This is Halloween

I've talked about holidays I used to love that now are at the very least a little uncomfortable for me before. But one holiday that never got ruined for me is Halloween.

I remember a Halloween from when my little sister had just been born, before our brother was, where Mom was Raggedy Anne and Dad was Frankenstein's monster. It sticks out for me because Dad had a very Frankenstein's monster-esque scar on his forehead from tripping and hitting his head on my little sister's bassinet, and Mom was just so damned cute with the little red dot on her nose and the red wig. I don't even remember what anybody else was, but we all went trick-or-treating and then went home and listened to a record of "scary" stories for kids before bed. It was just a really, really great night.

I don't remember when, but it wasn't long before Halloween became another holiday Dad kind of took charge of, and he had this whole, methodical process to it.

September: Start thinking about costumes. He'd sporadically stop one of us kids and say, "Know what you wanna be for Halloween yet?" as we were doing something mundane like getting a snack or going to the bathroom (I remember one time he did this and I really had to pee). Eventually, Mom and my older sis stopped going, and Dad and I stopped dressing up, so the focus became what the two young-uns were going to do. My little brother was Buzz Lightyear at least twice (I feel like it was more, though), in this exact costume, inflatable wings and all:

First week of October: Buy a bunch of pumpkin carving books and kits, almost always from Pumpkin Masters. Then he would take them to work with him illicitly make a bunch of copies of every pattern. After long enough, we had so many pumpkin saws and those little pokey-things that they filled a whole gallon-sized Ziplock, and so many patterns that they filled a whole filing box. So, y'know, this eventually evolved into "get the box with all of the pumpkin shit out of the garage and start looking through the mountain of patterns." We would also put up our decorations. Nothing too outrageous, but we had a respectable amount of stuff outside to show we were a Halloween Family, if you know what I mean.

Second week of October: Buy the costumes. I only remember one year where we waited until within a week of Halloween; Dad was usually super on top of it, even when I was in high school and most of everything else was starting to crumble. This was also the week we needed to finalize our picks for the pumpkin patterns we wanted to carve, as well. I specifically picked the skull pattern in the background in this shot from Hocus Pocus at least twice simply because it was in that shot and that movie is everything:

Third week of October: Buy candy and pumpkins. The candy and pumpkins were almost always retrieved on the same trip to the grocery store, but what's special (to me) about this is Dad would bring a copy of every pattern being carved that year, and he and I would take turns being the one to hold a potential pumpkin and the person laying a pattern on it to see if it would fit nicely. Once I got older and stronger, he'd hand me a few of the patterns and let me find some by myself while he did likewise, but we always double-checked each other's matches to make sure. If we needed more tea lights, he'd get them at this time, too.

Within a week of Halloween: Carve the pumpkins and bake the seeds. This was always a Big Thing. Dad would spread newspaper on the table and do all of the hollowing out himself; I sometimes helped him wash the seeds clean, but he always seasoned them himself. When I was a teenager, I suggested he make some chili pepper ones for himself and cinnamon-sugar ones for everybody, and that year was particularly great- things were starting to go downhill, but it made him genuinely happy to see how much everyone liked the sweet ones, and it made me really happy to see how much he liked the spicy ones. 

Halloween: Go trick-or-treating. Like I said before, the lineup kind of changed, but towards the end of my time living at home, when I was in high school and it was me and Dad taking the young-uns around, it felt special. Dad was more his old self on Halloween, and even though he didn't need me there with them, I insisted on going because I was covetous of that temporary change in him- I wasn't about to miss a chance to spend time with the Dad of the Year from my youth, so I went under the auspices of "helping out" with the young-uns. I think he knew that, too, because we'd sometimes walk holding hands and he'd hug me in a way he hadn't since I was younger than the young-uns. It hurts to remember, but in a good way.

There was one time where an older gentleman in the neighborhood, a widower, noticed me standing more at the back of the walkway up to the door and shouted, "One for Mom, too!" and tossed a bag of the little pumpkin-shaped pretzels he was giving out to me. I caught it, mortified, as Dad, who had gone up to the door with the young-uns, laughed and said, "Oh, no, that's Gab, remember? One of the older girls!" But he called me "Mom" the rest of the time we were out that night, and I lost track of how many times I pushed and punched him for it. 

I think that was my junior year of high school.

Then I went to college. As I write this, I realize I've never thought to ask how much of that faded away, and when. I'm sure it did. But since I was never home for any Halloweens after high school, in my own head canon, Halloween never changed. 

So I think that's why it became my favorite holiday as an adult. I've been rather transient because of school and moving around, so I haven't really been able to come up with my own traditions, but in a perfect world, I'd build off of what we did when I was a kid. I would carve a pumpkin, bake the seeds, and have a costume. But I would also decorate the shit out of wherever I live, since I know Dad would have loved that, and the idea of that makes me super happy and excited. I'm talking, like, flashing lights and animatronics and motion-sensors everywhere. The analogy I use is similar to the one about fireworks and Christmas displays. I would have the absolute scariest, coolest mothereffing house on the block- but I would have at least one cutsie thing to try to keep the littler, more easily frightened kids at ease. And if I could afford it, I would rotate through a few different setups/have enough stuff that it wouldn't be the same within two or three years. Props like this, that look kinda cheesy up close, but from farther out would be creepy af:

Or stuff like this; I'm a huge fan of these light effects that look like ghosts and stuff- it's really awesome what people have come up with the past couple years, and I bet my dad would have loved this crap:

Holy cow, and how fun would it be to go from a Nightmare theme for October

I'd be way more elaborate and get, like, creepy trees and stuff
from a Halloween store, but this is the gist

to something like this for December

I would just love to be able to do that. 

I know none of this house decor stuff will ever happen. I want to be a special ed teacher, and I live in Seattleish where COLA is ridiculous; there's no way I'll be able to afford this much stuff, let alone the house I would need to do it. But it's nice to dream, and to think of how proud my dad would be of me if I pulled it off.

More plausibly, when I eventually have kids, I would, of course, take them in my own costume every year, and if their dad was with me, leave candy out with a note about the honor's system and such. And I'd stay in costume once we got home so that I could give candy out to kiddoes, dressed up in whatever. I particularly like the idea of bonding with kids over their costumes, like, "I was that when I was a kid!" or, "Look, we're both superheroes!"

And if I don't have kids, I would at least attend, if not host a party with spooky music and a costume contest and dry ice in the fake cauldron with the punch; if I hosted, for sure there would be spooky board games like Betrayal at the House on the Hill and Elder Sign* and stuff. Hell, maybe we'd watch Hocus Pocus or Nightmare Before Christmas and have a drinking game of it, too. 

What's also made getting anything of my own really going nigh impossible is I've been working retail for so damned long, even while in school, that this is the first Halloween in years that I can remember where I won't be working for at least the start of the evening. I did get to hand out candy to like four kids a few years ago, but they had been stragglers, kids at the end, since I had been working earlier and got home after sunset. But anyway, I've been so busy lately with a thing that had me in the hospital a few times (I'm fine, nothing even remotely life-threatening, just SUPER annoying) and working two jobs and school, I haven't had the time to get any decorations, a pumpkin, not even candy. And it disappoints me. Like this is my one chance in so many years, and I've pretty much blown it.

Maybe I'll just get a couple mini pumpkins and some candy and put the former on the porch so kids know they can come up to our apartment and get the latter from me. Since I'm nowhere near ready to have kids (situationally- I want them, yeah, but I know I can't right now, not for some time), my best bet is to absorb what I can from the ones that would come to my door. But also, being in an apartment, I highly doubt more than one or two kids will show up, anyway. That makes me sad, too.  

So even though Halloween hasn't been ruined for me by family drama, it's certainly been disappointing, and I have no idea when I'll be able to actually make it better. But what I do know is as soon as I can, I will, and it's going to be amazeballs. Even if just for me. And that's worth smiling about.

*Not Arkham Horror. Fuck that game and its ridiculously complex rules and its nigh impossibility of actually winning. 

*Don't* Shut Up, Wesley!: When Hypocrisy, Vitriol, and Social Justice Collide

I've been sitting on whether or not to write about this for a bit now, ever since the news broke out, but given how much it bubbles in my brain and how much of an emotional response I feel when it does, I figured I should just get this out there.

This showed up in my news feed the day it went live, and it... Made me angry. Like, so angry I had to ask for a few extra minutes on my break because I had read it while at work, angry. It, along with the anger directed at Wil described there, are perfect examples of a phenomenon I have observed on the Internet, one that I think is completely self-defeating and outlandish. But allow me to explain here, in my own words.

Wil Wheton  started getting big on the Internet after showing up in niche nerd properties like The Guild and by his involvement in Geek and Sundry, especially with his show Tabletop, the latter of which I was one of the first subscribers on YouTube. So, y'know, full disclosure, I've been a fan for a long time. I especially appreciated how his motto of "Don't be a dick" was used on Twitter and the like by both him and his fans- he consistently decries the misogyny and hatred of the nerdboiz during Gamergate and Comicsgate, and all this recent Star Wars bullshit from the toxic minority (I feel like I saw something from his Twitter account or something, but I can't find it- he at least alludes to it here), and very openly supports (and calls for) attempts at diversity and inclusion within the various intersecting nerd-doms out there through his Twitter account and blog. 

So, naturally, he became a target. The nerdboiz he was calling out did some of the exact stuff he was highlighting to him, namely the ridiculous vitriol and bullying. Crucially, during the Gamergate stuff, he posted a block list created by Randi Harper under the auspices of a simple, hassle-free way to block misogynists and Nazis. It was later revealed that Harper is a hot-tempered terf, going so far as to encourage Gamergaters, the supposed enemy and problem, to dox trans rights people, and her list had in fact included myriad trans activists. As soon as he found out, Wil apologized, did his best to remove all of these people from the list and, when he couldn't, got rid of it and stopped promoting it altogether. 

Let me reiterate that last point: As soon as he realized the list he had promoted was secretly transphobic, he did his utmost to rectify the situation, by both unblocking trans people/activists and by getting rid of it. 

In other words, he did something in good faith, realized it was a mistake, and then tried to make up for it.

But that wasn't enough. He was continually being called transphobic and anti-LGBT and such, and was a consistent enough target of harassment and bullying by social justice advocates that he deactivated his Twitter, instead setting up shop on the purportedly ultra-liberal Mastadon. He was immediately the target of harassment there (you can see his responses to it on what's left of his page), a behavior which is supposedly against the platform's code of conduct. And he left Mastodon after his account was suspended by the admin of that instance, the admin telling him they received 60+ complaints about him in one night- notably, then, not for committing any violations himself, but rather because this big unruly mob flooded the admin's inbox.

Except they weren't nearly as cute- or musical.

I highly recommend reading Wil's piece on this whole thing. 

So here's why that first article I linked made me angry.

The author openly states that Wil was the target of a trolling prank on Mastodon, and that the perpetrator was a trans woman. But she makes him out as the bad guy for reporting the prankster, based solely on the fact that the latter is trans, ignoring the fact that the prankster was violating Mastodon's code of conduct in the first place. The author makes it out to be evidence of his supposed "transphobic agenda" or whatever, but dude- that woman on Mastodon being trans doesn't change the fact that she violated the server's terms. I get where the author is coming from, that she (the prankster) may not "feel safe around" Wil anymore, but you know what? Let's be a little more honest in our reporting/statements of facts, here.
Also, as a staunch supporter of the #MeToo/#TimesUp movement, I'm not super pissed he never ended up giving a detailed statement in:re Chris Hardwick. And I've been raped twice and was in an abusive relationship, folks. If he and Chris were as close as it seems, I totally understand. It's painful, and private. He has a right to privacy. He doesn't have to say anything. It'd be cool if he did, but these people don't know how that whole mess affected Wil personally, and while I am in no way saying he's a direct victim of Hardwick's alleged behavior, it's kind of asinine to demand a condemnation from the guy. I know all of my ex's friends and family know how he treated me, but I don't expect them to give him the boot because of it; how can I expect a stranger to do the same in similar circumstances? I know that's just my personal situation, but relationships are complicated, and so are people, and without being right there with them, we can't profess to know what "should" go on between two close friends when one turns out to be abusive; and it's also borderline cruel to expect a person to bare such deep, personal things to a mob of people that will condemn them either way.

Plus, maybe if the vitriol hadn't been so fierce, he wouldn't have left Twitter when he did and, yeah, maybe he would have made some sort of statement- we'll never know because he left, but I can't help but think that he didn't get a chance before the pitchforks got close enough to his jugular that he had to call it quits.

And basically, the way I see it, Wil isn't the one with the "listening problem," it's all of the people attacking him. Because they ignore all of the positive stuff he's done before, and refuse to accept his apology for his mistake. 

And herein lies the problem: If marginalized communities can't listen when an ally apologizes, they aren't going to keep their allies. When they engage in the kind of behavior they decry and aim it at people that previously were on their side, all they're doing is adding fuel to the fire of their detractors.

I'm probably pissing loads of people off, but hear me out.

Wil's response when he realized the list was bad was what should be ideal for an ally- he apologized and tried to make amends. It's classic Ally 101 behavior, stuff I read about when studying in grad school (remembe the time I was almost an academic? Jeez...). Destructive allies don't apologize; ones that can help enact change do.

But that's just it- I can't say he actually made amends, because, like I said, it wasn't enough. A bunch of social justice advocates stuck their fingers in their own gorram ears and crucified him. And that's entirely counter-productive to "the cause," so to speak. Who the flip are you preaching to, if you condemn anyone outside your circle that makes the slightest mistake? I'll give you a hint:

It may be sacrilege, but I liked this one more.

And I say this as a woman whose own intersectional identity leads to all sorts of internalized discrimination. 

Allies are people, too. We have to let them make mistakes. We have to listen when they apologize. We have to be there with, and for, them when they learn and grow into better allies. We can't expect to keep allies when we don't allow them to just be human. I'm focusing on this treatment of allies, here, but Sarah Lynn Michener addresses this in her own piece about some of the problems of the ultra-left:

It's fine to call out a celeb if they've genuinely done something problematic. But if you then never forgive them, bring it up every time they are invited to speak at a rally, and routinely say they have no place in the resistance because of things they have long since apologized for, then you will have a very small and ineffective resistance. 

I couldn't agree with her more! By attacking current, imperfect allies, you're alienating potential ones. TURNING ON MEMBERS OF YOUR TEAM ONLY MAKES YOU LOOK LIKE PART OF THE PROBLEM. Or at the very least, it reinforces the crap right-wingers say about "social justice warriors" and the like. 

And it proves how that holier-than-thou attitude is nothing but snake oil. I'm not going to go down the path of discussing the implications of sending the lions after someone that legitimately, earnestly espouses discriminatory beliefs. That's its own post.

But. Doing so to someone who has consistently, adamantly, and thoroughly demonstrated to genuinely be on your side is disgusting. And yeah, I do think it makes those doing it look as bad as the people they're supposed to be "fighting" against in the first place, the people whose identities are so integral to their own- because without someone to not be like, they have no idea what to be like. And they have no idea how hypocritical it is to say conservatives are "closed-minded" when they literally cannot listen to anything that's remotely outside their exact idea of what any bit of discourse should look like. It's its own, messed up form of hegemony that just makes me ashamed.

And no. I'm not saying the trans movement is for cis white dudes like Wil (let elone ones less enlightened than him- because he admits whole-heartedly he has all sorts of privileges because he's a cis white dude, y'all). Or that any movement at all is "for" allies. I'm not that stupid, either. But what I am saying is that you can't have a successful uprising without help from those in the most advantaged positions. In other words, allies.

And you can't expect those allies to be perfect. I mean, for Pete's sake, even official members of the in-group aren't always perfect. But we have to take them seriously when they try to make it right, walking them through what was wrong, why it was wrong, and how to go about that fix.

On a super personal note, someone very dear to me, a cis white male, has said he's often terrified of opening his mouth in situations related to marginalization, be it in person or online, because he's afraid of being attacked by the very people with which he wishes to express solidarity. Because what if he accidentally "says the wrong thing" or "gets misinterpreted" or whatnot. And I think this is why this issue pisses me off so bloody much- I know damn well he would fight, literally and figuratively, with every last ounce for every cause I would, but he feels powerless to do so because of some damn ASSHOLES that can't chill out and are so damn territorial and unwilling to even consider the possibility that someone from the majority can mess up but still be sincere. I know it's anecdotal, but it speaks to the bigger issue- this person I care about refrains from helping for fear of backlash. And c'mon, he's not the only one. Obvi.

So, Wil, if you're reading this (which I highly doubt you are), remember that small, loud minority of people doesn't speak for everybody. There are those of us that already miss your presence on the intertubes. That are sorry those arsehats scared you off. And wish we could bake you cookies.

And my advice to my fellow liberals: Get your act together. Stop vilifying people that can and want to help for making mistakes, especially if they express a desire to reconcile. If you can do this, there's hope for the future, for the change you, we, so passionately want. The more you can, the more credibility you'll build up, too. 

 If you can't, or rather won't, well, I have absolutely zero inclination to join your particular team- I'm good on my own, thanks. So in that case, you can just

Video Game Nostalgia

I started this post at 1:30 am a few nights ago. 

I can't sleep, and my mind is racing, so I figured I could waste some time here. But I don't know what to write about (there are like ten topics right now I could rant about, actually, but I don't want to think too hard, since this is supposed to help lull me to sleep), so I'll just tell you some good memories.

I miss (video) gaming. I used to do it a lot in elementary-high school, during breaks in college, and even in graduate school. I still like keeping up with news about upcoming titles and releases, but I haven't played through a newly-released game on my own, without someone else there the whole time, since 2013 (The Walking Dead,  Journey, and Injustice). My new Beaux has encouraged me to play some games with him present, and I finished one but have basically given up during the final boss battle of another. And since, as I mentioned already, I like keeping up with what's new, he bought me Horizon: Zero Dawn for my birthday last year, knowing I was super interested in it (as pretty much every female gamer was). But I couldn't finish that one, either- I played for a few hours, and liked what I got through, but since I was playing on his PS4 and we weren't living together, and my roommates were playing through it on theirs, and then he started playing it, too... 

Not me. Not me in the slightest.

But I also was reeeeeally struggling with the whole joystick thing. I've always been terrible at FPS, and preferred my games to be third-person, with a camera that follows you, and maybe you do some tweaking, if the environment is 3-D. Like what Journey did, or Resident Evil 4. Having to constantly move the camera with me, especially during combat was something I just couldn't adapt to. And I was embarrassed because my Beaux would watch me play and screw up SUPER STUPID BADLY because the camera wasn't in the right spot. Sure, he was never mean about it, but I was just so ashamed that this professed "gamer" that I was couldn't even shoot a gorram arrow at a slow-moving target, let alone survive intense, quick combat. And I am fully aware that most games have a camera system like that nowadays, so I know getting back into games is going to be really difficult for me. He's got me playing Portal, a game I've been interested in for a decade, which he says will help me get better at the camera thing, but it's sometimes really hard to focus because he's right there and I don't want to look stupid, and I feel like no matter how hard I try not to, when I respond to something he says while I'm playing, I sound angry or mean because I'm so tense.* 

Anyway

The fact that I used to be pretty okay at video games and am now an utter N00b is painful. And there's no way to express my disappointment without either sounding whiney or curmudgeony. I think it's great that games have evolved! I'm just sad I didn't evolve with them. 

I don't remember if I talked about it specifically or not before, but video games were a way for my family to "come together" when I was a kid/teenager. Sure, I'd play through stuff Mom and Dad rented or managed to buy for me on my own, but there were a few series we would play together, meaning Dad, my older sister, and I (and later with the addition of my younger sister) would take turns holding the control while everybody else (including Mom and my younger brother) watched. They were mostly survival horror, but the Spyro series was one distinctly not "scary" series I remember we enjoyed. While I remember needing to do some camera work in that game, it was so much slower than the intense stuff that's around nowadays. And with it being re-released in November, I worry I'll still be too shitty of a player to even bother getting it because it's going to be too "updated" for me to handle. (Same goes for this Resident Evil 2 Remaster.)

But anyhoo.  

Video games were some of the few luxury items Dad was willing to splurge on, when they were the right titles. Whenever a new game in a series our family liked playing together was coming out, he would leave work early enough to pick it up on the way home and still get there before my older sister and I did that Thursday. We would start it that afternoon, sometimes with a pause for dinner in the evening, other times not (and actually, I think I remember later the tradition became ordering Chinese takeout from our favorite place). And Dad, my older sis, and me would stay home the next day to keep playing. We'd sometimes play through a game twice over the weekend, if it was one we liked that much. I even remember one time, Dad actually picked me up from school early on Thursday so I could go with him when he went to Blockbuster to rent the system (GameCube) after we bought the game (back when that was still a Thing) (also it may make no sense we rented the console but bought the game, but 1) Dad wanted us to purchase the game "so the'll keep making these fuckers," and 2) at that point, it was the only game we were interested in on that system, and we weren't sure if any others would come out; we bought one eventually because yeah, we wanted other stuff on it, but a console is a much bigger investment than a game, and when bills may or may not be on time, you have to prioritize, is all I'm sayin', yo).

Video games were Serious Business in our household. What's interesting is Dad, older sis, and I all played NES and Genesis, but never with each other. I'd sometimes watch Dad play stuff, but for the most part, gaming was a solo act for us. Until we got the Playstation. After that, we started the whole "play hooky," everybody's involved thing. I think because we got the system, along with the first RE, Tekken 3, and the Die Hard Trilogy on Christmas, and so we were all available to hang out as we watched Dad play Die Hard, and since I had always liked horror/scary/spooky shit, he wanted me there when he tried Resident Evil, and it just kind of evolved into this whole family thing. And over time, it became somewhat of a refuge when things were rough. 

Ah, memories. It led to some pretty great moments. Some highlights:

Resident: Evil

MOM: *From the dining table where she's putting on makeup or something* Do you really have to kill the dogs?

GAB: Yes, Mom, they're zombie dogs.

ZOMBIE DOG: AAAAAAAARGH! *snarls, goes after JILL*

JILL: AGH! *bleeds* 

GAB: See, Mom?! They're going after my jugular!

MOM: Well, it's just sad.

JILL: *shoots ZOMBIE DOG*

ZOMBIE DOG: *yelps, falls over*

MOM: See? They scream in pain!

ZOMBIE DOG: *big pool of blood forms underneath, indicating it's dead for realz*

JILL: *limps away, health in red now*

Yeah, I feel SOOOO BAD about it.

MOM: Why are you limping?

GAB: *pauses, turns to stare at MOM*

MOM: WHAT?!?!

Silent Hill

DAD: *after messing with the PIANO for almost an hour* I'm not musical, maybe that's it. Here *shoves control at OLDER SIS* you do this shit.

OLDER SIS: Sure! I'll get this nice and quick.

*an hour later*

OLDER SIS: I have no idea.

DAD: Gab, you try.

*OLDER SIS hands GAB control*

GAB: Okaaaaay, but if you two couldn't get it, I-

DAD: Just try it, we gotta get past this shit.

*an hour later*

GAB: Daaaaaaad, I really don't think-

DAD: Fine! Yeah! Whatever! I give up for now! Jesus!

*the next day, DAD is all business*

DAD: Okay, girls, we're gonna get this shit. *tries a few things, none work*

OLDER SIS: Maybe if-

DAD: I DON'T KNOW! It's like this piano is laughing at me!

PIANO: *does nothing*

*DAD keeps trying for another two hours or so, then rage quits again*

*the next day, OLDER SIS isn't home*

DAD: *serious tone, stage whisper, in the kitchen* Okay, Gab.

GAB: Yeah?

DAD: They have, like, walkthroughs and shit on the Internet, right?

GAB: Yeah, so?

DAD: *normal tone* So? *marches over to Playstation, boots it up* So you're gonna go upstairs, go online, and print me some kind of Goddamn walkthrough so I can get past this FUCKING piece of shit piano, and you aren't gonna tell your sister about it. Got it?

GAB: Y-y-YES! Got it!

*two hours later, OLDER SIS gets home*

OLDER SIS: Oh hey! You made it past the piano!

GAB: Well-

DAD: Fuck YEAH, we did, right, Gab?

GAB: Yeah! Yeah, right!

Dino Crisis

GAB: OHMYGOD, THAT'S SAILOR VENUS!

DAD: The fuck are you talking about?

OLDER SIS: I think you're right, Gab, that sounds like her!

DAD: Oh, you mean the girl doing Regina's voice?

BOTH GIRLS: OHMYGOD! THAT'S SO COOL!

DAD: QUIET, DAMNIT! I don't wanna get jumped by a-

RAPTOR: *leaps out and attacks*

DAD: MOTHER FUCKER!

*later in the game, OLDER SIS is playing*

GAB: At least they don't open doors in this game like they do in Jurassic Park.

*ten minutes later T-REX smashes head through big window and starts chomping at Regina*

DAD: AAAAAAGH!

OLDER SIS: SHIT YOU DO IT! *throws control at GAB*

GAB: WHY ME?! *fumbles control, it goes under the coffee table*

DAD: Cuz you JINXED it, you idiot!

T-REX: ROOOOOAAAAAR!!!!! *bites Regina's head off*

GAB: *emerging from under table, holding control over head* GOT IT!

OLDER SIS and DAD: *glare at GAB*

GAB: *looks at screen* Oh... *control goes down slowly into lap* Sorry...

Resident Evil 3 

NEMESIS: STAAAAARS! 

DAD: Okay, so we obviously can't run from this, shit. And I don't even have the shotgun!

GAB: I dunno, Dad, I think the Magnum is better.

DAD: Well I'll just let him kill me so I can get to the box and grab a shotgun. 

NEMESIS: STAAAAAARS!!

*DAD loads from the last save point, loads up on healing items, and takes the shotgun to the fight*

OLDER SIS: Don't you think you should save again with all of your stuff, just to make it easier?

DAD: It'll be fine.

NEMESIS: STAAAAARSS!

*DAD enters the fight and empties two shotgun cartridges into NEMESIS*

DAD: Why isn't the fucker down yet?

NEMESIS: STAAAAARSS!

DAD: *closes eyes, breathes in deeply through nose, exhales slowly through mouth, blinks* Okay, I just need more bullets. I'll save after I add them to my inventory.

GAB: Are you sure you don't wanna try the Magnum?

DAD: Sweetie, listen, I ran out of bullets last time, that's it. The shotgun is fine. There's no way we're even half done with the game yet, I want to save the Magnum for the final boss.

GAB: Okay, Dad.

NEMESIS: STAAAAARRRRSS!

DAD: Son. Of. A. Bitch! Well, how 'bout one of you try?

OLDER SIS: I can! *takes control*

GAB: Sis, will you try the Magnum?

OLDER SIS: Nah, I can probably dodge better. I'll use the rest of the B gunpowder and make more bullets, too.

DAD: Magnum bullets are too hard to make, the shotgun is fine.

OLDER SIS: Yeah, we just need to be careful not to miss.

DAD: And we can try the grenade launcher next.

GAB: Okaaaaay.....

OLDER SIS: Let's go, then!

NEMESIS: STAAAAAARRRSSS!

OLDER SIS: Okay, grenade launcher it is, then.

NEMESIS: STAAAAARRRRSS!!!

OLDER SIS: Okay, well, I wasn't careful enough to dodge, I'll do better this time.

NEMESIS: 

,

!!!!!!

GAB: *holds out hand* May I?

OLDER SIS: *glares*

DAD: Oh, for Christ's sake, just let her. 

GAB: *starts from last safe point, loads up on as many Magnum rounds as I can make* Just one try with this, okay? I won't save that I used all of the C powder, and if it doesn't work, I'll switch to the grenade launcher.

DAD: *grumbles* I still like the shotgun more, on principle.

NEMESIS: STAAAAAARSS!

GAB: *unloads entire clip of rounds into NEMESIS without getting hit, runs for cover* OKAY! *reloads* So I know that was a lot of rounds, but let's see what happens.

OLDER SIS: *scoffs*

GAB: *unloads all but last bullet into NEMESIS*

DAD: Aw, shit, it's your last shot!

GAB: Oh my GOOOOOOD! *last shot*

NEMESIS: *staggers, falls down, whispering now* Staaaarrrss....

DAD: Holy shit, did you get 'im?

GAB: *panicked* I dunno!

OLDER SIS: He's not moving, the boss music stopped, you did it!

GAB: *jumps up, fist pumping* I TOLD YOU GUYS TO USE THE MAGNUM!!!!!!! *offers control to DAD*

DAD: *while standing and walking around his recliner toward his bedroom and bathroom* No, no, obviously you're smarter about this shit than me, you're in charge for a while. I need to take a shit and eat some TUMS, this shit is stressing me the fuck out. Pause it until I get back, will ya?

GAB: *beams at OLDER SIS*

OLDER SIS: *rolls eyes*

Code: Veronica X

YOUNGER SIS: Okay, but like dolls creep me out. *tries to offer control to GAB*

DAD: Oh no, you need to get in on this more. Keep going.

YOUNGER SIS: *whimpers, keeps playing*

GAB: Anyway, it's a zombie game, the dolls won't come to life. They're just... atmosphere, ambience. 

YOUNGER SIS: I'll "atmos" your "sphere".

DAD: *sighs*

*both girls giggle*

ZOMBIE: UUUUNNNNNGGGGGH!

YOUNGER SIS: SHIT! 

*later*

DAD: Oh don't tell me he's just a fuckin' cross-dressing nutjob?

*it's revealed Alfred has been dressing as his sister*

DAD: Son. Of. A. Bitch.

*later*

YOUNGER SIS: STEEEEEVE! 

STEVE: 

YOUNGER SIS: Dyammit. Don't say you love her, please, oh for the love of GOD, don't do it, it'll break me.

STEVE:

YOUNGER SIS: NOOOOOOOO I SAID DON'T DO THAT YOU ASSHOLE! Don't die on me now!

STEVE:

YOUNGER SIS: NUUUUUUUUUOOOOOOO!!!

Limbo

DAD: SHIT, why's this so fuckin' hard!

YOUNGER SIS: Uh, Dad, I think that's kinda the point. Like you're supposed to die a bunch?

DAD: Well I don't appreciate that.

GAB: You're supposed to figure out how to solve the puzzles by dying.

DAD: I shouldn't have to die to sove a fuckin' puzzle.

YOUNGER SIS: What are those? 

DAD: Fuck if I know!

GAB: They look kinda like insect legs.

YOUNGER SIS: Or tree branches?

BOY: 

DAD: *growels*

*later*

YOUNGER SIS: Okayokayokay, I can't believe we didn't die back there. What do we do now?

DAD: Try pushing that boulder into that tree?

YOUNGER SIS: Okay, Imma do it. And I am NOT going to die this time!

BOY: 

YOUNGER SIS: DYAAAAMMMIIIIT!

+++++++

I have tons of others, but I've gone on long enough. And it's time to watch my Beaux play something. Memories, though.

*That tension is probably mostly related to some other general mental health garbage- which is why I can't sleep, so HI! You're reading this because I'm a MESS! YAY!.

Why I'm Uncomfortable with Independence Day

For those hoping for some righteous indignation about the current political situation and some sort of treatise on the particular breed of hypocrisy and violence embedded in the American State nowadays... Sorry. This post isn't really going to be political*. It's going to be personal (and not in the "the personal is political" way, but the legit "this is my heart" kind of way).

In a previous post, before talking about getting rid of an abusive ex, I talked about my dad. He died two Septembers ago. He took his own life. And in that post, I explained how Christmas had been tainted for me, that when I was little, it was the stuff a Norman Rockwell painting- joy and togetherness and warmth. But when I got older, too much life happened, and as Dad's decline grew steeper and steeper, Christmas became more and more miserable. 

What I didn't bring up is Independence Day. On the Fourth, Dad would somehow manage to get himself out of bed (or off the couch- after a certain point, he stopped sleeping in the bedroom), make a nice breakfast for everyone (I think Dad liked making breakfast more than grilling, to be honest- as things got worse, he stopped grilling way before he stopped making pancakes), and start getting The Meat ready for the grill by late afternoon. He would at least pretend to be happy, and turn back into the Dad of the Year Edition of himself. If there was a video game for us to play, we'd sit around and he'd take turns with me and my two sisters (or just me and my younger sis- my older sister stopped coming home pretty early on in everything) in shooting whatever zombies or solving whatever puzzles there were with the same enthusiasm as before he fell apart. There wasn't fighting. There wasn't anger. There wasn't malice. He was funny, charming, warm. He was sober.

It was like time had shifted, or he alone had, like his old self would inhabit his current body for the day. A part of me knew he was acting, but it just made me love him more- because he was doing it for everyone else. I've only grown to understand that more, having grappled with my own mental illness and had to put on a face for people, too. Masks aren't for you, they're for the ones you love.

And I clung to that. Even if every other day, we barely spoke, or he was never sober enough to remember what we talked about by the time I was twenty-two, there, there was the proof he still cared, in how alive he was on the Fourth. The real act was when he made it seem like he didn't care. And I know that was for me, too- pushing me away out of his shame, his disgust with his own self. I know he didn't think he deserved any of us. He blamed himself for everything that happened to our family- from diagnoses to finances. I even have wondered if he blames himself for me being raped in grad school- I remember him mumbling something about how he "should have taught me to be safer" or something like that during the trip home where I told him and Mom; at the time, I took it more as a victim-blaming thing, but I really don't believe that anymore. Because while it was kind of funny and eye-roll-worthy as a kid, his tendency to take responsibility, to be a martyr, was what drove his depression so far.

-------

Fireworks.

Man, Dad loved fireworks. And the big ones, too. Not the little dinky ones the Boy Scouts sell. Nono, we're talking rockets and explosives, the illegal kind you have to drive to a Reservation to get. Fireworks were Dad's Thing, I would say even more so than the grill (or breakfast) (in the sense that he took so much pleasure in fireworks). And he was smart about it- he would start making trips to the Rez in like February, so that by the time Spring was over and cops started randomly searching trunks for contraband (i.e. in anticipation of people smuggling fireworks into town), he was done and wouldn't have to worry. Even if we couldn't afford steaks, we always, always had a great fireworks display on the Fourth. 

I like to describe the fireworks on our block the way Christmas decorations get shown on TV/in movies sometimes. You know what I'm talking about, how it's a sign of status or awesomeness to have a huge Christmas display on the lawn, and competition between neighbors is sometimes a subplot (if not the main plot) of Christmas movies/shows. Well, by our third summer in our house (I would have just finished seventh grade), our neighbors were actively trying to best him with their own fireworks displays. But every year, he'd still have the very best fireworks of the block. It got to the point where our neighbors would kind of crowd nearish to our house to watch ours- they'd set up their lawn chairs and wait for Dad to finish before going back in front of their own houses to do whatever they had. 

One of my last Summers in Vegas, one of the last before the divorce, our next door neighbor knocked on the door an hour or so before sunset. He had a huge sack in one hand and a six-pack of Coors in the other. He asked to talk to Dad, so Dad politely stepped out onto the porch with him and shut the door- Dad was always good at reading people, and he could tell our neighbor had something big to talk to him about. When Dad came back inside, our neighbor was gone, and Dad was holding the bag and beer. 

Mom and I both kind of charged him, talking over each other but asking similar questions, and Dad shut us up by setting the beer down and opening the sack- it was filled with a LOT of expensive, fancy Rez fireworks, the same sort Dad liked. He explained that there was a health emergency in our neighbor's family- nothing super life-threatening, but our neighbor needed to go to the hospital right away. He didn't want the fireworks to go to waste, and he "couldn't think of a better place to put them than in the hands of The King." Yes, my Dad was "The King of Fireworks" amongst our neighbors, apparently, and the six-pack was a "tribute." The guy had also said he "was sorry he wasn't going to see what The King was gonna do this year," too. 

Dad was so damn proud. 

[I'm having trouble reading my typing, here, because of how much the whole memory means to me, but especially this moment. The big grin on his face, the way he kind of puffed up his chest to be funny, but how there was a significant part of him that so meant it. ]

I remember us all calling him, "Your Majesty," the rest of the night- once we got outside, my little brother even gestured with a wave of his arm and a bow to Dad's chair for viewing once each firework was lit and said, "Yoah fwoan, Yoah Majesty!"  

It was... perfect.

And most telling, he didn't open that pack of beer until he had put the last firework in the water bucket. I told him I was proud of that as we were going inside, and he mumbled something and turned away- but not before I saw his eyes water. 

-------

So, Fourth of July. It hurts.

Because I miss him, so fucking much. 

I still regret not reconciling with him. 

I still smile remembering the one time he accidentally dropped a smoke bomb or something, and it kind of popped and he squealed like a little kid as he ran. 

I still remember the last time I saw him, and my chest tightens.

I still giggle when I think of all the times he snuck me over to his closet when Mom was busy to whisper conspiratorily and show me his latest haul from the Rez once his personal buying season started. Like Mom didn't know what he was up to. Hah.

But the moment I start thinking of "doing something" for the Fourth, I just want to cry. I feel hollow again, like I did when Mom told me what happened. The more I think about it, the farther I move from "want to cry" to "actually crying." If I think long enough, I start sobbing.

I don't know when I'll be able to genuinely enjoy a Fourth of July without putting on a mask, or at least pushing something down deep. Maybe never. Dad is gone, and fireworks will never be the same for me. And honestly? I'm not sure if I want them to.


*Although yeah, if you know me or this blog, you know I could totally write the shit out of a post about that.