Monday, November 23, 2009

...

Remember when you were a kid, all those stories that for some reason obsessed over the idea of the working class proving their worth to the aristocracy? Stories of commoners disguised as royalty, or simple chambermaids wed to dashing princes, riding off into the sunset on white horses? It was a convenient fantasy, one likely borne from the latent aggression of the proletariat, serfs rightfully rebelling against the overbearing control of their landowners by sharing stories of how their sons and daughters would some day be up there in the royal court, dutifully fucking the offspring of their oppressors.

Today we view these stories as a tale of equality for all, a moral we try to instill in our children, only for it to be beaten out of them on the playground the second they realize that yes- we are all similar in many ways, and no- that does not mean we should all be friends. At some point you begin to establish your social group, and hopefully it's one with a level of intelligence that befits your age group. Case in point, fifteen is the about the age I expect people to stop wearing black baggy hardcore pants with buckles and multicolored straps running up the sides, eighteen is the age most "artistic" photographers should realize their skills are utterly worthless in today's job market, and it's time to pick up a career worthy skill (sculptors, poets and people who draw anime art fall in this category as well, though I suppose if your parents are willing to pay for you to go to art school, four years of fucking around is probably a decent enough time), and the age at which you should stop listening to ICP and wearing clown makeup as a form of self expression is... well there's really no age at which that sort of behavior is appropriate.

The point is that in all aspects of society, we at some point we establish a heirarchy, one which consists of the unwashed masses and the self-proclaimed social elite. This exists in all forms of media, and seems impossible to avoid. For books there is high literature and there is pulp fiction. For movies there are cinematic masterpieces and there is XXX: State of the Union. And for video games there are of course the unfortunately titled "hardcore" camp; whose fans cry out boldly and eroneously crying out for games like Shadow of the Collosus to be labelled art; and there is the casual games, a rather unspecific label easily applied to both the local frat house's eight copies of Madden 2012 and whatever bejewled clone your mother is playing currently.

As a side note, my father's only facebook status updates are those of his latest Bejeweled high score, accompanied by a caps lock declaration of "SUCK IT BITCHES."

But between these two, there is always the hold out games that for some reason appeal to both crowds while alienating neither. Media implicity designed for mass consumption that somehow manages to draw the intellectuals away from their wood-paneled studies long enough for them to realize they're having quite a bit of fun. Harry Potter, The Godfather, ___'s 1999 single

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