So, I recently moved to a new place. My darling cat, Sebastian, and I needed more room, as well as a space where I ideally didn’t need to lie to the agents about having a darling cat. Conveniently, after casually mentioning my search on social media, I was contacted by an old acquaintance who was looking to rent out his house.
There was some stuff in it, he said, but he’d taken everything he wanted, so I could take what I needed and throw out the rest. Give the house a new life, and all that. This all seemed well and good to me, plus the promise of no rental inspections, ever, was too good to resist. After making an agreement, I started sifting through the things and theorising about what they might be used for.
I think it must hold true that every great war starts with the most mundane of tasks, somewhere down the line. Maybe Pol Pot saw a cloud shaped like the letter ‘G’ and it inspired him to do a genocide. Maybe Hitler got a bad case of food poisoning and thought, “Screw it, I’m just going to kill as many people as I can find.” My own war began, as I’m sure many others have before it, with me heading to the ‘quick sale bargain’ section of my local supermarket.
I may not know history, but if there’s one thing I do know, it’s a good deal. I can sniff them out from a mile away, usually because they have already partially deteriorated. This particular bargain was no exception – a tray of four dips, more than 50% off the price. Might as well be gold-plated, for that kind of saving.
So I went through the checkout and took it home with some pita bread, for humble dipping purposes. With one eye on my computer screen, I lazily dipped, sampling the wares of the local Foodland. The hommus was good, the tsatsiki stood up to the grade, even the french onion dip was at least average. But soon, I found myself unintentionally ignoring the guacamole. It wasn’t bad, per se, it’s just that I felt my dip attentions were better placed elsewhere. Like the girl at the dance who isn’t ugly, but is still so forgettable that she spends the night standing alone in a corner, crying into her punch. I mean, I’ve always thought that guacamole was better on nachos or burritos, rather than by itself, and that was an opinion I thought couldn’t possibly be too controversial. Or so I thought.
Dear Readers: As we know now, the history of our modern world can be divided into two segments, Before Pokémon Go and After Pokémon Go. This post by our newest fabulous guest writer, Justice Jane, was written B.P.G. if you are wondering why it still explains why people might run around playing an augmented reality game. This post is about Ingress, the beloved predecessor of Pokémon Go. Our apologies to Ms. Justice for not also posting it B.P.G.
I started playing Ingress maybe a month or two ago, after several prompts from my boyfriend, an avid player of the game. He picked a team for me, set me up, and never, for a moment, thought that I would actually start playing. To his surprise, I did, perhaps out of boredom, or perhaps out of that sheer determination that appears out of nowhere when someone you love doesn’t think you’ll do something. To my surprise, I enjoyed the game. It’s cool, really. You get to feel a bit like a spy, and walk around a lot outdoors while only minorly feeling like you’re wasting your life. No more than usual, in my case.
After a month or two of playing, I was informed of a big event the organisers of the game were hosting in Sydney. Apparently it was called an Anomaly, and such events happened around the world on a regular basis. Being based in Adelaide, Sydney is a fair plane trip away, but not far from doable. I thought about it, but then, given that I had a trip planned to Sydney a mere 3 weeks after the Anomaly was set to happen, I passed up on the opportunity. My plans were changed when someone offered up a free plane ticket. I am known amongst my friends and associates as the type who has trouble passing up anything free, much less a plane ticket to Sydney. I thought about it for about twenty seconds, before putting up my hand, shrugging my shoulders and deciding that I was going.
photo by Michael Deegan