Posted by & filed under My Life, Thoughts.
no comments.

When I was a teenager, I went to a medieval faire on Pirate Day because I’m fly like that.

What that really means is I got to wear a corset while about 400 faux Jack Sparrows drunkenly staggered by everywhere I turned. I went with a good friend of mine, who was dressed up as a gypsy with full blown make up and jingly things. We found a Jack Sparrow and Barbossa who were pretty convincing, and my gypsy friend wanted a picture with them, much to my dismay. She dragged me up to them and asked them for a photo, and they happily agreed. We were all trying to figure out who would stand next to who, and then something was said that has been burned into my brain since that very day.

A Jack Sparrow cosplayer at a medieval faire took my friend and said, “I’ll stand next to the pretty one!”

And if that doesn’t damage your self worth, then congratulations because I don’t know if anything can. Now, she claims that he meant because she was wearing a bunch of make up so she was “prettier” because of that, and while I appreciate the sentiment, that wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last time, that someone had compared her to me and favored her. And the fact that this time I wasn’t even good enough for a Jack Sparrow cosplayer at a medieval faire didn’t make it much better. In fact, I daresay it made it worse.

Cut to a decade’s worth of self-image issues later, and there’s me spending $50 on decent make up, and trying to figure out a skincare regime that will…I don’t know, hopefully change the entire way I look? Because short of getting plastic surgery, my face is the way it is and there ain’t much I can do about that.

So what do I do? I buy it all anyway. Because I’ll be honest, when I buy this $25 creme and that $10 mascara and this $36 foundation, it makes me at least feel like I could look like Emma Stone. Like, I know I don’t. In fact, there isn’t a single person who I look less like: I have brown hair, olive skin, hazel eyes, and a different…well, everything. But she puts on foundation, and that’s probably what makes her pretty, right? So I put foundation on and think “yeah… that is a little bit better! Maybe I can even distract people from my tiny chin and put more eyeliner on…oh, and I can buy some under eye creme, I bet that will help!”

At this point I’m wondering: what is the end game here? Because I can be skinny and cleanse and moisturize and whiten my teeth and slather all my make up on until I look like a drag queen, but it won’t change my actual face, which seems to be the problem area. And what do you do when your face is the problem? And, a more important question, when do you stop caring? Unfortunately, I can’t answer that. Hopefully yet, anyway.

I should point out that, believe it or not, I don’t have low self esteem. I do have low self image. I happen to think I’m a pretty cool girl with a lot of interests and a lot of cool people around who care about me. But everyone has their “thing,” and if my biggest problem is not looking like Emma Stone, then I think I’ll be alright.

Posted by & filed under Entertainment, Television, Thoughts.
one comment.

Ughhh. I don’t really want to talk about Game of Thrones but George R. R. Martin just commented on an A.V. Club article about the sexual violence on the show, which honestly has been bothering me a lot. So, naturally, I feel compelled to express myself.

I had thought about quitting the show a few weeks ago. When I first started it, I was obsessed with it. I loved it all: the world, the characters, the story lines. I even spent quite a bit of my time reading the Song of Ice and Fire Wiki, even though I never read the books. Fortunately, I have a true gift: my terrible memory will forget spoilers for me. So I may actually somehow have found out the actual ending for the entirety of the series and I would still not be spoiled. *High fives own brain* *ow*

But as the show went on, I started to get an overwhelming feeling of foreboding whenever it came on. There is a lot of rape. There is a lot of sexual violence. There is a lot torture, and dread, and angst, and war crimes. Call me prudish, but I don’t want to see boobs flopping around while a girl is getting casually raped in the background of a scene. That is not my personal idea of good entertainment.

As I said, George R. R. Martin recently commented and he said a lot of things that I understand and totally agree with:

Now there are people who will say to that, ‘Well, he’s not writing history, he’s writing fantasy—he put in dragons, he should have made an egalitarian society.’ Just because you put in dragons doesn’t mean you can put in anything you want. If pigs could fly, then that’s your book. But that doesn’t mean you also want people walking on their hands instead of their feet. If you’re going to do [a fantasy element], it’s best to only do one of them, or a few. I wanted my books to be strongly grounded in history and to show what medieval society was like, and I was also reacting to a lot of fantasy fiction. Most stories depict what I call the ‘Disneyland Middle Ages’—there are princes and princesses and knights in shining armor, but they didn’t want to show what those societies meant and how they functioned.

See, I get that. I totally get that 100%. And I actually appreciate it from a storytelling standpoint. But if I’m being honest with myself, that doesn’t’ mean I want to see it. And I feel like that makes me seem like the kind of person who only likes sunshine and lollipops and unicorns, (I mean, I do like those things) but then I remember that I used to love Law and Order: SVU, and I love Breaking Bad and Mad Men and The Wire. These are shows that depict violence, even of a sexual nature, a lot. So it was making me think that there’s more about Game of Thrones that I don’t like.

And then I realized… it takes so long for things to happen. Like, yes it’s a very interesting world and with wonderful characters, but when are things going to happen? Or after six episodes of angst and dread and characters being sad, a thing happensbut the world is so expansive and there are so many characters that nothing ever feels particularly important for the big picture. Especially because each character gets maybe 8 minutes of screen time if they’re lucky. So for a long time, the anxiety I had for each episode was outweighing the entertainment value. Yes, I’m sure it’s an intentional storytelling tactic in which we have a slow build up that will explode into major events, but I’m an impatient child and I want exciting things in my face now.

Now that I’ve had a good mental break from it and have an idea of what happens and when, I wouldn’t be surprised if I started watching it again. And like I said, I’ll probably forget about all this anyway! *High fives own brain* *ow*

Posted by & filed under Design, My Life, Thoughts, Web.
no comments.

Because I need one in my life. Actually, no I don’t, because that would make part of my job automated and we definitely don’t want that. Unless maybe I had a secret robot. Yes, I want a secret robot to transfer websites for me.

I just want to go to the Support People and say “please…just fix it” and then it be done, because let me tell you, when I do it myself, my entire day is filled with fear, anxiety and the certainty that I’m going to lose the new site and the old site and everything I hold dear. (Yes, I back up all the files all the time. That doesn’t mean I don’t get irrational paranoia.)

I also hate transferring websites because I just feel kind of dumb. Once we start getting into nameservers and moving databases is when I basically feel like an incognito spy who’s trying to sound like One Of Them. I have to say things like: “Okay. I have the character set of the file as ‘utf8’, the Partial Import is checked and number of records is 0, and the SQL is checked, compatibility mode: none. Does that seem right?” Then the support guy says “yep you’re good” and I click ‘Apply Changes’ and still nothing works. WHY.

Also: support people, if you’re out there reading this, please just assume that everyone is an idiot. I mean, I assume with your jobs you already do and are probably mostly correct, but really: layman’s terms are key. This was an actual conversation I had:

Me: A warning came up saying that emails might get messed up. Can you elaborate on what that means and what I can do to fix it?
Support Guy: MX records control which server incoming email is sent to
SG: if you change nameservers MX records do not move with the nameserver changes
Me: Okay, so does that mean the emails should be safe?
SG: if you change the nameservers to us, the current email will cease to receive messages

I mean, all I’m saying is he should have said that last line in the first place, then I wouldn’t have made myself look like a moron. Then there was this bit:

SG: the PIN proivded did not allow me access to this account so I can’t verify that
SG: *gives instructions to get the pin number, which were wrong by the way*
Me:  *says pin number*
SG: no
Me IRL: …..uh…yes?
SG: or at least its not setup in this account

well that’s what it says
SG: let me get you over to our email support channels

Ugh. So yes, in conclusion, the blueprints for this super-secret website-transferring robot are in the works.*

Posted by & filed under Health, My Life, Relationships, Theater, Thoughts.
one comment.

This is a longass post that doesn’t really accomplish much except explaining how absolutely ridiculous May 2015 was. Here’s a preemptive TL;DR: In 23 days I ran a half marathon, got mono, went to NYC, and got engaged.

Part 1: The Run

I’m a runner. Not a good or fast runner by any stretch of the imagination but I run a lot and enjoy it immensely. I was training all winter for my third half marathon in Columbus on May 2nd. I had trained more than I ever had (which probably still wasn’t enough) and had been going faster than I ever had (which still isn’t very fast) for this race. On May 1st, one of my runbuddies and I took a 3 hour road trip to Columbus where we got lost, had my car almost explode on us, went to the runners’ expo to get our packet, tried to “drive the course” and got lost again, checked into the hotel and looked out the window to see tHE CITY WAS ON FIRE, went to dinner, got back to our hotel, spazzed out all night about the run, then went to bed.

We got up at 5:45am to get ready for the run and were basically vomiting nervousness. But we walked to the start line and got settled in pretty easily. Here’s the quick recap:  Me and runbuddy ran together at first and were feeling fantastic until about mile 6, then we started feeling more fatigued. She took a walk break and I pushed forward until my knee started hurting around mile 9 (which has never happened before?) but around mile 11 it felt fine again (knee, why you gotta be all spastic) and I pushed through to the end. I didn’t get the time I wanted but I did PR so I can’t be too upset (I guess). Me and runbuddy and our other runbuddy all met up at the finish line with our medals, congratulating each other then going to the post-race party to eat pizza and drink champagne like the classy bitches we are.

Part 2: The Sickness

That night, runbuddy and I had plans to meet up with my sister and her friends for a ballet. Yes, this was a very busy day. I was very tired, my neck was hurting very bad (which I assumed was from my Igor-like running form) and it was kind of hard to breathe. The ballet was beautiful but we left immediately after it was over and I hit the bed the second I got home. The next day, I started getting alternating shivers/hot flashes. Like, it was 80° and we don’t have central air but I was shivering with two blankets on. Then 20 minutes later my body would suddenly realize “Oh, it’s 80° – that’s hot!” so I’d kick them all off again. Repeat hourly. And I STILL couldn’t take a full breath without it hurting. I was starting to become convinced that I had hurt my lungs breathing too hard…or something…and this was my body’s reaction to it? Is that even possible?”

The next day was worse, but the day after that… I woke up at 3am from a chaotic fever dream of races, streamers, ribbons, and what felt like dubstep blaring in every corner of my mind. I got up and sat on the couch, hoping I would fall asleep there, but I was soaked in sweat and chaotic images were still swirling around my head. I sat on that couch from 3am until 7am just…I don’t even know what? Staring off? Watching the clock tick away…sometimes going on tumblr. Around 7am, The Boy came in and he helped me figure out how doctors work since I never go. I called off work and went to an Urgent Care place. And after some probing, questions, and blood tests, it turns out I had (have?) MONONUCLEOSIS. Wtf, I’m 26, I thought only teenagers got that.

Within the next 2 1/2 weeks I had every symptom except the rash (thank God I didn’t get the rash.) I basically didn’t eat the entire time for many reasons: I had a general lack of appetite, then my organs swelled up to the point where I felt full all the time, then I had a nasty taste in my mouth which magically transferred to all the food that I ate, THEN my tonsils swelled so much that swallowing my own spit was like swallowing hellfire. The day I made instant mashed potatoes was like a gift from Jesus. So what I’m saying is the Mono Diet™ is the best diet ever if you don’t mind feeling like Frodo when he’s on the top of Mount Doom and he forgets what joy feels like.

Part 3: The Engagement

The good news is, I lost 12 pounds for my 3 day trip to New York City with the beau!  #monobod #workit  The even better news was that I felt 95% better the day before we left.

Okay, this post is getting way too long so I’m going to try to condense this, only because I know I will end up rambling more about this trip in other posts. But you need to know that I LOVE New York City. It’s my favorite city, and I want to live on the Upper West Side and be a Broadway star. This is the parallel universe I fantasize about probably daily.

We stayed in a studio apartment in Harlem that some dude rented out which was only 3 blocks away from the subway, so it was perfection. As soon as we arrived in The City that Never Sleeps, I napped. I did still have mono after all. Then I woke up and we went to Time Square, a little bit of Central Park, and then ate NYC pizza the proper foldy way. Then we went back and… I slept more. The next day, we went down to the Empire State building for the view, then down to the WTC memorial for the emotions (seriously though, it’s one of the most moving and solemn experiences I’ve had. I highly recommend it, but be prepared to feel… off, for a bit), to China Town and Little Italy for the confusing old Chinese women speaking to me and scraciatella gelato. Note: I have dark hair and had sunglasses on so I’m wondering if she thought I was Chinese? She just walked up, said something, and I mumbled “Oh, I don’t speak…uh…” awkwardly not wanting to assume Chinese and be offensive. But it was fine because she just wandered off. Then we wandered back to the hotel, got ourselves looking fly as fuck for our night of sushi and Aladdin on Broadway. We were just about to head out the door when he stopped, turned around, got on one knee, and proposed. !!!!!!!. It was perfectly intimate and wonderful and I said yes immediately. Then we went out on the town as fiances.

The next day, we explored what felt like the entirety of Central Park. At around 2pm we headed home. And as we emerged from the frantic, chaotic spectacle of the city, we eventually found ourselves driving through the woods of Pennsylvania. I felt like the craziness of the month was finally winding down, and I could finally enjoy my life as myself: a happy, healthy, fiance.

Posted by & filed under Design, My Creations, My Life, Thoughts, Web, Writing.
no comments.

So yeah, it’s been a while. What’s funny is that since I last posted, I’ve made several other blogs that I write more personal ~feelings~ on, but I find myself rambling about things that should really go on here. What I’m saying is, I don’t know what I’m doing.

But I do know one thing: I feel like I’m always creating stuff, and no one ever sees it. And this is a problem. What’s the point of creation if you can’t share it with people? Of course, I know why I don’t share any of it: because it’s SCARY. It is scary to put your feelings out in the open, and it’s more scary to put something out in the open that you’ve spent a lot of time creating. What if someone hates it, or worse, is indifferent toward it? What if I spend days or weeks or months or years on something that I’m super proud of, and then everyone goes, “…eh.” On the flip side…what if it changes someone’s life? What if it makes just one person happy? Is it worth it? I’d say yes, absolutely.

And that was the initial point of this blog, lo those many months ago. I want to start feeling comfortable putting myself out there. I want a place to show everything that I do, whether it’s good or bad or whatever.  And you know what. It’s DUMB to not show something just because you’re not proud of it. No one is on point 24/7 except Beyonce. And not all of us can be Beyonce.

So I’m going out on a limb here. I want to put an effort to show the world what I can do. I’m tired of hiding in my office, secretly working on recordings, drawings, and writings that no one sees. What is the point of that?! Everyone that I love and admire in a creative sense has had the courage to put themselves out there. And they must have been nervous at some point, too! So of course I’m nervous, but if there is one thing I’ve learned, is that sometimes nerves can be a good thing. It means your pushing yourself. It means that life isn’t dull. I want to be comfortable being uncomfortable, because that means I’m outside my limits and that I’m experiencing something new. And isn’t that what life should be about anyway?

Posted by & filed under Entertainment, Movies, Television, Writing.
no comments.

I often find myself morbidly trying to prepare myself for deaths of my loved ones, just to try to offer myself some sort of faulty protection for the inevitable. Of course this is ridiculous: I can’t prepare myself for every single person I love dying. Sadness from death will always be something that all of us have to deal with. Such is the fate of being self aware humans with love in our hearts.

But Robin Williams’s death on August 11, 2014 came out of nowhere for me. And a lot of people feel the same way, it seems. I had slipped into a peaceful nap to be awoken by my daily alarm clock, which is my boyfriend coming in after his time at the gym, always around 6:30pm. He gave me a kiss and went into the kitchen and I sat up to check my phone. The only notification was for a Guardian article: Robin Williams found dead. “Robin Williams?” I thought. “Surely not THE Robin Williams.” I open the article to see his face, smiling behind a microphone and in front of an American flag. “Oh, my God,” I said. I didn’t know how the next words would come out. “Robin Williams died.” “What?! What?! No way. Robin Williams? Are you sure?” “It’s a Guardian article.” “How??” “I don’t know…” I read on frantically, still uncomprehending. “Suspected suicide…” He checks his phone and sees the influx of tweets about it. It still hasn’t set in for either of us.
I was also not prepared for how this would affect me. I knew I loved Robin Williams, but I wouldn’t have thought that his death would bring upon hours of melancholy and me holding in tears at work. The Genie is my all time favorite Disney character – I can sing every word to “Friend Like Me” without any prompting, and have done so for years (much to the annoyance of my friends, I’m sure). But I feel the tears welling just thinking about watching Aladdin. Somehow, the Genie has become symbolic of Robin William’s battle with depression. He felt trapped, his only purpose to bring joy to others, dreaming only of freedom from his chains. “But oh, to be free. Not to have to go ‘Poof! What do you need, Poof! What do you need, Poof! What do you need?’ To be my own master. Such a thing would be greater than all the magic and all the treasures in all the world.”

Suicide is an odd thing. My first true understanding of suicide came at age 14, when one kid (out of my very small, therefore very tight knit 50-student class) shot himself in the head after a night of drinking. I knew what suicide was, but when I heard the news I thought he had maybe shot himself in the foot with, say, a BB gun. I couldn’t fathom him ending his life at such a young age. But he had. No one (that I’m aware of) had any suspicions. He was a funny, happy-seeming kid who was popular, good at sport, and had many friends. But something was within him that we couldn’t save him from. Then the next year another kid in the grade above me stood in front of a train that goes through my town and killed himself. And then a few years later a friend of mine in my class died in a car accident. There was a lot of death, and none of it made any sense to me. The people I lost during these years weren’t ones that I spoke to every day or hung out with often. I won’t even pretend that they affected me in that way. But what did affect me was seeing the friends and family. The loss seemed excruciating. Hearing a mother’s wail in a crowded room, seeing a best friend cling to a coffin saying “It’s over, it’s over…” I suppose this is where my pointless protect-myself-from-these-feelings attitude stems from.

Depression is another odd thing. Though I’ve never experienced it first hand (unless the over dramatic hormones during puberty counts), one of my best friends suffered from it and I read up on it a lot. There are a lot of misunderstandings about it. The worst is when people define it as just being sad. Just being sad has a cure: you can go to the movies and laugh, you can start a hobby that brings you joy, you can go for a walk and feel the breeze. With depression, all of these things are hollow. You feel the breeze, but it means nothing. You chuckle at the movie, but the laugh is empty. The hobby is simply a way to pass time further into the emptiness. Life is simply existing, not experiencing. It can be difficult being close with someone who is depressed, because you simply don’t have the power to change what their own mind has made up. Even they don’t have that power. The only thing you can do is be there for them, no matter what. It sounds easier than it is, but do it anyway. Invite them to the party, knowing that they will bring down the mood. Call them, knowing that they might not pick up. Talk to them, knowing that they will not find humor in your jokes. It can be exhausting; it can be tiresome; it can be a downer; but it’s the most important thing you can do for a person suffering from depression.  Let them know that they are your friend no matter what demons are trying to tell them otherwise. Give them evidence that they are not alone and that you love them.

Having said that, a loved one committing suicide is not anyone’s fault. Clearly, Robin Williams could have looked into the eyes of his children, his wife, his fans, and knew that he was beloved. But all of that is on the outside. The sickness lies inside the mind, and trying to help from the outside is like trying to break down a steel door with only your fists. I used to think that it was only the suicide victim’s fault, but I’m beginning to change my mind on that as well. My mother always told me that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. But people who commit suicide believe that their problem isn’t temporary.  A 14 year old committing suicide is one thing, but what if you’re a man who’s been battling crippling depression for 20 years? What if you’re a soldier who is suffering from intense PTSD and endless suffering of the mind? This is in no way me advocating suicide. I have seen the affects on their loved ones first hand, and I wish that upon no one. I used to see suicide as a selfish, pointless end. Now I’m beginning to see suicide as the singularity of hopelessness, and it’s becoming harder and harder to equate that to selfishness.



United States: 1-800-784-2433 (1-800-SUICIDE)
United States (en Espanol): 1-800-SUICIDA
United States-veterans 1-800-273-8255, Veterans Press 1
Europe Wide: 116 123 (free from any number)
Australia: 13 11 14
Belgium: 02 649 95 55
Brasil: 141
Canada: Numbers vary by region.
Deutschland: 0800 1110 111
Denmark: 70 20 12 01,[1] or
France: 01 40 09 15 22
Greece: 1018 or 801 801 99 99
Iceland: 1717
India: 91-44-2464005 0 or 022-27546669
Ireland: ROI – local rate: 1850 60 90 90 ROI – minicom: 1850 60 90 91
Israel: 1201
Italia: 800 86 00 22
Malta: 179
Japan 03-3264-4343
Netherlands: 0900 1130113
New Zealand: 0800 543 354
Nippon: 3 5286 9090
Norway: 815 33 300
Osterreich: 116 123
Serbia: 0800 300 303 or 021 6623 393; Online chat:[2] South Africa: LifeLine 0861 322 322; Suicide Crisis Line 0800 567 567
Sverige: 020 22 00 60
Switzerland: 143
UK: 08457 90 90 90 or text 07725909090 or email[3] Uruguay: 7pm to 11 pm – Landlines 0800 84 83 (FREE) 2400 84 83 24/7 – Cell phone lines 095 738 483 *8483

Posted by & filed under Design, My Creations, My Life, Thoughts, Web, Writing.

Ah, my little home here on the internet is near completion. It took me a little while to figure out exactly what I wanted to do with this corner of the interweb: did I want to use it as it’s original intention, which was to be a professional and sleek portfolio only displaying my graphic design work? Or did I want to just do whatever the hell I wanted with it because it’s my site, I paid for it, and as an adult I can do what I want?

I decided to go somewhere in between. I would like to showcase my skills as a designer and artist but I also would love a place to ramble out my feelings about my other interests as well: music, movies, television, writing, the beauty and frustration of life in general. Granted, I have a multitude of interests, but somehow they all seem to fit together in my mind. I can talk about a design and it will remind me of a television show, and that will remind me of a book I read, and that will remind me of yet another design. I want to talk about this stuff. I want to analyze, deconstruct, and discuss. Leonardo DaVinci had a multitude of subjects that he studied with fervor, and it worked out pretty well for him.

Another thought I had was how to go about creating it. I can code HTML/CSS quite proficiently and it’s something I enjoy to do, so as a web designer, shouldn’t I prove that I can code my very own website? After all, this is my space and I can practice all I want with it. I love coding very much; I’ve practiced it since I was a wee preteen nerd and do not intend to stop any time soon. But when I discovered WordPress a few years back my whole world had changed. Now, I could build websites that are sleek, efficient and have so many fun tools and plugins that I feel like I’m a kid who was just given a free pass to Toys ‘BackwardR’ Us. But honestly, using WordPress when you could very well code your own site feels kind of like cheating. I’m not coding, or designing, or doing really anyting at all when I install WordPress. It takes me back to Freewebs, when you could code it yourself, but there is this template already set up for you so why bother?

But WordPress is fun. It’s a great interface, a great community and the plugin options are wonderful. And since, as I’ve said, this is my site so why shouldn’t I make it something I enjoy, I decided to use it. For the blog section.

I do have a subdomain for my personal portfolio, which is a link up at the main navigation. This subdomain is purely HTML/CSS by hand. I’ll put my new portfolio works on here as well, but that will be the link that I send to clients and put on my resume. At this point, it seems like a very obvious solution but it took me a while to get here. And it’s a good ‘here’.

(I’m glad I figured all of this out right when the Oscars are done and all of my shows are midseason. Good timing, Gina.)

Posted by & filed under Entertainment, Video Games.
no comments.

Forewarning: I am not going to consider this a review. None of the things I write on this website will be. Honestly, the reason why I am doing this is because I have a lot of feelings and thoughts about the media I experience and I want/need to get those feelings out, but I am really in no way an expert. The only way I might be an expert on stories such as these is because I…well, I just really enjoy it and have enough experience enjoying/not enjoying said stories to compare them to.

 I realize the weirdness of starting this “review” in the second episode of the second season, but that’s where we were when my website went up, so that is where I am starting. The Sir and I just finished it now and I’m going to write this while it’s still fresh.

First of all, I’d like to point out that The Walking Dead Game is the first game that has ever made me cry. Like, literal tears streaming down my face and being fairly certain that I’d never be okay again. The end of the last season was powerful in such a way that I never really expected it coming. So starting this season we were prepared to have our hearts broken and our minds torn to shreds as if they were thrown in a blender, and we have been excited for it for long time and are very happy to be back into it.

It astounds me how much I truly care about these people. Note that I do not say ‘characters,’ because they kind of are like people to me. We watched and helped Clem grow up through Lee. We took care of her through him. We were him as we tried to hide our secret while we struggled to protect her and keep her safe (which we did up to the very end.) But now, Lee is gone (I’m not crying I just dunked my head in the sink that’s all) and Clem has become a little badass that I love very much. She’s with a whole new group of fascinating people and it is all of the happiness that we’re exploring more of this world.

To be honest, I’ve stopped loving the show and I think that’s why. The show is just too slow. Nothing happens. And while I can appreciate a good, slow boil in a story arc, this feels like the the pot is kind of just turning lukewarm and staying there for months. It would be like Clem and Luke just wandering around the woods for 45 minutes killing a zombie or two until the end when a heartfelt conversation has Luke tell us that he actually has an evil twin that murdered his whole family and he’s been on the run ever since. Yeah, that lame.

With this story, I’m invested. I am a part of it. These are my friends, my enemies and my people. I’m the one that has to choose between hurting some and saving others.

Some notes I took:

  •  When Clem has to decide between giving the Sarah the gun or not, it really seemed like nothing good could come out of either decision. You give her the gun? She goes cray cray and murders someone because, let’s be honest, that girl is super cray cray. You don’t give her the gun? Someone comes in and murders her when she has nothing to protect herself. THIS IS WHAT THIS GAME DOES TO YOU. No decision is a good decision. “Sarah will remember that-” STOP JUDGING ME.
  •  The Sir always brings up Ben from the first game as an insult. Example: “Sarah is the Ben of this season.” “Nick is like Ben but with a gun!” He hates Ben (as many do) and I think I know why. He was completely helpless. I read about this when reading up on the Skyler Affect (Skyler from Breaking Bad was hated for really no reason at all, despite being a moral character who was simply stuck in a horrible position.) People don’t like seeing helpless people. We want people to pick themselves up, make smart decisions and get themselves through it. Not ones that, say, run away from a little girl who’s in trouble to save his own ass.
  •  Speaking of Ben, there was also a very strange moment when The Sir called Ben a “shitbird” and then Ken called him the exact same thing. I’m beginning to think that Shitbird is a word that transcends all language, time and space so that any person from any lands will lay their eyes upon Ben and that phrase will be uttered from their lips, as if they’re speaking tongues in his presence.
  •  Carlos is Carlos from Night Vale and you can not convince me otherwise.
  •  I’m kind of in love with Luke, for which I must apologize because that means he will now die. Sorry, guys.
  •  KENNY IS BACK. HE’S KIND OF A DICK BUT HE’S BACK. (“Pass the can, Duck” made me forgive every asshole thing that he’s done.)
  •  Deciding what table to sit at brought me back to 7th grade so abruptly that I’m pretty sure I have whiplash now.