A Hail of Bullets

I've got some things I wanted to talk to you about. No, wait, it's nothing like that! Sorry, I didn't mean to make this sound like a break-up conversation. We're not breaking up. Things have been great with you, they really have! I just wanted to bring some stuff to your attention is all. I don't have too too much time to do it, though, so I've resorted to using drive-by bullet points. Hit the dirt!

• John Madden is hanging up the mike. I'm not sure how this affects the business at large, given his perhaps waning relevance. But sports fans will certainly miss him (quote Johnsen, who just found out looking over my shoulder: "Awww, now I hate football"). The guy's a legend. Heck, even I, living on the frozen Isle of Sportlessness, will regret his absence.
• Big Sam is back in town. Boston just got a little drunker.
• In what could be the only argument ever to be made against spam blockers, I was very nearly denied one of the most magical subject lines ever written: "Paris Hilton Pees Like Men"
  
• The pundits are all abuzz concerning ASU's shafting Obama on an honorary degree. I assume my readers are like-minded souls, and agree with me that this is at least somewhat disgraceful. The best reaction I've read so far comes from Marc Lamont Hill:"Barack Obama holds earned degrees from Columbia and Harvard, published two best-selling books, was the first black editor of Harvard Law Review, became the third black man elected to the Senate since Reconstruction, and, last I checked, was president of the United States. Barring an unexpected attempt to play point guard for the Washington Wizards, I think Obama has pretty much blown his load on the achievement side of things."
• Allow me one serious link (and a work-related plug) before I move onto yet greater depths of geekitude. Helen Benedict, the author of the linked NYT article, is a voice that I feel needs to be heard. She's an observer and critic of the war in Iraq who has written a book for Beacon Press concerning, specifically, the military's systemic misogyny and the horrific treatment of its female soldiers. She follows the stories of five women and their experiences, from enlistment through Iraq and back again. Her work is intelligent and heartbreaking, and, in my eyes, belongs with the likes of Chris Hedges.
  
• Super geekitude! (Note: Mute before watching, or be subjected to god-awful synth music)
  

  This video might not look like much, until you realize how it was rendered: it's procedurally generated video, meaning your computer's CPU and GPU create what you're seeing on-the-fly. In layman's terms, it is your computer creating art through math, all by itself. The benefits to this mode of production are two-fold: It obviates the armies of artists that are usually required to create the textures that go into digital world-building and it takes virtually no disk space. Do you know how large the file is that rendered that video? 4k. That's about the size of the text document I've just written. Pretty impressive.
  

• Because Mauro seemed to like the Braid artwork, here's another game that will knock you on your artist's cheeks: Scary Girl. I didn't find it overly entertaining, sadly, but it's incredibly slick and imaginative, full of characters I'd expect to see on Emily's handbag or some such hip thing.
  

Quirky Games + Easter = This Post

Easter came and went, with all the familiar hallmarks of the holiday: candy, beer, family, zombies, ham, and a 911 call. Not in that order, though, now that I think about it.

Whitney and Karen organized a pysanky party that drew roughly 400 women to our apartment. Kevin and I knew that this strong feminine presence, combined with a powerfully unmanly activity, posed a very real threat to our bachelor's pad. Luckily, we had a plan: by 12:30 pm we were drunk and ensconced in the TV room for an all-day Resident Evil 5 session. Our course seemed to shield us from any female attention we might otherwise have risked. (Unluckily, I spent most of that time expiring within the iron grip of murderous insects. Again and again my character died! Stabbed to death by giant, bipedal cockroaches.) Our protracted bout of zombie-murder served another purpose as well: Since Easter Sunday coincided with Somerville's zombie parade this year, it was imperative that we vent our anti-undead (pro-dead?) sentiment on Saturday, or risk a Bloody Sunday of shambling proportions. We can't help it; when we see a lurching gait and milky eyes, instinct just takes over.

Later that night Kevin and I went to get more beer. On our way to the beer store we saw a man careening this way and that.
"Ha, ha!" I said to Kevin, elbowing him in a most jovial fashion. "Here comes a man drunker than we!"
We continued on and bought overpriced beer at O'Brian's (which isn't as close to home as Somerville Wine and Spirits, but which is conveniently still-in-business). On our way home we noticed our inebriated friend, whom we had passed earlier, now reclining face-down in some bushes. This is when we called 911. We waited for the Fire Dept to arrive and confirm that he was A-OK before wordlessly disappearing into the night, like heroic Ninja Turtles (or, alternatively, Batmen).

The next morning I retreated to the suburbs of Danvers. Seeing my folks was great, especially since Elliot was able to make it out. (Coincidentally, I just yesterday listened to his radio show at UVM for the first time, "the graveyard shift with MC Beeftray." There's a streaming archive if you're interested in expanding his listenership, but he informs me that today may be his last show for the year, so listen now or forever hold your peace... er,well, hold your peace for the summer.) And... well, that's all I really have to tell you about family stuff. Minus the parenthetical comments, it doesn't amount to a whole heap of beans. Did you know that my parents are nice people? They are!
....Moving on.

I downloaded the demo for Braid the other day and was impressed. It's a much-buzzed-about, award-winning, indie title, so there were high hopes there. Picture a "Super Mario Bros." game that plays like a brain-teaser, where all laws of physics are malleable, time is fluid, and the artwork is inspired by A Lesson Is Learned (...and wow, holy fuck, I just found out that apparently the artwork was done by the artist of A Lesson Is Learned, David Hellman. Have I got an eye for art or what?).
As discovered on the brilliantly titled blog "Rock, Paper, Shotgun," Soulja Boy is apparently a fan of the game, as well. Is he high while playing? Certainly. Could that also be considered a point in the game's favor? I should say so!



In addition to Braid, I also played the abrupt, stupid, and totally hilarious Robot Dinosaurs That Shoot Beams When They Roar (also courtesy of RPS). Good for a lol, especially the intro, and especially if you're at work (note that sound effects are a prereq to maximize enjoyment).

Anyways, that's all for now. Hopefully post here again tomorrow.

Auditorium

I'm currently suffering the sort of maddeningly vague, on-again-off-again illness that I would normally go grumbling into work despite. However, my boss has essentially quarantined me from the office. Truth be told, I'd rather be at work.

On the upside, I went back and played some Audiotorium today. It's a relaxing breed of puzzle-solver, Flash-based, and every bit as good as I remember it being. If you haven't tried it yet, I'd recommend you do so (if only as a change of pace from Bejeweled). Not coincidentally, the game has a very good sense of flow, which is a topic I've become increasingly interested in. Apparently they have a full version which is now available for purchase, if that interests you. It doesn't look like they have an iPhone app out yet, which is a shame... well, would be a shame if I had an iPhone. I suppose I'll just have to be deeply saddened on behalf of the iPhoners.

Watchmen

In honor of the imminent theatrical release of Watchmen, I give you two reasons to be glum:

Watchmen Failed
Watchmen: The Demo is Nigh

The former is a really great article that gives some insight into why Moore's comic series was so powerfully different, and why it's been lauded for all the wrong reasons. The latter is proof of that concept: a videogame beat-em-up based on... well, clearly not Watchmen.

Ya know, a couple of movies ago I heard Alan Moore was pissed about how his work had been treated... truth be told, today I'd be spitting venom, too.

Picked Last 4 Dodgeball

I'm not the type who spends any amount of time constructing elaborate survival plans involving the zombie apocalypse. That said, I do really appreciate shotguns. Like, on a deep level. On top of that, first-person shooters that rely on strategy and cooperation butter my bread, so it may not elicit any gasps of surprise when I reveal to you that I've been playing Left 4 Dead. In point of fact, I've forsaken all others in the pursuit of its mastery.

....well, maybe mastery is a stretch. Let's go with "proficiency." Proficiency meaning that I'm able to keep pace for about twelve steps before I'm pounced on by zombies in hoodies and force-fed my own face.

Unfortunately, as is often true of PC titles, proficiency doesn't quite cut it in the realm of multiplayer (versus mode), where roving bands of super-nerds have made it their explicit goal to kick sand in the face of their lessers. Cyberbullying, it turns out, is a dish best served by a child ten years your junior.

I know why they do it. The perennial last-picks in gym class, they are abused by their more able-bodied peers. I've been there. I've been kicked off of volleyball teams, guys. So I know how you must feel when you get home from another day of state-mandated emasculation. After cracking open a Dr. Pepper and firing up your desktop you just want to pwn somebody. You want to dominate as you have been dominated, yet you find yourself saddled with an impotent teammate, incapable of lifting you up to such heights as you aspire. Anger flares. You say "MC Beeftray is the worst!" or "Can somebody kick MC Beeftray?" or even "MC Beeftray is a stupid name" (!!). Of course, you do this while running full-throttle away from me, since otherwise you might get sprayed with puree-of-chest-cavity. No, that's okay. I'm sure I'll have better luck next round.

Only you don't stick around to find out. With only the words "ragequit" to mark the departure, you drop from the game. I'm stunned. What do you think this is? Tennis? Your temper tantrums have no place in this sport. I mention this to my teammate and before I can type "amirite?" the rest of the team has dropped. Crickets chirp as the game reproachfully boots me back to the lobby. ("You need at least one person on each team to play." Hey, thanks!) How you people manage to play a single round of this game is beyond me.

The shame of it is, this is yet another wonderful game ruined by its user base, a group that has decided to turn the online component into a dimension of torment, a mirror version of their high school athletics experience. The internet was supposed to be the refuge of geeks; instead I'm getting sweaty palms every time I spawn as the Tank, since underperforming in this pivotal role will most surely earn me a rebuke from my teammates (and perhaps also result in a mass server exodus).

I'll keep coming back to it. I know I will. But when does the cycle of violence end? Quoth the GameFAQS message board: "When you stop sucking so much."