By and large, hobbies seem to slowly be exiting our lives. Blame the internet – or the fact that people have no time to achieve anything outside of work, other than safely making it home after sinking five Stellas – but the fact is fewer people nowadays are defined by whatever it is that interests them. It’s not as easy as it once was to bond with people via playing cricket, collecting stamps, stealing cars or pressing leaves. We’re too busy making ends meet. So what better way is there to get people’s attention than building your body so much you have to turn sideways to fit through a door?
Some time ago me and sinistrare was returning home from a walk with Max and stopped to look at the apartment buildings… it was really dark outside and every lit living room was like an aquarium with little people doing their things. Watching TV, cleaning up or whatever…
She stopped, sighed, looked at me and explained that it gave her a sense of something that can be translated as little boxes panic.
It’s the feeling when every apartment seems taken straight from an IKEA catalogue and life is knitted together crudely after reading a really boring manuscript on family life written by some conformist copywriter.
Nothing stands out… it’s as if we are just ants in a big farm. Each performing our identical rituals in our identically allotted space.
Let me just say that if realism is a make or break factor for you in a game about shooting enough foreigners to be classified as a medium sized natural disaster, then you’re exactly the kind of gamer the rest of us disassociate ourselves from when the mainstream media find out about you.