the peachFUZZ blog thing

Being Nice

2012-01-22T13:51:00.000Z

Despite most professional game reviewers being well educated literate people, I’ve noticed an increased level of resignation in much of their work and comments. If you look closely you can see the wreckage brought by the knowledge that irrespective of what they write their opinion is instantly dismissed in a tidal wave of contempt that washes over from the curse that is this communal online cesspool.

It’s the digital age. Zeroes and ones. Right or wrong. Game is the best thing ever, game is the worst thing ever. Scales and degrees are lost and the nuances of descriptive narrative are removed in favour of following the man with the arrow over his head, with the validity of such a movement being the consumerism of the ignorant.

You people make me sick.

The reason I say this is because for all the time I’ve reflected on the games I’ve played and written about them, and as with this blog thing, I am constantly worried about the words I use and whether I’m accurately expressing myself with those scales and nuances I like to experience myself. That’s quite tough for me because as anyone who knows me will appreciate, and I’m sure I have mentioned it here before, I’m an uneducated buffoon. And I don’t say that to be self depreciating or ironic. This isn’t a platform to branch out into a career in comedy podcasts or TV. Certainly not with this face, these teeth, and that hairline. Rather, it’s the confession that I have yet to write anything without a dictionary and thesaurus to hand because I fear using the wrong words. Something that was highlighted recently when we had the plughead.net Game Of The Year discussions and I found myself opining without my usual safety nets. It was a great debate to be part of, but equally terrifying. I suspect that’s why when things get a little tense I revert to knob and tit gags.

I’m aware that even when choosing the correct language and being suitably descriptive and reasoned my opinion isn’t worth a carrot. Highlighted over the festive season by my brother announcing a recent game acquisition which he then sought my opinion on over drinks. I naturally expressed concern and a degree of hurt that he hadn’t read my review and suggested that perhaps rather than me providing a summation he would be better served by reading my review in its entirety.

He asked me for the score and a good / bad list.

That’s what has become of reviews. Marketing is king now and people only (skim)read reviews to validate their hype lead purchases. People don’t want to know what the game is really like, they want nice comments about how they’ve made the right choice.

So why not just be nice? Why not just say what people want to hear? Sure, in a few months they’ll have finished the game and be looking to trade it in, but that’s fine because when they were playing it they felt okay about it. You stroked their head and told them how clever they were. They were culturally relevant because they had bought The Emperors New Franchise Entry and you were in it all together, but all together and all together, you’re all together as complicit and deserving of my scorn.

2011 GOTY and stuff

2011-12-31T22:46:00.003Z

It’s been an interesting year for me, mostly because I’ve spent a fair portion of it writing about games at both www.plughead.net and www.gamingdaily.co.uk. As the year ends though it has become increasingly difficult to balance that with playing games for their primary entertainment purpose. And the family of course. Mustn’t forget them. So as the year ends and I look at the 105 games currently installed and yet to be completed in my Steam list and realise I really am going to have to reign it in.

I think I went out on a high though with my Xmas 2011 Waffle: http://www.plughead.net/happy-waffle-xmas-2011 (Do feel free to share that with everyone you know)

There have been some truly stunning releases this year but of course Skyrim is my game of the year. You were perhaps expecting me to be different and controversial and choose something that panders to the masses like Modern Warfare 3?

As nice as it would be to be able to separate myself and stand out from the crowd, sometimes something rare and beautiful comes along which unites the righteous as one voice. Something that no longer exists outside your consciousness but envelopes it. That is so compelling you measure time and space by it’s absence. Those weren’t ten minutes I spent sat on my couch watching the headline news item, those were ten minutes I wasn’t crossing the river and running up the hill towards Solitude. The thirty minute ride to work should be more than enough time to investigate and clear Wolfskull cave. As I write these words I’m 9.4miles away from Breezehouse, my Whiterun home, where I left Lydia to rest while I went in search of a Redguard woman who continues to elude me.

That’s not to say Skyrim was the only contender, as while I think 2011 has seen a fair number of titles falling short of expectations, Brink, Dragon Age 2 and Rage being examples that immediately spring to mind, the consequence of this has made those that have actually succeeded in meeting or even exceeding expectations appear all the more magnificent for it. For weeks Portal 2 provided me with tales of joyous narrative discovery and puzzles overcome. Of multiplayer larks where we’d regale each other with how we removed the light path from beneath a colleague’s feet and guffawed into their headset. Or cast a friend into the void by changing the exit portal location just as they’d reached sufficient velocity to be unable to avoid their fate.

Deus Ex: Human Revolution made me the most violent and abusive pacifist imaginable. A contradiction the game itself wears throughout, never truly providing a satisfying consequence to my selected course of action, as irrespective of my desires there’s a story to be told and divergence doesn’t feature in it. Until the push button ending, which was a bit of an elbow blade to the scrotum. And those boss fights! Even when replaying as a gun toting psychopath with a side in kleptomania they felt tagged on, which we have since learned of course, they were. That didn’t stop the game being a thrilling adventure and one I will continue to revisit, as I have with its forebears.

Crytek returned with the their trademark stunningly realised visuals with Crysis 2. A continuation of the franchise that felt more focused and polished than either of its prequels and also acknowledged that the suit is the star of these games, not the lump of meat the player inhabits. That focus however also narrows the field of view and much of Crysis 2 felt a little claustrophobic. Arguably the choices in how to take on the enemies, be it by stealthily cloaking and working my way around or bolstering my armour and going in all guns blazing, are no less decisive to the outcome than in Deus Ex: Human Revolution’s vent crawling versus shotgun to the face approach. Without the pretence of real choice or notion that decisions will affect the outcome it was easy to enjoy a traditional shooter for the modern age. Certainly in terms of pure action gaming it’s difficult to see past Crysis 2.

And let’s not forget that this year I once again get to put on my gruffest voice and whisper into the ear of anyone who’ll listen, “I’m Batman!”

I also think the independent sector has truly risen above the main game studios this year in terms of reconnecting with the audience as to what constitutes an enjoyable gaming experience. They’ve certainly filled the void that endless wheelbarrows of money thrown at cross platform development had created. Trine 2 is puzzle platforming art in motion. Waves is an adrenalin fuelled acid trip. Orcs Must Die is a bizarre action tower defence hybrid that has me sniggering and on tip toes, while I’m sat down.

However, as good, and indeed great, as all these games are they are cast aside and left on the road to Riverwood simply for the crime of not being Bethesda’s latest opus. Certainly it lacks a little polish with its bugs, pop up, broken dialogue, ill conceived UI, and backwards flying dragon patches. Nevertheless, how could Skyrim not be my game of the year when it’s the most fraught, exciting, mysterious and beautiful land I’ve ever visited?

And that was 2011, or as Cave Johnson would say, “We’re done here!”

At Home With The Dentons - Episode Sixteen

2011-08-15T22:43:00.005+01:00

Please Release Me

Paul: JC! JC! The reviews are coming through and it’s all good. They’re raving about it.
JC: What?
Paul: JC! JC! The reviews are coming through and it’s all good. They’re raving about it.
JC: No, what are they raving about?
Paul: Deus Ex Human Revolution. It’s getting great scores with some saying that it’s better than the original and that Adam is a far better realised character than either of us.
JC: What? That’s an outrage. How dare they sully the Denton name!
Alex: Hi guys. You watching anything ‘cos I want to watch Phineas and Ferb?
JC: Never mind.
Paul: Be fair. Phineas and Ferb are brilliant.
JC: I hate you both.

Touching Duke

2011-06-04T23:00:00.018+01:00

*I’ve been sitting on this wondering what to do with it as it was written on the demo launch day for www.plughead.net who went for something a little more detailed instead. So I’ve decided that rather than let it rot in my Google Docs I’d put it here.*

The game so delayed you’d think it had been sent by City Link is almost within our grasp. Those who pre-ordered or bought Borderlands GOTY edition and therefore got a membership to the First Access Club have been hurriedly downloading the demo all day.

If I was a comic character and you were reading the strip about me playing the demo, here’s what would be appearing in the thought bubbles:

Intro is like a ‘previously on Duke Nukem’ montage. Nice.
Games starts and I’m stood at a urinal. And now I’m pissing. Stilll pissing. Bored of pissing now.
Why have a Whiteboard unless you want me to draw a cock on a rocket powered skateboard on it? I am not above that juvenile level of humouring myself.
Ugh, checkpoints.
Locked door syndrome. Duke Nukem, the guy who single handed tears off alien heads and shits down their necks can’t open a door. Go Duke!
Replaying the last level of Duke 3D is nice. Reminiscent of good times. A simpler time. All nostalgic and warm.
The health meter is labelled ‘Ego’. Can see why, it’s certainly reflective. Bit wank really though.
Cycloid dead, field goal scored. Yay.
Fourth wall broken, 12 years in the making joke done. Yawn.
The twins fellating Duke while playing is a bit crass. Not sure who that’s supposed to appeal to. It’s not in any way erotic and on a humour level I don’t see what a joke aimed at thirteen year olds is doing in an 18 rated game.
Driving section. Everyone loves a driving section in a FPS, right?
Hang on, am I in an RC car? No, it just looks out of proportion and as responsive as a Trappist monk to an offer of a bit of karaoke.
I do so hate the bloodied retinal blur of impending death.
Is it me or is the FOV a little narrow?
Shotgun is meaty. Wish it was as powerful as it feels and sounds.
Can only carry two firearms at a time. Good. All shooters should adopt this rule.
Some of the environment is destructible. Cool.
Yeah shrink ray. Squishy pigs, kersplat.
Executions. That won’t get old quick.
I’m sorry the game seems to have accidentally stumbled into an Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom game. If I could just borrow a mine cart to ride back to the FPS I was playing, thanks.
Oh, is that it?

So that’s that. The demo is short and doesn’t offer anything new or original to the genre. Neither does it make me want to rush out and buy the full game on release. It does remind me of how shooters used to be. Simple, ridiculous, fun. For that reason it’s definitely on my list for a purchase, but it can wait.

Return of the Thing

2011-02-03T20:46:00.002Z

Hello and welcome to 2011. I know I’m a little late getting around to you, and I know I didn’t actually send you an invite, but I’m glad you made it all the same.
So, here’s what’s been happening in Peachville (up yours Zynga, I’m keeping that) since the little episode with our stupid American friend.

Life In All But Name
This is the stuff that gets in the way of doing meaningless unimportant things that are far more fun than the serious business of work and maintaining a family life. That’s not to suggest family life isn’t fun. Who put this hole here? Anyway, work is moderately satisfying, the family are wonderful, and the house needs work.

Games Unplayed
You’d think that as most of my posts inevitably turn to the subject of games that the lack of posts meant that I hadn’t been playing much. While my gaming has been suitably restricted, those who truly love me will know that I’ve been giving my ill conceived game related words to www.plughead.net and www.gamingdaily.co.uk who seem to like my musings so much they pollute their otherwise excellent content with it. You should visit them. Frequently.

As I discovered when we had our daughter, it’s difficult trying to nestle a child while using a keyboard and mouse, so the arrival of the boy means it’s console gaming time again. The Wii waggling doesn’t work either as there’s still too much scope for dropout, so I’ve finally relented and bought an XBox360. My experience with the Xbox support team is a tale for another day, though you’d be right to surmise I’ll be declaring them a bit shit.

Vroom Vroom
Since the accident last August that killed my FZ6 Fazer I’ve eased back into riding. It took a few months of exercise and physiotherapy to get my neck and shoulder back to how they should be, but thankfully there doesn’t appear to be any long term damage. It’s interesting for me how my caution in certain situations has been replaced by fear. I’m hoping that over time that will change as it does detract from what is an otherwise very enjoyable way to commute. Thankfully the car driver’s insurer didn’t mess us about over the bike and payed up, though I am still waiting for my out of pocket expenses, not least for the replacement gear. Having never been in this position before I don’t know if it’s normal for it to take this long.

Tomorrow
I’ll be a little bit fatter, a little bit balder, and with less life left.

And that’s about it for this brief howdy do as I really should get back to mingling. Try not to make too much noise when you leave.

Twit Her

2010-09-19T17:16:00.003+01:00

Twitter provided an unexpected surprise this week. Though before I continue, why is that an acceptable sentence? Surely if it had been expected it would not have been a surprise?

Those of us in the UK can't have escaped the fact that Pope Benedict XVI is visiting our nation, and like many I have been appalled by the stories of abuse and the incumbent Pope's alleged role in assisting in keeping the perpetrators from justice. It is this background that inspired me to reacted to one of the seemingly endless newscasts of the Papal visit with the tweet:

Kid can't believe he saw Pope with his own two eyes. Makes sense, those priests usually approach from the rear.

Now I think that's funny, but I am also well aware that the only person who finds me funny, is me, and I would like to think that the people who follow my tweets accept me for the simple fool I am. The surprise I mentioned arrived a couple of minutes later when I received this from @_Boring1_:

When is it ever funny to make fun of a child that has been molested? Never,it makes you just as sick as the child molester.

I didn't recognise the name of @_Boring1_ as one of my followers so my initial reaction was one of wonder as to who this person was, and my second was to disagree with their reply on a number of levels. Firstly, if there is a victim in my tweet it is the institution that ordains priests, as the inference is that the priest or priests or indeed the whole institution is one of evildoers who would pray on the innocent. Secondly, following @_Boring1_'s logic, any act that has the potential to have a victim would become taboo for humour, which if @_Boring1_ has ever laughed at a Marx Brothers, Three Stooges or Laurel & Hardy movie, or comedians such as Bill Hicks, Eddie Murphy, Richard Prior and George Carlin, makes them a hypocrite, and if they haven't then I simply cannot be dictated to by someone so emotionally crippled. Thirdly, as @_Boring1_ neither follows me nor knows me personally they have no idea who I am or what motivates me to tweet. What if I am a victim of abuse and deal with it through humour, lashing out at the institution that allowed that abuse to happen?

I am now curious though as to who @_Boring1_ is, not only because they felt the need to reply to me but also because they clearly feel morally superior to me and in a position to dictate what I may or may not comment on. So off I pop to Jessica's Twitter page. Jessica describes herself as “a girl,a mom,29 years old.” A 29 year old girl? I would hope that by 29 years of age my daughter would be a woman. Also I notice that while she is proud to boast on her ability to breed, she does not mention a husband or partner. Not that either is a requirement or I believe is a necessity, but I did want to establish the grounds for Jessica's moral superiority claims and why she felt empowered to start dictating morality issues to others.

Having taken the time to search out my tweet and reply to it, I felt it only fair to correct Jessica on her error and so replied:

Phew, good job I didn't actually mock an abused child then. Happy trolling.

I should have known better than to feed the troll but having been attacked by Jessica, who took it upon herself to find my words remember, I never imposed them upon her, I wanted to point out that she was attacking me based on her misunderstanding of what I had written and not what I had actually written. Maybe calling her a troll, while accurate, was a bit rude, but I wasn't abusive and never felt the need to resort to inappropriate language.

Jessica replied again:

Thanks and Happy being a sick fuck.

Obviously Jessica was unable to restrain herself or couldn't articulate her feelings without resorting to abuse. Whichever is the case, how anyone can claim any kind of moral high ground while resorting to that kind of abuse is beyond me, and I would hope beyond any intelligent observer of human behaviour too.

Realising that Jessica would not or could not engage in a rational discussion and was clearly only in the mood to be abusive, I decided to return to the humour:

I'm sick? You're the one chatting up a stranger! Didn't even need to offer you sweets.

Jessica retweeted that. Possibly the most productive thing she's done in her 29 years.

Is it relevant that Jessica is American? Alabama no less!

Motorcyclic Argument

2010-09-10T16:49:00.001+01:00

It is not without a sense of irony that my first post since Caught On HelmetCam should happen to be in the wake of me being involved in an accident that left my bike an insurance write off and me off work for a number of weeks recovering from my injuries.

First thing I think it's important to do is thank the North West Ambulance Service as well as the doctors and staff at Arrowe Park Hospital who were pleasant and considerate throughout my time with them, and the Merseyside Police Officer who attended the scene and was very helpful.

Fortunately, though battered, bruised and in a lot of pain, I came out of the accident intact. Communicating with various people and parties since the accident and I could be forgiven for feeling I should have expected the accident to happen simply because I ride a motorcycle. Certainly there have been a number of voices suggesting I should take this as a sign to give up two wheeled transport and shocked that I haven't dismissed the idea of ever riding again.

Having joined the wealth of statistics on road traffic accidents I've been digging a little deeper. Before I took up motorcycling I was aware that relatively speaking motorcyclists are involved in far more accidents than car drivers (I believe motorcycles account for 1% of traffic while being involved in around 20% of accidents) so motorcycling being unsafe is an easy conclusion to reach. That leads me to wondering why it is that when so much time and effort has been put into improving rider training with the emphasis on defensive riding, and a much stricter and difficult two part practical test for motorcyclists, there is still such a disparity?

One statistic that gets raised consistently is that 80% of motorcyclist fatalities involve the motorcyclist travelling at excessive speed, though in raising that it doesn't address the vast majority of the accidents as while 80% is a large proportion, the actual number of fatalities involving motorcycles is a fraction of that involving cars and larger vehicles. That's not to belittle fatalities or diminish their significance, just to give context.

Campaigns aimed at reducing speeds saw little reduction in the number of accidents because most accidents weren't caused by speeding motorcyclists, and it's looking at where safety campaigns are focused now and are seemingly having an impact, combined with the statistics from accident reports across Europe and America, you see the cause of most accidents is in car drivers' observations. Almost everyone I've shown my HelmetCam video has commented on how 'normal' those examples of inconsiderate driving are. Surely that's where the problem lies? While the vast majority of accidents involving motorcycles are the car drivers fault, and almost half of those are cars pulling out from junctions into approaching vehicle's path, the natural impulse seems to be to remove motorcycles from our roads rather than tackle the poor driving standards we've allowed to develop.

I have no doubt that those wishing me to hang up my helmet only have my best interests at heart, and I am grateful for the love expressed (particularly that little lump in the throat from Sheffield, despite him hitting the delete key), and when I am all healed and am able to get back on a bike I won't be doing so in deference to those expressions or because I feel I have some kind of right to be a biker. I'll be doing it because I enjoy it; it's low cost commuting; and because I have faith in you to look, and then look again.

Caught on HelmetCam Vol.1

2010-07-25T23:05:00.007+01:00

I got a small DV camera for Father's Day which I mount inside my helmet when commuting to and from work. The examples of poor driving I capture are astounding and surprisingly numerous. It has to be said, it's not all car drivers, I've seen some mad and dangerous stuff from bikers too, however the bike stuff tends to be really obvious and you can probably think now of occasions where a biker has ridden past at ridiculous speed or been pulling wheelies. Thankfully, those do tend to be the minority, all be it a very visual one.
What I've found interesting is the casual attitude of some car drivers. It's almost as if once some people get their license, the basics go out of the window. The most obvious example of this is the middle lane hog. Someone who will sit in the middle lane of a three lane motorway, even when the nearside lane is clear and they are travelling slower than cars in that nearside lane who are approaching from behind, forcing those drivers to either undertake or cross two lanes out and then two lanes back to pass. I've even heard the argument that the driver felt less likely to have an accident by staying in the middle lane as he would need to perform less manoeuvres on his journey so would be less likely to have an accident. Surely someone that unsure of their ability to even change lanes safely shouldn't be behind the wheel?
I don't mean to sound like a car basher, I do drive as well as ride, and I am equally frustrated by fellow road users when driving. The main difference then though is that those inconsiderate and oblivious drivers are less likely to seriously injure to even kill me when I'm in the car.
I've put a few examples together in a video. Please don't emulate anything you see in it.

Oo, colours!

2010-07-20T21:33:00.004+01:00

Having once again drifted off to that most unreal of places we call the real world and in doing so neglecting my little bloggette, I thought it was about time I put some words down (up?). Logging in while I thought about what to moan about I found myself confronted with choices and templates and opportunities for prettyness. Not that I'd be interested in such trifling things you understand.
So anyway, forty seven minutes later and I've made it orange. Whoop!

My friend, the racist.

2010-05-23T22:49:00.004+01:00

I've not felt compelled of late to share my thoughts, what with being so busy in work, preparing for the new arrival, and just enjoying the political roller-coaster that's been the televised debates and the election itself. Those things, and others, have kept me pre-occupied and happy enough to leave the blogosphere to it's own devices.
Then out of the blue I receive a text message that was so astounding in it's thinly veiled racism that I find myself back at the keyboard.
The guy that sent it to me claims he's not racist (would it be wrong to note that BNP leader Nick Griffin claims the same?), and (unlike Nick Griffin who surely knows he's a bigoted lard sack of intolerance and hate) I think he genuinely believes he isn't.
So to help my racist friend understand just how racist he is (I'm doing this out of love in the hope that together we can make a better world, ish), I've de-constructed the version he put on Facebook:

If we marched for our race and rights, you would call us racists.

This is not a great start as it's immediately evasive. It soon becomes apparent who “we” and “you” are so why wasn't the author comfortable stating so from the outset? Perhaps because if they had it would all too soon have descended into farce as we try to fathom exactly which 'white rights' we are currently denied to the extent that we would need to march. I'm certainly not aware of being denied any rights, including the rights to march and engage in legitimate protest, on account of my ethnicity as a white man. On that basis alone I can't help but see the claim as inflammatory and designed to promote racial tension.

You are proud to be black, brown. yellow and orange (just felt the need to interject at this point to say how pleased I am that the Umpa-Lumpas are represented), and you're not afraid to announce it, but when we announce our white pride, you call us racist.

This is difficult for me to address because I can only do so on assumption as with not being black, brown, yellow, orange or purple or blue, I can sing a rai.. sorry.. I have never suffered ridicule and persecution based on my ethnicity. I'm not helped by the fact that I can't claim to understand exactly what “white pride” is supposed to be either. Am I or should I be proud to be white? My being white would never have meant I was treated as sub-human, so why would I feel the need to reclaim something that has never been forcibly stripped from me? What significance does my whiteness have on how proud I feel? I feel a sense of pride in my achievements and the achievements of those close to me, but my whiteness has no bearing on that. I think I'm probably labouring the point a bit but I just don't see where the “white” fits in, other than to be inflammatory and promote racial tension of course.

You rob us, carjack us, and shoot at us, but when a white police officer shoots a black gang member or beats up a black drug dealer running from the law and posing a threat to society, you call him a racist.

Wow! So, in context, all black, brown, yellow and orange people are violent, gun toting, drug dealing thieves. It follows then that us whites are all fine upstanding law abiding citizens, hence the lack of white people currently in prison! Good job that's indisputable or someone might think it was inflammatory and designed to promote racial tension (last time I say that - promise).
The police are tasked with upholding the law, they are not the dispensers of arbitrary justice (well, they're not supposed to be anyway).

Why is it that only whites can be racist?

It isn't. Racism is faultlessly tolerant in its bigotry.

There is nothing improper about this text message.

Apart from the fact it's overtly racist and designed to create division of course.

Let's see which of you are proud enough to send it on. I sadly don't think many will. That's why we have LOST most of OUR RIGHTS in this country. We won't stand up for ourselves! BE PROUD TO BE WHITE! It's not a crime YET..... but getting very close!

The level of ignorance on display here would shame a lump of igneous rock, right down to the short-sightedness of the author in presenting an opportunity whereby simply attempting to refute the text would in itself disprove the author's premise. Oh irony, you sexy bitch! (someone else can deal with that casual misogyny.)

It is estimated that ONLY 5% of those reaching this point in this text message, will pass it on.

Estimated by who? That's up there with: 73% of statistics are made up on the spot; 13% of people are unlucky; and 100% of this blog's authors see that figure as another attempt at creating a sense of marginalisation where none exists.

Over the next few weeks England will be awash with flags of St George, and the pubs throughout the land will be packed with football fans cheering on England at the World Cup in South Africa. Will every flag bearer be white? Will every drinker screaming his passion at the TV be white? Will every player pulling on the shirt and representing my country be white?

I'm an overweight, middle aged, balding, academically weak, white, heterosexual male, who was born and raised in England. So what?

I'm Game(r)

2010-02-24T23:27:00.001Z

I love being a gamer, but I hate that there’s a term that defines me by that one leisure activity. Even if we are still clinging to the lower case ‘g’. We are gamers, here us eat Wotsits and forlornly sigh into our noise reduction microphones attached to our 5.1 headsets. When I was younger and fitter I played football but no-one would ever have called me a footballer. I watch a fair amount of movies and television so should I also be defined as a watcher? I could change my name to Chancy Gardener. I play a number of instruments, though the only sub category of musician I am sufficiently proficient in that I would be comfortable claiming it is drummer. Drummers being musicians with their brains removed jokes notwithstanding.

Other than the activities I do as part of my current employment for which I am defined by my job title (itself a rather meaningless label), there are so many things I do that are surely as equally valid as the ‘gamer’ tag (see what I did there?). I once described myself as an ass kissing, jive talking, soda slurping, crisp chomping, camera clicking, guitar strumming, drum bashing, bullshit spouting, candy assed white boy. I think that pretty much still holds water, particularly as candy assed middle aged fat baldy man doesn’t quite have the same ring to it. It certainly is more encompassing and gives a better idea of who and what I am than defining me as a gamer simply because one of the things I choose to do to entertain myself is play video games.

The latest statement from South Australia’s Attorney-General Michael Atkinson about fearing gamers has highlighted to me that continuing to use the term marginalises everyone who plays video games, and so while the majority of people I know now play games at least on a semi-regular basis, that is to persist with the notion that people who play video games are an insignificant minority group. He has consistently shown himself to be ill informed and lacking in a basic understanding of the medium or the people who play games, but when individuals start name calling or loitering around his house, all people who play games are labelled by association and any moral high ground is lost. As an aside, I notice his crusade against mature video games had now spread to movies too and I do wonder when he’ll start on books. But I digress.

As more and more people play games the term ‘gamer’ loses any significance. It’ll be like defining yourself as human (real world remember, you can still be an elf in Dragon Age:Origins). Can I just be a fat bloke who plays games? Can I be game without being a gamer?

At Home with The Dentons - Episode Fifteen:

2010-02-12T19:06:00.001Z

Hardly Revolutionary

Paul: Curious without being in any way intriguing wouldn’t you say JC?
JC: What is and would I?
Paul: Trademarking the term revolution as part of the title when the suggestion has always been that augmentation was a technical evolution.
JC: They could have gone with Creationism for all the difference it will make.
Paul: At least you’re talking about it.
JC: Talking about what?

Love is...

2010-01-23T14:59:00.002Z

Preparing to leave work on Friday, a question came at me from the radio in the corner.
“How will I know if he really loves me?”
Well Whitney, I'd suggest that if he's forcing cocaine up your nose and giving you some old fashioned back handed bitch slapping, I don't think he does. I only hope you don't regret not asking me sooner.
Get yourself a cat.

At Home with The Dentons - Episode Fourteen:

2010-01-01T14:14:00.002Z

Differences Resolved

Paul: Hey JC.
JC: Hi Paul.
Paul: You making a resolution for New Year?
JC: I thought I might try and be more tolerant. I’ve been feeling the strain this year and I know I’ve let my anger get the better of me on occasion, so a more relaxed and caring JC this year I think.
Paul: That’s great, well done.
Alex: Hey guys, happy new year.
JC: Piss off!

At Home with The Dentons - Episode Thirteen:

2009-12-29T13:37:00.005Z

'Ave it, Ah!

Paul: Hi JC.
JC: Hi Paul. I saw Avatar last night.
Paul: Isn’t it great? While the story is familiar and dialogue somewhat clichéd, the presentation and effects combine so beautifully that didn’t you find it redefined what we should expect from the cinematic experience?
JC: With my ocular augmentations I thought my vision might correct the effects and didn’t want to risk the extra expense, so I went to the 2D version.
Paul: I have to be somewhere else.

Silence is Olden

2009-12-18T21:35:00.002Z

I've been spending just over a month now getting back in the habit of getting back into old habits. I'm paying tax again, which is never to be enjoyed, though it at least means I can feel justified in complaining about things of which I care little but am contributing to in some minuscule way.

I'm tootling along at a blistering 60mph on my little motorbike most mornings, while the cold North Wales winds do their utmost to prize my fingers from their joints. I long for the day I can get a bigger bike. One that can have heated grips. Probably should pass my test first though. And get more money.

Minor amusement this week saw the end of the latest series of X-Factor, with the prospect of this year's winner (a boy with a name of some description) potentially being denied the top spot of the nations hit parade by virtue of a significant number of people who, tired of the formulaic approach to the annual inevitability, have set about purchasing an alternate track. Nothing says anarchic quite like orchestrated co-ordination.

Much has been made of the fact both artists are on the Sony label, so whichever way it goes the label are having extra stuffing balls with this year's turkey. I've likened it to deciding to stick it to the man by not buying Coke any more and buying Sprite instead. It's also the concept in itself and the choice of track. All the people urging others to buy Rage Against The Machine, and this little voice in the back of my head is screaming "Fuck you I won't do what you tell me!"
Having said that, it remains a fantastic track and has lost nothing with age, so ultimately I bleat like a sheep and do my bit. If for no other reason that a part of me longs for the Xmas albums of tomorrow, where 'Killing In The Name' nestles between Bowie/Bing's rendition of 'Little Drummer Boy' and McCartney's 'Simply Having A Wonderful Christmas Time'. What a beautiful world that would be.

Factor Fiction

2009-11-11T00:07:00.002Z

I don't like X-Factor. I think it's a pimply wart on the shittiest arse TV has to offer. Only marginally better than the anal rape that is Big Brother.

My reasons for loathing this travesty is the pretence that it has ever been a singing or talent competition. This has been highlighted recently by what I'm told is called, Jedward. Jedward. The cunning blend of the names John and Edward. Except it isn't at all really is it? They've simply put a J on Edward. Jodward could have worked and would have been more credible as a blending of the two names than Jedward. Jedward. What lazy simpleton farted that out?

Anyway, I love Jedward. I obviously don't love them enough to pick up a phone and vote for them, or any other contestant for that matter. I'm not a complete cabbage. I love that tone deaf foetuses get to writhe around a stage every week, and as a nation we collectively applaud. Some in the belief that their continued presence is in some way anarchic. Others because they genuinely enjoy their performance. I don't know which group I pity more.

From its Pop Idol beginnings the show was about giving society's deluded the opportunity to be told how awful they really are and how Mummy and Daddy had filled their heads with impossible dreams. It also meant monkeys could watch their telly and laugh, immersed in their superiority as they pointed a mocking finger at the pathetic fools who dared to try and realise their ambition rather than staying at home shrouded in ignorance.

Once voting is opened up to the public any semblance of true competition is lost. Sure, some of viewers are drug addled miscreants, filled with self pity and a staunch belief that the world owes them a living, but that alone doesn't make them A&R people or qualified to judge artistic and commercial potential.

With tribal voting we see people supporting someone they feel they should by virtue of geography, irrespective of whether they believe in their ability. Armies of pubescent girls will blow their weekly mobile top up by endlessly punching in the pretty boy's number, while their boyfriends simply want to punch in the pretty boy. Middle aged women dampen their couches salivating over the mid twenties gay one.

Of course it's all kicked off this week because Simon Cowell didn't eliminate Jedward. What amazes me is that people are surprised. To see morons on the street happily telling GMTV and it's ilk that Cowell is a coward and that it's supposed to be a singing competition is almost as annoying as the show itself. Wake up people, it was never a singing competition. It's Saturday night karaoke entertainment for the masses. The stay at home and vegetate in front of mediocrity at its most banal masses.

Tomphonery

2009-11-05T13:30:00.006Z

I think it's fair to say that all of us on occasion are bothered by telesales calls at inappropriate times. When you have an ex-directory number it becomes alarming as it suggests someone you deal with is selling on your details. Every now and then though there is the opportunity for a tiny piece of payback .

Yesterday evening I was sitting at the computer reading through forums posts and Twitter updates when the phone rings. On answering a very cheery fellow told me he was from Space Kitchens and asked me how I was.

I used to get quite irate at these calls and constantly asking, and being ignored, to be removed from their call list, but now I mostly remain silent. It's interesting (to me anyway) how their resolve and dedication to getting that sale varies. Some give it a couple more hellos and then give up. Some give it a couple of hellos, pause, give it a couple of questioning hellos, then give up. Or like the chap from Space Kitchens keep going for quite some time, presumably confused by the silence and possibly assuming there's a problem with the phone that will magically rectify itself and the most eager kitchen purchaser they are ever likely to speak to is moments away. They do hang up in the end though.

Once the line is dead I give it a quick 1471 to check the number and search online to verify who the call was from. The reason for this is that some company's will use a third party call centre for a fixed period campaign, so it just verifies who is calling.

In this case it was indeed Space Kitchens, who according to a number of testimonials are quite rude and offensive to people who refuse their offer of a free quotation or ask not to be bothered again. I noticed that they had a freephone number on their website. A plot hatches.

While freephone numbers are, by definition, free for the caller, they obviously cost the company. Most seem to have a monthly rental price which has a number of inclusive minutes over which any additional minutes are charged at a rate similar to local calls.

So while I'm enjoying my online time, I ring their freephone number and when answered remain silent. The chap on the other end was obviously confused, I mean, what kind of idiot rings a number and then doesn't speak? When he eventually hung up I put the phone on the desk and hit redial. The phone is loud enough that I can make out if someone is talking without putting it on speaker phone, so I can carry on with my internet diversion, just stabbing the redial button when I hear the line go dead. After a few calls a Scottish woman answered who actually had a conversation with me. She asked me how I was, gave me a few Uh-huhs and yeses, apologised that they couldn't do that (do what I have no clue, though I'd like to think she imagined I asked her to smother me in marmalade while holding aloft a picture of Gordon Brown and singing Aqua's 1997 UK number one hit Barbie Girl.) and suggested I ring head office before giving me a cheery goodbye (obviously head office is where all the marmalade fetishists are). I don't understand why she felt the need to have that conversation with a silent person, but I really liked her for it. The next few calls received a couple of hellos before hang ups, but then they seemed to start getting annoyed. At one point the person asked if I had nothing better to do. I love it when people ask that, as if I'm suddenly going to turn around and say, “Yes actually, I have to fly off to Fiji and get those silly military types to have elections. I'm so glad you asked as I'd have forgotten otherwise. Have an apricot.”

A few more calls and I was told in a very stern voice that she didn't mind me wasting my time as she gets paid to answer the phone. A few more calls and I was back with my Scottish friend who started doing the kind of train impression you'd do for children, with plenty of choo-choos and chuff, chuff, chuff, chuffs.

Presumably they had caller display as it seemed that they stopped biting after about twenty minutes and either just left the phone connected for a short while, or gave some form of raspberry noise as soon as they picked up and hung up immediately afterwards. Curiously though, at no point did anyone ask me to stop calling.

I kept stabbing the redial for just over an hour until I had finished my reading and did actually have something better to do. In terms of cost to the company it would have been insignificant, and at best tying up one of the lines may have caused a modicum of disruption to their business in preventing a genuine customer calling. It did however put a big smile on my face, and maybe, just maybe, they'll think twice before calling here again.

Oh, and if you fancy hearing a truly great choo-choo impression, just call 0800 2888 888.

More On Richard Kershtinkle - Private Eye

2009-10-19T18:29:00.003+01:00

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 by my front gate that looked like the previous evening's Bhuna, even down to the half naan and dill pickle.

The fridge had stared at me blankly when I'd enquired about milk. It's door wide, it's shelves bare. I was going to have to go out. I was going to have to get dressed. I was going to have to wear pants. I dragged my weary legs into the bedroom, kicking the future laundry in the general direction of the corner of the room where clothes that need washed and can no longer be Febreezed into acceptability go to fester. I found a reasonably flexible pair of green boxer shorts and a pair of now cream coloured sports socks. I sat on the end of the bed. Our bed. The bed she'd lay in. The bed I'd lay in. The bed we'd lay in. I was distracted, I needed to focus. I grabbed my jeans and my Han Solo “Don't Get Cocky!” Lego Star Wars T-shirt. I was going shopping in style. I picked up my keys and wallet from the dresser, her dresser, and headed for the door.

I sat in the mk3. With its red paint faded to the point where it looked like an albino with sun stroke, I was thankful for the spotlights retaining an air of cool about it. I turned the ignition key and she purred, coughed, fell over a cracked paving stone and spat out a small chicken bone to life. We headed off to the sweet soul sound of Smokey's Tears'.

I cruised to Motown and pulled into the supermarket carpark with an air of superstition delivered by Stevie. I resolved to kick anything blue I saw for the rest of the day. I parked in the carpark. It seemed the logical thing to do.

The automatic doors spread like the legs of a cheap hooker as I approached. An old man stood just inside, smiling at every face that wondered what the sweet Mother Mary he had to be so damn happy about as they passed. As I got level with him he told me it was a good morning. I stopped and turned to face him. I questioned his assertion. I demanded to know what was go good about it. Sure the sun was shining, but there were dark clouds approaching and the forecast was for showers. Life was a cruel mistress who promised love and romance and delivered sorrow and pain. Given his current position smiling at strangers in a supermarket doorway, what did he have to be so damn cheerful about that he could dictate to me whether this was any particular type of day? He told me peaches were just twenty pence per punnet. That was good. I went and picked one up.

I wandered past the organic vegetables, with their knobbly brown bits that cost twice as much as their shiny pesticide protected cousins, and as I did I could hear the sound of a three legged cat having it's lower jaw shaved with chicken wire. As I continued forward, towards the Entertainment area, the noise got louder. I realised that they were pushing the music of Whiny Alehouse. Their marketing ploy would have no effect on me, I was immune to such obvious and blatant sales tactics. Her depressing brand of audible self harm and chemical dependency was neither uplifting nor referential enough to influence my musical purchasing preferences. I headed for the alcohol aisle.

As I passed the biscuits that I could buy and receive an equal amount in addition for no extra charge, I turned to see a gallery of shimmering glass. I aimed for the Shiraz and paused, my arm reaching out like a baboon sending an elevator to the third floor when he meant to press for the fifth. Wine was the comfortable middle ground. A bottle of plonk to send me the way of the weary. Perhaps this was a time to fall back on my old friend beer.

Beer and I had parted company some years ago. It wasn't that we had fallen out or had any significant disagreement, she just never felt he was sophisticated enough, and certainly not the type of friend to bring out at dinner parties. We'd kept in touch, mostly meeting up at Harry's, but even now I felt I couldn't take him home. I couldn't go back.

Perhaps it was time to step up to the big leagues. Grab a single malt and get down to some serious brain rotting. I looked around, curious to see what the great and the good were buying. I saw a pair of Spider-Man pants picking up a large bottle of an exotic fruit based drink. As he brought it down from the shelf he nodded excitedly. The hyenas at his side systematically increasing the number of bottles they could consume and trying to define exactly how drunk they had been previously.

I tried to recall if I'd ever had Spider-Man pants. Then I tried to recall if I'd ever felt the need to wear my trousers low enough for people to see my pants. Then I remembered that incident after too many tequilas on the night bus with four drunken men, seven loud and obnoxious girls on a hen night, a packet of pickled onion Monster Munch, and two members of the local constabulary. Those cell cots are hard.

Once the pack had moved on, I followed the Spider-Man pants' wisdom and examined a bottle of the exotic fruit concoction. It was one of those drinks that combines any number of liquefied fruit, adds a dash of vodka, and suggests that by drinking it you'll be instantly more attractive and women will think you're sensitive. It's all bullshit, but it was a litre bottle of bullshit and cheap. I took three and headed for the tills.

Back in the car park the grey clouds were now overhead. As I climbed into the mk3 they started to weep for me. I threw an angry look up at them. It hit the windscreen and fell into the footwell by the clutch pedal. I stroked the ignition key, then grabbed hold and twisted it like it was Edward Ruttlinger's right nipple. Edward had sat by me in Maths classes back in school. He was a smart kid. A proper brain box. I displayed my superiority over him by inflicting pain regularly. The last time I bumped into him he said he was working in a bank and blathered on about bonuses. Loser.

The mk3 carried me home while Otis chilled out watching boats. As I pulled up outside the house the sky was now spitting its contempt at me, so I ran inside. Shaking off the rain I headed to the fridge to deposit my wares, and as I pulled open the door the hinges creaked and whispered 'milk'.

I bit a peach, unscrewed a bottle, and set a course for fruit based oblivion.

Busy Doing Nothing

2009-09-22T23:56:00.003+01:00

It seams of late I'm finding a myriad of things to not do rather than doing the things I supposedly like to do.

Part of the reason has been decorating. My little munchkin is getting big and she deserves a larger room, so what was effectively an upstairs laundrette has been cleared, stripped, dismantled, extra power points added, inbuilt cupboards ripped out and walls re-plastered. I'm learning new skills, which I guess should be uplifting, but is just another inconvenience.

I've learned plastering isn't as difficult as I thought it would be. Though my efforts are certainly not up to professional standards, they are mighty fine. Similarly, Artexing the ceiling and freeze, while destroying my right shoulder, has resulted in a stippled ceiling that Michaelangelo himself would look at and say,
“S'allright that Peach!”
Only he'd say it in Italian. And cough up a lung. And snog me.

I'm also tootling about on a little motorbike. As I'm currently in v3.0 of my mid-life crisis (v1.0 was cutting all my hair off, v1.1 was dying the resulting mop red, v1.2 was changing from red to purple and v2.0 was the common or garden variety depression) the two wheeled wonder was just a natural progression.

This hasn't left much time for proper gaming. I say proper because I have still been playing, but mostly at friends houses so somewhat superficial. It has allowed me to get to grips with a few new titles, but more on that another time. At home I'm either labouring through some form of DIY or watching The Wire (at time of writing we're about to start season five).

I've also not been reading nor writing, though I can't fathom what I've been doing or not in their place. It's the arse end of September and I've nothing to show for a months worth of existence. That is a somewhat terrifying realisation.

What little gaming I've done at home has mostly been GTA IV (PC), which given some of the nightmare scenarios I'd read about online getting the game to run, is rather splendid looking and smooth. There's no doubt it's a questionable port and certainly seams little thought has been given to optimising for the PC, but the core gameplay is solid and as fun as it ever was.

I've also dipped a tentative toe back into the murky waters of football management. It's been a good few years since I played Championship Manager (PC). Back in the days when Sports Interactive and Eidos were still cuddly bed fellows and spooning, before SI's arm got pins and needles and Eidos kept leaving the light on and toilet seat up.

Since SI went and hopped into Sega's Emperor sized pillow topped, duck downed, snuggle fest', and Eidos inflated there own love dumpling while shouting through their tears how they didn't need SI anymore and they'd make their own CM, I've left them to it. Reviews have suggested that SI have maintained the quality and depth of their CM games in the guise of Football Manager (thankfully sans a bearded knob on the cover artwork) and Eidos's Beautiful Game Studios have struggled and consistently suffered by comparison.

For the 2010 iteration, Eidos decided to offer pre-orders through their website for as little as £2.51. Being the generous sort I am, I gave them £3.00. My place in heaven assured, I waited patiently for the release date whereby I would download the game, spend a couple of hours fumbling about, then walk away from it forever. A solid plan, until the other night I was lambasting my defence for failing to close down the opposition's attacking midfielder when I realised it was beyond three in the morning and I'd been sat at the computer for six hours. Thus far I've navigated far too many menus, noticed a few players performing vastly different to their real life counterparts, and the only Premier League badge is Aston Villa's, with the rest of the league sharing a generic club-coloured shield, which is surprisingly annoying. Surely it would have made more sense to forego the badges altogether? I haven't decided if it's a good game or not, and not having played FM I can't compare the games. It's certainly compelling, for now.

Also on the home front, last night we discovered a mouse in our living room. Having distracted us by making a scratching noise in the hall we went to investigate, only to find nothing until the wife turned around to find it flipping her the finger from the rug in the living room. By the time I entered, all manly like in my shorts with a big stick, the little blighter had disappeared behind the couch. Today has therefore been mainly spent setting traps and laying poison. Oh, and before anyone gets all 'humane' on me, if you'd shit on my carpet I'd poison you too.

And as if that wasn't enough, I lost a tooth today.

Roll on October.

At Home with The Dentons - Episode Twelve:

2009-08-06T13:29:00.001+01:00

Deny Me Three Times

Paul: Hi JC.
JC: Hey Paul.
Paul: News on the third game in our award winning franchise has gone a bit quiet.
JC: Third game?
Paul: Yes, y'know, Deus Ex 3?
JC: How can they make a third when there wasn't a sequel?
Paul: Yes there was, Invisi...
JC: HOW CAN THEY MAKE A THIRD WHEN THERE WASN'T A SEQUEL?
Paul: Shh, Alex is asleep in the back
JC: Alex?
Paul: Riiight.

Summer Shun

2009-07-30T00:06:00.005+01:00

The supposed summer holidays are upon me, which of course means my beloved offspring is home all day and looking for exciting things to do. As such, I don't get as much game time as I would previously because, and here's a crazy notion, I don't play games rated for adults when there's a child walking about the place. Bless her little cotton socks, she does like to play the occasional game though, so when it's raining outside (odd phrase that, when has it ever rained inside?) and she's not having one of her creative sprees, she will hijack her mother's DS or play on the Wii with me. Huzzah and hurray then for Wii Sports Resort (Wii).

Much has been made of the new Motion Plus and in the main the comments about improved interaction and responsiveness are fair. Some of the praise though, particularly from the Nintendo only press, is a bit, obsequious. It certainly works well in the main, but it's not the earth shattering golden glory hole some corners of the media would have us believe. It's fun and works well in most cases, particularly the sword fighting and bowling, but does frustrate at other times. Canoeing is anger inducing crap and had me wondering whether the play-testers were tanked up for that session as I can't see how me performing exaggerated sweeps to my right can have the avatar scooping at his left.

All this Wii focus did mean I took my eyes off the wider scene for a moment, and when I did catch sight again I was genuinely pleased to see that EA had subtitled the new Need For Speed game in a way that really emphasises the direction they've taken the series. Then I spotted the “F”.

IGN are running another “Death of PC Gaming” piece. Read it with disbelief yourself here .

Finally for this little session a word about Ben There, Dan That (PC): Good. Now a word about Time Gentlemen, Please! (PC): Great. Now some more words on both.

I had a little look at Ben There, Dan That some time ago, but, and this may shock you, I was never a huge pointy clicky adventury kind of person. I tended to sit and watch friends play them. That way I could enjoy the story and get bonus jollies from watching their frustration when unable to solve a puzzle. Nothing ventured nothing failed, so to speak. It wasn't until the recent release of Time Gentlemen, Please! that I remembered about Ben There, Dan That and so popped back to the Zombie Cow site to download it and give it a go. Seeing the ad for Time Gentlemen, Please! there as well, and noticing that it cost just £3.44 including VAT, I had this strange uncomfortable feeling of guilt. Why guilt? I don't know. Maybe because I hadn't played Ben There, Dan That when I originally meant to and thus failed to donate any money for future developments. Whatever the reason, I decided that without further ado I would make amends, and even if they turned out to be the worst games I ever swung a cursor at, I was going to help these bastions of the independent gaming development bods. So in the best traditions of those pointy clicky adventury things, I used credit card on website.

I won't bore with the details, and I wouldn't have a clue how to explain what happens in the games without giving away the story and jokes, suffice to say they were some of the most joyous hours of gaming I have ever had. I laughed more at these games than I have at any comedy DVD of the past few years. Self referencing comedy genius of the highest order.

Given that Ben There, Dan That is free, and Time Gentlemen, Please! is just £3.44, I do find myself wondering what kind of person wouldn't head off to www.zombie-cow.com for a download, and the only people I can think of are Nazis, morally righteous mice, and paedophiles. I'm sure you're none of those.

Street Blighter

2009-07-20T22:23:00.003+01:00

Time once again proves to be anything but a friend. This time it has teamed up with my failing memory to play the cruellest of tricks. You see, I remember quite clearly being good at Street Fighter II. Back in the old SNES days I first completed it with Blanka, a feat my friends told me was quite an achievement, themselves first making their way through with either Ken or Ryu. I soon followed suit and completed it with all seven of the original playable cast. You'll notice I said seven there. That's because we don't count Zangief. We just don't.

Some years have passed and despite at least six further versions and sequels, we now have Street Fighter IV (360). I'm sure you will appreciate, given my undoubted skills, I had little to fear from this new incarnation. It is, after all, just a modern version of Street Fighter II with nice new graphics. The gameplay mechanics remain as they were back in 1992.

Starting as Ryu I went into the first round and immediately fired off a couple of fireballs and dragon punched my opponent, following up with the whirlwind kick. This was like riding a bike. I was home. That, however, was where the joy got up, left the room, and buggered off to South America with the window cleaner. Before I knew what was happening, this laddett who I believe is called Crimson Viper, in a poorly fitting suit and awful glasses, was beating seven shades of the proverbial out of me. I put it down to complacency and being over confident and resolved that Round 2 would see me regain my rightful place as the Ultimate World Warrior. No, spanked again.

I'm sure I used to be able to play these games. I'm sure I was at least competent. Have my reactions slowed that much? Was I actually just a bit shit and I've spent these intervening years steeped in ignorance and delusion?

Anyway, fighting games are so last century. I've moved on.

At Home with The Dentons - Episode Eleven:

2009-07-18T17:28:00.003+01:00

Love Casualty

Paul: See you later JC.
JC: Where are you going?
Paul: Got to pick Alex up from the clinic.
JC: Clinic?
Paul: Yeh, he's had treatment for the infection he caught from Ava.
JC: Ava? But she's, I mean, she's an AI construct. She has no physical form.
Paul: I know. Anyway, I wouldn't use the holograph generator for a while.
JC: Ew!

Tightening Up

2009-07-15T01:15:00.002+01:00

I know, I've been slacker than a cheap whore's money maker of late. I'd like to say it's because I've been so focused on my exercise regime that when not pumping my body full of lactic acid and natural endorphins I've been stood in front of a mirror admiring my finely tuned physique.

Obviously I can't say that as it would be an obscenely large mountain of bullshit and only slightly more difficult to swallow than a BBC press release stating that they are actively seeking a woman over the age of 50 to present a popular Saturday night entertainment program.

Anyway, I've no doubt my absence from the densely populated blogosphere has gone largely unnoticed so my preoccupation with other, more interesting, things was under no pressure to cease being indulged.

“What is this wondrous new thing that has kept you from projecting your innermost thoughts out into the void where they are free to roam and meet other thoughts, do some networking, get a job and then turn up on your doorstep one July morning laughing at you, dressed in a fine suit from Slaters in Liverpool, a good one, not one of the cheap ones off the rack but a proper tailored one, like you'd only get for a really special occasion like your wedding, but is now before you being worn as a regular day suit?”

Well no-one in particular, It's none of your damn business and I'll thank you to refrain from such intrusions in future.

A Gull and a Bull

2009-06-23T11:31:00.003+01:00

Children are the most wonderful invention. Their innocence is so refreshing, particularly the way they assimilate some of our grown up bullshit.

The other day I was standing in the local Asda chatting with Michael while his dynamic duo (that being his children, not his testicles, as dynamic as I'm sure they are) happily amused themselves rearranging the various carbonated beverages into neat displays. Being children they also wanted to partake of such beverages, and Michael being a budget conscious soul (see: cheap) agreed to allow them to select three, thereby invoking the shops own brand three bottles for a solitary pound of her majesties tender covenant.

Alas the bright colours proved too tempting for the young charges, and soon there was a dilemma. With four flavours to choose from, what method of elimination could be employed?

A Britain's Got Talent style competition was ruled out as Simon Cowell is off having expensive fun on his expensive private jet while he lives his expensive life with his antique marble teeth and 1950's yard brush hair; Amanda Holden was too busy shaving her ankles; and Piers Morgan's a cunt.

Strictly Comes Dancing was a no go as Bruce would just blend in with the greeters so we'd constantly lose him, and Tess, let's be fair, Tess' personality is on ITV hosting Beat The Star.

Dancing On Ice was a none starter. We were nowhere near the freezers and if Holly Willoughby had turned up we'd be too busy restocking the milk cages.

In looking at the flavours on offer, Mike seamed to favour Dandelion & Burdock the least. I got this impression from the way he said Dandelion & Burdock as if he was locking tongues with a camel who had just finished giving it's diarrhetic baboon lover a rim job.

Turning to his children I asked if they knew what Dandelion & Burdock was made from. Of course they didn't, they're children.
“Well a dandelion is a flower, I'm sure you've seen them, they're the ones you pick and blow, not unlike a nose.”
They nodded enthusiastically,
“Well, you take some dandelion flowers and you crush them and their seeds down to a pulp.”
Gripping stuff.
“Now do you know what a Burdock is?”
Of course they didn't, no-one does. And going off to Wiki and claiming you do doesn't count.
“A Burdock is a little beetle, about an inch long,”
I held out my fingers and indicated an inch between my thumb and forefinger. Then bringing my other hand into play I commenced the mime,
“and what you do is peel back the wings and scoop out all the soft stuff underneath like the guts and intestines, and then pound that into the mush. And that's where the flavour comes from. It's full of protein, like eating flies and worms.”

“Don't want that one Dad.”

Shit and Damnation

2009-06-18T16:17:00.005+01:00

I've been pretty quiet through June thus far. I think this is because I've been trying to catch my breath after what has been a rather viscously delivered metaphoric steel toe capped boot to my love juice factory.

MP's with their nose in the trough is nothing new, and at times of financial hardship I can understand the general population getting angry. Having said that, for all the things this, previous, and successive governments have and will do to get us angry, the expenses issue is a disproportionate smoke screen to real issues, and certainly should not have been used as an excuse for what some people did in the wake of the revelations. As I've said elsewhere recently, I believed being British meant upholding the virtues of freedom and the unequivocal right to live without persecution due to ethnicity, religious belief, gender or sexual orientation. To oppose fascism by spreading light and understanding into every dark corner where it seeks to fester. Clearly I was wrong.

Aside from the misery that is our political system, Duke Nukem Forever failing to materialise and Take 2's reaction is as comedic as it is tragic.

PC gamers fell out of love with Valve after the announcement of Left 4 Dead 2, while Xbox 360 owners decried them for complaining about what will no doubt be a fine sequel, completely missing the point of the anger which isn't that Valve are releasing a sequel, rather that Valve have announced a sequel that contains all the content that purchasers of the first game where told would be made available to them after they'd paid upfront at launch. There's also the issue of splitting the community and further concern that there's still no sign of HL2:Ep3 and questions over whether Valve are moving away from their, until this incident, steadfast supporters in favour of the console market.

On the subject of consoles, consoles are good. There, I said it. While my gaming medium of choice remains the PC, I don't exclude other formats for my gaming fix, and given some recent releases I'm more grateful for the soulless boxes of blasphemy than I have been for a number of years. Some games simply don't warrant a purchase, and in the absence of a rental market for PC games, Blockbuster along with Xbox 360 and PS3 owning friends become all important.

Damnation (360) promised much and delivered nothing. Steampunk by it's very nature is a bit wank, being laughably quaint in it's original vision as future technology. Ignoring the reality though and taking it as the fantasy it is, in the right hands it can work as a marvellous piece of escapism and alternate reality (if that's not hypocritical, which it probably is). There's a number of fine literary examples, Verne and Welles being the most obvious exponents, and inspiring early science fiction cinema and the birth of special effects in Melies works. Gaming wise I struggle to think of any that really made the decision to choose the steampunk route worthy. BioShock just about got away with it by the steampunk elements being relatively incidental, and besides that the only game that springs to mind is The Chaos Engine way back in the Amiga days. I'm sure there's been others, but they clearly fade from memory so as to be worthless. Enter then Damnation to pick up the torch of the forgotten, in the cave of the lost, and immediately piss on the flame of redemption. Now it could be that the steampunk elements work quite well in Damnation, I can't say as I got that far because the game is so horribly broken that anything it may do right is tainted by the mountain of shit it's buried under.

Damnation sees you control a chap named Hamilton (I shit you not) Rourke who fancies himself as Marcus Fenix in a cowboy hat, leading two fellow rebels (a feisty semi naked damsel and a wise ass bullet magnet) on a mission to do something I soon forgot all about as I cursed the AI who kept getting shot and making me go search for them in order to revive them, the visuals that had me thinking I'd developed cataracts, and the acrobatic displays that are supposed to be a key selling point, and in fairness can look quite nice when pulling off a backwards leap from a flagpole onto a broken wall before springing over to face down the generic men in masks, but which most of the time had me mashing the pad wondering why it was refusing to do what it promised if I followed it's instructions. At one point quite early on I was supposed to scale a wall, only halfway up I could neither climb further, move down, or jump to the building behind me. All I could do was move sideways, which was pretty redundant. Handing the pad to my dear friend who had been chuckling away at my increasing levels of hostility, he spent five lateral minutes before declaring the game a “pile of cock”.

It's quite conceivable I missed something significant, and after a reset I must have paid more attention as I progressed a little further, shot a few more men in masks, and revived allies who may as well have just left written instructions before eating a bullet, thereby saving me a lot of time and the enemy some ammunition.

Like I said earlier, some games aren't worth buying, but this festering arse boil isn't even worth the rental price. In fact, if someone offers you this game for free, they're doing so because they hate you, they wish you were dead, and have been sleeping with your mum. And dad.

Equally not worth a purchase, but far better executed and fun for the few hours it lasts is Terminator:Salvation (360). Released to tie in with the new movie, though sans Bale, it has you taking the role of Marcus Fenix again, sorry, no, it's John Connor this time, as you sequentially move between cover points destroying robots. The gameplay really doesn't get more complicated than that. You'll man gun emplacements, including on the back of a truck, but it's all the same really, and that's no bad thing because as I suggested at the start, for the few hours your blasting T-600s and HKs to smithereens you're having fun. Yes, fun. It's why we play games, and sometimes a little bit of mindless action is a good thing. The visuals are also surprisingly colourful, with foliage draping the shattered walls and the smashed cars in the streets still wearing their paint with pride. It may sound strange, but after so much grey and brown with the likes of Gears of War, GTA IV, Fallout 3, Damnation, it was refreshing to see colour splashed around so liberally.

There's no significant characters to get attached to and no meaningful storyline to follow. A linear third person shooter without pretensions in which you, and a friend in co-op if you so desire, will spend an evening blasting robots.

In more serious game related news I've just completed Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords (PC). Despite what I'd read about it's bugged nature and incomplete story, I thoroughly enjoyed it and found it to be far more stable than the original, though the stability could be down to a registry tweak I discovered after completing the first game.

I again followed the path of the light and hope to return in the future as an utter bastard. While the ending doesn't give closure in the same way the first game did, it's still a worthy sequel, and as a nostalgic old man who still remembers the excitement of being taken to the cinema in Birkenhead in 1977 (the one in Wallasey was a bit small and certainly didn't have a decent audio system) and the racing pulse as the blockade runner seemed to pass over my head, this pair of games encompass everything that was good about the fantasy and doesn't shoehorn in an Ewok or irritating Gungan. Not to mention the fact that they are incredibly well crafted and detailed roll playing games.

I do wonder whether The Old Republic MMO could succeed where others have failed to capture me. Though maybe it's too soon to think of such things, still being in mourning for Warhammer as I am.

I also boxed off Call of Duty:World at War (PC). A re-skinned Modern Warfare relocated to WWII and focusing on the Pacific campaign and Russian front, that on paper should have been at least on a par with it's older brother but which failed to capture anything of what made the previous incarnation a delight to play. All too often I found myself pinned down with endlessly spawning enemies charging at me, while my comrades sat around discussing the virtues of needle point and darning in the pacific islands. Okay maybe not, but the one thing they weren't doing was being soldiers, or any use whatsoever. All too often death came from places unknown, forcing slow progress as wave after wave of bayonet wielding Banzai merchants charged. Maybe I expected too much, but World at War sullied my love of the Call of Duty franchise to date, and I even liked the Wii version of Call of Duty 3.

I also took advantage of another of the weekend deals on Steam and purchased the Penumbra Collection (PC). Having played the demo of Black Plague and been impressed enough to add it to my ever expanding list of future purchases, the offer of both Overture and Black Plague along with the add-on Requiem for the ridiculously bargain basement bucket of bliss price of £4.50 was just too glorious a deal to walk away from. Since then I've spent more time than is probably good for me crouching behind boxes and creeping around in the dark.

A first person horror adventure, the emphasis is on exploration and physics based interaction and puzzle solving as you try and discover what happened to the residents of the deserted mine you've stumbling into, and search for a means of escape.

It's still early on in the first game, but it's certainly been a wonderfully terrifying ride so far.

I've also been catching up on some TV. One of the beauties of having the option to series link is that you can wait for the series to finish before watching the lot back to back. Of course the downside is you end up with multiple series and a full box before you know it. Rapidly running out of hours it was time to spend a few evenings watching the second, though unfortunately I believe not final, series of Ashes to Ashes.

I can't quite put my finger on why I haven't enjoyed Ashes to Ashes as much as Life on Mars, though it has to be said, the opening monologue as the title music starts doesn't help,

‘My name is Alex Drake. I’ve just been shot and that bullet...' at which point I'm already screaming “Oh Fuck Off!” at the screen.

Even Life on Mars I felt was stretching it by running to a second series, but the dynamic between Sam and Gene kept things moving along. Sam with his modern techniques and attitudes, Gene embodying the very bad old days, albeit as a caricature of them. They were poles apart in technique but drawn together for the common good, as similar as they were opposed.

I don't see that dynamic with the Alex character, and as we reached the end of the second series I felt Gene had been watered down to the point were he wouldn't have looked out of place in The Bill.

In other TV related fun, Krod Mandoon and the Flaming Sword of Fire is a hoot.

Finally, at hour thirty two, I'm just adding a little note here to remind myself should I ever look back on this with disdain, that it was written during one of my wonderful periods of insomnia, and rather than wait until I've had a good and proper sleep to proof read and edit, I'm lobbing it up in a final act of carefree rebellion to common sense.

But yeh, Krod Mandoon. Good.

At Home with The Dentons - Episode Ten:

2009-06-03T11:29:00.002+01:00

Suspension Bridged

Paul: Hi JC.
JC: Hey Paul.
Paul: So, episode ten. Never though we'd get this far.
JC: What?
Paul: This is the tenth episode. Never though it would last this long.
JC: No, no clue what your talking about, so you should just stop talking right now.
Paul: You know, short conversation pieces detailing our sibling interactions.
JC: No, shut up. No clue, be quiet. Look out the window, there's some grass.
Paul: Okay, why are you being strange?
JC: [sighs] Fourth wall?
Paul: Ah. Sorry.

Richard Kershtinkle

2009-05-31T18:20:00.003+01:00

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

2009-05-22T09:08:00.004+01:00

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:

2009-05-20T10:12:00.002+01:00

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

2009-05-10T21:16:00.004+01:00

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:

2009-05-07T19:58:00.002+01:00

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.

2009-05-01T22:08:00.007+01:00

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.

Fat Man Uses The Force

2009-04-22T18:19:00.006+01:00

April has been a funny month. Not hilarious, or oddly peculiar. In fact, now I think about it there's nothing particularly funny about April at all. Forget I mentioned it.

The schools being closed for a fortnight over Easter gave me some precious time with the fruit of my loin, which in addition to her bicycle escapades also saw her attempt golf for the first time, complete with a solid five foot put. Already aspects of her game are superior to mine. She'll be five next month so will naturally be turning pro.

Days in the park, basketball and football were fun, though did highlight my ever expanding waist and my need to step up my weight loss and fitness regime. Time to fish a dusty Wii Fit board out from under the TV unit. Firing it up I discovered that it had been over three hundred days since my last workout, giving my beloved and ever supportive wife yet another opportunity to assert her correctness. Looking at the figures from last year I was genuinely surprised to see that I had been losing weight at a nice steady pace, so I started to wonder why I'd stopped using it. Some uncomfortable memories of my former employer followed. Extra work, additional hours, integrating new people following another acquisition, re-routing the fleet, and the regional manager suggesting that I should tell the disruptive elements of the workforce that I masturbate regularly, as a way to endear myself to them. I'm still not sure how that was supposed to work. Perhaps the thought was that once informed they'd invite me to their masturbation parties.

As I no longer have those excuses, I mean reasons, I'm back on the fitness trail. This is where it gets difficult though. I know why I'm fat. I eat too much and exercise too little. I eat because I'm hungry, because I'm unhappy, because I'm happy, and because I like food. I don't exercise enough because I'd rather be eating. Particularly crisps. In fact, just thinking about it makes me want to eat.

As I'm being healthy I had a large bowl of Bran Flakes, with a Cheerios chaser.

Getting back to exercise, the idea is to burn off more calories than you take in, only, the exercise makes me hungry. So I eat. I learned that lesson early, which is why I stopped using the treadmill after breakfast while watching The Wright Stuff and switched to watching Stargate SG1 before lunch. Whether this fresh impetus will work is solely down to me, and I think that's the main problem with weight loss and exercise. The only people who can effect change are the people whose lack of discipline got themselves into that state in the first place.

On the game front I finished Far Cry 2 (PC) and found the whole experience somewhat lacking. For all it's free form pretensions I found it to be little more than a series of fetch quests through familiar terrain and endlessly spawning enemies with Steve Austin-O-Vision. That's not to say it wasn't fun. It was. The weapons and vehicles were well realised. The environment was suitably varied, if a little ecodome-esque, and graphically it was stunning. Game breakers for me were the likes of destroying a checkpoint, including blowing up the gas cylinders and fuel storage and killing everybody on site, only to return a short while later and find the thing rebuilt and fully manned. It's all well and good having great fire effects and showing them off as the fire rages and spreads across the grass, but when that grass grows back into a lush carpet within the day, the suspension of disbelief puts on it's coat, gets into it's jet powered rocket copter, and trundles off back to Jelly Tot Land.

On a happier note I corrected a grievous error on my part and finally played Knights of the Old Republic (PC). When it was released back in 2003 I had a quick go on a friend's X-Box, and I didn't take to it. Since then I couldn't help but notice the reverence with which it and its sequel have been held by the PC community at large. There is a fear with such things that nostalgia does have a habit of painting things much more vibrantly than they may appear to the naked eye, so when I installed it and it proceeded to crash to desktop on a regular basis I was in danger of letting my frustration cloud my judgement and dismiss the game. Obviously the issue is down to the game being so old and Windows, despite what Microsoft may say and what we PC gamers may extol about our wealth of a back catalogue, doesn't play well with it's older siblings. Thankfully the issues brought about by Vista and in particular 64bit Vista are not uncommon and I found a number of fixes, none of which work fully but that between them made the game playable. As long as I saved my progress frequently I was able to make it through to a thoroughly satisfying conclusion. At some point I will return to it and play through again, allowing the dark side to rule. For now I remain a child of the light. A fat man-child of the light casting a grotesque shadow, but a child of the light all the same.

Who Watches The Watchmen?

2009-04-09T20:23:00.004+01:00

Quality time with the family. Playing in the park. Trips to Granny & Grandad's and Nan's. Learning how to fall off her stabiliser free bike. School holidays are an endless treasure trove of tiny delights. In this oasis of joy I find myself popping my head over the parapet to see the bullets of hate and lies whizzing past.

World leaders gathered in the sleepy village of London to try and find a way to dig us out of the shit pile their friends Fred, Brad, Topper and Gretchen have landed us in. Those who would oppose global economics used their time off from their studies to gather and make themselves heard, before returning to complete their dissertations and embark on their chosen career, complete with pension and stock options. Somewhere in the middle would be the usual pack of anarchic Neanderthals for whom any mass gathering is an excuse to show their disgust by destruction of property. Nothing says you are a true anarchist quite like forcing up insurance premiums.

In my happy little pacifist ignorance I watched the headlines and was saddened to see that in the midst of the chaos a protester died of a heart attack, and that as police tried to provide assistance and get him medical treatment they were beaten back by bricks and bottles from other protesters. Except, over these past few days footage has come to light proving that whatever the actual truth of what happened is, those initial reports given by police and reported as fact were nothing but abject lies. Ian Tomlinson wasn't a protester, and the circumstances leading to his death seem far removed from what we were lead to believe.

I'm reminded of a sketch David Baddiel did on The Mary Whitehouse Experience in which he explains the feeling of helplessness should a member of the constabulary decide to take their frustrations out on you, as it's something I can relate to. When you've been jumped or are being beaten up, one of things you may think to yourself as another brick hits your lower back, is that maybe someone in a house overlooking the scene will have heard the noise. Maybe they'll look out of the window and see a gang amassed around a solitary figure huddled in the foetal position, and they'll pick up a phone. You hope beyond hope that in the absence of any superhero like figure willing to take on such a collective that perhaps the sound of a siren or the sight of blue lights would be enough to at least disperse them while you still have some feeling in your legs to make it home. Aside from wishing that it will end while you're still breathing, there is always that hope.

When those who are tasked with our protection are the ones dispensing arbitrary justice, there is no hope. There is just confusion and fear.

Anyone with a keen interest in photography will no doubt be aware that police now have the power to confiscate your camera on sight if they believe that you have captured images of them, or official buildings, or manhole covers, or anything at all in a public place, under the crochet blanket of the Counter Terrorism Act. Indeed it's a wonder MI6 haven't been breaking down the doors of Google's London offices or undertaking controlled detonations of Street View vehicles.

The cynical or sceptical may say that the purpose of such a power isn't so much to protect us, but to conceal things from us. I also wonder why else police would wear balaclavas and hide their identities if their intentions were not nefarious.

At Home with The Dentons - Episode Seven:

2009-03-26T10:21:00.002Z

Glimmer Men

Paul: Hi JC.
JC: Is he gone?
Paul: Oh, Hi Paul, how are you? What you been up to? You're looking well.
JC: Is he gone?
Paul: What kind of question is that? Don't you trust me?
JC: Is he gone?
Paul: No.
JC: Why?
Paul: He bought me Maltesers and said we could watch Steven Seagal movies all night.

Son of a Pun

2009-03-20T14:33:00.005Z

On occasion I like to embark on an evening of culture and sophistication. Other times, like last night, I like nothing more than blasphemy and knob gags.

I've been looking forward to this for some time. Since embarking on my Twitter obsession and discovering Richard Herring hadn't died in a unfortunate éclair incident and was touring in fact. So Thursday 19^th March 2009 at Liverpool's Unity Theatre myself and my ever tolerant wife, having Shanghaied my mother into caring for our daughter while we went out to enjoy ourselves, met a couple of friends and laughed our socks off and wiped tears of joy from our cheeks.

Herring bounded onto the floor like an enthusiastic kitten. Actually, given his current girth and hairiness maybe Ewok would be more appropriate. Not one of the cute ones like Wicket or the baby in the basket who shields his eyes when C3PO does his 'Vader impression, maybe more a Chief Chirpa. Whenever I've seen him on television he's always appeared sprightly, even when being melancholic, though as this is around the midpoint of the tour with material he first performed at the Edinburgh Fringe in August 2008, I was expecting him to be more subdued. His Empire destroying skills had clearly not waned through touring however.

Hitting the floor running with the single greatest piece of blasphemy I've ever been condemned to Hell for enjoying, we were taken on a journey through Herring's adolescence as he examined his inability to commit, his childish behaviour, and his obsession with masturbation and the need to catalogue it. He read passages from the young Richard's diary, much of which will be familiar to anyone who has been aged between 13 and 17 and written bad poetry, and talked of his upbringing and the effect being the son of the Headmaster during this adolescence has had on his psyche.

We learned amongst other things of his early obsession with comedy and breasts. His fleeting moment of coolness when Dexy's Midnight Runners released Geno. His first love, and meeting her again after twenty years. His uncontested genius at Maths and History. His freakishly small hands and their potential uses.

Sometimes pushing the envelope and referencing current news events, Herring managed to draw a few sharp intakes of breath before the guilt edged chuckles forced their way out. Mostly though the show was a considered retrospective of his formative years rather than a barrage of jokes or satires, and as such it felt like sitting down with an old friend recounting the stupid things you did in your youth. Only this friend was smarter and funnier than you and had you known each other as youths he would never have associated with the likes of you. Obviously.

Closing with a prolonged conversation between himself now at forty-one and at sixteen, he juxtaposed his ambitions then with his position now and ends with a touch of reverence for his father, before one last punchline to send us out happy.

On exiting the venue there was the opportunity for a brief meet and greet while Herring sold merchandise and collected donations for Scope (at this point I should say a big thank you to Mal and Tiff who in offering us a lift home allowed the bus fare to go to a worthier cause). Maybe I won't go to Hell. Maybe just a few millennia in Purgatory.

Richard Herring's The Headmaster's Son is touring until the end of April. Details can be found at http://www.richardherring.com/

Express Your Disgust

2009-03-18T16:59:00.002Z

Not living in Scotland and not being an Express reader I wasn't party to the ground breaking scoop of 8^th March 2009 when Paula Murray unleashed both her barrels on the Dunblane survivors.

In the days that followed publication, numerous messages started bouncing around the Twitterverse and links were posted to the article. Like many who have read it, I was aghast at the depths to which this journalist was willing to stoop. After reading it, I read it again. I was looking for the public interest. I was looking for, well, the story.

I've since sent a few e-mails and signed a petition but I still feel genuine anger. This anger isn't just about the article, it's also about the Press Complaints Commission's codes of practice, and oddly, it's also because despite the few e-mails and the petition signing, I feel so useless and somehow, vulnerable. I don't know what else to do and so the anger turns to frustration which in turn spins back round to anger. But this post isn't about me. Truth be told it's not about the Dunblane survivors whose only misdemeanour seems to be acting like normal teenagers. It's about a shining (though perhaps in context that should be rusted and faecal splattered) example of the gutter press and her character assassination of the most vile kind. It's about Paula Murray.

I keep wondering why she felt the need to attack these survivors. Was Paula Murray involved in some horrific accident that left her in a coma through her teenage years? Was she so ostracised by her peers she spent her adolescence locked in her bedroom, cardigan buttoned to the neck, nose in an Enid Blyton? However she spent it, she clearly never uttered a foul word, had any form of sexual encounter or made any obscene gestures, as that would just be hypocritical.

Anyway, one much wiser than I has collated the details and explains the situation much better than I ever could, so I would ask those few who stumble across my words to please read his: http://bit.ly/3hukrY

At Home with The Dentons - Episode Six:

2009-03-13T12:17:00.002Z

O' Brother

Paul: Hi JC.
JC: Hi Paul. Listen we need to talk about Alex
Paul: Why?
JC: Well because I want him out of the house, so you've got to tell him to go.
Paul: Hey, if you want him gone, you tell him. You're not the boss of me.
JC: Yes I am.
Paul: Oh.

Martin

2009-03-09T12:56:00.004Z

Once upon a time, not too long ago, there was a little watermelon who's name was Martin. Martin was a happy little watermelon who looked forward to growing up and being a nice big watermelon. He would spend his days in his little corner of the greenhouse, practising his dynamic tension and waiting for George to visit. George tended to Martin and was an accomplished gardener. Each day he would stand over Martin and smile down at him. He'd check the soil, give him a dash of water and take hold of him, squeezing a little. Though they were quite rough, Martin felt at ease when George laid his hands on him. He would have liked to make friends with the strawberries too, but he always felt they looked down on him, so he focused all his attention on George and making George proud. Martin liked George. George was his best friend.

One morning, Martin was aware that something was different. He took a moment to compose himself and started his dynamic tension routine, only he couldn't. He had no flexibility. Every part of him was taught. He concentrated and could sense the vitamin C levels within him had peaked. He realised he was now a fully mature watermelon and felt elation and pride. The strawberries could look down on him all they wanted, he knew when George arrived he would be proud of him. He felt himself glow, his green flesh incandescent.

As the sun started to fall on the west side of the greenhouse, it's rays smashed through the glass roof and shone on Martin like a spot light. George would be visiting soon and Martin, eager to please, made every effort to soak up as much of the sun's rays as he could. He really wanted to look his best when George arrived.

Martin felt a chill and looked up to see George stood over him, casting a shadow. As George bent down, Martin could see his smile. Martin had never seen George so happy, and so felt happier than he'd ever felt himself and relaxed as George laid his hands on his ripe body. Martin was soon being carried on a euphoric cloud. George had never held him this long before. His hands were caressing every part of his flesh, his fingers probing every pore. Martin felt alive in a way he could never have imagined. George's fingers reached underneath, into the dirt, and Martin started to drift off as if into a dream. He'd never been touched there before, it was exciting, electrifying. Every fibre of his being trembled, and then the pain. Incredible pain. Mixed with the exquisite pleasure of touch Martin was dumbfounded. The contradiction was terrifying, alluring. The combination unbearable, delightful. Through agony and ecstasy, Martin passed out.

When Martin woke he felt weary. He was exhausted. There was something wrong with his soil, it was hard. The greenhouse glass was fogged, only one pane seemed to be allowing light through. He could just make out George stood by it, though he seemed shorter, half the height he usually was. No, wait. George wasn't shorter, Martin was taller, higher. As his mind cleared a little more Martin realised this wasn't the greenhouse, and he wasn't sat in soil but was on some kind of wooden board. As George approached Martin saw he had something shiny in his hand. A ruler? Was George going to measure him? George took hold of Martin with his granite like left hand. His grip was firm and lacked the care Martin was used to. George raised his right hand and Martin now saw the knife clearly. This was wrong. There's been a mistake. They've been friends for so long. Friends don't hurt each other.

Martin wanted to scream, to plead with George. He wanted to remind George of all the time they'd spent together and how George was like a father and best friend all rolled in to one, but he couldn't. Martin was a watermelon, and watermelons can't speak. He began to weep.

As George's knife tore through Martin's flesh and cut into his body, a few of Martin's tears escaped.

At Home with The Dentons - Episode Five:

2009-03-03T15:53:00.002Z

Credit Brunch

Paul: I'm hungry. Do you fancy anything?
JC: No thanks, I had a Pot Noodle earlier.
Paul: Which one?
JC: Southern Fried Chicken
Paul: Nice?
JC: It's okay.
Alex: Hey guys, check out the new 52inch OLED TV I just bought. It's thinner than JC's smile.
Paul: Man, that is sweet.
JC: Where did you get the money?
Alex: I got Tracer to order it for me online. He said you already had an account.
JC: You used my account to order it?
Alex: Yeh man. I'll pay you back, and in the meantime you'll get the benefit of it too. Win win.
JC: Excuse me a moment. I have some credit cards to cancel.

Review: Quake Live

2009-02-26T19:17:00.017Z

I don't normally 'do' reviews. Sure I've summarised my feelings on a number of games on completion, though these were hardly in-depth analyses of the games. I've often been tempted but the truth is there are far better and knowledgeable people out here in the world wide waste of time that are considerably more qualified and adept than I. So forgive the shambolic and rambling nature of what is to follow, but having been waiting for the past 2 days, got so far as downloading the plug-in which required having to restart my browser and therefore dropping back to the end of the queue, then proceeding to join the queue several more times only to have to give up before getting in I was starting to think the whole thing was some elaborate hoax. I've now been queuing for nearly two hours this morning and am still only 2,434^th in the queue. I'm so annoyed that I've decided to stick around so I can pull it apart. I know it's still technically in Beta, but they said I could play and so far I've not. Quake Live, I am here to destroy you.

In case you are unaware, Quake Live is a first person shooter developed by id Software which you play competitively through your internet browser. The goal for id was to bring an enhanced version of Quake III Arena to a wider audience and in order for it to be free to users the project would be supported from in game advertising. Based on the queues to get in so far it has certainly attracted an audience and id can start to push numbers under marketing types noses and open the bidding.

Some orange juice and the end credits to Walk Hard on TV later and it's 2 hours 47 minutes since I joined the queue and the character selection screen has appeared. As well as choosing your character you can familiarise yourself with or edit the controls, customise your crosshair and change a few colours. Nothing too involved or daunting. As one of the ideas behind this endeavour is to make it accessible to to the widest spectrum possible, thus far it's promising. Even my dear mother-in-law could follow this. Meanwhile the main body of the game starts downloading in the background so at this point it's all pretty seamless.

One major concern for online gaming virgins, or even veterans who just suck, will be the prospect of giving this a try only to to find themselves repeatedly fragged out of existence before so much as getting a shot off. I've certainly stopped playing games before due to the constant deaths brought about by those who have dedicated themselves to honing their skills. All credit to them for their dedication, and I don't wish to detract from their ability. It's just not much fun for those of us who have other commitments and are simply looking for a bit of entertainment. This is where the game's Placement Match comes in. Before you head in to the big frag fest you have to play what is effectively a tutorial. This is ten minutes of learning the basics and battling an AI opponent, at the end of which the game evaluates you. The beauty of this is that it means when you do enter the real gaming arena you'll be playing against opponents of similar ability, which should make for a far better balanced and enjoyable game.

In entering my assessment a lovely young lady named Crash took me into a side room and explained about the weapons, health, armour, jump pads, and took me on a brief tour of the arena. She then proceeded to blow me to smithereens. Ten minutes later and we were tied at 14-14. Next frag the winner. A bit of cat and mouse, a few stray rockets, a quick run to a health globe and as I turned the corner I saw her heading for the red armour. If I could just hit her before she picked it up. Yes! Take that, bitch! Boo-yar, who's the man? I rule!

I'm sure id have just been very clever with the tutorial as they wouldn't want people bowing out at this early stage, so keeping the match tight allows the inept such as myself to still feel we've accomplished something and willing to go on.

The game itself runs incredibly smoothly and once the competition was under way it was easy to forget that this was running in a browser. The visuals are tremendous given the platform. Obviously they don't compare to the likes of Crysis or even Half Life 2, but they do surpass the original Quake III Arena's visuals, which lets not forget took a top notch high end PC to do it justice on release, and yet here it is running in Firefox. This was just a 1 on 1 tutorial though. What would it be like in the big arenas?

Continuing you are returned to the main site where you have the option of taking your skills online or practising further. The lower part of the page shows your statistics and will be continuously updated as you play. No doubt a great source of embarrassment for the likes of me with an accuracy rating of 20% in the tutorial. There's not going to be many numbers to be proud of in there.

I should stress that on completing the tutorial the last thing to do is decide that it's lunchtime and head off to make an egg sandwich, pour a fresh glass of orange juice, and sit down to watch the news while you eat, as when you return your inactivity will have had you logged out.

It's 13:42 and I'm 28,430^th.

14:32 and I'm back in.

Unsure of whether I was truly ready to take on human opponents just yet I went into practice. Anyone new to this type of thing would be well advised to do the same. Here I could choose the game type from Clan Arena; Capture The Flag; Team Deathmatch; Free For All; and Duel. Selecting Clan Arena gave the choice of 35 arenas, the time limit, the round limit, the bot skills and the total number of players. Listed like that it can seem a bit daunting, but the interface is easy to follow and in seconds I was choosing my side and rushing around at breakneck speeds. Requiring eight rounds to be won for victory, things didn't start well. The Blue team were 3-0 up and I was starting to remember why back in the day I went with Unreal Tournament's more controlled and tactical antics instead of Quake III Arena's frenetic action. All too soon I was mashing the space bar and left mouse button and while I'm sure there is an art to doing this, it all felt a bit random. Any deaths attributed to me felt more down to luck than skill. Maybe I'm doing myself a disservice. Only way to be sure I suppose is to go up against humans.

The site offered a Capture The Flag game as a 'Best Pick' so I braced for impact and headed in. Allowing the game to decide which team to put me on I had a look around the level. We're in space with each team having a multi-tiered platform at either end and a central plane between us. To the sides are some more platforms, some jump pads, and some glowing discs. Wondering what the discs do I decide to investigate further, but there's no time, the countdown, 3...2...1 it's over and there's already a red skeleton in front of me flying into the air off a jump pad and heading for the blue flag. I instinctively jump and start firing my shotgun, but he's turned and is heading off the platform. I give chase and we both launch across the sky. During flight I've collected a Railgun and anticipating his landing point, I fire. The skeleton hits the ground and the blue flag is freed. Elated, I launch into the air and head towards the red flag, adrenalin fuelled and hungry for blood, until a rocket blast blows me off and I fall into the void of space. So it continued for the next ten minutes. The red team won 6-1 and I sat third out of the four blue team members. I'm not the worst, and I'm hungry for more. Back at the main page there's a number of matched games for me to join so I head in again.

Playing with humans certainly felt a more solid and rewarding experience, though I think I'll spend some more time practising as despite the slightly disconnected feeling, there's no doubt familiarity with the maps will stand me in good stead.

Quake Live is everything Quake III Arena was, and more. Working through a browser gives it a level of accessibility beyond the gaming crowd. I'm sure some purist will bemoan the fact that their beloved pastime will now be shared by all and sundry, though thanks to the matching system they are unlikely to ever meet.

While I was eager to give Quake Live a try, I didn't expect to particularly enjoy it. I was more interested to see how it would work and what concession would have had to be made. It is a truly incredible achievement and a considerably better gaming experience than many retail products. I should warn Vista users that at present Aero isn't compatible, though the game will turn it off for you on launch.

My only real criticism is of the current waiting times. For Quake Live to be viable it needs to attract advertisers and for that it will need to captivate and sustain significant numbers. It's accessibility once you're in will certainly help in that regard, though if the waiting times don't improve people may not be willing to wait. I'm sure once the beta ends and it's fully live it won't be an issue. For now I'm in, and I'm staying put.

Try it yourself at www.quakelive.com

This Charming Man

2009-02-25T14:03:00.003Z

You'd think the receipt of a rejection e-mail this morning on the basis of “candidates with more relevant experience than yourself “ would put me in a negative frame of mind. You'd be right. However it's not all bad as while I'm head sore and miserable today, I did have a very pleasant time this previous evening in my local Wetherspoon's with a delightfully charming man, who for the sake of protecting the innocent I shall henceforth refer to as Mr Jones. As is normal on such occasions I tend to arrive slightly early and he arrives slightly later than the specified time. This gives me the opportunity to browse the selection of beverages on offer and contemplate what I should drink. I'm not much of a drinker you see. I used to be. There was many an occasion I would go out with friends and drink the night away without fear of repercussions. These days however I'm more likely to end up with chronic acid, leading to sleep deprivation manifested as frequent visits to the porcelain altar whereby I would attempt to have my diaphragm exhumed from my body by way of my oesophagus. The temptation is always therefore for me to have 'foo foo' drinks. The likes of Smirnoff Ice and WKD or any of those that could be referred to as alco-pops, as historically they have caused significantly less troublesome nights and following days. The problem is when I'm drinking with another man it somehow feels wrong. I'm not sure I can explain what it is, but there just seems something unmanly about sitting in a pub having 'man time' drinking a little bottle of an oddly coloured fruit based drink, irrespective of it's potency or alcohol content. Men drink pints. Pints of beer.

I'm old enough to know better and there's so many aspects of things I do or say without concern for what others may think of me as a result that I should be comfortable to drink anything I like, irrespective of how I may be perceived. So why can't I?

Anyway, Mr Jones was a delight as always. A genuinely charming man who it is quite a pleasure to be in the company of. He's the type of chap, and I use the term in consideration of every WWII movie that saw anyone of good standing being referred to as jolly decent, who exudes warmth.

Much of the evening was spent discussing my varied and wonderful neurosis. I say discussing. I suppose inflicting would probably be more apt. Mr Jones being the rapturous Adonis that he is (I know I may be venturing into some form of homo-erotica here, so for the avoidance of doubt: I'm not and neither is he, though if he was and so where I, I most certainly would, though he would no doubt spurn my advances in the most humble of ways and I would find myself alone in the gutter offering my services to the most foul and abusive for little more than a packet of Spicy Nik-Naks and a cup of Bovril) took it all in good humour and at the end of the evening sent me away with a spring in my step. Jolly decent chap.

Wandering far

2009-02-23T13:37:00.008Z

I've finally finished playing Fallout 3 (PC) for the time being. I've visited every significant location, though not found every bobblehead nor triggered every quest, and you know, that's fine. I never wanted the experience to degenerate into a complete fetch quest, I just wanted to see what the wasteland had to offer.

Leaving the confines of Vault 101 I played the game pretty much as myself, in so much as I can be myself in a fictional post apocalyptic future, letting my personal morality be my guide. As such, as tempted as I was to put a .44 magnum shell into the back of the likes of Moriarty's head and blow the residents of Megaton to kingdom come, I never did so. Maybe next play through. And that's the biggest ringing endorsement I can give. Despite almost 100 hours of wandering the wastes I'd be more than happy to start all over again. Sure the ending is a bit of kick in the happy sack, but that doesn't detract from the delights that have gone before.

I could of course continue playing now, with the Operation Anchorage expansion, though as it's only available through the Games For Windows Marketplace, which would be a reason to disregard it in itself, and the reviews giving the impression that it is akin to sprinkling powered turd on my cornflakes, I think I'll give it a miss.

There's other expansions in the works and I'm sure when Bethesda have finished milking it they'll put a nice little expansion compilation together as they did with the Knights of the Nine for Oblivion and that's when I'll jump back in, only this time as a twisted killing machine bent on intensifying the pain and misery of the inhabitants of this ravaged DC. [insert Vincent Price laughter here]

So with an ever expanding backlog of games it was a tough choice deciding where to go next. Being the FPS lover that I am Far Cry 2 was always going to be favourite, though with the recent system wipe I need to restart both Colin McRae DiRT and Psychonauts so there was a temptation to go back to them. I've also got Beyond Good & Evil and Company of Heroes Gold Edition sitting in my Steam list eyeing me disappointedly. I've not given nearly enough time to zombie blasting in Left 4 Dead, and Mass Effect and Grand Theft Auto IV aren't going to play themselves. Add to that the recent release of F.E.A.R.2: Project Origin and Burnout Paradise Ultimate Box demo's, that gave me just enough to tempt me in with their wily ways, and the excitement is palpable. How am I going to cope?

One notable absentee in all this is Warhammer Online. There was some debate about Warhammer over at the ZTTB site, which I'll expand upon my input in order to explain that while I am still playing it, I'm not doing so as much as I expected.

I dabbled with Warhammer briefly in school, though I was primarily a D&D kind of guy, and maybe my memory isn't too good because I wasn't expecting, well, what Warhammer Online is. I've tried to love it, tried to warm to it's charms, but once the initial excitement wore off I felt that there's just something missing. Now it may just be me being the anti-social nay sayer that I can be, but the reason I liked Guild Wars was because I got to play with people I liked and had fun with. Once all the guildies stopped playing I had no reason to go back and finish it. I was never really into running around alone, and not being sure I could invest the time needed for character development I was never convinced a proper MMO would fit, so I avoided the likes World of Warcraft and Everquest II for this reason and because of the monthly subscription, despite the number of people I knew who where jumping in and splashing around while telling me how lovely it was and to get the water wings off and join them.

Warhammer, I told myself, would be different. Surely going into a massive bloody conflict with several hundred others as body parts fly across the battlefield in a hail of flame and bullets would be my dream ticket, particularly as we had, an all be it brief, history.
It seems strange then that I'm having most fun going off doing the PvE alone. I certainly didn't expect that. I think the cause of this unexpected development is that I've found people still play as individuals, and as such the PQ's work best because people can do their own thing but it still contributes to the overall goal. In the PvP scenarios, unless you have at least a party and preferably a warband going in, it just becomes a free for all. That makes the experience feel somewhat unsatisfying. Hollow.

Having said all that, I still think it's worth picking up and having a play, and despite my reservations I have put my money on the table and will be playing until May, but I really don't know if I'll go beyond that. There's no doubt that WoWers who came across for the launch didn't find it compelling enough to stay once Wrath of the Lich King was released, and there was a significant juggling act to balance the servers. There's also been a number of changes in game since launch that have improved things with Mythic being swift to implement them and the speed with which they've responded to criticism has been commendable. They've reintroduced classes that were removed to ensure the game launched on time and balancing and UI issues have been rectified. All in all it is very solid and well implemented.

The environments are fantastic. The characterisations are brilliant. The Tome Of Knowledge is a stroke of genius. There's a wealth of material in and around the game world that you can delve as deep as you like into. There's an abundance of content, and you're free to sample whichever takes your fancy. Want to play as a High Elf but like the Dwarf story? Go do the Dwarf story then. Once you've basically got through the training quests and got to your first warcamp, your race doesn't have to dictate your quest path. The quests themselves can range from a quick walk down the road to chat to someone, to sprawling multi-part epics. Should you find some like minded people to adventure with, your quests can be shared with the others in your party, with re spawn of components/quest items happening swiftly enough that you don't get bored waiting for everyone to get the loot.

There's so many plus points and great things in there and I want it to be a great success. That's why I'd love to recommend it to everyone as an essential purchase. The fact that I can't saddens me. I hope that anyone who does buy it likes it. I hope it's just that MMO's at the end of the day aren't my bag. I really do.

Not that I can worry about that now. I've got some bloke going by the pseudonym “The Jackal” to kill.

At Home with The Dentons - Episode Four:

2009-02-21T20:25:00.002Z

Return of the Other Guy

Paul: Hi JC.
JC: Hey Paul.
Paul: Guess who I bumped into at the Greasel Pit.
JC: I can't possibly imagine.
Alex: Yo! Yo! Yo! JC Dawg. Man you is lookin' wicked!
JC: Paul may I have a word, in the back?
Paul: Sure JC.
JC: Why? Why in my perfectly balanced and beautiful harmony would you bring that runt back here?
Paul: JC, he's family.
JC: I hate you.

Well, well, well.

2009-02-19T22:51:00.007Z

I accept that faith requires a certain degree of detachment from reality. If it didn't, cynicism and logic would take over and we'd all be soulless automatons. Or Mr Spock. I am differentiating between religion and faith here as while I don't subscribe to any particular religion, I do have faith. I trust that's clear. No? Oh well, what a pity, never mind.

Sometimes I hear tales that are somewhat far fetched. Often though I can see the seed that spawned the tale and see where things may have been exaggerated or poetic licence taken. A tale I read this week though just seems so far removed from any kind of reality I'm at a complete loss.

North Wales circa 630AD. A particularly attractive young girl with a reputation for possessing great intellect decides to give herself over to Christ and become a nun. The local prince thinks that would a terrible waste so goes to see her to suggest instead she become a princess. Not a bad deal you might think, and certainly Disney have made a few bob by suggesting that it's every young girls dream. Anyway, our heroine decides that rather than be a princess she'd prefer to remain chaste and live in poverty. Great intellect you see.

Unwilling to take no for an answer the young prince goes from charming suitor to potential rapist, and our heroine takes flight down the hill towards the local church where her family are attending mass. I know what you're thinking, she's planning on becoming a nun but doesn't go to mass with her family? She's not that committed is she? Anyway, being the sensible and level headed dashing young prince that he is, our villain whips out his sword and lops her head off. The head rolls down the hill and comes to rest on a slight plateau. Suddenly, water starts to spring up through the ground, bathing the head and ruining her hair do.

Our heroine's uncle, who was taking the mass she didn't bother going to, hears of his niece's fate. Again, I know what you're thinking, where some particularly chatty sheep watching that suddenly ran into the church to bleat? Someone send him a tweet on his i-phone? There's no suggestion that there were any witnesses so what alerted him remains a mystery. Having been alerted though, he and her parents leave the church and attend to the head, picking up the soggy bonce and taking it back up the hill to where the body lay, placing it back on the neck and covering it with a cloak. You'd think at this point that seeing their murdered daughter lying on the side of the hill sans head there'd be some form of outpouring of sorrow. A desire to apprehend the murderer. Pay last respects. No, they all went back to the church to finish mass and possibly tea and biscuits. Maybe a flan.

With mass over, the family head back out to the body and the uncle kneels beside her, bearing his soul in prayer. Personally I imagine this bit to be like Britain's Got Talent with the holy trinity hovering over their buzzers while watching. The uncle, managing to complete his prayer without a single “X” wins a holiday home in Bangor and his niece resurrected. Yes, when he removes the cloak the head has been reattached and our heroine is fine and dandy. I wonder if he thought to say “Ta-da!” as he pulled the cloak away, and I hope he got a round of applause. Again though my imagination runs away with me a bit because the picture I can't get out of my head is that of Patty Mullen in Frankenhooker. Not exactly saintly.

Now obviously I didn't pay much attention to biology classes as I really would have expected decapitation to be terminal and so anyone having been dead, and we're not talking slight misunderstanding with finding a pulse here, to then be up and about at the very least would have been accused of being a witch, with the village gathered and set to collecting kindling. And if not a witch then what? You're dead but now you're walking about. That would make you a zombie? Surely? Again, villagers, kindling, marshmallows.

Attention now turns to our villain. Maybe it's just me, but if I'd just decapitated someone on a Welsh hillside I think my immediate reaction would not be to hang about. I think at the very least I would leave the area, possibly burn my clothes, but definitely not put my sword into the ground and lean on it. So what does our villain do? He puts his sword in the ground and leans on it while the family come out, collect the head, put it by the body, cover with the cloak, return to the church, finish mass, come back out, pray, and finally remove the cloak (ta-da, round of applause, bow to circle, bow to the stalls). I'm sure he did regret this somewhat odd decision as once our heroine was breathing again, her uncle called forth the wrath of God and the ground opened and took the prince away, presumably to the bowels of Hell. Bit excessive if you ask me, given that even decapitation didn't appear to cause any real harm in the end. I think had he gone to the court of appeal he'd have had a case.

Resurrected and by all accounts ecstatic at being able to breath again, our heroine spends the next twenty two years of her un-death as a recluse, until Jesus himself appeared to tell her that her un-death would soon be reclassified to re-death.

The site where her decapitated head came to rest and the spring appeared is now a place of pilgrimage for people to bathe in the waters, preying 3 times to be cured. Much like the way you'd call Beetlejuice, with just as likely an outcome.

Go to St Winefride's Well, Holywell and see for yourself.

At Home with The Dentons - Episode Three:

2009-02-16T12:52:00.002Z

The Dentons Reloaded

Paul: Hi JC.
JC: Oh, erm, Hi Paul. Didn't hear you come in.
Paul: I thought that with you and Helios being so tight you'd have known I was coming in.
JC: Well yes, obviously, I was just, erm, distracted.
Paul: With what?
JC: Oh y'know, ensuring global stability, making sure environmental conditions in Newcastle, New South Wales are varied enough to annoy Professor Franks. The usual.
Paul: And you normally do that with your pants down?
JC: Yes.
Paul: Hmm.

Aisle be there

2009-02-13T17:10:00.002Z

Standing by the pastas in the supermarket today I became very self aware. I'm not a thin man, but I'm hardly gargantuan either. My waste is more rounded than perhaps I'd like, and yes my rear end can comfortably fill a Victorian armchair. Standing on the bathroom scales would suggest I'm obese, though it's marginal and I am working on it. The point is, no matter how much you shunt, push and grunt, that shopping trolley is not going to fit up my arse.

At Home with The Dentons - Episode Two:

2009-02-12T12:43:00.004Z

The Two Dentons

Paul: Hi JC.
JC: Hey Paul.
Paul: Doing much?
JC: Just making it rain on the Isle of Man.
Paul: Why?
JC: To make it wet.
Paul: Oh. I'm going the pub, coming?
JC: No.

Taking stock.

2009-02-11T12:54:00.000Z

Fool that I am, when I started this blog thing I didn't see the point in adding tags or labels to the posts. I never considered having to go back through to see what I'd thought about 'x' at the time (y?). So I'm off on a Who-esque journey to the past and into my growing back catalogue so that I can now, well, catalogue it. Assuming it doesn't take too long I should be back yesterday.

At Home with The Dentons - Episode One:

2009-02-07T12:57:00.012Z

The Phantom Premise

Paul: Hi JC.
JC: 'sup?
Paul: It's all good. Watcha up to?
JC: Oh, y'know, general omnipotence
Paul: JC, you, like, know everything right?
JC: Yeh.
Paul: So what's the new Watchmen movie like then?
JC: Oh man, it's sweet.
Paul: Cool, wanna go see it with me?
JC: No.
Paul: Oh.

Alive alive d'oh!

2009-02-06T15:46:00.002Z

I don't like criticising. Honest. Sure I like to point fun as much as the next socially inept intellectual failure, but that's different. It's hard for me to justify anger sometimes as those my anger would be directed towards are far and away on a higher tier. Take my current bile inducing situation, the bastion of all that is unholy, Games For Windows Live. Those responsible for it are well education suitably qualified professionals and were we to meet I can see it going something like this:

Me: Games For Windows Live is shit!

GFWL Team: Could you do better?

Me: Erm, no.

Argument lost and I'd slope off home with my stomach acid reaching tonsil tickling levels, develop massive stomach ulcers and drop dead. Probably best I don't pop over to Redmond then.

The thing is though, the statement stands because as far as a user experience is concerned, Games For Windows Live wholly fails to deliver on it's premise of providing seamless interaction between itself, the user and the game. I've seen numerous rants about GFWL and I've always thought they were a little harsh, however I now find myself a fully paid up hater. My first experience of GFWL was, like many others, with Gears Of War (PC). A competent 3^rd person shooter that by the end I was playing simply to finish and complete the story rather than any real desire to keep playing. When every now and then a little achievement box appeared it was fine, I wasn't particularly interested in the achievements, they're not something that I have any drive to collect. I kind of regard them like the Panini football stickers. I collected them as a kid and if I was still ogling pictures of Sam Fox and listening to Adam & The Ants I'm sure I'd want to collect them now, but I play games for entertainment and any sense of competition or need to collect artificial trinkets has long since left my old and weary frame. So why do I now hate GFWL? Fallout 3 (PC) is why. Fallout 3, a little slice of gaming heaven. I've been lost in the wastelands of post apocalyptic Washington DC for weeks and I have loved every second of it. Most of the time I've resisted using the fast travel system to move between discovered locations because I am feeling that lone man in the wilderness vibe, and that includes the trek and any pitfalls it may encompass. It was a little irritating therefore to have achievement boxes popping up periodically as while it's okay for a shooter, Fallout 3 is an RPG at heart and those moments break the bond between me and the environment I had completely given myself over to. Not to worry though, at the end of the day that's what the developers decided to do and as everything else they've done is right I can accept their decision for the achievements too. So why my sudden allegiance to the “GFWL must be destroyed” brigade? For that we must journey back to a time of innocence. When men fought great beasts to secure their family's food and shelter, about 8 weeks ago. I had a problem following a Windows update that left me unable to update further. Remote connection from a Microsoft tech' bod resulted in him telling me is was basically screwed and to reinstall the OS. My PC is used for a multitude of sins only one of which is gaming and at that time I had numerous personal projects on the go and so wasn't in a position to wipe it all there and then. So while I'm finishing my bits off I'm playing Fallout 3. Fallout 3 being a GFWL game wants me to log in to GFWL when I play, but GFWL has an update it wants installed but with all my update features AWOL and no way to replace them without a reinstall of the OS it can't, so it logs me out but still used the GFWL account details for my save games. That's fine, I have no problem with it so far. Over the past couple of days, I've finished all the previous odds and sods I was doing, I've backed up everything of any remote significance and I've formatted and reinstalled my OS, with the obligatory 24 hours of then getting all the hotfixes, service pack and more hotfixes. Reinstalled Steam and all my Steam games, and reinstalled Fallout 3 and copied over my save games. Why then, when I launch the game can I not access my previous saves? Why does it want me to create an offline account in order for me to continue my game? A bit of Googleing later and it appears the fix it to download the GFWL client separately and install it and sure enough a reboot later and all seems well. Indeed the new interface is not wholly unpleasant and it looks like Microsoft may be finally learning from Valve's example and Steam, except ,where are all these immersion breaking achievements I've collected while wandering the wastes? It would appear that because I wasn't connected to the GFWL service when those achievements were unlocked, they aren't saved or credited. They are lost. Gone. Vanquished. I have to ask then, why have them in the first place? If achievements in an offline game have no value, what is their point? Surely the unlocking of the achievements would be part of the save game and on connecting to the GFWL service the appropriate records updated? Is that so hard?

Like I said, I'm not an achievement seeker in games and I have no great desire to see and collect them all, however, having forced them upon me and in the process breaking, all be it fleetingly, my immersion, to now simply cast them aside is as insulting as it is careless. I hate you Games for Windows Live. You made me want achievements.

Punxsutawney Phil Says...

2009-02-02T16:20:00.003Z

Following a brief read of the Groundhog Day entry over at Empire, I got to thinking about films featuring Andie MacDowell and wondering how and why I still see her on TV. Yes we all remember her peaking with Four Weddings and a Funeral, which was passable. She did put a good turn in for Groundhog Day and she was competent, in so much as she was forgettable, in Hudson Hawk. Looking at her entry over at IMDB (and discovering in the process that it's Brent Spiner's birthday, many happy returns Brent) I'm astounded by her body of work, as with the exception of those already mentioned and being completely redundant in Multiplicity and outright rifle fodder in Michael, I'm struggling to think of anything noteworthy she has done to warrant her continuously suggesting that I'm worth it.

Ter-wit To Who

2009-02-01T23:53:00.008Z

I had heard tales so felt the need to investigate further and now have periodic musings from the legend that is Stephen Fry. I believe His Holiness The Fry mentioned the concept on Jonathan Ross's programme and has seen a large influx of loyal worshippers since, though having taped but not yet watched said show I don't know if this is true. Not that I have any reason to doubt it, I was simply more concerned with scavenging the wastes that are a post apocalyptic Washington DC in Fallout 3 (PC) and so am yet to see for myself. Anyway, the thing is, I've signed up to Twitter. More to do with my current obsession with Robert Llewellyn's Wet Liberal Weekly rants, I now find myself just sitting here while The Great and Powerful Fry makes words appear on my screen. Stephen Fry is making words appear on my screen. Stephen Fry. My screen. Stephen Fry.

The Wide Awake Club

2009-01-28T17:09:00.003Z

The great thing about insomnia is it gives you ample time to think about why you're not sleeping. This in turn becomes a myriad of possibilities each a little more sinister than the previous. While the increasing paranoia of what could be playing on your mind to induce such clarity in your days 23rd hour rises, you pass out with fear.

Any Which Way .

2008-12-08T22:08:00.003Z

The interesting (as opposed to depressing; humiliating and distressing) thing about being made redundant is that I've become incredibly relaxed. I'm sleeping better than I have for many, many months. I'm completing my tasks in a timely and suitable manner and have laid the foundations for those who will be left beyond my departure. I've simply stopped worrying about the “what ifs”. I no longer have the back up plan and the back up to the back up. It's refreshing going to bed and knowing that if it all goes horribly wrong at 04:00, it won't be me getting the phone call. I see the injustice and favouritism meted out and can console myself that during my tenure I did everything to be as fair and even handed as I could. Sure there were some who didn't like it, particularly those looking to cruise and ignore the very essence of what being in a service industry is about, and I've no doubt they will continue to be despised by their colleagues and cosseted by those who should know better. I never understood why those few were chosen and so never got on board with the idea. I guess that's my failure and why I was never part of the clique.

I do worry about the future though, and I'm torn about which way to turn. Part of me will be glad to see the back of the waste industry and I wonder whether I should look outside of transport and logistics all together. Another part of me finds that idea terrifying as I have a bit of a comfort zone there. What else can my particular skills translate to?

Of course, in the current economic climate there's hardly an abundance of opportunities and I've still got a mortgage to pay and a family to support (as have the many unfortunate people at MFI and Woolworths who find themselves in a similar position) so it's not as if I can afford to be choosy even if given the chance.

Will work for food.

2008-11-19T23:46:00.001Z

A 1-2 victory over Germany should make me happy, but as many thousands in England's green and pleasant lands are finding to their horror, the words redundancy and unemployment are rearing their ugly heads. Learned today that I'm facing redundancy. Bummer!

Ground Floor, comin' up.

2008-10-27T20:09:00.003Z

Given how much I have to say on a wide variety of topics, this blog is awfully quiet. It seems I'm only posting now to explain why I'm not posting. Obviously Warhammer Online:Age Of Reckoning (PC) is taking up a fair few of my gaming hours, and almost lives up to expectations. I'm having another run through Crysis (PC) too.

There's so many things wrong in the world at the moment, and the angry young man I once was is tired and old. All my anger these days just turns to bile and heartburn.

I've had a bit of a nasty chest infection recently, so having had a few days off work and still feeling rough around the edges and certainly nowhere near 100%, I drag my sorry fat arse back in. Having missed a few days I'm a little out of touch and when I enquire as to what's been happening I'm informed by one of my superiors that if I wanted to know what was going on I shouldn't have stayed off. That was soon put behind us though as he went on to tell me how my efforts to safeguard our employees over the past couple of months were wrong and affirmed my theory that our employees health and safety is inversely proportionate the size of the customer's account. It's that level of warmth and love that keeps me going and makes me feel so appreciated in work.

On the plus side, there's a new poster and some nice stills for Watchmen.

I'm not playing World of Warcraft

2008-08-26T20:34:00.003+01:00

The lack of posts though would suggest otherwise. To make matters worse, the only real point of this entry is to bring to an end the information drought. So what has little me been doing?
Oblivion (PC) - Riding Shadowmere all around Cyrodiil and heading all the guilds except the Mages. Apparently I'm not magic enough for those dress wearing biatches. Pretty much boxed off what I need to and am considering installing Shivering Isles, but I'll give it a bit of a break first.
S.T.A.L.K.E.R - Shadow of Chernobyl (PC) again. Yes I know it's a little rough around the edges but it's such a great game that leaves so many questions unanswered or open to interpretation that I just had to have another run through before Clear Sky comes out.
Guitar Hero III:Legends of Rock (Wii) - I know the Wii version suffers from poor graphics and no DLC, but the experience is the same irrespective of version so whatever console you own (if any), pick this up and let your tennis racket strumming inner brat out.
Warhammer Online:Age Of Reckoning (PC) - The MMO I've been waiting for will finally arrive on September 18th (open beta access and live game headstart excepted). No doubt will be massively disappointing given the length of time I've been waiting and my now almost infinite expectations.
Other than that the family trip to Disneyland Resort Paris was, and I must apologise ahead of time for resorting to this: awesome! TIP: If you're taking kids I wouldn't recommend going by car without overnight stays on route unless you can do it in less than 6 hours, even with Nintendo DS's.

An Oscar Wilde Picture On The Wall

2008-06-02T22:43:00.001+01:00

The title reference being The Smiths - I Started Something, and while maybe a touch obscure it's the song title that is a reflection of my relief to see the end of May. It started well, typical of TV end credits for the copyright year. So then when the months second post got the title of the Half Man Half Biscuit song I'd put on my phone, which in itself was a tale of pretension and so why I chose it, I'd started down a path without even realising. So then post #3, and coming as it did following a nostalgia chat about connecting devices and the lead mentioned in title, so that seemed the obvious choice given that I was searching for a lead in line with the new purchase. I now felt obliged to carry on the title style for the rest of the month, only I didn't know how. I'm not that clever! So drums. What acronym can be lent? None. What about some kind of relevant code? No. Drum tabs? No. So pop's favourite chord progression and a determination to ensure nothing noteworthy happened for the rest of the month.

D C G

2008-05-22T22:43:00.002+01:00

I need to drum more. The kit's set up and the neighbours are surprisingly understanding so why is it I still choose to pick up a guitar than go and beat something repeatedly? The sorry truth is that I'm fat; I'm old; and I've simply slowed down. There were days when I'd spend hours beating out rhythms and odd timed wonders, but now I can barely get through a couple of tracks without needing a break. Those 16 & 32/4s are now 2/4s. I know if I practice more I'll get back into it, but unlike years past when I get there I find myself wondering what to do. I don't have a couple of albums worth of tunes in my head like I used to, and worse, I know what I'm capable of. That's the biggest kicker. I know what I can do behind a kit, but my dodgy right ankle can no longer go the speed or take the pounding it used to and age is a factor in getting these arms moving. I find myself angry and frustrated for not doing what I should be doing, so rather than face that frustration I pick up a guitar and strum.

RS232

2008-05-14T01:03:00.002+01:00

I thought it might be nice to spend more money I don't have (what credit crunch?) on a new TV. Forty inches of South Korean 1080p LCD goodness. Having hooked it up the the V+ box, once the initial happiness of the upscaling wore off, I was hit by a twinge of disappointment that Virgin Media, like Sky, broadcast their HD output in 1080i for understandable service maintenance reasons. Cue Statler and Waldorf style booing, and a quest for 1080p media.

You'd think in the modern hooked up and jacked in virtual life it would be relatively easy to find material, but alas not. Movie trailers are easily viewed online through the PC, but I'm not looking to hook the PC up to the TV. Looking for downloadable content that could be written to a DVD leads me to all manner of Divx and Xvid and Mpeg4 and h/x264 files that then lead on to a ridiculous number of Googles to find out what the hell they are and how to play them. As it turns out it's redundant as the collected wisdom seems to be that once the resolutions get to 720p and beyond it's not so much about the file format but the carrier so standard DVD/DivX players won't output it anyway, even those with HDMI ports and upscaling ability. Which really only leaves Freesat and Blue Ray. Freesat is still in it's infancy and it's reasonable to expect a 12 month gestation period while advanced decoders, probably with hard drives in, get to market at a decent price. Blue Ray, despite now being confident and out of nappies, is still an unstable little toddler. While a format war is never a good thing, particularly for early adopters on the losing side, this latest HD DVD v BRD one had a rather disturbing outcome. Not so much for the format that won, but the manner in which that victory was achieved. A format war decided by the industry that controls it as opposed to the consumer is a worrying turn of events. When the winner is the more expensive and as yet is not a finalised standard then early adopters on both sides end up as collateral damage. The only sensible BRD player is a games console with a pad that promotes chronic finger fatigue.. so no, Blue Ray and even the PS3 may well be the future but they're overpriced and underwhelming right now.

Guess I'll just have to stick with 1080i for the time being, oh, and if anyone sees the Wii component cable in stock anywhere, give us a shout.

A 4AD3DCD

2008-05-04T01:20:00.001+01:00

I decided to buy one of these new super phone jobbies. Actually, once again I'm starting with an absolute and blatant lie. The truth is that in a stupid attempt to frighten my better half I bid on a phone on e-bay. It's very nice, a Samsung SGH-G600, great reviews, rather desirable by all accounts, and while the bid I put in was not insubstantial (it had to be a significant amount for the scare factor), I was certainly surprised to find it was a winner. Cue (totally justified) “told you so” and “idiot” remarks from the wise one, and a sphincter so tight if I'd eaten coal I'd have shit diamonds. I'd bought a phone I didn't need, with money I didn't have, for a reason weaker than Derby County's Premier League status. I had intended to simply sell it on, but once it arrived I began playing with it and I like it. A quick glance through the manual shows the phone is fully equipped to be top of any self respecting happy slapper's shopping (!) list. I've never been tempted to get an i-pod, ear-pod or pea-pod so to suddenly have Half-Man Half Biscuit; NWA; Bowling For Soup and the theme tune for The Power Puff Girls blaring out at me when people call is a rather new and refreshing experience. I was just relieved when I got it to work with my in car bluetooth hands free kit, so the sound of Bubbles being the joy and laughter is a very pleasant bonus.

MMVII

2008-05-03T00:04:00.003+01:00

You may think that the beginning of May is a bit late to be posting a retrospective. I could counter that it's easy, and indeed lazy, to jump on the January bandwagon and hurl forth reactionary sputum. So I've taken my time. I've considered each of 2007's days, even the rainy ones, to ensure that my verdict on the year is properly considered and definitive. Yes indeed, 2007 was okay.

Everyone Loves A Log

2008-01-15T22:20:00.001Z

“Because they weren’t all your friends and you don’t want to be reunited with them”

A casual glance at the last book I read had me thinking: I’m not what you might consider a “people person”, and I need to read more books. I’ve always considered myself friendly. I like to think I’m polite. I’m certainly civil. A little too sarcastic and cynical sometimes, but never mean or malicious. I have a small selection of friends who I love and would do anything (within reason and current legislation) for. So why is it when I get friend requests on Facebook I automatically click “Ignore”? Why don’t I want to be e-friends? What’s wrong with sharing a virtual pint with some guy who stumbled across your name and vaguely recalls taking the piss out of your art in the 3^rd year of senior school?

People I’ve invested considerable personal time in I’ve allowed to become consigned to history. They’re memories. Part of a bygone age when I had hair and considerably less body mass, and I have no desire to rekindle or replace them. The only “friends” suitable for a virtual network are surely virtual ones. Those I’ve found myself sharing a beach with, on a tiny island in the monstrous ocean that is the online community. Whose shared interests mirror my own and as such the essence of the friendship is as purely superficial as the virtual community that spawned it. I have genuine virtual love for a fat ginger Welshman. In the real world I have a work colleague who makes semi-regular trips to Jersey and whenever he does I wonder how Doomus is! When I think of Sheffield (although I try not to obviously) I think of Madameye and Paws and I bless the fact I came to virtually know them. And most days driving home from work as I pass the Liverpool John Moores building I wonder how G-phoenix is progressing.

I kind of have a rationale: If you knew me then but don’t know me now… There’s a reason!

Excitement At Lofty Heights

2007-12-10T23:21:00.001Z

Finally finished clearing and insulating the loft, and with only minor fatigue around the thighs this time. The force 10 gale that blows up the hall whenever a neighbour sneezes or closes their door hard, or a car drives up the road (it’s drafty, and I’m again too tired to try and be clever so shoe horning remains the order of the day) will soon be sorted and my home will finally be a warm and snug place. Actually, it won’t. That’s a big fat lie. When I’ve decorated, got new carpets, re-sealed the windows, re-decorated, got newer carpets, replaced the central heating; replaced the insulation and the 1,001 other things that as home owners we have to do and re-do to keep the never ending upkeep going so that one day, maybe, we can lie down and die, then it will be warm and snug. Ah, life! Forever a work in progress.

So, in good news I’ve ordered my new gaming PC. Got a bit of a bargain so am kind of expecting one of those “we made a mistake” e-mails and “if you want to hand over another bundle of cash we’ll think about it!” offers. Assuming that doesn’t happen, I’m excited at the prospect of playing Bioshock (PC) as it was meant to be seen. Of getting decent frame rates in Crysis (PC) even if the game is just a better looking Far Cry (PC) but with all the fun removed. I might even have yet another run through S.T.A.L.K.E.R (PC). Then maybe get my hands on Call Of Duty 4 (PC) and Gears Of War (PC). I might go crazy and book some time off work so I can have another crack at Oblivion (PC). On top of all that PC goodness, I’m ridiculously excited at the prospect of finally getting my hands on Super Mario Galaxy (Wii). News that Deus Ex 3 is in the works and the Ghostbusters trailer for the game that is in development are too exciting for words, see

'Generic Shooter 3' Made Me Do It.

2007-11-25T23:47:00.001Z

Everybody’s 9^th favourite Scotsman and current political laughing stock Gordon Brown wants to understand games and the gaming culture. Well, firstly, way up high on any gamer’s priority list, is not to lose your CDs / DVDs.

The Byron Review will hopefully advise the government that contrary to most mainstream media reports we’re not all slavering miscreants using violent videogames to finely tune our murdering skills before popping out to butcher old Mrs Tilly from No. 48. However, I can’t help but feel that we’re more likely to see greater controls and censorship heading our way. The current BBFC banning of Manhunt 2 is an example of reactionary censorship brought about by the systematic failure in the control and supply of videogames by those who demand the tighter controls. Parents.

With a title as suggestive as Assassin’s Creed (XB360/PS3) and a BBFC certificate 15 on the box, you don’t need to be a genius to work out that the game may feature the odd death, most likely committed by the player. So when I see a parent gladly hand the game to their 10 year old outside HMV in Birkenhead, my heart just sinks. I know it’s not an isolated case, and I’ve no doubt children throughout the country will be maiming and destroying with great abandon come December 25^th. I’m just waiting for the “Game Made Jonny Stab Mommy” headlines.

Time Waits For No Gamer.

2007-11-08T01:18:00.002Z

Something happens as you get older, time speeds up. Add a family and time not only speeds up but starts playing tricks on you too. It knocks on your door and runs away and hides so that by the time you find it in order to have that bit of time to yourself, it’s already time for time to move on. Take this blog entry for example, I’ve been writing it for weeks. Not literally of course, I don’t type that slowly, but the original idea manifested some weeks back as I desperately tried to find time to play through the Orange Box (PC). Excusing TF2’s online shenanigans, Valve’s 2 little nuggets of newness are not particularly expansive. HL2:Episode 2 can be run through in about 6 hours. Portal in 4. There was a time when I could do both of them in one sitting and still get a few levels of whichever console game was flavour of the month. No chance of that now though. I’m lucky if I can even get close to 10 hours game time in a week.

There are numerous factors involved in this, but the primary one is simply that while gaming is far and away my favourite leisure activity, what should be my leisure time is no longer mine. In the evening’s it’s either my wife’s or works, and at the weekend it’s my daughters. Whereas weekends could be spent watching complete series of favourite TV shows or Star Wars movie marathons, now if we’re not out on some form of activity, my TV is owned by Dora The Explorer, Scooby Doo & Wonder Pets.

This leads me to thinking that the games industry is in danger of losing a significant proportion of its user base. I’m one of those people who was pretty much around at the start. I played on Intellivision, Atari 2600, ZX81, Spectrum, Amiga, SNES, PlayStation, N64 etc. I’ve aged with the industry and helped nurture it to its current maturity, yet I feel it's stopped making games for me. Developers seem intent on making games longer, seemingly to justify the price. They boast about 30+ hours of gameplay. At moments like this I like to get out a big pointy stick and point it’s pointyness towards Max Payne 2. Max Payne 2 could be completed comfortably in 8 hours, and yet on completion I’ve yet to hear of anyone complaining it was too short. On the contrary, I get the impression that the community seem to agree with my sentiment that The Fall of Max Payne was a beautifully crafted and executed interactive experience. The value came from the joy of (repeatedly) playing it. Movies aren’t judged on their running time so if gaming wants to move closer to being as respected then developers need to get over their hang up on length (I know there's an innuendo in there but I'm trying to be serious and avoid flaccid dick jokes and accusations of inadequacy). I’m now put off buying games such as Metroid Prime 3 Corruption (Wii) due to tales of fetch quests and save locations that mean there is no way to jump in and out of the game. Oblivion (PC) sits on the shelf, 30 hours of questing in and I fear I’ll probably never continue. I simply can’t commit to a multi-hour gaming session these days.

On the flip side we have the multi-mini-game simplicity of many a Wii title. While these are fun and easily accommodated in to what little time I have, they lack the compelling story or drama I want from a modern, mature, gaming experience. This is where I feel we risk losing the middle ground. People who have grown up with gaming and want to keep gaming. The hardcore gamer with casual sensibilities. I want mature themes. I want action. I want tension. I want drama.

I need it in a concise package.

England 0 - Rest of the World 3

2007-10-21T22:13:00.001+01:00

Well, that all went to crap! I seem to recall that coming into this week it was going to be a slendiferous cavalcade of success. Then Wednesday came and the prima donnas’ of our consistently average national football side bricked it. Let’s not mince words here, they were shit. As bland and uninventive as the none entity who manages them. They went to Russia and got cold feet (yes I know it’s lazy but I’m tired and angry, deal with it!)
Then Saturday came and some over performing public school boys were typically English and did the whole gallant loser thing.
Sunday, our last hope, and the wee nipper rolled his pram off the kerb.
Yay to be English.

Actually, through all this there was the great comedy moment of the Scottish Prime Minister supporting England at the Stade de France. What, no English people in the cabinet?

Mixing Bowl

2007-10-14T21:13:00.001+01:00

Mixed week. On the one hand I’ve had the absolute pleasure of Portal (PC). Talk about sliding in under the radar. Anyone who says they knew this was going to be the purest slice of gaming cake in the history of gaming is a liar. No-one could have expected this. It’s a pleasure to have handed over hard earned cash for. Log in to your steam account now and get it. Sod reading this rubbish anymore, go now.

Also in the Orange Box, which when purchased through Steam comes sans box of course, is Half-Life 2: Episode 2 (PC) and Team Fortress 2 (PC) along with Half Life 2 and Half-Life 2: Episode 1. As someone who already owned HL2 & Ep1 it’s a touch galling having to buy them again for Ep2, TF2 and Portal, but with the current exchange rate being what it is it wasn’t galling enough to stop me. TF2 I’ve played a few times as with getting it through Steam I could play the Beta, and as nice an online shooter as it is, at the moment I much prefer Enemy Territory: Quake Wars (PC). That’s not to say TF2 isn’t great, it is, it’s just not as great. I’ve also finally started playing Fahrenheit (PC) which has sat on the ‘to play’ shelf for far too long. All in all, a week of gaming happiness.

On the other hand, I took some time off work to finally clear my loft and get it lagged. I figured it would take Thursday and most of Friday to clear and Saturday morning to lag. That would then leave me clear to watch the football and rugby, waving my flag of St George in true armchair fashion. Thursday went well, got a lot of rubble and plaster cleared. One thing I hadn’t considered though was that being an overweight, unfit, desk jockey, come Thursday night my thighs would turn to lead. Friday morning I could barely walk, and when I did get motive I looked like I’d done the mother of all shits in my pants. A haemorrhoidal, saddle sore, John Wayne, who’d just walked 10 miles through blazing desert sands, barefoot, would have looked better in control of his limbs than me. So that was Friday scuppered. Saturday and I’m a little more mobile. The Deep Heat I put on clearly doesn’t like me, having left my inner thighs bright red, and in the case of the left thigh, surprisingly blistered. Today I’m almost walking normally. This is a good thing because I’m off to Manchester tomorrow to watch The Police. Or at least I was until I got an e-mail from the MEN Arena at 17:00 to advise that Sting has a sore throat. Most of the evening has been spent trying desperately to find something else going on in Manchester, because I’m not wasting the days booked off work and the hotel room paid for!

So, mixed week.

Willfull Neglect

2007-09-30T22:30:00.002+01:00

It has been pointed out that since selling my soul to Facebook I’ve somewhat neglected my blog. While true, it’s unfair to blame my new mistress for this neglect and rather the banality of my recent existence. Work is as unfulfilling as I have come to expect and I can see history repeating itself as the ‘path of least resistance’ is currently being weeded and a nice fence erected along it’s edging. The end result being of course that those that do will now do more and those that don’t will continue to feed their fat faces and knock off early to play golf.

White & Nerdy

2007-09-13T21:41:00.001+01:00

Having taken to this blog thing like a crispy duck to pancakes, Mr Phil has now set me on the path to Facebook. How do I repay him? By getting all Brokeback on his (pardon the pun) ass and telling all his e-friends that we’ve had bum love. We haven’t, and save some catastrophic lifestyle changes on both our parts it’s pretty unlikely we ever will. Sure we may be missing out, but it’s something I think we’ll both have to learn to live with.

What’s really upset me though is that in the past 24 hours Mr Phil has subliminally forced me into taking a Star Wars Quiz and a Movie Quotes Quiz. To my shame I’ve scored 100% in each. So while my puerile nonsense is transparently for comedic effect, Mr Phil is clearly an evil genius.

Rudolph who?

2007-09-07T19:54:00.001+01:00

Sometimes learning new stuff is far more exciting than it should be. Like discovering a colleague knows all the names of Santa’s reindeer and teaches you the rhyme so you know them too. For no apparent reason, barely in September so some way off any remote need to actually know the reindeer names, that’s the best thing in the world right now!

No Parking

2007-09-06T21:40:00.001+01:00

I’m fortunate enough that despite having my ankle twisted beyond natural human limits and thus ending any hope I had of becoming a professional footballer (any suggestions that by that time I was far too old and never had any real skills anyway being suitably ignored) I don’t consider myself disabled. Sure it’s a little stiff and painful each morning and I’ll never have full mobility back in it. I can however walk. When the mood takes me I can even run / waddle. I am not disabled. When therefore I go to the supermarket or car park I do not park in the disabled bays.

I do have a young daughter who still uses a 3 point harness child seat. So on these outings I do, when available and then only when my little cherub is with me, use the parent and child parking bays so I can suitably access said child.

It’s a simple little bit of self discipline I have.

Taking the piss!

2007-08-27T21:32:00.001+01:00

Is there anything worse than public toilets? There are certain things I have come to expect from a 21^st Century Men’s Room:

i) Urine on the floor

ii) No paper in the cubicles

iii) Urine on the seat in the cubicles

iv) No Soap

v) At least one hand dryer out of order

vi) No paper towel alternative

And in prime UK locations:

vii) Needle box

The Pyramids Shopping Centre in Birkenhead today scored a respectable 4/7, and is deserving of a special bonus point for charging an entrance fee for the privelege. Bastards.

Rapture & Ridicule

2007-08-26T12:57:00.004+01:00

Oh video games, you evil mistress. With your enticing gameplay you take me away from this pained reality and entertain and excite me! I’ve seen the different S.T.A.L.K.E.R (PC) endings and been playing Excite Truck (Wii), and after downloading and playing through the BioShock (PC) demo a few times (runs surprisingly well on my crusty ol’ rig!) decided that I couldn’t wait for the upgrade so when it dropped on my doormat Thursday it was installed and have been playing that too. It’s early days yet so I could live to regret saying this but BEST GAME EVER!

Back in pained reality, “Lazy” boy is back in work and telling lies again. I’m at a complete loss to understand why he does it. Does he think I won’t find out? Does he really believe the spiteful crap coming out of his mouth? Why don’t our employers put a stop to it? The mind boggles! The news of his impending return was met with derision from a section of the workforce. Some even suggesting we’d be better off if he never came back. The irony is that once again I have to defend him. It’s ridiculous, I know.

Life's Great Mysteries

2007-08-15T23:18:00.001+01:00

Mariah Carey is still alive and recording. Any idea why?

P.Fuzz BSc SSc

2007-08-14T22:57:00.004+01:00

My education was queried today. Sometimes people get this crazy notion that I actually know stuff. Funny considering that of my peers I am the least intelligent, by some margin. I’ve picked up snippets of information over the many years I’ve wasted, mainly in order to fill the time I was wasting. I hated those last few years of school and didn’t apply myself. I had a just and noble cause mind: I honestly thought I was going to be a Rock God. So odd jobs for just enough money to get along; college; bands; and finally the acceptance that the years were no longer being kind and deity status would forever elude me so I’d better get a real job, was the path I travelled. It’s not something I’d recommend, although I must admit, it was great fun!

Chernoblyl Vs Widnes

2007-08-13T22:16:00.006+01:00

So much has happened I barely know where to start… Football is back. YAY! Had a great Guild Wars (PC) session with some of the clan. Finished S.T.A.L.K.E.R. Shadow of Chernobyl (PC) and enjoyed it so much am going to again to see the different endings. Decided I might have to leave Bioshock (PC) until I upgrade my hardware a bit. (I really want that game, but I need to do it justice and my current rig won’t and I’m not buying a 360 just for one game). I’ve been meaning to order Excite Truck (Wii) for ages so finally did that too. I’ve got a problem, don’t I?

All that and I still managed to squeeze in eating, sleeping and some work. Sometimes I amaze myself.

I’m trying to avoid social and political commentary. Can you tell? I used to rant and rave a lot about the ills of the world, but at the end of the day I don’t have the solution or the power to implement it if I did.

A situation in work today illustrates my current feelings of helplessness. I call this situation:

Everything you do is wrong!

Some colleagues complaining about another. He’s lazy; idle; useless they claim. He’s a valued member of the team I reply. He’s a waste of space who should be sacked. No, he is doing his work to the best of his ability and if he is falling short we all have to help to get things back on track.

I’m sure you can already see the road this is going down. Why are these guys working their socks off when they could reduce their workload by 10% simply by slowing down a bit and saying they’ve done their best? So what do we do?

a) Speak with everybody involved and explain what’s needed and required and that people’s ability will differ and that that should be respected and we should all do our best.

b) Discipline the “lazy” guy. Give him targets to reach and a reasonable period to improve and reach them?

c) Discipline the colleagues for making derogatory comments that could offend that other colleagues sensibilities?

Take a few seconds to think about it. Decided? Okay, if you answered:

a) I’m sorry, you have failed to act in any party’s interest and they all feel you are not listening or acting to improve the situation. Expect a couple of grievances to be lodged against you.

b) I’m sorry, you cannot single an individual out like that. Even if that persons performances are below expectations and all his colleagues are repeatedly complaining, to only set the one person a performance improvement schedule could be considered bullying and/or harassment. Expect a grievance to be lodged against you.

c) I’m sorry, you have failed to empathise or act on their concerns. They now feel you are giving the “lazy” colleague preferential treatment while making them do more work. Failure to balance the workload equally could be considered bullying and/or harassment. Expect a grievance to be lodged against you.

The clue was in the title.

Right… S.T.A.L.K.E.R…

Would the real peachFUZZ please stand up.

2007-08-06T20:18:00.002+01:00

I always liked the pseudonym peachFUZZ. It’s wonderfully innocent and masked the angry young man I once was. Of course back then the internet was barely crawling and uber haxxors were fragging in Quake on their 33.3k modems and names like God; Deathbringer; The Mighty Bob were the norm. Now of course we have our broadband and streaming HD movies and that angry young man has become an angry middle aged man with blood pressure just about scraping the ionosphere. Try and sign up to a forum or congregative area with the name peachFUZZ and rest assured you’ll be greeted with something along the lines of:

I’m sorry, that name is not available. Please try peachfuzz73681, or come up with something original, loser!

Googling the word can also return some disturbing results, none of which I’d share in a family environment, and made me wonder whether pseudonyms and aliases are truly worthwhile. At least if you use your real name there couldn’t be any chance of mistaken identity.

Curious as to what search parameters would be needed to locate blogs, I first googled peachfuzz and blogspot. Returning blogs mostly about some odd couple who are teaching their offspring to pray not be ginger (SEE)*. I then tried googling my name and blogspot which lead to a series of sex scandals and dirty pictures (feel free to pop off and see for yourself. I’ll be here when you get back). “Kevin Furlong described yesterday as the "BITTER FORMER AIR FORCE MAJOR WHO POSTED WIFE'S NUDE PIX ON INTERNET." Bitter is putting it mildly, ...” Reading on I was rather disturbed to learn, “The death threat issued by Captain amErika against Kevin Furlong has not been resolved” I’ve only just started and am already a potential dead ginger pervert. Result!

*Of course I have no intention to cause any offence to anyone afflicted with a rusty bonnet. You’ve already suffered enough.

Is this thing on?

2007-08-05T16:24:00.001+01:00

So I used to have a little website and periodically post my thoughts and comments for anyone who stumbled across it. Work and family commitments, as well as frequent ISP changes, meant that went the way of the Dodo. Of course now everybody does something similar under this "blog" malarky. Thinking that it might be nice to have a little rant once in a while again, the ever so nice Mr Phil directed me here. Seems straight forward enough, so let's see how we go.