North Carolina

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In Chapel Hill, doing a little betatesting for the iOs build of Gemini Rue, and giggling.

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New, Long-Lasting Hold

When I first moved to New York (Well, I was actually moving to Scep and Katie’s study, but now that you know that all my exciting LA adventures involve me staying in the murder hotel, I guess “moving to my friends’ couch” probably isn’t that surprising.), I cut and dyed my hair because I am a chick lit novel cliche.

Once I was actually doing something with my hair, instead of a quick shampoo and a damp ponytail (or a Mountie Bun) every single day, I had to get a hair spray.

This hairspray smells like promise and excitement. It smells like fixing my hair in an airplane bathroom because Figment is picking me up at LAX! It smells like saying I’m a games journalist at the VGAs, SxSW, E3, and GDC, over and over, until it starts to sound true. It smells like climbing out of the window with the guys at Neverdie Studios to take a balcony break. Like getting my morning caramel coffee at the Starbucks downstairs from the first Next Island office. Like going to grab some dinner with Harold, and realizing we were the only ones left, and the waitstaff is trying to put the chairs up and close. Again.  Like wearing sundresses in the fountains in Bed-Stuy, like catching up with the successful adult versions of my high school friends. It smells freaking awesome, is what I’m saying.

Today, while I was packing, I managed to crack the bottle. I don’t know how this happened, since I was carefully packing in an organized way, and definitely not shoving things haphazardly in a box. I cleared up the spill, but now all my boxes for Chapel Hill smell like promise and excitement.

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On Advice

 One of the first books I put on my Kindle was Lori Gottlieb’s Marry Him: The Case for Settling for Mr. Good Enough, because I’ve seen it quoted quite widely, but I could not bring myself to walk around with a copy of book explaining why a warm body with basic conversational skills is better than dying alone.

One day, while I was in the middle of reading it, I sat down on the subway and pulled out my Kindle to read some more, BUT the Kindle opened to a Star Trek novel, and it’s not me who reads Star Trek novels. Which means that I had taken Harold’s Kindle and left mine at his place, and that if he turns it it on, it will opening to a book about settling for an underwhelming romantic partner.

Sorry, Harold!

I’m really glad I read the entire book because Gottlieb gets quoted pretty frequently, and sentences from this book are taken wildly out of context to make points pretty far from the text. (Her main thesis, as far as I can tell, is that two good people who share interests, enjoy the same lifestyle, and would like to be married should marry each other.) I wouldn’t say I agreed with everything she wrote (Marry a kind, balding bore before they’re all taken and you’re settling for a balding bore with a potbelly and bad breath!) but there was a lot to think about regarding how we choose partners and how relationships work or fail.

I was pretty excited about reading Suzanne Venker’s How to Choose a Husband: And Make Peace With Marriage for the same reasons. (Disclosure #1: Review eARC!) (Disclosure #2: Even with the early copy, Venker’s associated Fox News article, accidentally illustrated with the photo of the lesbian wedding, has stolen all the thunder for this book.)

Choosing a husband is a slightly disingenuous title since the book is more about choosing a sperm donor than about choosing a life partner. How To Choose a Husband was a lot more about how not to have any goals or identity outside of childrearing than about making peace with marriage. Feel dissatisfaction at work? It’s totally NOT because you’d be happier in another field, your boss is a jerk, or women make 74 cents to a man’s dollar. It’s because women are only fulfilled by submitting to their husbands and having babies. Any happiness women take from professional success or work satisfaction is a result of feminist trickery, convincing women that they want to be men.

Most of the book states and restates that any desire felt for babies and home life is woman’s inner nature asserting its proper place, and any desire for any other kind of life, or any conflict about motherhood and other goals, it’s all due to feminist trickery.

Then Venker describes how to act on this wisdom. Don’t spend time with your single friends. Ignore all presentation of relationships in the media — except for the book, of course! Don’t focus so much on a career, and definitely don’t inconvenience your husband for your career, since you’ll be giving that up soon to have babies. Make sure your husband feels like a Man, by agreeing with what he says, deferring to him, and by having sex when he tells you to. (Because all men want sex all the time, and women aren’t particularly interested, apparently.) Parts of the book infuriated me, but overall it was just such a terribly dull and depressing view of womanhood. Subservience to a decision-making husband instead of having a friendship between equals, and devaluing any career or artistic success as a time-filler until motherhood is just too depressing to contemplate.

I wanted to read this book so I would have context when it was quoted, but I think I can sum up the book with this line:

At the moment, the single greatest problem your generation faces is the relentless anti-male/pro-female rhetoric you’re exposed to. It’s inescapable.

Yeah. What can I say to that?

 

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Leaving Brooklyn

I’m back up in Brooklyn, staying in my apartment for the last time before I move to Chapel Hill. North Carolina is still not my favorite place ever (Places I would rather live include the Fire-Swamp and Antarctica), but I’m so excited to be with Harold and start the next part of my life with him!

It’s raining just a little bit tonight, which means I get one more night sleeping under my skylight and listening to the traffic and rain. Which might be my favorite thing in Brooklyn.

Actually, there has been an endless string of my favorite things in Brooklyn. I went to Cafe 232, the Korean coffeeshop on Taaffe, and got my tea and my usual table, and did some work for a while. Harold and I started going here right after they opened. Now I have a Spotify mix of the hipster songs they play there, AND a Pandora station of songs that sound like they could be played here.

I also went to a couple restaurants that I’m really going to miss.  I tried to go to Wally’s but I think they are permanently closed!

A few weeks ago, I got talking with a friend of a friend in Chapel Hill, and she was telling me how she used to live in Bed-Stuy, and asking about some of the places where she spent her time. She’d only been away a few years but most of them were gone or changed, and it was a reminder how dynamic and exciting that neighborhood really is.

Brooklyn has been really good to me, and I’m excited to see what the next stage will be.

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On The Plus Side, The Rooms Are Cheap

Whenever I go to Los Angeles, I stay at the Cecil Hotel. It’s walking distance to the convention center that holds E3 and the Spike VGA, and it’s on a couple of bus lines. I really love the faded old-Hollywood glamour in the rundown lobby, there are gorgeous marble columns and an old-fashioned awning over a once-stylish doorway, even if the rooms are bit dorm-like.  I especially love it because now that I’ve stayed there several times, so it feels like “my” hotel.

YOU KNOW WHO ELSE LIKES MY HOTEL? MURDERERS!

I was reading the news yesterday when I saw a creepy headline about a girl’s body found in the water tank at her hotel. I’m usually a bit of a baby about potentially gross articles, but I had to click because the associated photos were familiar pictures of the Cecil. That story led me to other stories about the Cecil’s history, and then to this Slate article about how to tell if you’re staying in a murder hotel. The author actually suggests Googling “Cecil Hotel” and “serial killers”, and then points out that ONE OF THE RESIDENT SERIAL KILLERS didn’t actually kill his victims in the building. Very reassuring.

By the way, don’t actually Google it, or you’ll find this Guardian article listing the people who’ve committed suicide by jumping out windows in the Cecil.

“My” hotel is apparently notorious for unsolved murders, suicides, and serial killers, but I wrote about how annoying it is that you have to walk down to lobby for good wifi reception.

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Kara Rokblade


I wrote about QuestLord over at Hardcore Droid.

QuestLord, from Eric Kinkead, is an accessible – but not necessarily lite – retro role-playing adventure.  The game opens with the sweet RPG classics. Your character is a human, elf or dwarf, and you set out to save the realm from certain destruction, with nothing more than a basic sword and simple adventurer’s gear. Depending on character choice, players begin with a simple weapon or a single spell but all characters soon improve their gear by finding new loot. Players find random drops of armor, weaponry, money, and consumables, all presented as simple icons in that familiar and charming 8-bit style.

QuestLord also offers a quick game option, in which players can choose one of three pre-generated characters for a shortened adventure. One of these playable characters is Kara Rokblade. Kara’s as retro cute as the rest of the game, with solid starting stats, and she’s a stocky dwarf in full armor, not a busty hourglass in a battle bikini. I was so delighted to see a female PC in logical armor.

Read the full QuestLord review at Hardcore Droid.

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And This Is Crazy

Sometimes, Harold sings songs to me. My favourite is when he’s singing a Star Trek theme, and I almost recognize it and ask which one it is, and he sings the name of the show into the theme music.  (Actually, he started doing this at Next Island, before we started dating, to crack me up when I had deadline stress.)

He’ll also sing songs and change some of the words.

Harold: Hi baby
You can blog about the subway song if you want to.
Meg: Oh, that’s right!
I forget the details, can you sing it again?
Harold: I like driving in cars
though it limits visiting bars
and OH by the way
the G train sucks
it is for the ducks
Tell me about service delays!
MTA I just met you and this is crazy
but it takes less time
to walk there maybe
Harold: that – I think – is the subway song
Meg: No, I think it goes
“Hey! There’s never parking!
And you all drive crazy!
This is a subway.
Let’s build one maybe!”
Harold: You can blog about both

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Lost, Revisited

Watching the first season of Lost again is like looking at photos of an old boyfriend. Everyone’s so young! Such great memories! So many laughs! I loved it so much! But… what the heck happened at the end?

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The Facebook Diet

New piece on Geek Magazine, in which I am thoroughly confused by a “Facebook humor” book:

The Facebook Diet by Gemini Adams promises to highlight all the hilarious and strange things in the world of Facebook. I was excited to read this because Facebook’s ability to connect distant friends has brought so many odd and amusing moments to my life. A cosplaying college friend recently posted photos from a con, with — unknown to her — one of my writing friends signing books at his booth in the background behind her. A few months ago, I posted about hurting my back, and got immediate responses from an ex-pat buddy now in Thailand, an old boyfriend’s new girlfriend, and a guy I worked with on a magazine that folded three years ago, all consoling me with how they sustained similar injuries but made full recoveries. Facebook connections offer endless potential for funny, odd and warm moments in my own life, and I admit to laughing at tales of Facebook gone disastrously wrong, too. Dumb criminals caught by posting photos of their loot, sick-day employees accidentally checking in from the beach,  and the hilariously stupid posts on Failbook.

But the bulk of The Facebook Diet is 50 cartoons about how you might know you’re a Facebook addict. I really wanted to laugh, but I found myself cringing at the punchlines about literally writing on a friend’s wall or literally poking people. Those were amusing about eight or ten years ago, when one might conceivably speak to someone who believed writing on someone’s wall meant graffiti. Also, are people still poking on Facebook? Is that a thing? Some of the fifty jokes are the type of filler that could apply to pretty much any hobby. Your friends think you should go to a Facebook addicts support group! and Your romantic partner wishes you’d spend more time with them! are the same jokes made about hardcore videogamers, and before that, golf widows and fishing widows. I was sad to see that most of the humor hinged how much time those Facebook addicts waste socializing at the screen, instead of genuinely amusing moments that can only occur on Facebook. (Spotify sharing that guilty-pleasure mix with everyone you know, for example.)

The book goes on to characterize Facebook users as frivolous, time-wasting narcissists, and while a case might be well made against posting a photo of every sandwich ever ordered or checking in at the tollbooth on the way to work, the book is less good-natured teasing of that friend who Instagrams everything, and more of a smug assurance that we all have much better things to do than those losers with their fake socializing.

By the same author: An interview about how Facebook makes us shallow and narcissistic, taking us away from “real” communities, and a blog post on how to promote yourself online, and a Twitter hashtag (#facebookdiet) to discuss the book about getting off Facebook. I’m… confused about the main point.

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The Adventure Is Yours

Fwd:

Amazing old ad for D&D from one of Harold’s old comic books.

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