Thursday, January 31, 2013

Congratulations on Getting Rid of Your Gay Vibe!



We’ve all been watching you for a long while and we’ve been impressed by just how gay you are.  Impeccably dressed, with close cropped hair and a clean, debonair shave on your face at all times.  You’re the gayest person we know, and we know Ronny “Fucks-A-Lot69” Thompson, infamous Grindr stomparound and general STD-bag.

But here’s the problem. America isn’t ready for anyone as gay as you, anyone as together and snazzily dressed and charismatic.  We need you to tone it down, and the residents of the small Ohio town you live in have finally up and told you, “dude, you need to tone it down a lot.”  They did so by passing a statute that requires any gay man residing within the limits of Crankshafts Township, the fictional township they invented and districted to encompass your home and property, must conduct himself in such a fashion so as to eliminate any visible trace of homosexuality.

That’s why, starting today, you’re going to let your hair grow out.  You’re going to wear a trucker’s hat.  You’re going to collect a number of stained, beleaguered tanktops and make them the cornerstone of your wardrobe, and you’re going to lose all of the conversational skills you developed at Oberlin and, from this day forward, only be able to discuss football and classic cars while within the city limits of whatever shitspeck town you settled in to.

We’d tell you to move on, but honestly?  You’ve got a really good thing going there.  Lots of land, low property taxes, and a surprisingly good bagel shop for rural Ohio.  So we’re going to advise you to tough it out and wait until they move on to picking on the second gayest person in town, your closeted homosexual mayor.  Then you can get back to dressing like a person and blowing your boyfriend and the rest of us can go back to looking at the futures of interesting people who are less infuriatingly responsible, you god damn queermo.

Congratulations on Getting Rid of Your Gay Vibe!

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Congratulations on Blinking Your Way Out of Another Jam!



“Respond to the question,” the judge will insist.

You won’t know what to do.  You’ll be out of options, really.  Staring forward, blankly, silently praying for something, anything to interrupt this torture, to give you some sort of “out” you can use.  On a whim you’ll just start blinking.  And blinking.  And blinking.

The court will grow uncomfortably silent as you continue to blink, now rapidly, like a hummingbird’s wings.  As your eyelashes flutter tears will well in your eyes and you’ll awkwardly smile, or rather try to smile, at the courtroom.

“I don’t know,” you’ll moan at them.

The judge will groan and roll her eyes, but your lawyer will make a “cha-ching” gesture and wave at you.  You’ll give him a quick wink, which in this case will just be a quick partial blink, and then start rocking back and forth gently.

“I don’t know,” you’ll whisper into the microphone.

It’ll be a charade the courtroom has seen before, the old Asberger’s Syndrome play.  But you’ll commit to your performance so thoroughly, take on such a fearsomely dumb aspect, that the jury will immediately be convinced that you’re full on retarded.

The judge will know the game all too well, but when she bangs her gavel and shouts “STOP PRETENDING TO HAVE ASBERGER’S!” you’ll just double down, hiding your face behind your hands and making an ear splitting keening noise while you rock back and forth with increased severity.  The jury, and the assembled public in the courtroom, will collectively boo her.  Your smile will crack just barely, but with your head in your hands no one will see.  And even if they did, what would they do about it?  People with Asberger’s can’t control their facial expressions!

Twenty minutes later closing arguments will be closed and, following a three minute deliberation on the part of the jury, you’ll have been deemed “too retarded” to have committed any crimes of any sort.  You’ll leave the courthouse twirling your cane and whistling to yourself on your way back to your giant mansion, where the dogs that you fed all those Peace Corps volunteers wait for you.  Watch your back, though.  That judge is a vigilante-loose-cannon, and if you don’t take some precautions she’ll almost definitely murder you when she comes to your apartment with a sawed off shotgun in a week and a half.

Congratulations on Blinking Your Way Out of Another Jam!

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Congratulations on Getting Too Excited About the New Die Hard Movie!



“Fuckin’ JOHN MCCLANE!” you’ll shout as you enter the office.  You’ll spike your motorcycle helmet on the ground and let out a “WOO!” sound before shouting “NAKATOMI PLAZA!”  Everyone in the office will do their best not to look at you.

You’ll leave your helmet on the ground and hurry to your cubicle, where you’ll sit down and start watching trailers for A Good Day to Die Hard, opening February 14th in theaters throughout America.  Since there aren’t that many, you’ll be finished in around fifteen minutes, but you’ll keep watching them, frothing at the mouth, audibly panting with as each explosion unfolds, until that dipshit Gary from HR comes to your cube and puts his hand on your shoulder.

“We have to talk, Ben,” he’ll murmur.

“Fuckin’ commie,” you’ll mutter under your breath.  Gary will clearly hear you, but he’ll just roll his eyes as he picks you up by the arm and leads all one hundred and twenty pounds of you down the hall to his office.  He’ll all but throw you into the chair opposite his desk and sit down heavily, resigned.

“Ben, you’re fired,” he’ll fire off immediately.

“Fuck you,” you’ll reply, throwing back a bottle of aspirin you filled with skittles earlier in the day and crunching them between your back molars.

“Ben, I can’t save you this time.”  He’ll be on the verge of tears when he says it.  He’ll cram his face into his hands and start shaking there in front of you, snot trailing down between his fingers.  “You beautiful fuck, you went too far.”

You’ll sit and stare at him for a minute.  Then your inner John McClane will take over and you’ll stand up from your chair and nod at him.

“I know someone put you up to this.  And I’m gonna find out who,” you’ll grumble.  Then you’ll stomp out of the office, barely pausing to pick up your motorcycle helmet (John McClane cares about cycling safety).  As you wait for the elevator you’ll catch sight of Gary watching you from the edge of the hallway.  Tears will be dribbling down his face as he stares at you.

“God speed, you beautiful fuck,” he’ll murmur.  Then he’ll wait in silence until the elevator arrives and you ride down to the parking garage, where you’ll proceed to ride your motorcycle home to your mom’s house, where cocoa will be waiting for you, along with a copy of Die Hard in your Blu Ray player.  You’ll watch it again and again, occasionally pausing it and holding up polaroids of people from your job next to the screen to see if they look like Hans Gruber.  None of them will.

Congratulations on Getting Too Excited About the New Die Hard Movie!

Monday, January 28, 2013

Congratulations on Finding Out Where Ant Milk Comes From!



When you saved those ant people from that horrible antlion oppressor you knew you were going to get a sweet ass reward.  You had your eye on some ant-gold or ant-silver, maybe.  But you never in your wildest dreams thought you’d end up with a nice big old glass full of ant milk.

“Where does this come from?” you’ll ask the ants when they deliver your prize.  They’ll click insensibly at you in response, pushing the glass closer and closer to you and wiggling their cute little antennae up at you expectantly.  Not wanting to disappoint them, you’ll drink it down in one quick gulp.

It will taste foul beyond belief, but you’ll tough it out and keep it down.  You’ll smile and politely thank the ant people for their gift.  Then you’ll push the glass back over to the ants, at which point they’ll climb up the side of the glass and post themselves along the rim before vomiting into it collectively.  Slowly, surely, this ant-vomit will take on form as the ant milk you just drank.

You’ll shrug, even as your stomach twinges.  A nervous reaction, you’ll think.  Then you’ll start coughing.  When you cover your mouth with your hand you’ll notice blood staining your palm.  Horror will freeze you for a few moments, then you’ll stumble to your feet and rush as fast as you can to the street, where you’ll do your best to vomit.  But before you move three steps a coughing fit will bear you to the ground and you’ll sit there on your hands and knees feeling the dim pain in your stomach turn to a deafening, blurring sensation that overwhelms all other aspects of your reality.

Tears will well up in your eyes as you realize that the ant milk wasn’t ant milk after all: it was formic acid.  After a few horrifying, terribly painful minutes, your life will be over.  The ants will start crawling all over you almost immediately.  They’ll turn your mortal shell into a tremendous ant-home of sorts.  Your legacy will last for a hundred ant generations, or around a month, before your body is too badly decomposed to provide the ants with any sort of worthwhile infrastructure whatsoever.  The ragged pile of meat and bones that you’ll leave behind will become your legacy, forever cementing your reputation as a cautionary tale showing that people should really do their best to graduate from high school.

Congratulations on Finding Out Where Ant Milk Comes From!

Sunday, January 27, 2013

Super Nerd Sundays Presents: Kudos Call of Duty: Black Ops 2's Multiplayer!



Call of Duty: Modern Warfare ushered in a new era of multiplayer play in first person shooters.  Keenly designed, with a lean UI, a carefully manicured selection of weapons, dynamic new gameplay elements and a breathless, kinetic pace, it was revolutionary in the way that Counter-Strike was revolutionary.  But where Counter-Strike could be called hostile to new players, with its unforgiving health and round systems and a system for purchasing and using weapons that would be unintelligible to many of the “casualcore” gamers that populate the internet today, Modern Warfare was anything but.  With a clear a breakdown of each weapon’s performance and a set of default classes designed to acclimate players to certain kinds of play, Modern Warfare welcomed new users in with open arms, gently encouraging them to experiment.  Its superlative introductory tutorial is also worth mentioning, as is the manner in which it has since been removed or pared down within Call of Duty games, but that veers into single player territory, a rabbit hole I don’t want to go down here.

Since Modern Warfare, there’s been a trend towards feature creep in the Call of Duty franchise.  Not just within its multiplayer environs, certainly, but within those environs it is particularly apparent.  Modern Warfare had three killstreaks.  Three killstreaks that capped out after being completed once in a single “life.”  Three easily understood killstreaks that were, despite their simplicity, extremely useful.  Modern Warfare 2 added many, many more.  All sorts of crazy shit could appear on the battlefield, and killstreaks would often have similar or identical functionality to one another, some simply constituting slight improvements to existing killstreaks.  Black Ops took it another step further, adding in crazy, weird killstreaks that were in equal turn obscenely powerful and obtuse to the point of uselessness, making an exceedingly queer gaming concoction that maximized its bombast while maintaining an endearing, winking absurdity.

Modern Warfare 3 took it one step further, adding in multiple categories of killstreaks, each of them dense with potential tools.  Helicopters with cameras, AC-130 gunships, ospreys that dropped killstreak rewards while firing their guns wildly at enemies, suits of armor.  It was a bevy of toys showcased during the game which, in multiplayer, presented a tremendous hurdle to new players and presented skilled, experienced players (or players with the temerity to cheat) with a set of toys specifically aimed at making the game hostile to anyone unfamiliar with its varied arsenal.  It gave players with an advantage an advantage they no longer needed.  Rather than providing cute, enjoyable rewards, these killstreaks constituted hostile acts against losing players that made games into miserable slogs.  Getting killed by a bombing run sucks.  Getting repeatedly shot as you spawn by an AC-130 sucks exponentially more.

And what of the guns?  The repetitive, useless, shamefully imbalanced guns, added, again, for the sake of presenting players with “cool shit” rather than presenting them with a game, a game with balanced tools suited to distinct situations? In the first Modern Warfare each gun had a personality.  It had its quirks, its upsides and its downsides.  There were guns that were extremely challenging to use, and guns that were incredibly easy to use.  Guns had reputations.  They had personas.  They had feels all their own, and the gun you chose fundamentally changed the way you played.  Not all assault rifles were created equal.  In later entries into the Modern Warfare series, it’s difficult to recall the personality of each gun with any kind of clarity, let alone the clarity I can bring to my discourse on the difference between the G-36c and the M-4 assault rifles from the first Modern Warfare.  There were weapons that fundamentally broke the game at times, dual wielded 1898 shotguns and teleporting tactical knives attached to pistols for example, but these were design missteps, not carefully constructed gameplay elements.

When Black Ops 2 was announced, I could give two shits.  After this trend of multiplayer feature creep, I expected more of the same.  I decided that I’d purchase Black Ops 2 when it went on sale, which usually means around six months after release with a Call of Duty game.  I turned my nose up at its feverishly positive reviews, many of which came from people I respect quite a bit, and contented myself playing through the heroic backlog of games I’ve built up over the last two years.  But a friend with an Amazon gift card had a different plan in mind, and with the help of that gift card and some healthy peer pressure, he pushed me into purchasing Black Ops 2.

This is how I came into contact with its nonsensical single player campaign.  This is how I came to play its phenomenal multiplayer, which constitutes a gesture of compromise, though not quite the return to form I might’ve hoped for.

Black Ops 2 isn’t as lean or elegant as the original Modern Warfare.  It’s a little absurd to think that this game will ever approach that delicate balance again, given Activision’s drive to “Madden-ize” the franchise, with a driving philosophy to add more and more to a package that was, at one point in the past, extremely successful and, to some degree, optimized.  But it is a step back from the extreme systems of Call of Duty of yore – an apparent declaration against the driving philosophy that Activision has showcased in the past in favor of normalizing multiplayer for players of all skill levels while cutting down on the raw amount of ambient noise present in a Call of Duty game.  There’s a democratization of content at work in Black Ops 2 which stands as nothing short of remarkable.

The most prominent element within this new system, and the portion that I would contend contributes most to its encouragement to newer players, is an unlock system that abandons Call of Duty’s previous mindset of strongly favoring entrenched or experienced players at the expense of newbies.  Black Ops 2 still features a series of gated equipment unlocks which require players to grind multiplayer in order to grab new toys.  But the wealth of toys available at the beginning of the process eases the process tremendously, and the unlocks themselves possess an internal gating and balancing system in the form of a “cap” of sorts.  While each player can create a custom class with their unlocked gear, a series of “points” have been introduced, wherein players can only choose to equip ten objects to a given character.  Each object, be it a gun, a perk, a grenade or a tactical item, takes up a slot.  Modifications to weapons take up slots too, which means that if you want to use that grenade launcher you unlocked on your MTAR, you’re going to need to drop something else.  Maybe a flashbang, or the second type 3 perk you unlocked.  Maybe your pistol, or your lethal grenade, depending on how you’ve built your class.

This doesn’t completely address issues of balance.  There are still inherently “better” weapons that need to be unlocked, and there are combinations of equipment that devastate game balance.  An SMG or a shotgun with a laser sight dramatically changes the game, and can render even a skillless player a killing machine on many maps, as they point and click their way to victory in close quarters.  But it does allay feature creep commendably: you’ll no longer be shot through a wall of smoke with a thermal scope during your first game before a rain of hellfire missiles crash down on you.  Now you’ll die to a carefully cultivated class consisting of equipment that another player has leveled up and, at least on some level, made sacrifices to improve at the cost of their ability to engage in certain types of gameplay.

It’s a small victory to celebrate, but the use of an “unlock currency” to build a class is a brilliant step back from the grand poise that Call of Duty has been moving towards.  It forces players to look at the toys available to them and make real decisions about which ones to use, how.  It adds a strategic layer to Call of Duty and prevents experienced players from totally steamrolling newbies.

It also showcases the personality that each of the guns possesses quite nicely.  That element is back from the first Modern Warfare: no two guns are quite alike, and weapons from the single player game have been omitted or changed into killstreak rewards in order to retain a balanced selection of distinct weapons that each have their own look and feel.  Even similar guns play very differently.  My MTAR jumps around wildly as it fires in close quarters battles, doling out healthy damage with each hit, while my M27 barely scratches my enemies up close up lets me pick them off with rapid efficiency from a distance.  My FAL lets me rattle off round after round, forcing me to stabilize my aim myself with my mouse, while my SWAT barely jumps up at all but moves sluggishly, awkwardly rechambering, making close-quarters-battles tense experiences that almost always end disastrously.  Each assault rifle, SMG, shotgun, sniper rifle, whatever, is just bursting with personality.  So far I haven’t run into any “improved” versions of earlier guns, or any weapons that outright copy other weapons.  I can’t say the same for any other post-Modern Warfare Call of Duty game to date.

And I haven’t even touched on the “ranked” system of play, which endeavors to place players into competitive brackets in an effort to give Black Ops 2 potential as a legitimate e-sport.  It can’t actually live up to that expectation – I’m not sure any Call of Duty game ever has been able to – but it’s a nice nod to the idea of skill-based matchmaking and the massive divide between casual players, mid-ground players and the hardcore and the hackers that populate most public Call of Duty servers.  I’ve yet to engage with the ranked servers at all myself, but I’m glad they’re there and I look forward to trying them (and their fully-unlocked gear sets) out when I get a chance.

Black Ops 2 isn’t perfect.  It isn’t Modern Warfare – we’re never going to see a game like that again.  But it’s good.  It’s good in a way that Call of Duty games haven’t been in a while.  Treyarch crafted a solid multiplayer experience that actually addressed the problems that Call of Duty games have been making for themselves over the last four years, and it did so in a way that didn’t compromise the spectacle that they’ve been trying to infuse into the gameplay (the very thing, ironically, that prevents it from ever becoming the sort of e-sport that Counter-Strike was and Modern Warfare might’ve been).  It reflects concern for their players, love for the game they’ve made, and an adept knowledge of what makes multiplayer games on the internet fun.

Nice work, Treyarch.  Now please stop trying to sell me content packs for your sixty dollar game.  I’m not interested.  Unless it’s a set of bundled zombie maps for like fifteen dollars, in which case YES PLEASE!