orrynemrys

Gen Con 2021 | Day Two

My second day of Gen Con was kind of a blur.

In the morning, Peter and I had breakfast at Le Peep, a provincial cafe just a mile’s walk from the hotel. And walk we did. After the travails of the prior day, I was frankly astounded at my ability to keep up. On the way there, anyway… I was quietly grateful when Peter felt the need to rush out a bit quickly following breakfast, making for the hotel to grab the gear for his high noon festivities. I took the opportunity to mosey toward the convention center at my own pace, enjoying the morning air as I snapped photos of downtown Indianapolis.

Back at the convention center, I hit the dealer hall and made some more gift purchases I had been eying the day before. Mostly supporting artists and indie game designers. I ran a 12:00 game for Monte Cook Games with a fun group of players who, despite having to shout through the masks to make themselves heard in a noisy room, took to roleplaying their random group of dungeon delvers with enough personality and wit to quite simply amaze me at how efficiently they tackled the adventure scenario. It was a four-hour slot, and we were done in three.

Riding the high of a great game with folks who genuinely seemed to enjoy sitting down with a few strangers and pretending to be the best of friends for a few hours, I made arrangements to connect with Dan and we hit a nearby pub for a late lunch. Or early dinner. Whatever it was… the convention center food was pretty awful, so walking the extra two blocks seemed like a kindness to our bodies and our souls. Had a barbecue blue cheese burger, incidentally, that was a fascinating and very satisfying blend of flavors. Good stuff.

Our evening game was a Savage Worlds Victorian pulp adventure Peter has run at TsunamiCon previously, and this was my very first chance to sit at one of his gaming tables. I definitely enjoyed his thoughtful approach to getting characters involved in the story and his openness to creative – and sometimes tropey and hilarious – innovations from the players. It was the same group of participants from the night before, and we had a good time.

Friday at Gen Con was a much busier affair than the previous day, and the gaming hall was pretty packed. The space between tables kept it from feeling unsafe, but we also started noting a more lax stance amongst participants concerning the masking regulations, particularly when you could invoke the consideration of eating. We roleplayed through our masks, but many people seemed to adopt a sort of restaurant etiquette at the table – that is, despite the policies posted by the con, once sitting down masks seemed to be optional. Because the place was so crowded, this felt like a poor decision… I was imminently relieved that the table Peter had grabbed – the same as the night before – was somewhat remote and removed from much of the population. I could see that he was distracted by it while running the game, however, even to the point of mentioning my own dangling mask after I failed to put it back promptly following a pull from my soda.

And I think that’s what bothers me the most. While it feels like it is possible to make relatively safe decisions and avoid the majority of risky situations with a little conscientious care, we shouldn’t have to walk that edge while trying to enjoy our time at the convention. Though I am enjoying myself immensely, it casts a bit of a pall over much of the experience.

That being said, I am looking forward to whatever comes next.

Gen Con 2021 | Day One

One of three Chessex booths at Gen Con 2021

After wandering to wakefulness at around 4:00 in the morning (would have been 3:00 back home!), I finally gave up on sleep and resolved to begin my day with a clear head and a cup of Lapsang Souchong. Nice face full of wood smoke and happiness. I hadn’t had a chance to test it, but my new little travel tea kettle worked beautifully.

I eased into my first day of the con. Though events were starting at 8:00, my primary interest for Day One was the exhibit hall, which opened two hours later. Also, given the COVIDs, I didn’t want to risk the traditionally packed opening ceremony shtick and gave it an extra half an hour or so. I took my video camera and started recording immediately as I was leaving the hotel via one of the skywalks over toward the convention center. No one seemed to give me much thought as they maneuvered around me or trudged in my wake, but I did find it interesting that conversations would die as people ventured near, so as not to disrupt the production I assume. Or be caught on tape being an insufferable nerd or something.

All in all,, folks were terribly polite.

And masked! And largely keeping their distance. This was – and still is – my biggest concern about this trip. Beyond a mask mandate and a general attempt to space tables further apart, the convention has taken no extraordinary measures toward crowd control or health and safety. The up side (depending on whether you sit on the convention board, that is) is that the crowds are significantly diminished per their expectations – and they had planned to limit capacity to half of the previous in-person convention. Word is, it’s nowhere close. Although that hardly means that the crowd is small – we’re still probably talking between 15 and 20K, but the immensity of the convention halls and additional spacing allows for much greater freedom of movement than I was given to expect going in. And like I said, the attendees are generally taking the mask thing very seriously.

That immensity, by the way, made my first day at Gen Con a truly surreal experience. I was floored by the expanse filled with gaming tables, walls so far away that I could barely register them as such. I spent hours wandering the dealer hall, stopping occasionally to snap a few photos, purchase some gifts for my gamers, and visiting with industry folks I’ve known for years but never met in person. Truly, I only stopped when I did because I was starving and my feet had registered a complaint with home office.

After a brief nap, some lovely thai food, another brief nap… I geared up for my first game of the con. And by geared up, I really just meant a bag of dice, as I wasn’t running this one.

The game was Deadlands Reloaded, and my character was a great explore / big game hunter named Rufus who talked through his mustaches and acted absolutely fearless in the face of exploding dice. The best part, I got to game with the Honorable Peter Hildreth, my guide on this sojourn to Indianapolis, and my friend Dan from the Carpe GM podcast. Dan found out I was going to Gen Con and made the trek from St. Louis – admittedly a less harrowing trip than ours – to hang out. We’d visited many times over the past six or seven years and used to have regular rap sessions over Google Hangouts, recorded bits for each other’s shows, shared industry information and guest contacts, and even collaborated on some jams! But this was our first face-to-face meet ever. And sharing a game table was a fantastic way to start the weekend.

It was midnight before I turned in, still riding high just a bit from the Day One experience.

Gen Con 2021 | Arrival

We arrived at the hotel near 5:00 on Wednesday evening. At first blush, little sets Indianapolis apart from any other middle American city. A detour on the highway even routed us through a graffiti-enhanced smidgeon of urban sprawl that disappeared instantly as we crossed the river into the downtown area, which sports some very cool architecture.

Our hotel is attached to the convention center via a skywalk – a system of which appears to connect several hotels and nearby buildings criss-crossing the immediate vicinity – and we wasted little time after checking in heading over to the con to get our badges. I walked for half a day to the room where I picked up my press pass, stopped to water my camels and pick stones from between the toes of my favorite Sherpa, and meandered for several days more toward the orientation for GMs running events for Monte Cook Games. I have games scheduled for Friday and Sunday, which blessedly leaves me much time to wrap my head around the Gen Con experience before I settle into the time-honored tradition of performing graciously for a table of complete strangers with a blood lust in their eye.

I met up with my traveling companion and erstwhile guide in these unknown waters, and we ventured even further on foot to an Italian restaurant where they serve spaghetti and meatballs on a plate the size of a small battleship. With a heartfelt arrivederci to my dietary goals, I did my best to balance my consumption with the inevitable brisk walk back to the hotel. I was pseudo-successful… my Sherpa only had to revive me once, and that was following a brief rockslide incited by rapacious scooter-fiends roaming the city sidewalks to the beat of native buskers beating plastic tubs that echoed eerily beneath the skywalks.

Having had a chance to peruse the maps provided in the Gen Con program – and noting that events span both floors of the massive convention center and four surrounding hotels! – I have wisely decided that I am not one of those gamers who must clear the fog of war from every corner of the map. Tomorrow – or more accurately given the early hour, perhaps, later today – is for catching up with friends and perusing the dealer hall. Perhaps I can hire someone to carry me…

Wilting in the Heat

Prithee bring me windy days and butterflies
                And morning dews upon the grass
Clover soft between my toes
                And high above a sunny lass
Besotted by the sweetness of
                A change upon the day just passed
With memories of winter’s breath
                Yet lingering, alas
Prithee bring me dreams of autumn’s long caress
                The sultry notes of summer nights
Reds and yellows all aglow
                The sunny lass at last alights
With warm illusion on the hill
                Her toils for our feast delights
We long for winter’s wild chill
                As sashes close and fires build
In slumber holding fast until
                The morning dew invites.
Dreams of Springtide by Erik Emrys Carl

I am not fond of the summers in Kansas. When I lived in Dodge City, summers were interminably dry and dust-coated, sweltering, ungodly highs of around 108 in August with nary a cloud in the sky. In Wichita, August highs still reach 100 degrees with intermittent rainy days and pollen so thick it qualifies as precipitate. Even the night holds the heat close like a wild animal caught in a trap.

Forgive me for waxing poetic. Suffice it to say, I am not fond of summers in Kansas.

I love the fall, however. The scents of summer drifting on a steadily cooling evening breeze as the colors change and days grow shorter. When the bugs are drawn to the decay of dying leaves as readily as tender flesh, and a cup of tea on the porch after the sun’s gone down becomes a moment of zen rather than a cry for relief. I’m looking forward to it.

Meanwhile, I am fortunate that many of my preoccupations pair well with air conditioning.

Systemic Change

I seem to have acquired the most morbid news app EVAR on my phone. While it reports items of national interest, skewed in some fashion to an algorithm that picks articles similar to items I’ve explored on previous visits, it also focuses on local stories. I live in Wichita. It is a sizable community of more than half a million residents, but by no means a city renowned for its crime and hardship. Yet Every. Single. Morning. I am greeted with a morose notification regarding a violent crime, a shooting, a fatal accident, and so forth. I’m not sure what started this trend – I can’t even blame it on the algorithm, as I rarely click on any of these – but the past several weeks have somehow made this city feel remarkably unsafe. I’m confident that it’s an illusion – at least in contrast to business as usual – but it’s effective.

Anyway… good morning. Today is a new day, and I’ve decided to make an effort to chronicle said newness as part of a lean toward accountability. Journaling is a healthy habit I’ve found myself advising to others on numerous occasions, but I have never been able to invest in private journaling as a personal retreat. Somehow, anything completely private fails to buoy my sense of self-worth – which seems counter-intuitive, but doesn’t surprise me. While I enjoy no shortage of confidence in my abilities, the greater value of a creative effort is invariably in the sharing. As always, I will maintain a sense of openness and honesty. Authenticity in the public forum begets vulnerability, but I believe any less would be disingenuous and counter-productive.

That being said, if you’re reading this… welcome. Now to the point of today’s story.

I recently discovered a YouTube channel that presents a wealth of deep and thought-provoking content. I’ve enjoyed discussions regarding characteristics of genius, procrastination, objective reality, political marginalism, and life-hacks that help redefine your potential. This video, however, echoed a thought experiment that has guided some of my grander projects for many years.

It’s not a terribly long video. The core principle regards productivity in light of successes and failures. Setting goals may seem like an intuitive tool for success, but it effectively keeps you in a “fail state” until you achieve a goal, which can often be a minute and hollow victory inspiring an almost irrational need to set another goal ASAP. Thus starting the cycle anew. Setting a system, however, creates a pattern of behavior that generates feelings of success as the steps of the system are met, driving an overall sense of success toward the “goal.”

For example, I have around 45 to 50 thousand words left to complete Veil of Shadows, the now-tardy sequel to my debut novel. This goal has loomed larger the longer it takes to reach it, and my continued frustration at struggling through passages of the manuscript has been dispiriting, to say the least. As a goal, it keeps me a fail state. I have attempted to chop it up into more manageable chunks. Chapters. Story arcs. Even word counts. As goals, they are hit and miss, and the misses weigh more heavily than the fleeting accomplishments.

As per the advice rendered in the video, I have instead decided to create a system. I will specify an hour of the day – I’m currently working with the 9am hour, when I am often feeling well-rested, just after breakfast, and everyone else in my house remains fast asleep – to spend on the manuscript. I won’t set word count goals or anything similar; some mornings I may fly through a passage, others I may accomplish nothing (or even edit out a previous section on a follow-up read). But the pattern of successfully devoting time to it will keep me in a positive frame of mind regarding my efforts to succeed.

I mentioned that I’ve used this approach before on a macro level. Usually it’s on projects that have a hard deadline – like a promotional project or an event – thus making the goal itself irrefutable. With the freedom of that deadline, I can more easily focus on the time I spend and the steps I take to prepare for a con over the six months leading up to it. To use a random example.

But now I’m going to experiment with this same approach on a micro level. I am notoriously bad at goofing off, as it happens… I will occasionally binge a couple hours of a TV show, but I’m typically unable to engage in private entertainments when if feels like I could be doing something productive or creative (or preferably both!). So I’m going to try structuring my time. Using Google Calendar, I’m laying out an idealized schedule for my principle obligations. Here’s a look at this week:

The dark green items are hard scheduled driving, where a friend employs me to provide transportation for him. The light green are related to managing TsunamiCon and Assam Teas. For the latter, I have a lot of detail work I need to do to plan and promote the convention, and I believe that carving out specific times for it will be beneficial. For Assam, I’ve been slacking on our promotions and there are various managerial functions that need be kept up with. The dark blue items are actual game, and the lavender stretches are for schoolwork. I slot it meal time to ensure that I keep an eye on them; I like to prepare meals for myself and my wife (and my kids when they are interested in what I’m making). The yellow are medical appointments and such. That leaves the light blue entries, which are for writing, game prep, and podcast editing.

I’ve left space, of course. To relax, to record some music or read a book, watch TV, play a game, what have you. And it’s important to note that, though my rationale for this approach is to prioritize my work much like I would a full-time job, it’s entirely flexible and very experimental. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Oh, and it goes without mentioning… Comments are welcome.

Cheers!

There’s Something in My Eye

I just finished the Mistborn Trilogy by Brandon Sanderson.

Full disclosure: I don’t read that much anymore. While consuming literature – particularly fantasy, with a dose of sci-fi and horror – was a preoccupation of my youth, I’ve found less and less time for it in life as the years roll by. As a write, I naturally find this admission a little painful. And to my credit, whenever I’m feeling stuck in my own writing I tend to pick up a book.

I have been fortunate in that I have always found inspiration in art. Some writers or musicians absorb another artists’ work and feel intimidated, maudlin, or downright depressed. Even though much of my craft is relatively mediocre – with a maddening penchant of making me work all the harder for Every. Little. Scrap – I have always found motivation and inspiration in other people’s work.

I have to admit… I’m struggling with that a little bit right now. The Mistborn books are an excellent read, and Sanderson is more than proficient at creating compelling characters and weaving a story that holds you as it moves along. Still, I read the books in fits and starts over the course of two or three months. At times it felt like he was wandering a bit, and much like my absolutely favorite writer Mr. Robert Jordan – and, not coincidentally, yours truly – he likes to switch perspectives every few chapters to create an illusion of momentum that pushes everyone along separately in the same narrative. It’s effective, but a little disjointed at times.

And yet I never questioned whether I would push on to the end of the series. It was just too good.

I finished the third book less than an hour ago. (And yes, I know that if you look up Mistborn you’ll find three more books that follow the trilogy, but if you’ve read this stuff you know why the end of book three hit me so hard.) And for the first time in a long time, I’m simply stunned. Flummoxed. Intimidated, even. I just don’t know how to get back to my book after that. I’m still reeling.

I know that time and distance will offer perspective, but I have to say that I rather enjoy being in this place. I kinda want to hold on to this feeling for a while, even if it makes me effectively unproductive.

Read Mistborn. It’s worth it.

Nobody’s Home

Today… has been rough. It’s been 13 years since my father passed away. It actually almost slipped right past me. It’s typically pretty easy to remember, given proximity to Valentine’s Day… but this year’s Valentine’s festivities involve cleaning and making deliveries. Not ideal for marking the occasion.

I have to admit… I’m feeling pretty helpless lately. Without going into details, we’re dealing with a level of financial ruin that we simply didn’t anticipate. We thought we had this shit under control – we had every reason to be confident about it, despite the challenges presented by health issues and unemployment – but some things just spiral out of your control. I’m not terribly depressed – so many people are in much worse situations! – but it’s demotivating.

Jonikka and I spent the past seven days working tirelessly on deep cleaning the house. Niera helped us replace our broken steam cleaner, so the carpets are starting to look really nice, but the house is a shambles with bedrooms all switched about and furniture piled against walls in different rooms. And we had to wait for cash to buy new carpet shampoo – which we now have – but the weekend is here and we need to get some deliveries in to try to make some money, and we can’t recover our living space until we have time to finish the carpet…

And now, of course, the meteorological shift into single-digit temps has put Jonikka into a world of pain and chronic exhaustion.

It’s little things. The bank account it dry. My wife can’t function. I don’t have money for meds or household supplies. I can’t set up my computer desk and mixing console to work on podcasts. Or record music, and I have a few songs that are absolutely beating at the inside of my head trying to get out. I have games to run – and I will – but I’m having a hard time getting excited about it.

My dad’s position on hardship was always pretty practical. One thing at a time. Like me, he had a hard time sacrificing comforts for expediency, but he was quick to commit to a change if it solved a major problem. I’ve done quite a bit of that over the past several months… I know that there’s more I could sacrifice. But you have to measure living against quality of life for as long as you are able.

As Maslow’s Bitch, I’m not always able… so I hang on to what I can.

I was planning to start school next week. Online. Getting my MBA. I may have to put it off until next term. I thought we’d be in a better place by the time this term started. It’s really important that I can focus on the work.

Damn.

I was going to write about my new songs and how excited I am to get some recording done. I’ve already sent one composition to my rhythm section to work on their parts. “Nobody’s Home.” Basically, my pandemic song. Really moody, bluesy stuff. I laid down a few layers of guitar and strings, as well as some scratch vocal parts. Brendon and Drew are gonna get the bass and drum sections figured out, then I’ll see if my friend Anne can layer in some piano work. Then on to Bonnie to work on vocals. Very cool piece. Can’t wait to share it.

Still miss you, Dad.

The Passing of a Giant

My oldest friend passed away this weekend. He was all of 16 days younger than me, and dear in a way that boggles the mind of anyone who knew him.

I met Mike when we were in 5th grade. It was a tumultuous time in my life; my parents were teetering on the edge of divorce, we’d been dragged across state over Christmas break to a new home in a new town, and I had the misfortune of being a 10-year-old who really didn’t know how to communicate with kids my own age. For whatever reason, Mike just didn’t care about that last point.

He lived up the street and around the corner, and we had almost nothing in common. I loved reading and music; he preferred Sega and stalking neighborhood kids with toy guns. But this was also the year I got my own D&D books, so it wasn’t long before we found some common ground exploring dungeons and fighting monsters in my dad’s garage.

I admit we still didn’t have much in common by the end of my 8th-grade year, at which point my family relocated again. Little did I know that we’d run into each other nearly two years later in the halls of Dodge City High. He’d gotten a tad bit taller. Like, a foot or so. And I’d grown out my hair. But we still loved us some Dungeons & Dragons.

Mike always had a dark side. It turned out he’d moved out to Dodge to live with his grandparents, because his anger issues had boiled over and created an insurmountable rift with his stepmom. He always had a temper. When he joined the navy and disappeared for a few years, I remember hoping he had found some purpose that would give him peace, but fearing he’d find himself at the wrong end of too many fights.

Mike and I often hung out over the following years. He was part of our family – another son to my mom, another older brother to my brother. We had years of fun at the gaming table. When my ex-wife and I bought a house, he even rented the house next door. And later on, when I’d moved across state to start a new life in the wake of my divorce and he’d relocated to San Antonio, we eventually had the chance for regular gaming online.

Until, that is, he destroyed his laptop in a fit of rage when he couldn’t get the headphones to work right.

My friend Mike died of a heart attack. His second coronary in less than a year. He tried to reign it in, but his anger was always a bitter enemy, picking at his psyche like a fly that just won’d stop buzzing around your head. He was brilliant, though often brutish. He was electrically and mechanically inclined, always concocting ridiculous inventions and hyping up big plans for future innovations. But so many people knew him for his bad jokes and playfully mean streak. He was also a loyal friend, who fought his more selfish impulses to help my family out of a spot on more than one occasion.

Mike was kind of a jerk sometimes, but he was also a decent human being who truly deserved the peace and love he so often struggled to give himself. My wife and I loved him dearly, and we often concocted schemes to get him to move up and join us in Wichita. It never happened, but we loved to entertain the notion.

In the past year, we talked a lot. About life, health, family, dreams and ideals. He eventually replaced his computer and started gaming with us again, and I definitely wish we’d had more of that. He was a giant of a man with a heart that just couldn’t stay strong enough to support him; which seemed odd, given that it was so often strong enough to support me.

Mike was 44 years old, and he was my oldest friend.

Edward

At about 5:00 this morning, I picked up a young man named Edward and ubered him home. He was clearly in at least his mid-to-late twenties, but he was inordinately concerned about his parents’ opinion of him getting home so late. It was about a 15-minute drive, so we had a little time to talk.

Now I talk to all kinds of interesting people everyday. It’s my favorite part of driving for Uber and Lyft. Naturally, topics vary, and the quality of a conversation can range from the deeply philosophical to the irrefutably shallow. Sometimes I have a great deal to contribute, particularly when we touch upon a topic in which I have a great interest or personal experience; sometimes I have a passenger who wants to engage in religious or political discussions with a clear bias that would drive me nuts if I indulged. Not to mention possibly alienate an otherwise friendly enough client.

But upon occasion, a conversation ranges into more personal territory. I’ve actually had a conversation with a bartender who suggested that aspects of our job were very similar, and was quick to suggest that my psychology degree was hardly wasted on my current paradigm. Yet somehow, perhaps because of my own stressors in recent weeks, I was wholly unprepared for this morning’s conversation with Edward.

Edward needs help. It wasn’t lost on me that our destination was a very rich neighborhood and that I dropped him off at a very big house, but he was still a young man struggling to get his life in order in the face of addiction and parents he couldn’t communicate with. I got the strong impression that our conversation, such as it was, meant a great deal to him. I listened, which he doesn’t seem to get a lot. I didn’t judge, which he seemed to find a little confusing.

But most importantly, Edward talked about his addiction in very plain terms, and wanted help. My heart went out to him, and I felt woefully unprepared. I’m going to spend some time today looking for phone numbers or something I can offer people who need that kind of help. I advised him on what to look for, what kind of person to talk to, and he seemed genuinely invested in the idea… But I have no idea what will happen to Edward.

Ultimately, of course, it’s his life to live. Like many people from every walk of life, he struggles with depression, and he continuously turns back to drugs and alcohol to find solace. He’s surrounded by people who help support his habit, rather than provide any real friendship. I discussed the situation with him very frankly, and urged him to take action, but I have no choice now but to put him in my rearview mirror and hope he find some answers.

I like to think I’m a better person for it, but I dread the idea that I fail to make a difference, that I don’t try hard enough. That it’s somehow harder to reach a hand out to those in need when you bury yourself beneath your own struggles in life.

Next time, I hope I do better.

Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?

I watched the first half of The Magnificent Seven last night. The new one, with Denzel Washington and Christ Pratt. I’ve always had something of a paradoxical relationship with westerns… My dad was a big John Wayne fan, so I saw a lot of his movies as a kid, mostly in passing. Can’t say that they were ever that important to me, though one or two of them – particularly True Grit and Big Jake, for some reason – I caught enough times that I’d say I kinda enjoyed them. That being said, other than the occasional oddball like Support Your Local Gunfighter and The Outlaw Josey Wales, the genre largely failed to capture my imagination.

Until Young Guns, that is.

For me, this illustrates a generational issue that has always plagued my sensibilities. As most of my friends are aware, I’m something of a movie whore. I love movies, and I don’t apologize for it. It really isn’t popular to like films that are shallow or trendy, or huge departures from a beloved novel, or overhyped. I get it. As someone who can appreciate the deep and complex artistry of quality storytelling, the power of a compelling performance and a brilliantly framed scene, it seems a betrayal of good taste to similarly appreciate big budget special effect movies and unoriginal narrative concepts. As someone who thoroughly enjoyed films like Magnolia and American Beauty, and unapologetically dug the Michael Bay Transformers flicks despite their fast and loose treatment of a childhood passion – who enjoyed pretty much everything from M. Night Shyamalan including The Last Airbender – how can I ever convince anyone that I have any semblance of taste?

So here’s the thing. I enjoy entertainment. I enjoy an immersive experience. The artistry is never lost on me… I can forgive a lot of middling storytelling for some transcendent cinematography, beautifully crafted visuals, and an amazing score. I can forgive more than a few plot holes if the pacing is good and the acting is superb. I prefer a story that makes me think or keeps me guessing, but I’m no less capable of enjoying a movie that requires me to put logic aside and just soak it in. I don’t think this actually compromises my ability to recognize flaws in the process, but I don’t let them disrupt my enjoyment of an otherwise immersive product. And I try not to get hung up on the things that would otherwise take me out of it.

But as it turns out, I still have my standards.

I grew up in the Star Wars era. Many film aficionados recognize three very poignant milestones in modern filmmaking that utterly transformed our expectations. Lucas’s epic space opera was the first of these. Prior to Star Wars, the look and feel of science fiction tended toward a less comprehensive landscape in terms of visual effects, pacing and story – even acting. I was born in ’75, and from my earliest memories I always knew who Kirk and Spock were, but I don’t actually remember watching Star Trek as a kid. It’s the same way I knew Superman or Bugs Bunny. I remember my father getting me an Empire Strikes Back lunchbox for me my 1st-grade year – and I remember him telling me that I’d gone with he and my Aunt Jeannie to see the movie – but my first real memory of Star Wars was a year or so later when the original film came back to theaters while they were filming Jedi.

Then I saw The Wrath of Khan. As a 7-year-old, the intricacies of the tale were lost on me, though I remember my mom being excited about Ricardo Montalbán’s reprisal of his villainous heartthrob from TOS. And here’s where we get to the point. I was not yet a fan of anything in particular, except maybe dinosaurs and Darth Vader. When Star Wars hit the scene in ’77, every sci-fi filmmaker and more than a few producing material for television saw their simple tried-and-true formula handily evaporate in the wake of visual storytelling that truly transported the viewer into Lucas’s universe. Trippy effects like were prevalent in Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey were no longer sufficient to impress viewers who had ridden in the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon and felt the awesome power of the Death Star as it sucked them in. I think a lot of folks can agree that Gene Roddenbery and director Robert Wise might have done well to shelve Star Trek: The Motion Picture in ’79 and retool their vision to meet this new standard.

Star Wars similarly represented a shift in storytelling. Characters were interesting and excitable and moved with a sense of purpose. The genre (and I admit that I use the term fairly loosely here) had been dominated by ponderous exchanges and classic performance tropes that had endured throughout cinema since the 50s. We all laugh about Luke’s whininess now, but it was a surprisingly fresh presentation of character for the genre at the time. Also, the camera moved with a sense of cinematic purpose, framing everything from the flight from Mos Eisley to the Kenobi-Vader showdown with an intimacy and grandeur that was uncommon at the time and served to heighten the immersion of the experience.

The Star Trek movies I grew up with had, in many ways, learned their lesson and maneuvered into a more modern texture in visual effects and cinematography. Other science fiction and fantasy eventually caught up, as well, though genre movies were rarely provided the kind of budget that they needed to transcend some of those issues. Donner’s Superman movies demonstrated some creative effects that allowed a level of immersion, but still had some glaring issues. Spielberg asked us to follow him down the rabbit hole a hair with Raiders of the Lost Ark and E.T., while Ridley Scott gave us a sobering experience with Alien that used the balance of what we could and couldn’t see to mix a bit of wonder with a dash or two of terror. The entire industry was undergoing a fascinating transformation that I could give two shits about… because I was, like. 6 years old.

What mattered to me was that I grew up in the post Star Wars era, so the look and feel of a thing mattered a great deal. When confronted with movies from yesteryear, I was bored and unimpressed. Original series Star Trek episodes confused me, as my Enterprise from the movies in the 80s felt so much more real and the characters felt like they were really interacting, not just posing and following a script. Roger Moore was my first James Bond, and westerns – as I may have intimated before – felt like stilted play-acting on painted sets.

Until Young Guns, that is.

In the late 80s, I discovered something that really surprised me. All the tropey little affectations that were classic cinematographics of the genre really spoke to me. The close up on a hand hovering near a gun, then the twitching mustache at the corner of his mouth. The way everyone in town held their breath as the tension mounted. When you took those things and gave them a modern look and feel that actually pulled you into the story, I was hooked. Young Guns and Young Guns II, The Quick and the Dead, Tombstone, Dances with Wolves and Wyatt Earp, Bad Girls and Unforgiven… I finally got it. The romanticism of the genre was finally accessible to me. No surprise, i guess, given how much the western genre informed Star Wars, Star Trek, and many other genre favorites. And in more recent years, remakes like 3:10 to Yuma and True Grit have reminded me so much of those early discoveries.

I’ve been sick, so I have to kinda pace myself lately, but I’m looking forward to finishing The Magnificent Seven.

Oh… and the other milestones I mentioned? There are two other easily recognizable incidents in modern filmmaking that have established a new standard – for better or for worse – and redefined our expectations. Most movies can easily be categorized by whether they came before or after… One of them was Jurassic Park.

The other was Avatar.

On a final note, I suppose I should admit that I love me some J.J. Abrams Star Trek. The new movies are beautiful and spectacular, and they captured a lot of what I have always loved about the genre and really celebrated the things that make Star Trek fun. Many fans are turned off by more than a few of Abrams’ choices, and I get that. I just don’t let it get in the way. The new movies bring a modern sensibility to the look and feel of Star Trek, something I have longed to see for a long time. For many, the focus on visual effects and the undeniable overuse of lens flares detracts from the experience, while the sublimation of classic social commentary elements and reimagining of characters puts people on edge. And I thought the alternate timeline thing was freakin’ brilliant, and while I didn’t feel that a new Khan movie was necessary, I loved every little homage to the original story and twist and turn that demonstrated how the timeline change had turned everything on its ear.

For me, reboots and reimagined ideas, new interpretations of beloved works… none of these bother me. My enjoyment of the original is not somehow poisoned by a new idea. I often find that I can love wildly different takes on an old favorite, and I expect everything to stand on its own merit. The Lord of the Rings is easily one of my earliest passions, and I was excited beyond measure when the first trailer for Fellowship hit the Internet… and when the elves showed up at Helm’s Deep in The Two Towers, I cheered Jackson’s pacing and innovation and appreciated how much more fun that movie was than the second book in the trilogy, which is famously a tough read. And though I’ve been known to complain at almost every line of dialogue in Attack of the Clones, I hold the Star Wars prequels dear for bringing a love of my treasured franchise to my oldest child, who was certainly not scarred by the antics of Mr. Binks.

And neither was I.