Day-Glo/Globama
Posted by: lynvalerie on: January 22, 2009
Blinded by the light of a new day, future ambitions sink into darkness as it is realized that my destiny is in the hands of another.
The kaleidoscopic luminescence of several paths lay before me, and I relish in the peace of knowing that there is only one white line.
Forever is my heart consumed with love and unyielding admiration.
Mini Story: The End of My Career: A Day in the Life of Shagwella Blitz
Posted by: lynvalerie on: July 6, 2008
Careening through clouds over a pristine beach of white sand, I take a second to ponder the lives of those who can’t fly. What a downtrodden population it must be, not being able to feel the wind whip their hair back sharply, caressing their shoulders as they navigate the skies. As I reluctantly land at my destination, careful to avoid the haphazardly placed palm and forest trees, a rather odd assortment for such a temperate location, I jerk a bit, my walking staggered by the evil creature known in my world simply as “Lag.”
Suddenly, my senses dull, and three flimsy, grey carpeted walls come into my sight; a large, off-white, fluorescent light glares overhead, and directly in front of me is my computer screen, with a human character standing in front of a beach house, rather impatiently. I then remember that I did not fly, and do not have physical impairments that prevent me from walking fluidly; I have yet again allowed myself to abandon reality as we know it and lose myself in my Second Life, a virtual, user created platform where one can begin life anew.
Looking around my cubicle, I suddenly feel a twinge of guilt; piles of documents begging to be processed lay strewn about, and a familiar voice looms over head- it’s that of my boss, making rounds. I quickly minimize the Second Life screen, pausing for a second to look at my character, of whom I named Shagwella Blitz (a name that I now kick myself in the pants for, as I am not able to get a decent SL job because of its…uniqueness), and pull up the company database, hammering away at the keys like a happy little administrative assistant. “Hi Paul, how are you this morning,” I squeak, rather guiltily might I add. “Oh, just fine, Linda- how are you coming along with those expense reports?” I quickly glance at the disheveled stack of papers and grimace, swiveling in my uncomfortable faux leather office chair to peer up at my boss. “Oh, they’re coming. I should have them complete by this afternoon.” Satisfied with my answer, Paul nods his head solemnly before walking around to the next set of cubicles to check on his accountants. I sigh loudly, and after lifting slightly from my chair to check out my surroundings, I hit the maximize key on my Second Life screen.
My boyfriend had already arrived at my beach home by the time I’d rejoined life number two, and my instant message box was filled with queries as to my whereabouts. I saunter into the house clad in a purple cropped jacket from Thimbles over a plain white system undershirt, Armidi jeans and silver Stiletto Moody pumps. Taking a final alt-scroll look at my appearance, I change my hair from an extravagant long curly ‘do to a bun with side-swept bangs. As I settle on the couch’s poseball next to my Second man, as I so affectionately call him, I notice he’s watching “I Think I Love My Wife” on the Speakeasy big screen.
Shagwella Blitz: hey, whatcha up to?
BillyRay Courtois: nothin much, just watching your tv lol
Shagwella Blitz: well, you should be watching something else *winks*
BillyRay Courtois: oh trust me, I am *licks his lips*
BillyRay Courtois: hey, where’s your collar? how dare you take it off without my permission!
Shagwella Blitz: oh you mean the amethyst one? I got a dari’s instead- you get more control
Shagwella Blitz: I’m sorry Master…girl will not do it again
BillyRay Courtois: w/e…just put it on so I can lock you to a metal ball lmfao
Dropping to my knees in submission before my boyfriend, my first self giggles a little bit at the exchange, wondering how such an independent woman could allow some virtual man to control her actions. I pull up my inventory, and “snap” the Dari collar around my neck; a black leather collar adorned with sharp looking spikes, it almost felt as if I had transformed into a beast- a lustful, pleasure seeking maiden who lives up to her name. Somehow my real life crept in again, and I thought about my husband- what a wreck he was in this department! Thank goodness for the magic of virtual reality.
I crawled over to my boyfriend, my stylish outfit magically transforming into a skimpy black silk teddy with fine lace detailing. Where did I get this from again? Oh, Nyte and Day! I’ll have to get another, I think to myself. Kneeling in front of my Abyss-skinned lover, I smile, watching as a pink and blue poseballs appear in front of me, with rather risqué commands listed on both.
BillyRay Courtois: get on, now.
Shagwella Blitz: yes, Mast
A sudden tap on the real life shoulder disrupts my lusty banter- it was Paul, my boss, glaring. “Hi Paul, I was just-““Linda, this is the second time I have caught you in this…this game, neglecting your work responsibilities. Do you know how many people would kill to have your position right now?” I blinked, stifling a giggle as the $10.60 an hour Administrative Assistant position at Barney and Associates seemed less important than what Paul believed it to be. “Uh, I am sure many would, sir. I’m sorry- I’ve just been having trouble concentrating…“ Whizzing around in my chair, my mouth drops as I notice BillyRay is naked on my screen, his…attachment inches away from my virtual face. I put my hands up to the screen in a futile attempt to cover my lover’s nudity as Paul looks on with wide eyes. “What! Linda what in the world are you doing? Just…just pack up your things…you have until lunchtime to be out of here!” His face beet red with embarrassment, Paul storms away into his office and slams the door, leaving a small crowd of my peers huddled around my computer screen, snickering.
Another job lost to Second Life. Oh well, there’s always virtual escorting. Thanks, Linden Lab!
The Manifesto of the Grrl Gamer
Posted by: lynvalerie on: July 5, 2008
Published at Rafter Jump On.
I’m a 24 year old super social fashionista who loves nightclubbing with my homegirls, chugging imported beers with my collegiate peers, and browsing vintage boutiques for quirky additions to my wardrobe.
I’m also a grrl gamer.
Yes, the stereotypes are out there- you know, the overweight, glasses-wearing, greasy-skinned low self-esteem having outcast chick that has a penchant for gothic attire and ill-placed mascara. She’s not me, and moreover, I’m Black- fancy that. Just because I enjoy thrashing Bane in Tabula Rasa, questing with a Paladin in Everquest, or kicking back in my virtual mini-mansion with my closest Second Life friends doesn’t make me any less of a diva, it makes me one kick-arse, highly desirable girlie. I mean, what dude wouldn’t want to marry a woman he could depend on to heal him when he tanks a quest?
And guys- like you have room to talk! You bury yourselves into sports, holding Shaq up on a pedestal while I scratch at your leg like a forlorn kitty begging for a morsel of tuna; yet surprisingly you complain when my level 60 Necromancer gets more attention than does your boo-boo. Just like you need your NHL fix, I need to kick major booty in a non-illegal way. And trust me- you’re not as hot as you think.
Some of my friends think I’m absolutely loco for assuming a virtual manifestation of myself and buying things with my hard earned dollars that aren’t real. Some have even threatened to tell my mom, who knew that my hopeless addiction to internet chat rooms and 8-bit Nintendo would eventually progress to the hard drug known to my people as MMO’s. “Just don’t turn into one of those computer nerds with pale skin and acne,” she’d warn. Do you know what I say in response to their feigned pleas? Shove it. Yes, two little words with the uncanny ability to sum up my expletive tirade to all the naysayers who have over the years criticized my lifestyle choice-because as you know, being a gamer is hard work and long hours of finger manipulation.
Phew, and don’t get me started on virtual love. I’ve dated some wonderful guys offline that I’ve met in guilds or while sunbathing under the virtual sun in Second Life, and I can be the first to tell you that some of those relationships, however awkward in the beginning, were far more meaningful than the ones I’ve shared with a guy I’d met in a bar. While it’s true that some MMO hotties can be super creepy, there are good pools of men and elves looking for an amazingly interesting girl like you to fight Thrax or whatever enemies lay in your path.
Girls, call me Karla Marx; I’d be more than obliged if you’d compared my rant to a new-age communist manifesto of the gaming variety, a declaration of independence from grrl gamer stereotypes. You’re awesome, and can still be a hip and fashionable gaming diva.
Vive la Grrl Gamer Revolution!
Stylistically Schizo
Posted by: lynvalerie on: July 5, 2008
Written for Passion Life, an online publication.
I recall a time not too long ago, of which I fondly remember as the “musical golden years” of my youth. The powerful voice of Tupac, Nas’ enlightening spiritual banter, and the radical rantings of the Fugees were featured on the radio in heavy rotation, and made me proud to embrace hip hop as my own. Queen Latifah taught me to have pride in my womanhood, TLC about safe sex, and Montell Jordan taught me the correct way to party.
I now hold fast to my belief that hip hop is full of schizophrenics.
Schizophrenia is loosely defined as a mental disorder that affects perception and reality, and is characterized by delusions and disorganized thinking. In examining the word, the connotation attached to it, as well as the definition and symptoms of the condition, I have come to believe that the term ‘schizophrenia’ is a condition that most contemporary hip-hoppers possess. As I write this, I can hear and envision different scenarios witnessed throughout hip-hop- Tupac’s shooting and eventual death, the explosion of both songs “Chicken Noodle Soup”, and “Chain Hang Low”, and the creation of rock-rap. These aforementioned examples provide a clue in to a hip-hoppers’ random and jumbled brain, deciphering and transmitting information in an uninformed fashion. In the case of Tupac’s shooting, for example, how many of us still think that he is “chillin” in Jamaica, sipping spiked cane juice, having a conversation with Elvis? And concerning “Chicken Noodle Soup” and “Chain Hang Low”- was slavery and the age of blackface simply a pesky remembrance to the artists who made these tracks?
I wonder: how do we cure this mentally debilitating disease, schizophrenia? A wise woman once told me that hip-hop and the artists of my youth will always exist for me, as long as I keep them alive, no matter the current state of the genre. While this will remain constant in subsequent generations, what will happen to the positive messages once laden in hip hop music and culture? Will we continue to have instances of the Imus slip (much like the Freudian slip, but racist)? If so, who will speak to justify the modality of hip hop culture as it relates to misogynistic banter as a means of self-soothing? It is my hope that as we prepare to witness yet another transformation in hip hop, we move less with the Shop Boyz and more with Lupe Fiasco. Besides, if hip hop turns into no more than goofy, super-synthesized, easily consumed tunes, who would we turn to satisfy and solidify our angst for the woes of society?
As hip hop is an ever-evolving, multi-dimensional culture, it will be interesting to see the direction over the next few years. I yearn to see hip hop do a 360, ridding itself of its schizophrenic state and returning to the strategically lyrical neo-nationalist banter of my youth.
Reorganized, focused and back to its roots. Hip Hop isn’t dead, it’s just a bit confused.
Confession or Novel in the Making: Me
Posted by: lynvalerie on: June 17, 2008
“Me.”
I am 24, 7 months pregnant, engaged, and in search of me. I was once a spunky, goal-oriented, altruistic college student with a penchant for fashion; after finding love, relocating, and submitting to my new role as housewife, I’ve lost my mojo, my essence, my me. The very thing that attracted my fiancé seems to have escaped me; no longer am I the carefree life enthusiast with a zest for independence, but a dependent, bored, worrywart who has threatened her own future by confining her spirit to a life that doesn’t suit her. In a quest to attain a level of domestic perfection seen only by the likes of Martha Stewart and Rachel Ray, constant failures compound my already blatant disinterest of keeping house, and I often times find myself buried in the corner of my clothing-riddled bedroom, crying into used towels as I wonder what happened to Ms. Independent. Have I put aside my own desires for the sake of being super wife and mom?
Not anymore.
I am 24, 7 months pregnant, and engaged. By exploring my lifelong dream of writing, I have taken the first step to finding myself, doing what satisfies my creativity, and reclaiming me.
Mini-Story: There’s Waldo
Posted by: lynvalerie on: June 16, 2008
My twist on a popular children’s book, written for a writing course.
Waldo’s lifelong quest to reunite with his father tragically left unanswered the question that has defined his life to countless inquisitive children in search of a red striped t-shirt: “Where’s Waldo?”
After his father mysteriously disappeared during a trip to Trinidad, Waldo decided to dedicate his life to finding him. At the age of sixteen, Waldo fled his home to begin his life’s mission, traveling the globe in search of his estranged pater.
Waldo’s mother decided after Waldo’s sudden disappearance to create a book in the memory of the men in her life; entitled “Where’s Waldo?”, she illustrated a visually demanding book highlighting her son as the prize, urging children to locate him on each page, dressed in his favorite red striped shirt and cap.
Waldo knew it was a bad idea when this book was published; seeing it on the shelves of international bookstores led him to question his own existence. Was it Waldo’s destiny to search for a man who did not want to be found? Was this the destiny of the children who would search for him through his mother’s books?
Feeling misguided, Waldo took his life at 26, diving from the top of a tall building into a sea of people dressed in his traditional garb to commemorate the tenth anniversary of the book that caused his suicide.
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