I’m still figuring out where I want to post stuff regularly. Little ideas that turn into big ones start to feel like they should go in a different place! This was originally posted on my Tumblr.
This time lapse video of major sections of Azeroth, the land of World of Warcraft, got me thinking about a simple game design element that I don’t think I’ve seen implemented anywhere.
Before I talked to more women, especially feminists, I used to have a more limited subset of online behaviors I’d call “creepy”. (This is setting aside obvious cases or stalking or harassing or worse.)
I disliked the casual way a friend used the verb “creeping” to mean “looking through a photo album someone posted of their trip”, even when she was doing it. I disliked how what I felt should be a normal, accepted, even invited activity was being termed that way.
I was confused by how liking photos or comments too much, or too far in the past, was creepy. I felt that these things are made to stay online, connected to a person’s profile, so why is any viewing of it at any time, and incidentally notifying someone that they were viewed, surprising or disturbing?
The problem is that it was an idyllic view that I had. I saw Likes and comments and posts are existing only in this online space, and not having physical consequences. As a guy, I don’t really have to be concerned with whether a person liking a lot of my stuff is just excited and friendly, or potentially a problem. Ask women about their experience online (or worse: at dating sites), and you’ll see the other side of this coin.
The following is a short essay I wrote on the prompt of “summer” for Sunday Assembly Atlanta. I read it to everyone this evening!
It’s morning on a hot, Georgia summer day. The moisture of dew on cut, green grass is matched by the humidity in the air. And the sweat on people’s brows. We’re standing still, giving our full attention*, as a man bellows out instructions over loudspeakers before giving us the go.
The sun is at that perfect angle where I can’t lower my hat further without obscuring my vision. I wish we could practice facing the other way, but squinting is my only recourse. I try to remember if I put on sunscreen while I got ready; my reddening skin by the evening will inform me of my carelessness.
I’m quickly moving with and between two people now, in a line, as one often is in this sort of activity. That line might not always be straight, but hopefully that’s by design: made to be a part of a cohesive whole, driving down the field with greater purpose. We’re brothers and sisters in arms, fighting with precision against the tyrannical forces of disorder.