tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59187211184209391462024-02-21T00:14:09.268-08:00Which Button Jumps...? - Thought-nuggets by ZoopA stream of consciousness on what's great, interesting, and needs improvement in the gaming industry.Zoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00272026847822622195noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5918721118420939146.post-48654569266195363602015-04-29T00:42:00.000-07:002015-05-03T22:05:12.982-07:00An Incomplete Puzzle: On Living and Dying<div class="MsoNormal">
Let me preface this by saying this may come across as heavy-handed and bitter, largely because it is both. This is an accurate portrayal of the unfiltered misery we endure when someone we love dies. And
that’s okay. It’s perfectly natural. This is how you’re supposed to feel. My case is not
unique and something we will all go through, if the natural order of things
comes to pass. While it came much sooner for me than the average person, I’d imagine
it to be no worse; death doesn't become easier in your 50s and 60s than in your 20s or
30s, I reckon. This is a stream of consciousness I logged while coping
with the initial event and aftermath of becoming the last in my lineage. I will
likely offend a small number of people by writing this. The truth hurts, and
there’s no point in writing this without honesty.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was a little after 3PM on May 4<sup>th</sup>, 2014. I was
enjoying my Sunday off, home alone while my then-fiancée was at work. I looked
down at my cat, who was enjoying the sun beaming through the shade. I took
pictures of her staring up at me, usually a difficult, camera-shy cat who was
too relaxed to care about the camera looking her in the eyes. It’s a cliché,
but everything was peaceful. And then the phone rang.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>The final picture taken seconds before my life changed.</i></div>
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My Aunt Chris (whom I call Gee with a hard “G”) was calling.
I was hoping maybe she wanted to go to dinner. I picked up and noticed she was
upset. She was tasked with one of the hardest things a person can do in telling
a son that his mother has died. I’ll never understand the amount of bravery
that took, and will always love and respect her for it. “She’s gone,” she said
through composed tears. I replied “who?” but I knew exactly who she was
referring to; I did not need clarification. It’s something we say out of
impulse when we don’t want to believe what we’re hearing, like your leg
involuntarily moving when the doctor smacks your knee with the rubber hammer. I
went into “maintain” mode, standing up and moving to the closet to get dressed.
“Talk to me,” she said on the other line to make sure I wasn't passing out. I
kicked over a bowl of candy and suddenly cleaning it up was my top priority. I
was in idle-minded auto-pilot.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I made my phone calls after hanging up with her. First, to
Val at work. I apparently told her co-worker that my mother had died, so she
found out second-hand, though I have no memory of the call whatsoever. She
would be home shortly. I called my best friend Reed next, who remained my solid
rock on turbulent shores for the next 48 hours. My aunt Sheri. My friend Jen.
Reed met Val and I at our house, and we rode over to my mom’s house. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The time spent there was just like loud static in my head.
We arrived shortly before they carted her body out. I did not see her body,
either there or the crematory, out of preference. I recall friends and family
gathering at the news of what happened. A lot of powerful silence and forced
conversation with neighbors inquiring as to what had happened. She died peacefully
in her sleep. Her heart gave out. She was found by her boyfriend, Millard,
surrounded by her three dogs, who refused to budge from her side. It’s the way
we should all dream of dying, just not at the tender age of 59. <br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Mom and I at our favorite restaurant. We stopped going in 2014 due to her health.</i></div>
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In the coming days, filled with death certificates and
cremations and closing accounts and switching bills over, we sat in the
backyard and drank. We drank and we cried and we laughed. And laughed, and
laughed, and laughed. The sum of a person’s life is measured by the amount of
stories that live on after they can no longer provide us with new ones, and I
have to say that my mother provided us with enough stories that she will never
be forgotten to anyone she met, however briefly. The last time I ever saw her,
I gave her a back rub and brought her Ted Drewe's, a delicious local frozen
custard that was out of the way for her. She ordered a hot fudge sundae, and we
delivered it on dry ice. The time before that, we had brought her food earlier
that week. I sleep well knowing my last encounter with my mom was solely to surprise
her with treats and make her happy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Between the time of my marriage proposal to Val and getting
married, I lost both of my parents. Everyone responsible for the creation of my
existence is gone. I’m the next to die in my lineage by default, as no one else
is left, something that has weighed heavily on me every day since. Next in
line, order up, stepping into the batter’s box... Life can be cruel and it can give
you callouses. People who say that everything happens for a reason, be it
religious or some predetermined force, need justification for
everything. Those people are wrong. Things do not happen for a reason. Oh, to have a dollar for every ill-conceived “she’s watching you
from Heaven” comment I received after specifically and politely asking people
to refrain from pushing their beliefs off on me just this once. There’s a time
and a place for it, and this wasn't it. Some people allow their religious pride
to run amok against conventional manners and good taste. Some were even
offended I’d request such a thing! Yet they’re the ones oppressed. Oh, this
society of backwards logic.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Not everything in life ends with a moral lesson or purpose.
Life is a series of anecdotes, some funny and some funny in not-funny ways. Most
with a lesson are harsh. Louis C.K. once said that a perfect marriage—the
happiest possible outcome—ends with you burying the person you built your life
around for 50+ years and learning to live without them and the happiness they
provided. Anecdotes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A few weeks later, I waved goodbye to Val as she left town
for a couple of weeks to visit her family. My family largely dissipated, and though I
wanted her to stay, I wouldn't be much of a man to keep her from her own family
in light of what had happened to mine. She remained strong for me and broke
down in private to keep me functioning. Her taxi pulled away and I crumbled on
the front lawn, the prospect of being in an empty house for two weeks grating on my mind.
There was no one left to tend to me but me, so I had to conquer everything in
my path with productivity. Despite all the progress made with bill collectors
and managing accounts I knew nothing about, I felt like I was drowning. </div>
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<i>The seats from our ballgame. Severe weather rolled through to delay the start. </i></div>
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My pal Jesse picked me up to offer some reprieve a few days into isolation and took me
to the baseball game, where I caught my first and last glimpse of Derek Jeter
in person. The ballpark has always been the place I go to clear my mind of
anything I’m going through. Despite a sellout crowd and standing room only
tickets, we took a seat in batting practice and watched every seat but ours
fill around us for a perfect view of the game. We spoke for hours about a
variety of things, from losing our parents to debt, all while getting hit on by
transvestites in a Rally’s parking lot after the car broke down. It was a
memorable night, and the night I mentally turned the corner. I had to get
tough, or I’d be crippled from the burden. Dinners with my aunt Gee and uncle Don helped me through it all. We laughed at a couple's hoarder van outside of a restaurant one night, which looked to be packed with every single belonging they owned. It was the type of quirky thing that Mom would have loved.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I've been told that I move too fast in these circumstances, and it’s insensitive to worry about the future and keep a routine in the wake of death. That’s incorrect. What’s insensitive is that the world doesn't stop turning just because someone you loved dies. This is no longer a world with something as beneficial as a grieving period. That went away last century. In the grand scheme of things, the faceless people who sign your paychecks and mail your bills don’t give a flying fuck about how you’re feeling today. You either keep running or get left behind.</div>
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<i>One of the two storage facilities we cleaned. In view: two of the nine rows of containers needed moving.</i></div>
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In what would be the hardest thing I've ever done, Val and I
departed at 7AM on June 6th to go a few hours into the country where my mother
had two storage facilities. The owner was to evict her from the lease and
discard her items, so time was of the essence—just another small thing you wouldn't
think of in a world that doesn't wait. We elected to go alone to offer rest for
the family, as the task was to be a daunting one and we felt they were handling enough as is. We had no idea how naïve we
would be. As pictures can offer, the storage facilities were filled from front
to back, top to bottom with Rubbermaid containers featuring all of my childhood
belongings, as well as my mom and deceased grandmother’s personal things. To my
utter dismay, most of the items we recovered were ruined by water damage,
including pictures and family writings, as the containers had crumbled in from the
elements compressed over time. In my hands were constant reminders of happy
times accentuated by decay and destruction. Items that once brought hours of
joy were destroyed; more misery to heap upon my weary shoulders. Lifting the
hundred or so containers we recovered into the U-Haul amid the June Missouri
heat, where humidity meets 100+ degree temperatures, was only bested by our 1AM
arrival back home, where said containers needed to be unloaded to avoid an
additional day’s rental of the U-Haul. Once the heavy lifting was over, it was
4AM. Val chose between showering or eating, wisely choosing the former, while I
was too exhausted for sleep, a phrase I didn't know was possible, and opted for
both. Neither made me feel better. The adversity we faced was enormous in
accomplishing the task, but there was no room in my heart for celebration. My
parents were dead, and I just hauled the remainder of the corpse of my
childhood home to sort through on better days. It remains largely unsorted in
my basement. I realize now that it was also naïve to assume there would be a day
where I’d feel like going through it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Val is the best person I've ever known. No one else would
have selflessly done what she did at the storage facility. She is my consummate
companion.<o:p></o:p></div>
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They say you won’t know your friends until your loved ones
die, or when you run a charity. I was coping with both simultaneously. We
raised over $5,000 in memory of my mom for Stray Rescue of St. Louis. The money
raised would go towards building a plated bench in her honor outside of the Stray
Rescue facility, which is a no-kill dog shelter that she supported with monthly
donations since its inception. I dealt with people doubting the decisions I
made, be it the lofty amount (“aim for the stars, land on the moon,” I say),
the method in which we accepted the donations (GoFundMe, which was newer at the
time), or whether the bench would even be made. It was all on my shoulders,
through success or failure. We achieved the goal thanks to countless donors and
the site was reputable, though the bench is still in the process of being made.
I often become frustrated to this day with Stray Rescue’s lack of urgency in
getting the bench done nearly a year after we gave them the money, but then I
am quickly humbled when I view pictures of the injured dogs they've nursed back
to health in that time span. It will be made when it will be made, and the money
saved lives—something far more important than the bench itself. I should not be
resentful towards them. I just hope donors understand that I am not sitting on
my hands with the project, and have been proactive throughout the year on a
weekly basis without fail in keeping the focus on getting the bench made. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Running a charity drive for something so personal is
intoxicating. It boils bad feelings on the burner. Every donation swells your
heart, and then you realize a certain person hasn't donated a dime—or even
acknowledge it in the slightest—while clamoring on and on about the latest
throwaway piece of garbage they purchased. “I didn't really need this, but I thought
I’d buy it anyway.” Those nuances to managing a charity drive can ruin
friendships, or sever members from the family tree. Those who disappointed me
with a lack of acknowledgement for what we were doing and accomplished will
never be forgotten, for better or worse. On the other side of that coin, I’d be
speechless at seeing hefty donations from people I've worked with, or social
media acquaintances who chipped in or promoted our cause so passionately. I
thought that the world became less charitable with my mom’s death, but these
people proved that if anything, her death inspired others to be like her.<o:p></o:p></div>
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One of the positives to someone dying that you loved is the
worry is lifted from your shoulders. There’s a constant dread in my mind that
something terrible is going to happen. I used to worry about this as a
five-year-old boy, sitting at the screen door, waiting for my mom to pull up
from getting the groceries. “What if she’s dead?” I’d think, “What if someone
hit her, and she died?” This developed into a graver worry later in life when
her health began to decline. I sat in bed on Christmas Eve 2012, wide awake at
3AM, and thought “This could likely be my last Christmas with Mom.” I got one
more out of her, but I wasn't far off. I told her at Christmas 2013, “I
appreciate every holiday I spend with you.” Somewhere in my mind, I knew she
knew it was her last, too. She spoke of it in that way. After she died, it hit
me while passing her old hospital, where Val and I took her and saved her life
from pneumonia towards the end. She’d have died if we’d have done nothing, and
I’m proud that we did. When I realized I was free of those worries, it was
oddly relieving… at least until those health worries were replaced by the
health worries of other family members five months later. Meet the new boss,
same as the old boss. Still, the several months without those worries were
refreshing, a new sensation unlike any other. I’ll always appreciate them,
however brief they were.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Gestures, big and small, go a long way. These are the people
who mattered most: Val, for being the person to keep me upright every day and
supporting me with everything. Gee, having been there every step of the way,
lifting me up on bad days and lifting me higher on good days. She has the sweetest heart and I wish I could do more for her than I do. She is like my mom, in that she is such a good friend in addition to being family. Jen, who had a
pizza delivered from 2,100 miles away the day mom died, just so I would not go
hungry or forget to eat. Reed was there for everything, including feeding me
and being my brother. Millard and his nephew Jeff have taken care of mom’s
house, offering me one less burden to bear. A day never passes where I don't appreciate that. Tom and Mary, my in-laws, drove 585
miles to be with me and help in any way possible, including handling double
duty at the wedding since I no longer had parents to help us prepare, to which
Jen deserves additional credit, as well. My friend Tim, who purchased a collage
of photos of my mom, which hangs in my living room. Jesse Fenton, again, for
helping me mentally turn the corner and take control again. My co-workers did
my work for me for two weeks when they were not contractually obligated to. All
of the acquaintances and close friends who donated to Stray Rescue floored me;
for every one person who disappointed me with a lack of caring, five-to-ten surprised
me with their generosity or verbal support.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I collect baseball cards. It's a hobby that offers me a chance to be a kid again and keep me light at heart, regardless of how dark this whole write-up has been. A common practice in the world of baseball cards upon the death of an athlete is to create a card featuring a signature of the deceased. Having owned the final check my mom ever wrote, I decided to do just that as a fitting memento to keep in remembrance of her. A guy I know created the card for a small fee, while I helped with its design and wrote everything. It is among my most cherished possessions.</div>
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Life doesn't get any easier. It finds new ways to get your
hands dirty and ruin your good looks, one after another. In the past year, I've
fought tooth and nail with credit card companies over fraud when lawyers
deserted me, and I won by myself. I have dealt with bad medical news that will
change my life forever, or—worst case scenario—provide me with my next great
tragedy. My best friend nearly died due to heart complications. Life never gives reprieve. Life is a series
of problems. You've got to get tough. You can’t control the majority of what
life throws at you, so you need to become strong enough to face it. Given the
age my parents died, I’m in my midlife crisis right now. It has changed my
perspective on a number of things, as I am no longer afraid to speak up and
confront someone I disagree with. My life experience has given my opinion
credence, and makes what I have to say valid as a human being who has weight
behind what he thinks and feels. No longer do I sit on my hands and not call
someone on their bullshit. I never took anything for granted before my parents
died, though I suppose that would be the ultimate lesson to take away from such
an event. <u>Appreciate everything</u>. From the random gifts you receive, to
the comfortable silence of a car ride in good company, to the holidays you
share with your loved ones, to the long nights of laughter with a friend. They
all matter, to some degree. Acknowledge them.<o:p></o:p></div>
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People often ask me, “If you could say one last thing to
her, what would it be?” I’d say nothing. I have no regrets. If your parents are
still alive, I implore you to live as I did and never waste a single
opportunity. Say what you need to say. I miss her as a friend far more than as
a mom. Parenting bloggers say you shouldn't try to be friends with your kids,
and I scoff at the notion. My mom was one of my very best friends, and a blast
to be around. She was the type of person who made waiting to see the doctor
fun, something not everyone could do. There are times like these when I miss
her most. Not many people are awake at 3:52AM, but she was. Since her death, my
only friend on nights like these is the loud, awful silence while everything is
still in the world outside my door.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Relationships are like puzzles, and each person in them
holds certain pieces. Together, you have a complete picture. When you wish to
revisit the puzzle, you will call that person and ask them for pieces you may
have forgotten about to complete it. No longer can I piece together things that
happened in my childhood and receive a clearer picture of those happy times. The
puzzle is incomplete from here on; pieces will deteriorate as my memory fades,
making an even more incomplete picture. The memories we shared together now
cease to exist when I die. It will be like those puzzles never existed in the
first place. Tell everyone you know at least one little story about someone else in your life, so those puzzle pieces will be scattered throughout the world long after you leave it.<o:p></o:p></div>
Zoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00272026847822622195noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5918721118420939146.post-36344087783908048422013-09-07T17:47:00.001-07:002013-09-07T18:00:52.119-07:00Clip Half-Full: The Real-Life Implications of Virtual Marksmanship<div class="MsoNormal">
My father recently passed away at the age of 63, leading me
to juxtapose his life with my own. In his terms, I will be approaching my
midlife crisis sooner rather than later, and I decided to make an effort to
take steps out of my comfort zone, to do the things that I would normally scoff
at. Since I try to avoid needless risks in losing my life—such as skydiving—I
figured the next best thing would be to do something I’m morally at odds with.
Cannibalism is illegal, so I thought the next best course of action might be
learning to operate and fire a weapon.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As a bleeding heart liberal, I have a natural unease
regarding guns. The thought of holding the power to take a human life in your
hand may invigorate some or bestow a sense of power, but it’s not the
responsibility I’d prefer to have—I’m barely capable of baking a cake, for
Christ’s sake. Of course, in this world where everyone has to hate everyone
else over everything, it is hard to have any gray areas in your head for any
issue. For most folks, it’s hard stances on every issue. The fact is, I am uneasy
about guns, but I’m not necessarily anti-gun. I don’t think people should carry
guns, as the thought of an O.K. Chorale on every corner when an inebriated argument
escalates is senseless. I’m also a realist who understands that people who are
nutty about guns will always have them no matter what.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In a controlled environment, you could label guns as fun.
This is what I aimed to take part in, while also quelling my curiosity on the
age old fact of video games—something I am obviously skilled in, to a certain
extent—being used as a training method to better hand-eye coordination. What
better way to test the knowledge of what I have learned about guns in gaming
than to put them to practice at the shooting range?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Games have been the product of increased hand-eye
coordination for well over a decade, according to advanced studies, and are
often used for military training—for better or worse—in the U.S. and abroad. As
many lives that are saved with video games as training manuals by better
equipping our troops for potential threats, there can be an argument as to
video games being used as a tool to desensitize those doing the killing. While
I would argue a rational mind can differentiate between reality and fiction, I
also recognize the sad fact of many unstable minds being implemented into military
ranks—an argument for a later date, I suppose. Instead, let’s focus on one
question at a time: Can shooting in video games make you a better shot in
reality, right out of the gate?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I called my friend Jesse, another avid video gamer and
newbie to firing guns. Jesse is the guy I usually get in touch with when I want
to try something new, as he is a single guy with expendable cash. “What if they
find out we’re vegetarian-lesbian-liberal-Muslim-Obamas?” I pondered. “They’ll
kill us,” he surmised. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We took out a deal at the Top Gun Shooting Range via
Groupon, $62 for the rental of a gun, a box of ammunition, four targets, and a
lesson with a certified NRA trainer. This was particularly amusing, as the NRA
is a frequent punch line to my left-wing humor. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We arrived and immediately looked out of place from the
customers popping into the store. Unattractive, lumpy white men around my age
or better, with the facial hair to match the cliché, made up the majority of
customers. Okay, so maybe we fit the bill upon retrospect. A few elderly white
men in standard plain-white-Ts filled out the ranks as we gawked around at the
numerous springs and doodads being sold in the cleanly retail portion of the
store. “I don’t even know what any of this stuff does,” Jesse said. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What type of gun were you looking to use today?” The clerk
was polite and could see right through us. “How about something easy?” Jesse
pulled no punches. “Well, we could start you on a .22… They can barely break
through a winter coat and do not have much recoil as a result,” the clerk
explained. Jesse nodded, “we’ll try that one.” We were ready and set to fire
the sissiest gun known to man.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our NRA-certified instructor greeted us with a warm demeanor
and a friendly smile. He asked what brought us in, and I explained the passing
of my father and my desire to do something out of my comfort zone as a liberal
nancyboy. He took us into his office and revealed what he had something special
in store for us. “I don’t normally do this,” he explained, “but with what you
said about your dad… It made me feel like doing something special for you
guys.” His gift was the use of a 9mm Glock 17, a far cry from the .22 caliber
we were going to tinker with. Jesse gulped. A big step up, but one in the right
direction for this field test I was anxious to perform. Withdrawing ammo from
his personal stock after a shortage failed to produce any for purchase, I began
to realize and appreciate the trust he had in a couple of buffoons looking to
do something goofy.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After thorough instructions on how to treat the gun (like it
is always loaded) and how to transition your aim as to not to point at anyone
at anytime, we spoke small talk with our instructor, going over zombie
apocalypses and the various strategies against various fictional zombie archetypes
(such as Dawn of the Dead ‘78 zombies versus motion picture-World War Z
zombies), I felt comfortable with our instructor and realized that my incessant
belittling of every single person in the NRA was just as close-minded as the
types of things I rally against. We’re all people in the end, and our
instructor was clearly a nice person both at heart and on the surface. Lesson
learned. I was relaxed and ready to have some fun.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://residentevilumbrella.webs.com/Resident%20Evil%20Darkside%20Chronicles%20Chris%20Redfield%20(A).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://residentevilumbrella.webs.com/Resident%20Evil%20Darkside%20Chronicles%20Chris%20Redfield%20(A).jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>The Resident Evil CODE: Veronica rendition of the Glock 17.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Most video games have a 9mm as a standard handgun, seeing as
how they are police issued. Chances are if you are starting a game with a
pistol, it is a 9mm. The Glock 17 was immediately familiar to me based on its
use in one of my ten or so all-time favorite video games, Resident Evil CODE:
Veronica. I was very happy to learn we’d be using the weapon due to this, as
I’m quite familiar with the digital counterpart to it. It has also made
appearances in the likes of Battlefield 3, Half-Life, and one of the precursors
to the modern shooter, Duke Nukem 3D. I refrained from using Duke’s catch
phrases (“I’ll rip your head off and shit down your neck,” for example) during
my trials.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were led past all of the pros shooting their pieces as
our protective head gear made the gunshots all around us feel as though they
were next to our heads as opposed to inside of them. Intimidating as this was,
it melted away once we were escorted to our private “beginning” lane. I was
elected to go first. It was a sweltering 102 degrees outside, and the still air
of the range—combined with the jitters of what was about to happen—made the
sweat pour even harder. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The gun was about as heavy as I’d imagined. In most games,
even assault rifles are treated to be light as a feather, quickly stored or
thrown over the shoulder like an empty purse. I figured before I had ever held
a gun that the density would be pronounced, and I was correct. Aiming the gun
was a gift taught to me from video games, making me immediately realize the
correlation first-hand. Certain games opt not to use a reticle or anything in
addition to the natural alignment of the handgun; what you see is what you get.
This was the case with the Glock 17. The target was placed thirteen yards out.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Lightly and slowly squeeze the trigger with the cushion of
your finger,” the instructor said. Aiming for the dead center for a solid
fifteen seconds before pulling the trigger, I locked in and focused solely on
my target. My hands were calm and steady.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v288/ZoopSoul/20130830_162458_zpsd55ec153.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v288/ZoopSoul/20130830_162458_zpsd55ec153.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The above picture is my first of what wound up being three
targets. The farthest northern bullet hole was my first shot, a bulls-eye shot
placed exactly where I had planned. You only get one first shot in your life,
so I was proud that I managed to mark it exactly where I wanted it. The recoil
was completely satisfying; my hands were loose and my stance was confident,
allowing the gun to bop after each shot. This was very similar to what I had
anticipated from Resident Evil CODE: Veronica’s character animations; it felt
and looked right, fluid. My second and third shots were in the dead center of
the target, and my fourth was directly between the two of them (leaving,
essentially, two holes for three shots according to the target itself). As
adrenaline and excitement of my success took over, my shots became clipping an
inch or two south of where I aimed, but still close enough to be considered a
great first attempt at shooting a weapon (“keep it in the area of a clinched
fist,” the instructor directed).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The instructor chuckled. “What’s funny?” I asked. “Oh, I
just get a rush when people are naturals,” he replied. “Yeah!” I rung out,
holding my hand up for a high-five that never happened. Ouch.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jesse went next. He was slightly apprehensive about the
whole thing and anticipated the recoil of a magnum, by the looks of things, and
his first few shots showed as much. Once he realized the power of the gun and
the satisfying recoil, the jitters melted away and his shots began looking very
similar to mine. It became clear to me that it’s simply true; if you’ve had
experience with certain shooting games, you can apply that experience to
real-life scenarios if you can quell your anxieties. I like to think for most,
shooting at paper targets and shooting at living things greatly change those
anxieties; I know for certain that I could not target anything alive—be it
armed thug or possum—the same way I could an inanimate object, nor would I want
to in the first place.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My second target teetered off by comparison to my first,
while Jesse only got better. My second target was in the silhouette of a
person, and I began aiming for chest shots to similar results as my initial
session. Things went south when I began aiming above my line of height,
targeting the neck (and hitting the chest) and head (and hitting the neck).
This was a caveat I was not anticipating with our experiment; I figured aiming
a gun top-to-bottom was as simple as left-to-right. Squaring up your shot is
something that’s depicted as seamless in the world of gaming, and is a far cry
from reality. As I began to sweat from the heat, my grip on the weapon loosened
and the smoothness of my trigger finger faltered as a result—another variable
than does not translate whatsoever to the digital world. All of my final shots
were slightly lower than where I aimed, though still where I wanted from
left-to-right.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jesse’s second target was similar to my first with his
accuracy, if not better. He shot up a zombified gigantic fly for his target,
and put on quite the show for the instructor and myself. “Aim for the milk
carton in the background.” Jesse would make the milk spill. “Shoot for the
maggot-infested sandwich behind the fly.” Maggots were turned to dust. As we
made requests, Jesse fulfilled all of them with ease. He was great this time
around.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With time remaining and no ammunition left for the 9mm, we
opted for something a little different than what we were using before. Our
instructor brought out the AR-15 for us to toy around with, a semi-automatic
rifle with a scope and laser sight. This was closer to the video game world due
to these two very key features. We chose some new targets, opting for oversized
spiders this time largely due to my disdain towards them, and took to the
range.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.imfdb.org/images/thumb/0/0c/DeadIslandGame_Single_Shot_Rifle_V1_aim.jpg/750px-DeadIslandGame_Single_Shot_Rifle_V1_aim.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="http://www.imfdb.org/images/thumb/0/0c/DeadIslandGame_Single_Shot_Rifle_V1_aim.jpg/750px-DeadIslandGame_Single_Shot_Rifle_V1_aim.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>The AR-15 as depicted in Dead Island.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Now, this one will have a little more kick,” our instructor
said with a grin on his face. “This is going to send me to the back of the
room,” I thought to myself. “This gun will break the sound barrier, so make
sure you have your ear piece on at all times.” Okay, color me intimidated. “You
can go first,” said Jesse. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I noticed my hands wavering, though never trembling or
shaking; the distance made its presence known. This likely had to do with my
lackadaisical posture, something that is neither my best nor worst character
trait. The AR-15 reminded me very closely of the sniper rifles from Far Cry 3,
a game where you start off very bad with focusing on targets and gradually
learn to control your nervous system to allow for pinpoint accuracy via a
series of attribute points and rewards the further you progress. In other
words, the game will correct your natural flaws for you. Needless to say, my
stance and aim resembled the earlier portions of the game opposed to the latter,
as no artificial intelligence was there to hold my hand. Luckily I had recently
played the game and outsmarted the A.I. by timing my wavering shots. I’m known
as a man with excellent rhythm and used this, combined with my knowledge of
timing my shots, to ease my nerves. The target was from twice as far as our
previous target due to having a scope and laser sight, as we attempted to shoot
from 25 yards out. I eased my trigger finger and aimed for the head of the
large spider…</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v288/ZoopSoul/20130830_162556_zpsf00add57.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v288/ZoopSoul/20130830_162556_zpsf00add57.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“HOLY SHIT!” I screamed as the burst range out and echoed
through the range. Our instructor cackled. “I always like seeing a shooter’s
first reaction to that one,” he said. The gun jolted back upon blast into the
snug grip of my shoulder. This was a gun that exceeded my expectations of
recoil. My shot was precise, nailing the target directly in the dome.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shooting with a scope and laser sight obviously made
targeting easy, though the distance meant that every slight movement greatly
threw my intended target off by a lot; the slightest twitch could turn a
headshot into missing the target altogether. It reminded me of sniping in the Metal
Gear Solid series without the use of diazepam to calm your nerves and steady
your hands. Concentrating on my own breathing patterns and timing my shots
mid-inhale—just as I would have in-game via my avatar’s virtual breaths—allowed
me to cheat my inexperience and abilities to conquer my shakes. My results were
well, though I missed the baby spider’s head by this-much. Jesse’s previous
injury to his collarbone kept him from zeroing in with this rifle too much, as
he risked damaging a pin in his shoulder. He still shot valiantly, given the
risk.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How did we do?” “Great,” the instructor replied with a wide
smile across his face. “I thought we’d be so terrible that we’d be kicked out,”
I replied, “so I’ll take that.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jesse and I celebrated our most ‘Murican adventure by
downing some double cheeseburgers afterwards, which will inevitably end our
lives as we did the imaginary lives of those flies and spiders. “It reminded me
of shooting in Mass Effect before you know what the hell you’re doing,” Jesse
stated. Every game we brought up had a common theme: they are games that are
not known for their gunplay. The experience did not remind us of a seamless,
satisfying shooter such as Call of Duty, Halo, or even Gears of War; it
reminded us of games where the use of guns was secondary and not the preferred
option to fight.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Resident Evil series is derived from conservation; you’re
encouraged not to use your weapons unless you have to, as ammunition is scarce.
Metal Gear Solid is a stealth series where sneaking in and out without being
detected—and thus not taking lives—is a less messy and preferred option. Mass
Effect relies heavily on the use of bionic powers to immobilize enemy threats.
Far Cry 3’s introductory mission involves escaping imprisonment from a hostage
camp with the use of sneaking and throwing nearby rocks. Most of these games do
not even use guns as a focal point, yet these were the examples we kept coming
back to.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The reason behind this is that operating a gun is not a
seamless action sequence where clips are thrown into the air and reloaded with
the swipe of a hand. The likes of Call of Duty and such know that the more
smooth the animations, motions, reactions, and the like of their gunplay, the
more fun they will be to play. In real-life, the use of guns is a slow,
methodical process—one that is even a little bit clunky—and thus we relate it
to games where the use of guns are not embellished. The model on the cover of
that magazine is not perfect; she is Photoshopped to look better. Not all sex
resembles what you’ll find on the Internet. The image of the sandwich on the
sign board at the fast food chain looks nothing like what you just ordered.
Likewise, not every use of a firearm will be as silky smooth as the video games
you’re used to. It's gritty and based upon precision. Throw it on the pile of American myths we love to believe, even
if we know they’re probably not true.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While it might bum some out to learn that some things are
false, the things we proved to ourselves to be truth far outweigh any
disappointment. You can use video games to become a great shot in real-life.
Everything that I’ve utilized since video games evolved to three-dimension
scope in the mid-‘90s until now was relevant to my success as a first-time
shooter. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So I was thinking,” Jesse added days later, “that was
pretty fun. Let’s do that again.” We are only twelve experience points from
Call of Duty-smooth. We can’t stop now. </div>
Zoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00272026847822622195noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5918721118420939146.post-38216197905242570312013-04-17T14:03:00.004-07:002013-04-17T14:09:21.908-07:00Of Socks and Sapphires: A Love Story<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Thirteen
years ago, I was speaking with a good friend of mine on my computer about
wrestling. We were discussing our favorite performers in the ring. I remember
it vividly, for whatever reason. “No, I don’t like him,” my teenage friend
Valerie said of someone whose name faded away over time. I asked, “What about
Foley?” “Of course, everybody loves Mick,” she replied. “He’s such a nice guy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">---<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Val
and I love wrestling. No, no… Not the Olympian-style of wrestling, but the kind
that used to light the world on fire in the late 1990s. The kind where grown
men oil themselves up and roll around with other men in tights and pretend to
hurt each other with their fake wrestling moves, so say the non-fan. It’s not
an easy thing to admit to enjoying in our society, given the fact that it is an
elaborate ruse and people do not like being tricked. To partake and revel in an
outright lie means that you’re stupid and you fell for it, right? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I
see it in a different light. Wrestling is a form of art, in the same way that
dancing or figure skating is a performance art. Nigel McGuinness, a brilliant
pro wrestler who was unfortunately forced into retirement due to injury and
never once made it on Monday Night television, said that the pinnacle of
the art is to suspend disbelief. Bret “The Hitman” Hart, a childhood idol of
mine, said that the very best pro wrestlers land blows that look real without
leaving the scars to prove it. It’s walking a fine line, where your forearm
hits a man in the chest so hard that he flips backwards and lands face-first,
yet never harms him. It’s a rugged man’s form of magic, and the trick is to
never let them see you fake it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I
was brought up with the stuff, like a lot of wrestling fans. My grandmother
regaled me with stories of lining up to see the legendary Lou Thesz take on all
comers, including Everett Marshall. I started with Andre the Giant tossing Big
John Studd around in the ring. It was more entertaining than it ought to have
been, as the two hated one another behind the scenes and it showed in the ring.
Unaware of the man behind the curtain, I cheered the good guys against the bad
guys. It differed little from my comic books; for a true good guy to exist, an
equally impressive villain loomed in the distance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Like
any awkward teenager in the age we live in, I pecked away at a keyboard trying
to impress a pretty girl from a state I’d never visited. Little did I know that
it actually worked. I’m funny, admittedly so, and I’d make wrestling jokes to
make the pretty blonde giggle. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">She
got my wrestling jokes, which was a miracle in itself, but the fact that she
appreciated them and found them amusing was like catching lightning in a bottle. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://sphotos-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-prn1/77158_10151386382377747_1018525167_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://sphotos-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-prn1/77158_10151386382377747_1018525167_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Fourteen
easy years from those conversations, the ring was purchased. Locked away amidst
my sports cards collection (baseball cards and wrestling—ladies, try not to be
seduced, I’m officially off the market), I conjured up numerous plans that fell
through or just didn’t seem right. At the ballpark? It wouldn’t work out. At
the sea lion show? Nah, overdone these days. I needed something unique,
something personal. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">It
hit me at 4:42AM on a Friday night when I should have been sleeping, but
anxiety got the best of me. I was going to recruit the talents of the one, the
only… Mr. Socko.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Mick
Foley is “the Hardcore Legend.” He depicted deranged characters such as Cactus
Jack and Mankind. He dove off of cages, took steel chairs to the back of the
skull, fought in barbed wire death matches, and even lost an ear in a contest.
Wrestling never looked faked when Foley was in the ring, because it never was. “Fake
matches” became coordinated destruction. The man billed from Truth or
Consequences, New Mexico could have suffered far dire consequences over the
years with the risks he took. I was never into the blood lust, which became popular in my teenage
years within the world of wrestling. I empathized with the talents and knew
they had families waiting for them outside of the ring; I did not want to see
them so broken down that they could not hold their kids, let alone play with
them. Unfortunately, not many others saw my way of thinking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Thankfully, Foley is a smart man—a New York Times best seller, no
less—and </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">saw that he could not keep up with nearly dying on a nightly basis. He
was fortunate enough to be born as arguably the most charismatic presence in
the history of wrestling. While his “hardcore” personas cut deep in their
interview segments, getting the attention of his audience with a proverbial
grip to the throat, he was equally entertaining—and more likeable—as a good
guy. And by good guy, I mean just that: He played himself, a good man who you
wanted to see succeed and wanted to walk out of the ring unharmed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">He
used his uncanny sense of humor to create Mr. Socko, a deranged puppet made out
of a dingy old sock and a marker. Socko took off, and wound up being a fine
piece of merchandise for the then-WWF machine to produce. It successfully
helped Mick get over the hump of being the heap of man disfigured on the mat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">He
was presented as he should have been all along. Unlike the situations of past,
Mick didn’t require a dastardly villain stalking in the background to make
people like him, nor did he require sensationalist team mentality that made
luminaries such as Bruno Sammartino and Hulk Hogan icons in the past. Mick was
a good person. That is why you liked him. He was also a great wrestler. “You
always want to give him a big hug,” Val thought aloud about the man whose wrestling
catch phrase is “Have a nice day.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">My
plan was made: Create an alternate Twitter account from my own so that Val could not witness these interactions; follow Mick
Foley; wait until I saw he was tweeting and thus looking at Twitter; try to
persuade him into helping me out by offering a $250 donation to <a href="http://rainn.org/" target="_blank">RAINN</a>, the
charity closest to his heart. I was at the grocery store when it happened. My
tweets were sent out as I checked out. My phone vibrated as I walked home. I
fumbled for it to find a Twitter alert telling me, “tell me more … sounds like
fun.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">That
is when I fell down with all of the groceries in my hand. “Splat,” went the
frozen yogurt on the sidewalk. <i>Dammit.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Over
the course of the night, I spoke with Mick. He said a donation was not
required, though I plan to make it with my income tax refund once I receive it.
He agreed to make Val a personalized Mr. Socko with a note enclosed asking her
to try it on. I would get to the package first, as I usually get the mail, and
slip the engagement ring inside of Mr. Socko. I would take her to our romantic
spot in St. Louis, the Grand Basin in Forest Park. Upon Socko’s arrival, I
sprinted blocks and blocks to find suitable gift wrap. I ran home and threw
everything in the basement, wrapping it and storing it in the trunk as she
showered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I
presented the idea to her. “We should go for a walk at the Grand Basin after
dinner.” “Okay,” she replied, “I’ll put my purse in the trunk.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Eep!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">It
all went according to plan, however. I placed her purse in the trunk, “like a
gentleman,” and presented her with the gift at the waterfront on a bench. She
was taken aback. “You got me a present!?” She feverishly tore into it, revealing
the signed 8x10 from Foley.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v288/ZoopSoul/mrsocko_zps9d513960.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v288/ZoopSoul/mrsocko_zps9d513960.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">“Go
ahead, try on Mr. Socko,” it read. “You got me a Mr. Socko!? Oh my God!” She
slung the Socko—ring enclosed—around as I panicked at the thought of it being
flung into the murky water of the Basin and advised her to take his advice in trying
it on. She motioned at me with Socko for a moment like a child with a new toy
before thinking aloud, “Wait, there’s a ring in here…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I
took a knee—the same injured knee from the fall, mind you—for twenty seconds
as she marveled at everything that just happened. She seemingly ignored my purposely-mispronounced question of “Will you be my husband?” She looked back at Socko, and back to the
ring. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">“You
got me the prettiest ring on the planet! And a Mr. Socko! A real Socko!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">“Will
you please answer? My knee hurts!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v288/ZoopSoul/ValandMeEngagement_zpsd3b36cf3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v288/ZoopSoul/ValandMeEngagement_zpsd3b36cf3.jpg" width="291" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">She
said “Yes.” Passersby offered congratulations. The cloudy skies literally went
away for a while between an impending storm to give us some sunlight.
Happenstance is fun like that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">---<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">We are dorks, which is why we work together. We like the same music, the same movies, the same television shows. We've become adults together. And yeah, w</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">e are wrestling fans.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> If I've learned one thing in life, you shouldn't be ashamed of what you enjoy and you shouldn't surround yourself with people who make you feel ashamed of what you enjoy. We didn't. We're happy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I
think I still impress her occasionally today with my dorky incantations,
reciting a match with my own play-by-play and successfully naming most
wrestling maneuvers off the top of my head. I suppose it’s a lot like language,
in that it’s ingrained seamlessly into your vocabulary at an early age. It’s
harder to learn if you weren’t a toddler growing up with it, but that’s okay: We’ve
got plenty of years to learn everything from arm bars to Emerald Fusions
together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">P.S.
Mick, if you’re reading this, you’re sort of extended family now. Sorry buddy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>You can <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mick-Foley/e/B001IXM8QC/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1366230872&sr=8-2-ent" target="_blank">find all of Mick's novels here</a>. If you are a wrestling fan, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/WWE-Mankind--Limited-Edition-Blu-ray/dp/B00AZL30JW/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1366230872&sr=8-1&keywords=mick+foley" target="_blank">give his biographical Blu-ray a look by clicking here.</a></i></span></div>
Zoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00272026847822622195noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5918721118420939146.post-68350680528408712372012-03-13T15:10:00.001-07:002013-09-07T17:51:11.031-07:00The Cat in the Duffel Bag: How I Learned to Never Change My Seat at the Airport<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>The following is a true story, partially written one year ago. Every conversation and action actually occurred in this story, which has been fragmented to encompass the most noteworthy of incidents aboard Flight 914, Phoenix to Saint Louis, on U.S. Airways. The date was March 12, 2011. I still have the boarding pass.<o:p></o:p></i><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Flying is one of our greatest achievements. We defy logic with every time a gigantic metal bus leaves the surface of our planet, performing what could only be considered a miracle in the time of the Renaissance. I often think back to points in the human race’s past, where the technologies we have today were impossible by and large, and think of how fortunate I am to live in the era that I do, where musical recordings can be captured and their brilliance cherished forever, or where the Internet allows us to talk to would-be friends on continents we may never grace with our presence. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> We are a lucky species living in the best time period the world has ever witnessed, laughing in the face of logic with every time those back tires leave the ground, soaring through and above the clouds until they resemble breaking waves skimming the top of the ocean, a sight so beautiful that our ancestors would have shed tears of joy to behold. Now, don’t you feel like an asshole for bitching about paying $2.50 for a bag of pretzels?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> I love flying, and I fly frequently. The spontaneous nature of my occupation as a freelance journalist sends me across the country on a regular basis, but I never dread flying. Sure, the airports themselves are a pain in the ass, but isn’t it worth it for the act of flight? It’s sort of like an amusement park: nobody likes waiting in line, but by the time you’re flying around at breakneck speeds on the roller coasters, you’ve forgotten all about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> In March of 2011, I was invited to visit San Francisco, California on business with Facebook gaming mega-giant, Zynga. It was but for a brief 36-hour period, but memorable times were had. After my business meeting, I decided to pack it in and arrive at the airport around 4pm; I slept grimly on the eve of the Japanese tsunamis, knowing several acquaintances in the country with whom I had yet to hear from, and looked forward to resting at the airport prior to my departure several hours later. Upon arriving and checking in, I decided to move my seat down from the middle of the plane to the very last row, swapping my aisle seat to a cozy window view during a very long red eye flight; after all, I rarely have the chance to see multiple cities’ skylines during the early AM hours, as I would be in the air from 9pm until 6am with a minor stop-gap in-between. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Up until this point in my life, the mistakes I have made have been miniscule. With three taps of my index finger against the touch screen, I ruined every positive experience I have undergone and will undergo in the future while defying logic 35,000 feet in the air. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> The flight to Phoenix, Arizona was peaceful. The darkened cabin of the aircraft provided the comfort needed after a long day of boardroom meetings on little sleep. The city skyline of San Francisco lit up the blackened ground like fireworks in the night’s sky, and in-between lay millions of street lights, porch lights, and headlights, resembling the stars of the sky that gravity kept to itself. Once the clouds lay at our feet, the moon greeted us in all of its remarkable, natural beauty, casting light upon the clouds as it does against beds of water. The dreams of our ancestors, so far from their realities, yet so similar to the visions they had from the outside. This is why I enjoyed flying.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> We landed in Phoenix on time. All around me was the chatter of newfound acquaintances – if only for the night – taking in the tranquil flight and properly-conceived small talk. A nearby pair of strangers playfully flirted, bonding but for a brief moment before never seeing one another again. Me? I sat alone in my row, stretching my legs across the center and aisle seats while taking in my view. As we docked, I took in the final moments of what could only be described as one of the best flying experiences I have ever experienced.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Yin, meet Yang.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> The Phoenix terminal is my least favorite in the country. The bland brown and silver color scheme and sharp design resembles a 1960s decorating disaster that has been renovated to accommodate the fashion of the late ‘80s and early ‘90s – possibly the worst of both areas. It is one of the few terminals where I know something will go wrong, even at midnight. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Everything went according to plan: I deboarded from my plane slightly before schedule, a bathroom was located immediately across from where we docked, and connecting gate was not too far from where we arrived. Unlike an O’Hare jog from one side of the airport to the other in fifteen minutes (I do not recommend it), I was surrounded by fellow sleep-deprived zombies who shuffled their feet to their respective gates, the slow rotating clicks of wheeled suitcases being pulled at a walking pace, and the occasional nighttime cleaning crew’s vacuum, all passive in nature and the exact opposite atmosphere you would typically associate with airports.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> The calm before the storm.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> I did not notice them when I arrived at my gate thirty minutes before our departure time. Reading “The Stranger” by Albert Camus while also warding off sleep, I blocked off everything and everyone around me without the God-like credentials of a public announcement speaker. I would not realize why I had not come across the perpetrators who killed my love of flying until wedged against the window, hoping for an asteroid to somehow collide with the plane, approximately ninety-two minutes later. The gate was crowded, but not impossible to find some time to relax; everyone around me was equally exhausted as I, and it seemed as though we came to a mutual understanding that we would all keep our voices low, and drift about the next five hours as passively as humanly possible.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “We would now like to greet those customers flying with us to Saint Louis, Missouri sectioned in Boarding Class Three,” said the deity over the intercom. This is code for “You’re at the lowest tier of how much we give a shit about you,” as the First Class passengers and frequent fliers with American Airlines received the initial treatment of fake hospitality and painted-on grins. Me? I was in no rush; sitting at the very back of a red eye flight will leave you without worry on exactly how soon you board. The sooner you’re on, the longer you have to sit and wait. Being the (seemingly) last person aboard the plane, I noticed my row was empty once again. With a smile, I pulled out my secondary novel, World War Z by Max Brooks -- a lengthier read for a longer flight back home -- and sighed with relief at the prospect of having another row to myself. “Good choice,” I thought to myself in reflection of swapping seats at the airport.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> It was then that I heard a scuffle. I raised my head from my book to find a woman taking up the light of the aisle, like a drug-drenched lunatic in Charles Manson’s family blocking the sun from the desert. At forty-two years of age, the woman stood around five-ten and was several hundred pounds overweight. She was with her acne-laced teenage son, whom looked as solemn as a scorned puppy that has been bruised at the hand of his master for no apparent reason. Many people remark on love at first sight, how they knew that their beloved was the one person they would love for the rest of their lives the second they laid eyes on them. Likewise, they claim that when they first laid eyes on the man who robbed them at gunpoint, they knew he was trouble; they talk about how he had a bad vibe about him, or how he acted odd. I am an optimist, one who attempts to find the good in all and gives everyone their fair shake. I am not one of those people. I made no such connection. I never saw it coming.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> The pair sat down across the aisle from me on the left side of the plane. I attempt to continue reading, but found it hard to concentrate over the undecipherable babble hitting my left ear like an infection. It was whiny and high-pitched with a southern twang in a woman’s voice, while the young man spoke in hushed tones, almost parent-like in attempting to contain the squeals. My curiosity, at this point, had peaked; exactly what was going on over there, anyway? Why did it sound so risqué? Was the young man embarrassed by his mother? Was she saying something embarrassing about him?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Excuse me, sir, but you have my seat.” My train of thought was cut off abruptly. I looked up to find a man in uniform, presumably going to war, as I saw his wife and child saying their teary goodbyes prior to boarding and made a mental note of it; it is quite hard to enter a terminal without a boarding pass. The Marine was not speaking to me, however, but to the embarrassed young man to my left. “Oh, I’m sorry, we’ll move,” said the teenager. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Just who the fuck do you think you are?” bemoaned the mother. “We got here first, so these are our seats.” My pupils had to have dilated when the terror of the situation dawned on me. They had two seats, but were misplaced. The plane was near capacity, and as I began counting heads in the twenty-one rows ahead of me, I slowly came to the realization that there were but two empty seats together on the plane, and they were beside me. “Ma’am, I do apologize, but my ticket says that your son is in my seat,” said the Marine. Right as I began to invite the military man to sit in one of the two empty seats beside me, the woman obliged. “I’m sorry son, you’re fighting for our country, I shouldn’t-a snapped at you,” she mumbled in accordance with fulfilling his request.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> The young man, who I would come to know as Moochy, sat beside me in the middle seat. His nameless mother, who has been burned into my memory as “Momma,” hung out over the aisle seat. Moochy was pressed firmly against my left hip, removing the option of accessing my iPhone beyond the basics of turning it off prior to the flight. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “I’m sorry, mister,” Moochy said with slight enthusiasm, “Momma is taking up a lot of room. “ I explained that my best friend, who I had flown with in the past, was also heavyset, and I did not mind his intrusion of typical airplane space etiquette; in fact, I sympathized. He smiled out of what I would soon learn to be relief as Momma reached into her carry-on bag. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Those no good fuckers STOLE my other bag, so I had to keep this one with the sandwich in it,” she explained to no one in particular. “Momma, please keep your voice down, there’s a baby up there,” Moochy begged of his mother. “You can’t be swearin’ like that with li’l ones around, they’ll pick up on it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Can you believe him!?” Hell hath no fury like a Momma scorned. “My own son, my Moochy, telling me to shut up!” She nudged the seat in front of her, occupied by a sleeping middle-aged woman. “Hey lady, I’m sorry to wake you up, but can you believe this?” My pupils focused on the carnage at hand. “I’m sorry, I was asleep… What did you need, ma’am?” This woman was more polite than she had any right to be, given the situation. Momma asked again, “Have you ever in your life seen a boy so disrespectful to his own mother?” Moochy sulked in his seat, cheeks blazing with embarrassment. “Oh... Well, I really don’t know. I’m sorry,” the bewildered woman replied.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Momma, you got to stop this, you’re embarrassing me,” Moochy once again begged. “You had too many drinks, why did you do this again to me?” <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Don’t you tell me what I can or can’t drink,” Momma snapped back. “I only had seven martinis, it’s not like I’m drunk!” If this is her sober, Heaven forbid. “Besides, when did you get the balls to speak to a lady like that? You ain’t never had a girlfriend! You hear that, everybody? My son thinks he’s got the balls to speak to me and he’s never stuck his willy in nothin’!”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Momma!” Moochy was livid at this point, and rightfully so. “Why don’t you try to go to sleep?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “I ain’t tired! Boy—I mean, sir,” she was addressing the Marine from the former incident. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, I love America,” she confessed through crocodile tears, “but I got a question for you.” The Marine nodded and smiled, likely reconsidering his commitment to the military, given the specimen he now knows he is protecting. “Have you ever seen such a pathetic panty-waste of a boy than my son? I bet you get a piece of ass a lot ‘cause you’re good lookin’ and all, but my boy has never been with a woman.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “No ma’am, I am happily married and have a son,” the Marine replied. “Your son looks like a fine young man.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Blowing spit in the wind through an exaggerated brush off to what the Marine said, Momma instead began crying real tears after a small, precious moment of silence. “Why did Robbie have to move to this Godforsaken city we’re going to?” Momma addressed the question to Moochy, who had been playing his Nintendo DS. He ignored her question as he directed his attention into disappearing into his outdated Pokemon game, being the iteration of 2003’s Pokemon Ruby. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Moochy leaned in to me with a question. “Have you ever played Pokemon?” I nodded, explaining what I do for a living as a freelance gaming and movie journalist. “Oh wow, so have you caught them all?” I began to take a liking to Moochy, a fifteen-year-old-ish outcast who life had spit at, given his living environment. He was polite, albeit simple, but anything beyond his mother was a success in my eyes.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Moochy! Stop ignoring me!” She threw a light punch, connecting to his stomach. “Momma! Stop it, that hurt!” Moochy dropped his portable gaming device onto the duffel bag lying at his feet in reaction to the punch, clutching his stomach. Momma gasped in fear. “How could you do such a thing!?” Her face contorted in horror, as mine would soon after. “Kitty’s in that bag!”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Kitty?” I butt into the conversation. I should have kept my mouth closed.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Yes sir,” Momma replied, her eyes rolling from the alcohol like a seasick, brandy-infused pirate. “Our baby kitten, Kitty, he’s in our bag. Moochy had to keep him instead of the one with our snacks because he just had to have a goddamn kitten,” she said through a half-lit scowl. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Prepare for take-off,” said the pilot. Our journey was beginning. “Please stow all of your personal electronics away until we are well in the air,” continued the flight attendant. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Moochy reached for his Nintendo DS, which Momma quickly snatched from his hands. “Did you not just hear what the lady said!?” Her eyes were more demented than before. “You have to turn this off!” Moochy looked terrified. “Momma, that’s why I grabbed it, I just wanted to turn it off.” Momma held the long, slender portable device sideways like that of a quarterback holding a football and threw it with her left hand into the floor of the plane, the Pokemon Ruby game cartridge jostling loose from the system and scattering underneath the second row to the left of ours – or so I assume from her pointing when Moochy asked what happened to his game. His Nintendo DS’s casing cracked on the lower right-hand corner.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “I shut it off for you,” Momma said as Moochy’s eyes filled with tears. “You’re too unresponsible [sic] to do anything by yourself.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Moochy began to silently cry to himself. Pokemon clearly meant a lot to him in a life riddled with pain and the death of aspirations. I felt awful for him. In retrospect, I should have stood up for him then and there; hindsight is a wonderful thing, however.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> As the plane hit high speeds and shook near the back—a common occurrence when sitting in the rear of an airplane—Momma began to panic. “Oh my God! Oh my God! We’re going to crash!” Momma began screaming aloud, attracting the attention (mostly annoyance) of those in the nearby three to four rows. Moochy was too destroyed to lift his head from his lap.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> After thirty minutes of silence from Moochy, who continued to look sullen from the possible destruction of his beloved video game, I decided to take initiative in cheering him up. “Hey, do you like zombies?” I presented Moochy with the book I was failing to read over his mother’s inane mutterings to herself, or anyone she pretended was listening to her. She began inquiring as to how much longer the flight would be fifteen minutes after take-off. “Yeah, I sure do!” Moochy perked up in a jiffy at the subject. “I’m a bit of a zombie buff, myself,” I explained, “I know all the ins and outs in case of a zombie invasion.” He took a liking to the jovial conversation, a far cry from what he had grown accustomed to. “Yeah, I love zombies,” he beamed, “I often daydream about what it’d be like to be in a zombie apocalypse.” Oh, Moochy. I don’t blame you.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Just what the Sam Hell do you think you’re doin’, Moochy!?” Momma was roaring. “Quit pestering that man, he can’t read his book with you interrupting him.” I take the blame, citing that I asked him if he had read it. “Oh Lord naw, Moochy can’t read,” she revealed. Moochy looked stunned. “Yes I can,” Moochy refuted the claim. “You just never pay attention to me enough to know it.” I handed Moochy my book, mentally noting the page I was on and giving him free range to escape the Hell of his mother’s scorn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Moochy, why don’t you love me? You know how nervous I get when I fly and I didn’t want to move to this awful place and your brother made me,” Momma whined. “You shouldn’t have let me drink so much, you’re letting your poor mother become an alcoholic.” <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “But I tried to tell you to stop, you just don’t listen,” Moochy explained to his understanding and kind parent. “You told me I can’t tell you what to drink since I’m not old enough to drink myself.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Momma let out a loud scoff to declare her victory by seniority over her offspring. “That’s right,” she said. “You ain’t no man yet, boy, so don’t you tell me how to live.” Was this really happening? “Now I want another drink, where’s that waitress at?” <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> I was fully expecting—and hoping for—the pilot to announce that this whole flight had been an elaborate prank on me. It certainly did not seem plausible; everybody became more cartoonish and preposterous by the literal minute. How would I honestly tell everyone about this with a straight face? Who in their right mind would take this as truth? Could you even begin to make up something so terrifyingly bipolar? This flight had become a stream of consciousness similar to that of a life-altering drop of hallucinogenic substances. My third eye was open, thanks to a couple of rednecks relocating from Bumfuck, Washington to my hometown. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Hey lady,” Momma knocked on the seat in front of her. The woman had been rattled by her last interaction with Momma to the point that sleep was no longer an option, especially over the incessant whining of the beleaguered whale behind her. “Do you know why I call my son ‘Moochy’?” The woman thoroughly ignored her question, but Momma carried on as if she needn’t a person to direct her inquiry to. “It’s because he ain’t done a goddamn thing—I’m sorry, Jesus, I love you, I did not mean that—but he ain’t done a gosh darn thing except use me for my money since he popped out of me.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Well, I believe that’s the purpose of having children,” the woman finally responded. “You have them and raise them right, and hopefully they will be able to take care of themselves once they grow up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Yeah but ol’ Mooch is a pain in my fat ass, I tell ya that,” Momma retorted. “He won’t ever turn out to be nothin’.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Momma, shut your mouth!” Oh Moochy, don’t. Just stay quiet and take the punishment. “All you’ve been doing all night to these people is spouting your loud ass mouth and they’re all sick of hearing it!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Hooray, he said what we were all thinking.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> The thud could be heard over the engine, though my hearing in my left ear has always been sharper than that of my right. Her knuckles connected with Moochy’s left arm. I was shocked, though I could not figure out exactly why; was I shocked that she just legit punched her son, or that she could contort her overly large body to the point of actually making it happen? Mooch let out a shriek of pain as the skin broke on his arm, bleeding slightly. His mother held out his arm as a trophy. “See what I did? Hah, that was good,” she said while holding up the ring on her finger, now engraved across the flesh of her child.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> A flight attendant was called to the back after the incident. The demands for her to control her voice—not anger—were directed at her teenage son rather than her. Clearly, the flight attendants wanted nothing to do with Momma, nor did they feel like addressing the public display of affection that we all just witnessed. Judging from the bleeding arm of her spawn, I’m fairly certain he could not control her actions or verbal communications to no one in particular. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Momma interacted with said flight attendant, asking her how much longer the flight would be. “Forty-five minutes to an hour,” she said. We had barely been in the air that long. As someone who travels to and from the Phoenix airport frequently, I knew that was a blatant lie. Roughly three hours remained in the flight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “I wish you didn’t hate me, Moochy,” Momma began crying—sobbing—aloud. “I’ve tried so hard to raise you into a good, caring man.” Moochy followed her lead with the tears this time instead of brushing her off. “Momma, I love you. I don’t know why you think I don’t.” Momma slapped him, albeit lightly by comparison to her precious blood-bringer. “Don’t you lie to me, I can tell by the way you talk to me that you’re embarrassed by me.” Who wouldn’t be? <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “I just think it will be different once Robbie’s around,” Moochy said of his presumed-elder sibling. “Once we get to Robbie’s and get used to everything, it’ll all be good again,” he explained through the tears. I envisioned Robbie in my head and shrugged off the vision steadfast. This family need not expand in my mind. Momma finally settled down for a while.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Thirty minutes or so had passed since the last audible conversation between the now-sleeping Mooch and his pouting mother. All was finally quiet in the bubble of the plane we had been exiled to. I catch a fleeting glance of the woman in front of Momma, comfortable with her head drawn to her husband’s shoulder. The Marine sat erect with tremendous posture, something miniscule that I admire and envy in military personnel. All seemed fine, at last.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Moochy! How dare you!”<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Some things are too good to be true.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> The once-asleep teenage boy sprung up from his nap in a daze, seemingly forgetting where he had been. Back to Hell, son. With a swing of her fist, Moochy laid back to slumber. What was intended as abuse for Moochy instead connected with my left shoulder, absorbing the blow for the sleeping beauty. I’ve been punched by stronger beasts than the Mommasaurous. I’m just happy that she was, in fact, not attempting to tenderize me for a later serving.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Look what you made me do! I just hit that poor gentleman over there because you ducked out of the way like the coward you are,” Momma laid into Moochy, who was beginning to come to realize the situation’s gravity. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Momma, I swear I was just sleepy,” pleaded the Mooch. He turned to me. “I’m really sorry,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “It’s fine,” I replied, “just stop punching your kid, please.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> If glares could kill, I’d be put out of my misery at the pupils of Momma. She obliged and did not strike Moochy again throughout the flight. Between her cries of how long the flight was, it became apparent that what she was infuriated by was Moochy’s ability to sleep on the plane. She could not get comfortable with her large frame on an aircraft, and thus could not fall asleep. If she couldn’t sleep, then poor Moochy sure as hellfire would not catch a wink for the remainder of the flight.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “I need a piller, [sic]” she said in reference to a pillow. Moochy obliged in forking over his own for her comfort. “No, you dumb fuck, I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout this. You know the drill.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Aw Momma, I don’t want to, you’re too heavy,” he replied.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Her forceful stares eventually made Moochy cave in to her demands, as possibly the strangest thing of the evening unfolded before my very eyes. Moochy unbuckled his safety belt and curled up across her protruding belly, his upper body working as a cushion for her mound of flesh from the waist up. She dug her elbows into his sides strenuously, as if to watch him writhe in discomfort. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “You’re an awful piller, [sic]” she laughed. “Be still, asshole.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Fed up with his squirming from her jagged bones carving into him, she requested his hand. Upon receiving it, she put his middle finger to her lips and bit into it. Yelping in pain, Moochy jerked back into his seat as her laughs awoke the poor woman in front of her. “You fuckin’ crybaby,” she exclaimed as Moochy used his napkin to wrap the finger, which was likely bleeding. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Why did you do that for!?” Moochy was once again angered. His mother laughed harder at his reaction to her act of cruelty, stirring even more nearby passengers from their slumber. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “I did it because you never listen when I tell you to do things,” she calmly explained for the first time of the night, as if she were teaching her child a fundamental lesson. “I told you to sit still and be comfy and you just couldn’t do that, you kept wigglin’ back and forth.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> All remained quiet over the next fifteen to twenty minutes, with Momma eventually bothering her northern neighbor once again. “Hey ma’am, I’m real sorry to keep bothering you,” she said through a false smile, “but what’s Saint Louis about?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> The woman seemed as puzzled as I was. “About? As in the history of Saint Louis?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “I guess so,” Momma said. “Have any historical figgers [sic] been through there, like Christopher Columbus or John Wayne?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> A yelp of laughter escaped my mouth as the woman replied through what I could see was a smile between the head rests, “I don’t believe John Wayne was a historical figure, dear. He was an actor in western films.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Oh,” Momma said before laughing at herself. “I don’t see a lot of movies.” Or pay attention in a lot of classes.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Soon after this conservation, Momma began to squirm like that of her son’s pillow adventure. “I’m going to shit all over myself,” she expressed exuberantly. “These bathrooms are too little for me, Moochy.” Moochy sighed again in disbelief, as though even he could not believe the size of the tumor Momma was causing in my brain. <br /><!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br /><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> When she arose to attempt to squeeze into the bathroom once more, I made my break for it. I smiled at Moochy and told him I’d be right back. I hoped to be wrong in that assessment, more than anything in my life before it. My eyes frantically searched the aisle, counting heads among the seats, hoping for an empty spot anywhere but the Hell I left behind. Twice my hopes were high only to find slouching passengers, sleeping uncomfortably with their necks against the shoulder rest. The third time was a charm.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> I feverishly asked the man in the center seat if the unoccupied space beside him was taken. He answered honestly by saying that it was not. I plopped down beside him and shook the hand of both him and the lady to his right. They were the exact opposite of Momma and Moochy, a young twenty-something couple comprised of good looks, culture, and rational thought. A foreign blonde bombshell and a scruffy, snarky smart-aleck; these were my kind of people.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> I explained exactly why I had to move up to their row. Their eyes lit up in the fashion of meeting someone who—somehow—is in on the same inside joke that you thought to have created. “You had to sit next to her?” They saw her exploits prior to boarding, all the while this unsuspecting victim of his own circumstance was zoning out. “Did you see her carry-on?” The man asked with his eyes still wide with excitement of the stories I had to tell. “Be sure to check out her carry-on when she comes back through, it’s see-through luggage loaded with boxes of tampons.” I cringed.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to be quiet,” the flight attendant said to me after a tap on the shoulder. I suppose I am an easier target than that of an angry, hungry four-hundred-pound gorilla who tries to literally eat her offspring several rows back. I was so bewildered by the order for obedience that I could not reply. I sat mouth agape at the logic in asking me—who was speaking in a hushed tone—to calm down, all while a woman abused her child and assaulted a passenger for three hours without a care.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> After an hour or so of talking with probably the best flight companions I’ve ever had in my journeys on a myriad of topics from politics to religion to child-abusing she-beasts, the plane had docked. My lifelong travel angels and I held back and waited for the stars of our discussions to deboard the aircraft. Moochy quickly piled out at the craft, leaving his mother to shamble amongst herself. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Praise the Good Lord, Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior,” Momma shouted in happiness.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Hallelujah,” said my newfound friend to my right.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> I walked with the better pairing of the two I had sat beside on Flight 914 out of Phoenix to the luggage claim and said our goodbyes, parting them with souvenirs I had picked up on the promotional wing of my business trip. They earned them for offering me asylum from the wicked. As I obtained my luggage, which was lucky enough to have been spared such a terrible adventure, I walked to the exit only to find Moochy, Momma, and Robbie, who looked exactly as I imagined him: tall, big, nasty. Ten or so boxes of Playtex were pressed up against the clear luggage atop Robbie’s gargantuan shoulders.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> I still have the boarding pass for Flight 914. I am planning on framing it as a testament to my ability to survive. I only wish I would have helped Moochy more than I tried to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Zoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00272026847822622195noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5918721118420939146.post-32276593226786515272012-02-10T11:42:00.000-08:002012-02-10T12:06:45.004-08:00Top 10 of '11 - #1: Dark SoulsI’m not a fan of difficult games. This may come as a shocking revelation to some of you, given my absolute love of games like Super Meat Boy and the indie PC romp, I Wanna Be The Guy, but the thought of marinating hours of my life in something that will eventually best me is not necessarily what I would describe as an enjoyable experience; I much prefer being entertained within those hours rather than belittled. I was hesitant to pick up Dark Souls at the retail price, but decided to roll the dice on a game that looked to be nothing I find profoundly moving about the action/adventure genre. The looks certainly are not deceiving in this instance, but opposites surely attract.<br /><br />As the game begins, you are thrust into a treacherous world where everything feels like that of an illusion, as if you’re being perpetually picked on by a higher power – something that fits well into the lore where mankind has been seemingly doomed by a vague plague. Stepping on certain blocks in close corridors can send a ball of fire tumbling down the staircase you’re approaching, or shove arrows into your chest if you left your shield aside (or if your reaction time is too slow).<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xfZr4T-TeWvKnZF9l6GmCvtUcX08OVpqr6rN83rEWOaHv8RwUWjWlwPFIUc2r9i_4DszyUXrbJai-Ke1yCi2jjSz8_v1FprTrQo5frHsZeH6267jy3bq3tBvOAKgbCeJ3rG3Q_DfLjg/s1600/DARK1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 100px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xfZr4T-TeWvKnZF9l6GmCvtUcX08OVpqr6rN83rEWOaHv8RwUWjWlwPFIUc2r9i_4DszyUXrbJai-Ke1yCi2jjSz8_v1FprTrQo5frHsZeH6267jy3bq3tBvOAKgbCeJ3rG3Q_DfLjg/s200/DARK1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707596761339089106" /></a><br /><br />Dark Souls is, in a word, seductive. The idea of danger waiting around the corner practically picks you up and throws you in that general direction, like a cartoonish aroma delivering an animated dog to a pie’s windowsill. The thrill of the hunt is in full effect with Dark Souls, which often flashes a little thigh in the form of towering giants looming in the background, a glimpse into the impending area’s climax. <br /><br />That seduction does not cease with the intrigue of difficulty and visuals, either. Perhaps the most intriguing part of Dark Souls is the fact that it is, at its heart, a minimalist effort. The designers focused strongly on the engine, which is solid and rarely feels inconsistent with hit detection (which is key in a game this difficult – if you die, it’s your fault) and the level design, which is among the best I have ever seen in the genre. By the wayside is a text-driven adventure the likes of an Elder Scrolls title, leaving the story solely in the hands of a prologue that speaks in riddles and the brief descriptions of equipment strewn about the map. I find most adventure games off-putting due to their wordy nature and lofty lore; in Dark Souls, the story is but an afterthought, and one that leaves you just as engaged as 1,200 pages of text. Curiosity casts a new light on what little there is to know about your surroundings, the once-humans you slaughter, and the boss confrontations that the entire game slowly builds up to - from introduction to the depressingly-short conclusions, which is the game’s biggest weakness. For more on how the story unfolds within the imagination, I wholly recommend the year's best piece of gaming journalism, <a href="http://savetherobot.wordpress.com/2012/01/02/the-great-big-puzzle-box-a-close-look-at-dark-souls-ingenious-difficulty-as-witnessed-by-one-dead-guy-in-sens-fortress/">Chris Dahlen’s essay on Dark Souls</a>. <br /><br />Very rarely has an adventure game penetrated the survival horror genre, but lo and behold, Dark Souls is the scariest game of the year. This is not necessarily due to the wraith knights that charge you from the darkness in the New Londo Ruins, or the boulder-chucking strongmen who startle you in the swamps, but a legitimate fear rumbling in your belly, one of making a single wrong turn and losing all you’ve worked for. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwYkM0w0EOF67TayF9EOUK4ZstrOY_gEe4zw05svY9-uks6_-JlZPcnGhYzoo2tnIMN4N5FYI8wHfZB0y_L8fjv0uc5k21xkQCHzR70ow8bagzyx_lKypjdu6GsylFSWr2TWo8gIh8Xfw/s1600/DARK3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 112px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwYkM0w0EOF67TayF9EOUK4ZstrOY_gEe4zw05svY9-uks6_-JlZPcnGhYzoo2tnIMN4N5FYI8wHfZB0y_L8fjv0uc5k21xkQCHzR70ow8bagzyx_lKypjdu6GsylFSWr2TWo8gIh8Xfw/s200/DARK3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707596764954598050" /></a><br /><br />With no pause button in sight and bonfire checkpoints few and far between, there is a sinking feeling once you realize the path you’ve been going along is so far removed from the outside world. The world is brilliantly designed with many shortcuts accessible upon completion of a specific area, all of which conveniently lead back to the main hub of the world, the Firelink Shrine - but later in the game these shortcuts become a thing of the past. Approaching the entrance to Lost Izalith, one of the final areas in one of the boss arcs, I realized just how far below the surface I truly was; in order to reach Lost Izalith, I had to pass through the sunny outdoors of the Undead Burg; the creepy labyrinth of the Depths into the poison swamps of Blighttown; traverse the Domain of the spider-woman hybrid, Quelaag; and finally succumb to the flames of hell in Demon Ruins, all just to arrive at the doorstep of a devilishly difficult (and insanely climactic, from a minimalist’s storyline perspective) lair of sorrow to hopefully put a good witch out of her misery. To think of the hours put into the game just to reach this point – not even to count the other branches on the map’s tree that sprout off into other directions, but to solely think of this arc alone – and to realize just how far you have come geographically make you realize that you are on an actual adventure. From my own experience, this is simply unprecedented in video games; it is the type of lore typically reserved for literature alone.<br /><br />Ultimately, that is a huge reason to love Dark Souls: the exploration. The majority of the world is open right from the start, with paths branching to the underground, the graveyard, and up above. The game never sways you in one direction; I first tried the graveyard only to stumble into the Catacombs, the eeriest area of the entire world map, where enemies resurrect after defeat unless you slay them with a particular weapon. I soon realized that I was perhaps 55 levels too low to be sniffing around in such a terrifying den of burden and smite.<br /><br />Perhaps Dark Souls is at its best whenever we come to the “It’s too late to turn back now” moments, which the game has dozens of. The game certainly has the reputation to turn a liberal gamer into a staunch conservative when it comes to adventure. You may desire the thrill of finding a rare piece of equipment or exploring a new area, but how much does it mean to you? Is losing hours of progress really worth the risk? How close was the last bonfire? These are the options you must weigh continually, possibly several times per hour, while playing Dark Souls. Those who are brave (and good) enough to explore are more often than not rewarded handsomely.<br /><br />Of course, the literal “It’s too late to turn back now” moments come in the form of white fog doors, which more often than not represent an impending boss or mini-boss fight. Once you cross through the fog, it does not dissolve until the boss has been eradicated. I found myself scrolling through the menu to find how far I was from accumulating enough souls from enemies in order to bank them by leveling up, or visiting a nearby blacksmith to upgrade a weapon, since souls are used as either experience or currency in Dark Souls. “Oh, I’m only 30 minutes away from leveling up? Let’s hold off, then.”<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwr51UeD_pLsMBbeVDxX9CzQ3ZzddGiinjKMP_E-GQpksyKhyfJV6SJFfSBqNUQ6FYPvA-x6qvTmr1y7T9y3tQ2Czi1c98Ca4PPiB8tvWvlubJmMPgRkzWqK_khv8XFrkUBehD9CZjRw0/s1600/DARK2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 112px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwr51UeD_pLsMBbeVDxX9CzQ3ZzddGiinjKMP_E-GQpksyKhyfJV6SJFfSBqNUQ6FYPvA-x6qvTmr1y7T9y3tQ2Czi1c98Ca4PPiB8tvWvlubJmMPgRkzWqK_khv8XFrkUBehD9CZjRw0/s200/DARK2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707596765380748850" /></a><br />Playing online is essential to the experience, which provides something entirely new and unique to the art of video games in the form of notes left by other players. At one point in the game you must cross a series of invisible bridges, where only a crystal abyss of inevitable death awaits upon fall. In order to figure out where the bridges begin, turn, ascend, or abruptly end, it can take a lot of patience and photographic memory, or by hopping online, markers left by helpful (or deceitful) players just like yourself. Do you trust the marker that states the path is up ahead? Putting this much faith in a total stranger can be a godsend or a costly, naïve mistake; in order to even reach this point, you must traverse a courtyard filled with golems that can annihilate you in two swings.<br /><br />At the end of the day, 2011 was littered with a Game of the Year for everyone. I figured to have discovered my own way back in January with Dead Space 2, but found myself coming back to my memories of Dark Souls more often than Isaac Clarke’s second adventure in losing his mind. The trial and error learning curve, “pick your poison” exploration, and overall feeling of satisfaction upon completing what once felt like an insurmountable boss battle is enough to stick with a gamer for a lifetime. Try Dark Souls, because you’ve never had a complete experience this rewarding in gaming.Zoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00272026847822622195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5918721118420939146.post-898410530542838262012-02-09T10:44:00.000-08:002012-02-09T11:26:42.633-08:00Top 10 of '11 - #2: Dead Space 2Are we enamored with beauty? Studies say that small children are more likely to be attracted to beautiful people than those of us who resemble the likes of me, so certainly this is not an issue created by social means despite being fueled by such. Similarly, we like pretty games. We like seeing what technology is capable of. The message board elite have downplayed the thought that graphics are important similar to that of a flustered parent hushing the notion that their child is not adequately cute. We can sit here all day and state that graphics are of little importance, but just as we play the part of the fool with our mouths agape at the sign of an attractive person walking into the room, we’ll sit in front of the television with stars in our eyes when something wows us.<br /><br />My jaw’s agape on this one: Dead Space 2 is utterly gorgeous.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE2VqJnd71R_NuLuUXJRKcwG0SBoYdEorkGycMlJsieTTyPCa9TOuW02wEYyhCbkNsZ1Oo86gtLHUClmOGtGvdFmXfp8kWVfjOdhAXb94YOuahgxEg5sOQW9jlUcXhzD1LgvMxUrwIi5c/s1600/DEADSPACE1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 113px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE2VqJnd71R_NuLuUXJRKcwG0SBoYdEorkGycMlJsieTTyPCa9TOuW02wEYyhCbkNsZ1Oo86gtLHUClmOGtGvdFmXfp8kWVfjOdhAXb94YOuahgxEg5sOQW9jlUcXhzD1LgvMxUrwIi5c/s200/DEADSPACE1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707215222804781538" /></a><br />The second outing in the franchise from Visceral Games (Dead Space, Dante’s Inferno), Dead Space 2 is the complete package: It has the brains to understand how to properly terrify those who are brave enough to grasp the controller, it has the charm to provide enough cinematic moments to compete with the likes of the Uncharted franchise, it has the imagination to soar to limitless heights, and above all else, it has the looks. It very well could be the Felicia Day of videogames.<br /><br />On more than one occasion, I would find myself staring out from the starboard, taking in the beauty of a perilous galaxy gone mad. It’s often hard to envision such tragic horrors taking place literally right beside Isaac Clarke with the imaginative artwork that is the natural order of things, from nearby superstations to orbiting stars. Even if the view outside is obscured, taking in the design of The Sprawl, a mini-mall in space with adjacent daycare for the kids (who in turn become infected and ripped limb from limb), is surreal enough to keep you interested in seeing the sights. When you’re counting the dust particles illuminated from within a church’s sanctity -- as the blood dries from your latest conquer, of course -- you know the designers must have done something right.<br /><br />Right from the opening cut-scene and the sequence that follows, the game hits the ground running. This is the first time I have died in an opening sequence in years, simply because it is so fast paced. Confined to a straight jacket and wandering the halls in a gut-wrenching blaze of glory, you must narrowly avoid the necromorphs that are busting out of their hospital quarters. Are you to be the lone survivor, as fellow patients and doctors alike are being consumed by the monsters surrounding you? And why are you even in this facility? Where are you? The opening five minutes set up a series of questions that keeps the game thriving and well-paced throughout, all while expanding on the lore that the franchise revels in, what with its animated movies and whatnot.<br /><br />What is it about Dead Space 2 that makes it so special? One of the things it instantly gains is its expansion of the science-fiction medium as a whole. In Hollywood, filmmakers are restricted to the bounds of Earth to depict their creative journeys, where they can only do as much as their locations and set creativity will allow them to do. On the flip-side, videogames such as Dead Space 2 have no limitations; they are bound only by the designers’ imagination. The folks at Visceral Games understand this more than any other developer in the history of the gaming industry, unchaining our customs and expanding our minds with uncanny sequences that are, at their very core, the definition of inspiring. From enemy design the likes of which we have not seen since the Silent Hill series was at its boom period to mapping out the bird-infested living quarters of a caretaker gone mad, the mood is set throughout the game thanks to the imagination of those who have put everything in place.<br /><br />Dead Space 2 works best when it is pulling from all directions of inspiration, taking things such as a classroom we might find here on Earth and distorting its edges to give it the feel of something familiar but entirely different all the same. Not dissimilar to mistaking a stranger for a friend from behind, Dead Space 2 pulls back the curtain abruptly in most cases, turning something joyous into a relatively shocking experience. Seeing daycares, churches, living quarters, and even retail corridors molded into something heinous and strange with a dark tint over it is a strength for Dead Space 2, even if it’s a new feeling to the series. It is -- and I mean this as the highest form of a compliment -- like playing through one of your nightmares.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCyc31K9nyWCB80y80Dq4FlzXGAhT9M-hnt2ckyckr42xvWnDYtL_Mrl635NIjnBUWamOeOOePEfIQsmRvNr23KDUftLzwz6DuolhZ5szcTI9EXB5yaUXDUvdqLHyz4HoVDBPSs3R8n0Q/s1600/DEADSPACE2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 112px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCyc31K9nyWCB80y80Dq4FlzXGAhT9M-hnt2ckyckr42xvWnDYtL_Mrl635NIjnBUWamOeOOePEfIQsmRvNr23KDUftLzwz6DuolhZ5szcTI9EXB5yaUXDUvdqLHyz4HoVDBPSs3R8n0Q/s200/DEADSPACE2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707215227126866306" /></a><br />While nothing may ever top Uncharted 3: Drake’s Deception in terms of cinematic value for gaming, Dead Space 2 is no lightweight; consider it the Adam Wainwright to Uncharted’s Roy Halladay, providing monumental moments when they are needed most, such as rocketing through space and dodging asteroids ala God of War or being dragged through an abandoned hull by a creature you can’t quite see until it is nose-to-nose with you. Uncharted’s amazing cut-scenes and edge-of-your-seat gameplay sequences will be tops for many years, but Dead Space 2’s flirtations with the cinematic feel more realistic. After all, just how many times can Nathan Drake be thrown from skyscrapers or escape sinking labyrinths before he croaks?<br /><br />All great things have a tragic end, and that may very well be in place for the Dead Space IP. EA has been dissatisfied with the end results on Dead Space 2’s sales, and look to take the franchise in a different direction by turning the ingenious third-person survival horror title, complete with its fantastic HUD that depicts Isaac’s iconic life bar along his spinal column, into a first-person shooter. What a pity to see corporation step in and throw a winning formula under the bus for the sake of an experiment that will crush originality in favor of placing another great circular franchise into a square box, no matter how much they must mash it and break it in order to make it fit. Let’s hope they have a change of heart. Dead Space 2 is deadlocked with the original in terms of quality, and I consider both to be among the best games of this generation. Do not miss them.Zoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00272026847822622195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5918721118420939146.post-5153078792894761172012-02-08T10:15:00.000-08:002012-02-08T10:34:55.453-08:00Top 10 of '11 - #3: Uncharted 3: Drake's DeceptionThe Uncharted series is amongst the very best in new IPs to come out of the PlayStation 3/Xbox 360-era. It does a lot of things right, but the two things it does absolutely better than literally any other IP on the market is character interaction and cinematic sequences. Both of those areas have hit their pinnacle with the third opus, Uncharted 3: Drake’s Deception.<br /><br />Beginning with a bang that leaves both Drake and his cohort Sully injured by a gunshot wound in a London alleyway atop a heap of garbage, Uncharted 3: Drake’s Deception does everything that made the Indiana Jones series it often imitates so much fun. Taking the time in its third round to flesh out the back-story between Nathan Drake and Victor Sullivan, including an in-depth focus on Drake’s childhood and ancestry, the game openly displays the heart of its character (and therefore its characters), allowing you to peer into the emotional attachment between the two best friends of different ages. It's a roller coaster of emotion that plays with your heart strings on more than one occasion due to the impeccable direction of the game, trumping even the best of action films that Hollywood has to offer. Simply put, the game coaxes you into thinking that Nate and Sully are your friends, too.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0KJvP_D9UVDQsy4sc4af0ViNnyzMt6Kvf7irpiKFqIHgdfHYInXAF5WeNzVqDe3vinGFfrlU7YfbmKc0QSdPy1x86RQVUfFzlrp82XWB7I3pn17lPu7LkFMJ6M6cYYLo5d0LbH6kqEek/s1600/UNCHARTED2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 98px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0KJvP_D9UVDQsy4sc4af0ViNnyzMt6Kvf7irpiKFqIHgdfHYInXAF5WeNzVqDe3vinGFfrlU7YfbmKc0QSdPy1x86RQVUfFzlrp82XWB7I3pn17lPu7LkFMJ6M6cYYLo5d0LbH6kqEek/s200/UNCHARTED2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706831526626180162" /></a><br />One of the most impressive things about the Uncharted franchise – one thing that particular shines in this third installment – is the game always gives you a peek into what is going to happen in the game. Box art spoilers ahoy, but when you see Drake board an airplane, you know it’s going to crash. As they say, the fun is not the destination but the journey itself, and Naughty Dog always knows how to keep us on our toes. In all of the game’s big sequences, we knew what direction the game was taking us, yet we’re all so stunned by the way it gets us there. If for nothing else, Naughty Dog should be commended for its imagination.<br /><br />That is one of my personal favorite things about the Uncharted series as a whole, but in particular this release: each adventure is like a big “connect the dots” portrait, with a series of smaller dots leading to four to six big dots. The game will occasionally slow down with ho-hum corridors filled with generic gun-toting bad guys, but the thrill of seeing what these smaller dots eventually connect to is more than enough to keep shoving you in that direction – and it never, ever disappoints once you get there.<br /><br />In terms of gameplay, Uncharted continues to do some things right and some things wrong. I find it increasingly difficult to play an Assassin’s Creed game after an Uncharted adventure, as I did this year, as Uncharted 3: Drake’s Deception raises the bar for how acrobatics should be handled in gaming. True, it looks quite ridiculous to see Drake flailing about along the protruding ridges of a building’s landscape, but it certainly feels more fluid than the clunky, "realistic" approach that Assassin’s Creed adapts. Sometimes it is wise to remember that videogames, above seeming realistic, should be fun. Uncharted does the best job of making it abundantly clear which areas are accessible via scaling, rarely forcing you to take a leap of faith in order to find out.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJBzbNOiGdw3F21t3gZGxbjRgcZ7S7p2n3ICwq3WdpK0rq8FU2riu7lig6qWDhyphenhypheniqu2SE7CofLpUd0bj3afaSrY6hwbpA3XltLwtH-SHbVwWcmkfBDA2goKkWY1nlSTMyG5ca29ZPOSbg/s1600/UNCHARTED1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 111px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJBzbNOiGdw3F21t3gZGxbjRgcZ7S7p2n3ICwq3WdpK0rq8FU2riu7lig6qWDhyphenhypheniqu2SE7CofLpUd0bj3afaSrY6hwbpA3XltLwtH-SHbVwWcmkfBDA2goKkWY1nlSTMyG5ca29ZPOSbg/s200/UNCHARTED1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706831531707225842" /></a><br />This brings us to the black sheep of Uncharted 3: Drake’s Deception’s skill set in the gunplay. In a game that focusing so much on action sequences where Drake can be utterly surrounded by shotgun-wielding, armor-wearing, shield-toting vigilantes, you should have the absolute best in gunplay in order to effectively defend yourself. The only thing worse in a shooter than an incredibly sensitive aiming reticle is one that is so numb to movement that it takes a jerking motion to set it in the general vicinity of your target, which is exactly what we have with the third Uncharted installment – and a step backwards for the series.<br /><br />In a normal year of gaming, Uncharted 3: Drake’s Deception could win Game of the Year without a problem. It has the looks, it has the brains, it has the muscle, and it definitely, above all other contenders this year, has the heart. Unfortunately for Naughty Dog, something as small as sluggish aiming controls during gunplay is enough to hold this one back from winning such honors in a tightly contested year such as 2011. <br /><br />Do not let a flaw or two persuade you away from one of the best experiences in gaming of the year, as Drake's Deception's story will deceive you enough times along the way to a terrific conclusion to leave you smiling. I'm not sure why Nate continually gets himself crossed up in these outlandish adventures (and lives to tell the tale, no less), but I could go for a few dozen more.Zoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00272026847822622195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5918721118420939146.post-7843297267148292112012-02-07T10:40:00.000-08:002012-02-08T10:36:53.886-08:00Top 10 of '11 - #4: L.A. NoireThere is something peculiar about a new type of genre in the gaming industry, or one that significantly tweaks an existing category to its liking, that piques our interest as gamers. We like being on the up and up with technology and advances over what we currently have, be it from the Nintendo 3DS and the AR Games advancement (which, admittedly, still blows my feeble mind) or the leaps and bounds that the motion capturing industry has made, albeit in an unorthodox fashion, with the arrival of L.A. Noire.<br /><br />The intrigue sets in thanks to a beautifully crafted story, where war hero Cole Phelps is coming home from World War II only to battle his personal demons in the face of the physical ones on the streets of 1940s Los Angeles, California. Becoming a beat cop and graduating to detective, you play as Phelps as he moves up (and down) the ranks of the Los Angeles Police Department, deciphering the identity of petty thieves to serial killers in the bowels of L.A. during its Golden Era.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEies6xVJJD50R0vFa9NiZYOkpyPqT5-ClPbyMbVrriZVY4OUoAqc2ECiTumE9XqmXz8rPWqc4HLsQskIKhE50FNTe4aVgIiykJxZKSJR_Id_d6GqzCyfVJfKDFvSOy1sBT3VSdMNHdaSRc/s1600/LANOIRE1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 123px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEies6xVJJD50R0vFa9NiZYOkpyPqT5-ClPbyMbVrriZVY4OUoAqc2ECiTumE9XqmXz8rPWqc4HLsQskIKhE50FNTe4aVgIiykJxZKSJR_Id_d6GqzCyfVJfKDFvSOy1sBT3VSdMNHdaSRc/s200/LANOIRE1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706470240077453426" /></a><br />From the outset, you’re thrust into a murder case where the answers should be blatantly obvious… unless you’re me, as I quickly discovered that I am a dreadful judge of character. I’m fairly certain that you could be holding a bloody knife next to a corpse with stab wounds and I’d be on the fence as to whether or not something fishy was up, at least judging by my initial results in L.A. Noire. Unlike any game before it, L.A. Noire forces you to ditch your good guy (or in this instance, good cop) intentions; it forces you out of your comfort zone. In L.A. Noire, no longer can you merely play through a BioWare-esque experience taking the “good” path carelessly. If you try to be the Rebel Jedi in this one, more often than not you will fail at being a good detective, as you can grill the presumably innocent to unlock new clues to further your investigation. By finding additional leads through these interrogations or grilling, you can access possible correct paths to take when coming to a conclusion in your case. This makes it necessary to be an intuitive enforcer if you are aiming for the proper ending to that particular case, as you will be stuck with your decisions made throughout the process. Indeed, you reap what you sow.<br /><br />The innovative motion capturing technology allows you to see truly lifelike facial movements from those in question, a real breakthrough for gaming as a whole. There are arguments lingering as to whether or not this route of mocap is the future of the industry, with Heavy Rain’s David Cage <a href="http://www.eurogamer.net/articles/2011-03-31-l-a-noire-tech-is-interesting-dead-end">calling it a “dead-end” for advancement</a>. Likewise, Naughty Dog’s Richard Lemarchand has stated that due to the sophisticated technology’s restrictions, <a href="http://www.escapistmagazine.com/news/view/113255-Nathan-Drake-Calls-L-A-Noires-Facial-Capture-Tech-Inhibitive">actors cannot riff off of one another to create better chemistry</a>. In hindsight, the jagged and disconnected fragments seldom stand out in a negative fashion due to the serious light that the game is portrayed in. This tech certainly wouldn’t work for the likes of the character-heavy, banter-laden Uncharted series, but it serves a wonderful purpose in L.A. Noire. As for Cage, let’s color him jealous for no apparent reason; both Heavy Rain and L.A. Noire execute what they set course to accomplish, and both are worthy recommendations.<br /><br />While the look of the game and its innovative technologies that influence the gameplay will be the thing to suck you in and primarily work as its sticking point, one cannot overlook the world that Team Bondi has successfully brought back to life. A sandbox title is only as good as the world map you’re given to explore in. Everything appears clear and crisp, a movie-esque Los Angeles where it seems impossible for depravity to dwell, turning the landscape into an underground den of criminality beneath its rosy surface. <br /><br />Much like the world around you in L.A. Noire, the characters appear cut and dry on the exterior until you really dig into their trials and tribulations endured over the course of the war. I struggle with the likelihood that these heroes could come back home to find themselves all intertwined in the same schemes – on both sides of the game, no less – in the same city and all, but I’m willing to suspend my belief based on the fact that the performances and writing are titillating enough to tickle the curiosity of most gamers. There comes a time when we can finally expect stellar storytelling in gaming as a platform, and it’s ushered in by the likes of L.A. Noire and the previously-mentioned Heavy Rain.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE8OSt7hgTbq8ndjBUjx8PLEC9j_B6c6XhwHd1wgbMTmPdyTdYOZLabpOk6hfqIYlrmv6p7qdu1nlcoopmi4bnNPWw4yOz9Tdy6JJr5gD632VBJsfdIH_1QiB6VCIvBxnXYVyxmYSSspA/s1600/LANOIRE2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 112px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE8OSt7hgTbq8ndjBUjx8PLEC9j_B6c6XhwHd1wgbMTmPdyTdYOZLabpOk6hfqIYlrmv6p7qdu1nlcoopmi4bnNPWw4yOz9Tdy6JJr5gD632VBJsfdIH_1QiB6VCIvBxnXYVyxmYSSspA/s200/LANOIRE2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706470240084989794" /></a><br />L.A. Noire may look as though it panders to the Grand Theft Auto crowd on the surface, but those presumptions are washed away as soon as you begin playing as the opposite side of the seedy underground that GTA marinades in. Slow-paced clue-hunting at crime scenes will lead to non-violent searches at establishments within the game’s beautifully-rendered Los Angeles setting, looking for murder weapons or drug stashes. This is more CSI than GTA for the betterment of the game; after all, if we wanted to play GTA, wouldn’t we simply pop that in? L.A. Noire creates its own identity, one that could be picked out of any line-up.<br /><br />As we all know, Team Bondi has gone by the wayside as a result of their hard work and craftsmanship on L.A. Noire, which is a huge loss to budding development studios everywhere. The long hours they put into perfecting L.A. Noire were one of the reasons for their downfall. The creative folks who concocted the title will go on to do other projects that will entice the masses, but the studio itself looks as though it will not rise from the ashes. It is a shame that a swansong has to be played this early in the life of a studio, but oh, what a melody it is.Zoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00272026847822622195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5918721118420939146.post-52952600083903697102012-02-06T11:04:00.000-08:002012-02-08T10:36:25.117-08:00Top 10 of '11 - #5: Portal 2I’ve been dreading smacking my hands against the keyboard to explain why this is not my Game of the Year for 2011. It’s an obvious choice for so many out there that anything short of a Top 3 placement could tick a few of you off, as it probably should; Portal 2 is, from front to back, one of the most memorable games of the year. It is a game that anyone who loves the industry would wholly recommend to everyone in earshot and beyond, because it does everything right.<br /><br />So, why isn’t Portal 2 in my Top 3? That’s probably why I have saved this write-up for last among my ten selections – I do not have a concrete answer, other than my selections are based upon personal preference (obviously). It is a game that begins with something familiar and steadily gets better as it goes along, properly introducing new gameplay elements at exactly the right moments to where you never feel overwhelmed with new knowledge on how to solve the puzzles you’re on. In terms of construction, Portal 2 is matched and surpassed only by my #1 selection of the year, which is hard to do in a day and age where pacing has all but gone the way of the dodo.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic7dXBf2xe2EFhINaxrcbanyEHuGtDXkquq9zrCirG29xDxgJINt7UkTlwV5LyGfWnH1CEe7f2OR-dsyEcCK9ai4aMVVsyxeId0MPK1oCOBPMtFZdYNrD_xhv2eqyMwHTwfNHNNheq7iA/s1600/PORTAL2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 113px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic7dXBf2xe2EFhINaxrcbanyEHuGtDXkquq9zrCirG29xDxgJINt7UkTlwV5LyGfWnH1CEe7f2OR-dsyEcCK9ai4aMVVsyxeId0MPK1oCOBPMtFZdYNrD_xhv2eqyMwHTwfNHNNheq7iA/s200/PORTAL2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706104290779390626" /></a><br />The game begins as Chell once again finds herself in the loving grasp of GLaDOS, the evil computer who has dedicated her existence to expanding scientific research against human subjects. With your new dimwitted robotic pal Wheatley, you must attempt to brave through the revenge that GLaDOS sets in place for your destruction of her components in the first game’s conclusion. All is well, all is familiar, all is fun... but when you meet up with GLaDOS, things take a tumble for the strange as you’re displaced outside of the laboratories. <br /><br />Portal is at its best when it makes you laugh - which says a lot, given the amount of things it is great at doing. The first game was littered with uncanny, hilarious dialogue coming from the “mouth” of GLaDOS, often making the entire experience feel like a huge inside joke that you are a part of. That’s ultimately where Portal succeeds more so than any other game series in the history of our industry: the people who “get” Portal are welcomed with open arms by other fans of the franchise, as we become a fraternity in homage to the boundless wit and heart of the folks who make it.<br /><br />What Portal 2 does to expand on the universe the game is set in is astounding, and the truest example of evolution of a franchise beyond gameplay. Taking the portal gun’s concepts and dropping them outside of the testing chambers is a huge leap forward for the engine, as it literally forces you to think just as differently with using portals as the first game’s introduction to the device did. Likewise, the game takes a gigantic leap toward progress by moving beyond just the wonderful writing and delivery to invoke a still sadness over the entire situation. Playing with your heart strings, you are introduced to Cave Johnson, the facility’s overseer during its boom period across the ‘60s and ‘70s, and witness his effortless intellect at work throughout his best years as a scientist, all the way until his health begins to fail (see: Lemon Rant). The situation stinks for everyone involved underneath all of the funny one-liners and phenomenal acting from the likes of J.K. Simmons and Stephen Merchant, but the writers never truly throw the despair in your face; you must discover the subtlety of how depressing the situation is on your own through the scenery of the rummaged-by-nature Aperture HQ and the timely delivery of the actors’ lines.<br /><br />For those of you who are constantly in need of something new and fresh, you can attempt to properly coordinate puzzle solving with a friend (or even worse, a stranger) via the brand new multiplayer mode – or as I call it, the “Learn to Hate Your Friends in Two Hours” seminar. Many feel that this is the true strength of Portal 2, though the flavors are truly different enough to distinguish themselves as sweet and salty. The story sequence provides moderate puzzles with heavy mythology sprinkled throughout for the game’s betterment, while the multiplayer experience relies on strict cooperation between two people with impeccable timing. Note to self: do not play with friends who have slow motor skills.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ28FulQrMrKo6U5qDAYo1z6zD-qDqIQ2EPXbS5h-JOA27ygVtd6epXegTT6hyT1BIeXjBQmplw-A1mMQe60rL-LXfh1EGKvbv04e6ogDLG5LHc9t8ef2h5m60p1Z7d0YZYh8knuoFg60/s1600/PORTAL1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 120px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ28FulQrMrKo6U5qDAYo1z6zD-qDqIQ2EPXbS5h-JOA27ygVtd6epXegTT6hyT1BIeXjBQmplw-A1mMQe60rL-LXfh1EGKvbv04e6ogDLG5LHc9t8ef2h5m60p1Z7d0YZYh8knuoFg60/s200/PORTAL1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706104283371426178" /></a><br />Amidst all of the things Portal 2 does right, my favorite thing is its ability to switch-up its core setting midway through the game, making the second act feel so incredibly, strangely different from everything that comes before or after it; it is the Bohemian Rhapsody of video games. Oddly enough, I also love that song but it is nowhere near the top of my favorites. This sequence also gives us an inside-look at what other madness Cave Johnson dreamt up during his years at Aperture, from the likes of turning participants into mantis men to his endearing globs of paint that actively manipulate physics throughout the lab. The introduction to paint that makes you bounce or sprint adds another realm of options to dive into while making your way through the facility, adding even more depth to the array of puzzles that comprise the title.<br /><br />Perhaps Portal 2 is destined to be the one game that everybody can find something to love about in varying degrees. I concede that Portal 2 does literally everything right, from the artistic design to the puzzle implementation to the pacing to the writing. If it is in Portal 2, it is done to perfection. My apathy toward the puzzle genre may hinder the undying affection for the title that millions of others feel, but I can honestly say that this is not in my Top 3 solely out of personal opinion, as the game flawlessly executes everything it sets out to do.Zoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00272026847822622195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5918721118420939146.post-66644654935045250902012-02-05T10:50:00.000-08:002012-02-08T10:35:50.774-08:00Top 10 of '11 - #6: Mortal KombatSeveral weeks ago, I saw a post on Lamebook about a young woman who was utterly perplexed as to why a telephone from the 1990s was plugged into itself, unaware that the cord attached the unit to the receiver. Everybody has a laugh and thinks, “Oh boy, aren’t we old when kids these days don’t even recognize what a telephone from 20 years ago looked like!” It then dawned on me: kids these days might not know what the arcades were.<br /><br />Notice the tense used right there: were. About five years ago I visited my favorite arcade, about 25 miles from my old stomping grounds. It was a plush basement within a mall, complete with an underground mini-golf course and rows upon rows of arcade machines during the fighting genre’s boom period. I can still remember how loud the Mortal Kombat II machines roared in my face, the screaming of combatants being torn limb from limb prior to a bass-driven declaration of victory from an unseen narrator. These are fond memories from a time that will never come back into the mainstream, as our machines at home are more powerful, more rewarding, and offer a wealth of competition from around the globe in the comfort of our living rooms. Kids these days will never really understand why we spent hundreds of dollars on a game we could never even take home with us against lackluster local competition comprised of burnouts (at least in the Midwest). There was something about putting your money where your mouth is, the camaraderie between frequent mallrats who played the same machines, and the social atmosphere. It’s sad to face, but facts are facts: we will never see that again. It is a relic in time that is to be lost on future generations.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjno_aHwzB_Q0sqGh4EPG5kTaoQtOAst-gAKCMGhYveW7YjRiuVjlglps0a5fUZWU7gmLxs-lZ_QyWPaAexjKn8DP9txgjqDiZpdO-PictnLlwXLb7kfmaZeewMeDBX-9oLl02I8LLiKa4/s1600/MK1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 110px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjno_aHwzB_Q0sqGh4EPG5kTaoQtOAst-gAKCMGhYveW7YjRiuVjlglps0a5fUZWU7gmLxs-lZ_QyWPaAexjKn8DP9txgjqDiZpdO-PictnLlwXLb7kfmaZeewMeDBX-9oLl02I8LLiKa4/s200/MK1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705727769759549266" /></a><br />Growing old sucks, and this dawning realization that arcades are next on the list of things kids simply won’t understand (and logically so – while I never regret the money poured into the arcades as an adolescent, it was never very practical) is just another extension of getting older. Partially because I hadn’t played a captivating fighting game in a while and partially out of nostalgia, I took a keen liking to the development cycle of Mortal Kombat, the ninth installment of the fighting game staple that brought the genre to the mainstream. Thankfully, it did not disappoint.<br /><br />Blending the careful juggling made popular in the heyday of the Mortal Kombat franchise from Mortal Kombat II through Ultimate Mortal Kombat 3 with the dashing abilities that 3D fighters have implemented liberally, NetherRealm Studios has crafted Mortal Kombat from scratch with a brand new engine that successfully spiritually captures what made the original games so captivating: fast combat, loads of gore, and a flawless sense of humor.<br /><br />One thing that Mortal Kombat infinitely improves on is satisfying combos. Long gone are the days of being able to dial-in your combos with an unblockable series of button combinations that automatically launch a string of attacks with the only way to break through them existing in the form of the player who's executing the attacks screwing their wide timing window up. With the new set-up, you can successfully dial-into a small combo of three hits worth 7% or so damage, but in order to deal the hefty fines, you will have to refine your ability to launch your opponent into the air and set them up with a perfectly-timed combination of attacks to keep them there. It’s not Street Fighter-difficult to master, but still tough enough to weed out the boys from the men.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8hvlaCgDcsOs7Rz9OBgYLP1lzFpIhQlodujpbTRhjQ20KsXRzhNmsu-TfwtTBqhktU16NmU7vM13NF01Epx9wUZgWIq5P_dzigP1LX_N6Bm0GGZ6n7FA0aoRALiDB1VMohtKLQPR9B9s/s1600/MK2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 110px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8hvlaCgDcsOs7Rz9OBgYLP1lzFpIhQlodujpbTRhjQ20KsXRzhNmsu-TfwtTBqhktU16NmU7vM13NF01Epx9wUZgWIq5P_dzigP1LX_N6Bm0GGZ6n7FA0aoRALiDB1VMohtKLQPR9B9s/s200/MK2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705727770593525026" /></a><br />Speaking as a relatively “good” gamer, I can state without a doubt that the fighting game genre is the most inclusive of all game types; it feeds on competition and the level of devotion it takes to become remotely good is often off-putting for many gamers. Unlike popular shooters where you can have fun with your friends while attempting to get better at the game, fighting games leave the spotlight shining solely on you; there is no one to attack while they are distracted with one of your buddies. Likewise, there is no way to play with your friends, only against them. This can cause tension in your inner-circle if you or your friend happens to be pretty decent at the game, making it a tough game to socialize in. Mortal Kombat tries its best to get over these humps by introducing a King of the Hill mode where the winner continues playing until he or she is defeated, all while spectators look at the action from the lobby and toss tomatoes at the screen, amidst other fun expressions.<br /><br />The talk of the town with Mortal Kombat was inarguably the robust Story Mode that complemented the fun arcade-style action, putting you in the boots of random world warriors as they tackled their own paths through Earth Realm and beyond. Raiden sends a message to himself in the past in an effort to prevent Shao Kahn’s stranglehold over humanity, allowing the development team to properly write their love letter to previous Mortal Kombat installments with new takes on classic fatalities, characters, and especially stages – even if Kombat Tomb was overlooked. I’ll never stop wondering how that pterodactyl made his way to Outworld. The backgrounds are one of the better portions of the game, as 90% of them have been properly updated to feel as familiar as ever with a dabbling of artistic fortitude. The Krypt is also back to keep devoted fans chugging along in order to unlock all of the characters, fatalities, artwork and other goodies well after the Story Mode has played out. Simply put, there is a lot of value to be had here.<br /><br />Ultimately, the reason I stopped playing Mortal Kombat was due to the lackluster online stability at the title’s launch. More so than any other genre, lag can utterly destroy an online community before it even begins in the fighting genre, as often the difference between victory and defeat can rest in milliseconds of timing. To face an insurmountable hill to ascend in the form of a half-second of lag is game-breaking, as it’s impossible to adequately time combos when the timing of the game you that enter is unpredictable, varying from lobby to lobby. Consistency is a necessity in these types of games, period. Still, my time with Mortal Kombat was fond enough to provide new memories with the franchise, a feeling that has not been heard of since 1995.<br /><br />Strategy has never been a selling point to the orgy of violence that is Mortal Kombat, but that changes with the arrival of this ninth entry into the long-running fighting series. It's not all about blood and guts these days; if you dig down deep, you might find a little bit of brain matter and cartilage, too.Zoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00272026847822622195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5918721118420939146.post-10882681129480076802012-02-04T11:37:00.000-08:002012-02-04T12:11:51.331-08:00Top 10 of '11 - #7: Rayman OriginsWhen a team gets together and focuses their mind on the type of game they would like to create, comparisons are immediately drawn up. More often than not, the run-of-the-mill games that sit wistfully on store shelves are the ones where the team decided on a generic approach, emulating whatever the hot title was three months prior to its initial development. “This will be like BioShock, but with an emphasis on gunplay!” <br /><br />The truly great games get made under the distinction that the development team decides to go balls to the wall in creating something all to themselves. The reason we talk about games such as BioShock, Shadow of the Colossus, and Braid in such a positive light is the team’s brash, bold decision to create something that they would want to play, a title that further evolves a familiar mold that we all love. You can add Ubisoft Montpellier’s Rayman Origins to this list of love letters that developers write to themselves that we are lucky enough to get our grubby mitts on.<br /><br />I’m a firm believer that if you truly love the work you’re doing, it will shine through in the final product. This is the case with Rayman Origins, a game that works on various levels of emulation but rarely imitation, offering instead to work its own complex platforming engine and ingenious level design into the friendly confines of a colorfully robust world of its own creation. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiid6Jirm98Lqr_LfIIAT8Qgw27NbP3PgVmsVEg5NI_lib_ln_iE7QMwCcL8N3xRbubMfKGgKInp7IuZchGtqP50546n2mCR9sk_fPla7fuHMGmbb6twjo34RCic7FWRidE9a0CG-LuHB4/s1600/RAYMAN1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 111px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiid6Jirm98Lqr_LfIIAT8Qgw27NbP3PgVmsVEg5NI_lib_ln_iE7QMwCcL8N3xRbubMfKGgKInp7IuZchGtqP50546n2mCR9sk_fPla7fuHMGmbb6twjo34RCic7FWRidE9a0CG-LuHB4/s200/RAYMAN1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705367994972467474" /></a><br />Evolving past the days of Goomba-stomping and spinning through loops collecting coins, Rayman Origins instead focuses on the art of platforming itself. Revamping what we consider to be the prototypical platformer, sensitivity and physics have been thrown against the wall in an effort to mix things up in the form of various playable character types. The differences tend to be slight between the plethora of characters and skins, but when your engine is as sleek as that of Rayman Origins, the difference between massive success and colossal failure often lies in the most miniscule of detail; you may have hit that ledge instead of plummeting to their doom if your character provided the teensiest bit of gliding boost, for example.<br /><br />Again, however, all of this is miniscule in the long run. The slightest improvement to a storied formula might not gel as well with others as it does with this open-minded platforming aficionado, and I understand that. What we can all agree on – especially Ubisoft Montpellier – is that the best way to improve the platforming genre is with sophisticated stage design. Rayman Origins delivers more than enough of that, as you will receive several handfuls of brilliantly developed and gorgeously animated stages after the initial introductory world, which is admittedly bland at first glance. This bleeds over to the smile-inducing boss battles, as well, where a myriad of oversized goons are yours for the smacking.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZGuYKW2JLOqFlYjtXl-r-BcfboQJmBpTACfHymXA2QVQl9ohTuwxhJqqWTxp1uXxfQavpX5kalxn3Z8_-7kpzhd4DYBfhPrKcZc2ceM_WD4yWJXNHIsTkRzYMWdWVhTRlGofakQfQe_4/s1600/RAYMAN2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 113px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZGuYKW2JLOqFlYjtXl-r-BcfboQJmBpTACfHymXA2QVQl9ohTuwxhJqqWTxp1uXxfQavpX5kalxn3Z8_-7kpzhd4DYBfhPrKcZc2ceM_WD4yWJXNHIsTkRzYMWdWVhTRlGofakQfQe_4/s200/RAYMAN2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705367997010644066" /></a><br />There are three types of stages in Rayman Origins, and all three types knock it out of the park. Your typical platforming stages have been beefed up with floating wind currents that send you spiraling between thorny vines, dodging debris while bouncing to and fro between shards of wood, and swimming through jellyfish labyrinths without getting zapped. Riding on the back of a friendly mosquito, you can take part in cleverly woven side-scrolling shooter tracks that would make the casual R-Type observer salivate, ricocheting bullets off of metal objects to land trick shots on pesky inaccessible foes. The best has been saved for last in the form of chase stages, where moving forward is a requirement in an effort to seize runaway treasure chests containing the teeth of the Grim Reaper, who has a heinous trick up his sleeve upon completion of his dental work. If you don’t grin and grimace as you figure out a tough portion of the chase scene only to meet the next roadblock, you might need to check your pulse. Simply put, Nintendo could use some pointers by playing through this inspired take on the genre they put on the map.<br /><br />The title of best 2D platformer for this generation (and possibly ever, truth be told) still belongs to the epiphany-inducing Super Meat Boy, but Rayman Origins certainly won’t mind coming out of nowhere to blindside gamers everywhere for the second place spot. This game has regularly been available for bargain prices worldwide as of the past few weeks, which is unfortunately mind-boggling. Don’t miss out on one of the better throwbacks of this generation.Zoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00272026847822622195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5918721118420939146.post-9922398457675141792012-02-03T10:49:00.000-08:002012-02-03T11:10:02.568-08:00Top 10 of '11 - #8: Gears of War 3I always find myself more critical of the Gears of War franchise compared to other similar titles, like a critical parent who wishes one child were more like the other. It likely has to do with the myriad of issues that go unfixed in the multiplayer, such as consistency levels, rotating weapon layouts that disrupt strategy, and unbalanced starting weapons that turn the normally slow-paced Gears of War into a violence-on-demand frag-fest.<br /><br />Gears of War 3 continues to co-opt features from the likes of Call of Duty with the ability to prestige, a Team Deathmatch mode to attract the run-and-gunners who infest Halo, and a strong emphasis on free-for-all-type battles as opposed to teamwork – in other words, it has become something other than Gears of War in its third installment, largely in part to these contributing factors piling atop the charade that is the Gnasher and Sawed-off Shotguns. 80% of the deaths in my experience – both killing and being killed by – have been at the hands of starting weapons. Gears continues to struggle with the awkwardness that Gears of War 2 brought about, giving possibly the best and most unique multiplayer engine some negative traits the likes of the aforementioned setbacks. If only it could remain as consistent as the Campaign that complements it.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzwcCpSp_zqUXs7INtykr1v55KIRBbQk5jwlz495cxPyET3IYsWD_BAEe12eccTmUd9-7zoiyFF3yHlh3KZR8TA1ka8PA8YzHxKHuyrw5yf-rzOlh6SRxIxJa0ojGJ5-QAG9oh_X_ksgg/s1600/GEARS2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 102px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzwcCpSp_zqUXs7INtykr1v55KIRBbQk5jwlz495cxPyET3IYsWD_BAEe12eccTmUd9-7zoiyFF3yHlh3KZR8TA1ka8PA8YzHxKHuyrw5yf-rzOlh6SRxIxJa0ojGJ5-QAG9oh_X_ksgg/s200/GEARS2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704984906088817954" /></a><br />Due to the default mode being Team Deathmatch, old Gears staples such as Execution and Warzone have seemingly gone by the wayside. Tens of thousands will be playing Team Deathmatch, while only the 2000 or so cream-of-the-crop-tier players will be demolishing the competition in the traditional Gears of War game modes. In other words, if you wish to enjoy classic Gears, you better shape up, buttercup, because you will be going toe-to-toe with the very best Gears of War players in the entire world. Needless to say, this is off-putting for those of us who are pretty good as opposed to dedicating their free time to mastering the craft of the engine.<br /><br />Team Deathmatch also renders certain maps useless due to persistent spawn-killing that overtakes good sportsmanship in the heat of the moment. Levels such as Drydock and Overpass quickly become a race to whoever can control the center of the map and shoot down at those who are just spawning. Fear not, as you’ll get 3 seconds of spawn protecti… never mind. The time it took me to type that sentence is all you will get before the hunting spree commences in the wide-open spaces where cover is non-existent and resistance to four guns-blazing is futile. <br /><br />So why is Gears of War 3 on this list, given the complaints? It is because at its core, the gameplay engine is unlike anything else on the market, and the Campaign is no slouch, either. Gears of War 3 is more of the same from Gears of War 2, offering gigantic boss battles, better vehicular missions, a little variety in backgrounds to spice things up, and a fitting conclusion for a breakneck story arc. With its back-story being properly fleshed out, the tale of Marcus and Dom comes to an end while reflecting on the casualties along the way, be it the cities that have crumbled in ruin, thanks to the C.O.G. and their Hammer of Dawn’s destructive force. Hearing the horror stories of how the C.O.G. destroyed civilization even more than the Locusts themselves is a political statement wrapped in a beam of chaos brought down from above -- especially given the conclusion to the second game, where the largest city in the land was destroyed at the hands of the good guys themselves.<br /><br />Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, as they say, and Gears of War 3 imitates several franchises quite a bit throughout the course of its Campaign mode. Several games have gameplay elements or settings lifted straight out from underneath them. Some are more ambiguous, like hordes of rabid creatures swarming you viciously (Left 4 Dead), while others are as blatant as announcing that you’re shoplifting over the public address system at a retail outlet, such as an underwater city where the worlds best and brightest are kept away from the unclean (BioShock). Countless games have taken from Gears in the past (and in the future; Resident Evil 6 looks to adapt the Gears cover system), so it's not a knock on Epic for lifting a few ideas here and there. Still, looking at the Depths multiplayer map is essentially like staring at a wartime Rapture environment. It is what it is.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHMobs8rerzYCQqcr8GQosjU3FeCKF93BaRhjxxIgo6gA7eaX62KVWZfqmNMnYrmiNHjclCpSKFP4gzIlRtr9spyLxtRbUIfMbcmwMCc72MkCWlFSxiDBhJUf7RIG2NBskcabYPdERaUU/s1600/GEARS1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 116px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHMobs8rerzYCQqcr8GQosjU3FeCKF93BaRhjxxIgo6gA7eaX62KVWZfqmNMnYrmiNHjclCpSKFP4gzIlRtr9spyLxtRbUIfMbcmwMCc72MkCWlFSxiDBhJUf7RIG2NBskcabYPdERaUU/s200/GEARS1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704984907029411810" /></a><br />The thing that sticks out most in Gears of War 3 is the emphasis on creating a more heartfelt story than merely “bug-men have surfaced on the planet, make tiny pieces of metal enter their mouth-holes.” It is clear from the get-go that humanity is on its last legs, and the final confrontation – for better or worse – is dawning for the human civilization. Marcus and the rest of the C.O.G. members we know and love will face greater hardships than we’ve seen before, and they’re handled in the best way possible. It seems slightly bi-polar in a world where riding Brumaks to destroy other Brumaks and revving a chainsaw to cut through the innards of a giant worm held sway in the second entry, taking the series from serious to tongue-in-cheek to sorrowful. It’s an identity crisis, but it manages to salvage the sense of despair that made the first game the golden standard for the series.<br /><br />Gears of War 3 suffers from the same pitfalls that the second installment of the gore-hungry franchise fell into. During the original Gears of War, gamers witnessed a gigantic beast stomping through in the distance and immediately wanted a chance to go toe-to-toe with it. This enemy was known as the Brumak, and it was larger than every other enemy in the original game. One of the biggest reasons why the first Gears of War remains the best was its terrific pacing, and Cliffy B responded to player outcry over wanting to face the deadly beast by throwing dozens of them at us – and even larger critters, to boot. Gears of War 3 continues this trend by tossing even bigger baddies out there for us to obliterate in a mere two rounds of Lancer fire. I prefer a little foreplay as a prerequisite to my orgy of violence, personally.<br /><br />Gears of War has defined itself -- again, for better or worse -- with these big moments. The initial sequence at the start of the game has a humongous sea beast attempting to sink a large vessel that Marcus and Co. are aboard. This sums up the experience you are likely to face throughout. I would argue the opposite, that Gears of War is at its best when it forces you to look at the devastation around you. One particular sequence finds the C.O.G. entering a city that has long been forgotten under the ray of their very own Hammer of Dawn. As you look around, you notice that the remains of men, women, and children who perished in the blast have become entrenched in time, erected as dust statues all around you by the dozens, collapsing into the ether upon touch. These are the moments, due to their perfect pacing that made the first installment so memorable, that make the case for Gears of War as an elite franchise. If it could stop pandering to the Michael Bay fan club of big explosions and instant gratification, it could finally reach its full potential. Alas, that must happen after the Marcus Fenix chapter in the Gears universe. Gears of War 3 is a step in the right direction for the franchise. As cliché as it has become in sequence, it is still an engine worthy of imitation, praise, and repeated playthroughs. Now if only they could finally fix issues with the multiplayer...Zoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00272026847822622195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5918721118420939146.post-55657099814824718162012-02-02T11:42:00.000-08:002012-02-02T12:11:15.475-08:00Top 10 of '11 - #9: CatherineI love never knowing what to expect out of a title. I intentionally avoid trailers for upcoming films I might be interested in just so I can know as little about them as possible; there are simply too many telling signs in previews for my liking that can untie a story's knot. When I first heard the concept of Catherine, a very Japanese import that hit American store shelves from Atlus, I immediately ceased reading much about the story so that I may savor it for myself. I’m glad I did.<br /><br />At some point in a long-term relationship, you begin to seriously contemplate all of the words you threw around at the inception of the budding romance. Do you really, actually want to get married? At what point does “I want children someday” become “I want children this year”? Somewhere along the line comes time for an evaluation of all the fly-by-night statements you’ve made about who you want to become one day. Some openly accept it as a passage of growing up, while growing up terrifies some of us. Awkward tension arises from our own uncertainty, which we project on our closest confidant, and sometimes we need an outlet outside of them. In a moment of weakness, just as Catherine’s protagonist, Vincent, soon learns, we cheat to escape the growing realization that maybe what we have been living is a lie. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3eDJK6oHUOM-mcU_qODms06_aFBy1iL1UHw0eSRTh7x5QF8Wb5jfqSQ55zgxCJuFLM1-mvDmHlQCIXegXDt1NhyChzafBa5e2T3AMn9QDOeJ5XVXpHrhGfQ_TUbzya1FnhGwQreo2zl4/s1600/CATHERINE1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 109px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3eDJK6oHUOM-mcU_qODms06_aFBy1iL1UHw0eSRTh7x5QF8Wb5jfqSQ55zgxCJuFLM1-mvDmHlQCIXegXDt1NhyChzafBa5e2T3AMn9QDOeJ5XVXpHrhGfQ_TUbzya1FnhGwQreo2zl4/s200/CATHERINE1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704629450996251810" /></a><br />In a nutshell, the above paragraph is the premise for Catherine. Vincent is a nice enough guy who is too centered on his own needs to adequately provide for his long-term partner, Katherine. Katherine is ready to settle down and get married, as to where Vincent feels that to be married is to accept death. Enter Catherine, an early-twentysomething with a penchant for a man in a bind. When Vincent awakens the day after meeting her only to find Catherine sleeping beside him and no recollection of what happened, the game’s story effectively begins.<br /><br />Speaking of sleep, it soon becomes the enemy of Vincent, as the other 60% of the game – the actual gameplay rather than interactive cut-scenes and socializing – takes hold of Vincent every night. While the social experiments are a lot of fun, the main portion of Catherine will revolve around these puzzles, where you must manipulate a tower comprised of blocks in order to ascend to the top where an escape is imminent. Varying creatures await at the bottom of the pit should you fall, ranging from rancid babies to decaying demons in wedding dresses – some of which are actually rather frightening to behold. This is not the bread and butter to Catherine, but it's a fun puzzle set-up with a variety of block types to spice things up right as they begin to lose your interest.<br /><br />The great thing about Catherine (the game – not the seductive character) is its ability to develop according to the player’s response to the actions. Being a red-blooded male, it’s tough to tell Catherine not to send scantily-clad photographs to Vincent’s smartphone, but it’s the right thing to do if you feel Vincent should man up and confront Katherine about his issues. The game allows you to dictate how their relationship will pan out. If you feel as though Katherine is suffocating poor Vincent with her demands, you can snark back at her and run into the arms of the bodacious babe, Catherine. If you feel as though Vincent is an immature brat, make him feel like crap and treat Katherine as nice as the game will allow.<br /><br />On the puzzle side of things, the folks you meet and interact with around the bar where Vincent continually hangs out will appear periodically during his night terrors, and if they succumb to the tower, they never wake up. Catherine plays out like a quirky horror movie, if you’ve ever heard of such a thing. As puzzles intensify, you are taught new tricks to continually advance through the game and your grasp of exactly how to ascend the tower will mature to the point of near-perfection. You will be dreaming of sheep ascending blocks above derriere demons in no time.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJxaydg-NbfaHdxGpxB7-kVxqy4LFLXIV2HeEH-aI5E3tnVWFZRkBJRn4I1M1Rh8RVeVcUBEG7dgI9Dyo3LLv1J6o_yYCerM2fqXO6YRf6chQn6hrJAHoqQT736YnGtf4CzfzECsdirtE/s1600/CATHERINE2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 142px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJxaydg-NbfaHdxGpxB7-kVxqy4LFLXIV2HeEH-aI5E3tnVWFZRkBJRn4I1M1Rh8RVeVcUBEG7dgI9Dyo3LLv1J6o_yYCerM2fqXO6YRf6chQn6hrJAHoqQT736YnGtf4CzfzECsdirtE/s200/CATHERINE2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704629447685951186" /></a><br />The Japanese are known for their story-heavy titles in the gaming industry, from the Metal Gear Solids of the world to Final Fantasy, but rarely has a game been such a sprawling narrative as Catherine. Upon booting the game up, you’re slowly and carefully taken down a dreadful road littered with mistakes and pop quizzes on morality along the way, and it always seems that all eyes are upon you. The game that’s being played in Catherine is you, not the other way around, as it will openly judge your decisions and provide you with a look at what Vincent’s life will be like due to the choices you’ve made.<br /><br />Catherine is certainly unique: It offers puzzle-lovers to have their fill while those in it for the story (such as myself) can expand their minds to encompass the art of slinging blocks to and fro. And lest we forget the best part in deciding the fate of our protagonist! Variety is the spice of life, as they say. Give it a try, if only to look inside yourself for once.Zoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00272026847822622195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5918721118420939146.post-13429267501367553892012-01-31T22:51:00.000-08:002012-02-01T12:54:01.189-08:00Top 10 of '11 - #10: BastionComing up with an original concept is hard to do. I’ve struggled with this over the past several months while outlining my book, and unfortunately determined that you cannot succeed with one concept alone; it will only get you so far before you realize that there must be substance behind an intriguing idea to tie it all up.<br /><br />Supergiant Games’ Greg Kasavin, the former “one of us” who was the site director at GameSpot, knows that full well. The idea of having a constant narrator going over the events that unfold before your very eyes in Bastion, Supergiant’s first attempt at creating a videogame, could only get you so far to garner interest for your product. Instead of using the idea as a bullet point, Kasavin has masterfully written Bastion so that it is the mere bait on the hook; the line that reels the player in is crafted by the universe of Bastion, the frailty of its lore, and the lone, living spectators who escape unscathed into the Bastion itself.<br /><br />But let’s face it: we all nibbled the bait of having the raspy-voiced prophet narrate our every move. Be it to advance the story or to hear him mutter on about our desire for destruction whenever we’d smash up a deserted marketplace that the Calamity, a metaphorical spreading nuclear bomb, had yet to devour. If the goal was to get us to try Bastion as a result of that, it worked -- but without the colorful art design, tight gameplay, diverse weapon choices, and the best soundtrack of the year, we certainly wouldn’t have stayed in the comforts of the Bastion for very long.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnRjpvC1FaocwB2_4J_aF5gXans-OSrcfLbF0zGN62yWX858Av00AImrnqgg0zhr8XRXyQTz7OAM8Djp8Kr0fby4fEomj_3kOTG6ilBc4Z3ZlcAdJEvZvzGFCNNlPCsY4EjOkYn3r2z9w/s1600/BASTION1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 111px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnRjpvC1FaocwB2_4J_aF5gXans-OSrcfLbF0zGN62yWX858Av00AImrnqgg0zhr8XRXyQTz7OAM8Djp8Kr0fby4fEomj_3kOTG6ilBc4Z3ZlcAdJEvZvzGFCNNlPCsY4EjOkYn3r2z9w/s200/BASTION1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704062813893333250" /></a><br />Bastion offers a unique top-down style that only comes along once every few years, a throwback to the 16-bit games that we know and love. Combining the style of a crooked Zelda with the run-and-gun frantic pace of Gunstar Heroes, Bastion requires a lot of focus to dig down deep and demolish the devious trials that dwell in the Bastion’s domain. If you’re still in the mood for pain, you can make things slightly more torturous by angering the Gods. By denouncing specific Gods in the game at the flip of a switch, you can increase the damage enemies take, dish out, and a plethora of other sinister options.<br /><br />The highlight of Bastion is, without a doubt and damn near inarguably, the soundtrack. Darren Korb is the man responsible for giving Bastion’s soundtrack as much flair and personality as the art style and narrator himself, infusing a mix of hard-edged country twang with a string here or there. The most memorable portions of the game revolve around songs sung by Korb and Ashley Barrett, which give the characters of Zulf and Zia, respectively, a life of their own.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi7ySPM-GFGHKNvAU7FQnB9wJR8ulX9q9IsjGKVmS9O15K42C64bqh6ya0rMwooQgYIgZqn73sFT9Jo_uiteQeDVvGBHan96EMp3rpawx65ryCg0bonzry-__tHvCh5QmmBFYyHbqqLso/s1600/BASTION2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 99px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi7ySPM-GFGHKNvAU7FQnB9wJR8ulX9q9IsjGKVmS9O15K42C64bqh6ya0rMwooQgYIgZqn73sFT9Jo_uiteQeDVvGBHan96EMp3rpawx65ryCg0bonzry-__tHvCh5QmmBFYyHbqqLso/s200/BASTION2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704062813022889010" /></a><br />It makes me sad to see my colleagues from various sites who are just now getting around to Bastion, which came out during the dead period on the release calendar (July 2011), well after they have snuck their choices for Game of the Year in the voting boxes. Certainly it wouldn’t make it to the gold at the bottom of the dog pile, but it would have gotten even more players talking about it than there currently are.<br /><br />Essentially, Bastion is the complete package and as a result, one of the better games available between the Xbox Live Arcade and PlayStation Network platforms combined, yet only currently available on the former. When you think of polished experiences, chances are that it will be high on the list of downloadable titles for a variety of different types of gamers. Those of you in search of customization, visual splendor, a fully-loaded story and anti-nuclear political statements, look no further than Bastion, arguably the most consistent game in quality for the money this year.Zoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00272026847822622195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5918721118420939146.post-28826873732058080652012-01-31T12:43:00.001-08:002012-01-31T13:10:59.071-08:00From Great Heights to Staggering Falls: 2012 Begins2011 was a good year.<br /><br />As many of you know, Which Button Jumps...? is an ever-evolving beast that I've attempted to harness for the power of good over the years; it is an occasionally-updated collection of brief essays on gaming, which I use to find new employers or clients. Since my last update, I found steady work that paid well throughout the entire year of 2011, for which I am grateful. Unfortunately for me, that came to an end to start off 2012, as I was laid off due to budget cuts from my primary job and restructured at my secondary gig on the same day. All things have a positive side to them and I feel this is no different, allowing me to dig my heels into the gaming scene once again after a financially stable hiatus from this line of work. <br /><br />Many people go through life without a clue as to what drives them professionally, scrambling to find their place in the world. I have been lucky enough to know since the age of 10 that I wanted to change the landscape of the gaming industry through written word. I taught myself how to read and write thanks to video games, and as a way to repay the industry that gave me such a wonderful gift, I was determined to become a writer within it with a desire to help the people who create video games make them better. For the most part, I have not succeeded in doing so thus far due to lack of opportunity and time. I hope to change that -- perhaps with your help -- in 2012.<br /><br />If you are looking for freelance help, please contact me at davidjmccutcheon@gmail.com. I have experience in site administration, articles in both publication and on the Internet, all-nighters at conferences, covering lavish launch parties (photography included), and wrangling celebrities for what have been mostly positive interview experiences. I sincerely want to help you make a difference.<br /><br />Over the next two weeks, I will share my Top 10 list for video games in 2011. It feels wonderful to write about games once again. I hope you have as much fun reading the write-ups as I had creating them.<br /><br />Thanks for reading and stay tuned,<br /> DavidZoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00272026847822622195noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5918721118420939146.post-12651969438170225172010-09-06T23:20:00.000-07:002010-09-06T23:39:33.776-07:00Quantity Over Quality: The Plight of DLCBefore five days ago, I had been planning this entry for months and months with a very distinct tone swirling around in my noggin: I was going to attack game developers and publishers for trying to nickel and dime consumers as a ploy to try and recoup some of their losses pertaining to their increased, unpaid hours as a result of the corporate greed above them. Still following? Good. That was five days ago, and like any open-minded person, one fell swoop can completely alter a state of mind. Yeah, I’m referring to <em>Dead Rising 2: Case Zero</em>, the new Downloadable “episode” from Capcom.<br /><br /><em>Dead Rising 2: Case Zero</em> works as a prequel to the upcoming sequel, released one month between one another, introducing the main character and his once-bitten little daughter as they trek across the Nevada desert in search for a lasting cure to her infection. <br /><br />The “demo” teaches you the basics regarding the changes in the game’s computer AI when hauling survivors from one location to the next, the emphasis on searching for a temporary solution for zombification in Zombrex--a hot commodity that will keep the protagonist’s daughter from turning into the walking dead--and an introduction to a handful of weapon combinations to showcase one of the retail title’s selling points. (A kayak paddle with two chainsaws strapped on both ends? Uh, hell yes?)<br /><br />On top of all of this, your stats and bonuses carry over into the full game. What is not advertised, however, is how cleverly this so-called demo sets you up—and more importantly, pumps you up—to play the full-fledged retail game. I’m practically bouncing on my hands in anticipation to get my hands on the full game; if this game truly is a demo instead of a separate experience, it works better than any demo before it. <br /><br />Let’s argue why <em>Case Zero</em> is not a demo. Well, that’s the easiest argument in this entire entry: it’s not a demo because it is a separate piece of gaming from Dead Rising 2. It’s a full area that you cannot access in that game, full of characters that you will (likely) not see in that game. Where <em>Dead Rising 2</em> takes place in Las Vegas, <em>Case Zero</em> takes place in the tiny Route 66-esque town of Still Creek. There are twelve unique achievements tied to this so-called demo, complete with its own boss encounter. This, readers, is Downloadable Content, a game add-on like you would normally purchase after the fact.<br /><br />Now, you can make an argument regarding whether or not this can be considered nickel and diming considering the game that the DLC has reached the open market prior to the retail game’s launch. “If it’s done a full month before the game comes out, why isn’t it on the disc?” some may wonder. This is, of course, in the eye of the beholder.<br /><br />For instance, I have grown stale of demos. I usually find myself wasting time playing a semi-polished portion of a game that I will have to stroll through again once the game arrives on store shelves, like some strange déjà vu experience. Due to this, demos seem like a waste of my precious time, like I’m watching the first 15 minutes of a movie three weeks before it hits theaters. I would rather experience the complete film at once rather than broken into pieces. <br /><br />Keiji Inafune feels the same, telling IGN in a recent interview he “didn't want to go down the boring route of cutting out a part of the game and letting players play for free, and then, if they like it and buy the game, they have to play through that bit again as well. I think that business model is really boring.” I feel the same way, so kudos to Inafune-san for understanding the plight of the current market.<br /><br />In the case of <em>Case Zero</em>, it showcases everything that it needs to, sans gorgeous visuals, without repeating itself on launch day. Furthermore, I don’t feel like I’m wasting time since I’m working towards gaining levels and collectible Combo and Scratch Cards for unique weapon combinations. Case Zero successfully sold me on <em>Dead Rising 2</em>, cranking my excitement from a 7 to a 9, in a matter of hours. <br /><br />Where <em>Mass Effect 2</em>'s DLC mostly felt like leftovers, <em>Case Zero </em>is a tasty appetizer entirely unique to the main course, whetting the appetite for the delicious brains to be unveiled later in the month. You could say that aforementioned one fell swoop was me falling in love with the concept of DLC once more.<br /><br />Pessimists, however, would say that fall was one from grace, and I’m falling right into the pocket of Capcom in their “latest catastrophe” of “charging for demos.” If they’re adamant about it, they likely will see the game through rage-soaked glasses, purposefully ignoring the good qualities something like this can provide just to remain solidified on their side of the debate. <br /><br /><em>Case Zero</em> is an interesting experiment in its own right, and a unique case, indeed. I’m a little afraid that developers will make a great discovery for the DLC concept only to have it misconstrued and transformed into something sinister by their publishers; there’s no doubt that this is not the next evolution of gaming, as demos have been around for the longest time now, but it could be that next big thing that gets warped into something demented by those bigwigs gripping at thin air for dollars. <br /><br />But within this mini-review, I’m here to explain why my stance on Downloadable Content has shifted slightly, providing a neutral stance while tight-roping the fine line between corporate greed and consumerist exceptionalism. <br /><br />My time with Downloadable Content has been a bit of a rollercoaster. The beginnings of the movement had the potential to bring full new worlds to life; a developer could launch a long-anticipated game and work on additional content for, seemingly, years to come. This could provide a long-lasting relationship between the consumer and the developer, especially for cases such as <em>Halo, Call of Duty</em> and <em>Gears of War</em>—in other words, games that deserve the continued support of their creators, as the fans will keep playing those games continually enough to make them mainstays in Xbox Live’s Top 10 for online activity.<br /><br />Much like politics, when the potential seems genuine and promising, the reality soon settles in underneath the good intentions and well-meanings, those sweet fruits of labor seem to all turn into bitter lemons. <br /><br />One of the first pieces of DLC to hit the Marketplace was Horse Armor to protect your steed in <em>Oblivion</em>, a not-so-carefully disguised ploy to make gamers a little bit better at the game, folks who wanted instant gratification without all of the grinding. It was the first of a series of appalling acts within the industry to change the potential of DLC from the promise of prolonging a favorite game to a valve that pumps blood into the heart of corporate swindle.<br /><br />Soon after, we saw thousands of Microsoft Points worth the costumes in the wrestling game <em>Rumble Roses XX</em>. No longer could you merely unlock an alternate costume by playing a game inside-out, you had to outright purchase it. In order to purchase all of these costumes, you would have to spend 6960 Microsoft Points—nearly $90 in digital currency. <br /><br />Namco intentionally “locked out” a handful of stages in their Xbox 360 iteration of the <em>Katamari</em> series, <em>Beautiful Katamari</em>. After purchasing around $20 in stages, an instant-click download would occur, meaning the stages were already on the disc and intentionally withheld from the consumer. These are two of the best examples of the “nickel and diming” that many on the anti-DLC side can point to.<br /><br />On the side of unlockables, I believe there can be a fair balance with two tiers of unlockables: one half that requires the utmost skill, and the other half, which can be unlocked via determination or the optional digital currency payoff. Frankly, if I see a player decked out in tough unlockable garb, I know that guy has earned it; at the same time, the lower-tier unlockables can be picked by folks like me with lesser talent at games or outright bought by the saps who are even worse than I--if they even exist in the first place.<br /><br />This would be a good balance and keep everyone (mostly) satisfied. The same concept could be blended into the mix for stage unlocks and the like. Thankfully, the experiences with publisher have been few and far between ever since early 2008 with this sort of stuff, but new issues have risen. <br /><br />In <em>Madden 2010</em>, you cannot create a stellar player without paying real money to unlock the ability to concoct a Pro Bowl-type football star. On the opposite end, Sony’s <em>MLB the Show ’10</em> has read my mind and offered players the ability to plow through way through the minor leagues or outright purchase attribute points, giving two paths to a single destination. EA, take note: this is the proper way to nickel and dime. I can eventually have an All-Star third baseman in <em>MLB the Show ’10</em> without ever dropping a cent into the game, so my back is not against the wall with aggressive--and frankly, revolting--money-grubbing schemes.<br /><br />But is this a new concept? For years, players have bought and sold high-level accounts in online games such as <em>Diablo II</em> and <em>World of Warcraft</em>, complete with the best armor and weaponry that the game has crafted, on online auction sites such as eBay. Is this not the same concept that games such as <em>MLB the Show ’10</em> are now providing, a shortcut to being a great player for a price? The only difference is the people who have their hands in the creation of the game are the ones receiving the money instead of the twentysomething kid with no other means of income.<br /><br />No, this is not the DLC that has plagued my level of interest in the industry’s buckling trend, as it seems like no game can be socially accepted these days without the promise of support after release; it’s almost becoming a taboo in the industry to not support add-on expansions for every game your development team dips their hands into.<br /><br />This is not a new concept in the gaming industry, as popular IPs such as <em>The Sims, Elder Scrolls</em>, and <em>Diablo</em> are a short list of large titles to support expansion packs in the past. But this begs the question, is every game worthy of downloadable episodes or add-ons? The sad fact is that I spent just as much money on DLC in the past nine months as I have retail games, with the entire <em>Fallout</em> DLC package running at the suggested retail price of a brand new game altogether upon its release. <br /><br />All of this said, there are definitely positive applicable uses of DLC in the spectrum; a game like<em> Little Big Planet</em> benefits from having additional building packages themed from other IPs, such as their <em>Metal Gear Solid</em> package containing stickers and themed-building blocks. Why is this such a good use of DLC? Because only a small percentage of <em>Little Big Planet</em> players actually build enough stages to warrant the optional purchase of more tools to use when crafting their imagination’s playhouse. <br /><br />With the upcoming and previously talked about <em>Mortal Kombat</em> due in 2011, the developers will have the option of crafting all-new characters to drop into the mold of the game long after they’ve finished the product, catering to the hardcore fans of the series without sacrificing roster space for the casuals who purchase the game. So long as those new fighters can be used against players who have not purchased them, this is a viable exploration of downloadable endeavors. Another interesting twist could be if the ESRB clips some of the more brutal Fatalities from the game, they could eventually pop up in DLC down the line. <br /><br />Most developers are big supporters of providing DLC to their titles. Noteworthy standouts for games due over the course of the next 16 months include NetherRealm Studios, the team putting together the latest iteration of <em>Mortal Kombat</em>, and Dave Jaffe, the creator of <em>Twisted Metal</em> and <em>God of War</em>, who plans to aggressively support DLC upon the release of the next <em>Twisted Metal</em> entry. <br /><br />Jaffe, in particular, spears through the heart of the opposition of downloadable goods. He has stated many times on his Twitter account (DavidScottJaffe) that he believes the consumer should not feel nickel and dimed so long as they feel they’ve gotten their money’s worth out of their $59.99 retail purchase. Of course, Jaffe also believes most Pixar movies are ho-hum visual spectacles, so we can take his opinions with a grain of salt (I kid, of course).<br /><br />The man brings up a good point, albeit one that is incredibly tough to judge; just where is this tiniest of thin lines where it becomes a half-baked attempt by a developer and/or publisher to get a few extra bucks, and where does it tread over into a bunch of complaining, greedy gamers endlessly chanting for more, more, more?<br /><br />I feel this isn’t the main problem in the first place, though I will more often than not side with the developer in these cases; DLC is optional, and at the heart of my argument, just not as good as the games it is supposed to complement. To delve into my general problem with DLC is to look at games such as <em>Borderlands</em> and <em>Mass Effect 2</em>, two very good, albeit different, games that offer a long-lasting, 20+ hour adventure where you feel as if you’ve, as Jaffe put it, gotten your money’s worth. <br /><br />Being a big fan of <em>Mass Effect 2</em>, I blindly downloaded the first two DLC add-ons released for each one. To quote one of the developers of the new <em>Mortal Kombat</em>, from his Blogspot account, “[DLC] lets those of us who really enjoyed a game get even MORE of the game without having to wait years for a sequel.” I initially agreed with this statement. Seeing as how I have agreed with both cited developers in the past two paragraphs, how could I disagree at this point?<br /><br />What I soon learned after downloading and playing the first two <em>Mass Effect 2</em> add-on packs was that there’s a reason I think of that game as the frontrunner for Game of the Year: it was meticulously worked on day in and day out for several years. The amount of polish in the storytelling, presentation, and the subtle nuances such as random dialogue between your party members of choice makes the game feel above the competition in even the best years of gaming. All of this, however, is lacking in the DLC.<br /><br />Upon coaxing gamers into buying the title brand new instead of used, EA promised consumers free downloadable content on a continued basis for <em>Mass Effect 2</em>. Since then, we’ve seen around three times the amount of pay content by comparison of the free stuff—a new character completely lacking the communication function and a sad excuse for a Mako replacement. <br /><br />Even the good <em>Mass Effect 2</em> download content has its glaring faults; the minimal dialogue issued by Commander Shepard and zero dialogue uttered by your mimes... pardon me, support characters, is about the most obvious omission in a game as character development-heavy as <em>Mass Effect</em>.<br /><br />Certainly, I adore <em>Mass Effect 2</em>. I’ve played games professionally long enough to understand that when a game like it comes along, it’s solidified top shelf honors at the Game of the Year roundtables in the industry. So why tarnish something so noteworthy by releasing something so insignificant to prolong it? Has DLC really become the re-releases of the <em>Star Wars</em> Trilogy? Adding additional scenes for the sake of adding them, with minimal quality control to grasp the situation?<br /><br />My biggest problem with DLC is the fact that, more often than not, it fails to live up to what is on the disc, likely due to the rat race of getting additional content out there for the sake of saying you support the DLC platform itself instead of the game you’re supposed to represent. If there’s one thing I cannot stand, it’s inconsistency—especially when it’s such a stark contrast from the <em>Mass Effect 2</em> disc content to the downloadable content. <br /><br />Of course, it looks like what I have to say in this matter is but a whisper in a crowded convention center full of gaming executives, producers, developers, and above all, consumers who disagree with my assessment. Huh, so that’s what it feels like to be deemed insignificant. Maybe—just maybe--this 2800 word blog entry will melt the icy heart of an economic growth-devouring executive... or be used as their toilet tissue.<br /><br /><em>-Zoop</em>Zoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00272026847822622195noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5918721118420939146.post-91442795537675155612010-08-05T19:26:00.000-07:002010-08-22T00:38:19.432-07:00A Quarter for the QueueIn the heat of the St. Louis summer, your choices of running from the sticky humidity have always been slim; this is a city that always has and always will thrive on baseball, one of the most grueling experiences a person can partake in when the heat index tips 122 degrees Fahrenheit. But these days, the option of escaping to an illuminated cavern of entertainment throughout most of the Midwest is limited to the movie theater. Oh, how you kids missed a truly great spectacle of entertainment.<br /><br />Brace yourself, kiddos: Grandpa’s about to tell a story.<br /><br />When I was your age, we got our kicks in the arcade. We also paid for music and danced to the Macarena, but that’s not the point. We’d flock to the mall, another dying concept in today’s economy, and we’d have a ten-spot in-tow, which we would have slammed down on the counter at Babbage’s or Software, Etc. to pre-order whatever the latest iteration of <span style="font-style:italic;">Street Fighter II</span> they were passing time with instead of making a full-fledged sequel—if pre-ordering existed back then. Don’t worry, we didn’t ride horses to the mall… but if you had power windows in your car, you were bourgeoisie.<br /><br />No, no, instead we used that ten bucks to head over to the nearest arcade—in my instance, the Tilt—and feed it into a wondrous money-devouring machine, which spit out magical golden tokens that could be fed to an voodoo box powered by electricity!<br /><br />But seriously, we’d blow all of our allowance on a game that we couldn’t even own—and play in short bursts, no less, sometimes going through a dollar in a matter of three minutes if we were unlucky enough to go up against the dreaded older teenager: a God amongst novices with his hand-scribbled list of moves in numerous players’ handwriting, a testament of his previous losses at the hands of those more knowledgeable, visible like the scars of a prized fighter; with every loss came the techniques, combos and, of course, finishing moves of the victor. Sometimes, losing is worth the spoils.<br /><br />Looking back, I plunked hundreds of dollars into arcade cabinets throughout my life, mostly on the fighting game frenzy of the early- to mid-‘90s, with seemingly nothing to show for my hundred dollar exploits. <span style="font-style:italic;">Killer Instinct</span> saw me at my best, winning a competition and doing well enough in other tournaments. <span style="font-style:italic;">Street Fighter II</span> and all of its still-beating-heart incarnations found me dumping a lot of dollars and quickly leaving with my head down in defeat at every cabinet in the region. But <span style="font-style:italic;">Mortal Kombat</span> was my middle-ground, and somehow my favorite series to feed money to, and the memories I gained were enough to justify breaking all those bills I could really use right now.<br /><br />I can tell you the exact location of every noteworthy moment I’ve experienced with the Granddaddy of Gore. The Pizza Hut near my house, where Sub-Zero ripped the spine out of Liu Kang in the original<span style="font-style:italic;"> Mortal Kombat</span>. Finding a row of what seemed like tens of <span style="font-style:italic;">Mortal Kombat II</span> cabinets in the underground arcade up in North County. Beating the crap out of a guy so bad at <span style="font-style:italic;">Mortal Kombat 3</span> with Nightwolf that he physically smacked my hands while I was playing to prevent me from doing as well—and I still won. Watching as Ermac was unlocked in <span style="font-style:italic;">Ultimate Mortal Kombat 3</span> in utter disbelief of the legend being included in the game.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Mortal Kombat</span> evolved as it went along, if ever so slightly. The original was as standard as they come, in terms of the gameplay itself: clunky movements and stiff animations provided a slow experience with a big pay-off, if you managed to pull off a Fatality to cap off the Flawless Victory. The second installment increased the speed of the series, as well as complemented the pace with fluid animations. <span style="font-style:italic;">Mortal Kombat II</span> had bright, colorful backgrounds, an intertwining storyline still yet-to-be toppled in the genre and, of course, brutal Fatalities.<br /><br />My favorite entry into the series, however, was <span style="font-style:italic;">Mortal Kombat 3</span> and its “Super” upgrade, <span style="font-style:italic;">Ultimate Mortal Kombat 3. U/MK3</span> added another level of speed to the combat, making everything seem more over-the-top and hectic. A Run button was adding, allowing the Kombatant to sprint in, screaming his or her head off like a lunatic as they assaulted their opponent with a series of dial-in combos pulled off without mercy via a succession of button combinations.<br /><br />I mastered the art of Cyber Smoke, mixing the best abilities of Sektor, with his teleportation uppercut to juggle the enemy, and Scorpion with a pull-in spear to grab them before they hit the ground. This, to me, was <span style="font-style:italic;">Mortal Kombat</span> perfected: fast, improvised combos mixed with the dial-in material and some of the bloodiest, most ridiculous finishing moves ever seen—even to this date.<br /><br />The <span style="font-style:italic;">Mortal Kombat</span> series lost a lot of its luster with its fourth entry into the series at the height of the 3D-plane craze within the fighting game industry. Still a fine game, 3D gaming never really took hold with me, especially with <span style="font-style:italic;">Mortal Kombat</span>. The first reboot of the series did a fair enough job, quite the improvement over <span style="font-style:italic;">Mortal Kombat 4</span>, but the series once again fell a bit with each successive release after <span style="font-style:italic;">Deadly Alliance</span>. Projectiles became simple inconveniences for the opponent with the ability to sidestep them; key components to a fighter’s arsenal could now be easily bypassed as the years progressed. Scorpion’s spear? Press up to avoid it altogether and charge in from the side of the skeletal fiend, all while the ninja is still in the animation of his once-deadly special move. This sums up how the series slowed down: an iconic figure’s signature maneuver reduced to a mere nuisance instead of the set-up to a barrage of incoming chaos.<br /><br />Unintentionally aligned with the release of the independent movie trailer for the reimagining of the series on film, Ed Boon and the folks at NetherRealm Studios in Chicago unleashed a pre-E3 trailer bringing back everything I loved about the series: colorful, robust design, small dial-in combos that can lead into gravity-defying aerial assaults, unmatched speed to keep the Kombat as frantic as ever, and of course, the most brutal Fatalities known to man.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://media1.gameinformer.com/imagefeed/featured/warner-bros/mortalkombat/mkpreviewheronew.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 200px;" src="http://media1.gameinformer.com/imagefeed/featured/warner-bros/mortalkombat/mkpreviewheronew.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Finally, <span style="font-style:italic;">Mortal Kombat</span> is returning to what made it a household name in the first place. One of the reasons that the series, while still a critical and commercial success, became less like<span style="font-style:italic;"> Mortal Kombat</span> was the great chase to follow the next great evolution in the fighting genre. After all these years of trying to cross over into the Z-axis plane of fighting, Ed Boon has realized that the simpler the fundamentals of the basic Kombat, the easier it is to get to the meat of the game itself—the delicious, blood-soaked meat, still hanging off the bone.<br /><br />After all, <span style="font-style:italic;">Mortal Kombat</span> was a trendsetter for the fighting game genre in many ways; once it began following the trends of the wavering public is when the series became less like itself and more like the <span style="font-style:italic;">Soul Calibur</span>-types surrounding it. By going back to their earlier years in a way similar to that of the story’s canon of time-travel, they’re erasing the injustice of not following up <span style="font-style:italic;">Ultimate Mortal Kombat 3</span> with a sequel using a similar, tweaked engine. Now we can reap the rewards of a development team comprised of die-hard fans of the first 3.5 games in the series, dedicated to releasing a product that they themselves are excited about.<br /><br />The biggest question is, can the arcade atmosphere transcend through wireless Internet? In the heydays of <span style="font-style:italic;">Mortal Kombat</span>, the Internet wasn’t even available to print lists of special moves, let alone gaming without the presence of another human being nearby. The atmosphere at the arcade was mostly friendly (though I’d like to see how badly I would’ve wounded ol’ smack-hands without him being there to throw off my combos with his real-life fists of fury), offering an insightful experience where you make friends at the throw of a Johnny Cage, for if you acted inappropriately toward another player, his Dad might kick your ass. Can that experience really exist in the highly-competitive non-community of online gaming?<br /><br />At a packed arcade with one cabinet and two joysticks, we built a culture from the ground-up where prospective players lined their quarters along the bottom of the monitor, signifying your entry into <span style="font-style:italic;">Mortal Kombat</span>. Fourth quarter in line of change? That was your place in line. The anxiety that built with every passing round, watching the guy playing as Jax dominating every opponent who crossed his path, figuring out his every move and weakness, studying him like a hawk… only to have the newcomer sweep him out from under you without notice. You’re up next, and your strategies for the now-defunct enemy are out the window while the newcomer awaits. Gulp, indeed.<br /><br />This, I feel, is an experience unlike any other in gaming, as do the folks at NetherRealm Studios—that’s why they’re tacking on a Winner Stays online mode, where spectators line up with their figurative quarters lined up as they wait for their turn to tackle the beast of a competitor with the ongoing winning streak—a welcomed addition to the console fighting genre for old school arcaders such as myself, but in the day and age of hopping into a <span style="font-style:italic;">Halo</span> Deathmatch in a matter of seconds, will this feature hold the attention span of our ADD-culture? In a land where instant gratification runs rampant, with instant-streaming Netflix and quick matches being the norm, will this novelty build a significant enough community to actually enjoy the slow tension that builds when you’ve been waiting 10 minutes for what seems like a gladiator bout? Oh, how I hope so.<br /><br />Since retiring from my arcade days (or should I say they retired on me?), the fighting genre has largely escaped me. Fighting games these days are more about defensive tactics and counter-attacks than being on the offensive, something that has largely put me off to the concept. Super meters that lead to unstoppable, game-ending devastation have left me on the wrong end of a Hadouken on more than one occasion. With the smallest of timing windows opening up the biggest of opportunities, I feel like a hamster trying to comprehend quantum physics. By the time I feel confident enough to go online and spam the basic moves the game has taught me in a tutorial, I attempt them only to find them blocked and countered with something I didn’t even think was possible to do.<br /><br />Fighting game enthusiasts insist that this genre is much easier to master than <span style="font-style:italic;">Call of Duty</span> or <span style="font-style:italic;">Gears of War</span>, and that is likely true. I also feel just as lost when playing most games with massive communities, largely to the fact that some games require months of gaming in order to feel comfortable with the weight of each weapon and the like. What do these games and the fighting genre have in common? They both teach you the bare essentials to understand what you’re doing, but lack the depth to explain why you’re doing it, or teach you the smaller things in return, like situations in which to take a defensive stance.<br /><br />While playing <span style="font-style:italic;">Street Fighter IV</span>, I would go through the ins and outs of each training segment, learning how to do each move but lacking the instructions on exactly why I should be doing them. Seeing these moves in the way they’re presented feels more like reading an instruction manual than being taught about the game. The conundrum with this type of learning system is the lack of direction given after the lesson, as you still have to learn how to play the game beyond the Hadoukens and Sonic Booms. The main problem is the online opponents already know what they’re doing, thus the learning curve is about as steep as they come; I compare it to rookie Little Leaguers trying to win a game of baseball against the New York Yankees.<br /><br />NetherRealm Studios is claiming to make this a priority, in providing the player with more than just a list of moves, but a series of situations to run through to gain the knowledge of not simply how to randomly go on the offensive, but how to take a defensive stand against those with more experience under their belts. How well they pull this off will mean more than just how much staying power this title will have, as it could alter the course of the fighting genre altogether—I’m keeping my fingers crossed that they raise the bar and bring in many newcomers along the way, opening up an opportunity for fighters like <span style="font-style:italic;">BlazBlue</span> to follow suit.<br /><br />So go make another historic change for the fighting genre, NetherRealm, and allow people like me to learn all of the new situations that will be presented along the way with the inclusion of the super meter, complete with advanced tutorials on the feel and weight of each character so we can better understand the timing for every Kombatant. You know, that way I don’t look like an idiot when I finally get the bravery to step online.<br /><br />I’ll wind down this incredibly longwinded entry with my personal favorite <span style="font-style:italic;">Mortal Kombat</span> story…<br /><br />My favorite memory at the arcades, and one I’ve taken out of chronology to emphasize its impact on me as a person and as a gamer took place at the movie theater at the premiere mall, the Galleria, where I first saw <span style="font-style:italic;">Mortal Kombat II</span> with a two hour demonstration by an incredibly kind, obviously-a-drug-dealer twentysomething Hispanic guy whose beeper would go off with every uppercut, who took the time out to not only show me Fatalities with seven different characters (including Liu Kang’s dragon bite) and their endings, but even let me play on five dollars of his money. I couldn’t pull off the air-lift Fatality with Baraka that he taught me ever-so patiently, but he praised me, nonetheless.<br /><br />In a day and age where racist cretins run rampant on Xbox Live and PSN, I’m not certain we will see such a display of utter kindness and compassion for a random little kid—I was still in the single-digits, I’m certain—ever again. Every time I’m in a game with a little kid on Xbox Live, either someone is reciting homophobic slurs in his direction or he’s the one dishing out the language reserved for use by ignorant folks in the South. But when the new <span style="font-style:italic;">Mortal Kombat</span> launches next year, I’ll surely try to pass down some lessons of my own… let’s just hope that tutorial is good enough to teach me the tricks of the trade in the first place.<br /><br />-ZoopZoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00272026847822622195noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5918721118420939146.post-3455406320227248522010-08-05T19:25:00.001-07:002010-08-05T19:25:50.127-07:00Settling In...Now that I have moved, as previously assumed in the blog, I'll be a little more active here. Enjoy the bi-weekly updates as they flow.<br /><br />-ZoopZoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00272026847822622195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5918721118420939146.post-26365068200678033822010-01-28T01:16:00.000-08:002010-01-28T15:31:45.542-08:00iPossibilities in the Sky...Let's set the scene: It is 1:14am on a Thursday morning. I'm working the night shift once again--more specifically, the night section of a series of sixteen hour shifts. Knock out one eight hour shift, eat dinner, begin the other portion. Seeing as these random spurts of work ethic begin on a Sunday, I'm usually dead by Wednesday morning, but I've held out. My eyes look like that of a bloodshot electric orb novelty gift you'd find at Spencer's on clearance, but dammit, I'm still awake and pounding on the keyboard like the good, professional monkey I am.<br /><br />It's not so much the lack of sleep that's frying my brain as it is the lack of stimulation, so I figure it's a good time for a break. Just got an iPhone last week, so I spent $15 on a few apps here and there--why not try some out to give my brain a rest from office monkey-dom? Mahjong sure is a traditional hoot. <em>CauseWorld</em>'s a great invention. <em>Paper Toss</em>, what a nice five minute distraction. So far, so good: little bursts of being distracted by my cell phone. Just what the doctor ordered.<br /><br />1:27am. I figure I will try one more app, and one that I actually clunked down 99 cents for: <em>Pocket God</em>. Browsed the Paid apps and thought the description looked cute, but without a free trial waiting in the wings, I had to decide: McDonald's "hot" fudge sundae, or <em>Pocket God</em>. Maybe if the fudge was actually hot instead of, you know, frozen. May this be a lesson to you, McDonald's.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVUtqov1QEOTFP5LQEa8EuWa-t7BKR71hIHEfIHiirZ6c-lLNFNXeFcdz2pUOJuZVK-wGs5zp_nhZpX0at8CXSBf6fWumAXYcxVDP-WmPAYqGRnZ3qKXms-e-4gZpP3mW-jmYPnWyy_b8/s1600-h/pocketgod1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVUtqov1QEOTFP5LQEa8EuWa-t7BKR71hIHEfIHiirZ6c-lLNFNXeFcdz2pUOJuZVK-wGs5zp_nhZpX0at8CXSBf6fWumAXYcxVDP-WmPAYqGRnZ3qKXms-e-4gZpP3mW-jmYPnWyy_b8/s200/pocketgod1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431937220054315730" /></a><br /><br />From the second I booted the game up, even my taste buds knew I made the proper decision. Pocket God can be many things for the person playing; more than likely, it will be a five to ten minute getaway from all things stressful. The game gives you control over a series of tiny islands where a tribe of indigenous people reside. As their overseer, you get to decide their fate, but no matter what the choice is, it's never pretty... for them, at least.<br /><br />Fed to sharks. Crushed by boulders. Thrown into the volcano. Speared with a harpoon. Buried alive, and subsequently turned into a zombie. Eaten alive by said zombie. Eaten alive by a gigantic spider. Eaten alive by a gigantic dinosaur. Drowned in the ocean. Swept up in a hurricane. Shook off the face of the Earth in an earthquake. Burned alive via magnifying glass. Scared to death by ghosts. No, these are no Cannibal Corpse lyrics, these are just a fraction of the many ways to kill these poor savage people.<br /><br />And that's essentially the game: kill off the pygmies in any way you please, and spawn a few more by hitting the plus icon in the upper left of the screen. Well, that's how some folks play the game; when I play, it's not so much as "spawning a few" as it is "pumped out of the sky faster Budweiser bottles through the bottling plant before the Super Bowl."<br /><br />"Yeah, take that little guy. Oh, you're so cute! I bet you'd look even cuter if you were hit by lightning! BLAM! Off the face of the Earth! Alright, let's get rid of that thunderstorm with a wave of the finger across the sky and... how about we summon a vampire bat to feast on this last guy? Yeeeah, that'll do the trick. Okay, just one more... oops, accidentally knocked him into the water. I better spawn three more just in case I do that again. Swoosh! Hurricane for the big finish! ...but wait, I really should end on a grander finalé than just a tiny hurricane. I mean, I've already murdered twelve of them with that before..."<br /><br />Wait, what just happened? Did I really burn two hours on an iPhone game? What kind of gamer am I? Was I really looking for an excuse to get away from work to the point that I'd fiddle with a touch-and-play iPhone game for that long? Did I really just want to kill e-people all night to take out revenge for my long hours this week?<br /><br />It is now 3:45am. Indeed, I did burn two full hours by toying around with new ways to murder the pygmies. Work hours, no less. Hey, I'll gain those hours back in no time tomorrow--those poor saps being crushed by a glacier monster won't ever get those hours back.<br /><br />The trick with Pocket God is that it does what it sets out to do very well: be the be-all, end-all of time wasters. It's the perfect game to introduce someone leery of cell phone games to the iPhone, as it utilizes the touch screen extremely well, and more importantly, the ability to jump in and out of an important phone call without losing some daunting amount of progress in the game you're enraptured by.<br /><br />Let's give an example of the touch screen controls: tap the plus icon five times to spawn five more cutesy natives onto the isle. Let's say we want to cause a tsunami to wipe out these guys from their home and take them under the sea. Simply wave your finger across the tide to flood the land, and poof: you're underwater. Place your finger to align several pygmies in a row, then tap the spear gun to shoot the harpoon through the chest of three in a row. Mmm, shish kabob. Hit the bucket of fish to bring out a... shark with a laser on its head? Awesome. Use the motion controls on the iPhone to align the laser to a pygmy, and tap the shoot icon to blast off. Mmm, toasty.<br /><br />This scenario and scenes like it are the key drawing point to the game, which features regular free updates to add new features and, more importantly, new death traps. The world of Pocket God is certainly one where your imagination and fingers frolick, if you're sadistic enough. Ultimately, <em>Pocket God</em> saves itself from being a bit too brutal by offering such warm visuals; nothing we seem to do to these poor things makes us feel bad, because it just so happens that they look adorable when being launched into a volcano.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1roEN_9vFfbsetOdkeHn4XYHMj6On0pflsQZlow36B4RRJn3-aRVIvtGFMH2w_lhELmmwUjFz0gIu0Tr7Saj8i4UXLLRMD9K3T8czI4J4ONK2XG7mJuZ-e9ufB9S1leOd-Ny3sizNBZo/s1600-h/pocket-god.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1roEN_9vFfbsetOdkeHn4XYHMj6On0pflsQZlow36B4RRJn3-aRVIvtGFMH2w_lhELmmwUjFz0gIu0Tr7Saj8i4UXLLRMD9K3T8czI4J4ONK2XG7mJuZ-e9ufB9S1leOd-Ny3sizNBZo/s200/pocket-god.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431937366338486802" /></a><br /><br />For some, this is plenty. I dove into the game for under a buck expecting ten minutes of entertainment, and I certainly got that. Others will see the touch screen as gimmicky, considering the chuckles you'll get from the wit of the developer's ideas is technically the most satisfying part of the title ("Oh man, if I swirl my fingers in circles, it creates a wind funnel!"). Some people will expect a bit more game for their buck, and they'd be justified in that claim, as there's little actual game in <em>Pocket God; </em>the closest thing the game gets to being traditional in its roots is the optional boss battles. To those gamers, I say "Hey, it's a dollar. You're getting something to showcase your iPhone or iPod Touch for 99 cents. Sure, it's not filet mignon, but you can't complain over a T-bone steak for a buck."<br /><br />Has the iPhone reached the pinnacle of gaming with <em>Pocket God</em>, or become a gaming machine due to it? Of course not. Simply put, we're too far off for the iPhone to become a premiere portable gaming device, but because of games like <em>Pocket God</em>, with its innovative and unique take on the technology, we're one step closer to playing great games on the next generation of cell phones, and as the market is now, <em>Pocket God</em> is the perfect companion piece for the device.<br /><br /><strong>Verdict</strong>: A great game to show off what your iPhone or Touch is capable of. You'll catch yourself smiling at the imagination of the two creative minds behind the title with every accidental gameplay discovery. <strong>8/10</strong><br /><em><br /><strong>-Zoop</strong></em>Zoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00272026847822622195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5918721118420939146.post-29145519168289311482010-01-17T00:55:00.000-08:002010-01-18T12:04:54.971-08:00The Market of FamiliarityIn January 2005, I had just moved into my first apartment. It was and still is today something out of a Tyler Perry drama; to outsiders, I live in an old 1930s complex that looks like a druglord's roost, the projects that the wealthy forgot. To me, it's not quite home, but comfortable enough to lay my head and drink my drink in its confides. We never truly retrieve home after we've left it; even to go back, it is not the same as it once was, it's a place all too familiar, yet your heart is no longer invested in it. It remains, it is your ties to the location that have separated.<br /><br />Leaving home is also a bittersweet affair, with the loose living arrangements and "I can do for myself" freedoms clashing with your leaving-the-nest instincts coded into your DNA. You're in a strange place with all of the things that are familiar to you, but the location is different. Your computer no longer sits next to the window where you peered out as a teenager in curiosity of what it would feel like to live in this very moment you're in now; as it turns out, this moment is terrifying. And your computer is <em>nowhere</em> near a window, much less the one from your childhood.<br /><br />Right on cue, panic sets in. You want out, the deal was a bust, it's time to pack your bags and head home to where it's safe, to where it's familiar. "Familiar" is a good feeling when you feel alone. You want familiar things to ease you into the process of leaving the nest and spreading your wings; this includes being surrounded by family and friends, if only by phone calls. This is step one in a three step process. Step two: stray from your new reality by leaving your new surroundings in substitution of familiar restaurants and locales--you've got to feel safe somewhere. This step is harder to execute if you're new to a town or city. Finally, step three: surround yourself in familiar media.<br /><br />Steps one and two were gracefully executed for me. Step three? Seemingly. I watched <em>Aqua Teen Hunger Force</em> continuously, wording every line as it was delivered. I watched <em>the Shining</em> ad nauseam. I cranked Ben Folds MP3s from my crappy computer speakers as I arranged my furniture to my liking.<br /><br />Gaming, however, seemed to have been lost in the knee-deep snow that January.<br /><br />My gaming decision? I was to try something new, but something I could count on for being familiar: <em>Resident Evil 4</em>. Yes, I had read that things were a little different this time around, such as a new camera system with the cam over the shoulder of Leon S. Kennedy, the star of my favorite game in the series, <em>Resident Evil 2</em>. It was the first time Leon was to appear in a <em>Resident Evil</em> title since the award-winning second installment. He was a familiar face. I could tolerate that unfamiliar camera.<br /><br />As I began to play the game, my hopes remained high and my anxiety stayed at bay; this was <em>Resident Evil</em>, not some action game. I was certain that the first sequence was there simply to introduce a new element in the game: persistent enemies who would crowd you by the dozen in a fit of Los Angeles-riot-induced-rage. This was what they were doing to grab some new fans, to convince them that these small spurts of new, insane combat were just the right amount of a steroid injection to hook their <em>Crank</em>-obsessed, testosterone-craving egos into getting scared a little. "It won't turn your boy-parts into lady-bits to shriek a li'l bit, guys! It's fun!"<br /><br />I was wrong.<br /><br />Chapters faded into the distance. The familiarity wore off. I was playing a new game in a new series with new characters who had familiar names. As old loves change over time into people you do not know, these characters I loved, these characters I was so familiar with, had changed as well. Names that lose their significance to you are no longer names, but merely words, and just as people change, my beloved, familiar game series was something new, something different, right when I needed it the most.<br /><br />So what did I do? I kept playing it. This deceit I held for the title was still apparent, and completely justified--or at least I made myself believe. "Is the game great?" "<em>Yeah... if you like mindless shooters</em>." I made sure to understand and appreciate the game for what it was, a blockbuster movie experience made into an interactive marvel the likes of which gaming had not seen up to that point (but since seen numerous times, and much better). But it wasn't the same.<br /><br />And so <em>Resident Evil 4</em> provided not what I wanted, but what I needed. I encountered an immersive experience that transported me away from my coddling anxieties and into a different world I was not familiar with. "<em>The game tricked me! Why I oughta..."</em> It was not what I wanted when I started it, as I craved such familiarity to get me over the hump of living out on my own, but it was what I ultimately needed, the effort to throw me into the water instead of tip-toeing into the shallow end.<br /><br />As much as I appreciated <em>Resident Evil 4</em> and the things it did for my emotional state back then, I miss the classic style that only <em>Resident Evil</em> had. Tacky acting, distinctive style in level design and enemy isolation. The enemies were so scarce in the original <em>Resident Evil</em> on the PlayStation that you'd be taken aback and startled when you actually encountered one; by constrast, you were surprised when only two enemies were in a section of a map in <em>Resident Evil 4</em>. The change was drastic, and I craved the old cut 'n' paste mentality that ultimately led to "old school" <em>Resident Evil's </em>demise. Fact is, gamers are a fickle bunch with pseudo-ADD; if you do the same trick a few times too many, they crave differentiation, regardless of how tried and true--familiar--a formula is.<br /><br />So imagine my surprise when gamers and critics alike revolted at the release of <em>Resident Evil 5</em> in March of 2009. Bored of the non-stop action sequences in the brisk daylight? Already? Sure, we saw several re-releases of <em>Resident Evil 4</em> across three platforms over the years leading up to the fifth installment, but this is technically the sequel to the mega-ultra-blockbuster that folks praised and revered just a mere four years prior. The old formula lasted through four core releases, two online installments, director's cuts, revisions and more before gamers finally grew stale of the fixed camera angles and tank controls. This time around, the correct answer is one? A single release?<br /><br />For those unaware, the differences between the fourth and fifth installments in the franchise are about as noteworthy as the differences between the first and second back in the mid to late '90s: a tweak here, a tweak there, a slightly new setting that feels familiar, and viola! A recipe for success, or at least one decade ago. In the day and age of download content, where 18 maps in a multiplayer game is never enough for the insatiable boredom of today's gamer, there need to be groundbreaking innovations with every entry into a triple A series.<br /><br />But is <em>Resident Evil</em> actually a series on par with the likes of <em>Mario</em> and <em>the Legend of Zelda</em>? It's certainly a huge franchise, but the survival horror genre as a whole was always niche, reserved in the corner--not necessarily the shadows--for a few million hardcore fans who craved what the developers were good at: setting a scene and making you feel isolated.<br /><br />My proposition to come back into the fold of pleasing everyone and releasing a Game of the Year-esque title? Blend the two. Start from scratch. Drop the characters, who now yawn at the sight of a zombie due to overexposure, and go the route of someone experienced in stress-related combat and tactics, yet not in flesh-craving monstrosities. This allows for seamless pace increases and decreases, where aggressive attackers group together to give you an adrenaline rush and then dead silence afterwards.<br /><br />The key problem with Capcom's choosing to rush the player with twenty to forty zombies per sector is overexposure. You will never feel truly terrified or the slightest bit of panic if this is what the game consists of from the cover to the credits. Drop atmosphere into this gameplay core, and instantly you have a starting point for creating a title everyone can agree on, meanwhile winning back the fans of the genre you have previously betrayed.<br /><br />I came up with this blueprint in my then-new apartment five years ago. I knew if they released another <em>Resident Evil</em> like the fourth entry, it would be met with mixed results. Why? You can do the same thing over and over again when you're in a niche market because there's a small handful of titles to choose from; once you enter the mainstream, gun-toting gamer's land, you have literally thousands of shooters with better core mechanics and better atmosphere. One game in a sea of tens, one game in a sea of thousands... It's easy to understand why the game was pulled under by critics and fans alike.<br /><br />Finally, however, it looks like Capcom is getting my drift.<br /><br /><object height="295" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/uAH8dckN6SA&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/uAH8dckN6SA&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"></embed></object><br /><br />This downloadable content, coming out February 17, 2010, looks like be on the right path. Spooky HD mansion? Looks brilliant. Sets a good atmosphere with experienced characters. This is the <em>Resident Evil</em> I wanted to play ever since I saw the cut-scenes throughout <em>Resident Evil 5</em>. "Why can't I play <em>that</em> game? That's the game I want to play, not this one!" I'd scream to my co-op partner, regardless of who it was, every time those cut-scenes would appear. I felt like a Dickensian ragamuffin, longingly staring through the window of a candy store with a dribble of saliva dangling from my lower lip. This is what I wanted--no, what I needed.<br /><br />I'm on the verge of moving in the coming month, so I'll need something to keep my sanity as I adjust to another chapter of my life... preferably something familiar. Thanks, Capcom.<br /><br />-<em>Zoop</em>Zoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00272026847822622195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5918721118420939146.post-13157331220626186872010-01-13T19:47:00.000-08:002010-01-13T20:56:15.424-08:00Dante's War: God of InfernoI have a tendency to download everything humanly possible when it comes to Xbox Live now that I'm equipped with my 120 gig harddrive, so long as it's free. This usually leads me to download every single demo that hits the Marketplace, both so I may try everything that the cool kids are buying into and, at least as an excuse, play games I'm looking forward to a month or so earlier than their launch date. I never really end up playing the latter as I like to have a fresh first-time experience with something I know I will enjoy, but I'm an American, dammit, I have to consume bandwidth with my hands free for fast food and Chinese plastic products.<br /><br />It seemed only natural to reach for the demo of <em>Dante's Inferno</em>, the upcoming game from critically acclaimed developer Visceral Games. As some of you know, I hold Dead Space in the highest regard of this generation, citing it to be up there with the likes of action juggernauts <em>Gears of War</em> and <em>BioShock</em> as one of the finest examples of cinematic action experiences in gaming this decade. With Visceral behind the project, we're bound to see something interesting with such a premise, right?<br /><br /><a href="http://ll.assets.ea.com/nawp/na/u/f/GPO/eagames/dantes_inferno/dantes_inferno/img/screens/screen_12_view.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 350px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 197px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://ll.assets.ea.com/nawp/na/u/f/GPO/eagames/dantes_inferno/dantes_inferno/img/screens/screen_12_view.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />...Where have I seen this before?<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://cache.gawker.com/assets/images/kotaku/2009/02/god_of_war_3_2009.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 350px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 197px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://cache.gawker.com/assets/images/kotaku/2009/02/god_of_war_3_2009.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />...Oh yeah. It's <em>God of War</em>.<br /><br />And that's what it all boils down to. The game IS <em>God of War</em>. You play an otherworldly badass who stitches the Templar flag onto his chest for shits 'n' giggles, who defeats hordes of skeletons with his sharpened weaponry and rips the spine out of demons who come to take him to the underworld. How do you defeat said demons? By using an aerial assault of somehow-I-am-floating-in-air-as-if-I-am-so-insane-that-I-can-cease-gravity's-existence-on-command Samuel L. Jackson-itude, mixed in with "Press the X button, press the O button" sequences.<br /><br />It's <em>God of War</em>.<br /><br />According to PlayStation: The Official Magazine, the writer, producer, and director for <em>Dante’s Inferno</em>, Jonathan Knight, had this to say about the similarities: "We never get sick of hearing it because it's the greatest compliment we can be paid. We hope to be worthy of that. Those guys are at the top of their game and there's no question God of War III is going to be spectacular. I'll be the first in line to get it. I hope those comparisons are being made because of our combat system and is just as responsive - the control over the character is very immediate, it's very fast-paced, you can branch out of moves very easily, you feel very powerful and overall is a very fun game to play."<br /><br />Oh Jonathan, people make the comparisons because you lifted the engine and characters directly from Sony's blockbuster franchise. My best friend played the demo for a staggering five minutes before dropping the controller. His response? "If I'm going to play <em>God of War</em>, I at least want to wait a month later and grab <em>God of War III</em>."<br /><br />Ultimately, this is what consumers will assume; <em>Dante's Inferno</em> comes out February 9, 2010. <em>God of War III</em> drops on March 16, 2010. If this was meant as an homage, why, from a fiscal standpoint, release it one month before the juggernaut franchise's third entry? The EA series is a brand new IP, meaning it has not won over the average gamer yet, and will cost the same amount as <em>God of War III</em>. Is their assumption that people are so stoked for the third Kratos encounter that they will blow sixty bucks on a knock-off a mere five weeks before it drops?<br /><br />Fact is, Jonathan, people are making the comparison because it feels cheap, and your team of developers is much better than this. To the casual observer, it's a developer riding on the coattails of someone else's success, like a wannabe pop starlet covering a Lennon/McCartney song and claiming to have a similarity in place with the original songwriters. To me, it feels like I was duped into buying tickets to a Pixies concert only to have them pull out a setlist of Bee Gees covers instead of what they're good at. At least Jonathan took the homage route, instead of pulling the "ours is different because the characters' names aren't the same" Vanilla Ice-on-Queen defense.<br /><br />I try not to judge a book by its cover, but it's hard not to when the lettering is in big, bold print. If you're listening, I advise your team to put away the Sgt. Pepper ensemble and create your own beat. I'm not judging the game itself until I play the final product, but with minds as bright as those who work at Visceral Games, it's sad to see creativity spurned for the sake of copying a winning formula; that, in itself, is the greatest defeat of all.<br /><br />I'm still anxious to try it, if for no other reason than to get the achievement for slaying ten unbaptized babies. Hey, if I've got it in real life, I figure I should have it on my gamercard.<br /><br />-<em><strong>Zoop</strong></em>Zoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00272026847822622195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5918721118420939146.post-71707558128468426282010-01-13T14:37:00.000-08:002010-01-13T15:49:28.351-08:00First!Being a Z-list celebrity of the Internet, something I've come to cherish over the years, I feel that there's little room left to conquer here in cyberspace-land. I'm technically one Kathy Griffin heart attack away from stealing a spot on Celebrity Death Camp Island next season, so what glory is left to chip away at?<br /><br />Much like Garth Brooks became Chris Gaines, there's little explanation as to exactly why I'm doing this, but I am. I suppose I need an outlet to distribute the things I like about gaming and to call out the things that I cringe at. Hopefully you will agree with the majority of these things. I intend to run a consistent blog full of ideas to shape the industry the way it should be constructed. Will it make a difference? Of course not. But we can dream.<br /><br />I'll do running reviews of games. I want to turn this into a first for the industry, where you can follow-up my review with thoughts of your own and a dialogue with me about the things you liked or disliked about the game and my review of it. Too often in this industry, you'll read a professional review and instantly question something the author says in a paragraph, requiring elaboration. I want this to be an interactive experience; if you disagree with something I say, bring it up. Let's debate it. What you will not find on this blog is a printed review that acts as scripture carved in stone; I am but one man with nothing to back my opinion up beyond my words, and that is how I hope to win you over, with nothing but what I know, what I have seen, what I have experienced. Where other reviews are a one-way connection to the reader, I hope to open a dialogue with all of you about these things, as you would ask a friend "Hey, how's that game?" and expect a trusted response.<br /><br />We'll have fun in the coming months. Also, please donate to http://doctorswithoutborders.org/ for Haiti relief. Thanks.<br /><br />-<em><strong>Zoop</strong></em>Zoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00272026847822622195noreply@blogger.com0