I’ve lost that Warcraft feeling

My hands are still shaking.  I feel like I’m in withdrawal.  Something is missing.   Something is out-of-place.  Earlier this week, I did the unthinkable.  This is the week I finally worked up the guts and ended my six-year relationship with World of Warcraft.  I’ve been in a rocky relationship with the most popular MMO of all time for much of the past six years, honestly, but something about no longer having access to the game anymore is a bit disconcerting.    But, this is a thing that had to be done.  Enough was enough.  It was just time for me to throw in the towel and stop amassing those pesky monthly fees.  It was time for me to say goodbye to a game that had long since moved past content that appealed to me and goodbye to the endless repeatable daily quests.  It was time for me to face the truth:  If I’m still a noob after six years, then man…  I don’t think I’m gonna get any better.

Technology: Okay, cool, but when can we have sex with it?

What do you mean this sign isn't Y2K compatible?!

Did anyone else feel a few pangs on disappointment on New Year’s Eve eleven years ago? As a child of the 1980s and 1990s, I grew up thinking, ardently believing that I had been born at exactly the right time.  You see, the year 2000 was right around the corner.  I was going to be on the ground floor for the mystical years of the future.  Because everyone back then knew the future was going to start at precisely 12:01 on Jan 1, 2000.

I can remember my heart skipping a beat when the ball started to descend in New York, my father having briefly woken up from his snoring on the couch to start shouting “ITS THE END OF THE WORLD GET IN THE BASEMENT” as I silently watched the seconds tick down until life became exactly like a sci-fi film.  The suspense was horrible.

Then suddenly, it was all over.  The ball stopped its descent, the people in Times Square went absolutely nuts, and Dick Clark sighed in relief for having cheated death for another year. Nothing else happened, same as it ever was.  I remember looking out the window accusingly at the family car, silently demanding to know why is hadn’t immediately morphed into a hover car, and even felt a little cheated that Y2K hadn’t brought an end to civilization.  At least the sudden and complete annihilation of society would have made the future interesting, even if I really didn’t find Mad Max to be that good of a movie.

Catch-22: It’s the best there is

"I put chestnuts in my cheeks!"

We’ve all heard the phrase catch 22, but I was oblivious to it origins until college. For those of you who have not become acquainted with the pre-M*A*S*H melancholy war novel read by high school students the world over, the phrase catch 22 was coined by Joseph Heller in his book by the same title.  My introduction to the book is rather unique in my reading experience.

You see, when I was just starting out in my career I had a bit of a drive to the office. Well, quite a substantial drive really. So, to break up the monotony of the country roads and drizzly mornings I listened to podcasts and audio books. My local library had a decidedly poor selection of audio books, but among them was Heller’s gem.

Dr. Oddlot or: How I learned to swallow the pill and play video games

Mmmm brains

So in my real job I meet a wide variety of people and talk to them about stuff. One recent conversation with a psychiatrist or psychologist, or whichever one can give you drugs, told me that videogames are a complete and utter waste of time.

In case you haven’t gathered this from visiting this site a few times, I strongly disagree with this statement.

A generation of super intelligent pixel babies

I have a crippling, debilitating disease that has devoured countless thousands of dollars and hundreds of hours in the past year.  Just about every time I seem to get ahead financially, the symptoms start acting up again, and it’s time for me to make an appointment with a specialist, whose main job is simply to tell me how much money it’s going to take to get life back to normal this time.  They can only tell me this after locking me in a room with the horrors of daytime TV for about three to four hours.  The diagnosis alone usually runs me around ninety bucks, but the soul sucking horrors of that small TV make it feel like I’ve given more, oh god, so much more.

Mass Effect: a novel idea

So, I made a mistake. I’ll be the first to admit it.
I completely forgot to check out the second Mass Effect novel before I played the second game. I have a feeling it seriously hampered my ability to enjoy it.
Ascension is sort of an odd book. It doesn’t really pick up the main Mass Effect storyline where Revelation left off, but then again, that’s what the game was for. But it also doesn’t pick up where the first game left off.

Godfather II: Just another sandbox game

For anyone who has read the book or seen Godfather II, and let’s be honest, if you haven’t you’re not playing this game, you may be in a for a few surprises. Whatever you do, don’t read the book or watch the movie within six months before playing this game. Don’t do it. As a matter of fact, don’t play any game based on a movie shortly before or after seeing said movie. Consuming the same storyline across mediums without providing ample time for digestion between will always lead to despair and indigestion.

First and foremost is the complete and utter lack of trips to Las Vegas. I say trips because there is a lot of flying between cities as you struggle to maintain a grip on your fledgling empire. It is casually mentioned that Don Corleone does live and work in Vegas but he spends most of his time in New York at the Federal Building in the court hearing. Also, I should mention the good Don is neither voiced by Al Pacinio or Michael Imperioli and while Carlso Ferro does a convincing job of playing an Italian American with enough power to know he doesn’t have to flash it, he by no means brings the character to the forefront. In Assassin’s Creed II on the other hand he is fantastic. Speaking of fantastic, John Mariano was spot on as Fredo. RIP John Cazale.

The stakes of remakes

What is it about remakes that we love so much?  Why can’t we just let something die?  It’s been an unexplained phenomenon for at least the past century, where it seems our culture wants nothing more than to take one of our beloved cultural icons and beat it with a stick, until it looks nothing like the original.

I always thought it went down like this:  somewhere there’s a large, open conference room stuffed full of old men in suits.  The old men have enormous white beards and eyebrows that look ready to rip a man’s face off.  They’re all wearing top hats and have monocles, and have been frantically discussing how to work the intercom without having someone walk outside to actually ask the secretary.  They are all over a hundred and fifteen years old.

Defeated, the men turn to their real job as presidents of entertainment, looking toward their, old gnarled CEO for guidance.  He clasps a cigar between his parchment thin lips and asks the question.