c h a t b o u t: introduction
The 'why?' and the 'where to?' for this space
When I dig into my memories and excavate out the least tumultuous and most unilaterally pleasant and normal moments in my childhood, I think almost immediately of video games:
Retrieving my much older cousin Brent’s joystick from the closet, giving him extra leverage to absolutely wreck the youngins in any game of our choosing;
playing Pokémon in my godmother’s den with my cousins Tyler and Connor, occasionally breaking to discuss which Pokémon we would want to bring to life and catch for our own1;
finding a PlayStation 1 in a thrift store bin and really making a show of it — as in, actually dipping it back in the bin and taking it out twice? three times? until I was absolutely sure that my father had noticed my discovery and might be moved by my enthusiasm2;
eventually getting my own PlayStation 2, complete with Tony Hawk Pro Skater, Ratchet & Clank, and Sly Cooper game demos that I played to absolute death since the fourth one, a Scooby Doo [full] game, scared me3.
At the time I formed these memories, I wasn’t thinking about the technological nuances of video games nor had I fully fleshed out why its particular form of storytelling and artistry was so important to me. Rather, at the time, I was thinking about the fun and joy that video games brought me, and the sense of at-homeness I felt when I could immerse myself in the freeness of play and friendly competition. The important thing for me was that, when I was playing video games, I was safe. In those moments, it felt okay — it was okay — for me to just be a kid or a cousin or a niece or daughter; and, in fact, I was expected to just be those things. I wasn’t the odd one out, I wasn’t a nuisance, I was just an excited kid waiting my turn to get on the controller.
Now older, wiser, and with a lot more disposable income4 at my fingertips and education under my belt, I remain moved by the narrative and artistic brilliance of video games. I still find myself awe-struck by how video games can literally transport you into new worlds, teach you valuable lessons about the world in which we all exist, and inspire fresh perspectives and imagination about the world(s) we might create. Because video games, as a rich medium, encapsulate nearly everything that I am most moved by (storytelling, fashion, technology, architecture, painting, sculpture, music, and nature, as some examples) it’s actually a goal of mine to eventually work in video game writing and development; I actually can’t imagine any medium more capable of bringing ideas to life. And so, I begin with this blog.
As an introductory post for this long-term project of mine, I will embrace brevity and close with what you can expect from this space. First, obviously, I’m going to be talking about video games — games I’ve played, games I’m playing, and games that I may play in the future. However, in acknowledgement of the rich, visual, auditory, and tactile medium that is video game technology, I will also make occasional digressions to discuss complementary or otherwise-relevant art and media, including music, literature, and films5. And lastly, but most importantly, whenever possible, I am going to discuss video games in terms of their radical potential to fundamentally change how we view the world and how we view ourselves.
I’m Dara and this is c h a t b o u t. Thanks for playing.
I wanted to summon the psychic Pokémon Abra who turns into Kadabra who turns into the very cool, double-spooned-up Alakazam.
It worked — he bought it.
To be fair, Sly Cooper scared me, too. But the game was so raw — he was so raw — I took it on the chin.
All of my games are full games now.
Before I discuss a film, I’ll interject a ‘[Hold On] Reel Quick’ so you know it’s coming. I’m introducing this upfront because I think I’m extremely clever for having come up with it and, very importantly, copyright is pending.