Yes, I Still Play Pokemon GO

No, I did not leave the app behind in 2016 with everyone else who jumped off the bandwagon. Why? I’m not a bandwagoner.

The questioning of why those who still enjoy Pokemon GO continue to do so after its popularity declined with “the masses” last year currently tops my list of MOST. ANNOYING. QUESTIONS…

Mostly because…this is what you’re actually asking:

A. Why aren’t we all quitters like you who didn’t simultaneously drink the Kool-Aid and give up at the same time?
B. Why did we all not follow the prescribed time limit that society set and mindlessly follow the rest of the robotic world who dictates what’s popular?
C. Why do I actually enjoy walking? An incredibly healthy and natural thing for your body to do and a great way to stay fit and active?

I would say sorry I didn’t follow the time-limit that the world-gods bestowed upon the sheep that flocked together and stopped playing just cause others left, but I don’t even want to apologize sarcastically for participating in something that takes dedication and keeps me active.

The simple fact is, there are the casuals and there are the hardcores. It was awesome that when the game was first introduced, people from all walks of life participated. I’d be playing alongside gentlemen in business suits, grade schoolers in soccer uniforms, and hot-dog vendors in aprons, all tossing Pokeballs at Psyducks on the screen. It’s quite the achievement to be able to bring together such vastly different demographics, and I give the game props for that.

At some point, the popularity died down, most likely with the coming of winter. The cold season is not exactly conducive to long walks by the pier and chilling in open-air parks by a lure.

But there’s another ridiculously obvious reason the GO-Bandwagoners/Questioners won’t talk about.

IT ACTUALLY INVOLVES WALKING. Which is like…EXERCISE. Which like…MOST PEOPLE DON’T LIKE TO DO!!

In order to rise to the top in this game, you have to WALK. And since statistics confirm that over 50% of America is overweight, it’s probably not a top activity of choice. You don’t see this so much in New York because we’re already a city of walkers. We were walking since before it was cool to do so in an app game; before the Fitbit craze and all that. Pokemon GO simply gave me something to occupy my mind/time WHILE walking; it made a game of it. But I’m fairly certain at least half the people who outgrew interest did so because they realized that in order to be good at it, you couldn’t do it from your couch.

In order to hatch eggs, catch rare Pokemon, battle gyms, acquire the means to power up, BAG THOSE LEGENDARIES, you must walk. You can cheat and be a spoofer, but for the most part the general public is not that tech-savvy, and also, sometimes you get caught, and also, it’s lazy.

PoGOFit

I’d rather play it the right way and be fit af.

If you want to be REALLY good at the game, then you have to walk MORE than the average person. Is it tiring? Duh, it’s exercise. If it’s not tiring, you’re not doing it right. Sometimes your feet hurt. Because it’s walking. And when the masses found out you actually had to WORK somewhat to master this game, well…that’s where the hardcores and casuals get separated.

They probably don’t go to the gym either.

I inadvertently lost 8 pounds last summer playing this damn game. (My gains! *Cries*) I’ve walked over 500 miles in Pokemon GO. Have the GO-Questioners walked over 500 miles NOT playing it? Do they even game outside of this app? Because despite the game’s appeal to everyone, including the non-gaming community, gamers have been Pokemoning it up since Red and Blue. We came into the game already knowing the strengths and weaknesses, that Ground prevails against Lightning, and Dark pwns Psychic and the Poke-Great-Ultra ball stepladder and the evolutions to everything.

Before Pokemon GO, I played Just Dance for cardio for a good 4 versions.  I no longer play, but I would never question those who still stay up to date on the latest releases, because I’ve heard so many stories of Just Dancers shedding pounds just from that game alone. Dancing is fun! And that game can be damn difficult. Not quite in the same league as DDR (and I still worship the ground DDRers stomp on) but still an enjoyable way to get a workout in. Classic. By the logic that we should all stop playing something just because it isn’t popular anymore, there’d be no love for retro gaming, pinball arcades, people would forget Sonic games were once MASTERPIECES, and NES minis wouldn’t be scalped for exorbitant prices. :/

If you think Pokemon GO is played out, and want to ignore the collective of hardcore players in the shadows (Pokemon GO fest, although a failure, sold out in mere HOURS, so SOMEBODY thinks it’s still popular) that’s cool. Ya’ll can stay on the bandwagon with the rest of the sheep, ready to graze on the next big thing society tells you to. In the meantime, the rest of us will be over here getting fit af.

~Tael

 

You Can Touch My Hair

I’ve heard it around the Internet how offensive it is to touch a Black woman’s hair. And maybe I’m feeling kind of left out that no one’s making requests for mine. Then I second-guess myself and wonder: Maybe they have been. Maybe they have, and it’s such a non-issue for me that it’s eroded from my memory.

My cultural collective says I should be enraged and offended if this happens. That it’s supposed to be some subtle form of micro-aggressive racism and I should feel objectified since I’ve had to overcome so much amidst the war against natural Black hair. But I’ve willingly tossed my locks into others’ hands so they can feel how lightweight they are. I’m a proud dreadhead and I’m proud of how far my own have progressed. And one thing I love about having them, is that I frequently receive compliments on them from across the race spectrum, from Black to Asian to Italian, from those I’ve worked with, to passersby on the street, to randoms at a service counter.

And I appreciate that.

I remember the turning point when I decided to lock up for good. It was after watching Floetry’s Say Yes music video.

Dreads are a vibe. A mood. I soaked up that vibe and ejected it out through my scalp and never looked back. I embrace my hair the same way I embrace questions about it. The only one I ever find mildly irritating is “Do you think you’ll keep them?” As if they’re some kind of throwaway hairstyle or fashion statement. Or a pet you’ll grow tired of. This question usually comes, surprisingly, from the Black community. As if I haven’t been cultivating a thriving garden of life on my head for the past 11 years.

But when those of varying races and nationalities find my hair impressive, and stop me on the street to let me know, I appreciate that. And if they say “Dude, I love your hair. Do you mind…” and reach out hesitantly with curiosity, because they’re afraid to finish the question and they fear some perceived inevitable wrath, I’ll whip some locks straight into their outstretched hand and say “Feel em!” The same way I would with a curious toddler who enhances their knowledge of the world through touch. I want you to be interested. Yes, we wash them, although not everyday (but most Black hair isn’t washed every day anyway). Yes, there might be a little lint stuck in there. No, not everyone chooses to let them grow into a tangled mass with little maintenance. Yes, at this point, if I wash my hair in the shower my dreads fall into my butt-crack. And yes, I also sometimes grab a bunch and hold them between my nose and upper lip like a mustache. It feels good.

I want to enlighten you if you’re interested in my hair. And as long as you don’t secretly cut them off from a seat behind me on the subway, we good.

You can touch my hair. Just ask first.

~Tael

P.S. If I get to know you, and you have an afro, I’m gonna ask to touch it. Because it’s an afro.

The Vilification of Shyness

I come from a family of acceptance and varied personalities across the spectrum. The outgoing, the charismatic, the loud and boisterous, the low-toned pipe-ups, the never-smile-for-photos, the Let’s-Take-40-Photos-at-the-Same-Angle-and-Only-Slightly-Mix-Up-The-People, the ones who avoid the center of attention like the plague. We’ve got it all. Maybe I was raised in a bubble. The New York one, I’ll get to in a later post, but the acceptance bubble. Because the real world is not as graciously accepting of the unfamiliar.

Assimilating into the world from beneath the comforting blanket of your family, one constant mind-boggler has been that there are many who treat shyness and introverted natures with disdain. Perhaps they don’t understand them; perhaps it doesn’t exist in their own families; perhaps it seems very Columbine-esque to them and they fear we’ll murder them in their sleep. Growing up, we brought many friends and lovers into the family, and half of them were introverts. They were shy, spoke quietly (and duh, why shouldn’t they be, they were just meeting us) and we respected this and surrounded them with our raucous laughter and love and never made them feel a certain way if they didn’t speak enough or remained on the sidelines.

Leaving my own family though, I’ve encountered the opposite throughout life. I’ve had people tell me my shyness and habit of keeping to myself has come off as rude, intimidating, and arrogant. When in the world did this happen? When did a lower voice and less speech and more social observation make you a villain? Sure, in grade school, it was more likely to make you a pariah, until you matured and realized not everyone is a social butterfly with a big mouth.

At family gatherings and events, you might have found me huddled in a quiet corner with a book on the outskirts. An only child until the age of 15, I learned early to be comfortable with silence and isolation. My comfort zone was in solitary. My mom constantly answered questions toward me for me, might have realized that wasn’t the best move, and once took me to a church function where she plopped me in a group of kids I didn’t know and demanded I make friends before walking away. I immediately burst into tears from the pressure. Middle school I was pretty friendless. I clung to what little social interaction was offered to me, played Gameboy in the yard, tried not to hide out in bathroom stalls at lunch, and dreaded when the teachers gave us the opportunity to choose our own groups for projects. High school I developed sweaty palms from the social anxiety, frequently wore gloves to hide this fact, and prayed I wouldn’t be questioned when I went to shake someone’s hand or I left damp palm-prints on the science tabletops.

Eventually, you encounter people in this world that don’t care if you veer away from social situations and probably even understand it (I would think it to be fairly easily relatable). But you also continue to encounter ones that still look down on it, as I did recently. And I’ll likely continue to encounter it the older I get, because not everyone is accepting to your personality, whether you’re in their face with it or not, and not everyone is willing to see the deeper you past your reserved layer. In our society, where partying and raucous antics are considered the epitome of a good time, if you deviate from this, you must be ready to defend yourself. Because if you hide on the outskirts and don’t drink as much, your motives will be questioned. Because if your anxiety gets the best of you at the wrong time, and you seek solace in isolation to recover, you lose worth in their eyes.

Thoughts

The ninja lifestyle can be misunderstood by most. But I am not lonely to continue its path. If you’ve ever been judged by your shyness, find me.

~Tael

Dat Writer Professionalism

Self-publishing should conjure up a desert wasteland backdrop with a hooded figure in black creeping along the outskirts of society. You’re avoiding big corporate publishers and taking your book rights into your own hands! You’re a rebel. You’re a revolutionary! You’re sticking it to the traditional industry route and to hell with all the rules!

Except, no.

The self-publishing world is not as vagabond as it once was, since the road to stand out amidst the millions of other indies who believe in their work is pretty similar to the corporate publishing route.

But I wanted to be an OUTLAW like one of these guys!!

Outlaws

Unfortunately, self-publishing may not give you the badass points you were hoping for. Remember, there’s a widely accepted code of conduct and professionalism for the most success, to help you stand up against those big-name publishers. My approach so far has been to be chill about it, like Spike Spiegel, because who didn’t like Spike Spiegel?? He remained composed, kicked so much ass because of it, and always came out on top. Until…you know.

Months ago, I tried to reach out to a website about possibly listing Chaos (un)Controlled during it’s free period on Amazon. It wasn’t one of the traditional promotion sites; I was trying to think outside the box and it was an NYC website I’d been following for years now. Since the main premise of Chaos (un)Controlled is Rixa climbing a ladder in the New York Public Library while working there as a Page to reach University Heights, it seemed fitting. Here was their response:

NYCOnTheCheapResponse

Welp, I’d gotten many query rejection letters before; I could handle this. I could see they were trying to scold me for my Vash-The-Stampede-like approach. Was my salutation “Hey guys”? Yes. Did I ask for a shout-out from “you guys”? Yes. Did I understand their offense? Nope, not at all. I guess I wasn’t “professional” enough. However, as a long-time visitor of their site and Twitter follower, I hadn’t found their site to be particularly professional at all. The layout wasn’t quality, site updates were only occasional, and they only had about 2,000 Twitter followers, so I hadn’t pegged their business as an uber-polished establishment that necessitated a suit and tie to email them. After that response I realized if that was what they were trying to be, then forget it, I didn’t need them. My whole premise for sticking with them had been their small-business-friendly feel. I love supporting small, non-corporate entities and other indie startups trying to make it in the world. So I stopped following them and no longer visit their site. Remember, I prefer Chucks. And I’m petty.

If someone enjoyed my work, and wants to come up and compliment me like “Yo, dude, bro, guy, your writing is sick, I really dug it,” I would appreciate that to the fullest. My go-to author profile picture is me sipping from a Pokeball mug. My descriptions don’t follow the standard “So-and-so Author was born in New England where she resides with her 3 kids, loving husband and dog. She has written numerous critically acclaimed pieces that have won countless awards from the Society of Great Writers That We Respect for their Professionalism yadda yadda.” Truthtrebles.com is my “author website,” I guess. I don’t try to professionalize my profile, because I’m a person first, indie author second. I’d rather read someone’s words rather than a list of their 30 awards or New York Times Bestseller rankings. I’d rather gain notoriety for realness, and go off guns-blazing like Gene Starwind. Professionalism doesn’t inspire human connection as much as realness.  It will hinder me, but that’s fine. Because outlaws are so much cooler. Especially when they wear peacoats with Chucks. And that’s kind of what self-publishing is all about.

See You Space Cowboy…

~Tael