In which I play a strange game with high ambitions.

Watch this LP of mine


In which I play a strange game with high ambitions.

Please watch this if you like: me, explosions, walking, strange conceptual things, and really anything

A vile bag of garbage named “I Spit on Your Grave” is playing in Chicago theaters this week. It is a movie so sick, reprehensible and contemptible that I can hardly believe it’s playing in respectable theaters, such as Plitt’s United Artists. But it is. Attending it was one of the most depressing experiences of, my life.

This is a film without a shred of artistic distinction. It lacks even simple craftsmanship. There is no possible motive for exhibiting it, other than the totally cynical hope that it might make money. Perhaps it will make money: When I saw it at 11:20 a.m. on Monday, the theater contained a larger crowd than usual.

It was not just a large crowd, it was a profoundly disturbing one. I do not often attribute motives to audience members, nor do I try to read their minds, but the people who were sitting around me on Monday morning made it easy for me to know what they were thinking. They talked out loud. And if they seriously believed the things they were saying, they were vicarious sex criminals…

How did the audience react to all of this? Those who were vocal seemed to be eating it up. The middle-aged, white-haired man two seats down from me, for example, talked aloud, After the first rape: “That was a good one!” After the second: “That’ll show her!” After the third: “I’ve seen some good ones, but this is the best.” When the tables turned and the woman started her killing spree, a woman in the back row shouted: “Cut him up, sister!” In several scenes, the other three men tried to force the retarded man to attack the girl. This inspired a lot of laughter and encouragement from the audience.

I wanted to turn to the man next to me and tell him his remarks were disgusting, but I did not. To hold his opinions at his age, he must already have suffered a fundamental loss of decent human feelings. I would have liked to talk with the woman in the back row, the one with the feminist solidarity for the movie’s heroine. I wanted to ask If she’d been appalled by the movie’s hour of rape scenes. As it was, at the film’s end I walked out of the theater quickly, feeling unclean, ashamed and depressed.

Roger Ebert was pretty great

In which I play a strange game with high ambitions.




Anyone that uses your grasp of the English language as an indicator of your intelligence is probably a racist

Or classist.
Or both, they’re often linked.

Had a great conversation with someone about a scientific paper that studied the effect that different names on resumes had on call-backs from employers. What they found was that resumes with African American-sounding names (like Jamal or Tyrone) were called back significantly less often than those with white names (like John or Tim).

I insisted (as does the paper) that this is clearly caused by racism on the part of the employer. He insisted that it was because the African American names “sounded poor.” He said that if they had been names respectable, wealthy-sounding names (like John and Tim), then they wouldn’t be treated any differently.

Because it’s definitely not racist to equate all white names with wealth and all African American names with poverty. I’m still mad about it.

If you care about social issues in video games, then you probably don’t play games. Every true gamer agrees with me and everyone else is just an outsider being disruptive to pure, uncomplicated, apolitical gamers.