I saw this on Boingboing and came up with a resounding WTF?

I play WoW when I can. My school connection is awful, so I don't get many chances during the semester, but the game is a setting that I am familiar with. I fully agree with John Blatzheim that Blizzard is establishing a double standard. I hear people over public chats frequently tossing the terms "fag" and "gay" around in distinctly offensive contexts. Not only that, but the company's interpretation of their own code of conduct is boggling to me. The precise text bans "both clear and masked language and/or links to websites containing such language or images which:
Insultingly refer to any aspect of sexual orientation pertaining to themselves or other players."

Since when does "GLBT-friendly" insult anyone's sexual orientation? The only possibly way I can imagine that the phrase in question could be construed in such a way is by operating under the assumption that the word "gay" must always be used in the context of a homophobic slur. That assumption is equivalent to suggesting that noone can ever use terms such as "African" or "male" without insulting somebody who might possibly take the word far, far out of context and feel insulted that someone used a term that describes them or someone else in a derogatory way. On top of this, Blizzard is quoted as saying "Many people are insulted just at the word 'homosexual' or any other word referring to sexual orientation." Apparently, Blizzard holds the concerns of people who are offended by any reference at all to sexual orientation of any kind (which is NOT listed in the terms of use) over the concerns of people who want to express either their own personal identity or role-play something different. "We have determined that advertising sexual orientation is not appropriate for the high fantasy setting of the World of Warcraft and is therefore not permitted." I'm not sure where Blizzard got this idea. How does creating a character who has any sexual orientation whatsoever not fit into fantasy? Especially when the vast majority of the female characters in the game (at least, the ones designed to look even vaguely humanoid) are designed graphically to be stereotypically idealized and often provocatively clad? And why have the numerous players who I've seen design female characters only to run around the game in their underwear not been penalized? Because they can be as sexuallly provocative as they want as long as they don't say whether or not they're interested in males or females or both?

I have written this post in a mild fit of temper, and it's quite possible that my arguments are not as deeply researched as might be optimal or as strong as I have made them out to be. I freely admit that I might be overlooking some point of view or another, and I welcome anyone to chime in on this issue. In the meantime, I will keep investigating this issue. I have enjoyed all of the games they have released for my platform (with the exceptions of the original Warcraft and Diablo), and I have up to this point held a positive opinion of the company. I hope to regain that opinion.

Finally, I have a moment to breathe and pause to let my eagerly awaiting fanbase (all 8-12 of you) know how school's going. First, it was great to get back to campus and reunite with my school family and friends. I'd just gotten decently settled into the room when it came time to pick classes, and my life turned upside down. Not only had one of the classes I'd counted on taking been canceled, but a whole slew of new options opened up overnight. This threw what plans I had into disarray, and I've only just come up with an almost entirely solid course schedule.

For those readers whom I haven't explained this to before, I willl pause to elaborate on Marlboro's procedure for class registration. Students register for their classes after attending said classes for about a week. The two days before classes begin are filled with intro classes, half-hour spiels from the professors describing their respective courses and, when necessary, capping headcount. The times of the intro classes have no appparent connection to the times of the actual classes, meaning that the classes that a given student wants to take that make a perfectly decent normal schedule invariably all have intro classes scheduled at the exact same time. Add to this lovely chaos the fact that on both nights of intro class days I've had four-hour rehearsals for the play, and it'll make sense why I've actually gone to sleep before 1 the past several nights.

Anyway, I think I've done a decent job coming out with fun classes. I'm taking Greek Tragedy and the Tragic Hero, Madrigal Chorus, Cultural Diversity on the U.S. Stage, Partnering for Contemporary Dance (Yes, a dance class. You can go get your heart attack over with now), the school production of Angels in America, and I'm still waiting to hear back about Poetry Workshop. As an added perk, only one of these classes is held in the morning, and then only at a reasonable hour (10:00) twice a week, while Friday remains conspicuously absent of any form of classwork. I've already attended the first classes of all of these except Madrigal Chorus and Poetry Workshop, which have not yet met.

The food is still kinda lame.

Exhausted as I am, I'm having lots of fun, and I hope to write more.

But not right now, cause my bed is calling.

*Update: Made it into Poetry Workshop. Woo!*

The day I moved out of Princeton, New Jersey, I was driving to Maine with my mother and my sister. My mom had put a kid's song's tape into the stereo to keep my sister occupied, and the Banana Boat Song started to play. I burst into tears. My mother, alarmed, asked me what was wrong. Between sobs, I managed to explain that, like the singer, I too wanted to go home. And I didn't have a home to go to.

I've moved around a lot in my life so far, and the times of transition are always hard. Things are different this time around, though, for a number of reasons I suppose. It's just me, not the whole family. I'm older now (I suppose I've always been older each time, but this gap is more dramatic). The big difference that I've run into, though, is the fact that I'm split between two places I can call home. There's home as in the family homestead, where there's a hyperactive puppy waiting by the door of a cluttered duplex, and home as in school, where I share with two other guys a single room that's even more cluttered. There's a place where I am a part of a years-old, lifelong on my part power structure, and a place where I am one among a community of equals. There's a place where I live and a place where I visit. This last difference, for me, is a major one. Going back to see my family over breaks and being a visitor in my own "home" sends shockwaves through the stability that I try to base my life on.

There are many definitions of the word "home." The place where I live is in Vermont. The place where my family lives is in Illinois. I'm not sure what to call the other if I call one "home." Marlboro is much much more than just school to me. And I've established too many roots in Evanston to just toss it away in this regard. I started writing this to find an answer, some kind of completion. It hasn't worked, but I've been able to say what's on my mind, and that's what this site is here for, really. Time was when I came here to reassure people back home that I was fine and to throw out some exotic tidbit of a story while I was overseas. Now my head might as well be overseas for all of its sense of direction, but I really am fine. I just need to find my way home. There are beacons to help me find my way, and I need to reach them and follow their guiding light.

It's a winding road
I've been walking for a long time
Still don't know
Where it goes
And it's a long way home
I've been searching for a long time
Still have hope
I'm gonna find my way home
-"Winding Road," Bonnie Somerville.

...Teeth, that is. This morning I was injected, inspected, detected, infected, neglected, and selected, as the song goes. Or rather, I was injected, and the next thing I remember clearly was looking up at the beaming face of my oral surgeon and not being able to feel anything at all between my nose and my chin. The novocaine, as inconvenient as it was (drooling blood in a supermarket parking lot is NOT one of the best ways to spend your morning), wore off far too soon, and I have spent the rest of the day taking Vicodin and whatever other prescription antibiotic I received while switching out ice packs and finding out the limits of my chewing capabilities, with a nap thrown in for good measure.

Wheeeeee!