Step Away From the Spoilers

Well, it looks like I’m not getting Persona 4 Arena today. Dammit.

So close…yet so far away…

However, I thought this would be a good time to talk about spoilers. This is very important because unlike some fighting games, P4A has an approximate 30 hours of story involving characters from both Persona 3 and 4 that has been confirmed by Atlus as being canon instead of a side story. Basically, I’m staying the hell away from anything and everything P4A at least until I get my hands on it and play a little of it because I want to find out for myself.

I know that some of the spoilering about certain things is completely accidental, and there is no guarantee that everyone in the world is going to adhere to the common courtesy of placing a spoiler alert in the form of a tag, banner or even just a line of text and a couple of hard returns. However, some people out there are just trolling through spoilers and it’s a little annoying, particularly when you see something like “Who would have thought that XX was the murderer at the end of Movie X! LOL I feel sorry for people who haven’t seen it!” on the very day the movie came out.

There is a small amount of tolerance in my angry little brain for spoilers of movies or books that are decades old and considered classics. I’m not saying that we should all go around shouting what happens at the end of Frankenstein but don’t get all shirty with people who let it slip.

Recently I found myself the unwitting victim of a spoiler on Nico Nico Douga because I found a video that was a MAD of Persona 4 x Soul Eater. Sadly, I do not know the word for “spoiler” in Japanese (I just learned the word for a frame of animation, though, so there’s that) and so found out something about the ending of P4 that I wasn’t expecting. Now I understand that P4 has been out since 2008 and that probably everyone in Japan has played it, but I might not have signed on if I’d known a huge plot point was going to be given away. Worse yet, I watched it with Mister E because we both love P4 and we both love Soul Eater so I thought it was going to be super-awesome. Not that it wasn’t, of course, it was well done and looked great but you know. Spoilers for all.

Mister E has promised me that we’re going to get P4 Arena as soon as possible, and that he’s planning on getting me the tiny controller so I can play it comfortably. Until I get my hands on the disc, though, I’m staying the hell away from anything that might spoil it for me.

There are some things I just don’t want to know. Yet.

SOMEONE Should Be Ashamed Here

I don’t remember how Mister E found this thing online but he felt the need to show it to me immediately because why should only one of us be pissed off?

In case you’ve never heard of it, the “Walk of Shame” is when a woman goes home after impulsively spending the night with someone and has to do so in her clothes from the previous evening. It’s the spiritual cousin of the “Wall of Shame” that a fraternity at my college had in their house, where they hung up pictures of girls that they’d slept with. Mister E said he really hopes it’s supposed to be joke but I don’t care if it IS a gag gift. A lot of the crap they sell in stores like Spencer’s is supposed to be a joke and I don’t think most of it is remotely funny.

What this thing is telling us is that a woman who wears the same clothes home in the morning obviously has something to be ashamed of, and in this situation that is the fact that she went home with someone and probably had sex with them. Let’s get this straight; there is absolutely nothing wrong with spending the night at someone’s house. If you met them at a bar or club, perhaps it wasn’t the best choice to make but there is no reason whatsoever to expose a consenting adult to ridicule and shame because their choice of after-dark activity doesn’t fit into your idea of what is socially acceptable.

This sort of thing perpetuates the double standard of “guys who have casual sex are STUDS, women who have casual sex are SLUTS.” It also has the effect of telling men that they’re supposed to be banging everything that has a vagina because they’re guys and that’s what guys do.

I can only assume that the designers want you to think that their clothes make this woman so incredibly attractive that guys are lining up to have sex with her, and that they make the men so sexy that the woman is begging for all of them to service her. A large percent of the population likely thinks that because it’s implied that she’s going to have sex with all these men she must be a slut.

Things like the “Walk of Shame Kit” serve to make women ashamed of their sexuality. Not only that, the description of the contents (namely, the “Call/Don’t Call Card”) clearly further the idea that you must have been drunk to go home with this person and adds to the shame of the situation. Obviously, you went out and got wasted because that’s the only way a woman would dare do something as shameful as spend the night at a man’s house when they aren’t in a relationship. It also implies that you were probably so drunk that you don’t remember having oral sex with this person, or that you were so indiscriminate in your choice of fling that you feel the need to wipe yourself down with an antibacterial wipe upon waking. Because you were drunk, which makes you a whore.

The thing that I like the least about this is that their website encourages men to keep one on hand because you never know when you might have to kick a slutty chick from the bar out of your place, and the least you can do for her is make sure she doesn’t take your clothes with her. Oh, and they’re donating some money to breast cancer awareness too. That means it can’t possibly be sexist and misogynistic – it’s downright female-friendly!

Maybe I just have a different group of friends because if I showed up wearing the same clothes I had on the night before, they all gave me high-fives and wanted to hear all the details. Usually the details included descriptions of books we recommended to one another and bragging about my new high score on a video game, so I suppose that says a lot about me, as well. ::thumbs up::

The Worst Ending

You know what I always tell the kids playing RPGs? Save. Save frequently. To multiple files.

Mister E and I have been watching Giant Bomb‘s Chrono Trigger Endurance Run, and the third time out of the chute they lost their save file because they were playing on a SNES with the original cartridge. The 16 year old battery in it decided it was going to just crap out and they lost an entire day’s worth of gameplay.

“Those poor bastards,” I thought. “I’m so glad I’m saving to an external memory source and not relying on an old cartridge. I’d probably die if that happened to me.”

RRRGH

I have new sympathy for those magnificent bastards now, because last night I finished Disc 1 of Chrono Cross. The familiar words “INSERT DISC 2” came up on the screen and I did as it requested because I was damn proud of myself. And then, nothing. Nothing happened. I reset the console and it told me to insert Disc 1, which I did, then proceeded not to pull up Disc 1 either. I reset the console again with Disc 1 inside it and it started up properly. Then proceeded to lock up again when I tried to put in Disc 2.

According to the internet, this happens. A lot. Often with multi-disc games from the original Playstation. Fortunately, the internet had an answer for me regarding how to make this horrible nightmare end: “buy a PSX.” That is to say, an original Playstation so I can play it natively.

Granted, I can get a PSX on Ebay for $15. Mister E’s friend at work says I can borrow his old one. But the memory cards aren’t forward compatible, which means that the multiple save files on the PS2 card won’t be useable on said PSX. If I want to get back to the point where I was last night, I’ll have to play another 33 hours worth of Chrono Cross.

THIRTY THREE HOURS.

Really, there’s nothing for it but to either start my game over or just pretend that none of it ever happened and play something else. If I can get a hold of Mister E’s friend’s PSX I’ll probably play it again but just skip any and all side quests that don’t have to do with my favorite characters and those integral to the plot. Which means I’m not going to go to the Shadow Forest and hunt around for the mushroom guy or run all over the damned world looking for the skeleton pieces.

Or I might just start playing Final Fantasy VIII or something. On the PSX, though, because I’ll be damned if I’m going through this again. Screw your supposed backward compatibility right in the controller port.

UPDATE: My friend RM^2 tells me that I may have inadvertently saved this to a PSX card. It would make sense because the first time I tried saving it to a PS2 labeled card it refused, but I’m not holding out hope just yet. My life would be a much happier place if it was true, though.

Little Miss S and the Poo Parlor Division

Some people are so very obviously either unaware of their personal hygiene or just refuse to acknowledge it that it’s painful. I work with one of these people and let me tell you, knowing exactly who’s to blame does not make things any better.

Our bookkeeper, who has proved her competence on more than one occasion by screwing up my payroll and allowing her foster dog to poop in the break room (and not cleaning it up), takes a very cavalier attitude toward her bathroom dealings. It is actually much the same as the way she behaved toward her dog’s leavings, which really tells you a lot. It also tells you the reason she’s divorced. And if it does not, let me further elucidate.

I’m not going to lie to you; we have a codename for her. Trackstar. Anytime one of us sees her headed for the employee bathroom, we race to the wall chart with our fingers crossed, begging the chore gods to let it not be our turn to clean.

Not it, for the love of God, NOT IT.

And this is how I feel when it’s my turn. Which it wasn’t today, but I took over from my coworker because her whimpering was starting to make Dr. C think her hearing aid was experiencing feedback from getting too close to Dr. L’s hearing aid. No I do not work at a school for the Deaf, actually.

In any case, I gritted my teeth, put on two pairs of gloves and went in after waiting about an hour for the old priest and the young priest to show up. I took their non-arrival as a bad sign and went into the middle stall, which we also refer to as her office. She never goes in any other stall, and I suppose for that I should be grateful. Or something.

Look. We all experience what is known as a Code Brown. Every single one of us. Helper-Girl D at work has IBS, so she’s no stranger to the 50-meter dash, yet somehow the stall the rest of us use is damn near immaculate. We all poop. It happens. Sometimes it happens messily depending on the size and quantity of tacos you have for lunch. The real test is the maturity you display in dealing with the aftermath. You can either clean up after yourself fully, clean up after yourself half-assedly (snerk) or leave it for someone else to deal with.

Yes it was, kitty. Yes it was.

This is not an every-now-and-then occurrence, either. This happens numerous times on a daily basis, which means that she knows damn well what she’s doing and just doesn’t care. “It’s discourteous,” I said to Helper-Girl D, to which she replied “It’s disgusting.” “Well, yes,” I said, helping her off with her biohazard suit, “Dropping a Dirty Bomb in the ladies’ is disgusting, but it happens. It’s leaving it for us to clean up that is discourteous.”

The solution we’ve come up with is a super-easy one. All of us who are forced to clean up after her on a daily basis are going to sign a letter to our boss, who makes the cleaning schedules, saying that either she gets added to the cleaning rotation or takes her business elsewhere. This is a very adult way of dealing with things, we think. Less adult is the fact that when it’s her turn we are all going to Taco Bell.

Little Miss S, Avocado Advocate

My job is like an abusive relationship. It gets horrible, makes me feel worthless and like I want to die, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I seriously consider leaving, even if it means things will suck for a little while, and in spite of family trying to talk me out of it. Then it’s fine for a while, maybe two or three days or even a week and I think “It’s not so bad. Things will be different from now on. I should be grateful to even have a job, I’m so useless.” You know exactly how this story ends. Or doesn’t end, really. Vicious cycles don’t.

Apart from being told I’m useless, slow, weak, stupid and fat on a daily basis, there are teeth-grinding annoyances as well. For one thing, the people I work with are obsessed with losing weight. Every day they talk about how they’re trying to lose weight in time for summer, how they’re only eating carrots and celery this week, or that they’re going to do 500 sit-ups when they get home. They try to drag me into their madness by saying that I should join them in their weight loss contest, or shaming me about my avocado tacos. A sodium-restricted diet means the only tacos I can get from next door are avocado on corn tortillas, which are delicious and filling. However, Queen Bully Bitch loves nothing more than to tell me I’m wasting my money buying tacos for myself and Mister E (he loves their potato and chorizo ones), or trying to tell me that avocados have cholesterol.

SAY WHAT?!

Yes, you heard me. She insisted that avocados have cholesterol in them but that they aren’t fattening. I tried to explain to her that they are plants, and there is only cholesterol in animal products but she swears she read it in some book. I also tried to explain that although avocados and coconuts do have fat, it is healthy fat that the body needs and is good for my cardiovascular system. You know, the one I’m taking meds for? She said she doesn’t eat any fat because she’s trying to lose weight, and I told her that some fat and carbs are necessary for the body to function.

Here’s my deal. I’m eating low-sodium, mostly unprocessed foods and have started running again. My doctor is pleased because I’m losing fat and gaining muscle. My goal is to be healthy, which to me does not mean punishing yourself for eating rice pudding, drinking nothing but water with lemon juice, cayenne pepper and apple cider vinegar (yes, that is a thing they are advocating) or making yourself miserable because you’re not losing weight quickly. When they asked and I said I’d lost some weight, QBB said “have you? I can’t tell.”

I haven’t told anyone offline, or on Facebook for that matter, that I’m doing C25K or that I’m planning on running in a 5K in May. I don’t need their “motivation,” which basically amounts to making people feel guilty for not exercising as much as they do and scrutinizing every crumb of food that goes into someone else’s body, then treating them like a five year old if they don’t feel it’s appropriate for dieting. I get all the support I need from my little family and my friends online.

And avocados. Beautiful, cholesterol-free avocados.