Sexism, misogyny, racism and bigotry in Android:Netrunner

As I write this my computer is quietly dinging at me every few seconds to let me know that new comments are appearing on a post on the Netrunner Facebook group. I started to write a long response of my own when I realized that it needed to be longer than just a few words.

The original post the person made isn't that important except to say that a commenter made a casually sexist remark and then defended it by saying that he was joking.

I love Netrunner. It's important to me. It's the first game in years that has gone from being just a game and into full fledged hobby for me. Part of what attracted me to it was its diversity. In the game, Runners come from all over the world and are often not male. Hell, they even have a 'Natural' tag (to differentiate from genetically modified, cyborg, etc.)

For all intents and purposes, I'm a straight white male. But having been an outsider in other ways for much of my life, gaming is something that I *need* to feel is inclusive. Netrunner became a beacon of maturity and thoughtfulness as well as creativity and theme and it wasn't hard for me to step into the role of a league and tournament organizer, which I've been doing for more than a year now.

I'm proud that we have plenty of people who aren't white men in our league and that we held what may have been the first Ladies Netrunner event.

That said, I've had to deal with sexism in our league on two different occasions and I'm here to say that I have absolutely zero tolerance for that shit and if you love Netrunner, you shouldn't tolerate it either.

In both cases, I had female players approach me and detail an uncomfortable situation. In both cases I asked what I could do to ensure it didn't happen again to them specifically. I also sent out a general email detailing my lack of tolerance for any kind of sexism, bigotry or other ugly behaviors.

The reason I'm writing this is because it's important that we call it out. Loudly. Call it public shaming. Call it whatever you want. It needs to be called out because it is corrosive, divisive and deadly to the community and the game. Netrunner is too important and too good to let it be dragged down by backwards, outdated thinking.

Netrunner is a game about the future and it's a game that portrays a role for all people in that future. I want to play Netrunner with everyone - straight, gay, Ugandan, Russian, female, male, cis, trans - everyone, except assholes.

So, I'm challenging all of you Netrunner players to either stand up and call this shit out...or quit playing my fucking game.

Richard Marx Is Punk as F**K

I realize the title might elicit some extreme reactions, but before you completely dismiss me, hear my tale.

In the 90s, I was heavily steeped in the goth and industrial culture, crowd surfing and moshing to bands like Nine Inch Nails, Ministry and the like. In the 00s, I embraced post punk and indie sounds. But my musical evolution had a clear and distinct beginning: pop rock.

For a good chunk of the 80s I was an avid fan of Huey Lewis and the News, Bryan Adams, The Cars, Tom Petty, etc. In fact, up until 1988, I'd only been to three live shows and they were all to see Huey Lewis.

In August of '88 I was just out of high school and planning on going into the military. I was a naive little nugget and the world seemed like a very big place that I was about to be thrown out into, head first. I'd also really been enjoying Richard Marx's first self-titled album. Its first big single, "Don't Mean Nothin'" was on regular rotation in my car's cassette player, the volume cranked to the maximum my little Datsun B210 could take.  If you need a refresher, here it is:

Anyway, once I heard Mr. Marx was coming to the Ventura County Fair, I was in like Flynn. I lived in Ventura at that time and it was rare to have artists that I was interested in come up our way. I bought a pair of tickets, hoping to take a girl that I liked, but after getting the 'I like you as a friend' speech, I asked my friend Rob to go with me.

I'd been to a few fairs and I expected it to be an open, standing room only kind of situation. What we were greeted with was something that was closer to a roving evangelical revival tent; neatly arranged folding chairs with letters and numbers stenciled precisely on the back, a rope barricade separating the front row from the stage by a good twenty feet. There were would be no unruly behavior at this show, by god.

I hadn't noticed the pre-ordained seating notations on our tickets up until that point, so we took our seats near the far back on the left side, a distinctly deflated slant to our posture. We were still close enough to catch a glimpse of RM's stylishly feathered hair, but certainly not close enough to distinguish any actual expressions on his face.

He and his band came out on stage to a sold out and well-seated, well-behaved crowd. There was enthusiastic applause and a few people stood and cheered. They quickly seated themselves again when they realized that this wasn't going to be that kind of show.

Or so we thought.

Mr. Marx stepped up to the microphone with classic rock star enthusiasm. But the words that came out of his mouth were like nothing I expected and to this day, remains one of the most rock and roll things I've ever been witness to. He said something to the effect of (and I'm pretty sure I remember this almost word for word), "Hey! Good to be here. When I came out for sound check and I saw all the seating, I spoke to the management and said that I usually do the kind of show where people are on their feet and dancing. They said something about safety and regulations. But you know what? They're not up here with a microphone. I am. And I say, there's a whole lot of you and only a few guys down in front of me here. I bet that if you all get up and move forward and come through that rope, they'll get out of the way."

The security at the front of the stage did a double take. The crowd stood and cheered and moved forward like a human wave. The security got out of the way. The chairs were discarded, tipped over and forgotten. The rope was pulled down. The crowd pressed right up against that stage for the next hour to sing along to their favorite songs and rock and roll lived on for another day.

I haven't listened to Richard Marx in years. Really, decades. A few years ago, I came across his Twitter and I clicked 'follow'. I couldn't tell you why. Maybe it was a sense of nostalgia, maybe it was that I was curious to see what someone like him would tweet about. He seemed smart, funny, self-aware. He seemed like a good guy. Life moved on.

Where this story ends is today. As I write this, I just got home from making an unplanned stop at a fast food restaurant. There were extenuating circumstances and I had to eat in the dining area. I'm sitting there having my chicken sandwich and through the PA I hear a voice. I didn't think about it, not for one second. There was no questioning. I just immediately knew, "That's Richard Marx." I didn't recognize the song, so I brought out my smart phone and called up Shazam. The song was "Nothing Left Behind Us," from his 2008 album, Paid Vacation.

I'm not here to tell you that I thought, "Oh my god, I love this. What have I been missing all of these years?", because that's not what went through my mind. My musical tastes have moved on in the years since that show and I'll probably not go back. 

But I smiled. I felt good. Because his voice somehow tapped into some deep part of my brain, my 18 year old psyche that was still there. It wasn't conscious at all, I was just automatically transported back to that great memory of getting out of my seat and saying, "Yeah, screw these seats!"

I'm glad Mr. Marx is still making music, still doing what he loves. And I'm glad that 18 year old me is still in there.

www.connoralexander.com

My Top 100 Songs (76-100)

Wrapping up my Top 100 favorite songs list! 76-100! (Okay, 101, but I couldn't decide between the Shatner version of Common People and the original by Pulp, so both are included!)

YouTube Playlist:
https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLq7S3twOMsu0VxhNzZggP0PqOU4w-gquk

List:

76 Cactus - David Bowie

77 Policy of Truth - Depeche Mode

78 Take Me Out - Franz Ferdinand

79 Planet Earth - Duran Duran

80 Straight On - Heart

81 The Killing Moon - Echo and the Bunnymen

82 Destroy Everything You Touch - Ladytron

83 Love Like Blood - Killing Joke

84 Missionary Man - Eurythmics

85 Tribulations - LCD Soundsystem

86 Bette Davis Eyes - Kim Carnes

87 The Kids From Orange County - Moving Units

88 What You Need - INXS

89 Such Great Heights - Postal Service

90 Heartbreak Beat - Psychedelic Furs

91 Lucretia - Sisters of Mercy

92 I Won't Back Down - Tom Petty

93 Attitude - Suede

94 Run To You - Bryan Adams

95 Money Changes Everything - Cyndi Lauper

96 You're No Good - Linda Ronstadt

97 True Faith - New Order

98 Birdhouse In Your Soul - They Might Be Giants

99 Common People - William Shatner/Ben Folds

99 Common People - Pulp

100 Escape (The Pina Colada Song) - Rupert Holmes

Maybe when I hit 90, I'll put out another top 100 list. ;-)

My Top 100 Songs (26-50)

Continuing my top 100 songs from yesterday, here's 26-50:

YouTube Playlist:  https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLq7S3twOMsu2MJUF-zHG97B3LY5GvpJXh

Here's the list in case you don't want to listen:

26 Taxman - The Beatles
27 Space Age Love Song - Flock of Seagulls
28 We Want Revolution - Covenant
29 In Shreds - The Chameleons
30 (Birds Fly) Whisper To A Scream - Icicle Works
31 The Man With The Golden Gun - Lulu
32 Wrong - Depeche Mode
33 Government Hooker - Lady Gaga
34 Pop Goes The World - Men Without Hats
35 Beautiful People - Marilyn Manson
36 Ribbons - Sisters of Mercy
37 Invisible Light - Scissor Sisters
38 Pieces of the People We Love - The Rapture
39 You're So Vain - Carly Simon
40 Ballroom Blitz - The Sweet
41 American Music - Violent Femmes
42 No You Girls - Franz Ferdinand
43 Love Cats - The Cure
44 All Women Are Bad - The Cramps
45 Misunderstanding - Genesis
46 Strict Machine - Goldfrapp
47 Regret - New Orlder
48 Sin - Nine Inch Nails
49 Your Retro Career Melted - The Faint
50 Queer - Garbage

51-75 for tomorrow!

My Favorite 100 Songs (1-25)

I'm 45 and it's New Years, so time for lists, right? I thought I'd throw out a list of my favorite songs of all time. At first I thought it would be daunting. How do you categorize, quantify, sort and sift all of the amazing music out there and come up with just 100?

Well, here it is. I shot from the hip. There's no rhyme or reason. Some of these are perfect to dance to, others are nostalgic. Some are new, some are old. Some are obscure, others infamous. I don't care. I just went with it. These are songs that always make me smile, always make me sing along, always raise my pulse, make my feet move. There are plenty of other songs that could have made this list too, but they didn't. Don't read too much into it.

Also, these 100 songs are in NO ORDER whatsoever.

This is #1-25
The link straight to the YouTube playlist:  https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLq7S3twOMsu1k-BCBnZowKTspopFak05g

In case any of those are dead or you don't have time to listen/watch, here's the list:

1 Rebel Rebel - David Bowie
2 Glory Hallelujah - Frank Turner
3 So Whatcha Want - Beastie Boys
4 Evil Woman - Electric Light Orchestra
5 Beautiful Ones - Suede
6 Crazy Little Thing Called Love - Queen
7 English Summer Rain - Placebo
8 Instant Karma - John Lennon
9 Ode To Joy (9th Symphony) - Beethoven
10 Everybody - Madonna
11 Head On - Jesus and Mary Chain
12 It's No Good - Depeche Mode
13 The Chain - Fleetwood Mac
14 Ghost Inside - Broken Bells
15 Don't Change - INXS
16 Ok...This is the Pops! - Tones On Tail
17 Clark Gable - Postal Service
18 You Got Lucky - Tom Petty
19 6 Underground - Sneaker Pimps
20 Must Be The Moon - !!!
21 I Didn't Mean To Turn You On - Robert Palmer
22 Controversy - Prince
23 Easy Lover - Phil Collins and Phillip Bailey
24 Wish - Nine Inch Nails
25 Heads Will Roll - Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Even if none of these are to your tastes, it certainly gives you some insight into my brain.

#26-50 Tomorrow.

Think Twice (A Short Story)

“And remember to listen to your grandmother,” The Boy's mother said as she headed off to work. It was what she always said. But what did his grandmother know of space stations and lost treasure? What did she know of superheros and spies?

The Boy obeyed his grandmother even though most of her orders only consisted of “Wash the dishes” or “Sweep the porch”. When The Boy came home from school he'd find her in the same spot she had been in when he left. She would be sitting in her chair at the kitchen table, a cup of strong black tea next to her, comfortable sandals resting half way off of her old, wrinkled feet, her glasses halfway down her nose, peering into a thick book full of words and totally lacking in pictures.

The only order of hers The Boy always looked forward to hearing was, “Go outside and play for awhile. Get the stink off of you,” which always came out less mean than it maybe sounds.

The Boy loved adventure. He often got his other friends in trouble. Not intentionally. He just tended to want to go further than others did. The Boy was never malicious or mean, just curious. Where does that lead? Who is that? Why is that there? All questions The Boy often felt driven to get personal answers to.

Brett Henry

If someone approached me and asked me to provide a single human being to represent our species in a first contact situation with alien beings, I would choose Brett Henry without thinking twice. It's not that Brett was perfect. He had flaws, plenty of them. To say that life had knocked Brett down into the dirt and kicked him in the teeth a few times would be an understatement. He might have even walked into a few of those ass kickings.

Brett was the best man I knew because of those hard times. They were the chisels that sculpted out his character and his moral compass, which was unerringly true. They weren't qualities he bragged about. He never saw himself as better than anyone. But if you were to stand him in with a group of his friends and loved ones and asked them all to simultaneously pick out a leader, there wouldn't be a vote or a debate. Brett would be the only one not pointing at Brett. He was kind without being soft. He was smart without being high-handed. He was funny without being goofy.

He gravitated toward grizzled, underdog heroes because that's what he was. He was the Aragorn in our Fellowship. He was the Hicks of our Colonial Marines. And when those aliens made first contact and asked Brett about humanity, he wouldn't have sugar coated it. He wouldn't have painted a Norman Rockwell portrait of life on Earth. But he wouldn't have shit on humanity either. He could see the best in the worst, whether it was a situation or a person. He could you make you feel like it was okay to look at yourself in the mirror. Without even trying, Brett made it easier to get up the next day and face the world again, even when he was struggling to do the same.

I don't want to rehash a bunch of personal memories of my friend here. Those are mine to keep close. My friend is dead. I loved him. While I want answers about the circumstances around his death, those answers won't change the most important thing: Brett Henry lived. And his life made mine a better one. I plan on spending the rest of my days trying to be half as good a human being as Brett Henry.

Biographical Body

As I hit my 40s, I really began to become comfortable with not just my personality, but my body, my history, my entire identity. I'm actually a pretty fascinating person and I really do like myself. In celebration of my 44th birthday a couple of weeks ago, I decided to take three pictures of myself (with Jen's help). Specifically, I wanted to show aspects of my body that tell a tiny story about me. Things people look at and see every day on my body but don't know the story they are looking at. It's my biographical body.

This picture is titled 199619751990 because the three images above relate to those three years, 1996, 1975 and 1990, respectively. Along with this photo, I thought I'd write the very short version of each story.

1996: Although the inspiration for this tattoo behind my left ear came from the Brujah clan of vampires in the White Wolf game, Vampire: The Masquerade, I didn't get it to signify them. Nor did I mean it to advertise that I followed any kind of stereotypical anarchist political agenda. Instead, I liked the symbol as a personal statement of liberation and individuality. I was smart enough at the time to realize I might not have a mohawk style haircut forever. I could cover the ink by simply growing my hair out. But I remember saying that even if I changed my thinking over the years, I wanted 25 year old me to occassionally tap future me on the shoulder and say, 'Hey, don't forget this ink up here. Whatever you're doing in life, do it your own way for your own reasons.' Thanks past self. Good job.

1975: That line down my left eye isn't a laugh line or a really big crows foot. It's a scar. One I got in in 1975. I wasn't supposed to be standing on our dining room chairs. I was  four, going on five and I was just excited to sit at the big table with the adults. I slipped though and I hit my face on the edge of the adjacent chair. Blood went everywhere. It was possible I was blind in that eye. My mother scooped me up and ran me to the hospital. I was screaming and crying and the more the doctors tried to hold me down to suture me up the more I flailed. I wanted nothing to do with that needle near my eyeball. But inspiration struck my mother. She knew that I was a fan of the then hugely popular show The Six Million Dollar Man. She said, "Son, hold still. They're going to give you a bionic eye. Just like Steve Austin." That was all it took. I held still and took those stitches like a champ. For weeks after, I would close my right eye, convinced I could see much farther with my new left one.

1990: I was an unhappy kid in the military and my saving grace was my friend Eric. He and I and my friends Scot, Dave and Bryan often drove into L.A. to hit various clubs. We were cash poor, dorky and totally not cool. But what we lacked in style, we made up for in enthusiasm. One night at the Kontrol Factory, the song Burning Inside by Ministry came on. I ran to the dance floor for an impromptu mosh pit with my friend Bryan. He didn't see me barreling toward him at full speed and Bryan is not a small man. He just happened to swing an elbow up as I came flying at him, literally airborne. His elbow caught me right in the mouth. My canine tooth chipped, my lip split, blood went everywhere. In the bathroom, people were horrified as I washed my mouth out in the giant circular communal sink and the water turned red. I can still feel that ding in my canine and it always reminds me of Bryan and Ministry.

My body is full of stories.

The Macabre Tale Of Daniel and Isabel

The Macabre Tale of Daniel and Isabel

By 

Connor Alexander

He was sure that his father had kissed his sister's forehead. Daniel awoke from the dream. It was the same dream he'd had every night since the Terrible Things had happened. The dream wasn't really something from Daniel's imagination though. Instead, it was more like a replay of the events of that fateful night. It was no less surreal or disjointed than a regular dream, however. It played back in his mind the same way it had played out in real life for Daniel. A series of foggy scenes and still images that made no sense to the poor boy no matter how he rearranged them in his mind, which he often did over the years.

But the tangled story in Daniel's mind only reinforced the evidence left in the wake of the Terrible Things. Something horrible had happened in the Hoster's study that night. Daniel's father, Oswald, was never seen from again, nor was there a trace of his passing. Daniel's last image of him was his face contorted and squeezed tight in a grimace. Had there been a stranger in the room as well? Maybe. Daniel's mother was found on the couch, her forearm across her brow, her eyes wide open. The only mark on her was a large bump on the back of her head where it rested against the wooden arm of the couch. She was wearing a silky black nightgown.

Jelly (A Short Story)

Jelly

A Short Story By

Connor Alexander

Henry emerged from the Jelly. He wasn't sure how long he'd been in it. It ran from his nose, his mouth, his ears, his anus. He blinked slowly as the pine green substance sloughed off of his corneas. He looked around the vat he was standing in and saw that three other people were still submerged. For a solid minute he just stood there and stared. A large glob of Jelly slid from the end of his penis.

After two rapid blinks and a quick shake of his head, he stepped out of the vat and walked down a long hall. On either side of him were more vats. Some were empty, some were partially full, but most had five people completely submerged in waist deep green Jelly. Above him, the warehouse had a combination of industrial fans mounted into the roof and solar panels which provided the small amount of power necessary for the place.

Henry strode past the other sleepers with idle curiosity. Where were they? What lives were they living? The air was cool and there was a slightly fragrant steam coming off of all of the vats. The only sound was the soft whir of the fans thirty feet above. The sleepers neither moved nor made a sound in their jellied wombs.

Behold (A Short Story)

Behold

by

Connor Alexander

Aaron

I felt his nose break against my fist. I hadn't hit anyone since Stanford. He'd been about to hit me though. I could see it in his eyes. There was fear there. And something more too. It scared me.

Phillip flailed backward, clutching at his nose and trying to maintain his balance. With a thump he landed on his ass. I thought he might try to get up and attack me, but instead, he crawled toward a closet on one elbow, one hand still pressed to his face. He was leaving a trail of thick dark blood on the wood floor.

I looked back at.Candace. Her red curls stood out in the dim light of the entryway. Her hand was to her mouth in shock, but her eyes were fixed in fascination. This had all gotten out of hand so quickly. She'd asked me to come here because she didn't feel safe alone with Phillip. It seemed routine. Who hasn't had to go back and pick something up from their ex? Without a second's hesitation I told her I'd come along.

Phillip opened the door. I'd been surprised by his reaction when he saw Candace. Was it relief? Was he still in love with her? He seemed almost confused. The moment she told him that we'd come for the portfolio though, he changed. His eyes went wild, his fists clenched, he stuttered. I saw him, or at least I think I saw him, start to cock his arm. So I hit him.

The 10th Day (A micro short story)

On my recent trip to New Orleans, I had a sudden inspiration for a micro short story (only 139 words). I typed it into my phone during our descent and now I present it here for your entertainment.



On the first day Kenna's fighter had come crashing down into Mara's wheat fields. On the second day, he felt like he was healthy enough to return to the fight, but no one came for him.

Instead, at night, he and Mara and Jack watched the distant battle from the porch. Jack rapidly bored of staring up at the tiny blips and flashes among the stars though and would turn to play with his toy space fighters.

On the seventh day, Mara told Kenna over dinner that she wouldn't mind if they never came for him. Jack nodded his agreement.

On the eighth day, while they sat on the porch, watching the night sky, Mara reached out and took Kenna's hand. He didn't let go.

But on the tenth day, they came for him.

DD-249 (A Sci-Fi Short Story)

A short story that I wrote in prep for NaNoWriMo. Let me know what you think down at the bottom.

DD-249

by

Connor Alexander

Alex woke up feeling Holly's warmth on his back. He kept his body still but craned his head back to get a look at her. Her tight red curls still perfectly framed her face, despite having slept on them all night. Her breath drifted up at him in slow puffs, slightly acidic and bad smelling but at the same time comfortingly familiar. Her breasts were soft against his back and he had to smile. She really didn't like being 'big spoon' when they slept, but she always gave into his pleadings in the end.

He made the decision to try to let her sleep if he could, today of all days. Alex slipped out from under her arm and out of the bed that really was too small for two people. The room was cramped, the air stale. Where a normal window would have been, there was an LED sunlight simulator meant to both fool the brain as well as help Vitamin D production. There was no point in a real window. The view would have just been a lifeless, darkened wasteland.

The Gravity of Gravity

*A Spoiler Free Review Of Gravity*

When this summer began, I had sort of a mental list of films that I wanted to see on the big screen. Being without regular income as well as having a decent home entertainment system means that going to a cinema is like going out for a fine dining experience. Summer can be extra tough because they tend to pack in a lot of blockbuster big budget films that tend to look better on a larger screen. So I chose the films that I would see in advance, noting director, subject, cast and potential big screen pay off.

In wrapping up my summer viewing, I've decided on a fine dining analogy. Each film being compared to a portion of a nice meal. The opening cocktail was Iron Man 3. Not bad. Listed as a house special. It more or less confirmed my expectations and set me up nicely for the appetizer. The Wolverine was that appetizer. Better than it's predecessor but nothing to really rave about. It was good enough to whet my appetite. There were side dishes of Elysium and Star Trek Into Darkness. Elysium was like some finely done broccoli. It was great broccoli, but in the end, it's still just a vegetable. You can only get so much out of it on it's own. Star Trek though was like some kick ass mashed potatoes infused with garlic and thyme and topped with fresh sour cream. Doesn't matter that it's full of carbs and fat, you want more. For dessert, Pacific Rim was like an amazing banana split, covered in whipped cream, cherries, fudge, caramel and strawberry sauce. It was a ridiculously overloaded sugary mess devoid of nutritional value. I ate every single bite with a stupid smile on my face.

But I left out the main course. That main course was Gravity. Gravity was like a filet mignon and when I walked away from my meal, it was the only thing I really ended up remembering (well, that and the dessert). Gravity is a film like few others and it makes total sense that it comes Alfonso Cuaron. The man is quickly ascending a list of crucially important directors that are taking the torch from the last generation of epic filmmakers like Scorcese, Spielberg and Kubrick. With Gravity, Cuaron took a bold step into rare narrative territory and thankfully, the studio execs gambled on that step. Gravity is the kind of film that when you finish it, it's easy to wonder how it ever got released in this Transformers/Romantic Comedy/Miley Cyrus culture.