Just as I did for my 30th, I spent most of the time leading up to the horrible day going over my to-do list of all the things I’d supposed to have accomplished by the time I got Old, a list I’d started when I was 20. I’m starting to realize that the trick isn’t accomplishing all these things; it’s not worrying so much about the ones that are left undone.

• Become an animator: F
• Grow a beard: C (didn’t really commit until it’d already started to turn white)
• Write a novel: F
• Get married: F (still illegal thanks to intrusive jackasses)
• Own a house: F (highly unlikely in the bay area)
• Learn Japanese: C- (still at a preschooler’s level reading, can’t understand spoken at all)
• Go to Japan: A (I got to go twice!)
• Go to Ireland: A (Dublin’s a fantastic city)
• Work for LucasArts: A
• Make a Sam & Max game: B+ (still too recent not to focus on what I would’ve done differently)
• Release my own game: D (it’s in the works, though!)
• Learn to play banjo: D- (I can play a tortured, basic version of Cripple Creek)

So I’d get an incomplete, which is probably for the best considering either alternative. I could even see myself embracing the whole “Life Begins at 40!” thing. If by “life” you mean “taking lots of fiber supplements.”

So let me see if I’ve got this right: at some point during World War II, some Italian guy decided to put cake frosting in a jar and sell it as something a reasonable person would eat for breakfast. And everybody in Europe said, “What the crap how come we didn’t think of this earlier?” All they had to do was take the picture of a big-ass chocolate cake off the jar, replace it with a picture of a sandwich, call it a “spread,” and then move it a couple of aisles over, next to the peanut butter.

They can even claim it’s part of a “balanced breakfast,” as long as everybody plays it cool and doesn’t ruin it for everyone by pointing out you’re giving kids chocolate cake icing for breakfast. They don’t even have to jump through the marketing hoops that Cookie Crisp had to go through.

My favorite concept from Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels, Neil Gaiman’s Sandman comics, and plenty of games inspired by them, is the idea that gods are actually created and powered by faith. I love the idea that if enough believe in something hard enough, it will actually become reality. And I love the idea that if you say “a hint of cocoa” enough times and talk about breakfast, people all over the world will smile and nod and absolve themselves of any guilt over eating the stuff.

Earlier this month, a writer named Tom McCormack posted an article titled “Milking It” on the Museum of the Moving Image’s blog. He talks about the It Gets Better project as opposed to the progressive politics of civil rights as depicted in the film Milk. I was kind of hoping that after a couple of weeks preoccupied with work and another writing assignment, I’d be able to respond to the post more objectively. That hasn’t turned out to be the case; it still just rubs me the wrong way all over.

McCormack’s main point is that the videos are a perfect example of how the civil rights movement — in particular the push for gay rights and women’s liberation — has transformed from the radical and militant views of the late 70s into a push for patience, tolerance, and feel-good statements that everything’s going to be fine if we all just work together. He fears that the videos’ attitude will let us all become complacent, convinced that we’ve done something positive when we’ve in fact done nothing to help. And he points out that the need for the videos should be a dramatic warning sign that everything’s most definitely not all right.

And that’s a valid point, and probably something that needed to be made explicit.

Where the article falls apart, though, is when McCormack starts speculating on what effect the videos are having, and starts picking targets and speculating about how much more they could be doing. Unfortunately, it all reads like a pitch-perfect parody of the Clueless Self-Absorbed Liberal. I’d think it were some kind of GOP plant if the vocabulary were less sophisticated.

For instance:

I’m not entirely sure of the effect the It Gets Better videos are having on LGBT youth throughout the country. It’s conceivable, even probable, that they are doing unimaginable good, possibly literally saving lives. But I am sure of how these videos are functioning among young, liberal, educated urbanites like myself: they’re comfort food. [...] they also offer a chance to momentarily step into the role of disadvantaged LGBT youths stranded in unwelcoming communities [...] The liberal city-dweller is allowed a Clintonian “I feel your pain” moment, without actually having to feel any pain, and, as a bonus, is told that these kids will be just fine—when they move nearby.

Well, I hate to break it to you, Mr. Straight White Male Cinema Studies Major, but maybe these videos aren’t all about you.

Now, of course I realize that the article’s addressed to a very specific audience, those of us who are watching the videos from a safe distance instead of being directly addressed by them. But still, holy smokes! It’s astounding how quickly and callously he acknowledges that maybe the videos intended to stop suicides might actually be stopping suicides, and immediately puts focus back on what really matters: how it affects people like him.

You really can’t give it a pass, because we’re talking about a group of people who are trained to make themselves invisible, and who are told through adulthood that their problems don’t matter. Gay men and women’s desire to serve in the military isn’t as important as some vocal minority worrying they’ll get ogled in the shower. Their desire to get married isn’t as important as some well-funded church group ignoring the first amendment and complaining that their religion is under attack.

And when there’s story after story of young men committing suicide after being outed or even suspected of being gay, and a video series is created in response, what’s the reaction we keep seeing over and over again? “All kids have it bad! Man up!” “We need to put a stop to all bullying, not just for gay kids!” No matter what the issue, there’s always some moron who pipes up with “What about the straight people?” Even simply acknowledging that you’re homosexual is instantly decried as “shoving it in people’s faces” and “asking for special treatment.”

So you want to put a stop to all bullying? Fine, just do it on your own time. Don’t try to steal the attention away from gay kids who really need someone to listen to them and tell them they’re not alone. And when an article like McCormack’s effectively says, “Yes, suicide is very sad, but what about the zeitgeist?!” it trivializes the issue; it diverts attention away from people who are seriously in crisis. It’s basically doing the same thing that the article accuses us all of doing.

To illustrate the difference between 70s “radical leftism” and the modern-day “more accommodating liberalism,” McCormack uses a scene from the film Milk. In that scene, Harvey Milk receives a phone call from a kid who’s planning to commit suicide because his parents are going to send him to a hospital to “fix” his homosexuality. (And in case anyone out there hadn’t heard of this: that’s not just a 70s thing; there’s still a very vocal “ex-gay” movement and it’s still fucking horrific). In the film, Milk doesn’t tell the kid to wait it out and be confident that his life will get better. He tells the kid that there’s nothing wrong with him that needs to be fixed, and that he needs to leave home and get to the closest big city, where he’ll find people who will support him.

McCormack does concede that leaving home to live on the streets was a different prospect in the 70s than it would be today, but I’m not sure he — or the other detractors of the project — fully appreciates what the “It Gets Better” videos are trying to address. And at the risk of diverting attention away from kids who need help back to myself, I can only explain what I think the videos do and why I think they’re important.

The first thing to realize is that the recent rash of suicides and suicide attempts is not unprecedented: if the “It Gets Better” videos do nothing else, it should alert everyone how shockingly common it is for LGBT youth and young adults to try to kill themselves. As more people are coming forward in one place to tell their stories of how things got better, they’re also describing how bad things got for them, and you hear stories of attempted suicide or thoughts of suicide over and over again. According to the Trevor Project, more than a third of lesbian, gay, and bisexual youth reported attempting suicide.

It’s important to understand that not all of these kids came from abusive environments. There are most definitely people growing up with terrible home lives, or subject to abuse at school or elsewhere, and they do desperately need someone to help them get out of that situation. That’s why all the videos direct viewers to the help line. But there are many stories of attempted suicides from kids who grew up in supportive environments. There are too many factors at work to blame it all on bullying or all on bad parenting.

For my part, I had just about the easiest and most boring experience possible coming out: I was already an independent adult, with a career in a very open-minded industry, with a job at a very gay-friendly company, surrounded by supportive friends, and living in the most gay-friendly area of the United States if not the world. And still, it sucked.

That’s because not all the pressure is directly external; it’s this internalized fear and loneliness that gets worse the longer you wait. I was very fortunate that I never reached the point of attempting suicide, but I spent a couple of years thinking about it constantly. If I had to describe the feeling of my lowest point to anyone, I’d say: think back on the loneliest you’ve ever felt, and then remove any sense of hope that it will ever go away. Because it’s not just a case where you’ll eventually meet someone, maybe, because everything that’s making you lonely is all your fault. (If you were reared in a religious household, add the knowledge that God wants you to feel this way, because apparently you’re weak, even if you’re not sure how or what you did wrong). And if you tell anyone about it, then you’ll lose the friends you do have.

When a person’s in that mindset of isolation and fear, the last thing he wants to hear is that his only hope is to leave his home and all of his friends and start a new life somewhere else. And it doesn’t help to give him a vague promise that he’ll meet other people who are supportive, if those people have nothing in common except for one shared trait.

Telling someone to leave — again, assuming he’s not in an abusive environment — does no good if he still hates himself and mistrusts other people in whatever his new home is. What’s needed is to be told that he’s not alone. That there are other people who’ve gone through the same stuff, or very similar. That what he’s going through is temporary. And that there’s visible, tangible proof that things can get better.

McCormack puts forward Sarah Silverman’s Message to America On Gay Suicide as an example of the direct, forceful message we should be sending out instead of giving vague promises of hope. In that video (go ahead and watch it; it’s only 30 seconds long), Silverman says that it’s hypocritical to be shocked at the rash of gay suicides and then defend homophobic policies like Don’t Ask Don’t Tell and bans against same-sex marriage or adoption. McCormack suggests that that’s the kind of video that’s going to effect long-term change, not feel-good messages of “just ride it out and wait for it to get better.”

But here’s the thing about that video: I don’t for one second doubt Silverman’s sincerity. And her message is succinct, forceful, astute, and completely accurate. But who’s listening? Was John McCain going to say, “Now that I saw that YouTube video from the shock comic, I’ve completely changed my vote.” Was anybody who was on the fence going to watch that video, much less have their opinions changed by it? She’s preaching a valid message directly to the choir.

I can imagine what my reaction would’ve been if I’d seen that video before I came out, either as a still-in-denial teenager or even as a miserable adult. I would’ve been annoyed that some Hollywood actress was capitalizing on my personal trauma to make some political statement. What the hell does she know what I’m going through? And I like Sarah Silverman.

I saw Milk long after I’d already come out, but I can imagine what my reaction would’ve been to that, too. I would’ve said that it’s fine for what it is, but it’s a movie for other people. It’s Oscar bait. A little too didactic. And the people and situations it depicts are as alien to me as those in Avatar.

I know I would’ve had that reaction, because when I was in my early 20s I saw a movie called The Wedding Banquet that knocked me back into the closet more effectively than a dozen episodes of “The 700 Club” would’ve been able to. McCormack describes himself as a “member of a generation raised on irony and self-doubt,” and I suspect that we’re of roughly similar ages, and I dismissed The Wedding Banquet just as I would’ve dismissed Milk: movies that don’t offer me anything I can relate to, but still try way too hard to sell me on some agenda. I said, “that has nothing to do with me,” and went on believing that my “problem” must be something else.

Understand that when I say that they’re foreign to me, I’m not saying that they’re useless. No doubt there are plenty of people who were raised in very conservative Chinese families who saw themselves in The Wedding Banquet and got some measure of strength from it. And no doubt there are plenty of people who watched Milk and learned something they hadn’t known about the gay civil rights movement. And of course, it’s exactly the events depicted in Milk that meant I could have such a relatively easy time coming out. But still, none of the depictions of gay people I saw in the media ever seemed relevant to me or what I was going through.

I imagine — and this could very well be an unfair extrapolation — that McCormack wants to believe that a particular video or a particular film has the power to become a cultural touchstone, the equivalent of the “I Have a Dream” speech for those of us who were overlooked during the first “civil rights movement.” I imagine that, because I like to believe in the power of film, too. But that’s rarely how media works.

There’s no single video in the “It Gets Better” project that is The One that will help everyone who sees it. (There are a couple that come close, though). Just like I don’t believe for one second that anyone will read my own account and have everything suddenly fall into place. But while I could dismiss or mock or ignore a single message movie or a television series targeted at a particular demographic, I wouldn’t be able to ignore the same message repeated over and over again by hundreds or even thousands of different people.

And that gets to my biggest problem with McCormack’s article, in reference to the wonderful video put out by employees of Pixar:

When corporations like Pixar come out with these videos they’re praised for their bravery, but it’s just as easy to see opportunism. Suicide is just about the least polarizing of issues, so how brave to come out and take a stand against it. If Pixar is really behind the LGBT community, why don’t they come out with a video against Don’t Ask Don’t Tell and in favor of legalizing gay marriage?

I have to ask: if you’re so concerned about these issues, where’s your video for same-sex marriage, Mr. McCormack? Or for that matter, the one done by the Museum of the Moving Image? How in the world could anybody, even the most egregious abuser of the “it’s someone else’s problem” defense, believe that it’s a movie company’s obligation to produce videos concerning political issues?

How is it even remotely acceptable to take a video of people sacrificing their privacy in the hope of preventing people from killing themselves, and accuse them of not doing enough?

I happen to know a little (third hand) about the making of that video, and it wasn’t some corporate-mandated public relations piece like McCormack and many others are assuming. It was a genuine attempt to contribute to the It Gets Better project, started by a couple of the employees shown in the video, which then found traction among other employees and gained the support of management. It’s a remarkable example of bravery — it would’ve been so much easier to remain silent instead of having thousands of morons on YouTube and Ain’t It Cool saying “lookit all the homos!” — and sincerity to deliver a message of hope instead of some self-serving accusation. And it just plain pisses me off to see anyone using the “I grew up in the 90s, I’m cynical!” excuse to try and tear it down.

And does anyone actually believe that a Disney-financed and Pixar-produced campaign video against proposition 8 or any other political issue would actually benefit anyone? It would instantly be seen as propaganda by both opponents and supporters alike — if anyone’s cynical enough to dismiss a video this sincere, they sure as hell are going to dismiss it if there’s even a hint of an agenda associated with it.

The video doesn’t have any direct political agenda; it is exactly what it says: a message to LGBT people who are in crisis and unable to find themselves, with the encouragement to stay strong and the reassurance that their life can get better. And even though I watched it long after I’d already come out, it was the first time I saw a video about “The Gay Experience” and found myself saying, “Yes!” and “Right!” and “That’s exactly what it’s like!” and found myself sobbing at the end because they’d gotten it so right. So if you, as a straight (or even gay) adult, are unmoved by it, then maybe that’s because it’s not for you.

Except….

One of the best things about the Pixar video is that it incorporates the main strength of the It Gets Better project as a whole: it aims for universality. (The ones from Facebook, Google, and most recently, Electronic Arts employees also do this, but of course Pixar has an unfair advantage when it comes to making movies that connect on the gut level). You’d be pretty hard pressed to watch that movie and not see someone that you can identify with. Maybe not ethnically, but in terms of background and temperament.

If you’re gay, that’s huge. “Here’s an intelligent, well-spoken person, presumably ridiculously talented, working for a great company, surrounded by supportive people, and he/she is just like me.” There may be hope for a successful life after all.

But if you’re straight, or really anyone who has limited exposure to gay people, it’s a pretty big deal, too. Not everybody in that video talks the same way, dresses the same way, or acts the same way. Aren’t all homosexuals supposed to be like they are on “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” and “The L Word?” And they’re all accepted and they all seem pretty well-adjusted, is the weird part — not just the ones who “act straight” but the ones who are all super-gay or -lesbian too! It’s almost like some alternate reality where people are valued based on their own merits instead of one trait they happen to share!

And a huge part of the power of the video comes from the fact that they’re not politicizing, but instead sharing small, deeply personal things. McCormack acknowledges that speaking out against DADT (thankfully unnecessary at this point) or in favor of same-sex marriage wouldn’t be addressing the root problem, but he does so pessimistically:

Then again, DADT and the illegality of same-sex marriage are themselves symptoms, the legal and material base of an ideological superstructure woven so deeply into our cultural consciousness that it becomes difficult to imagine exactly when and how, big-picture-wise, things will get better.
[...]
But when talking about basic human rights—and basic human decency—a majority is basically a sorry thing to celebrate. It’s a hurdle to pass, and perhaps a landmark, but no kind of ultimate goal.
[...]
All of which ignores that fact that even if public discourse somehow shifted to being universally pro-LGBT, homophobia would almost certainly linger the way racism and sexism linger; championed by a few, unspoken but thought by many, and unconscious but internalized by most.

Yes, that’s most definitely going to be the case. The videos don’t promise that It Gets Perfect, just that it gets better. One of the hardest aspects of coming out, at least for me, was learning to accept that I will never be universally loved. It sounds either trite or egotistical, but it’s kind of a big deal: some of us are just brought up with this idea that if we work hard enough, and if we do or say the right things, and if we conform to the right standard, then we’ll give no one in the world reason to hate us.

But the thing we all have to learn is how to live our lives by our own standard instead of someone else’s. Trying to please everyone is a hopeless goal. Some people are always going to be racist, sexist, or homophobic. Some people are always going to hate us not for what we do but for who we are. The truest test of character isn’t how others value you but how you value yourself.

And when you ask a man what it is that he values, what gives him the most joy in his life, and he can name something as simple and basic as being able to walk up the steps to his apartment and hug the person he loves, then That Man Wins At Life.

Because he gets to do that every day, and no asshole screaming “faggot!” on the street, or on the internet, or in the US Senate, can take that away from him.

So when McCormack asks why Pixar hasn’t come out with a video against DADT or in favor of legalizing same-sex marriage: it’s right there embedded in your article, dude. It’s because of people like the Stonewall rioters and later Harvey Milk, that I can write about being gay on the internet and walk around the city holding hands with my boyfriend and be pretty secure in the knowledge that I won’t be arrested or beaten up or worse. And it’s because of messages like the Pixar one that more people will gradually understand what a fucking travesty it is to treat gays and lesbians like less-than-people.

I can understand being cynical or suspicious, and I can understand how easy it is to dismiss messages for being too maudlin, or too earnest, or too calculated, or too dogmatic. But when you see a guy talking about something as simple as being able to dance with his boyfriend in public, and he’s just beaming — beaming — with pure joy, I don’t understand how anyone could be suspicious or afraid of that.

Where I’ve always failed to quit before is by thinking of it as giving something up. Even though I didn’t ever enjoy it any more, I’d gotten convinced that I’d be missing something if I quit. So here’s all the stuff I’ll really be missing:

• Having every cold last an extra two or three weeks because I can’t stop coughing
• For that matter: being absolutely miserably sick with a cold, coughing so bad I’m retching, and still feeling the need to go outside for a cigarette every hour or so
• Walking a few steps behind whatever group I’m with, so the smoke doesn’t blow on them
• Missing the last minute or so of every conversations because I’m already planning how and where I’m going to have a cigarette as soon as the conversation ends and I can get outside
• Instinctively reaching for the cigarette pack the moment I step outside, whether I want one or not
• Making people wait for me in or around smoking areas before we can go inside or keep moving
• Leaving my new bike in the garage, since I always had a permanent excuse not to exercise
• Finding stray cigarette buts all around the trash can in my kitchen
• The big black spot on the heel of my shoe
• Having to go through security twice on flights where I have a layover, since I have to head outside the moment the first leg of the flight lands
• Getting rained on
• Getting rained on in the cold
• Teeth the color of butterscotch pudding
• Having a layer of ash that looks like dandruff on the chest of every dark shirt
• Taking five times as long to write anything, since every time I get stuck I have to go outside and have a cigarette

I can’t get excited about saving money yet, since I’m still on the nicotine patch, and those things are at least as expensive as a half-pack a day. But that’ll be another bonus in a few weeks, once I no longer need to be able to furiously rub the patch every time I have a craving. Not to mention all the other crap that nicotine addiction adds to the mix.

Of course, I won’t look nearly as cool as I used to, sucking down a known carcinogen that gives you bad breath yellow teeth and can cause high blood pressure and impotence, but that’s a sacrifice I’ll just have to make.

Besides, plenty of people have already covered it more eloquently than I could: there’s the moving address given by Fort Worth city councilman Joel Burns. Employees of Facebook shared their stories in a compilation video. The pastor of a church in my hometown sacrificed his privacy to explain his situation and explain how he reconciles his sexuality with his religion. And there’s the amazing video above from employees of Pixar, taking their personal stories of the difficult times they went through, and turning them into a message of hope.

And that’s when I realized I was missing the point. These individual messages are powerful, but the most powerful thing is the outpouring of support for the cause; the real power is the number of individuals willing to come forward. The thing that strikes me the most about the videos is how much they have in common, how many of the same experiences we’ve all shared — gay, straight, or otherwise. The message is that we’re not alone, we’re not the only one in the world going through this. I can’t help but wonder how my life would’ve changed for the better if I’d seen these videos when I was 13, or 16, or 23, or, in my case, even 32. And when doing something as simple as sharing your story can have such a profound effect, then keeping silent no longer seems like staying private or showing decorum. Keeping quiet just seems irresponsible.

So here’s some of my experience, and some of the stuff I’ve learned over the years. Stuff I would tell myself if I could go back in time to the most miserable points of my life, before I came out. And it starts with the promise that your life can be absolutely amazing, if you let it.

I was relatively lucky: I was bullied in middle school and teased in high school, but more often for being a nerd than for being gay. The worst I got was “sissy.” Other kids had it far worse, and to the kids who’ve had the courage to come out while still in school: you’ve got my respect. My own response was to try desperately to keep it hidden. The most horrifying thing I could imagine was how I’d be abandoned and my life would be ruined if anyone ever found out. I found out later that the people who I genuinely cared about already knew or suspected, and they didn’t care.

You’ll frequently hear people talk about choice when they talk about being gay. And there is a choice: you can choose to accept who you are, or you can choose to build your entire life based on other people’s expectations of you.

For my part, I put being gay into the “unacceptable” category, believing I could compartmentalize it and keep it from ruining everything else. I thought if I denied it long enough, I’d eventually get “better.” I thought if I prayed hard enough, it’d go away. I buried myself under schoolwork or, later, regular work, convincing myself that it was an acceptable substitute for having a personal life. I convinced myself that nobody could ever find me attractive, because it was easier than admitting to myself that I wasn’t attracted to the people I was supposed to be attracted to.

And I got better at convincing myself I was happy, because I was doing The Right Thing. I believed what I’d been taught. Gay people all act and talk a certain way, like they do on TV. They’re all promiscuous and hedonistic, because they lack willpower. All they talk or think about is sex. And they’re so tiresome: they all define their entire lives around being gay. There were all the made-for-TV movies and documentaries about how horrible it was for women when their husbands or boyfriends came out; how selfish could those guys be? I didn’t have anything in common with that! I just wanted — desperately wanted — to be normal, so surely that couldn’t be me. Those people were different. So I could be an ugly social reject with no possibility of ever finding love, but at least I was better than them.

That was my choice, and I lived with it for over fifteen years. I heard my friends talk about who they were attracted to, and I’d duck out of the conversation or become silent and sullen. I’d see them start relationships, get married, have children, and realize that that was never going to be an option for me. I’d see someone I was attracted to and I’d go quiet, because I was embarrassed and ashamed that I hadn’t done a better job of suppressing it. I convinced myself that I was happy and that everything was fine, without realizing that I’d lost all hope.

When I was younger, I would’ve said it was melodramatic to compare it to dying, but I can’t think of a better way to describe it. I’d effectively killed a part of myself. And over time, I got more preoccupied with thoughts of how to finish the job. There wasn’t any one event, but a long, gradual process of just giving up. I’d withdrawn from my friends. I’d lost around 40 pounds because I just didn’t care about eating. And for months I’d spend every night in bed staring at the ceiling, asking myself what was the point of going on like this. What was the point of living when there’s no hope of ever being anything but broken and lonely?

But then, the part that I never, ever would’ve believed: it got better. I met another gay guy and actually got to know him instead of dismissing him as a stereotype, which had always been easier. I realized I didn’t have to talk or behave a certain way, or let it take over my life. I could stay every bit as boring and nerdy as I wanted to be, and I didn’t have to be ashamed of myself for it or anything else.

For years, I’d been afraid of how my friends would react if I ever came out. The reaction from the first friend I told? He said “Really? Good on you!” without skipping a beat, and he bought me a beer. What about the friends I’d had for longer, would they be angry that I’d been lying to them for so long? They said okay and made a joke. But of course my friends in San Francisco would be okay with it; what about my friends from home and college? I got congratulations, and then they returned to treating it as a non-issue. I’d spent so many years withdrawing from my friends for fear of losing them. Not only did I not lose anyone over it, but I’m a better friend now that I can be open and happy.

And now, six years later, I can honestly say that I’m open and happy. On the surface, it doesn’t look like much has changed in the past six years. But there’s a world of difference. I don’t feel the constant need to watch what I say, out of fear. People complain that gay people are always going on about being gay — I used to be one of them — but they just don’t understand what it’s like to be surrounded by people casually talking about their relationships without the fear that they’ll slip up and use the wrong pronoun. And now, even at my lowest points, I can go to bed looking forward to what’s going to happen tomorrow instead of feeling the hopelessness of having to face everything alone.

It’s no epiphany; it’s an ongoing process, and I’m getting better. At first, I was happy that I could still be normal, but I’m getting better at understanding that there’s no such thing. I put so much value into not conforming to a gay stereotype, that I didn’t realize how judgmental I’d gotten. But if normal’s what we value, then we’re always going to be valuing ourselves and others based on how well we conform to other people’s expectations. It may be a while before I stop feeling a little apprehension at the sight of a Folsom Street Fair or pride parade, before I’m able to remember what each of those people had to go through in order to be open. “Be True to Yourself” is such a simple and overused concept, but so difficult to practice. And sometimes, even more difficult to respect in others.

So to the younger me, and to anyone reading who’s been going through similar stuff: believe that it does get better. Nobody can guarantee your problems will all disappear. You’ll still run into bullies. You’ll encounter people who will judge you based not on who you are, but on a part of what you are. You’ll be pressured to conform to what other people expect of you. You’ll be told, either explicitly or more subtly, that you’re sinful, lustful, weak, confused, selfish, mentally ill, or undeserving of love or family.

But I can guarantee that you will also experience moments of such profound joy that you’ll find yourself with tears in your eyes. Moments of inexplicable kindness, or unexpected beauty.

And they’re compounded, as each one builds on the last. You can’t predict them, and you can’t control them. But you have to choose them, and to do that, you have to accept that you deserve them.

The greatest moments of my life have always been simple things: time spent with friends. A message of encouragement that I hadn’t expected. The exhilaration that comes from finishing a project. They’re all better now, because I can be more honest with my friends. I’m getting better at accepting encouragement with grace. I’m better able to appreciate work I’ve done, without immediately looking for faults because I must’ve done something wrong. And now I can add the simple things I’d long thought were unavailable to me: holding someone’s hand in public, or just plain talking to a friend about a guy I like. Add up enough of these simple moments, and you end up with a pretty spectacular life.

Perfect logic or not, I can’t recommend it. It’s not even like I’ve never been to places inappropriate for the Lonely Planet treatment. Paris? Just hit the Louvre, take photos from the top of the Eiffel Tower, and skip the moonlight walks along the Seine. Venice? Just glare at the guys trying to sell you roses and go to the next museum. Disneyland? I can’t really recommend it, but they get enough annual passholders that you can make a go of it solo. But Disney World may be the most inhospitable place for the single guy outside of a Lamaze class.

It’s not as if the parks failed me somehow; the place is just plain designed for families or couples on their way to being families. And the result of going solo is that you end up at the Orlando airport going through what felt like every single side effect listed in ads for Abilify.

But hey, Disney World! I’ve been at least thirty times and I still see something new each time, and this trip was no different. One of the unexpected highlights was the “Gran Fiesta Tour” in the Mexico pavilion at Epcot, formerly “El Rio del Tiempo.” It’s still not an E-Ticket, but it’s got exactly the right touch and tone: still all the charm or the original ride but without feeling embarrassingly dated, and still a tourist promotion for Mexico but without feeling too dry. Plus they brought the characters back, which is something Epcot’s always needed, and they did it the cool way by using the Three Caballeros.

The Main Street Electrical Parade isn’t new, but it’s back, and it still does a great job of making me feel like a six year old again.

I finally got to play through all of the missions in the final version of the Kim Possible World Showcase Adventure, and it’s pretty cool, and it seems to be pretty popular. It also gets you into parts of the pavilion you haven’t seen before. In the Japan pavilion, I found the other new-for-me thing, an exhibit called “Spirited Beasts.” It has a display devoted to different types of Obakemono (creatures of Japanese folklore) with representations from traditional art, toys and anime. And it’s the perfect kind of exhibit for Epcot: it teaches about Japanese folklore by making it relevant to the audience. I was very impressed.

Plus it was the first time I’d ever seen the hotel I stayed at, and they let you take a riverboat to Downtown Disney. And the only advantage to going alone: they’ve got single rider lines all over the place, so I got to ride Expedition Everest like five times in a row. That coaster gets better the more I ride it.

So I still recommend everybody take an extended trip to Disney World, just take a buddy. And deodorant.

I have yet to see the new World of Color thing that all the kids are talking about. I haven’t seen all that much yet, actually, since I got in too late for Fastpasses and I didn’t have enough patience to wait for stuff. But that’s turned out to be a good thing so far, because I’ve seen a lot of the great live entertainment.

At any point, without warning or provocation, I’ll tell you about the differences between Walt Disney World and Disneyland. One of them is that Disneyland feels a lot more “full,” as if there’s always something going on everywhere you look. I’ve only been here half a day and I’ve already seen all manner of parades and other shows break out all around me, plus other stuff I’d never seen before or hadn’t seen in years.

One of the “new” things is the “Captain EO Tribute,” which I’d only seen once before (right before it shut down, if I remember correctly), and which was a billion times better this time. In the line, they have scenes from some kind of making-of documentary showing George Lucas and Francis Ford Coppolla and about a billion dancers who look like they just got finished filming the video to “Warrior” by Scandal featuring Patty Smythe. As for the movie itself: I can’t honestly say that it’s aged well, but it really is just an amazing thing; it’s hard to believe that it even exists. I can’t remember where I saw it the first time (maybe Orlando?) because I definitely didn’t remember all the thumping in the seats and the early 80s 3D that hurts your eyes to even look at it. The funny thing is that I distinctly remember thinking, at several points throughout the 80s, that we were living through a cultural wasteland, and dreading the point at which people got nostalgic for the 80s. But here we are, and I can’t help but love it.

Not long after I saw the College All Star Marching Band playing in front of the train station, and they were terrific. Keeping up the Michael Jackson theme, they did a tribute medley, right down to performing the zombie dance with drum kits, tubas, and saxophones. That was followed by an Earth, Wind and Fire medley that was almost as good.

Over at California Adventure, they’ve got some kind of “Glow Fest” going on that turns the Hollywood Studios section of the park into a big street party/rave. I came into the park while a bunch of dancers were doing faux-Bollywood routines in front of the sun fountain, to several tracks including some from Slumdog Millionaire. And they never stopped, is the weird part — I had to go off and ride something because I was getting winded just watching them. When I came back, they had stands set up all down the street, and each one had one of the dancers still going at it, and a Disneyfied version of Bootsy Collins acting as DJ on the top of a dayglo colored Volkswagen Bus. I could imagine cynics or purists scoffing at it, but I loved every single bit of it. And the crowd did, too — the street was packed with people going nuts, taking the whole “dance like nobody’s watching” thing to heart. (Plus I was totally crushing on one of the dancers, which is completely inappropriate for somebody my age).

So yeah, the inexorable decline towards 40 doesn’t seem so bad, as long as I can keep getting away with not acting my age.

And because my journal is splayed out on the internet, it makes it seem like everything is an announcement, even when it’s really not. More of a “reminder” or a “notation” or maybe a “fun fact” for the world’s most boring “what happened on this date?” calendar. Today’s entry: my last day at Telltale Games.

Not my last day ever working with those guys, I’m hoping, just my last day as a regular full-timer. I’m extremely proud of the games we made while I was there, and the teams continue to exceed my expectations. And I think Telltale is regularly doing stuff that games desperately need to have — storytelling moments, and concentrated chunks of originality and imagination (and just plain weirdness) — and doing them at a level than no other studio is matching. Even those with multi-million dollar budgets.

It’s absolutely no exaggeration to say that I’ve wanted to work on a Sam & Max game since I was a sophomore in college. First from reading the comics in the back of The Adventurer that came with my Star Wars games, then playing Hit the Road and being amazed that a game like that could even exist. (It always felt kind of like sacrilege to say so, especially when I was working on Monkey 3, but I was always a bigger fan of Sam & Max than anything from Monkey Island or the other LucasArts games). I don’t know if I wanted to work on thirteen Sam & Max games, but maybe that was just a case of getting enough chances to get it right. So thanks to Dave Grossman and Kevin Bruner at Telltale for giving me the chance to work on a Sam & Max game that was actually released. (And to Brendan Ferguson for being an excellent puzzle designer and a pretty tireless lead).

And huge thanks to Steve Purcell for letting me spend so much time messing around with his characters and trusting us enough not to ruin them. Getting to do season three brainstorming with Dave, Mike Stemmle, and Steve was one of the best things that I’ve gotten to do in my career so far. (And that’s saying a good bit, considering how lucky I’ve been at stumbling into great jobs).

But it’s been pretty clear for a while that I wasn’t going to be content unless I could get out and try to do my own thing. A while ago I wrote a bunch of over-long posts about storytelling in videogames, and the more I wrote, the more I came to the obvious conclusion: the people who are really making a statement about videogames aren’t making statements; they’re making games. I need to start trying out ideas and attempting to make something more experimental than even a smaller studio like Telltale could practically take on. Maybe nothing will come of it — it’s entirely possible that I’m ridiculously over-estimating my own abilities — but with all the tools and support for independent games right now, there’s no better time to try it and see.

Plus, I’ve never been one of those people who thrive on an accelerated schedule; I’m more the type of person who ruminates and meanders. Moseys, even. There’s an episode of Star Trek called “Wink of an Eye” about a race of aliens who’d become “hyper-accelerated” so that no one else could see or hear them. I’ve felt like that quite a bit over the past few years — especially driving over the Golden Gate in the morning and seeing all the sight-seers stopping to check out the bay, and finding myself wondering “Where do these people find the time?” It seems like a good time to slow things down a little so I can get productive again.

And in case anybody’s wondering about the rest of season three of Sam & Max, which is still in progress: don’t worry. I think the season has been some of the company’s finest work so far, and what I’ve seen of the rest of the episodes carries on at that level. My work on the final episode is pretty much done, and it couldn’t be in better hands to wrap everything up. I think people are going to be impressed, disgusted, and horrified.

I hope the people who wandered on here as a result of my work with Telltale will keep stopping by, and will check out whatever game I happen to come up with, assuming this whole scheme works. (And if you know of any game contracting gigs to help pay the bills, let me know).

But for now, I’m planning to get reacquainted with being bored; it feels like it’s been a long time since I have been. Enough time with that, and I’ll be even more motivated to get off my ass and try something different.

But then I realized, “Oh hell to the no, this is just how I roll.” Douchebag is just a great word. It perfectly describes a certain type of person, and none of the other options quite come close:

Asshole is just too broad, and it doesn’t have the same sense of permanence. The guy who’s been making racist comments non-stop for the past ten years is an asshole, but so’s the guy who just cut me off in traffic.

Prick is too soft; a prick is just a minor irritant, not the prolongued obnoxiousness of a bonafide douche.

Asswipe and its variant, Shitstain, convey the same sense of uselessness as douchebag, but without the same sense of oblivious arrogance.

Dipshit and its TV-friendly Dukes of Hazzard-era version dipstick only cover the stupidity, but again, not the arrogance.

Assclown is pretty great, but it’s from Office Space. It’s always going to be from Office Space.

Asshat captures the incompetence, but none of the smarminess of a genuine douchebag.

Jack-off and the pathetically underpowered jag-off are just kind of vulgar and stupid. And even if they weren’t, they kind of capture the self-absorption of the true douchebag, but none of his unctiousness.

Twat is awfully close, but it’s a lot more vulgar, right on the edge of what’s too vulgar for me to be using in casual conversation. I don’t like typing it, much less making it bold and italic.

And all the fuck- variations — -wit, -wad, -head, -brain, -ing jackass — might as well just be less PG-13-friendly versions of asshole.

Clearly, douchebag is an immensely powerful and unique word. How else to describe Jeremy Piven and that guy from The Mentalist? It’s a word whose time has come.

Which got me wondering: what prompted the douchebag explosion? I don’t remember using it at all before 2006, and since I’m usually late to catch on, that means it must’ve entered wide usage around 2000. Office Space came out in 1999, with Gary Cole’s pivotal role of Nordberg providing the personification of the modern douchebag. (I don’t mean to diminish young Robert Downey Jr.’s pioneering work in douchebaggery in the 80s, or the great work that Dennis Miller has done in the field consistently over the past 25 years, but it hadn’t yet become a phenomenon).

But surely douchebags existed before then. OR DID THEY?!

There are various studies done by actual, professional linguists on various isolated communities that suggest a correlation between a society’s understanding of certain concepts and whether that society has a word for that concept. This goes way deeper than that “1000 words for snow” business: this is freaky reality-bending stuff.

For instance: one society didn’t use specific numbers for counting, but more general terms like “none,” “a few,” “more than a few,” or “a lot.” When shown two different amounts of something — both within the “a few” cut-off — they simply didn’t recognize a distinction between the two amounts.

Another study took people who didn’t have separate words for different shades of a color — not just guys, who either can’t or refuse to acknowledge the distinction between “salmon” and “pink,” but more like societies who didn’t have a word for “purple.” As I understand it, even in tests where language was removed, the people couldn’t distinguish colors they didn’t have a word for.

So there’s the question: has there always been a constant supply of douchebags, and we’ve just gotten better at identifying and describing them? Or are we actually creating douchebags, summoning them from the ether like Bloody Mary or Beetlejuice? Maybe some kind of combination, where we’ve so effectively described the douchebag that the guys (not being sexist, just accurate: they’re always guys) who were formerly just vaguely described as “pretentious twits” or “smarmy pricks” or “Christian Bale” now had something concrete to aspire to.

So I guess what I’m saying is: words have power. And I like making fun of people who never really did me any harm.

I’ve been friends with Rain for almost fourteen years now*, and she can still surprise me by doing something unexpectedly and inexplicably awesome. Like, for instance, not just buying me a cake for my birthday, but sitting outside in the cold with me and eating it so I didn’t have to finish it by myself. I — like many humans, I’d guess — would never even think to do something like that, but then I’m neither as tenacious with my friendships nor as thoughtful.

Rain is one of the first friends I made outside of work after I moved to San Francisco, and that kind of ruined things. See, I’d never been out here for any length of time, so I just assumed that things on the west coast worked differently. I thought I’d been somehow moved up to some higher circle, where everyone was inordinately hip and smart and effortlessly funny, and people were true to their word, and everyone would be unjustifiably kind to you without expecting anything in return. Of course, I eventually learned that there was nothing inherently special about San Francisco; I’d just moved out here and almost immediately met someone exceptional. I can say without exaggeration that Rain’s friendship is about 95% of what makes the bay area not just “the place I live,” but “home.” (The other 5% is just because the katsu curry rice around here is really good).

So happy birthday!

* She was, of course, 16.