Adults Only Arena

The Dizzy World of Yoshi's Island

2009-10-08T15:55:00.004-04:00

Note: These articles I will be posting in the coming weeks are for school. That is why it lacks penis references. Sorry.

Violence in video games is nothing new. Every since the early nineties we were ripping out hearts in Mortal Kombat and dismembering Nazi’s in Wolfenstein. But in my opinion all of those games, the violence seemed to underwhelm me. Nothing looked anything like real people and the enemies were always so emotionless that I never got when people connected game to real life violence and youth crime until now. Mario games were always my favorites as a child. They were innocent, cute little games that were easy to learn, but only a few people you knew ever got to the end. I never once had regret for stomping on anyone in my path because I did not think of them as anything more than obstacles, for they had no human traits possible to relate to. That was until Yoshi’s Island.

Super Mario World 2: Yoshi’s Island at first glance seems like a typical Mario game. You play as a cute green dinosaur named Yoshi who is carry a baby version of Mario. You move from left to right, deal with the creatures in your way and get to the goal at the end of the stage. So I stepped onto the island ready for a fun game or escapism with little to think about. But then something different about these “enemies”, they were all smiling. Not only are they all smiling but they seem to be minding there own business. Then I start really questioning myself.

Am I the hero or the villain in this game? Am I just invading these creatures homelands while they are minding there own business and murdering there entire families? Then I started to really question the way I was treating these smiley animals. I had be swallowing them whole regurgitating them and projectile vomiting them at there loved ones. I had been jumping up and smashing their heads open, taking carcasses of there dead comrades and tossing them at walls, and all of this while a human baby was on my back. I was a monster.

Now I began to worry. If I was doing all of these terrible things maybe I’m not even helping this baby on my back. Maybe I’m a kidnapper. A kidnapper who tourcheres all of his victims by forces them to watch the terrible monstrosities they preform on others pleasure. As I progressed though this happy go lucky nightmare, I came across these white cloud-like creatures. When I ingested them the world around me began to alter. The music began slowing and my vision began blurring. I began to stumble around uncontrollably. Then I realized, those cloud-like creatures contained some substance that emitted hallucinogenic properties. Now I had began to use drugs to be able to mentally handle all of the mindless murder I had committed. I was at that moment a kidnapping, drug abusing, serial killer.

So next time your little sibling or kid asked you if they can play a violent game look over it yourself. Most are not as bad as they seem, though some might be worse depending on their age. But remember that I warned you to never, never let them play Super Mario World 2: Yoshi’s Island. Unless you want them to turn out to be green dinosaurs who murder the innocent recklessly and have substance abuse issues.

A Hard Blow

2009-05-08T18:57:00.019-04:00

About a month ago I attended an NYU Game Center Lecture that featured Jonathan Blow. The lecture didn’t shed any new light on Braid’s “meaning of life” that Soulja Boy hasn’t already eloquently illustrated.

Topics covered:

How Little Boy Blow was the only kid who thought about death and the meaning of life in his school
Lego games suck
Not taking his words out of context and posting them on a blog
Flower is inherently stressful
No design docs, no focus testing, no problem
What is fun?
Did us kids know what an NPC is? Is that jargon too technical?

After the lecture ended, I approached Mr. Blow. I explained to him that since Braid does not have a physical, retail form – it is in essence immaterial, and thus doesn’t exist – I was without such a fictional Braid case for him to autograph. Instead I brought a copy of Sneak King along for him to sign. He hesitated, looked at the newly presented box and it’s dressings of yellow, worn ‘used’ stickers. I asked him if he could sign on the $1.99 sticker if possible. He gawked at the box blankly then gave a strained wheeze of a laugh. Unamused, he looked up at me with the expression of a disgruntled cauliflower that won a Danny McBride look alike contest. The incriminating gaze lasted for a while. He seemed to be using that time to calculate how he would best dismiss the request, or possibly thought about rewinding time to the moment when the lecture ended, and alternatively make haste out of the room.

He said that he was opposed to the tradition of idolizing celebrites, deifying them with autographs and that he would not cooperate. Low blow, dude. “ It’s cool,” I said. “ I’m just going to sell it on eBay anyway.” His grimace remained static. “ Would you at least pose for a picture while holding Sneak King?” “ Uhh… no.” Now I was defeated. Weighing the awkward gravity of the situation, the host of the event jumped in, “ I would be happy to sign it as Jonathan.” That’s what I call blowback. I nearly blew my appreciative load right there. Heyo!

Jonathan sat idly by and did not object. I passed the host a Sharpie I brought and he went to work. “ I’m going to write your name the way I think you would.” Outfoxed and outflourished. Whenever I look up at the top of my desk, I’m comforted by the sight of Sneak King standing majestically with his shadow tickling the forged name of J. Blow.

During this time, Gabe asked Jonathan what he thought of the Soulja Boy review of Braid. He replied, “ I don’t care. But he seemed to be having fun with the time mechanic, so that’s good.”

Think BIG

2009-04-06T16:56:00.062-04:00

Jeana and I recently came into a bit of intelligence regarding BioShock 2. An ex-developer of 2K Marin, who asked not to be named, traded some info in exchange for 3 cans of Aunt Millie's spaghetti sauce and some "plasmids". After some back and forth on the logistics of procuring plasmids, they finally conceded that they wanted to score some heroin.

The first chunk of knowledge had to do with the decision to cut the subtitle 'Sea of Dreams'. Originally the team planned on taking the splicer ghost mechanic a step further, introducing the spliced up spirits of crustaceans and Rapturian football players past, which were able to join your party. This was scrapped and instead saved for another unannounced game in the franchise, which is currently in development.

The biggest treasure trove of juicy details we received was about all of the other classes of "Big Somethings" that were invented prior to the decision to make the Big Sister. Once the Big Sister trump card was dealt, the rest were dispatched in short order. What follows is a wealth of concept art and in-game screenshots that show some of these lost prototypes and evolutionary relatives. Enjoy:

Big Uncle

This particular class (or classless) of Big Something had problems since day one. The problem wasn’t with his arsenal. His wrench arm and steel-reinforced fanny pack (filled with explosives, awful back birthday presents, Chechnya Vodka nips, and lotto tickets) were beloved by the team. The problem was with his conduct and dynamic behavior. The first, and only, Big Uncle implemented into the game was by all accounts… just creepy. Through testing, the team saw all of the lewd and unlawful behavior that he engaged in with other NPCs. He would abandon all of his directives entirely and spend hours on-end at the slot machines in Fort Frolic, breaking away only to visit the strip club nearby. There he would bang his wrench on the vacant stage, the team thinks in an effort to coax a stripper out from backstage to perform.

When he wasn’t gambling away all of his ADAM and trying in vain to get a splicer striptease, he would collect Little Sisters for the sole purpose of trying to get them to sit on his lap. The programmers toiled day and night to try and omit the creepy gene from his code, but to no avail. Even after being forced to register as a sex offender he did not abstain. Left with no other options, the team put him down. None of the other NPCs attended his watery funeral.

Big Kitty

Step Daddy

Big Decapitated Head

Sugar Daddy
Aside from being some delicious in-game advertising, the Sugar Daddy was envisioned to be a kickass addition to Rapture’s ecology. Inspired by a segment on spiders in Planet Earth, he shat caramel to use as adhesive traps for his enemies. His drill served as both a weapon and a stirring mechanism for his caramel. Needless to say, his gooey composition made him quite popular with the Little Sisters. Too popular. Numerous dynamic battles between them ensued. Little Sisters began resorting to sucking excess sugar out of his fecal matter with their syringes.

You’ll note that he’s posing in this picture. This is a common behavior for the Sugar Daddy to exhibit. After the shutter opens, the emulsion is exposed, and the camera calculates the composition of the photo and grades it on a letter scale, the Sugar Daddy will hurl his caramel shit at the lens of the camera and proceed to butter the player’s bread as it were.

The team hired 3 new programmers whose sole job was to work on lifelike caramel viscosity. Due to the recession and the realization that such a pursuit was technically impossible, the Sugar Daddy was abandoned and the men were laid off. One of his architects may or may not have turned to selling intelligence for injectable income.

Super Small Craw Daddy
These little critters got their start as a pervasive, run-of-the-mill STD, native to the deep-sea home of Rapture. Their existence was known to the city’s inhabitants for some time. The brightest and most learned doctors in the world classified them as Pubis Crawdaddus Vulgaris, but that was all they did and a cure was considered unimaginable. Dirty fisherman and all-around no-goodnick, Peach Wilkins was believed to be the first to contract this disease. This was corroborated with one of his daily ‘Dear audio diary’ entries.

How he contracted it was not certain and not a topic anyone wanted to explore further.

It wasn’t long before these vermin found their way to Rapture’s premiere pole dancer, Jasmine Jolie, and then onto the moustache of Andrew Ryan. Colonizing both facial hair and pubic undergrowth, the Crawdads came into contact with plasmid residue. This exposure imbued the Crawdads with a variety of powers. They began to exploit the natural resources around them, like makeup glitter and aftershave, extracting alloys to craft weapons, armor, and anything else they could ever need. However, the Crawdads weren’t the only forms of life to be transformed. Their main aggressors were Splicer Sperm. Splicer Sperm also adapted and used the Date Rape plasmid (known as Electro Bolt to us humans) to stun the Crawdads and then attempted to enter them, thinking they might be eggs.

As the world of Rapture collapsed, a separate, microscopic dystopia existed just underneath everyone’s noses… and genitals. The citizens of Rapture began to don masks, much like syphilis wigs, to cover up their shame and the pinch welts that covered their faces.

Note to the player: Don’t be fooled, these guys can pinch something fierce. Avoid public bathrooms and whatever you do, don’t touch a single toilet handle. That’s where large concentrations of them frequent. The best defense against them is to stand underneath some water. Add the new Mr. Scrubbing Bubbles plasmid to said water. Work into a lather. Keep on body for 1 minute. Rinse off. Repeat until skin turns red.

Big Bad Foster Parents
Pretty self-explanatory. The parents force the kids to oil their guns, wash the hog, tape episodes of Texas Justice, pick up used syringes off the floors of metro stations, and alert the family to hide whenever a Jehovah’s Witness approaches the house. Foster Mom is armed, quite literally with an industrial strength eggbeater, which she uses to stir government pancake mix to feed 30, and also to beat some of the Little Brothers’ eggs if they step out of line. Notice the boy in front covering his privates? He has nightmares about that thing.

Big Brother Who Smokes Weed
Forgot to pick up your Little Sister from the vent and take her to suck liquid out of waterlogged corpses? Just tell her you were getting high and syncing up Anna Culpepper’s new album to play perfectly with seahorse mating rituals . . . She’ll understand.

Big Drill
This mean motherfucker is just all sorts of fuck you up

- EG and JF

A Man Is Only As Good As His In-Game Attributes: Sensible Male Game Crushes and You

2009-02-25T17:28:00.046-05:00

On the subject of love or lust in (at?) games, it has long annoyed me that what many female gamers consider to be the “hottest” video game characters are in fact, the most feminine characters imaginable. What these women lack is realism (or attraction to men at all). It’s all fine and dandy to imagine their perfect mate the captain of a flying pirate ship who enjoys shiny things as much as they do, but that is hardly realistic. In doing that they are setting impossible standards for any real life suitors. The same goes for any man looking for an Ivy, Morrigan, or Lara Croft; it ain’t gonna happen. Don’t blame me, blame science and statistics.

Ladies, if you’re going to look for the perfect video game counterpart, you need to look for the same qualities you would look for in a real man, which is hopefully not just “any man”. I’m going to give the benefit of the doubt to my fellow female gamers and assume that they are normal girls, and are not grouped in the"fat, ugly and desperate" camp, the "hot attention whore who may or may not actually like games" shanty, or the "doesn't really exist" lean-to. Good. Now that it has been established they are not walking, talking stereotypes, these ladies need to know how to scope out a man with good qualities. It all comes down to making a list of pros and cons, because yes, women are heartless monsters who will judge every possible aspect of a relationship that hasn't even come to fruition yet. That is true, and not a stereotype. We're awful.

Let's take a look at our bachelors, shall we?

Isaac (Dead Space)
You are standing amidst of pile of corpses, former friends and coworkers who were turned into monsters. A man in a mask has cut off their limbs, saving you from their grasp and freeing them from their torment. Dazzled, you ask him his name and offer to buy him a drink. He tells you not to mention it, he's just trying to fix the goddamn ship.

Pros: He's an engineer who is driven forward by his love and dedication. In addition to that, he never has to ask for directions because he has built in GPS and there is no pesky HUD to get between you and him.

Cons: Totally and completely subservient. Sometimes you want him to smack you around because HE wants to, not because you ask him. ...Wait, forget that.

Derek Stiles (Trauma Center series) -
You've got a mysterious disease and you slowly lose consciousness. When you reawaken, a handsome young doctor stands over you. You blush because you know he's seen your nipple-less breasts. You thank him for saving your life and ask if you can see him demonstrate his "magic touch" now that you are awake. He hands you a bill for $20k.

Pros: He's got that doctor money.

Cons: "Did I just accidentally use my Healing Touch to slow down time or am I in loooooove?"

Gordon Freeman (Half Life series)
You are killing some Combine soldiers with some of your resistance pals when he shows up, in his sexy Hazard Suit and glasses. As he walks toward you, your heart pounds faster and faster. He shoves you aside. You apologize for getting in his way.

Pros: Lemme just take an excerpt from my conversation with my dear friend Brian:
me: actions speak louder than words
Brian: absolutely
risks life and limb to save someone hes not even interested in in a sexual way lol
IMAGINE what hed do for you if you were dating him
me: I am, and it involves a crowbar euphemism.

Cons: If all returns to normal, he'll get a job being a scientist again, leave you home with a kids, and work long hours into the night. You will cry. Either that or he becomes some sort of god who needs to give up his powers so he can be with you and then everyone resents you for it. Don't be that chick.

Professor Layton (Professor Layton and the Curious Village)
A dashing man in a top hat and his riddle-apprentice come into your town one day. He approaches you and inquires about the town history. You tell him he must solve the following riddle : "If I have two five liter containers, one full of liquor, and one empty, and an additional empty 3 liter container, how can you pour the liquor so that I have exactly 4 liters in a glass, making me just drunk enough to sleep with you?" He tips his hat and his apprentice tells you the answer is that you are already drunk.

Pros: A real gentleman who puts the needs of others before himself. He is very protective, and also extremely clever and resourceful.

Cons: Even though he knows the answers to all the riddles before you do, he will not help you unless you pay him. He also comes with baggage. Who knows that kid's story...

Kyle Hyde (Hotel Dusk)-
You've checked into a hotel where you see a rugged looking man in a trench coat walking around and talking to people. You invite him back to your room where he stands outside of the door and asks you a series of questions. He makes some accusations and disappears. You go to bed alone.

Pros: He's a pretty realistic character so you can only expect him to have the same flaws and attributes a normal man would have. Hey, alright.

Cons: He's involved in some crazy shit. You're better off not getting involved.

Male Sims (The Sims)-
You are already married and have 6 children of varying ages. You contribute equally to the housework. Neither of you go to work as you have a nest egg of a couple million dollars, care of "rosebud". You make woo-hoo often, after which he falls asleep and you can see he is dreaming of your lawn gnome.

Pros: He will do whatever you want, whenever you want! You can manipulate the hell out of him, and he'll like it!

Cons: If left to his own devices, he will piss himself and cry.

Andrew Ryan (Bioshock)-
You meet him one night at a piano bar. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear. You are quite taken with him. He is soon called away without telling you who he is. You decide to follow him to find out. You follow him deep into Rapture, places you've never gone before. You are gunned down by sentries for trespassing.

Pros: He owns a whole underwater city. The. Whole. City. Also reminds me of a young Orson Welles.

Cons: Given the chance, he will kill you and steal the baby from your womb. He may also grow to look like an older Orson Welles.

James Sunderland (Silent Hill 2)-
He walks out of the fog, lead pipe in hand. The radio is playing static. You look deep into his eyes as he bludgeons you. You slither away into the fog.

Pros: Braves the horrifying Silent Hill to find his beloved wife.

Cons: Well...erm....

Ico (Ico)-
You're trying to figure out how to get anywhere in a goddamn castle when this boy takes your hand and shows you the way. You live on a couch together. You die of starvation.

Pros: Hand holding is so important. He knows how to dish it out. He'll also protect you like a mo'fugguh.

Cons: [insert well constructed pun about always being horny]

Hacker Protagonist (Rez) -
You walk in as your hacker boyfriend is on the computer. When you ask him what he's doing, he covers the screen and says "Nothing". You sigh and leave the room and go play Rez.

Pros: Rez is an awesome game. With the trance vibrator, it's the only game that can love you back.

Cons: None come to mind, really.

I suppose this should have been written a little earlier to coincide with Valentine’s Day, but at the time I was far too preoccupied with planning my perfect Valentine’s evening that I could not focus on anything else. It’s rather surprising how much planning goes into self immolation, and even more surprising when you suddenly drop those plans to make cupcakes and watch Ghostbusters 2.

Now I hope you take my completely absurd advice and make sensible choices when deciding to crush on fictional characters. No Edward the vampire bullshit.

Props be to Brian who was able to come up with startlingly convincing insight about what makes a man dreamy, and to Alex who provided me with a picture that would likely make Mr. Grant spin in his grave, or high-five.

The Problem with Resident Evil 4

2009-02-22T14:23:00.005-05:00

With the release date of Resident Evil 5 rapidly approaching, I have become almost incapable of concentration, often finding my thoughts wandering away from important tasks (for example: not stabbing myself with that needle covered with Salmonella serotype B, while inoculating it onto various medias) and instead speculating wildly about what glorious treasures RE 5 might hold in store. Normally such speculations would then immediately be shared and extensively discussed but my generally antisocial nature and the significant distance separating me from my normal group made it rather difficult to find others to do this with.

It should not be hard to imagine my joy when I happened upon a conversation between a group of acquaintances about how much they couldn’t wait to get their hands on RE 5. Naturally I joined right in on this discussion, inquiring if they had seen the most recent trailer. Upon hearing that they had, we launched into an in-depth dialogue about the trailer, and intermittently, the demo. Our dissection complete, the speculation began with the most important questions being addressed first, namely who was Wesker exposing at the very end of the most recent trailer. It was at this point that one of the members of this discussion weighed in with their opinion stating that they thought it was “either Ashley or Ada.” While Ada seemed like an interesting (though unlikely considering Chris has no real history with her and Wesker seemed to think that Chris would know who it was) choice, I was stunned that someone would say Ashley, as she was probably the very last person I would have chosen. Brushing off the comment as one might brush off the stray flakes of various organic acids, which is to say with great personal discomfort, I suggested that it may have been either Jill Valentine or Claire.
And then it happened. A bomb went off, sending red hot fragments of ignorance tearing through everything I held near and dear to my heart.

“Who are they?”

The words sounded innocuous enough, and the look of unmitigated horror they produced on my face must have come as quite a shock to those poor souls, but it simply could not be concealed.
My mind was abuzz with a flurry of anguished thought, how the fuck could they be excited about RE and not know who Jill and Claire are… and then it hit me. This blasphemy was made possible by Resident Evil 4.
Before I launch into an exploration of the above idea, it should be stated that I am a huge fan of RE 4. The game was an excellent entry in the series that both single handedly saved a stagnating franchise and showed the potential of the now common over the shoulder viewpoint. That does not, however, change the fact it is responsible for this atrocity.
When RE 4 removed both the archaic controls and fixed camera angles of its predecessors, it resolved one of the major issues that had kept it from being enjoyed by a larger audience. Where the controls of previous RE titles had slow, often clumsy, and frequently frustrating, the controls of RE 4 were smooth, responsive and actually enjoyable. While in previous RE titles you enjoyed the rewards reaped from playing, in RE 4 you could actually enjoy the act of playing the game.

This new control scheme obviously demanded a new game. With complete control of the character (mainly the ability to aim at whatever you damn well please and to do so both quickly and accurately) the slow, stumbling zombies simply wouldn’t be a threat. It would be easy to pick those fuckers off before they got within 20ft. So the hallmark enemies of the series were left by the way side and a completely new set of enemies would have to be implemented, ones that reflected the new controls.
Eventually RE 4 emerged, and what we were presented with was a superb action title. Unfortunately the slick new controls and fast new enemies came with a price. The characteristic atmosphere of the RE series was lost. Leon S. Kennedy was not wandering through a mansion low on bullets, running in fear from enemies and trying desperately to survive. Leon S. Kennedy was a badass motherfucker with an arsenal large enough to make a small third world dictatorship blush, slaughtering more enemies in a single 15 minute encounter than a player would in an entire play through of, say, RE 1. The feeling of helplessness, the desperation of just trying to survive was gone.

All these things were forgivable in my eyes, however. RE 4 was so damn good at being an action game I forgave it for not being scary. RE 4’s major sin, in my biased fan boy eyes, was its complete lack of connection to the previous titles.
The presence of Leon and Ada does not count, I mean sure, there are characters in RE 4 that are called Leon and Ada, sharing those names with beloved characters in RE 2, but they could have been completely original characters and it wouldn’t have changed a god damn thing. Generic government agent man goes to save the president’s daughter and meets up with a crazy pseudo-Asian bitch that works for a shadowy corporation. Their connections to previous titles are extraneous name dropping used to tenuously tie the game to the rest of the series.

What I mean is that RE 4 was almost completely devoid of any canonical RE material whatsoever. It gives no context to the adventures of Leon and the activities of Ada, so all those new players sucked in by the new controls and slick gameplay are left unaware of the significance of the character’s relationships and actions. This potentially robs them of what little impact the admittedly cheesy story might have.
While this lack of background could be easily ameliorated by a trip to the omniscient Wikipedia, simply reading about the events is a poor substitute for actually experiencing them, and I would say that those who played the titles will have a more substantial investment to the characters and events than those who merely read the highlights on the internet.

The final sin RE 4 commits is being too damn awesome. Players that loved it will go off and play previous titles only find the archaic controls and slow, plodding (though very atmospheric) gameplay. By revolutionizing the controls and creating the fast, slick gameplay, RE 4 basically broke the older titles for those who had not already developed a special love for them. I cannot tell you how many times I have heard statements like this “I loved RE 4 and tried to play the others but I just couldn’t get used to the controls”.

In summary, RE 4 commits two major sins, it contains no canonical content, being a game that might as well exist in a vacuum, and its shiny new controls basically render the games that could provide that content unplayable to the new players that actually need it.

I obviously am aware that these statements are not wholly accurate or applicable and I am sure that many RE 4 fans managed to both play and enjoy previous RE titles. This article will most likely be dismissed as the xenophobic rantings of a fan boy against his beloved series’ new fans, but I feel that some of my worries are applicable to the future. RE 5 seems to be a game that is going to be chock full of returning characters from the canon, and I while I know that each time long time fans see Wesker, hear about Umbrella, hear about Jill, they will be giddy. But what of the new fans who do not have the necessary background to understand what they are seeing? Will the impact of scenes involving long time characters be lost? Will opinions about the game itself see a division between long time fans and the RE 4 crowd? It will certainly be interesting to find out.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY EVERYONE! . . . Alright, guy from New Hampshire!

2009-02-20T21:01:00.047-05:00

It's been about 7 months since this little modest blog started. But things are changing for Adults Only Arena. We're starting to diversify our content and use transmedia models to branch out into other innovative directions. I picked up that fancy business jargon from watching press conferences. Impressive, huh?

Taking a page from some of the big boys, I'm going to release some information on our blog's penetration of internet demographics without making it sound any more dirty. Here are some visual aids to give you an idea:

Obviously our marketing strategy could use some revamping, but I feel confident in one solution I'm planning.

Stat Counter provides some lovely little services for spying on all of you and your online habits. It’s sort of like looking through internet peepholes, or more appropriately in some cases, glory holes. One thing it offers is the ability to see how some users came across our website using a search engine, and what search phrase they used that eventually lead them into our unaccommodating hands. Here's a list of some of those search phrases:

* ds is the best in the business
* neo gent le
* D.S. best in the business
* limericks only for adults
* ladies fuck gent
* D.S is the best in the business
* "curdled milk" game
* D.S. is the best in the business
* "ben hergt" Arena
* bilding hoes

And now, to release our quarterly results for the fiscal year. We're currently losing money. Moving on up to a de-luxe dotcom in the sky cost $10. Dotcum was sadly not offered.

Lastly, I would like to welcome two new members to the adult industry:

Alex Hopke - biochemist, beard enthusiast, and chemical Antichrist who has been responsible for countless war crimes in Bomberman using biological agents and will almost assuredly do the same in real life some day

Reid Messenger - pixel scrutinizer, cat appreciator, disgruntled telemarketer, and sender of disturbing pictures (or just pictures of birds) on PSN

One last note. I feel like we haven’t been making good on the promise of game-related fan filth that our blog’s name suggests. To remedy this there will be some adults only fan fiction planned for the future. That much I can assure you. Maybe then we’ll get some respectable clicks.

Nocturnal Visitors

2009-02-19T17:35:00.005-05:00

On this rather cold and inhospitable day (as they often tend to be up here in the cold northern wasteland) I’ve found myself gripped by an insatiable need to write, and as luck would have it, my good friend Jeff recently entrusted me with the opportunity to express my opinions at this illustrious establishment.

Unfortunately it appears that, despite an awful longing to pour the contents of my brain out onto the page, I had nothing of substance to say. While some might give up and go do something productive, for example pay some attention to a Bacterial Physiology test, I decided instead to blame my inability to commit a coherent thought to paper (or perhaps more accurately “electronic paper”) on a recent nocturnal assault, which I will explain.

On the night of Tuesday the 17th I drifted off to into a deep sleep. Once firmly entrenched in this death-like state, I awoke to find myself in a vast library, filled with shelf upon shelf of musty tomes and ancient grimoires. The amount of arcane knowledge on display was enough to bring tears of joy to my often expressionless face, and I eagerly grabbed the largest and most formidable one I could find. After an undetermined amount of time I began to hear sounds, sounds that could be only described as the whispers of alien tongues. While this would have likely unnerved most, I simply assumed that such events were the natural consequence of trying to discover the things man was not meant to know. As I gleefully continued to absorb information concerning alien entities and the end of mankind’s insignificant existence, I came upon a page that was initially completely devoid of text.

I say initially because soon after I arrived at this page a number of rather unsettling symbols began to appear, glowing a deep crimson color in the rapidly diminishing light of the library. Naturally I was becoming aware that it was rapidly approaching that time when those that wished to remain alive would be making a swift exit, but before I could do so the symbols vanished and I found myself staring though the page into another dimension, or more specifically the horrible tentacle face of Nyarlathotep himself. Giving into the “FUCK FUCK FUCK” sort of panic that mortals faced with their immient demise often do, I tried to fling the book aside and defend myself from a volume of approaching tentacles that would make the average Japanese hentai jealous. It was at this time I apparently returned to waking world, finding myself momentarily airborne before making a bone-shattering landing on the floor near my bed.

In my desperate dreamland struggles I had apparently flung myself off my bed and awoken during my inevitable plunge downward.

How is this even remotely relevant you ask? While I may have escaped with my life, I believe that tentacled horror took a piece of me, a piece I am going to blame for my inability to come up with something to write about.
Hopefully in relating this, my greatest dream in the last year, you can all get an ample introduction into who I am and how my mind works.

In gaming related news, I hope everyone has checked out the most recent Resident evil 5 trailer. If you haven’t already done so, DO IT. RIGHT FUCKING NOW. I will spare you all from an in depth discussion of if for now, but just let me assure you, the ratio of Wesker to everything else is so skewed in Wesker’s favor that I was easily able to disprove the common myth that men cannot have an organism multiple times in a row.

How Things Work

2009-02-17T18:09:00.014-05:00

You may meet me in the street, and after a few moments of pleasantries, you may begin to recount what you enjoyed about the most recent episode of Heroes. I will nod my head to show my interest, but I will be thinking about Gunstar Heroes and whether or not I think my cartridge is still in working order. Oh it isn't you, it's me. As my favorite past time, video games manage to work their way into the duller aspects of my life. No no, that isn't to say YOU are dull! It's just conversations in which you are speaking to me exclusively are less entertaining than, say... Pong.

I'm sorry, that was rude. What I mean to say is, less entertaining than Super Pong.

Well I certainly don't think I have a sass-mouth.

There is no need to bring my mother into this.

Okay.

See you next week, Professor.

...

I've noticed quite awhile ago that my feeble attempt at taking notes, or more accurately my great effort to try and look busy have been riddled with doodles, many of which reflect my gaming habits. These doodles are one attempt to enliven class wide debates by rendering them silent to my ears. When I do listen, it's merely to find fault in my class mates opinions and then doodle that as well. A professor of mine once asked about my doodles and I told him they work as mnemonic devices. He did not believe me as he did not see how a giant squid punching a shark would help me remember any aspect of the life of Beethoven.

Here, I will give you a fairly accurate look into my psyche. You may glean quite a bit from these pages.

You may find:

1.Fledgling article ideas
2.What I should be studying.
3.Insight from the people around me.
4.Likes and Dislikes
5.Much much more!

It'll be like Waldo, only less fun.

Click 'em to make them larger. This is not meant to be suggestive.

After this, I will indeed be playing The Lost and the Damned expansion, as I have been looking forward to it, as you can see. Expect coverage of the uncoverage sometime in the near future. Now, my friends, I feel closer to you and I expect you feel closer to me. If I could hug you and hold you to me, I would. Perhaps some day I can convey to you my affection.

The Garden of Unearthly Delights: Reactions to Flower

2009-02-15T21:30:00.024-05:00

Okay, let’s get the most obvious puns over with: This is definitely one title to pick. Take a break from impregnating adventurers and stop to smell the roses! This game is as fre$h as a fucking daisy. So good, you’re going to want to make sure to deflower all of the trophies. Waiter, a blooming onion for the lady! It’s Gro Time©, try Miracle-Gro today!

There. I won’t dwell on the basic mechanics and premise of the game too much. If you want an overview of the game, check out the Frankenreview. Got it? Good. Now, I ask you, does GLaDOS dream of electric sheep? Does Ico dream of a comfier couch to sleep on? These are some pressing questions I’ve asked myself. But what do flowers dream of? Another question I’m sure we’ve all asked ourselves and one Jenova Chen has just answered. And the survey says, [ATOMIC SPOILER ALERT AHEAD! PROCEED WITH EXTREME CAUTION!!] they dream of… more flowers. Narcissistic weeds. Yet, I’m glad that they do because it makes for a rich and inventive experience.

I sit there in my shoebox of a room, staring at its download percentages, watching it grow. Outside of my window is the vibrant, pulsating compost heap of NYC’s Bowery. Sounds of car alarms, unintelligible disputes, and drunken vagabonds wailing over Bruce Lee’s death, glancing off of concrete and arcing through my window. I shut the window and turn the lights off. The download blossoms and almost immediately I enter a jet stream of consciousness.

Flower is a remarkable meditative and lyrical journey. The absence of dialogue and text is refreshing. The usual pollutants of most games–strict gameplay mandates, HUD, and tutorials–are nowhere in sight. Even when a flower’s dream turns to a nightmare (one that’s reminiscent of the game Operation) and earthly dangers and peril are introduced, it’s justified and adds a new, arresting dimension to the gameplay.

Visually, the game is quite stunning. It’s a good argument for the sake of more sophisticated graphics. It's a work where even the most staunch purists in the indie game art community, whose exalting, easily-earned praise of stick figures being endearingly “minimalistic”, just cannot deny the important role of visuals in the success of this concept. You get absorbed in the fidelity of your little Zen sandbox, parting waves of grass and passing through beads of twinkling, multichromatic dew. Sailing your pedal-fused kite on celestial vents, you’ll often pause to climb up into the air, dance, and swing around to marvel at your flower trail, which can grow to enormous lengths. Immersed in this transcendent sea of meadows, wind, and delicate beauty, you’ll think of tracing patterns in the clouds as a kid. You’ll think of shaking that cherry blossom tree’s trunk and standing underneath its showers of pedals. You’ll think of that game you played while looking out of the car window, negotiating your imaginary avatar over obstacles and connecting with mailboxes as they would pass.

The ruminant exercises this game presents do not stay constant. Right when the gameplay approaches brief monotony at the end of the second dream, you drift on to new greener pastures. The third dream complicates the gameplay a bit, introducing new dynamics to the wind and more complex topography where flowers reside. The fourth dream introduces light to the equation. Drinking in radiant energy from specific flowers, the player temporarily gives off light that can be used to draw patterns and illuminate objects in the dark. This is a great addition to the gameplay, it’s just a shame that it’s fleeting.

Thatgamecompany has certainly grown. Yet, Flower retains many qualities reminiscent of flOw. It is evident after playing both that they share a common heritage. The way your entity grows larger when awaking dormant flowers (in the case of flow, when consuming energy), the controls (or lack thereof), absence of definable objectives, and the end zones separating levels are just some noticeable parallels between the two. Despite those similarities, the two games are quite different in spirit and gameplay. Flower is more of a mantra while flOw is a dirge. I wouldn’t be so bold and say Flower is better than flOw, but I will say that I think it’s more of an achievement of form. However, this garden of unearthly delights is not without its weeds.

For the most part, the central mechanic of flying through flowers takes place along pretty straight fairways of manicured terrain. Obviously the flowers were deliberately placed in this way to create a smooth, fluid flight path for the player. The path gets a little more intriguing as the game goes on, but I felt that there were more times when the flowers could have been uprooted from the ground and placed on more unique geometry. For instance, the first dream ends after giving life to a tree. Breaking the pattern of taking the path of least resistance would have been welcome here by having the tree’s limbs bloom, then fit for gathering.

Also, there are far too many times that you canvas an area, prompting the camera to detach from you and perform a context-sensitive movement, giving you a wider view of the changing landscape. Unless telegraphing to the player a new area or item that is accessible, the movement and angle is almost always the same. Mostly these moments simply distract from interactivity and organic discovery.

Another element of the game that becomes tired is the tones that flowers emit after being awakened. Switching to notes from wind instruments on the turbine level would have been interesting, or more electronic noises for the night level, but these opportunities to vary the musical responses of the flowers are sorely missed. The nightmare is the only portion of the game that dramatically alters these responses, and rather intelligently, replacing bright chimes with tuneless plucking of strings, almost as if you are hearing the flower wilt away.

Perhaps the most distracting aspect of the game, however, is how heavy-handed it can be with its eco initiative overtones. Jenova Chen has repeatedly stressed that the game is supposed to represent a flower’s dream. Saying it’s Al Gore’s wet dream is also accurate. Without ruining too much, I’ll just say that in the latter stages of the game the “green” themes become so pervasive that I was half expecting to visit George Bush’s Texas ranch and watch it dematerialize with just the gentlest graze of one of my pedals against the siding. When this didn’t occur, I convinced myself that there were at the very least going to be oil-covered baby seals that needed some scrubbing from my vortex of flowers.

The social and political values can be forceful, but it doesn’t significantly detract from the game when considering the whole. If anything, it’s a breath of fresh air to be killing industrial regimes and infrastructure instead of nameless soldiers operating on behalf of one-dimensional dictatorships that are unmotivated in their malevolence, created by writers that are unconcerned with their shallowness. In this respect, I’m more than glad that the only killing being done in Flower is killing Mother Nature with kindness. At least the threat presented in the game is founded on something more factual, more at hand than unremitted terror and echoes of WWII panic that have been reverberating off of the industry gamescape for too long, the message getting more faint and prosaic with each trip. At least it stands for something and argues for it through grassroots game design. It's a small miracle that this developer has been allowed to take root and spring up from the erroded soil of the American gamescape, a devastated place where most abstract innovation is greeted with commercial payloads of Agent Orange.

There is a bed of themes in the game that stand on their own if you let them, if you choose to dissasociate them from going green. The idea of renewal and the virtue of restoration are prevalent, communicated through reversing environmental degradation. Unity of purpose is also a common theme, which can be witnessed every time a flower is added to your stream, increasing your overall speed. Something must be said for a game that not only contains thought-provoking ideas, but also cultivates them through gameplay. It’s pretty amazing that just a couple days prior to the release of Flower, it was ranked the #1 most popular game on 1Up, sitting atop a game titled Killzone 2. Proof positive the industry is very rigidly polarized no doubt, but it’s still inspiring to see a game of so much courage and creativity garnering that much attention.

The car alarm sounds off again. The bum starts hollering about being a man of power and something about a jacket with a dragon on it. How am I supposed to find my chi when all of this is going on? I walk away from my potted plants and now sparkling apartment, and into my current one, surrounded by decomposing burrito remains and germ cultures, my roommates. The room is the same and the street is the same but not every street should be or can be clean. Flower isn’t a game that completely changes how you view the world. I don’t want to rush out and plant a tree, install solar panels, or grow a pot plant. But I wake from my reverie refreshed, rejuvenated, and not cursing the sky over an untimely incident of friendly fire, even though it’s seldom surprising anymore.

Getting My Girlfriend Into Gaming

2009-02-12T18:44:00.008-05:00

When you’re a gamer and you have a girlfriend, you can never anticipate just how much your worlds will collide. I remember when it happened all too vividly, telling my girlfriend that I was an addict. It wasn’t an easy thing to say. At first she was oddly accepting, though she did approach the subject with extreme cautioun. Since I never played games (hardcore games mind you) around her, she did not know the extent of my usage. I mean I may play some Mario Kart or a round of Mario Party with her, but those are so common that it's more like playing a board game where everyone knows how those games play. Her concerns finally surfaced during social situations.

When most were playing beer pong or flip cup, my fellow brotatoes were critiquing Metal Gear Solid 4, discussing whether or not we believed the game was blatant fan service or a “masterpiece”, a title that IGN and Shane Bettenhausen have so aptly bestowed upon it. It must have been the 3rd or 4th time that I up and abandoned her for a discussion about our last verbally abusive, alcohol-induced trip on Xbox Live when she pulled me aside. She seemed almost in tears as she poured out complaints of how I always neglect her at parties to debate semantics about interactive adventures still on the horizon. At first I outright denied the fact, but the circumstantial evidence became too staggering for the jury to hand out a sentence of anything but guilty. That was the night when I came up with the worst idea in history: to make my girlfriend a hardcore gamer.

Now, as all addicts know, the way one gets addicted is through a gateway drug. So, I decided to peer pressure her into taking a hit of Endless Ocean. First off as every gamer knows, everyone loves the Wii (with the only exception being…well gamers). Even my mother wanted to get Wii Fit, or rather asked me why I did not buy it for her. It only took until the title screen appeared for me to realize I had made a huge mistake. Try having someone hear this and then try to make them take the game seriously at all. I feel kind of ashamed when I try to show anyone the game, they have all seen enough at the title screen to pass judgment and call me a doucheosaurus. It's like getting caught masturbating to the One Night in Paris on mute, Yankee candles spread strategically around you desktop and Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” flowing sensually from your Dolby Digital 5.1 surround sound. Just imagine trying to play that off like it ain’t no thang. Luckily my girlfriend is so into seeing creatures that it didn’t phase her.

Everything she saw she was enamored with. Everything I saw was boring and repetitive. She loved the basic exploration; finding new sea life, petting exotic fish, and seeing the penguins gather in bulk on the back of your boat. The 15 to 30 minutes that we played at a time were completely fulfilling for her. So after a while of getting her hooked on that I decided to skip coke and meth, and go straight to the opiates of gaming. That’s right; I made her play a JRPG.

I knew if I was to keep her interested in the game it had to be co-operative and it's mechanics had to be easy enough to understand, but deep enough to keep her interest for long periods of play. The main obstacle was the extreme length of JRPGs. I made it clear to her that it was going to be a long time investment and that it would take constant playing during our holiday break from college. It did not take much deliberation to decide upon playing Tales of Vesperia. The Tales series is rather welcoming and I knew that I could fill in things she didn't understand. Also it looked ill in H to the Dizzo.

The anime stylings were the first things that piqued her interest, but she was just as quickly turned off by the game. It takes a little over an hour to get your first party member. This made her antsy for the co-op portions. After two sittings of trying to convince her that the fun would come soon enough, it finally did arrive. Once we were both battling together she got attached to the characters and the story they were a part of. We must have played eight hours over a two day period. I thought I had indeed accomplished the impossible. I spoke far too soon.

As days went by she wanted to play less and less. She said she really enjoyed the game; she just wanted to do other things. Then vacation ended; she went back to her college and I went to mine. Now I only see her on weekends. Can you imagine how long a JRPG would take when playing for only a couple of hours every weekend? So now I feel obligated to play it with her, even though I can see the likely prospect that we will never finish the game. I am forever trapped, ten hours into a game I quite enjoy. And women think that men can’t commit. So in conclusion, if your girlfriend plays games, that’s great, but never, ever try to convert your girlfriend into a gamer. It will just leave you brokenhearted and ten hours into a 60 hour RPG.

" This is bullshit!"

2009-02-11T13:43:00.017-05:00

“ Give it to me, Commander. I’ve been craving some of your Shepard’s Pie filling. . . all over my blue face!”

“ At ease, Private. Permission to land my Alliance Destroyer inside your docking bay?”

“ Permission granted.”

The dream started the same way it does every night. It wouldn’t be long before I’d be copulating with a sexy Asari scientist, conducting experiments on the best way to please a head tentacle. Technically she was neither male nor female, but as my good friend, Frost once told me, " It doesn't matter when it's Asari, baby!" Words to live by.

Just when the sexing was about to commence, a Geth crashed through the ceiling. Almost immediately, his tinny voice began to resonate in a way that attempted to mimic singing. “ I'm going to be the one that's taking over, now this is what it's like when worlds collide. Are you ready to go? Because I'm ready to go. What are you going to do baby, baby? Are you going with me? Because I'm going with you. It's the end of all time."

The Geth was my singing cell phone, serenading me with the news that I was receiving a call. I constricted its silicon vocal cords by choking the volume button. I resumed my slumber. Then the vibrating started. After a deluge of miniature seismic events subsided, I woke up to find that I had received a number of amber alerts from friends that the Killzone 2 demo was spotted on the European PSN.

It wasn’t until night that I approached the red standby light of my PS3, like the burning eye of a Helghan. This was one omen I should have heeded. Now, I am a supporter of no particular party, not the Red Party (360), the Barren Desert Brown Party (PS3), or the Rainbow Party (Wii). So you can trust me when I say, this game sucks! I didn’t even make it past the menu. The sheer volume of glaring flaws and poor UI choices prevented me from taking the slightest step forward. Seriously, zero gravity coitus interruptus and sex organ colonization was brought to a screeching halt for this? As a young boy, my mother always impressed upon me that “you never get a second chance to make a first impression.” In that spirit, I declare that KZ2 is unplayable because its menu is nothing short of abhorrent. For all those n00bs out there, I will now express why it is not even fit for a Marcus Fenix curb stomp execution. Buckle up your domepiece for the Killzone 2 Demo Menu Preview Review.

Background Images
Why are they so blurry? Why only vague suggestions of smoke on a battlefield? What are you hiding, Gorilla? The fact that your game doesn’t look as good as Gears 2? Methinks so. I’d bet a hooker in a Helghan brothel wearing an alloy-embossed, respirating burqa looks better than this game. Probably more fun too.

Sound
You could imagine my surprise when I didn’t hear different assortments of gunshots when alternating between bars in the menu. There isn’t even vibration feedback when cycling through. I like being assaulted by recoil everytime I move between things in a menu. To be a AAA title these days, you have to give the goods. God of War pioneered the loud, razor sharp menu. The sounds of blades being unsheathed and chains whipping invisible targets made me about as giddy as a dog sinking its teeth into a squeaking chew toy, sated by the emulated cries of a small, dying animal. I want to feel like I’m killing something right off the bat. I want to be killing the menu well before I start killing enemies. My standards weren’t even that high for KZ2’s menu, it is Sony after all. I expected it to at least be somewhat corrosive. I would have even settled for different obscenities being shouted by your squadmates. Get your menu pacing right! The game’s called KILLzone for Christ sake! Turns out it’s nothing more than a low-rent shooter in Spartan’s armor. Am I right or am I right?

Difficulty Options
Shits gay

Loading Screen
It gets points for having a Sixaxis-functional loading screen, but all your doing is tilting a picture of a bridge. Vetka to Guerilla, this isn’t Architectural fucking Digest. This is WAR! What untapped potential. They could have replaced that boring image with a Helghan baby that could be shaken to death with frenetic and crazed jerks of the controller. They could have had the dead Helghan leader hanging from a rusted scaffold, aching to be given a post-mortem flogging like a piñata or Benito Mussolini’s corpse.

Conclusion
It gets points for the Sixaxis loading screen, but not many. Overall just uninspired. The only comfort I got out of the experience was the knowledge that I potentially made a download for some piece of freedom-hating Eurotrash that much longer.

For those of you who think I’m being unfair, unjust, and unreasonable towards this shitheap, deeming this game unworthy of my time without so much as playing a solitary second of gameplay, fuck you. From a palette that would only look good to the colorblind, to the hazy frosted glass of the background, this game is simply fascist. Its freedom-infringing and hollow, not to mention that its fascist in content. Collecting badges in multiplayer? All of you little Helghan Youth have fun with that. Check and mate.

THE BREAKDOWN
Intuitiveness: 5
Titty Physics: 0
Sandbox Elements: 3
Funness: 0
Availability on 360: -10
Master Chief: 0
Kratos: 0
Loudness: 2

OVERALL:

2/10.765675875975897yfyf87o57855785o87
(This is not an average of all scores)

- manhood_mincer420

P.S. Since I didn’t play the game, I’m going to base my judgments off of the testimony of these credible and astute individuals who inundated Ign with their levelheaded and well-articulated logic. They’re certainly more trustworthy than this corporate fucker. Who cares if you copy and paste their comments into MS Word and all of a sudden the whole document lights up with spelling error squiggles like hellfire and resembles an eyeball that had all of its capillaries burst. Anyway, here’s a portion of them:

once again dis bullshit ass site oh gears get a fucking 10 for graphics but yet killzone looks way better and get a fucking 9.5 yeah ign u getting paid by microsoft and a bunch of xbots...
Posted by: bonifidehustla on January 29, 2009 09:16 PDT

* * *

These game will obviously not match games like halo or gears yet KZ2 gets all high scores so far? I don't get it sony....
Posted by: cvdfg on January 29, 2009 09:22 PDT

* * *

What the F***!!
Are IGN takin the piss or what??!!

so their pretty much saying that resistance 2 is better than killzone 2....tbh IGN are one the worst reviewers i've thus far like >:O ( they know fuck all about games )

KILLZONE deserve a Fuckin 10...because...
Posted by: Mo-FoFreak on January 29, 2009 09:52 PDT

* * *

Fuck IGN and their slanted 360 ways. They know their asses are just pulling for that shit console because they know how superior the PS3 is.

They treat the PS3 just as bad as the PC and it's making me fucking sick to my stomach. There's a reason why PC gaming doesn't seem so flock worthy cause they're asses are still trying to get those achievements for Halo 3.

Fuck IGN and their rating system. I think they should drop dead and realize that in order to really appreciate a game, appreciate it for what it's worth, not how much dick it sucks.
Posted by: BeastlyFlameChucks76 on January 29, 2009 09:55 PDT

* * *

Wasn't this game supposed to be PS3's Saviour???

Wasn't this game supposed to be a Halo 3 beater???

Guess not.....
Posted by: singh100 on January 29, 2009 09:55 PDT

* * *

Metroid Prime 3>Halo 3>Killzone 2 (Yes, I haven't played it, but from the looks of things/Killzone 1)

Metroid's single player is by far the best of all current FPSes, even if there's a lack of Multi-Player....
Posted by: Knight-Nui on January 29, 2009 10:11 PDT

* * *

Leave it to IGN to be so easly impressed. "Oooo look at the pretty flowers!". This is exactly why the opinions here can not be trusted or even taken seriously....
Posted by: ZombieKingX on February 09, 2009 13:50 PDT

* * *

Gears of War 2, 9.5, 'nuff said. 360 FTW!...
Posted by: LDirtyD on January 29, 2009 10:46 PDT

* * *

Resistance 2, 9.5, 'nuff said.
Posted by: Wessking1990 on January 29, 2009 10:51 PDT

* * *

ha ha ha ha take that sony still cant beat halo ha ha i dont care if halo one by a point it still got a beter score...
Posted by: xAUSTIN316x on January 29, 2009 11:24 PDT

* * *

ha ha ha ha halo sucks...
Posted by: Regulator1212 on January 29, 2009 11:29 PDT

* * *

All i gotta say is gaylo got pwned!,lets see how this compares to cod 4.Im comepletly not playing cod4 or 5 after this is out....
Posted by: bladdermetal on February 01, 2009 11:24 PDT

* * *

Also have you ever seen a real flamethrower? I doubt many people did.
And how do you know gasoline wouldn't look like that, set ablaze, if its firing at a thousand miles per hpur.
Posted by: killkill-tk on January 31, 2009 18:02 PDT

* * *

@ killkill-tk
Liquid like how gasoline is liquid cuz im pretty sure gasoline still doesnt look like that when set ablaze. Ive never seen a flamethrower, a real one that is, that looks like the one in this game. And where did you attend fifth grade? I know you wanna sound smart but no one takes that kind of physics in fifth grade. By the way you said "superheated condensed gas" emphasis on gas. And sorry for the misunderstanding but I wasnt implying that you invented the word xbots, PS3 fanboys in general did, if I wanted to prove a consoles superiorty I would show you the number of sales of PS3s and Xboxs. [-] Minimize Comment
Posted by: JimDanD on January 31, 2009 17:52 PDT

* * *

@killkill-tk
Correct me if im wrong, but i dont think flamethrower fuel fires at "thousands of miles per hour"...
Posted by: 1337n00bstick on January 31, 2009 18:24 PDT

* * *

Meh, another sony attempt to copy Halo. The first one sucked, why would this be any different?...
Posted by: StoicismAD on January 31, 2009 19:49 PDT

* * *

@ Batigol,

Dude, you don't own a 360 you make that clearly obvious. "lucky i also got a ps3" is the universal phrase for liars. You are an embarrassment to anyone whom represents a cause. I am ashamed that you are a PS3 fanboy, you can stick that fanboy flag up your arse....
Posted by: SpartanLink on January 31, 2009 12:51 PDT

* * *

silly ok check BatigoI gamer tag my score is 65456 you fool then come back and talk rubish lol...
Posted by: BatigoI on January 31, 2009 12:54 PDT

* * *

SpartanLink add me to friends list on 360 and we ll do one on one on cod 4 or gears1 or 2 and ill show you ive got an xbox lol typical xbox live loud mouth you proved my point haha...
Posted by: BatigoI on January 31, 2009 12:58 PDT

* * *

@ Batigol,

If Batigol is you're gamertag, then that would still make you a liar. Your gamerscore is 4515 (lol) and you've never played Gears 2 or CoD4. Either way, you're still a fanboy, and you can stick your fanboy flag up your arse. Having an XBL account where you play Lego Batman and SpongeBob Underpants doesn't justify anything you say. You are still an embarrassment to all whom represent a cause. Posted by: SpartanLink on January 31, 2009 13:12 PDT

* * *

lol faggot its BatigoI capital i at the end not L and i have 1000g on gears 1,2 and call of duty 4 and world at war check again .what a fool...
Posted by: BatigoI on January 31, 2009 13:14 PDT

* * *

send friends request loud mouth,and my score is 65000, let your gaming do the talking haha...
Posted by: BatigoI on January 31, 2009 13:18 PDT

* * *

hahaha,

There we go. I'm starting to question if you have a social life after I saw your profile. For someone who's invested that much time into the 360 just to say it sucks either hates their life or has no life. As I've said before, I hate fanboys and you can stick that flag up your arse.
Posted by: SpartanLink on January 31, 2009 13:22 PDT

lol my gamer tag just shot you down ,so your the one whos wrong haha, and i didnt say anythink about 360 that wasnt true ,only stated that people on live are fools just like you .and then you go and prove me right! send friends request or shut the hell up fag ....
Posted by: BatigoI on January 31, 2009 13:29 PDT

* * *

@ BatigoI,

Actually, I'm not wrong because you're still a fanboy. 80% of people on Live are not fools, it is the fools who stand out because they are fools and they are usually kicked from matches (by the majority of players who don't like fools). Why would I waste space on my friends list to accomodate a fanboy loser? I try to keep it at 99 so that new people can still send me friend requests, and I'm not going to remove someone just to play a loser like you. As I've said before, your gamertag is a joke, and it is a perfect represenation of your pathetic life. For someone to play the 360 as often as you is pathetic. You can like the PS3 more, I don't really care because I like MGS4 more than most 360 games, but you just make yourself look like a fool when you rip on other consoles. Grow up noob:P
Posted by: SpartanLink on January 31, 2009 13:38 PDT

* * *

well.... now we se that the ps3 has a 2 game library.
and thats ok.
now just wait to se if shitzone2 lives to the overhiped expactatiosn....
Posted by: isaac8025 on January 31, 2009 13:42 PDT

Comic-Con '09 - “ Like mechs? TAKE A COURSE ON OPERATING A TANK IN THE ARMY!”

2009-02-07T18:07:00.043-05:00

Jeana, my friend Gabe, and I decided to go to Friday’s events at the New York Comic-Con. I had never been before, but it didn't take long to acclimate to the arid, occasionally smelly atmosphere of the Jacob K. Javits Convention Center and its localized greenhouse gasses created by energetic Cosplayers.

Navigating through a labyrinth of separate cabinets of wonders, we passed mercenaries strapping patrons into modified dentist chairs to play F.E.A.R. 2, free brands being given out at the EA booth, and numerous warrens populated by baying and garish otaku. We waded through hentai peddlers accepting crumpled bills from trembling forms of human gelatin, and an imposing, surreptitious Riddick replica breaking character to happily sign a G4TV release form. I hope it went something like this: “ So, why are you here today, Riddick?” “ Where there’s desperation, there’s opportunity. . . It’s a gig.” Quite a sight to say the least.

But the main motivation for me was to see the Vs. Mode Live panel with Ken Levine, Todd Howard, and N’Gai Croal and Stephen Totilo presiding. You can look at a list of hastily written facts mixed in with a healthy helping of generalizations and misconceptions about what Levine and Howard said at Totilo’s Multiplayer blog. I would like to give my impression of certain things both men said that I think either became misconstrued or were conveniently ignored in these frantically typed responses:

I think even Totilo’s update to what was originally posted about how Levine is “Not interested in multiplayer space” misses the point. What Levine said was not only that he hasn’t thought about multiplayer for much of his career, but that recently he has been thinking about it, just not in the Call of Duty sense. He’s not interested in occupying that space because Infinity Ward and some other developers have that part of the market cornered, and whether he genuinely wants to or not, anything he could design that attempts to penetrate that market would just be white noise and a commercial casualty by FPS firing squad. He did rather subtly mention that his next project occupies a separate multiplayer real estate, that it’s a different breed of multiplayer experience entirely. This is when I got excited, sweaty, and possibly by some definitions, aroused. Rather shamefully I removed my long-sleeve shirt and exposed my Rapture shirt underneath that I was starting to feel lame for wearing.

Something else left out of that post was an interesting thing Todd Howard said about achievements in Fallout 3. It turns out that achievements don’t just simply provide the means to chastise and smite friends remotely, they also help Bethesda. They actually compile comprehensive data of every achievement earned for every player and monitor their play styles based on them. Big Brother Todd also added that according to this data, 80% of players had good karma, which was a surprise to him, myself, and my cannibalistic, enterprising wastelander alter ego.

Also, when asked what their favorite games of the year were, Levine only gave his recorded answer of “King’s Bounty” after repeatedly asking N’Gai if he could say “Fallout 3”. The request was repeatedly denied. Howard did ask, with some degree of sincerity if he could also pick Fallout 3 as his favorite game of the year. Once that was vetoed, he mentioned GTA IV and Call of Duty 4 as his two favorites. Howard also said that he likes going to bed after beating another WWII game and screaming at his unamused wife, " Woo! The Americans won again!"

Todd and N'Gai taking pictures. Stephen and Ken fashionably late.

Other Highlights (in no particular order):

A lonely sentry sitting idly by at the vacant US Army booth.
Touching Ken Levine for the second time and talking with him for the third. Big Boy Ken (yes, we’re at that point in our relationship now) introduced Gabe and I to his wife and friend. Mentioning that we just got through playing Dark Athena, he asked how it was and I gave him my thoughts. I also added that they had a big, lumbering Riddick impersonator over at the booth who silently prowled and shifted through the players. He said that was actually him, I just couldn’t tell because he had his goggles on.
A long, menacing staredown with Tycho.
Meeting the disgruntled actor who played Chewbacca. He told us at his empty booth, without once making eye contact, that it would be $25 for a single autograph. We declined. Instead, we settled on a roaming Chewbacca who was in costume and willing to do a free photo op.
Playing Assault on Dark Athena and Mad World

Regrets:

Not bringing my bottle cap-filled Fallout 3 lunchbox for Todd Howard and Emil Pagliarulo to sign.
Not playing the Ghostbusters videogame.
Not fondling N'Gai's extroardinary dreads when I had the chance
Not using the bathroom while I was there. Wait. . . that was probably a good thing. Who knows the variety of costumed penises I could have been exposed to.

Pictures from Gabe's phone:

N'Gai (left), Levine the Great, Howard the Hobbit, and the Green Lantern (right).

Chewy (left) and Gabe (right) share a warm embrace.

A rather rotund troop of Ghostbusters.

Ta-Da!

2009-01-28T18:13:00.063-05:00

Recently, my Xbox 360, Sir Scrimshaw gave up a year-long battle with red ring. So it goes. No amount of towels or thread counts could resurrect him this time. All of Linens N' Things employees and all of their stockmen couldn't put my 360 back together again. I requested EVAC from the good people at 1-800-4MYXBOX, but with an expired warranty and no current red ring problem, ordering a cardboard coffin would cost $100. If only there was an affordable alternative. So, I gave him a proper burial and then decided to get a newer 360 that wasn't as pre-disposed to manufacturing flaws as the late Scrimshaw was. I think I should also mention that I put off reading his last rites for about three months. I simply lived with his rotting corpse and was only motivated to find a solution recently when a certain something started approaching over the distant horizon.

I bought a used Arcade system from GameStop for $170. After "Jumping In©" and finding the perfect scars and facial hair for my avatar, who sort of resembles a Rapturian version of Count Count, I was back to shooting swastikas and having restraining orders issued against me. That was until the next day. . . I tried to open the disc tray. I tried again. " The third time's a charm, right?" "WROoOoOoNG," the infernal beast's inner trinketry whispered, or at least the cooling fans made a noise that sounded similar to that. God dammit... So it goes again.

Constipated 360 in-tow, I headed off to GameStop and explained to the manager that in less than 12 hours after buying it, the disc tray was jammed. I suggested an exorcism, a choo-choo train of oil, etc. We settled on plugging it in and doing a physical. The manager employed the same strategy that I had previously and went about pressing the eject button repeatedly. The tray made lethargic attempts to go forward and backward, but didn't get far before stopping completely. This fruitless poking and prodding went on for another minute in complete silence. Finally, the tray went all of the way into the console and also made a full journey back. The laconic manager kept poking without any emotion, watching the tray poke out of the machine and go back in, possibly fantasizing about playing whac-a-tray.

All of a sudden, right when the tray was making another trip out of the innards of the 360, it had a copy of Halo 3 sitting in it. The manager and I both looked at each other in disbelief, making sure the other had also born witness to this magic trick. Once this was confirmed we both lost it. While he told his employees exactly what he just saw, I stood there looking at the console wondering how that was possible. Maybe it wasn't an Arcade system. It could have been a prototype of a new SKU that accidentally got released, the Xbox 360 Shark. What other stolen treasures lay inside it's metallic stomach? Maybe the previous owner had it modded with an improbability drive. Maybe it was separated from its young, mistook me for its baby and gave me an offering of regurgitated gamefood. Then the cold, hard reality set in that I was one in a long history of owners who owned this evil machine, which had a healthy appetite for gobbling up physical media.

I thought about returning it, but after thinking about him being the David Blaine of GameStop that night, I reconsidered. . . plus it came with a one year warranty. . . plus I used it as an excuse to get a new copy of Fallout 3 to replace my original one, which was damaged in an unrelated case. Sure I got angry, sure I scolded him, however, I couldn't stay mad at him after that. I suppose it was comparable to your cute, boxy, bone white puppy vomiting or shitting out a porcelain Precious Moments figurine that fell from the china cabinet. He could even have a bright future in the Console Carnival industry. If Microsoft customer support has taught me anything it's that there's money to be made off of even the most defective litter of God's children.

A Hiatus Happened, I Guess

2009-01-21T17:42:00.012-05:00

Well it’s been awhile hasn’t it? There is a little institution known as “Generic College” that has things called “Finals” which needed to be attended to. After that, there was another institution called “It’s the holiday time”, during which everyone consumes exorbitant amounts of something called “Food” until they fall unconscious. I personally had cookies for days. These circumstances didn’t lend themselves well to sitting down and writing about games though unfortunately, for me or my esteemed colleagues. This doesn’t mean I wasn’t playing them though. Oh no, you would be wrong if you ever assumed that I wasn’t playing. Dead wrong. Over the last few months, there was a ridiculous flood of games I needed to purchase, putting me in absolute poverty. It’s all good though, I enjoyed myself immensely. After the new releases slowed, I started to purchase older games I should have played years ago, but didn’t in addition to the new ones. I was too distracted to write anything. I left nary a note when going out to pick up milk and eggs and missed several doctors appointments because I failed to mark them on the calendar. Anyway, I lost count at around 18 or so different games (I believe the next number is 19) I’ve been juggling around or finished. Here are some thoughts:

Rock Band 2 (Xbox360): Like Rock Band 1! I transferred my songs from the first game to the second and removed “Train Kept a Rollin’” because it incites within in me a hatred that burns hot as brimstone in my belly. When the Roy Orbison Track Pack was released, I immediately purchased “In Dreams” and pretended I was Dean Stockwell in Blue Velvet.

Dead Space (Xbox360): Made me jumpy and gave me anxiety. Also, rivals Bioshock in the number of filthy bathrooms they chose to include.

Fallout 3 (Xbox360): I started to enjoy it at approximately the same time I was able to actually kill things. That being said, I enjoyed this game so much, I often forgot to blink for extended periods of time. Once I did, it hurt a lot.

Fable 2 (Xbox360): My female hero turned out to be gargantuan and manly, so after I finished the main storyline, I reduced her toughness to nothing so she had a normal figure and could no longer be described as “burly”. Then in the Knothole Island add-on I got my ass kicked by beetles.

Gears of War 2 (Xbox360): “Ooohhh the second game is going to be soooo emotional! We’ve got a new writer! The game is going to be so BADASS! So badass in fact, we’ve incorporated tears that can KILL A MAN to better fit the emotional badassery that going on up in n’yah.”

Left 4 Dead (Xbox360): More like Left ME 4 Dead, specifically! YOU DICKS, COME BACK!

Mirrors Edge (Xbox360): Run run run fall die run run run jump grab hoist run run slide get shot to death run run run run jump slide run run jump hoist kick run wait in an elevator.

Prince of Persia (Xbox360) : The witty repartee and sexual tension between the Prince and Elika just make me wish I were playing a sim game where I can force them to kiss instead of talking about her dead civilization. And I’m pretty sure whoever thought up the combat system should die.

A Kingdom For Keflings (XBLA): And WHAT a kingdom!

Meteos Wars (XBLA): On the receiving end of substantially more middle fingers and thumb bitings than any other game I’ve played on account of the computer player is a filthy whore.

Sam and Max Season 1 (Wii): Hooray! A reason to use my Wii!

World Of Goo (Wiiware): I got this game for free. I admittedly haven’t played it that much, but I like what I’m seeing. … Why even include this short review? Because I got it for FREE and also appreciate independent developers blah blah blah.

Shadow of the Colossus (PS2): It was about that time. I didn’t get this game when it was released because I didn’t have money then and now that I have a little money, I as able to get it and assuage the crippling guilt I felt for having never played it. So stop judging me! I’ve already explained myself.

Elite Beat Agents (DS): I hate this game because I’m not good at it.

Castlevania: Order of Ecclesia (DS): They placed the bosses at the beginning of the level, instead of the end. The boss fights comes down to pattern memorization, which requires moves to be pulled off with precision and adds a whole new level of challenge as you don’t usually have the sheer brute strength to dice the enemy to ribbons. I personally miss dicing the enemy to ribbons. Gimme Crissagrim any day.

Penny Arcade Adventures : On the Precipice of Darkness Episode 2 (XBLA): My unabashed love for those Penny Arcade fellows knows no bounds, therefore I have no criticism. Later, I will launder my Penny Arcade shirts, read my Penny Arcade books and write about boys I like in my Penny Arcade journal.

ICO (PS2): I found a copy and I’m going to appreciate the hell out of it.

Wii Fit: I got it during the summer when it first came out, and played it last during the summer when it first came out. The game has the upper hand though, as it knows both how much I weigh and now how lazy I am as well. I’ll let you in on the secret though; it’s “very”.

Rez HD (XBLA): I have all the levels of this game memorized by this point and I don’t know whether that means I’ve become really good at it or if I’ve become autistic.

Audiosurf (PC): I’m currently #1 in the world on America’s “Man’s Road” from The Last Unicorn Soundtrack.

Team Fortress 2 (Xbox360): The amount of hours I’ve put into this game is nauseating. And oh, the awful, terrible, inexcusable things I say to people in this game…

A few months ago, I sat on my Xbox360 headset and snapped it off at the headband. I bought a new one, which was quickly chewed through by my kitten, Boo. I’ve been using the one with the wire that’s hanging by a thread, but it recently puttered out and died. So I’ve been attaching the one with no headband to my head by way of bandana. I think if anyone could see me, they would be intimidated.

And Now: Limericks

2008-11-09T13:59:00.007-05:00

So in my spare time I've been writing Limericks. I "stumbledupon", as I so often do, and found a page of clever limericks. It was inspiring. I mean, I enjoyed a good haiku now and again, but I had never ventured into the world of limericks. So I figured it was time. Of course, I adapted my limericks so they had something to do with video games so that I may share. A little taste here, and more after the jump.

The armor may look like there's burl,
But from her helmet her hair did unfurl,
They all went erect,
In glaring respect,
When they found out their hero's a girl.

In Rapture he went on a date,
And got the girl home very late,
On her Welcome Rug,
He ripped out her slug,
Now her daddy will reciprocate.

While blankly chainsawing a locust,
A COG soldier seemed out of focus,
At night gears did grind,
And he was starting to find,
That liking just ladies was bogus.

Over countless test subjects she towers
A program with remarkable powers,
But alas, she must pout,
After much “in and out”
Not one of them thought to bring flowers.

As I gladly collected my loot,
I espied a terrible brute,
When over he lumbered,
I was over encumbered,
I died there for precious nirnroot.

There once was a space Engineer
Whose main objective was quite clear,
A glowing blue light,
Showed which way was right,
Of course the right way leads to fear.

Have you seen that comic by that guy?
It was so funny I thought I would cry.
The concept, though fun,
Is way overdone,
In the end it turns out its a spy.

Commander Shepherd, space soldier Elite,
With reputation that cannot be beat,
Though I know that I should,
Do my best to be good,
I just punch everyone that I meet.

Two Paper Pink Pigs feeling randy,
Thought maybe a dance would be handy,
It was awfully gruesome,
As the Posey Pink Twosome,
Made a baby, then took all its candy.

A boy lived under DC,
When his dad left without a decree,
He then fled the vault,
Though it wasn't his fault,
To follow a man he can't see.

And on that note, I must away. The Fallout 3 intro movie has played at least 10 times while I organized this and I really need to get up in there.

My First hours in the Wasteland

2008-11-05T19:29:00.005-05:00

I’ve finished the game at this point (so have Evan and Ben, those fuckers finished the main quest before me), and I plan to post more about it soon but this is a start. If you have played the first hours of the game and read this, you will be able to see just how different everyone experience is going to be from one another when they complete it. I did not know how to start talking about such a long and involved experience. I thought of writing a review like piece, but that would not explain properly why Fallout 3 is “of the hook” as you kids say. Just discussing the game over the weekend made me realize just how much more I can still do. And I think the best part is, I didn't have to.

Though there are rewards for completing more quests for more people, I found the most appealing aspect to be exploration of the Wastleland. The stories you will learn, and manipulation of the characters in the game (if your speech level is high enough OH WAIT mine is, my speech talk Tenpenny into letting ghouls stay at his tower; your speech got you a golden shower). Plus I still need Dogmeat. Well anyway here is my first hour or so, my father was very proud…

After cheating on my G.O.A.T, saving that asshole's mother from those puny radroaches, and killing my childhood crush’s father in cool blood just because he wouldn't let me out of that shithole, I was on my way to discovering the reason my father had left the fault and destroyed our simple lives. As my digital eyes got their first ever look at the digital sun, I realized that I was truly at home. Here I could be king and the world, (or at least what was left of it) and it was my playground. Now in the wasteland, even the nicest of people are not really nice in the traditional, 50’s sitcom way. They are picks; they hate their lives and as well they should. As I walked to the near by town of megaton, I experienced this first hand. I disliked everyone in this town.

The sheriff, who was the first person I confronted in the vault was nice, but because of all the shit he had been through he became more of shithead as I kept talking to him. The doctor who I had just meet told me to stop bitching about my wounds. If only there was a dialogue choose that said, “I’m paying you asshole so why don’t you shut the fuck up and do your job.” Don’t get me started about the religious fanatic, I barely talked to them and I doubt I will ever again.

Then some hotshot in this hellhole, told me that he had seen my father. I was thinking, finally, normal people in this wasteland, and what does that bastard do? He says he will tell me what I want to know if I give him 100 caps. 100 fucking bottle caps! So I told him to eat a dick and I wandered Megaton aimlessly looking for anyone who knew where my dear papa had gone. But I could not find anyone who could give me anything to go off of. I was stumped. So I went back to the man with the my head down and 100 caps that I had collected in my pocket. I guess what that fucker did, he told me that because I did not except his first offer that the price for that information that now the price for my dad’s location was 500 caps. At this point I was about to kill this fucker, when I noticed that I just got a new speech option because my speech level is so high. Fortunately it let me lower the price back to 100 caps. So I cut my losses, got the info I needed and never talked to that fucker again. Seems I may have a reason to blow up this shit hole after all.

Out of the four people I have talked to who are lucky enough to have Fallout 3, no one had the same experience in their first few hours then I did. One love, vote Obama…well I guess you already did that... he’s already elected.

Bargain Bin Bonanza: The Hellish Hopping

2008-10-11T19:04:00.004-04:00

I went to the store the other day with the morbid desire to play a game I could purchase for less than the price of Crunchwrap Supreme (meal). I passed on the hundred various sports games of yesteryear which were selling for a dollar a piece and looked for something more colorful. I meant that literally though, its not like I wanted to find something violent or racist, but I wish I did . Eventually, I came across Zapper: One Wicked Cricket for the Gamecube by Infogrames (This is not to be confused with Tapper: One Cricket Wicket). When you see box art that has a sassy cricket on it being all like “What”, you have to learn to recognize. Game in bag, I headed home to see what this was all about.

I'll tell you what it was all about. Making me angry. That's what it was about. First of all, I don't have a memory card, so I couldn't save. The horrors I had to endure until the bitter end...the horrors! Normally I would just throw down the controller in frustration and walk away, but no! Not being able to save forced me to keep on keeping on. Second of all...you're a cricket. An ugly, electricity shooting cricket. The bad guy is a female Magpie that's apparently laying eggs all over the place, which is a problem (littering? population control?), she also snatched up your brother or something. What do I know? There was no dialog, just some bastardized Simlish that made me want to punch someone, or cover my ears. So in each level you need to destroy six of the eggs all whilst collecting as many fireflies as you can find. The first level is supposed to be your neighborhood, but everyone is trying to kill you. It's like you're the one neighbor that doesn't mow his lawn or goes out to get the paper with their robe wide open, flapping in the breeze. The environments for the first few levels are appropriately cricket sized, and were kind of cute. They were like an average garden, full of things that want you dead. So, like most gardens. There are picketing squirrels in the level that can kill you (their signs just have a nut on them), there are snails that can kill you, there are slugs that apparently have a full skeletal system that can kill you and there are also golden statues with swords that can kill you (a must for every garden). In addition to that, there are a myriad of things that you can fall off of and die. This is every level. Constantly falling to your death. There are some platforms where you could just move from one to another, and others where you needed jump over and I was constantly overestimating my character's ability to jump and falling to my doom. Excuse me for thinking a cricket, who does nothing all day but jump, and nothing all night but jump and keep me awake could easily jump across a small gap. Excuse me.

There isn't much to the levels, most of the game play comes from trying to collect all of the fireflies by killing all the enemies and finding secret areas. I was going to do that, but then I remembered I don't give a shit. So I just plowed through the levels. Less than halfway through I decided invincibility would be a good idea, as well as infinite lives considering I merely wanted to see what they had to offer in level design. Boy did they have something to offer! After the first world was complete, the rest of the game had no cohesive theme. I went from a Voodoo themed cave, to a saw mill, to a western ghost town, to an evil train (one of the cars was a grill with burgers on it for some reason). The Magpie's final level was a huge industrial tower with the Magpie overseeing my actions as I ascended, laughing at me every time I died...which is many times. It's laughter cut through me like a thousand knives. I wanted nothing more than to see it utterly and completely destroyed. This is not true of real life Magpies which are very cute, but they also don't laugh at your failure.

Onward to the final boss fight! The Magpie sits atop a pile of gold (because apparently laying eggs all over the place is a profitable and successful business venture) and tries to kill you by making more holes to fall into, shooting eggs at you (gross) and dive bombing you. It was an epic battle; hopping around in circles, falling into holes, coming back, repeat, sometimes actually hitting the Magpie, and finally...

As a testament to how truly awful this game was: it froze as I dealt the final hit. I just kind of pursed my lips and nodded my head at it. It was like the game knew that not only was it purchased for a paltry two dollars, but that it would be played by a person with malice in their heart and a strong contempt for games starring sassy insects. Touché game, touché.

Getting Down to the Tough Issues

2008-09-27T17:43:00.008-04:00

This piece of work is coming to you from John Everson, a long time friend of the family who has an incredible knack for coming up with ridiculously complex, well thought out, and often hilarious comments. John and video games go way way back. I recall playing a game on my Commodore 64 that he made when he was very young. It involved killer bees, I believe. John's day job now involves getting games to work on technology that should by no means run games. Someone has got to cater to the frazzled housewife longing to play Bejeweled on her Kitchen Aide.

I'll keep this short as not to detract from the dialog. The following came up while we were discussing the Presidential debate. I wasn't watching it, but from what John has told me, he only changed a few key words. Enjoy.

Moderator: What would you do to solve the financial crisis as president?

McCain: I'll put on a spending freeze.

Obama: But I want a program that educates young children. Senator McCain wants to freeze young children?!!!

McCain: If you freeze them, you can shatter them with one hit.

Obama: Senator McCain, our financial difficulties are not metroids.

~

Obama: I need to make one point, Senator, the republican party is mired in the gaming policies of the 1980's. Bionic Commando Rearmed still doesn't have a jump button and the American people need one in this time of crisis.

McCain: Everyone knows I've never been voted Ms. Congeniality, but the American People know me well that I have also played games from the 90's, like 7th guest and Myst. If America has learned a lesson, it is that the policies of full motion video should not be ignored.

~

Moderator: What do you think of the lessons of the latest round of games for the Wii?

Obama: We have spent over 6 billion dollars so far, almost a trillion, on games like Dogz, Catz, and the Bee Movie game. Many of these are played once and never touched again. Others are still in their wrapper. And all of this costs American people money.

I think the lesson that needs to be drawn is to look to the free flash games, like desktop tower defense, or the one with the dolphins. These games are free, fun, and don't impact the American Wallet.

McCain: I disagree. I don't have the latest version of Flash, so I can't play most of those games.

McCain: Also, if you turn the Wiimote sideways, you can play Donkey Kong Math for 500 wii points

~

McCain: Two fourth of Julys ago, I was in Baghdad, staying with some of the troops. I was honored to be there and to speak with the troops. And I sat down with them for quite some time, and I was amazed that they are still playing Syphon Filter 3 on the PS2. This is a travesty for the greatest military in the world. These troops need our funding, they need our support, and they need 360s, to do their job, and to show the American people they can play Halo 3 as well as the Koreans or the Canadians.

~

Moderator: In 2007, President Bush ordered a voteban of xXPwnOfTheDeadXx from a counter-strike server. Senator McCain voted for that ban. You did not, explain why.

Obama: We have a 20th century mindset that says that if we are getting sniped repeatedly, we should punish those who are responsible.

McCain: I don't think senator Obama understands that xXPwnOfTheDeadXx was clearly clipping. I supported the ban, but I did not support having Pwn sent to Guantanamo Bay. I think banning his Steam account would've sufficed.

~

John: It makes you wonder if fata1ity needs to give his two cents.

DS is the Best in the Business P.S. We got Dicks like Jesus

2008-09-23T19:47:00.006-04:00

I watched them. I watched them as they did their sweet, loving, sensual dance of passion. At least it appeared passionate considering the fact that I forced the two of them to fornicate and conceive a bastard child. Oh, but I wasn’t done with them yet, oh no. That child, the perfect little child, I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. I offered him his own mother so they too could conceive just for me. The father on the other hand, I made an example out of him. I laid him at the mercy of the birds and let them pick him apart until he exploded into little pieces.

Ok, now those little pieces may have been candy, but that is still some fucked up shit. On my recent trip to NYC, we stopped at a virgin megastore to look at the new game, movie, and music releases. As my lady-friend perused the DS section, she informed me that Viva Piñata was now out on the portable system. Now I had my reservations, immediately thinking of it as the retard version or one that has nothing to do with the original IP it was based on. But now that I have played it I can tell you once and for all that this shit is for real, son.

At first I was a little put off. The tutorial for this game was a good 10 minutes, but surprisingly it is well-needed. The game holds your hand as it teaches you the very basics of Viva with the new touch screen interface. You can do everything you can on its 360 counterpart. So it teaches you how to plant your seeds, water them, grow your grass (this is starting to sound very much like hashish) and con them cute little bastards into living the rest of their short meaningless lives in the hell hole that is my garden where I will likilly hit them with my shovel and sell them to the highest bidder. Now, I loved my share of Viva on the 360, but I never really got close to “catchin’ them all”, but with the DS version I can easily play a little bit here and there. For instance, I can romance two Squazzils while I'm defecating all by my lonesome. I can put up some statues to attract Flutterscotches while playing flip cup. I can even plant a blueberry tree while gorilla masking a good friend.

However, not all my time in this world has been fun. Sometimes Jeff has to beat bitches to death with a shovel because they just eat the Mousemallow that I was about to force into having intercourse. Sometimes your piñatas think that eating the food with the purple, zigzagging, rotting lines over them is a good idea and then they get sick. And since this game is apparently in the US or some other place with no free health care, I have to pay for a Doctor if I am to revive them. Because the price is so high, I make the executive decision to beat them to death and let the other piñatas feast on their remains.

I’m only about 20% through the game so I do not know for sure how long it's going to stick. Plus, I'm also playing MegaMan 9, which I should post about soon. I’m likely going to grab the Duke on live and FUCKING WIPEOUT HD COMES OUT ON THURSDAY. Cheers hoping that I get some sort of food poisoning so I have many more Piñata filled trips to the can.

Do Chulips Feel Numb?

2008-09-17T00:45:00.020-04:00

I've recently become acquainted with an absolute gem of a game called Chulip. Originally produced by Punchline and released in Japan in 2002 for the Playstation 2, it was distributed in America by Natsume in 2007. It was a Game Stop exclusive release, but it's not like they made a big deal out of it here. I bought the game on a whim, as it was produced by Natsume and my hunger for cutesy life simulators that incorporate mild fantasy elements must be sated (Harvest Moon has been delayed until the end of the month). Also, according to the box, the central gameplay revolves around kissing. “Smooches!?”, I exclaimed, then giggled and payed 10 dollars for my treasure.

As your little male character kisses more and more “people” (I put people in quotes because I'm unsure what some were), your father speaks with the “Lover's Tree” at night about your progress in the ways of love. The “Lover's Tree” is a tree with a human face, one of several odd characters which are objects with human faces. Anyway, the tree “strengthens your heart” based on how many people you have kissed. A strong heart is one step toward finally kissing the girl of your dreams. I'm level six, which apparently equates to being a Ladykiller, despite the fact the majority of people I've kissed were men. Actually most of the people you kiss are “Underground Residents”, creatures that come out on the surface once a day and are constantly angry. What's scary is that that is an accurate description of myself.

I enjoy the game very much, as it includes some adventure gaming aspects. Each of the many oh-so- kissable characters in the game has a prerequisite to their kiss, whether it be returning something they've lost, hurting yourself in some terrible way, or stealing, just like in real life. If you attempt to kiss anyone before they are ready, they will put your ass in your place so fast, it's not even funny. You have a life meter, which is your heart slowly breaking. The character you play takes everything to heart though. He fell on a slide, his heart broke. He finds fecal matter in the trash (“Poopie”), his heart breaks. It's all very tragic. The only way to restore the love in his heart is with the unconditional positive regard your father provides you as you sleep. It's either that or you wash your hands. You know what they say, "Cleanliness is close to fatherlylovelyness". I just love the fact that nothing can be done within the game without kissing. You can't progress in the story line without laying it on someone and the game ends when you kiss the girl of your dreams. Well shit lady, who needs you? I've kissed everyone in town, plus a bunch of mole people and now you want me? Damn.

I do have problems with the game, though I tolerate most of them. The first being that your character can't run. He just walks everywhere like he doesn't have everyone to kiss. The only way to run is to kiss an Underground Resident named “The Hasty Wizard” who then gives you a fruit called the “Speedupple” that you eat and it gives you the ability to run. Which brings me to my next point; the game is really very unforgiving. The guide book that came with the game just tells you what to do. The game is so aware of the fact that you will have no idea what to do otherwise, they go ahead and hold your hand through the game. How am I supposed to know that in order to get the Zombie to kiss you, you need to first kiss the Voodoo Doll and then give Lavender and a wilted flower to a talking stone lion who runs a bath house? I didn't even make that up. Is that common knowledge?

Honestly though, play Chulip. My life feels a little richer from having played it. I learned that you need to give love to everyone you meet (the most famous groupies share this mentality as they give love equally to both rock stars and roadies alike) and in that way, every kiss will feel like the first... with fireworks and serene music while floating in space.

The part of me that is deeply saddened by games that lack an achievements system, has generated some achievements for use with Chulip. Whether or not they are possible is beyond me, but here they are none the less.

-Be accused of rape 5 times.

-Kiss the Lover's Tree.

-Kiss 10 children

-Drink your troubles away.

-Inanimate objects are laughing at and/or with you.

-Contract Oral herpes.

Introducing Feral Concepts to the Domesticated Gameworld

2008-09-13T23:18:00.012-04:00

As with my last post, this one will concern itself with issues, thoughts, and parallels raised by Roger Caillois’s Man, Play, Games. Early into the book Caillois outlines his classification of games. He places all games into four main categories: Agon (competition), Alea (chance), Mimicry (simulation), and Ilinx (vertigo).

The only objection I had to any of his assertions was with his description of alea, or games of chance. He posits that children are not interested in games of chance because of the way a child “approximates an animal” and does not yet have a fully developed perception of the abstract and inanimate powers of destiny and subsequently, the attraction of ceding one's fate to it. I would have to disagree with this notion. Although he doesn’t completely reject the possibility of a child’s participation with games of chance, he certainly downgrades it almost to the point of non-existence. I can remember in my childhood playing numerous games of chance.

My second grade class was given a stern lecture by our principal about the dangers and poisonous effects of gambling after a week of playing a loose, if not completely incorrect version of poker with candy cigarettes serving as betting chips. I guess Caillois would argue that such behavior would fall under the umbrella of mimicry, namely mimicking adults, but I think that is entirely debatable. I can also recall many a fond afternoon of playing Pooh sticks with a neighborhood guide who wore a belt of throwing knives and who seemed far too old and smoked far too many cigarettes to be an expert on such a juvenile game. Sitting atop a rusted jungle gym that rested above a forest stream, we proceeded to select sticks and drop them into different parts of the stream and see whose stick reached a predetermined finish line first. Agon does enter into Pooh sticks (which parts of the stream have the strongest current, the quality and streamlined composition of the stick, etc.), but it has a very minimal presence and not to someone who has never played or to the more carefree of kids. It was a pure fascination with chance, cause and effect, trial and error, and a general curiosity with seeing the behavior of natural forces that we were interested in. Aside from this aspect of the child and their limited relation to and involvement with alea, I think Caillois’s examination of core play styles is sound.

Despite this one particular inaccuracy, Caillois does a thorough and admirable job of detailing most dominant styles of play and the rules, either implicit or explicit, that come with them. However, in every game described, the player knows the rules before engaging with that game. Be it the correct procedure for stepping onto a merry-go-round and mounting a plastic horse or playing football, the tenets of the activity are known to the participant prior to playing.

One thing I don’t think Caillois mentioned was the phenomenon of a participant playing a game when they weren’t entirely sure of the rules. This isn’t it’s own division of game style since the rules are independent of this, but this blind approach to confronting a game is something I find interesting. In the case of Warioware, I felt that this method of supplying the player with limited information, or no information at all, with regard to the game’s rules was a detriment to the game. The difficulty of the game is making sense of the nonsensical, interpreting foreign, single-serving mechanics that you are being bombarded with. After some exposure to these games (or fool’s errands) as they repeat, you learn what is required of you to succeed. For a majority of Warioware’s games, it is simply the process of discovering just what in the hell you’re supposed to do and not the actions themselves that are challenging and fleetingly fun. Once this discovery is over, the game becomes stagnant.

On the other hand, a game like flOw practices this similar idea of limited user information, but does it in a way that adds another component to the game and adds a fruitful afterlife to the gameplay rather than a premature death. The act of discovering relationships between your single-cell self and other creatures, other organic life (of the nutritional, caloric variety), and other players in the cooperative mode (or in some cases, uncooperative) adds an element of investigation, careful observation, and player interpretation to the game. Sharing thoughts about the attributes and effects of certain digestible matter with other players is also very fascinating insofar as you see how others interpreted the mechanics. This dialogue exposes little aspects of how someone interprets an unknown quantity and adds their own meaning to it through speculation. Different people can perceive the same in-game item as an aid or a hindrance, both not entirely sure of what it does. Some people think a certain action, attack, or state had more of an influence over the space and AI than others. These differences offer little insights into how people think.

But over time, these assumptions begin to break down and the dynamics between the player, the other species, and the resources in the game become apparent. Unlike Warioware, the enjoyment of the game does not cease after this period of discovery because it does not chiefly consist of repeating tasks that only have one proper solution. This is where non-linearity enters in. Once the rules are known to the player, the game goes on to be a remarkable meditative journey, a microscopic fugue that explores relationships between pacifism and antagonism, the will-to-power and all forms of life, consumption and depletion of resources, nourishment and gluttony, primal instinct and rational thought, outward appearances and intimidation, allies and enemies, and so on. Not to mention that it's also the only game that I couldn't comfortably eat snack foods while playing. I became self-aware, stared contemplatively at the finger paintings of potato chip grease that covered my controller and thought about consumption while comparing my eating habits to those of my single-cell self. I think that is quite an accomplishment. To get back to the point, cooperation and competition are both equally supported in single and multiplayer.

This unconventional hybrid of play styles is not something Callois really touches on, but doesn’t rule out either. He does stress that agon games are largely competitive exhibitions to display one’s superiority over obstacles and others. This can be the attitude one would choose to adopt when playing flOw, but it is certainly not the only one. flOw is a rare species. In an industry permeated by classical, agon-centered games, flOw illustrates that we can marry together mechanics from unlikely genres in intelligent and invigorating ways.

I believe that once games start resembling our reality more and more, we’re going to see a dramatic rise in this approach to organic, implied game rules detailed above. Eventually designers won’t need to bother wasting their time and the player’s time on implementing tutorials and gameplay mandates, not to mention the inseparable disruption of player immersion and dramatic investment that follows these in-game irritations, because the rules of the game will already be intimately known to the player through life experience. Obviously this won’t apply to every game, but graphical fidelity, dynamic gameplay-monitoring systems, and improved AI will be instrumental in subtly conveying gameplay opportunities to players in even the more unrealistic of games. At least I hope this is the trend we will see. I suppose that if this paradigm shift is to occur, we first need courage on the part of more designers, publishers, and players to encourage this biotic exchange of experimental game design, to administer this much-needed transfusion of new blood into the pallid skin of mainstream games. Though courage is a rare commodity in the industry these days, games like flOw foster hope for this fascinating possibility.

Of Master Chief and Men

2008-09-11T23:17:00.021-04:00

For a videogame production class I’m currently taking, I’ve been reading the book Man, Play, Games by Roger Caillois. The book was written in 1961, but it is still incredibly, if not disturbingly relevant to modern athletic games and videogames. It’s an anthropological look at the games of men and a categorical classification of them all, while also being a smaller study of some of the similarities between the games of men and animals that emerge within nature.

When Reading Callois’s opinions on the important role of social dynamics in games, certain modern multiplayer conventions bear a striking resemblance to those of antiquity, such as Eskimos being the cosplayers of yore. In Caillois’s description of mimicry games, he says, “ [The disguise] serves to change the wearer’s appearance and to inspire fear in others.” He also adds, “ Acts of mimicry tend to cross the border between childhood and adulthood. They cover to the same degree any distraction, mask, or travesty, in which one participates, and which stresses the very fact that the play is masked or otherwise disguised, and such consequences ensue.” This observation certainly holds foreboding echoes of what is now the most popular, present-day disguise that can be used to intimidate (or at least attempt to) and obscure the act of play to the point of either borderline or imagined legitimacy; the avatar and all of its anonymity.

Play does in fact “lack something when it is reduced to a mere solitary exercise." I know this all too well. Some of my darkest, loneliest, most forlorn moments have been while playing Mario Party with me, myself, and a platter of cream cheese and pepperoni sandwiches I made. As we crawl out of the doldrums of self-imposed digital purgatories, we venture out into the wide social world of online gaming. But as Caillois posits, the social agon (competitive) game is more of a rivalry-motivated, glory-reaping exhibition than a brotherly communion. I told myself that playing Halo 3 online would strengthen long-distance friendships and maybe forge new ones. The game fulfilled this desire to an extent, but the beast quickly took over.

Suddenly, you start to see your rank go up. Your melee elbow becomes battle-hardened. You see and hear the cruel face of interactive war; teenage kids accommodating every fresh corpse with a post-mortem teabagging and guys with ‘DJ’ somewhere in their gamertag rap battling their way to victory (forfeits where the degree of annoyance was too great for our team and resident rapper, Jeff, to endure). You see your service decorations get shinier, bigger, more ornate. You enter games and see guys in the pre-game lobby that have all sorts of crazy emblems. “ A silver phoenix? A golden spatula? I don’t know what the fuck rank that spatula represents, but I’ve never seen it before and I’ll probably never want to see it again after this match,” you tell yourself.

A little bit longer and you’re thirsting for victory and that fearsome, intimidating veneer, that golden spatula to call your own. It’s fun when you’re sober as well as blood-drunk, but karma quickly comes back to you for every white, nameless, cross-shaped data archive you helped erect in the vast graveyard known as the Bungie.net stat server. With the sour taste of defeat still in your mouth, you start playing as a ‘lone wolf’ because you think your team is bringing you down. Once that adrenaline-fueled war high starts to wane, post-traumatic stress takes hold. You come full circle, become reformed, start playing by yourself again and looking for meaning, purpose, and God in the serene fields of Hyrule. But every now and then that trigger finger becomes itchy, you start hearing things, the sound of your maiden whispering into your ear. “ Say my name,” she demands. “ PWNage,” you respond… “sweet, sweet PWNage.”

Fuck Kevin Petrasceni, Fuck Him in His Fucking Face

2008-09-11T18:08:00.007-04:00

After the revolting and horrible news about Fallout 3 now being censored in all territories, I was a bit pissed off. Lets just say I may have had one end of my dvi to hdmi cable tied to my neck and the other end to the ceiling fan, with an old plastic picnic table chair underneath me. Luckily in what might have been my last moments, I saw the post on gamevideos of Ken Levine’s PAX keynote. I slowly loosened my fate from my neck, cleared my keyboard of the last remnants of my volcano taco from my taco bell big box meal, grabbed a small amount of hand lotion, moved the box of Kleenexes over to the monitor and began loading the Levine Keynote.

As I readied a turkey sandwich, (because nothing goes better with Ken then a good ol’ American sam-itch) I began to ponder what he would discuss during the keynote. Smearing the mayonnaise on the top of the bun, I remembered that I had read that he did not even talk about the development of Bioshock or any of his other games for that matter during the keynote. I’m back at the computer now, I take a bite, I feel the lettuce crunch, put my right hand on the mouse, left hand in my pants and click play.

Ken whispered sweet nothings into my ear for a full half-hour. He talked about growing up in the seventies, reading comics and fearing for his life. The more he spoke it reminded me of an episode of the wonder years if the wonder years sucked shit. I was shocked to think that Ken was an outcast for most of his life. Some fuck named Kevin PetraWEENIE (see what I did there?) used to punch him in the arm everyday on the bus. He used to read comics he hid inside his textbooks during his lunch period. He was as he said “a closet nerd”.

Mattel’s Closet Nerd Ken TM showed me a very surprising side of himself that may be hard to picture because of the tone of his games: his sense of humor. Ken Levine is a funny and clever son of a bitch. He spoke about his secret love for Magneto's daughter, the Scarlet Witch, described talking about D&D at the front of a bus full of Jocks and Freaks as being similar to singing in Hebrew in Nazi-occupied France, and when he proclaimed “when the dark lord of the sith offers you five, you give him five.” He described his childhood stutter so vividly that you would think he was baffling you with his speech impediment at twelve years old right next to you.

I think the thing that made me cum the most about his keynote was the level of appreciation he had for his “tribe”, one tribal brother being his friend and co-worker that did not make him feel ashamed for being himself. I don't think I ever had it even close to as tough socially as Ken did, because I had always had a “tribe”. Once all the kids moved up to middle school they got tired of playing fake gun games, but my friends and I bought airsoft guns as soon as we were allowed to and just kept the dream alive. My “tribe” would gather in a dark, dank, dingy basement and put in the latest Resident Evil or Silent Hill game. We would often take turns playing them together in complete silence while one of us traversed this horrific world until they could handle it no longer and had to pass the journey on to another. My fondest memory of this was deep into our first playthough of Silent Hill 3 when we entered a room with a giant wall-sized mirror. Suddenly the side beyond the mirror began to be covered by this living tissue. Then the tissue covered our side of the mirror. We froze…we literally turned off the game and watched infomercials for a half-hour because neither of us could continue. We still game together. Alex and I played the last boss of Gears of War for almost two hours trying to figure out the trick to him and why we kept dying. Turns out we just had to shoot him a lot. My friend Chris and I played (or mostly watched) Metal Gear Solid 4 for twenty-two hours straight until we beat it. I still play with my “tribe” now, but my new “tribe” usually involves beer and other illegal means and ends with me getting into a rap battle victory over Xbox live during some inebriated rounds of Halo.

The point is if I did not have my tribe when I was playing games, I may have tried to find some other social outlet. But my “tribe” has only encouraged and influenced my current love of games. Sorry for all this sentimental posting, but Ken reminded me again why I love games. But I still hate everyone from Australia for renaming my real drugs in Fallout, you Aussie rating board fucks.

Big Trouble in Little China

2008-09-05T15:56:00.033-04:00

I have convinced myself that these ramblings are vaguely relevant enough to post. The summer games may not have been games of the video variety, but they were games nonetheless, and that’s enough of a viable excuse for me.

I don’t wish to speak too much about the opening ceremony of the summer Olympics because I’m still scared shitless. It appears that China is assembling an army worthy of Mordor. It really seemed to me while watching it that this event would be in history books if (and by if I really mean when) China becomes the next dominant world superpower. This would be the event that kids would learn marked the beginning of the end (or long decline, depending on your degree of pessimism or optimism). First it starts with beating ancient drums that have been tricked out, presumably by Xzibit and everyone at Far East Coast Customs, then it becomes invading countries, but don’t worry… they will come smiling and smeared in face paint.

In all seriousness, it’s not that I think someday China will bring about the end of the free world as we know it, but I am uneasy watching this. Noam Chomsky has said that China’s global dominance will be inevitable. And just seeing how China treats the individual, exploits their tireless dedication, loyalty, and spirit to favor the whole (and by whole I mean the exceptional individual: government figures, celebrities, and glowing beauties who gracefully dance on the backs of the hundreds lifting her and her platform up) is troubling. Every nation does this to an extent, but the scale on which China operates seems completely foreign, well maybe apart from the hive mind mentality of domestic honey bees.

I will, however, speak about certain adjustments and new practices I think the Olympic Committee should adopt to add a bit of honesty and pizazz to this wearisome, tradition-steeped event.

1. The silver and bronze medals should be replaced by clumps of human shit. Silver will now be Shit 1, and the neck ornament formerly known as bronze shall become Shit 2. Shit 1 is sun-dried and solid. Shit 2 is wet, bloody, and at the rate it drips, it wouldn’t even last you the whole day. Elderly men would definitely have to be the primary donors. Just think about the potentially awe-inspiring spectacle of watching thousands of elderly Chinese men defecating into LED light-laden, ceremonial bedpans while smiling widely. If only that could have been included in the opening ceremonies for Beijing.
2. Coaches who slap gymnasts’ asses deserve a medal themselves. Those gluts are like concrete for fuck’s sake. Similar to a pommel horse routine, this is a risky procedure that requires courage and years of practice.
3. Interpretive dance should be added as an event and judged mercilessly on a numerical scale.
4. Most athletes it seems are just genetically more ideal for success in certain events than others (Phelps and his large fin-like hands and feet, tall guys in basketball, volleyball, and running, etc). For the most part, it seems like we are just rewarding athletes for their arbitrary genetic identities coupled with an absurd amount of years spent mastering one task. I propose that in the future, when the necessary technologies emerge, we should just make purebred athletes spawned from medal-winning fathers and mothers. The Olympics will then consist of running a gamut of tests on these babies (blood tests, cardiovascular tests, genetic tests), entering all of that data into a computer which will then determine through accurate simulation, which of these babies would have won their assigned event at a future Olympics. They will then either be given gold teddy bears or pacifiers made out of shit.
5. The next-gen Olympics aren’t going to be interesting if the Olympic committee preserves this stance of theirs on doping. When nanotechnology becomes commonplace and little kids are hitting baseballs out of townships and men are enjoying a leisurely 4 hours at the bottom of their pools before surfacing, how are the “true” athletes going to compete against this new shift in human abilities without the aid of technologies that the average person has? I suggest a merger between Rapture and the Olympics, the NanOlympics©. The committee can still keep their beloved element of chance and suspense, but in the form of syringe injections and which athlete can manage them the best during a given event… that is until a new nanobot emerges that exponentially increases proficiency with syringe injection management.

During one gymnastics routine I was watching, a Chinese gymnast launched himself off of a vault, whirled through the air and spun down toward a blue mat beneath him like a beautiful, dancing leaf falling from a tree branch above a serene vernal pool. As he landed on the mat, he made the supreme mistake of losing his balance temporarily and wavering before finding his center of gravity once again. After raising his “I’m done now” arms into the air, he walked off of the mat and gave an embarrassed smile. A commentator then said something to the effect of “ I don’t like that. I don’t like when gymnasts laugh after making such a crucial error.” I concur. How dare he! How could he possibly not take doing flips and revolutions through the air while wearing spandex seriously? The nerve of some people. How beautiful is a leaf if it doesn’t stick its landing in that natural body of water? Not very fucking beautiful at all. Then it’s just a rogue leaf, a smartass leaf that chooses to succumb to external forces and other variables by just simply landing anywhere it, or the wind, pleases. Only the supernatural, the exceptional, truly beautiful ones land in the pool in front of you. They become miniature boats that sail you away to the realm of fantastical daydreams and relaxation. The ones that land on a bed of their rotting peers are just ordinary organic material, not worthy of note. This fucking gymnast, he should sulk, languish, brood, mope, self-mutilate, self-immolate, beat himself up and squirm till the end of his days with the knowledge that he failed himself, his sport, his dead ancestors, his dead cat, but most importantly… his country.

It seems the idea of country is most of what this comes down to, a prestige contest (or dick size competition) between nations with athletes serving as their playthings. As if it was America that made Phelps such a fast swimmer. America isn’t the only place that has water to swim laps in, although I could see how some might get that impression in light of some of these commercials. But perhaps it is the only place that has pH-controlled freedom water that seeped into his skin and gave him that motivational shot of the American dream. No, lots of fucking, a few people who gave them guidance (not Lady Liberty), how much of one’s life and soul are surrendered to the cause, and in the case of long-distance running, a healthy whiff of smelling salts have more to do with an athlete’s success than nationality. But try telling the majority of Americans that. It’s no surprise that Michael Phelps got that early, fake copy of CoD: World At War, he’s the greatest soldier we have.

Aside from this ridiculous notion of national pride, the display of man’s conquest over obstacles and essentially, nature, or his will to power, seems to be the other big draw of the Olympic games. We can be dolphins, we can be eagles, we can be cheetahs, we can be… whirling dervishes, we can overcome the limitations of our bodies and take out our frustrations on water, land, and shot put balls. We arose, quite literally, out of a defiance to nature. Some biologists have argued that one of the only logical reasons why our species at some point decided to walk on hind legs, neglecting bad balance and becoming visible to predators above tall grass, was out of this cultivated and now inherent spirit of defiance. The Olympics are not the only home to the exhibition of the will to power. It can also be argued that art and technology are also similar conquests, but at least they aren’t solely conquests... for the most part.

It was during this summer games haze that I started to notice that as much as I criticized athletes for foolishly trying to challenge boundaries, limitations, and nature for no particular reason, I myself am responsible for my own vendettas against nature; the gamer’s will to power.

I used to be a 360 achievement whore. I’m reformed now, clean. At the peak of my habit, I would have done anything to get another fix, to see just one more cheaply-designed binary bauble come up on the screen and tell me reassuringly that I had accomplished something in this world. I felt like a depraved boy scout who lived and died by the promise of getting that Eagle Scout status. I would have sold skooma to children, if there were children in Oblivion, if it meant being handsomely compensated for it. I would have swabbed 50 q-tips worth of crime scene semen in Condemned, had a restraining order issued against me in Sneak King, I would have done anything short of signing up for the Battlefield newsletter, pre-ordering Bad Company, naming my first-born ChallengeEverything©, or whatever other absurd and inane marketing tie-in hoops you needed to jump through in order to unlock new weapons in BF: Bad Company.

But, like I said, those days are well behind me… that was until a patch was released for Super Stardust HD that supported trophies. Then, I relapsed. I bought the $5 expansion in this whirlwind hysteria of trophy collecting I was in, thinking that was more than enough money to unlock all the meteor-blasting content and frustration there was to be had. Then I discovered that the co-op trophy can only be unlocked by buying yet ANOTHER $5 add-on. What’s next? Only after buying the chrome ship color add-on can you then unlock the ‘admired your cool new ship color for 20 seconds’ trophy? This was where I drew the line and what prompted me to sober up again.

It’s during these moments of clarity that you realize how outlandish and hollow your actions were that received an empty symbol of recognition, not unlike Olympic competition. Kicking gnomes to gain potions or simply riding the ‘Cockatrice’, shooting unsuspecting pigeons, collecting yarn, Cyrodillic brandy, vampire dust, skeletal remains, COG tags, getting 50 headshots, killing two enemies with one Spartan laser blast, killing 1,000 enemies during one game and head biting 50, killing enemies with a curb stomp, an airborne toilet, and road flares is just some of the behavior I have regretfully participated in to gain decorations for my service. It could be worse I suppose. I could be touting how my PC can run Crysis and posting videos of it as evidence. It seems like we’re almost at the point where people are going to be demanding recognition, accolades, and trophies just for wasting enough money to get a sub-par game running properly.

Oftentimes, conquest takes president over all other gameplay mechanics. And the ridiculousness of what you’re doing is neglected in favor of this spirited conquest. It’s not that there will never be a place for mindless games on my shelf, it’s that the achievement, trophy, what have you, knows what I can’t resist, knows my own inner circuitry better than I do, and exploits these innate desires to give a game an unearned, unnecessarily long, and fruitless arfterlife.

Sober, I watched the ending ceremony to the Olympics with my mother and father. The upper rim of the Bird’s Nest crackled and spew out fireworks into the night sky. Call it withdrawal paranoia or trophy-induced mistrust, but for a minute I thought these so-called fireworks were actually disguised inter-continental missiles hurdling toward various international cities. No amount of “oohing” and “aahing” could change our fate. I tried to get my family to go into the basement, but they were hypnotized by the dazzling display. That’s the desired response the Chinese wanted I told them. I began to prepare for impact. What wishes had gone ungranted? What aspirations had been left unfulfilled? What should I accomplish before the end? … Earning the coveted platinum trophy.

Hoes Before Bros: Building Meaningful Relationships in Harvest Moon

2008-08-24T21:37:00.019-04:00

In Mid September, myself and many other farming simulation fans will be picking up the first installment of the Harvest Moon series to come out for the Nintendo Wii system. If you pre-ordered the game, you will also be receiving a stuffed cow, an offer which is too good to pass up (he's smiling!). Stuffed cows aside, playing Harvest Moon is much more than just toil and hard work...planting little seeds and watching them grow into beautiful plants, showing the whole goddamn town what you're made of and proving to your father that you can make it on your own, it's so much more. At the heart of every Harvest Moon game is the village you now live in, filled with people you will grow to love. You can get the guys in the town to confide in you regarding girl troubles, and then use that information to romance the girls for yourself.

This is always where I had the most fun in Harvest Moon games. My femininity allows me to be excited about this, but playing as a male character changed the dynamic a bit. When I played the N64 version of the game I found myself becoming the biggest sleaze ball ever. Was it enough to have one girl fall in love with me? No, certainly not. I wanted all of them to fawn over me. Even after my character was married, I continued to give the other ladies gifts daily, while my wife stayed at home ( My real-life gameplay audio excerpt: “...In the kitchen, where she belongs! It took alaaaaata lumber to build that kitchen, doll-face.”) In the Wii installment you can choose to play as either a male or female. I will be forgoing the privilege to play as my own gender in this game. Even in the wonderful world of Harvest Moon, the double standard still applies: If you have a lot of guys as a girl, you are a harlot. If you have a lot of girls as a guy, “eeeeeeeeey!”.

Eventually you will have to pick one of these ladies to be your wife, and I intend to help you make that choice. Let's take a look at what good 'ole Waffle Town has to offer.

Anissa: The gentle female farmer. She will most likely be the most useful on the farm. She'll also stick by you even after you come home from the milk bar high on beef Endorphins and beat her with a fresh turnip in a tube sock.

Kathy: The local bar-maid. She's tough and resilient. She answers to no man. Be the first to break her fiery spirit!

Candace: Only you will know whether the quiet weird girl is into the freaky stuff... like cross breeding watermelons and bananas.

Leena: She loves animals. She loves them so much, she'll hardly mind sleeping in the barn when you have your buddies over for poker nights.

Mai: She loves food more than anything! Make sure to constantly remind her where those cupcakes are going (the thighs).

Phoebe: She's an inventor. After you get married, you can force her to work many sleepless nights on complex Rube Goldberg machines that complete pointless tasks that would normally require minimal effort.

Roomi: She's eight (going on 30)!

Shiela: Her hips are like "BLAM"!

Juli: This is a DUDE! DO NOT HIT ON!

Now that I have given you an overview of the ladies you have to choose from, go forth and be fruitful. And don't forget to put whatever you want to sell in the bin before 5pm, that's when the buyer comes. But not on holidays.

The Dramatic Conclusion of 'LittleBigTrouble In Paradise'

2008-08-14T02:08:00.006-04:00

(click to enlarge)

The mild irony of this epilogue (not to imply it was justifiably episodic) is the sheer anguish that went into its conception. The initial notion of copulation between Evan and I's efforts into what you see above you was nearly innocent at my end... if he was aware of the harrowing consequences of those 2 minutes in which we mutually consented (to a comic), the gestation may never have occurred.

What I mean is, I never in my wildest brooding expected the light hearted vengeance to blossom into something so evil, the very attempt at describing its foundations would bring about untold misery to its architect. I couldn't say who is to blame for it, it may be me, it could (probably) be photoshop, but in the end, are we not all doomed to make the same old mistakes in new ways?

In any case, I hope my demoralized compatriot can be coaxed (or tricked) into something similarly nefarious again. Until such the time, enjoy the tips (there were some suggestions for the devs in the toolkit and you inquisitive individuals), and my high hat is off to you Evan.

-BH

You Can Point-And-Click Me Anytime, Babe.

2008-08-12T15:03:00.004-04:00

I have a laptop I use this laptop for various things. I got it for school. I edit things on this laptop and type papers. I do not want this laptop to have too many things on it. The first thing I did when I connected my laptop to the internet is download Audiosurf. That's a lie. The first thing I did when I connected my laptop to the internet was do a Google search, then I downloaded Audiosurf. (The Google search was for “boobs”. This was to insure everything was right on the internet). I vowed Audiosurf would be the only game I got for it. Alas, it was a vow that was to be broken. There was another gaming mistress waiting for me there on the internet... not your World of Warcraft or your new fangled, dime a dozen (free-a-dozen) flash games, but something older, somthing much more special.

Her name is SCUMM, and I loved her before I knew her name.
What does a 5 year old know of engines/programming languages? All I knew was that there was a something beautiful placed upon a platter in front of me, and boy, did it glisten. Let's go back to that sentence. When I say “platter”, I really mean “computer running Windows 3.1”, and when I say “glisten”, I mean “blow my goddamn mind”. I downloaded ScummVM soon after I made my vow so that I could once again play my beloved adventure games. Lucas Arts Adventure Games were really the first games I ever got into. My cousin was more of a Sierra person. She played King's Quest and I respected that (no I didn't), but who wants to worry about dying when there are puzzles to be solved*? This was long before my household had the internet so we were very much on our own when it came to playing these games. If we got stuck, you better as hell believe we would move our character through every possible place using every item with everything until we found a way. I believe I was keener then, before reality TV would dull my mind and game guides would hand me forbidden secrets. I was very young, but I understood the wonderful feeling of achievement when Indiana Jones finally told me that he can use these things together (Kerosene and a wall carving).

So now I can play these games again; I can re-dig, The Dig, time travel in Day of the Tentacle and punch Nazi's in the face and steal their belongings...in real life. I'm content to play them on my laptop, but I long for something more. I have seen the future, and it is good. I'm of course talking about those tech savvy modders who are able to port these games onto the DS or Wii. I want that too. Why can't I have that? Is it because I can't figure out how to do it? Well, yeah that's precisely why, but I still want it. Luckily, Tell Tale Games games has decided to release Season 1 of their Sam & Max series on the Wii. I can literally point and click. Literally. It bothers me that it has taken even this long to utilize so obvious a function as POINT and CLICK. Are there not enough people longing to play Adventure games anymore?

There is nothing I want more than for new life to be breathed into the genre, and I remain extremely optimistic in light of a few games. The popular Homestar Runner web series, paired with Tell Tale released their venture into Episodic Adventures onto the computer and Wii Ware, and I trust it will do well. Tell Tale is really carrying the torch here, keeping it safe and dry away from the rising tide of apathy and the falling rain of indolence (Someone should kill me now). I give them snaps for supporting the genre, although I would love to see a whole game produced at once rather then this episode business. I end up just waiting until all of them are released at once. It takes about an hour for the gears to really start turning when I play an adventure game, and I would hate for the present adventure to be over before I really get to use them. I can't really complain though, they are making really top notch games. I must say though, I am very excited about Daedalic Entertainment's upcoming “The Whispered World”, which looks like its going to be gorgeous in the very least. They recently announced that they are looking to port the game on the Wii and DS, also promising a few more adventure games are in the works . This makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, like simultaneously hugging a puppy and a kitten while being fed a cupcake by a Cappucin monkey wearing a frilly dress.

It is my fondest wish that more and more people will want to play adventure games. There is something so charming about them, something that no other genre can replicate. Not only do they reward you with feelings of accomplishment, but they also offer you amazing stories that you more or less get to play out on your own. I used to wonder how much work went into writing all the possibilities on their dialog trees and responses. It's a whole lot. Those Lucas Arts adventure games were packed with so many witticisms it was mind boggling. We are all very fortunate that you can still find them floating around the internet and can still play them with help of ScummVM. Of course I've long since memorized what to do in every game, so I need some new challenges. I have yet to complete Beneath a Steel Sky, which is free on the ScummVM site (with voice acting! I turned it off because the robot Joey's condescending tone was getting to me). My adult mind fails to see the simple solutions a younger me would have been all over. The game is wonderful though, I would pay to play it if I had to. Other than that, I've been playing the (also free) games that famous game cynic Ben “Yahtzee” Croshaw has created. They're worth a look for the price (free).

I'm going to close by telling you to go play a point-and-click adventure game. Go do it right now. I need people to be excited with. If its not your “thing” for whatever reason, at least play Professor Layton, or Braid. These will also make you feel like an intellectual giant, in different ways of course.

It's important to not give up when playing these games. Even if you really want to, don't. There is a solution. You're brain may begin to leak out of your ears as your stare at the screen, confused This is normal. Put it back in and try something else, ass.

*This is not to say playing King's Quest reminded you of your mortality, but rather that you could die in the game, which made it a lot less fun (for me at least). The ability to die wasn't included in majority of the Lucas Arts games, and if it was it didn't make you want to kill everybody. Okay, maybe it did a little.

Hook Me Up With A Puzzle Piece, Son: A Braid Tale

2008-08-07T23:19:00.010-04:00

I think the moment was when I was perched upon a chandelier, with only one horn left upon the beast’s head resembling a creature from the adult noir novella "Where the Wild Things Are." I cut the rope and took the mighty creature down knowing I was close to saving the princess, who was no doubt, achin’ for some firey man meat. I was only a few levels away from her, and I had to tap that ass while the getting was still good.

Jonathan Blow’s Braid was created by a star-infested threesome. Mario and the Prince of Persia were already tangled in a web of love and let’s just say Banjo arrived in the nick of time for the facial finale.

The main mechanics of this platformer are straight out of the first Super Mario titles. The jumping ginger truly wishes he was an overweight Italian stereotype with a mustache even Tom Selleck would envy. Braid even has its own take on the classic Goomba. In an impeccable comparison, Sir Evan Griffin so vividly describes their appearance as: “a disgruntled piece of cauliflower that won a Danny McBride look-a-like contest.” Hell, even at the end of the level it says: “Sorry, the princess is in another castle.”

The goal of the game is to collect puzzle pieces to complete portraits, which, in turn, unlocks the final stage where you save the princess. Most of the time, collect-a-thons resulted in me killing everyone’s first born, (permitting that there was no lamb blood on the door.) But Blow blew me the right way. A welcome change to the tradition of Nintendo 64 Rare titles like Jet Force Gemini, Donkey Kong 64, or any other fucking game that did not allow you to progress to the damn final boss of the game until countless hours are spent collecting every last fucking gizmo and gadget this side of go fuck yourself, In Braid, collecting is what’s fun about the game. Think of them more as stars from Mario 64 rather than those goddamn Jingos from Banjo-Kazooie. There are twelve pieces of the portraits in each level, but you can complete the tasks to get them in any order that you want. Surprisingly, the game’s progression reminds me of Professor Layton and the Curious Village. The puzzles are similar in the way that there is usually a trick to them rather than the straightforward answer you think you see at first glance; where you are welcome to pass on most of the puzzles in the game and figure them out at a later time, a welcome change to the foreboding sodomy of Dr. Quandry.

The only downside to this structure is that you always leave the hardest puzzles for last. This is the same problem with many platformers. For instance, the last 2-4 hours of Super Mario Galaxy was essentially the equivalent of attempting a Rubik's cube with a lobotomy. At one point, I was at the last puzzle of stage 5 and I was literally staring confounded at the television for a half hour. I decided that haphazardly guessing and checking the solutions was the best course of action. However, this flaw came with its perks. When I finally completed this seemingly impossible task, it felt as if I had just found the lord and savior Jesus Christ, and he told me and only me, that I was his chosen child, a perfect being... or at least that’s what I imagine it would feel like. This game is another among the few and the proud that makes you “think with portals.”

What Portal accomplishes with the controls of the first person shooter; Braid accomplishes with the premise of a 2-D side-scrolling platformer. You play these games like no other. They teach you their basic rules and you push them to their limits. In Braid, each world has an individual set of rules that you need to follow. This keeps the game consistently fresh, unlike most of the overpriced $60 green packaged pieces of shit that have come out for the Xbox 360 this summer. It really starts Jonathan Blowing your mind (sorry, had to) when you get to world 4; all the creatures in the level respond in time with you. If you move forward, so do the enemies, even the music goes to your redheaded lad’s speed.

The only aspects that were disappointing within Braid were the boss variety and the length. There were only three bosses in this game, which is only a problem because the bosses are awesome. One of them you had to fight twice which is a bit of a lame cop-out and the other was more of a final level that felt like a legitimate boss fight. If every level had a boss that was as well designed as the others, this could have been my favorite game of the year. Secondly, I wish it had followed in Mario’s footsteps and had a total of eight worlds. I wanted a wee bit more from the lad. I was fine with the fact that I completed it within a day (I played it in two sittings), but it was so uniquely presented and illustrated it left me hankering for more. It was not quite like in Portal, where I felt the length was perfect, due to the manageable pace and level design, despite being short for conventional gaming standards.

In the final will and testament of my previously stated buffoonery, or if you are one of those shit eaters that only reads the first and last paragraph of an article and then posts as if they know what the fuck they are talking about, Braid was well worth the $15 (1200 points in Xbox annoying peso pounds). For those delinquents who think $15 is too much of mommy’s money for a live arcade game, go play your copies of Dark Sector and Turok, leading the industry to continuously regurgitate such “original” and “well designed” characters as Master Chief and Lara Croft, rather than investing in intriguing, innovative pieces like Portal and Braid.

Goddammit.

The Shameless Art of Marketing Seduction: Part 1

2008-08-07T00:23:00.016-04:00

Over the past couple years I’ve grown very fond of tech demos. I can’t recall why, but one day during my daily three hour long interweb trolling stint, I decided it would be a good idea to watch a demonstration of Boom Blox (at the time it was just called Blocks). Neil Young presided and spoke of Wii play dates between Steven Spielberg and Shigeru Miyamoto and how Spielberg’s next game, with all of its impactful images of dead birds and solemn characters wearing hoodies, will have an epic story and apparently bring tears to the collective dry eye of the gaming community. But the meat of the demo came when he showed off Blocks. With each Jenga skyscraper demolished and every “character” bombed (rectangular cows that waddle around absentmindedly apparently qualify for character status these days), he let out an artificial whimper of awe, even producing a guttural squeal (similar to what one might hear when veal is being made) during the collapse of a small, short-lived block city. Oh, anonymous block city… we hardly knew ye.

This video has kept me amused for some time, and now it will hopefully titillate all of you… if there really are any of you out there. I’ve made my own little trailer for Boom Blox. Check it out below.

A special thanks to Gametrailers for turning all of their videos into digital bouncers through code, and apparently Final Cut Pro is NOT on the list. I spent about 3 hours figuring out how to thwart this absurd safeguard. For anyone who also wants to figure out how to do this, all you have to do is download a video converter, I recommend Vilisoft, and convert it to something else so you can them import into FCP. AVI worked for me. So, you guys at Gametrailers own the work that other people put into making the presentation you filmed? You own the playthrough your shitty testers had with a game demo? I think basically what this comes down to is you own the super fuckin’ sweet, super fuckin’ loud, super fuckin’ obnoxious motion graphic at the beginning of all your videos, the hard drives that store the direct feed footage, or the cameras that filmed the demo. God forbid I should import one of your videos into an editing program for the sole purpose of vandalizing your sweetass motion graphic, like cleverly changing ‘Gametrailers’ to ‘GAYtrailers’. Who do you think I am?

The next video features MGS creator, Hideo Kojima speaking English. I have to warn you, it is rather disturbing. It’s not that I find this video funny because of Kojima’s broken English. It’s not like “look at the little, funny, elflike Japanese man trying to speak the only language that matters!” It’s his forced, manufactured inflection, overly exuberant and strangely reminiscent of Scooby-Doo. I’m not sure whether this was Mr. Kojima’s idea (possibly inspired by a Scooby-Doo episode he saw earlier that day) or if some Konami rep shot him full of uppers beforehand, but little did the rep know, his suppressed stomach acids made it possible for Kojima to swallow balloons filled with helium. As with most Kojima-related things, I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt… but it’s becoming a weary, apprehensive habit by now. We may never know the answers to these questions, but they’re fun to ponder while watching.

Shoot First, Have Children Later

2008-08-05T12:32:00.009-04:00

I fondly recall frosty mornings in the winter of last year, getting up at 5 am, hopping in a friend's car and then driving off to the local "Everything -You- Could- Ever -Want" store to wait with three other schmucks in a dark parking lot for a Wii. My diligence and persistence were paid off with nothing, nothing, a claim ticket for a PS3, and finally a Wii. How joyful that day was. My whole family played a game of Wii Sports Bowling that night. "Look at us," I thought "Just like the commercial, minus the old people and multiculturalism". What a wonderful night that was. I believe it goes without saying that night would never be repeated. We would never get everyone together like that to play. My mother was not swayed by the Wii's cutsey allure and my father ... well actually my father loves it. Even after I grew tired of the spastic flailing, he continued to play at least one game of bowling a day. It would be cheating him to say he got better. He practiced and became great. The funny thing is he manage to boil down the movement needed to throw the ball into one quick wrist-flick, ignoring the full form throw idealized in the commercials. He did stand up whilst playing though, and that has got to count for something.

Wii Bowling was a breach of my father's normal gaming protocol. He has grown very fond of first person shooters and after he bowled a 300 game, he proclaimed "It was only going to go downhill from there" and took a hiatus. I convinced him to go in halves with me on an Xbox 360 a little down the line and he agreed after I showed him some trailers for upcoming FPS, mainly Bioshock. My Father is not the type of guy who cares about plot. He would opt to skip through cut-scenes in even the most emotional of stories and get to the killing. He is impatient and easily annoyed. He hated Portal purely based on GLaDOS' voice, getting up and leaving the room after Test Chamber 2. I don't expect to hear him start a conversation with me about a game unless it's to ask me what to do next. We have talked, albeit briefly about Half Life 2's virtues, but at the end of the day he would prefer games like Black. That's why his reaction to Bioshock came as a surprise to me. He, to this day has not defeated the final boss. This is not because he can't, but rather because he won't. He says it's because he doesn't care when you ask him, but I don't believe him. There was one time we were driving home and I asked him why he never finished, and he said in the most sincere tone I've heard, "You don't understand. I love Rapture." and I swear, it brought a tear to my eye.

Currently, I introduced him to the Condemned series, which I figured he would enjoy because it's 95% bludgeoning the homeless with blunt objects. He moved on to the second game in the series about a week ago. I think he's having fun with it, I would hope so seeing as he is now encroaching upon my gaming time, or walking in disappointed when I'm already playing. It's really not that big of a deal to me as he usually buys a new game, finishes it and then doesn't play for sometimes months. I, on the other hand, am in a perpetual state of game play, going back to finish games I began months ago, starting new games, and buying more Rock Band songs. His way is totally fine, and I'm glad he shares my interest to some degree. I don't feel as bad when I start to talk to him about games, but engaging the conversation is like testing the temperature of water; If I start talking about them during Jeopardy!, I'm likely to get burned.

My dad is a normal guy. He's not "hip and groovy" (his words) and he doesn't go out of his way to learn about new games or try to impress me by playing games. For me, the way he plays is probably as pure as it is going to get. If it's fun for him, he will be engaged in the game play and keep going, and if it's not, he'll stop. It's that simple. Sixty hours into Grand Theft Auto IV, many of those hours spent gritting my teeth down to little nubs, and I still can't bring myself to stop playing it, despite my deep seething hatred. I should learn something from my father...or, ya' know, more things. I heard dads are good for that sort of thing.

Journey to the Center of the Mirth

2008-08-01T21:49:00.007-04:00

Recently I had the pleasure of watching Brendan Fraser’s well-defined acting muscle flex vigorously in 3-D. Oh, excuse me, “Real D”. I am speaking of Journey to the Center of the Earth in 3-D. The film was shot on a state-of-the-art stereoscopic 3-D camera that was designed in part by James Cameron. This camera is also being used to shoot Cameron’s upcoming iris-exploding 3-D epics, Avatar and Battle Angel, which sound promising and don’t have anything to do with the Titanic, thank god. If for nothing else, this movie was a great indication of what gifts the hallowed harbingers of technological wizardry are going to bear in Cameron’s next films. However, the journey itself inspired a personal discovery that lead deep into my own center of untamed thoughts where gargantuan, harebrained species of musings prowl and prey on reason and logic.

The opening credits were shot into our faces like pearl bullets from a merciless bukake firing squad. Nearly everyone in the theater, myself included, waved their hands around in front of their faces for an obscene amount of time, pawing the buttery bile-saturated air like cats swatting dangling string. There was a prevailing, unifying atmosphere of kinesthetic comradery in the theater, where everyone reacted in unison and taught sinews made synchronized flinches in an attempt to lunge backward and escape as Brendan Fraser spit out toothpaste onto our grills. It was strangely reminiscent of the first Lumiere films screened in 1895 where theatergoers reportedly fled from the theater in hysteria, anticipating the barreling train on the screen to come crashing through the wall and flatten them all. Now, a mere 113 years later, our reactions and the cinematic manipulations aren’t that terribly different. Instead of trains we now have anglerfish, tape measures, and Brendan Fraser’s biceps.

Overall, the film was just one clay plate being fired after another. I haven’t had that many things thrown at my face since I was reprimanded by my parents for gambling away most of my earthly possessions in a Pokemon card trade. Brendan Fraser was larger than life as always, as were the immense pauses he made between words. “ Ladies. And. Gentlemen. I. Give. You. The center. Of the. Earth!” “ A. Paleolithic. Dildo?” “ Giant. Fossilized. Mushrooms?” Well, one of those lines isn’t actually in the movie. Let’s make a game of it, guess which one!

I must say though, my one real gripe with the movie came during a somber scene between Brendan Fraser and his nephew when they discover (SPOILER AMBER ALERT!!!) that Brendan’s brother, the father of his nephew, died during his stay in the warm, chocolaty center of the earth. They embrace each other tenderly and start weeping, but I was left wondering why the camera didn’t switch to an extreme low angle so their tears could thrillingly plummet onto my tongue (which was already extended out in anxious anticipation). Speaking of crying, Reid was almost driven to tears by the sheer number of Newton’s Laws that were being systematically drawn and quartered throughout the movie, with only their lifeless, severed limbs left to twitch beautifully in 3-D. Despite the hulking venus flytraps hissing violently on-screen and Brendan Fraser dealing out haymakers indiscriminately to them, I was completely transfixed by Reid’s despair and sat there wishing to myself that I could appreciate it more in Real D. The absurdity of this idea followed soon after, realizing that we see in 3-D as it is. But this brought up a tantalizing possibility. We may see in 3-D, but do we see in “Real D”, or more appropriately, Surreal D©?

Conventional 3-D vision is so banal. I think the next reasonable paradigm shift with vision is Surreal D. I don’t get the visual foreplay from someone pointing at me like I do in Journey. In Journey, the subtlest of gestures becomes an imposing declaration of war on your body and comfort zone. As the film demonstrates, a tape measure or Brendan Fraser’s saliva can be turned into an effective, entertaining weapon against the audience. So, what if Surreal D technology was applied to everyday life and vision, vision 2.0 if you will? Let us conveniently ignore the logistics of this technology and instead focus on the benefits.

I think people would devote so much more attention to certain things and appreciate them tenfold, no mater how pointless, ridiculous, or tediously boring they are. It certainly worked for this movie. Just picture employee training videos, wakes, sports, motion graphics-riddled commercials, raising children, spanking said children, community service, purgatory, bathing, election coverage, and church in Surreal D. Storytime at church would be accompanied by flying sheets on strings whenever the holy ghost is mentioned, and a massive payload of blue bouncy balls would be released from the ceiling upon the slightest mention of The Great Flood. I think this futuristic concept can be very succinctly illustrated by the song “Your Own Personal Jesus” by Depeche Mode, you really will want to “reach out and touch faith.” The body of Christ being extended toward you would truly be a feast for the eyes. On a side note, whatever the hell are those Christ crackers? I always wondered as a boy if priests open up new boxes of them to eat if they happen to have a biblical appetite at the time.

Maybe they would begrudgingly sacrifice a lamb or some small, defenseless animal every week to satiate the bloodlust of parishioners who want to see blood flying past them in Surreal D. Perhaps they would even go a step further and save up a month’s worth of sacrifice blood and on one Sunday have it rain down on the congregation from sprinklers while they all rave, grind, and crack cross-shaped glowsticks, all to honor the Sabbath of course. And I guarantee when the collection basket came around, at least 3 or 4 times in each service someone would slap it up into the air just so everyone could enjoy the spectacle of coins raining down. With vision 2.0, you can get God 2.0 and next-gen Jesus for no additional cost. Consider how much more stimulating, appealing, and sexy church could be with just a simple plastic frame resting on the bridge of your nose. But I still wouldn’t go. I don’t think this would be a good idea for Baptist churches though. That would just be horrifying. The swaying of hips, the incessant clapping of hands. You would either be unequivocally converted or driven to madness.

We can all learn a lot from Journey, our modern day messiah, Brendan Fraser, and even Doom 3 that the advent and application of new technological veneers can make old things new every time.

No Country For Young Men

2008-07-28T00:14:00.014-04:00

(click above picture to enlarge)

When I watch videos for M-rated games, I'm usually anywhere between a ripe 35 to a moldy 99 years of age. It's just quicker that way when swiftly clicking and dragging through year of birth boxes. But very seldom, either due to giddy eagerness for the content to come or lackadaisical motor skills, I can be as young as 1-year-old. Then the door to procedurally-generated goodness, one-liner-spewing heroes, and high-dynamic range titty physics is slammed in front of my face and locked forever. Well... at least until I close the tab and re-open it. Inconvenience aside, I think that the most obscene and objectionable thing about M-rated game videos is these age-verification legal hurdles and how they treat EVERYONE like an imbecile. Dare I say, it's the principle of it that most pisses me off.

So at the age of 17, when a boy finally sheds his awkward, ill-fitting pre-pubescent skin and accepts the lush chest-mane of manhood and is only then morally, intellectually, and ethically qualified enough to handle mature content, on this day of his 17th birthday, only then can he also comprehend… simple arithmetic. Really, is basic addition a skill only people that are 17 years of age have somehow acquired, like some ticking genetic alarm clock that suddenly awakes and fires up a region of the brain formerly dormant and inaccessible? It doesn’t take a 17-year-old to figure out what the minimum year is that someone would have to be born on to make them 17 and legally able to watch M-rated game videos. Give the children more credit than that.

I understand that these questions are pretty futile and I’m fairly certain that no person in their right mind who controls the access of mature game materials to minors–well, almost sure–actually thinks that this birthday shit prevents youngins from watching morally-objectionable content. It’s more of an uneasy truce, just one big amalgam of legal formalities hewn into a complaint-deflecting shield these sites use to cover their asses with. But if it’s that fucking easy to cheat the system and bypass this bureaucratic bullshit in the first place, then what is the purpose of this worthless safeguard, this idiotic internet doorman who takes your word that you live in the building without even the slightest need for deceit and guile? I’m probably giving them (the Patriots of M-rated game videos) too many ideas by doing this, but above is a concept design I made for what information all game video viewers should be assaulted with, which would actually solve this amoral, rampant pandemic of underage viewings.

I guess the question I'm really striving to posit has nothing to do with these sites themselves. It's the enraged parents, anti-videogame groups, politicians, and other assorted moral crusaders who have had their fragile little sensibilities untimely rocked, and subsequently call for lightning bolts of legislation to be thrown wildly. This legislation is what builds senseless, minuscule speed bumps like age-locked videos. After making blow after blow of legal action to the gaming industry, with swing after swing of their swords, that resemble worn and inkless pens, these inane militants who blindly see themselves as proud crusaders, don't ever seem to slow their obstinate resistance or lay down their arms of defamation and listen to reason. Instead, they choose to focus chiefly on a problem equivalent to a campfire sparking and roaring a little too wildly, possibly hot enough to engulf a marshmallow prematurely, while they neglect to notice that the entire forest surrounding them is ablaze. There are more dire and pressing things we should be focusing on than regulating the flow of videos that contain digital guns in war games while real guns are being fired for a purposeless war. But they've convinced themselves that the problem is severe enough to warrant sanction.

The videogame industry seems to bear the brunt of the governmental scorn these days, like well-intending illegal aliens who just recently hopped the border. But the face of absurd content regulations in entertainment is omnipresent. In some trailers and TV spots for the upcoming comedy Pineapple Express, one sequence in which James Franco is erratically driving a police car, the blood splattered across the windshield has been digitally died black, possibly to resemble oil. Apparently, only when you have reached the age of 17 are you mature enough to be told that the precious crimson liquid that courses through your veins is blood. Until then it's only raspberry jelly, or ketchup, depending on the tenets and nurturing styles of the parent. If this isn't absurd enough already, the substance covering the windshield in the finished film isn't even blood, it's cherry Slushee viscera. All mediums seem to be plagued with this legislative skewering on the part of dominant powers that don't even take the time to understand, watch the works they are castrating, or experience them in their intended entirety.

Just because some people liken their children to impressionable animals, small malleable vessels that adopt every idea they hear and take even the most neutral of images as some symbolic manifestation of evil, why does everyone else need to be held to that standard as well?

To Eden or not to Eden: Drinkin’ a 40 and gettin' my PixelCrunk on

2008-07-27T22:24:00.006-04:00

It was not but four and a half minutes after arriving home from my vacation with my family that I pushed over my girlfriend, stepped on the dog and ordered my man servant to load up the demo of the third chapter of the PixelJunk trilogy Special Edition. As the ambient acid induced music began to emerge from the depths of the Cross Media Bar (no I will not spell cross with an X that is just fucking stupid) I knew that, in the words of Robert Nesta Marley, every little thing was definitely going to be alright.

As the luxurious pink tower rose from the soil of Eden, I knew I was in love. Like many artsy gaming endeavors, the controls did not come naturally, but when I finally settled down with the single button play mechanics I was making Radd Spencer look like my bitch. I leapt up blossoming plants like a toad on methamphetamines and swung like Spiderman. I did not even mind the time management system which involved picking up these amoeba-looking blobs to increase my constantly depleting oscillator bar (if it runs out you fail the level). It just gave me the opportunity to swing more. After gathering my third Spectra, I decided to give co-op a try.

I pulled my sixaxis controller from the cobwebs in the corner of my basement and handed it over to my brother who had yet to dabble in the bliss of the PixCrunk. I explained to him the controls and gave him a bit of time to become one with the Eden. After the downtime he seemed comfortable so I began feverishly making my way to the heavens. In a matter of moments, my brother was hanging off the bottom of the screen, a timer appeared over his head and he ceased to be. I did not fret for long, for in a matter of seconds he appeared next to me. After the second time this had occurred I realized that his demise had punished the both of us. All of the pollen that was in the surrounding seeds was reduced to half that amount. This turned that game into a Merry-Go-Round simulator in which we both spun around in circles for a couple of minutes recuperating our losses. I also could not figure out which person the camera was locked on to. At one point, my brother and I coincidentally jumped for the same seed. He got there a split second sooner making me pass though the seed and plummet to my death. This same thing happen to my brother on another occasion and the screen decided to follow him as well. Apparently using random screen/character following technology, the camera followed either me or my brother and other was killed so we lost our high ground. So, I slowed my pace in order to keep my brother on the screen and began to feel what I call Sonic Syndrome.

As you may recall, the old Sonic the Hedgehog games had this feature called one and a half player, where one person had a lot of fun while the other put all of his or her efforts into catching up. Now this worked wonderfully if it was your 3-year-old little brother who wanted to play because he got the illusion of participation. If you wanted to play with someone who actually enjoyed and had the ability to play games, you had to play slower and you both got to play Sonic the Hedgehog: Babysitters Club Edition. In the Babysitters Club Edition, you both agreed to keep it so both of you are on the screen most of the time for the sake of fun. But it wasn’t fun, it was the opposite of fun, you both wanted to be playing as Sonic, but one of you fucks had to be Tails and ruin the game. And now we arrive back in 2008 with PixelJunk Eden: Babysitters Club Reunion Special.

Now this doesn’t make me love this game any less, it just is a mode that is utterly impossible to use, unless you have two people with exactly the same skill and play style. From what I have noticed, all of my friends play this game completely differently, making co-op seem relatively useless. Notice I have yet to bring up that there is three-player cooperative play. This is because I am pretty sure this mode is impossible. I just feel that they could have had some kind of online co-op where each player was followed on their own television set, but since this technology was not in PixelJunk Monsters, I doubt it is in Eden. I just wish co-op was more of a primary focus of the game rather than an afterthought. I personally thought the co-op was so well-suited for Monsters that the single player seems pointless.

With all the verbal defecation aside, I still believe that this game is a shining star of originality and fun in a gray/brown world where space marines thrive and morons complain about adding color and life to certain Satan-influenced PC titles. Next week will be a great moment for gaming and a terrible moment for my mother who will be consistently cleaning my gleefully soiled under garments.

The Curdled Milk of Human Kindness

2008-07-24T20:47:00.049-04:00

(click the above panel to make it all biglike)

The gradual perversion and mutation of Folding@home didn't take very long for me. At first I thought it was a remarkable way a little son of a bitch like me could make a big difference. It didn't require doing anything unreasonable like leaving my home, talking to people, or donating my "locks of love" (if love can be construed as oil and the carcasses of dead, disillusioned horse flies that thought my curly dome was a nest). But no, it didn't require doing anything more than pressing a series of buttons, and it was a virtuous undertaking I was heroically prepared to commit myself wholeheartedly to. Five minutes into my first work unit, the altruistic charm of making a difference rapidly shrunk and was replaced instead by a malignant, festering selfishness that grew like a tumor underneath a Soviet x-ray machine. Not quite as bad as the situation depicted in the panel up above, but still pretty bad.

It was harmless enough at first. Folding became a delightful visualizer for me. With every tender nudge of the analog stick, I was endlessly entertained by the seizurelike dances of strange molecules and the cute sound that accompanied it (for those who haven't experienced this, it sounds like an ocean of lemonade–or any beverage of your choosing really– where millions of ice cubes clink and collide). I also spent hours looking at the world map, scouring continents for small, isolated beacons which represented fellow folders. These miniature lighthouses really told you a lot about the economic standing of a country (i.e. the few beacons in Africa were located in the southern regions). They also prompted questions as much as they provided answers, like who is that lonely dot out in the middle of the ocean? Is it some outlaw living on a houseboat along the boundaries of international waters? Is it L. Ron Hubbard? Perhaps it's some mysterious electrical anomaly emanating from the sunken city of Atlantis, teasing us with her existence and her hidden majesty. But this playful flirtation with Folding soon became more of an abusive raping.

The sinister enterprise began when Ben noticed the number of work units I had accumulated. His voice held the most subtle and indifferent tone of awe, more a distant cousin of awe really. It was a relative of awe nonetheless and that was more than enough of a spark to light this cataclysmic powder keg. Before long, I went to his house and noticed that he had surpassed me in the war on cancer. This was unacceptable. My polyp-pounding high score of 10 work units was going to be trounced by this newcomer, this mere protein private? Not on my watch. So, the unspoken duel of wits, work units, and energy consumption commenced. It seems so ridiculous to think of now, but it made perfect sense at the time. We felt a sense of accomplishment not from the bigger picture, the knowledge that our dedicated participation was potentially of some medical significance, our satisfaction came from a series of numbers, which were earned by not using our brand new PlayStation 3s to play games. We effectively got stronger for our PS3s being weaker, reduced to a dormant, vegetative coma of perpetual folding and overstressed cooling fans. If purgatory does exist, it's most likely being a cooling fan in my PS3 for the duration of this folding feud.

The contentious bout reached its apex when a new unexpected contender entered. Ben and I noticed that beneath our friend Reid's PSN ID, it constantly stated, day or night, that he was folding. Naturally we had to investigate this potential threat. We invited ourselves over his house under the artificial pretense of wanting to "hang out", "watch a movie", maybe "drink a few beers", "angrily drunk dial some old flames of ours" and tell each other mournfully that "you were never there for me", but for all intents and purposes this was a recon mission. What we discovered destroyed us. Reid's number of work units far surpassed ours. For a time, an alliance was forged between Ben and I to tackle this greater foe. In the face of defeat, we even contemplated enacting a scorched-earth policy to attain victory; erasing Reid's hard drive and possibly the cure for cancer buried deep within it. Either out of a startling moment of clarity or succumbing to laziness and apathy, the blood feud was abandoned.

After the blinding haze of debilitating anger and dismay had subsided, it wasn't very difficult to pinpoint the origins of these absurd emotions. The series of numbers that constituted my completed work units wasn't unlike other numbers that wrapped me in a similar fervor in the past. Frags, headshots, flags captured, weasel pelts collected, fake currency amassed are examples of just a few dominant game mechanics–namely defining proficiency and aptitude in terms of numerical value–that are tried and true methods of getting people invested in something. One's dedication, skill, and involvement with a game is being quantified. You can't even play a leisurely song in Rock Band without receiving a post-song analysis of completion percentages and subtly condemning adjectives (I'm looking at you, "Spirited Survivor") that declare who was the weakest rhythmic key-pusher and who was the strongest. At least provide an option to turn it off if one so chooses. I also don't think that having a tense band meeting after someone misses an ending bonus is particularly enjoyable or team-building, and yes, this has happened to me. Games have always been about competition (competing with yourself, against the rigid confines of the game, or someone else). Only fairly recently have some games proved otherwise, or at least made competition optional or subtle. But largely, it seems that many of us have been tempered in the vengeful flames of kill counts and post-mortem teabaggings.

If there is a clear, shallow, immediately visible indicator of how good one is at something or how much of it they do, no matter how mundane the task, and bragging rights are involved (qualities that can be debated as to how useful they really are in the first place), then controllers will be quickly converted into triggers, people will no doubt be gettin' the C.R.E.A.M. (dolla, dolla bills ya'll), and even a noble, philanthropic venture such as Folding can be perverted into a pride-extinguishing weapon, all in the timeless tradition of competition. I can't argue that this isn't an effective tool to temporarily posses someone into doing something though. Maybe that's the secret recipe behind all successful charities. There are some people who genuinely want to make a difference, and then the majority of other people who take some egocentric stake in it, like people who want to prove their concern for a cause and their dedication by running X number of miles for it. Or the extremely wealthy (who may or may not have made their fortune by climbing on the tired backs of the desperate, the exploited, and the destitute) who dedicate wings to hospitals provided that their name is in clear view on a shining plaque and a statue of them giving off a carefully detailed smile of generosity is nearby. And for that matter, the same could be said for city kids who pride themselves on being so worldly, cultured, understanding, and so kindhearted. They rally around water fountains in parks, take out sidewalk chalk and their soapboxes, and loudly, aggressively preach to the choir about the war in Darfur. But mostly, all they really do is boast about their "sympathy" for the ongoing injustice by inviting you to Facebook groups, changing their status to "so-and-so is perpetually weeping over Darfur )-; Hit up the cell tonight if you want to go club hopping (-: ", or wearing their fashion-conscious 'Save Darfur' shirts. A lesser evil for the greater good I suppose.

The Devastating Power of Complaint Mail

2008-07-23T03:27:00.014-04:00

It seems that the only seething pain I endure in my placid, mundane existence is brought on by minute inconveniences with user interfaces. I've instigated my fair share of hate-filled vendettas, completely abused "contact us" links, and even waged a Hundred Years' War (actually two, but who's counting?) against Netflix for a while, but recently I encountered an impasse with the PS3 which triggered a thermonuclear eruption of incensed rhetoric and gratuitous amounts of spellcheck squiggles. Many squares on my keyboard were pushed and bludgeoned, and many said squares now only let out a squeaking whimper in an attempt to communicate the misery that befell them on that fateful day. What follows is my email to Sony. Reader discretion is advised.

"First, I would just like to say that whoever designed the arduous, unforgiving security parameters for the PS3's account management–which is on-par with getting into the Pentagon and comparable to being thrown into a small box of a room, waking up later with amnesia and finding that all doors are locked and you don't have the key to ANY of them–should have their job title changed to "Sadistic Customer Torturer and Agitator".
I have been a loyal Playstation customer since the PSOne. Foolishly, I bought a PS3 at launch and since has done a great job fulfilling it's one use as being a handy dust collector and gauge for how filthy my media stand had become. Only recently the slow, lethargic, leisurely trickle of decent content that has dripped out of the proverbial teat of the Playstation has motivated me to brush off that upper mantle of dust from the false monolith and activate it once again. Since the eons that have passed while my DustStation 3 sat idly, I found Jesus, took up origami, broke up with Jesus, lost 5 pounds, gained 15 pounds, finished my sophomore year of college, and got a new credit card. So, naturally I had to change that billing information to recognize the new credit card number. Then, I received my first friendly "welcome back" from my old false future gaming prophet of a friend: 'Enter your account password'. Well, I didn't have any clue what that password was and after 20 minutes of being told my guesses were invalid, I gave up. You would think that since the PS3 has a built-in eth browser that someone would have had the idea to put the helpful feature, now internet membership mainstay, of the 'Forgot Your Password?' link below so one could take care of all this on their PS3. But alas, there was no link, there was no helpful tip, there was in fact NOTHING I could do without my password. There was nothing to prove that this was in fact me, no personal questions regarding my first pet, my first love, my first PSN game I regret spending money on, even a blood test would have been welcome.
I looked at your site's troubleshooting page and the only recourse I was given was to completely erase all of my settings, which after this debacle, I don't feel comfortable doing and finding out later that other things were killed in the rebirth because your company seems to take sick pleasure in seeing users go into convulsions of anger and frustration for no particular reason. I'M TRYING TO GIVE YOU GUYS MONEY!! I'M TRYING TO BUY THINGS ON YOUR STORE!! Do you really think it should be that difficult of a process to rob us further, or is it just the insult to injury you're trying to preserve? Instead of investing time, money, effort, and laziness into finishing Home sometime in my lifetime or actually implementing a truly next-gen and noble 15% of your promised Network features, why don't you turn your gaze to simple annoyances like these that bar the customer from taking advantage of ANY money-making features you have worked so tirelessly on implementing (and usually spend even more time "refining" and "updating" because their original form was ghastly).
I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW WHAT MY PASSWORD IS without erasing my system's already troubled, plagued memory and do it sometime before the PS9 comes out. Paying for some of my Lipitor after this experience would also be nice, but I know the customer is only marginally, occasionally right to this company and a suggested troubleshoot to this stress-induced health problem would probably be to submit to a heart attack and then restart."

This digital diatribe was ignored outright by the good cybernetic organisms at Sony and a default response was issued promptly. In all fairness, the very features I was condemning them for not having are in the XMB, they're just not in the Account Management screen where one would think they would be. I still maintain that the process is a little too difficult and obscure and finding the solution on the help pages is just as difficult. If nothing else, this should serve as a testament to the blind and baseless anger we technophiles are sometimes prone to generating. God bless it and may we never truly know where it comes from.