Disclaimer: I originally finished writing this on Friday, 22 January 2010 at 5:01 AM, but left it unpublished for reasons that escape me.

I'm not an ass any more than you. I'm simply guilty of conveying only one small piece of my personality through social media. For that, I apologize. I intensely care for the videogame industry, and seeing it drunkenly stagger towards seedy avenues of self-destruction pains me. Instinctively, and without knowing it, I formed an online presence around the idea that if we demand change we just might get it.

This is obviously very personal for me. I once believed this young medium possessed the beautiful potential to positively inspire and shape humanity in ways more profound than all other media combined, and I still do (kind of), but the naive simplicity of a path without obstructions is far, far gone. Reality, that uncaring bitch, refuses to rescind her constant bombardment of sequels, juvenile subject matter, and creativity-neutering decisions from a certain CEO whose name sounds like Kobby Botick.

But, naturally, the antithesis exists; freedom fighters who, brick by brick, are shaping the industry's path into one on which we'll all want to travel.

This is about them.

And this is from the heart.

I was having a bad morning, yesterday. Well, maybe not bad. That word's probably best suited for those whose cars spontaneously sputter and die on a crowded interstate only five minutes away from the driver's place of employment and 20 minutes past the scheduled clock-in time. Or the temp, two weeks at her position and one week away from drawing unemployment once again, who's about to play ringmaster to Another Company Presentation when she realizes her USB drive containing the entire show is sitting on the kitchen countertop at home - the exact spot she placed it before cooking breakfast for her three kids and helping them get ready for school.

But I digress. Nothing abnormal happened yesterday morning. I got up, ate breakfast (the bark-like Kashi cereal, in case you're wondering), and walked 1.7 miles in a not-very-balmy 20 degree environment to teach keyboarding/typing. The temperature didn't bother me, nor did the distance of my travel, and in no way did I feel annoyed having to teach at 9:00AM. I adore my role as an educator, regardless of class content or size. (Note: I'm a professional. Separating my personal state from my teaching abilities is what I do. So please, don't suggest otherwise.)

The morning turned depressing immediately after I woke up. The night before, new developments combined with old to break through my normally impenetrable psyche, and I felt crushingly underappreciated and undervalued. I'd rather not reveal the specifics, but I'm more than comfortable divulging the old. Some of you have heard all this before. Maybe even two or three times.

A certain developer and publisher I was employed by didn't care about me or my well being. I worked hundreds of hours month after month as a tester, and then later as a technical requirements group member, canceled plans with family and friends, and refused to make new ones in fear of having to work. It was maddening and monotonous work, but it felt good finally working in the videogame industry. But management, at any level, never thanked us. And they never said any of us were doing a good job.

It didn't take long for the atmosphere to turn sour. People started slacking off to greater and greater degrees, but still I remained vigilant. I grew up in a small town in Northwest Minnesota, just being here working on videogames was something I never thought could happen. I worked my ass off on every title I tested. I did well, too, especially when I was entrusted with being the sole person looking over a few PlayStation 2 titles. Very rarely did those games return from being submitted to Sony, and when they did, contained few bugs. But still, my managers never said "job well done" or anything of the sort. In fact, they heavily criticized me for reading game news on my computer sometimes during loading screens. Hypocrites...

During the last few weeks of my employment at this...place, I received extensive training in additional technical requirements areas, and was led to believe I'd receive a salary offer after my seasonal work ended. No one called.

Worse yet, at various points during my time at this facility, the out-of-touch salaried  producers and game designers asked me to come up with dozens of possible titles and pitch them. On one occasion I had only one day to do this. On another, I was given two hours to come up with 12. Each time I was told some were good and some were bad. "Sure," I thought, "you live and you learn." The criticism didn't bother me, and I wasn't bothered when they said none of my ideas would turn into games.

To this day the company develops sequels on multiple platforms for my favorite pitch. And I still haven't heard a single word from a member of the company. I'm not even mentioned in the credits.

But I've moved on. I'm living another dream of mine.

I'm a teacher now. Well "adjunct faculty member," to be more precise. And I get to teach a class on the videogame industry, among others.

Here's something you might not realize if you've only spent time in a classroom as a student: teaching's a rewarding timesink. I care very deeply for my students, and I always want to provide them with the best education within my means. Sometimes I get so carried away my actions may appropriately be classified as self-destructive.

Losing sleep to planning class aside, I've done some pretty strange things in my pursuit of catering to the students, most of which involving time and money. On many occasions, I've minimized my food purchases and delayed paying bills just to buy a particular game and use it in class or during the weekly videogame-themed get togethers I host (appropriately called Game Night). With money low, and parking meters requiring quarters, I've hauled multiple systems and dozens of games on foot down the 1.7 mile stretch from my residence to the school. Sometimes we only play one game on one system, and I'm fine with that. But I prefer to bring more just in case one student arrives and wants to play something different. My pack mule-ish efforts are even more rewarding when I can open someone's eyes to the wonders of videogames.

Most of the student body will never know about any of this. They'll never know how I walked the distance with sub-zero temperatures biting at my face while I carry what feels like hundreds of pounds of technology. And, like I said earlier, I'm fine with that. They don't need to know. Playing with them each week's rewarding enough.

I could go on and on about how I've written for various companies who, when they actually decide to pay you, feed you peanuts for T-bone steak work. And I could comment on the various friends, family, and friends of friends who've called my living room "home" for extended periods of time while they "work things out," and how I rarely receive any kind of compensation for my harboring. But I won't, mainly because this is what I do. If I work hard, stay passionate, and treat people with love and respect good things will happen, right?

Sometimes, though, I have a moment of weakness. And I guess it sometimes lingers, too. But true to the previously mentioned way of life, a hand appeared and lifted me up.

I've respected former videogame industry journalist, and now Irrational Games employee, Shawn Elliott for years. In many ways, he's the intelligent prankster consumed with information intake that I aspire to be, but...you know...in my own way. I'm me, of course.

Anyway, yesterday I linked him an article I wrote months ago regarding (mostly) videogame-themed Twitter accounts. He saw it, linked to it on his Twitter, and said "Thank you." Instantly after seeing this my day started to get better.

I know how silly it seems. Believe me. But it was exactly what I needed, and I'm thankful for it. A simple "thank you" from anyone would've helped, but it held deeper significance coming from someone I respect and didn't expect to hear from.

Very late that same day, James Mielke of Q Entertainment, another person I've looked up to with great respect these last five+ years, did the same. By then, the words "thank you" lost none of their significance.

Earlier that day, I linked a music playlist on my Twitter thinking maybe one or two people would listen. Turns out, my good friend, and Street Fighter enthusiast pro, Mike Ross took a peek. A little bit later he had this to say: "Carl E. Seashore once said "as is the intelligence of a man, so is his music". You clearly are on genius level kyle :)."

I was flabbergasted and thankful; very very thankful. Much respect, Mike.

Please forgive me if I sound whiney. I don't mean to. I'm not looking for sympathy. I just wanted to put this shocking turn of events on (virtual?) paper and highlight the kindness of friends and strangers. They genuinely uplifted my spirits through some very simple means that are far too rare these days.

Oh, and I also wanted to say that I'm working on shaping my online presence to better reflect my inherent playfulness. I wish you could see me as my girlfriend Nikki sees me, as a real-life Roger Rabbit.