Richard Kershtinkle

The name's Richard Kershtinkle, I'm a private dick. My friends call me Dick, the dick. That's private dick. Being a private dick I get to see a lot of weird shit. There was one the other day at the side of the the burger stand, looked like a pigeon in a Stetson.

I was propping up the bar in Harry's. Why he couldn't have used a workbench or even a chair I don't know. I guess he just wanted that personal touch. Besides, it had been raining most of the day and he'd offered me free drinks while he fixed it in place, so I was glad to help. Harry wasn't accomplished when it came to DIY and was too cheap to get people in to do the refit. I was on my fifth J2O and had pushed the boat out and gone for the Orange & Pomegranate. It was a mistake.

Harry and I were old buddies. We'd knocked about in the same neighbourhood as kids, getting into fights, chasing the girls, getting the ever loving crap kicked out of us when we caught up with them. It was a tough neighbourhood. The compensation Harry got for the time Katie Guffnapper kicked him so hard in the juice box he was left permanently cross eyed had been invested wisely and he'd opened the bar a few years back on the returns. It was lucky he'd seen the ad for The Injury and Accident Lawyers 4 U Claim Group Direct. They offered a no win no fee guarantee to get compensation, or for a small fee knee cap the other party and take their dinner money. In my youthful exuberance I'd urged Harry to go for the knee capping. Katie had once pulled tongues at me, and that kind of pain never goes away.

Harry laboriously fixed the final screws into place so I could let go. Fair play to the old boy, it looked good and level. We tested it out by skimming shot glasses across it like you see in old Westerns. Harry slid down my Orange & Pomegranate. Seriously, don't. It's nasty. I held my breath and swallowed hard.

I bid farewell to Harry and turned to leave. That's when I saw her. Her auburn hair was pushed back behind her ears. Her ears where on the side of her head. Her hair brushed her shoulders as it flowed behind her back. The light caught the waves as they ran like rapids out of sight. I gazed at her as she removed her coat and shook off the precipitation she had collected outside. She stood before me in a cut off tee shirt, blue jeans and a pair of blue Adidas Samba's. Classy.

She walked up to the bar and gestured Harry. Harry looked at her. She gestured again, damn his eyes. She looked at me. I looked at her. We looked at each other. She looked back to Harry. I looked at Harry. Harry looked at us both, I think.

She said she was looking for someone to help her out. I told her I was always available to help a pretty dame, and truth be told I'd help the munters too. I'm not as young as I was and long since sold my principals down the river when I started accepting KFC Bargain Buckets as payment. I said I'd be glad to help her out, took her arm and headed for the door. She stopped me and said that's not what she meant. I told her to be more specific then, I was a busy man and time is chicken. She asked me who I was. I told her I'm Richard Kershtinkle and I'm a private dick. My friends call me Dick, the dick. That's private dick, and that being a private dick I see a lot of weird shit, like the other day there was one in the supermarket car park that with the tyre tread looked like a Semilarvatus Butterfly Fish.

She said she had no time for games. I put the Scrabble away. She said she needed a man. I was a man. She queried the past tense. I assured her the chest luggage was all man, as was the salami looking for flaws in my zip. She told me I was disgusting and ought to be ashamed of myself. I explained that ever since I found myself putting Britain's Got Talent on series link I've been beyond shame. I could see the pity in her eyes, mixing with contempt. She put her hand on my arm and whispered sympathy. I told her to take her sympathy and flush it with the other rotten goldfish. She looked shocked, like a beaver chewing a scaffold pole. I took a step back. She stepped forward. I took another step back. She took another step forward. I jumped to the left. She stepped to her right. I put my hands on my hips. She closed her legs, bringing her knees in tight. I told her that if her name was Janet I would be very likely to soil myself. She said it wasn't, that her name was Florence and that the Kit-Kat in her pocket was just coincidence. Florence. A beautiful name to match the beauty of the city. In her case the city of Sheffield. She opened her mouth, and from this range I could scent the mild garlic from the Kiev she had eaten within the hour. I know my chicken. She told me she'd recently moved into a flat above one of the shops down the street. I asked why I should care. She told me I shouldn't and that she was just trying to make small talk as our conversing seamed to have reached an impasse. I told her that small talk was like foreplay, unnecessary. I asked her if she was going to get to her point as I wasn't going to see her wasting any more of my time, not when there could be a Zinger Wrap worthy case just around the corner. She called me a dead beat and said she wished she hadn't bothered coming in. Thrusting her arms back into her coat and turning towards the door and said she didn't know who I thought I was. So as she stormed back out on to the cold wet streets I reminded her. I'm Richard Kershtinkle, and I'm a dick.

Hero Worship

I've been a bit of a fan of the Guitar Hero games ever since I was given a baptism of beer and pizza with Guitar Hero II on a friends Xbox 360. I even bought both Guitar Hero On Tour (DS) and Guitar Hero On Tour: Decades (DS) leading to many an evening being spent guitar duelling on the couch with the wife.

I'm therefore feeling a little privileged as I got to play the new entry in the ever expanding and market saturating Guitar Hero franchise before it appears in UK stores. Guitar Hero: Metallica (Wii) had me joining a Metallica wannabe band looking to support their heroes by playing Metallica songs past and present along with a number of tracks favoured by the band. There are 28 Metallica tracks and 21 from artists such as Alice in Chains, Foo Fighters, Thin Lizzy and Queen.

I'm sure there can be few who aren't familiar with the Guitar Hero formula, and it's post RockBand expansion to include microphone and drums as of Guitar Hero World Tour. As with previous versions, coloured 'notes' fall down the screen which must be matched by the player by pressing the appropriate colours on the guitar neck and strumming in time with the track. Similarly drums require the appropriate coloured pad or cymbal be struck, and lyrics warbled in roughly the correct key.

This is the second artist specific edition of the franchise, the previous being Guitar Hero: Aerosmith. Unlike the Aerosmith edition the track listing here feels solid, and even a none Metallica fan such as myself will be familiar with most of the songs, which adds a comforting element to their playing. There's an additional Bass Drum peddle which can be purchased and a new Expert+ difficulty level so you can really pretend to be Lars Ulrich if you so desire.

One thing I feel the Guitar Hero franchise has, somewhat ironically, failed to effectively simulate is playing the guitar. As a guitar player myself there's always been a feeling of detachment when playing the games. The strum bar is uncomfortable to actually strum, and holding it bears little or no resemblance to holding a plectrum. When I can pick up a guitar and play a track such as She Sells Sanctuary by The Cult, as seen in Aerosmith, there's a distinct feeling that there's something wrong with the interpretation the little plastic codpiece has me fumbling through. When playing with fellow musicians it's the keyboard player, who has never managed to master a real guitar, that gets to live out his Hendrix fantasy. Make of that what you will. By contrast, the drumming (yes I drum too, really rather well!) in both RockBand and Guitar Hero is logical and could actually be an aid to drum tuition.

Like I said, I'm not a Metallica fan so fandom wouldn't be enough to sell me the game. I can play a few Metallica songs though, such as the now staple Enter Sandman, so it was interesting to see that playing the track in the game felt akin to playing the track on guitar. There was a logic to the progression and hand movements that I hadn't experienced in the games before. I don't know whether this is just because the Metallica songs translate better or whether there's been a change in the way the music is converted into the rainbow drops. Whatever the reason, my moment centre stage left me hungry for more and cursing the fact I couldn't take the game home.

The version I was playing was on the Wii so graphically it obviously can't compete with the 360 or PS3, though in my opinion the only graphics that matter are the 'notes' so I've never really understood that being a criticism of the games. Audio on the other hand is paramount, and thankfully things have continued to improve since the somewhat lacklustre audio performance seen in the Wii version of Guitar Hero III: Legends of Rock.

Unlike the 360 and PS3, instruments are not interchangeable between the RockBand and Guitar Hero games on Wii, so RockBand owners need to stump up extra cash if they want to join in with their Guitar Hero playing friends. The Guitar Hero instruments require a Wii remote be plugged into them to work, and this is the main issue I have with the pricing policy of the Wii versions. I wouldn't pay the same price for a TV which only worked if I inserted a circuit board I already owned into it as I would for a whole new TV, so why do Activision expect Wii owners to pay the same price for their instruments as 360 and PS3 owners? Whether there's justification for the pricing or not, it looks like Wii owners are getting the mucky part of the woody thing.

Instrument pricing aside, this is certainly my favourite Guitar Hero game to date and has actually made me reappraise Metallica. Maybe I should download some of their songs. They're okay with that, right?

At Home with The Dentons - Episode Nine:

Silent Witless

Paul: Hi JC.
JC: I'm not speaking to you.
Paul: Really? So, you wouldn't mind if I drink all the beer out of the fridge?
JC: ...
Paul: How about I eat all your Doritos?
JC: ...
Paul: I'm just popping to the bathroom with your Sophia Sak pictures.
JC: ENOUGH!
Paul: You're my bitch.

May Play

I believe it was Forrest Gump who said, “I am not a smart man!”. Never has a game had me sat on that white bench eating chocolates quite like Cryostasis: Sleep of Reason (PC), a first person suspense thriller of the highest order. Feeling defensive all of a sudden I should stress it wasn't the puzzles in the game that had me head scratching, as good as they are, but rather the story itself. I lost count of the WTF? moments as a female voice, accompanied by postcards depicting cave drawings, told me about some tribe doing a runner from slavers and then turning on their leader in a forest. Exactly what this had to do with the Russian nuclear icebreaker trapped in the Arctic I was investigating, I really have no clue.

The game seems to have split reviewers as it doesn't sit comfortably in any particular genre. It's played out as a first person shooter, but don't let the guns fool you. There are puzzles that need to be overcome in order to progress, though they are never excessively challenging and function as a way of telling the story of what happened to the stricken ship and her crew.

There are numerous breaks with gaming convention along the way. Rather than health and medi-packs your survival is dependant on your body heat. Finding hot pipes, burning embers, or even light bulbs becomes all important. Weaponry is incidental as while the guns you find are necessary, it is a shooter of a sort after all, you're not gunning your way through enemies with unending supplies of ammunition, but rather using weapons selectively as and when required. The enemies themselves are in the main members of the crew who have become a kind of possessed semi human, and I'm desperately trying not to use the term zombie but failing miserably to come up with a suitable alternative, with the exception of a couple of what could be classed as end of level bosses.

The character you play through the game is a geologist who by a rather fortunate happenstance is gifted with psychic ability. This ability gives you flash backs to some of the events leading up to the ship becoming stranded in the ice. It also gives access to the games primary selling point. Mental Echoes. A number of frozen corpses you come across still have some form of essence that you can use to relive their final moments. In doing so you alter the physicality of your surroundings by correcting their error. For example, accessing the mental echo of a body lying in front of a door leads you to finding a piece of the hinge allowing the crew member to repair the door and escape, which on returning to your own mind has resulted in the pathway now being cleared and the door open.

Of course any self respecting physicist will by this point be having kittens (biologists not withstanding) and screaming terms like 'causality' and 'paradox', and they certainly entered my head on a number of occasions.

At the start of the game there is the not uncommon step of taking you through the gameplay mechanics as you are approaching the ship across the ice. As far as I could tell though, the bodies (yes plural) I was coming across and reliving those final moments of were my own, which lead to my first WTF? moments. On completion it does link back to the start and so corrects itself to some degree, though I was still somewhat perplexed.

There's a horrible term from the past, the 'interactive movie'. Used to describe dreadful FMV titles it has thankfully disappeared from the lexicon, though my personal feeling is that Cryostasis is what an interactive movie should be. It's blend of thriller and investigation driving the story forward makes it compelling viewing, while all the actions of the protagonist being directly controlled by the player means it is still very much a game rather than some passive experience.

Unfairly being labelled a Russian BioShock prior to release may have raised interest but also expectations. Gameplay if more akin to Condemned or Fahrenheit than Rapture's Plasmid and fire-power driven action. Visually the environment is repetitive, you're on a ship in the Arctic after all, though the ice effects, and particularity the melting frost on the walls, are beautiful to behold and never get tired.

Despite my confusion I thoroughly enjoyed Cryostasis and found it to be a breath of frosty fresh air.

The same can't be said of Wheelman (360). Vin Diesel has professed a love of games and so in addition to making mediocre formulaic movies he's now responsible for mediocre formulaic games.

It's easy to dislike Wheelman. The story is farcical in so much as the plot sees Vin driving cars and getting mixed up in a gang war to save a woman from his past. Edam-orific. The Barcelona scenery is colourful and comic as opposed to the gritty realism of GTA IV. The out of car controls are cumbersome and combat against the woeful AI opponents simply reinforces that this is a driving game and you need to get back in a car without delay.

Whatever the developers may have been striving for, one thing they have not delivered is a rival to the afore mentioned GTA IV. This is not a sand box action adventure game. This is a relatively open arcade driving beat-em-up. Preposterous actions like 'Airjacking', which sees you driving behind a target vehicle and then jumping from your vehicle onto the target in order to capture it, wouldn't be seen in the same neighbourhood as Nico Bellic. On that basis a fairer comparison would be to something like Burnout Paradise, which is certainly superior in the driving stakes though loses out in the destructible terrain and lack of vehicle melee combat. Yes, vehicle melee combat. Racing down a street and an opponent pulls up alongside? Shunt your vehicle sideways and give them a crumple zone slap. Ridiculous and hilarious when pulled off. As you progress even more ridiculous moves become available, such as turning the car through 180 degrees while maintaining directional motion so you can shoot the driver of the car tailing you. Not something you could do in the family Zafira, I'm sure.

If Midtown Madness met Road Rash after a few too many and got friendly in an alley, this would be the illegitimate offspring. It's not the best driving or racing game by a long way. It's certainly not the best beat 'em up, obviously. It is arcade tomfoolery and great fun. A game to hire for a weekend of tearing around Barcelona and frightening your sub woofer with Mr Diesels dialogue.

Finally a quick word about Plants Vs Zombies (PC). It's £6.99 on Steam. 'nuff said.

At Home with The Dentons - Episode Eight:

Since You've Been Gone

Paul: Hi JC.
JC: Hi Paul.
Paul: Seems like a while since we spoke.
JC: Yes. Yes it does.
Paul: Should we talk about that?
JC: Best not.

Your attention Sir, with relish.

I think it's fair to say I like a little attention. If I didn't I wouldn't write a blog and post it here where literally some people could read it. I also wouldn't use Twitter. I used to play in bands and relished live performances, so there must be some degree of exhibitionist in me. Having said that, I was always uncomfortable at social gatherings as I was quite happy to stand or sit in a corner having a chat with one or two people when I was apparently supposed to be entertaining the collective. Eventually my lack of contribution to the overall joyous nature of such occasions saw the invites diminish year on year until my plan to perfect social leprosy was finally complete. I'm quite happy to present myself and open myself up to praise or ridicule, but I don't feel any need to attract either. From scouring tweets and blogs, I get the impression that my philosophy is typical. Every now and then I do spot something that is at odds with that philosophy, such as the actions of Andy Ireland.

Andy is from Leeds. His Bio reads: Hi I am Andy. I am Fun.

Andy appears to have gone beyond liking a little attention and has entered the dark realm of needing attention. Not convinced? Let's go back to his Bio. “I am fun”. I'm sure that's supposed to be endearing. Hey everybody look at Andy, he's fun, let's all be his best bud. The problem with such a claim is of course that as with people who claim to be intellectuals, or not be racist, or crazy/zany, if you have to tell people then it's clearly not self evident, which would suggest at least some degree of delusion.

Further, Andy doesn't crave attention from just anybody. His demand is for the attention of those perceived to be outside the generic public domain. Celebrities. Andy has gone beyond the pitiful begging of celebrities to follow his tweets and has instead opted to get their attention by sending them a Rick-Roll link that when activated resizes the browser and moves it around the screen. This would be annoying in itself, but to prolong the pain in the event of the browser being maximised, an attempt at closing the tab instead produces the lyrics in a succession of dialogue boxes. Increasingly annoying based on the number of tabs open at the time and the fact that using task manager to close the browser also means the session cannot be restored without also restoring the Rick-Roll.

Rick-Rolling was a harmless, if irritating, Internet phenomenon that some people found entertaining last year, but what Andy has done is turn it into celebrity browser hijacking – by proxy. You see Andy can't even claim the Kudos for the scripting, he's just sowing a link he's collected. No doubt caught by the honey trap laid before him, his frustration turning to elation as he realised he could piss people off to the same extent he surely was and in the process temporarily fill his attention void.

I think Andy needs to amend his Bio. Hi, I am Andy. I am a twat.