Category Archives: EEK

LARP: Putting the IRL in RPG

Sharing Out the Game, Barend van Orley

Come, my friends, and let me bring you to a magical world where your physical limitations will not prevent you from kicking ass, and your imagination defines reality. Put your PSP down, log out of League of Legends for a while, and don your least era-specific boots. There are player characters to whomp, and it might get muddy. We’re going LARPing.

But first, some history.

Ethan Gilsdorf, author of Fantasy Freaks and Gaming Geeks, defines the activity thusly:

LARPs are all about 24/7 immersive role-play. They take the fantasy a step beyond. You create a character, invent a backstory, put on makeup, dress the part, and physically wander around a real setting, interacting with other players and making up the banter as you go along. And occasionally you beat the crap out of them.

You may have been introduced to the subcultre when LARPing gained some mainstream notoriety from the 2008 buddy comedy, Role Models.

Word on the street is that the irl LAIRE was shocked by the dramatized version of their game that director David Wain brought to the silver screen. (The guy in maroon, on the left, is going in for a super illegal head-swing.)

LARPs have their own universes, including game rules, dress code, participation, and combat system. The intention of the group is to tell a story rather than to recreate one that happened. The storyteller (or plot member) creates a module (or scene) and expresses to the non-player-characters (NPCs, the regenerating horde of monsters) what dialogue must get through to the players in each specific adventure. The improvisation comes into play when free-thinking gamers choose to interact with their opposition.

Each group/faire/event/game is different from its neighbor. There is no rigid how-to guide that umbrellas all of the producing organizations. All games create individual silhouettes and moods. LARPing necessitates believing in what is possible rather than believing that it is real while dressing up to play “make-believe”.

Not a beanbag arsenal. Magic.

LARPers get a bad rap. It takes a lot of chutzpah to fully commit to an imaginary character. To let that made-up person’s wants and needs envelop your own. Like protagonist, Kvothe, in The Name of the Wind, a LARPer must create two separate thinking minds — your character loses her puppet strings, and your puppet master ignores OOG (out of game) information that might sway her decision making. I know that stepping on that doggy toy springs a trap, but my character doesn’t have the skill ‘trap-finding’…guess I’m walking through this maze without looking down, so to keep myself honest. Squeak. Boom. 5 Normal Damage!

But isn’t total immersion what we’re looking for in our over-saturated-short-attention-span filled lives? We’ve learned to divide our attention so to avoid boring our big brains. We’re in constant communication through social media and text messages. Movie-going is a time-honored passive activity that grabs our attention, but not enough to warrant the unnecessity of high-budget PLEASE DON’T TEXT IN THE THEATER pleas from our sponsors before the show. LARPing is a perfect solution.

I’ll set the scene for you.

It’s late Saturday night. You’re exhausted from having spent the entire day on your feet, running about the woods, ducking branches, and parrying blows. At your side is a band of your closest pals. You might live states apart from each other, as a good LARP is worth the travel. You’re not reminiscing about a night at the bar, but you are gambling in the Tavern. That greedy halfling swindled you out of your coin last month, and you want to show him a lesson this time.

But suddenly, every head in the Tavern turns to the door: a scream starts and is quickly muffled from the center of town. One of the newest players has been captured. On cue, your noble friends and heroic townpeople hustle to regroup. Someone casts light, someone offers their silver weapons, someone begins to track. A band of fighters and casters gather, huddling in woolen cloaks accepting buffs, preparing for an altercation.

Without fail, the tracks lead you to a dark narrow path. There could be anything in that darkness. Confident fighters send shields to the front and the back of the group. People huddle for protection, tripping on each other’s robes, fumbling quiet apologies. Commotion erupts at the back of the line: from the darkness, a claw has reached out to grab a healer! And soon, persistent ghoulish undead things are slashing at you from all sides. You block the blows you can see while ticking down your health until they no longer resurrect.

Fear has a hold of a few of you, who would consider heading back to town, but there is safety in numbers. And who knows how many more waves of swords and spells you’ll face before reaching the Big Bad and helping your comrade to further solve the riddle that obfuscates his past.

A scout returns to the group to report that he’s found the Drow Matron’s layer. You start, confident once more and accept some healing potion from your neighbor. He keeps the bottles in a handcrafted leather belt with pouches and snaps. You’re honored that he’s sharing and caught off guard when a monster flies at you from the brambles that have been deceptively quiet and peaceful at your side. You jump back to avoid the blow and two things happen in quick succession: you knock your friend into the bushes and lose your glasses.


Laughter boils as skeletons help their fellow gamers to their feet. Plot members and the well prepared shine flashlights on the earth to help you find your glasses.


There are murmurs as people return to positions mid-battle, frozen.


And thus, your journey continues. When you and your band return to town, victorious, the Tavern fills once more. You dry your grass-stained boots on the stove and sip heated cider to warm your nose and rehydrate. For this is living. This is LARPing.

EEK allegedly plagiarized some of this article from her undergraduate thesis about the sub-genres of Neo-Medieval themed performance, because she is a very, very cool kid.


In Defense of My Dumbphone


I live in the North Country. For those of you for whom this has no meaning, not only do I live in the part of New York that is not within commuting distance to NYC (or the greater metro area), but I actually live in upstate NY. It’s a trek to get anywhere. My closest grocery store is a Walmart ~12 miles from my apartment. The McDonald’s at the base of my lake closes in the winter from lack of year-round denizens. I can’t flush my toilet within an hour of taking a shower if I want my well to help produce pressure enough to wash my hair. No joke, last week my shower stopped mid lather because a house guest was in my kitchen getting a drink of tap water.

Although, I do know people who consider Westchester County to be upstate.

Although, I do know people who consider Westchester County to be upstate.

We do have some modern conveniences. My WiFi connection is strong enough that I can marathon the latest Netflix Original Series or host multiplayer online games on Steam (if it’s not windy), and if I walk a few paces down my street (beside my garden gnome next door neighbor’s crops) I have enough cell phone service to send and receive text messages–picture messages are another story.

I’ve been collecting people’s outdated Androids as hand-me-downs for the day that I can actually use them. I have one currently set up solely as my instagram box. I am the master of the #latergram. “Look! I saw a thing a day and a half ago that I thought you also needed to see! Share my experience! Now, feel free to validate me!”

Allegedly there’s a cell tower coming to town…eventually.

4G in the Adirondacks....EVENTUALLY!

4G in the Adirondacks….EVENTUALLY!

But at this point, a data plan doesn’t feel like a wise investment. I have internet access while I am at work, home, the market, the ice cream store, the bar, the gym…all I am missing is the distracted driving that comes from trying to connect to Waze. And texting my friend to let him know that I am omw. And confirming that location tag on Facebook. And replying to that comment on Disqus.

My life didn’t start in the mountains, and I won’t be here forever. And I’m not even trying to put down the wonders of the modern cell phone–I know that my iPhone inclined Brooklyn friends swear by HopStop to get into Manhattan without running into unplanned detours, and that Google/Siri are the direction-giving gas-station attendants for Millennials. But, DAMN, a data plan is expensive.

After I had been handed my third deemed “obsolete” smart phone, I started getting antsy. Is it acceptable for me to not be plugged in at all times? Hell, I know a guy who chose to be evicted rather than to terminate his iPhone contract. I made my way to the website of my wireless provider. It should be easy, I told myself. How many commercials about the awe-inspiring nature of UNLIMITED DATA have interrupted my online viewing pleasures? I was met pretty immediately by the paywall (and the beyond frustrating enigma of the Verizon Wireless site map). As a young professional who is currently living paycheck-to-paycheck, I don’t have $70/month to spend on a measly 4GB. I have a car to insure and gas up! I have birth control to buy! I’ve also been known to eat meals every so often.

And so, I’m back on the merry-go-round. When I get off, I’m where I started: surrounded by the pointed pines and the brilliant birches that dapple those 4G blocking majestic mountains. I’ll continue to take a break from the internet when I’m swimming in the lake or blazing a trail, for I know that I’ll be moving downstate soon enough, where the salaries meet the higher cost of living, and after-hour work emails reign supreme.

Om is where the heart is.

Om is where the heart is.

EEK is wrapping up a two year contract in the stunning Adirondack Mountains of New York state where she has learned the wonders of alone time, leaving your pipes running in sub-zero weather, and hosting budget-conscious house guests each weekend of the summer.

Rage Quitting for the Soul

I’ve never claimed to be a patient person. Genetics and a competitive NYC education have instilled in me a combative inclination and a cynical demeanor. I’ve yet to have a doctor tell me that I have blood pressure issues, but I know that surefire chemical rush to the face, tunnel vision, and heightened senses that come from rage. A scream may be muffled. An offensive phone call ceases to exist when it is hung up. Terse negotiations might reach their conclusion with a flipped table. In the world of gaming, there is the rage quit—it’s how I drop the mic.

We have learned to rely on the technological shortcuts, of which we have been afforded by the modern age. A mistake loses repercussion with the Ctrl + Z shortcut, and at the end of a long Sims binge, I find myself wanting nothing more than to press 3 to fast-forward through the difficult or the mundane IRL. But in this real world, the rousing mental crescendo before the final punch of tympani is meant to be tempered with anger management, breathing exercises, Klonopin, or yoga. I can’t disconnect from the server to escape a troll when they are right in front of me.

In some respect, rage quitting is a luxury that consoles and computers provide. If I’m lucky enough to be playing a game that allows me to save at leisure, there can be in-game benefits to returning to my main menu if, say, I accidentally declared war on a Civ a few hundred years too early. Whoops! Let’s try that again, shall we? But if I am at work, for example, I can’t flip my desk when I reach fuck-it-o’clock and expect to be allowed back on the property the next day, let alone continue to receive a paycheck.

The anonymity that online gaming affords, as well as the de-stressing nature of cyber-violence (keep an eye out for a post on this subject in the future from one of my favorite MMO addicts), can offer an outlet for vile behavior. Tensions mount, egos rise and fall, feelings may be hurt. The best medicine can sometimes be a heaping dose of GTFO. It’s much cheaper than throwing your N64 controller into the CRT, anyway…wait, am I dating myself?

There are many ways to quit, but when our gears are grinding and we feel our flesh turning green, it’s best to avoid the Hulk Smash and take a quick walk. A smoke break?  Hell, I don’t know. I’m a pretty angry lady. I am attracted to people who are willing to fight me, and then not hate me for having disagreed with the moral and intellectual implications of their statements. And to be honest: I love winning. I love praise. I love superiority.

When I feel like I am out of my league, I am unmotivated. I recall an ill-conceived attempt of my parents to have me learn to play tennis. I was enrolled in a tennis camp for two sessions, never making it out of the beginners group–my little brother and I were known to practice our mad homerun skills (that’s a tennis thing, right?). My father tried to motivate us by using this gentleman’s sport as an analogy for life and class, “we always want to play someone who has better skill than we.” Perhaps that’s why no one was willing to challenge us to their inevitable win. For more EEK and bro preppy sport failures, I will cite the sailing class that we didn’t pass–turns out we were meant to learn more than how to right the tipped boat.

I like playing games because I like feeling accomplished in my successes, I’m sure in a similar way to that of tennis players. So when my opponent has clear board advantage, why on Earth would I sit there and watch him slowly chip away at my pride. My PRIDE. Ok, not that I’m at all proud of this facet of my personality. I can be legitimately happy when a player reaches their tenth victory point in Settlers of Catan. Even if that happiness comes from the beautiful end to the agony of knowing I’m going to lose.

Taking myself out of the conflict zone can be the quickest path to peace. In fact, I think having the ability to rage quit is one of the elements of gaming’s escapism that resonates most with me. So, I encourage you to let your simmering hate of that 13-year-old who’s kicking your ass in SWtoR resolve with this rousing little ditty from a fellow sister in rage:

       If you’re livid and you know it, Alt-F4

       If you’re livid and you know it, Alt-F4

       If you’re livid and you know, fuckin’ rage quit, fuckin’ show it

       If you’re livid and you know it, Alt-F4

EEK came to a place in this article where she felt that she had made her point, only to be informed that it was too short. Rather than rage quitting, she procrastinated until the fear of disappointing the editorial board motivated her to continue stabbing the point. Er…taking another stab at it.  

Untap, Upkeep, [B]ra

Allow me to rely, for a few moments, on gender stereotypes.

I’ve recently entered the ranks of the Lady Planeswalker Society—I am a female identifying player of Magic: the Gathering. Now, I fully admit to be very new player who has jumped into the deep end. Since February, I have been to the prereleases of Gatecrash, Dragon’s Maze, and M14, often crawling home at 4am, manically patting myself on the back for having made it to the third match of a few rounds.

We are few, and therefore often dismissed as anomalies.  I’ve gotten used to being the only person drafting in a dress—though I have seen a couple utilikilts, and when I played at TempleCon and PAX East, my sense of fashion was put to shame by some of my male cosplaying competitors. It’s expected that I am either playing the game because my partner is, or that I’d be willing to go on a date with he who handed me their extra Judge’s Familiar promo. (I kid you not; I left my last event with no less than six of those shiny and adorable cards.)

This has led to handful of awkward situations, though. Most recently at the M14 prerelease:

While constructing decks at my local gaming shop

Friend 1: (after popping an expensive rare) I have a feeling this is the hot seat!

Unknown Magic Player: No, I think the hot seat is to my left (pointing to me). High five!

And later

Friend 2: (after having been trounced by my partner, and losing his chance at Top8ing) Tell your boyfriend to go home!

Same Unknown Magic Player: Yeah it’d be more fun for all of us. High five!

(I will admit to having a track record of being a cultural appropriator based on who I am dating. For instance, my love affair with LARP stemmed from an actual love affair. I don’t feel any guilt about this; I am one who believes that the couple that games together stays together. The most stable married couples that I know accredit their success to their shared interests.)

By the end of a typical FNM draft, my psyche is affected by combination of extremes. I am the sexiest woman alive! I have no idea how to play this game and there is no way I’ll ever learn. Did I really win that raffle, or just get free stuff because boobs? It’s both confusing and exhilarating.

I’m excited to keep learning. Other than being expensive, this game is extensive. There are formats that I’ve yet to touch, and I think that I am slowly understanding card synergy enough to build a standard deck.  I’m trying  to train my eyes from glazing over when people throw card names at me from sets that were released in 2004, and how broken they would be in combination with some other card that just  came out.

I’m no Eda Bilsel or Melissa DeTora, but my Return of the Jedi card sleeves are starting look used and I note my skill improving. And isn’t that really all that matters in the long run?

EEK is a tree-hugging, air condition-loving hypocrite with a mild interest in making the world a better place…from the comfort of her own desktop.