Chapter: Next

This afternoon I scrawled my name on a piece of paper. I’ve done it quite a few times before, and most of those times have been fairly trivial, but today, today it meant a bit more.

Today, my signature confirmed my acceptance into The Ohio State University. Today, for the first time in nearly two years, I became a full-time student once again.

But I get ahead of myself.

It began in August. I don’t really know when, for sure, but I know it was August. It started an hour or so outside of Boston, somewhere between Northboro, where I was working as an independent contractor for a small web startup, and Upton, where I was living with the good friend who had gotten me that job. I can’t say for sure where I was when the seeds of doubt were planted. Perhaps I was lying in the spare bedroom, staring at the ceiling fan. Perhaps I was sitting at the corner desk of an office working on a user manual. Perhaps I was driving those still-unfamiliar rural roads between the two.

I don’t know when I first suspected I was in the wrong place. But once the thought was noticed, it refused to die. I began to panic. I did a lot of boring soul-searching. I complained about my own inability to decide. I had a lot of conversations with well-meaning friends whose sum total of advice was nothing, because I had earnest and perfectly legitimate reasons for staying and for going. It all cancelled out, and I was left listening to the dim, distrustful heart and a hope that the voice I was hearing wasn’t Satan trying to ruin my life.

So I left Massachusetts, and I declared that I was going to go back to school. I was going to take the GRE, I was going to research graduate programs, and I was going to go and have a real future for once. I was on the road to becoming a professor, I said, and even as my progress down that road proved fairly sloppy at times I was convinced it was the right road to be taking.

There were quite a few folks who weren’t so optimistic. I had good friends actually tell me my ship had sailed, that the time for me to consider going further with school was past. Those who believed grad school made sense still felt inclined to heavily salt their encouragement: You probably won’t find people who care about video games. You probably won’t find funding. You probably won’t be accepted. Your resume is too empty. Your last year will cripple your future.

And in spite of my convictions, I’ll admit I began to wonder if I was a fool for doing what I’d done. I looked back, as each month passed and the distance between me and a secure, salaried future grew wider, and couldn’t help but wonder how I’d ever live down the decision to leave Boston. I’d known it was risky, but I’d convinced myself the risk was worth it. Now, with only a handful of applications out and a great deal of practical unemployment to drown in, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d been wrong.

And then, last Friday, my phone flashed with the number of an unknown caller. I didn’t know it as I accepted that call, but the following conversation would change my life.

I didn’t catch his name — though I’d ask for it later. He was from The Ohio State University, and was I Adam Bogert, and did I have the time to talk? I laughed at the thought of not having time — I’ve had too much as of late, of course — and he began. He told me he was on the committee tasked with choosing the next wave of entrants into OSU’s program. They’d looked over my application, and they were “very impressed.”

I don’t really know how to articulate the emotions that began to stir at that point. Ohio State was on the receiving end of the very first application I’d ever written. My first statement of purpose. My first attempt at a CV. It had been a rushed shot in the dark from the shaky hand of a guy who was terrified he wouldn’t make a December 1st deadline for a school which seemed to actually care about things he wanted to devote his life to studying. It bore out that for the majority of the time which had followed my May 2011 graduation, I’d been out of work with little but a few blogs and essays and an unsteady contractor job to show for myself. And yet, these people were impressed. Very impressed.

He asked me some questions about myself, my aspirations, my thoughts on research and on graduate study in general. He asked me if I planned to get a PhD somewhere down the line. I told him absolutely, that I wanted to be a professor and a doctorate would inevitably be a prerequisite for doing so. I just wasn’t sure I knew myself well enough to jump straight into it, hence my application to the Master’s program.

Then came the advice, the “suggestion,” the sort that is so overwhelmingly in one’s favor that you realize your own agency in following it really comes down to whether or not you’re a masochist. The kind that says “you should consider doing this” but means “do this.” His advice: change your application from Master’s to PhD. There’s more money there. More opportunity.

I hadn’t been accepted into the program, but they wanted the opportunity to recommend me for funding, perhaps even a fellowship, and they could only do that for doctorate students, so I should be one of those. I told him okay. He told me he couldn’t wait to meet me, that he and a few others were doing some research I’d probably find interesting. Something about the benefits of violent video games.

Four days later, I received an email from the school. I’d been accepted into the PhD program. I’d have an associateship with the school, which would pay me a living stipend and completely waive my tuition fees. I’d received an offer to be paid to get my degrees, from a school which had recently bought a video game research lab, coupled with a chance to teach college classes.

In short: I’d experienced a miracle.

And my spirits soared. I was going to be a professor. I was going to study video games. I was going to avoid grad school debt.

But most importantly, I was free from doubt, free from the fear that I’d ruined my life four and a half months ago. No more worrying that no one would care to have me. No more worrying that my dreams were pipedreams. No more feeling that I’d truly and irrevocably let my parents, myself down.

I’ve reread that acceptance letter half a dozen times, just to make sure it was real, to make sure it wasn’t the byproduct of a desperate and delusional mind. It’s real. And so is my signature on that piece of paper.

This August I begin a new chapter in my life, the one in which I’m pursuing a PhD and will pick up my Master’s credentials along the way, the one in which my passion for games is taken seriously, the one in which my ability to write and explain things is put to worthwhile use for once. The one in which, for the first time, I can answer inquests like “what do you do” and “where are you going” with joy rather than nihilism, with hope rather than fear, with pride rather than shame.

And so, for those of you who have been there along this troubled road, or the ones who have just joined me, I just wanted to take a moment to thank you. A teacher with no classroom, an orator with no audience, a writer with no readers, is nothing. I’m proud to have you here, listening, and hearing, and (hopefully) learning. Here’s to OSU. To 2013.

Here’s to the next chapter.

Any Other Way

The dream of our reunion makes me crazy just to think, how so very far away you are; my heart begins to sink. Today’s the day you’re leaving and tomorrow you’ll be gone. You’re in my heart and on my mind; I will bring you along. Everything sucks when you’re gone. ~MxPx


Online Becomes IRL

To those who’ve never really met me outside of the context of me already being with friends, it may come as a surprise that I am really bad at the whole interacting with people thing. Too nervous to kick off my PAX weekend with introductions, I ironically opted for a panel about “Online Communities and ‘Real Life’ Relationships,” wondering about the online/IRL relationship divide: how do people feel about it? Does crossing it tend to enrich relationships or make them really weird? Is physically meeting online friends and acquaintances generally a positive experience?

It’s not so much that I didn’t know the answers; after all, my fondness for the 2005 Seattle trip has never really waned. But my experience two years ago had maybe muddied the waters a bit, and I needed to be reminded why it was I had been looking forward to this weekend so much for so long. Some people come to Boston for games. Some come for swag. I had come for friendship.

Of course, I’m still — as Scott Pilgrim was once described — chronically enfeebled around people I don’t know well. It wasn’t until Ashlee came over and asked if I wanted to try out Trials Evolution that I managed some half-baked liaison into a greeting. She laughed and asked why I didn’t just say so — I guess that’s a question you could ask me a lot. Too nervous to initiate most conversations, I try to play off my awkwardness under guise of intentionality. When Michelle had given me the same Trials spiel and I introduced myself, she too wondered why I hadn’t cut her off  earlier and I just said it was good practice for her. It might not have been completely true, but at least it was good for a laugh.

A few hours later Dave — thankfully less enfeebled than I — introduced himself. We talked for a bit and then I ended up following him around for the better part of the afternoon. We discussed the community and our history over an extraordinarily overpriced lunch, then met up with two of his H2O friends. It would be with these three people that I’d bump into Amber who, after excitedly showing us the Twitch booth she’d designed immediately demanded to know if we were all hooked up properly for the weekend’s parties. Moments later I was inside the Twitch back area giving my contact information and receiving VIP access to Saturday night’s Estate bash.

And I guess that moment right there came to epitomize what was so wonderful about the weekend for me. In the relationships panel the games industry was jokingly referred to as incestuous, but it proved to be absolutely true. Even if you didn’t directly know someone, chances are you shared a good mutual friend. Suddenly the weekend’s course didn’t depend on what one or two buds had in mind but whatever the overarching collective of people you were in touch with wanted to be doing. And if I wasn’t interested in checking out this panel or that game? No big deal. We’d end up back together before long.

It also helped to have the Ubisoft booth as a center of gravity. No matter where I ran off to, I always found myself coming back, circling closer each time as I met more people and had lengthier conversations. The order of introductions gets hazy, but in addition to Ashlee, Michelle, and Dave I ended up spending my weekend at the booth getting to know Tunesha, Anne-Marie and her husband, Krystal, Jimmy, Melonie, Marcus, Chase, Andrien, Edelita, and Kim.

A Splash of Activism

Saturday was spent panel-hopping. In the morning I attended Irrational’s “Making a Monster,” where I received an awesome Bioshock Infinite poster while learning a bit more — especially regarding sound — about the game I’ve been most looking forward to since its unveiling. The free cupcake — in celebration of the company’s fifteenth anniversary — served as a quick lunch as I ran off to what would prove to be the best panel of the weekend.

Over the past several months the community member I’ve probably had the most interaction with is Ashlee, likely because she’s one of few who actually plays Gears. She, Grace, Jen, and Jon run Fat, Ugly, or Slutty, a website dedicated to comically handling the overwhelming harassment that women experience when playing video games online. This was the base purpose of “N00dz or GTFO,” a panel comprised of Grace, Jenny (from Not in the Kitchen Anymore — a similar site which uses her audio clips instead of text submissions), Elisa (the academic angle), and Morgan (founder, among other things, of the Fragdolls).

The panel itself was as entertaining as it was eye-opening. As people were seated, a slideshow displayed a variety of messages the panelists have received. It was intriguing for me, as one familiar with the sites, to see and hear the reactions of people for whom this was the first real exposure. Most posts welcomed laughter due to being misspelled, malformed, and generally pathetic. But some — notably one inviting its recipient to die of breast cancer — sent momentary silence and chills through the room.

“N00dz or GTFO” touched on a variety of issues, but its overarching message was pretty straightforward: sexual (and other) harassment is a huge problem that pervades gaming communities. As gamers we should demand the tools to combat it. As humans we should demand a community that actually uses those tools. It’s all well and good to laugh off random penis jokes, but when girls are afraid to even use a headset because it’ll open the door to death threats it’s time to stop laughing and take a stand. I encourage you to check out both FUoS and NitKA (and I’ll link to the video as soon as it’s online so you can watch the best panel of PAX for yourself).

Saturday night provided a new slew of introductions. I spent the evening worrying about whether I could dress well enough to get into the club, which translated into a long and awesome digital (later personal) reunion with Brooke. While waiting outside and hoping I was doing it right I actually got to say hi to and shake hands with Nikole Zivalich. Once inside I ended up meeting and talking with Grace, Jenny, Elisa, & Katy. For my first club/party experience, Saturday night was hugely rewarding.

Sunday morning I made a point of seeing the Assassin’s Creed III demo, and finally met Lanai after months of chilling in her Twitch channel. After a group lunch packed around a small table upstairs a handful of us wandered the show floor picking up swag and watching people play. Andrew recorded as Marcus, Rick, and I hopped up on the Rock Band stage and did a rendition of Bryan Adams’ “Summer of ’69.” Then most people went off to try their hand at indie games and I went to watch the AC3 demo one more time. The next hour and a half was spent back in familiar Ubi territory, challenging (and losing to) Tunesha and Ashlee in Trials and trying out the rest of the games for the first time. As the end quickly approached I had a few more chats and introductions and then left to watch from above as the expo was rapidly dismantled.


By Sunday night there weren’t too many more people to meet. I had yet, for whatever reason, to introduce myself to Ali, and I’d actually sent a tweet expressing as much. As Sunday afternoon became evening, and evening rushed towards night, I still had no idea what the night would hold and I was beginning to think it might hold nothing but a long drive back to Upton without dinner. I was texting back and forth with Dave and neither of us was sure whether the community members were doing anything as a group. All we knew for sure was that there was a PMS/H2O party at the Hard Rock Cafe that had been going on for over an hour, and we weren’t clear on who was there.

Eventually that didn’t matter. I met him at the Westin and we walked down to my car. One convoluted trip through South Boston later, and I was parallel parking for the first time in years as he went in to see if we were at the right Hard Rock.

The private room holding the party was half the size of the total dining space of the restaurant, or so it seemed, and it was densely packed with plenty of faces familiar and strange. Krystal directed me towards a seat that had a purse hanging off the back of it and told me not to worry about taking it because she was pretty sure “Ali’s done.”

God has a funny way of doing things, really. So many times this weekend I couldn’t help thinking about timing — how if I had or hadn’t been somewhere at such a time, something else wouldn’t have happened. If I hadn’t been so worked up over dinner and not getting into The Estate on Saturday, I’d have already been inside when Nikole and her friends showed up, and I probably wouldn’t have talked to Brooke as much. Had I split with Dave when he went searching for his H2O friends, I’d have never even gotten the VIP invite.

And had Dave and I showed up earlier or later on Sunday, I wouldn’t have had such a convenient, albeit awkward, conversation-starter with the one person I still wanted to say hello to. Ali finished a round of pool and came back. I awkwardly said hello and told her she was welcome to have it back, but she was happy to simply share the seat of the person sitting next to me.

After a couple minutes, I turned to her and said, “You know, when I thought of the first thing I would say to you, it was more like “Hey, I like your blog,” not “Hey, sorry I stole your seat.”” She laughed, leaned her head on my shoulder for a moment, and said “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And that, that right there, sums up the whole of my weekend. Panic and stress and uncertainty led to me not doing some things or doing them later than I planned to, but the way it all turned out was so much better than I ever might have guessed or aimed for.

The night unfolded much according to the same principle. I’d planned on heading back to hang out with Ryan for the night but couldn’t get in touch with him, so instead I ended up just staying in Boston. Had I left, I’d not have been there for the Catfacts and general laughter as we overstayed our Hard Rock welcome. Had I worried more about getting towed I’d have left before the Omni Parker House interlude, the stroll to 7-11 and subsequent conversation with DJ Xyanyde and Vinx.

Most importantly, I’d never have made it to the library.

I’m firmly convinced that the two or three hours spent in that small book-lined annex of the Hilton lobby fundamentally changed my life. It certainly put a lot of things in my mind into place. It put ghosts to rest. More than anything, it solidified beyond doubt the fact that this random smattering of nerds from around the world is more than a community; it’s a family. Like any family we’ve had our black sheep (just look at me). We’ve had our infighting. We’ve lost siblings and adopted others. We have prodigals and stalwart faithfuls. But beyond all the love and the hate and the laughing and crying (and then the trolling that feeds off the crying, followed by more laughing) we have an intangible bond that ensures we’ll still be here in another seven years looking fondly back on our history.

It’s sad to think that it may be six months, a year, maybe longer until I can see all of these wonderful people again, but for now I have this weekend to cherish and the joyful prospect of what the future holds. And you know what?

I wouldn’t have it any other way.