I had a wonderful combination of “strict” but also “there aren’t actually rules.”
I could have handled even unreasonable expectations if they had been communicated. But there was no structure at all.
I could ask permission to do something, do it, and then have that permission retroactively revoked. I could have an entirely normal day without anything seeming off, then be grounded for a week because there were dishes in the sink or something.
That’s literally what they call trans men. That is the argument. We are all supposedly autistic, which means that we can’t be trusted to make decisions over our own bodies. That is constantly used to infantilize us, and will eventually be used to take away our ability to access transition.
One of my favorite aspects is the way the ludonarrative/gameplay ties with the story.
::: spoiler spoiler
The enemies start showing up in unrealistic numbers, one of your dead squad mates shows up as some kind of mutated monster - it feels like the classic escalation in difficulty because you are playing a video game. But this is happening because your character is delusional and perceives it that way.
:::
I’ve always wanted to teach a high school/community college elective where we read Heart of Darkness, watched Apocalypse Now and played Spec Ops - to see how the same narratives in themes are used in entirely different settings and with different methods of storytelling, but how ultimately they all reach towards the same message about humanity and war and cruelty.
The older Call of Duty’s (maybe the newer ones, haven’t played since Black Ops one) often had messages/quotes that were pretty anti war when you died, but were ultimately sabotaged by the story. Spec Ops is probably the best game at understanding how to use the FPS mechanics as part of its storytelling.
Fallout 3. Slaughter the vault of police officers (who you grew up knowing), but grow a conscience when you meet the overseer. Take out armies of enclave soldiers, but let the weirdo Colonel Autumn walk away.
Spec Ops the Line is art. You don’t have a “choice” to not use the white phosphorus if you are going to play - but just like Heart of Darkness and Apocalypse Now - no one needs to be there/participating to begin with.
It is, but it took Venmo and I don’t think Walmart does. I needed groceries and that seemed to be the best option with my only money being the $50 in the Venmo account. I thought about asking someone if I could send them the money and get cash instead, but didn’t have anyone I could do that with.
Yeah, I prefer not using venmo, but I had negative money in my bank and some Venmo money my boss had sent me. I wanted groceries and that was the only money I had “access” to.
Not trying to lay blame, but doesn’t Venmo ask where you want the money to come from every time you send money?
No, unless that shows up if you are transferring in the app. It did not ask me where the money would come from. I was using a grocery delivery service and selected Venmo as my payment option. I assumed that selecting Venmo over my bank would take it from my Venmo.
I already got my credit union to forgive a charge on an accidental 1.99 purchase. I don’t think they’ll do it again.
I have even less hours this month. I’ll probably just end up driving off a bridge. There’s no way I’m ever going to be financially solvent again.
The crazy fundamentalists support her now. It’s all over Facebook.
There’s a difference between burning a book as a political statement because the author is actively harming you, and having a meltdown because the book has magic in it.
It also makes me uncomfortable that you characterize this as “sides.” As a trans person, my “side” is that I deserve to live, have access to medical care, and be treated equitably. Treating this like it’s an issue with “sides” is fucked up - one “side” thinks that all trans people should be forced back into the closet or detransitioned against our will, the other “side” just wants to be fucking alive.
It reminds me of hypnotoad. Went from bouncing off the wall, having sobbing on the floor meltdowns over the fact that my car is broken and demanding everything in the pantry to zonking out on the couch like a frat kid watching Koyaanisqatsi on his first edible.
I had a wonderful combination of “strict” but also “there aren’t actually rules.”
I could have handled even unreasonable expectations if they had been communicated. But there was no structure at all.
I could ask permission to do something, do it, and then have that permission retroactively revoked. I could have an entirely normal day without anything seeming off, then be grounded for a week because there were dishes in the sink or something.
It never made any sense.