Spear Me
I have the Hunter Blues.
Actually, being a Hunter, I always suffer from Hunter Blues. So it's redundant to say "I have the Hunter Blues". More accurately, I should say "I suffer from unusual Hunter Blues."
I'm used to aided-living, emotions and experiences going through friends like blood through a dialysis machine. WoW, being a social game in essence (t's all about social status and cool outfits) should enjoy this tendency, since said friends also share the game and not just the emotions: Shiffer, Tal, Ido. But WoW turns out to be more like highschool then dollhouse - if you're not in the same class, the same year, the same clique, you're out. There's nothing I could do; I did not measure up, so I got late to everything. Even to blogging.
It was Shiffer, a famous anti-hunter, who eased me into it with BigRedKitty, the yard-stick of hunter blogs. It's the blog you read when you're new to huntering. It's the blog you read before you know what are "jump shots" and "chain-trapping", and that teaches you what they are and how to do them. It's the blog you read to learn you should care about MQoSRDPS. It's where you discover there's a whole lot of people who sign their e-mails with not only their character's name, but also their pet's name as well. It's where you discover you're one of them.
And it sucks.
The writing is still good, and sometimes even funny. It still talks about huntering and how to do it. But then I read this, and I just can't take it anymore. I couldn't stomach 5 or 10 more self-obsessed posts about The Most Amazing And Famous Hunter In The Whole Wide World (of Warcraft) before the next worthwhile tidbit of Hunter Lore. Just couldn't. So I stopped reading BRK.
And I realized: no-one cares.
Because WoW is a social game, and my friends aren't hunters. They aren't in my group, my clique, my posse. Another hunter would understand, because they too felt that moment when you first read BRK, that moment when you stop being a huntard, you develop pride in who you are, you grow up.
But none of my friends are hunters.
So I suffer from the Hunter Blues. Or rather... well, you get the picture.
Actually, being a Hunter, I always suffer from Hunter Blues. So it's redundant to say "I have the Hunter Blues". More accurately, I should say "I suffer from unusual Hunter Blues."
I'm used to aided-living, emotions and experiences going through friends like blood through a dialysis machine. WoW, being a social game in essence (t's all about social status and cool outfits) should enjoy this tendency, since said friends also share the game and not just the emotions: Shiffer, Tal, Ido. But WoW turns out to be more like highschool then dollhouse - if you're not in the same class, the same year, the same clique, you're out. There's nothing I could do; I did not measure up, so I got late to everything. Even to blogging.
It was Shiffer, a famous anti-hunter, who eased me into it with BigRedKitty, the yard-stick of hunter blogs. It's the blog you read when you're new to huntering. It's the blog you read before you know what are "jump shots" and "chain-trapping", and that teaches you what they are and how to do them. It's the blog you read to learn you should care about MQoSRDPS. It's where you discover there's a whole lot of people who sign their e-mails with not only their character's name, but also their pet's name as well. It's where you discover you're one of them.
And it sucks.
The writing is still good, and sometimes even funny. It still talks about huntering and how to do it. But then I read this, and I just can't take it anymore. I couldn't stomach 5 or 10 more self-obsessed posts about The Most Amazing And Famous Hunter In The Whole Wide World (of Warcraft) before the next worthwhile tidbit of Hunter Lore. Just couldn't. So I stopped reading BRK.
And I realized: no-one cares.
Because WoW is a social game, and my friends aren't hunters. They aren't in my group, my clique, my posse. Another hunter would understand, because they too felt that moment when you first read BRK, that moment when you stop being a huntard, you develop pride in who you are, you grow up.
But none of my friends are hunters.
So I suffer from the Hunter Blues. Or rather... well, you get the picture.