic proportions exchanged. For me, it wasn't the actual game that was fun, but making my friends laugh, and spending time with them in a non-competitive atmosphere. Sometimes it gets a little wearing to be around my friends, because it seems that everything turns in to a competition. Even during dinner, we'll be having a pleasant conversation, and someone will introduce a topic that creates an argument explosion. "Okay guys: 2,000 naked men vs. a brontosaurus. Who wins?!" Suddenly we're tripping over each other's sentences: "But brontosauruses are peaceful! I don't want to kill them!" "Oh definitely humans, we out number the brontosaurus by far!" "DUDE. IT'S A DINOSAUR. IT WINS." And while I must admit that I always find these conversations to be hilarious and occasionally, informative, I often tire of the fact that conversations have even become games. 

So why, then, do I like to play games like Guesstures with my friends? My friends let their guards down in casual games. Their battle masks come off and they are nothing but genuinely kind, and rather than try and destroy each other, they help each other towards the common goal of making the game experience as fun as possible. Casual games, lately, have become my favorite way to let off steam. As much as I enjoy the hardcore strategy game, I'm realizing more and more that the most important aspect of gameplay to me is relaxation. 

It had to be commemorated.

I GOT TWENTY-SIX MILLION ON CHAIN REACTION!!!

Well that just seems unlikely!

Sometimes I'm just overwhelmed by how often my life is hilariously similar to a sitcom. More frequently than I'd like to admit, I'm comically unlucky, or find myself in situations that just aren't probable. It follows, then, that I probably should have expected to be molested on Second Life. I probably should've expected getting lost in Second Life-- not finding my way even in a virtual world, mapped out for my convenience. I probably should've expected the fact that Second Life would not be even the least bit like regular life. I probably should not have expected to like it. 

I entered the world somewhat cautiously, and by cautiously I mean I had no choice to be cautious since I had no idea what I was doing. I quickly discovered that Second Life is one of the least user-friendly programs I have ever used. It could be just that I'm not too apt at virtual worlds, but I found it difficult to do even the simplest things. I couldn't find my way around, I couldn't maneuver my field of vision correctly, and most embarrassingly, I couldn't figure out how to sit. I hovered awkwardly around a chair for about five minutes before giving up and choosing a new endeavor. I decided that since sitting was apparently too challenging, I should try and converse with others. It occurred to me that this, rather than scoring points, was the point of Second Life, and that I should at least give it a chance. Even though I innately find chat scenarios to be creepy, since I know I'm never going to meet the mystery-chatter in person (I'd like to keep my kidneys, thanks), I gave the chat experience a chance. I wandered around a little platform area that seemed inescapable, and spoke to the few people that were loitering ominously around. I talked to one, who spoke back to me in Spanish. Ooo! A language challenge! I talked to him for a while until he naturally began to make me uncomfortable, and then moved on to the next person, who... talked to me in Spanish? Well, well that's odd! Apparently I had landed myself in Spanish Life. I became slightly frustrated, (because even though I speak Spanish and enjoy practicing, I'm not as fluent as I'd like to be) then more so when I had so much difficulty controlling my character. It may seem like I'm being a bit harsh on this virtual world, but to be perfectly honest, I'm an achiever, and to be on the computer without serving anything that can be construed as a purpose seems silly to me. 

Perhaps in the future when I sign on, I'll have one of my friends guide me to places where I might find decent, and perhaps even English-speaking company. Then again, (though I hate to be negative) I really just don't feel like Second Life is for me. 

And...there goes my soul

I've always been surrounded by stereotypes about WoW players. I've been taught to imagine them as gnarly caped basement-dwellers who live with their mothers, eat intravenously and eschew sleep entirely. To a certain extent, I'm sure this is true for an extreme minority, but when I started to play WoW, I realized that many people who play aren't nearly as conventionally nerdy and socially inept as I had imagined. In fact, when I told my friends that I'd be playing WoW as a trial, several of them admitting to being hopelessly addicted WoW players, revealing their secret identities as undead priests or gnome mages. 

Under their watchful eyes, I signed in to WoW and began to play. Immediately, WoW was not at all what I expected. Well, God knows what I expected, but certainly something more difficult. It was organized and beautifully designed. People were friendly and not out to attack me. In fact, I was saved on several occasions by a mysterious knight who undoubtedly found my saucy human mage to be dazzlingly beautiful. When I accepted my first quest, I was pleased to discover that it seemed deliciously easy: I was to kill nine wolves and take their meat. Sweet. I was also pleasantly surprised to discover that casting spells took very little gaming ability. For some reason I expected some sort of complicated keyboard algorithm, rather than nicely timed "1" pressing. Of course, my first encounter with a wolf was somewhat less than impressive. I recall shooting it with frost, being stunned when it actually responded and chased me (who could have imagined that a wolf would  fight back after being shot arbitrarily with a frost bolt?!) and running my character quickly away while making frightened noises in real life. Once I calmed down and realized that the wolf was not in fact real and going to crawl out of my screen (I've clearly watched Videodrome one too many times), I shot back and killed it. A little part of me was sad that I had killed an animal, albeit a digital one, but soon I was grotesquely fascinated. This rabid killing spree lasted until I, in a fit of excitement, accidentally killed a bunny and began to mourn. It turned out though, that once I got the hang of it, I absolutely loved WoW. I'm finding myself opening new e-mail accounts solely for the purpose of getting more and more free trials. So even though I had previously imagined WoW players as social pariahs, it seems like I've become one of them. And by God, I'm proud. 

I'm a girl, I promise.

When I was younger, my mom forced me into sports like soccer and softball, which I naturally came to embrace and love, but at first seemed alien to me. As a softball player, I was the kid who was put in the outfield, because honestly no other kid would ever hit it that far. Instead of being vigilant and watching carefully for the almost improbable hit to sail towards me, I used to sit on the ground and make flower necklaces. I could hear my parents encouraging me to get up, and even sighing in frustration, but all I could do was stare at the pretty flowers. I’ve always been distracted by the beautiful.

            Perhaps this is why I began playing Magic the Gathering. Pokemon never appealed to me, but Magic, with it’s amazing art and fabulous colors, always piqued my interest. It seems rather girly of me to be attracted to something based solely on its appearance, or maybe just human, but it’s interesting to wonder: does my gender affect my game choice and game play?

            I’m fairly sure that it does in the case of Eve Online, especially. Eve, to me, was distinctly unenjoyable. I didn’t like the dark atmosphere, or even the theme of outer space. I tend to prefer more whimsical, mystical themes, and prefer things to look beautiful rather than “bad ass” or pointy and threatening. Surely, Eve was geared towards the male population, and, statistics show that the majority of Eve players are males. Of course, this would not ordinarily deter me from reveling in the fabulousness of the game, as I am an active participant in another game which is comprised of a predominately male population: knowledge bowl.

            At my junior year knowledge bowl all-European tournament, my team made it to the finals. Overwhelmed with glee, I jittered in my seat, eager to spout knowledge and entertain viewers. As my eyes searched the crowd and my fellow teams, I saw an extremely sparse lady population. I was proud to be the only girl in the finals, but also slightly unnerved. When I finished playing, I walked off of the podium only to be intercepted by a gang of gnarly, caped teenage boys who babbled simultaneously, “You played so well!” “You know really obscure questions.” And, my personal favorite, “You’re my favorite…” I thanked them, out-streched my hand for a platonic gesture, and one especially greasy fellow sputtered, “No. Hug.” And embraced me in what was surely his first female contact.

            Don’t misunderstand: I love these sorts of people. The people I meet at tournaments are some of my favorite ever, but it seems to me that, as a girl, people expect much less out of me, intelligence-wise. My friends have even suggested playing two-headed giant with me at Magic tournaments, insisting that I wear a dress or something to make me look asinine so that adversaries won’t expect brilliance. While I am occasionally offended by such suggestions, it seems to me that as a gamer, I should be used to these “girls can’t play games” stereotypes, and use them to my advantage. 

Crap, I shouldn't have caught that...

I love to bowl. Of course, as everyone knows, the lanes at the HUB here are crooked beyond belief and are about as short as a Bonzai tree, so a few weeks ago, I went bowling elsewhere.  My friend asked me if I was good at bowling and I said, “Yeah, fairly!” and he replied, “I suck. I usually bowl about a hundred.” Rather affronted, I replied that my average was around eighty and that I considered that to be an excellent score. This of course elicited a peal of chuckles, but luckily, when I got to the lanes, I was pleased to find that I had inexplicably become some sort of sporadic bowling savant. The first time I got a strike, something curious came over my body… a sort of incontrollable movement.  It seemed that my response to getting a strike in bowling was to punch the air. I had never done anything like that in my entire life. Yes, I certainly squeal giddily or do some sort of hideous dance, but never had my body felt so triumphant that it actually controlled my movement decision. I began to think: do I become someone completely different when I play games?

            I was an avid soccer player until college (where I realized that since I hadn’t been playing since I was a fetus, I had no chance of getting on a team), and had may experiences on my high school team similar to my bowling experience. Sadly, one of my soccer experiences was not at all insignificant. In an important soccer game, I was playing sweeper. An adversary shot at the top left corner of the goal, and, wanting to be the hero, I dove towards it in order to head it out of the way. Naturally, my body decided that instead of jumping, I would outstretch my hands. I caught the ball. In the penalty box. With a tied score.  Certainly normal me would have realized that this wasn’t at all a logical course of action. So could it be, then, that in physical sports, my body goes haywire?

            So, in board games, do I also change?  Usually I have a problem with putting myself into the character’s shoes. When I play Candyland, I simply can’t picture myself as a small, gingerbread-esque child, traipsing around lollipops and avoiding the definite child molester Lord Licorice. When I play Magic, I don’t see myself as a planeswalker roaming my lands and somehow acquiring vicious creatures. For some reasons though, as a soccer player, a volleyball player, or apparently a bowler, my mind goes blank and concentrates on only the game; I become completely engrossed. It seems then, that in most games in which the point is to role play, I fail miserably. I’m sure that this is for the best, seeing as I’m positive that I wouldn’t want my body to spasm during a game of Jenga or Mouse Trap. Disaster galore. 

A Somewhat Awkward Introduction

After a series of embarrassing incidents, I became quite the spectacle in middle school. Naturally, no one wanted to befriend the girl, who, after failing miserably at a math problem, yelled "Mom!" at Mr. Poole for some numerical assistance, ran out of the room embarrassed, tripped down the stairs and ripped her trousers open in the process. Luckily, I was always in my own head so much (tripping mystery solved), that I barely had time to be offended by the immature jeers of my peers. Still, it was rather lonely to walk about the halls and not be able to glance at anyone and smile, or give passersby the finger guns without being scoffed at. But pitying this hilariously socially inept child would be a waste, because like most stories she invented in her mind, this one ended happily when she found her vice: games.
At home, I was forbidden to spend more than a half an hour on the computer, so any chance of game playing there was effectively quashed. I barely had time to send an email with my sixth grade typing proficiency, let alone play tetris long enough to lose. I instead, then, spent a great deal of time inventing games for myself. To this day, whenever I look at a word, I anagram it. "Huh," I think when I look at a police car, "'Police' anagrams to 'lie cop'...coincidence? I think not." An unconventional game, yes, but anagramming made me feel satisfied, achieved, and special. I later moved on to making my own palindromes, watching jeopardy (while recording my score, of course), and participating in a series of nerdy activities that, naturally, further ostracized me from my fellow pre-teens.
Not until seventh grade did I find a group of friends. We locked eyes as we all wandered around the hall, mumbling word puzzles and pushing up our glasses. Somehow, we all managed to be socially apt enough to agree on eating lunch together. We all met in the library, which was the safest room in school. We were certain that none of our bullies were even aware that the library existed. After playing some quick games of chess, my new friends, Megan and Liz, brought me over to the computers and introduced to me my first game addiction: neopets.
I was immediately struck by the sheer cuteness of the website. I was able to own a pet that could only be described as a ball of fluff with feet. Additionally, I got to play games to earn money to feed it, and shop and do everything that mimicked real life. I'm sure that I enjoyed it because as my mom said, I was born a thirty-year-old. I loved being responsible for something that was so important to me. Also, the flash games kicked ass. Suddenly, Liz and Megan and I became closer. We talked constantly about Meerca Chase and how our JubJubs were faring in battle, and suddenly weren't lonely anymore. Somehow, games, which had become a way to distract myself from the world around me, were now something that connected me to people.
Today, they remain as such. In high school, I became friends with predominately man-folk, who taught me to snipe, brawl, and planeswalk with expertise. In my current group of friends, being unable to play Magic, D&D, or video games makes you essentially unable to participate in conversation. It took me only two weeks to realize this in college, and immediately joined their D&D campaign. I did so begrudgingly at first, painfully aware of the D&D stereotypes that various geek-hating propoganda had poisoned my mind with. I was surprised to find, then, that I loved everything about D&D. I created my character (a death-touched sorceress with a raven familiar named Sebastian) and found myself eagerly anticipating the next time I would be able to orb of cold a wrong-doer or alchemist fire a bullywog. I love playing games because they're something to look forward to, something to make my day just a tad more exciting, and because they've transformed Sally, a sheepish overalls-wearing pre-teen to a confident, Magic enthusiast. Whether some may consider this to be a step backward is irrelevant, because ironically, through role-playing, I've found who I truly am. Probably.