Monday, August 26, 2013

Congratulations on Failing at Killing Yourself!

With the gun in your mouth it’ll be tough to write.  The gun won’t be the problem – your hand will be the problem.  You’ll be holding the gun with your right hand and writing with your left.  That means your writing will be virtually indecipherable.  Your wife, after watching you try to struggle for twenty minutes, will sigh and take over holding the gun for you.

“Fffnks hmmy,” you’ll mumble into the barrel.  She’ll smile at you politely and then, once your eyes return to the page, roll her entire head and mouth the words fucking retard at the top of your head.

With her holding the gun, and a fresh piece of loose-leaf in front of you, the lettering writing process will be much easier.  Occasionally you’ll show it to your wife, and she’ll nod and smile and offer suggestions (referring to yourself as a worthless impotent piece of shit instead of just a worthless piece of garbage, for example) and, within ten minutes, you’ll have a suicide note that would make a rock star proud.

Heart swelling with pride, you’ll hand the note to your wife and then take hold of the gun again.  She’ll nod politely at you and then trot back behind the couch, where she’ll watch you, highball glass in hand, as you pull the trigger.

The bullet will tear through the flesh of your left cheek with a heat that you wouldn’t have expected.  You were under the impression that firing a gun inside your mouth would, if anything, render your entire body insensate, but instead the fierceness of the energy discharged by the gun will rattle your entire skeleton.  Your teeth will be vibrating in a ghostly fashion, your face will be hot, and your cheek will simply not feel anything anymore.

Pain will be overridden by shock.  Half of your face, torn off by the relatively small nine millimeter round, will simply feel insubstantial.   Your wife, horrified, will drop her glass and run over to you.

“Oh god,” she’ll murmur, clutching your head to her breast as blood gushes out of your face.  It will be unclear what she is thinking to you in this moment, unclear what she was thinking up to this moment. 

It won’t be until you mumble “Honey, I think I messed it up,” barely coherent through shattered teeth and shock numbed tongue, that she’ll begin to cry and the two of you will know, really know, for the first time in your lives that you actually love one another.

Congratulations on Failing at Killing Yourself!

Sunday, August 25, 2013

Super Nerd Sunday Presents: Wherein I Cave to Buying Mass Effect 3!



Mass Effect 2 was in many ways a consummate disappointment for me.  Its gameplay was shaky, at times superfluously sloppy.  The design was weak, characters were inconsistently developed, and EA used ME2 to test a number of strategies for distributing content that were excessively mercenary.  I was so disillusioned by ME2 that I decided to skip Mass Effect 3 altogether.

That highly principled stand against rampant capitalism collapsed a few days ago when, following a heated (and in retrospect, somewhat prescient) conversation with a friend about Mass Effect 2’s shortcomings, I promised to buy Mass Effect 3 if I could get it for around five dollars.  The next morning I turned on Origin, EA’s terribly thought out answer to Steam, and learned that Mass Effect 3 was on sale for six dollars.  I looked at my houseplant and life-mate, Edgar, shrugged and said “WHADDYAGUNNADO?”

Edgar did not respond.

This sale, on the heels of a great collaboration between EA and the Humble Bundle people, got me into the downloading-things-on-Origin spirit and, within a day, Mass Effect 3 was ready to go on my PC.  I sat down, finished the Mass Effect 2 campaign I’d been crawling through (in order to re-create the most enjoyable of my four console-based Mass Effect 2 playthroughs) and, the same day, booted up Mass Effect 3.

Playing through the final bars of Mass Effect 2 reminded me of all the reasons I’d left the game behind.  The final battle, with a colossal amount of under-the-hood, totally illogical bullshit determining certain outcomes (along with some totally reasonable, really well integrated branching decisions as well), the sloppy, slippery, jerky combat, the lackluster weapons which, by game’s end, grew boring as fuckall, and the meh character customization, which felt like something that would fit well into a MOBA but was, at best, an anemic framework for an RPG.  The rush of these elements in the game’s climactic finale reminded me of why I’d given up on the series, and left a sour taste in my mouth going into Mass Effect 3.  I wholly expected Mass Effect 3 to be a slovenly mess of an object that offered little more than fan service to Bioware’s most devoted (and least critical) customers.

After an opening scene which wholly fulfilled all my worst expectations, I was dumbstruck by how much had been improved.  Smoother movement and combat controls, more polished and better thought out character progression (including the expansion of skills that previously had little or no practical application), sharper, prettier graphics.  This was the game that Mass Effect 2 wished it could be, an elegant refinement of the previous two iterations in the series blended into a marvelous mix of shooter and RPG.  Mass Effect 3 captivated me with only a few minutes of its gameplay.

The shaky, sloppy shooting of Mass Effect 2 is gone, replaced with a well tuned, balanced system that made firing weapons, movement and cover interlocking, viable combat options that fit into a larger system of powers and melee attacks, and weapons that were just downright fun to shoot.  The easy weapon choices of Mass Effect 2, wherein a clear front runner for each weapon type was gone, replaced by an ever expanding selection of five key weapon types, all of them with their own unique advantages and disadvantages, tradeoffs for different scenarios, real reasons to select or avoid them.  Gone was the shallow progression of Mass Effect 2.  In its place, a smoothly iterating series of upgrades, selected for relative small amounts of cash, that steadily improved weapons you felt like continuing to use.  The individual upgrades from the first Mass Effect game returned as well, giving each weapon type additional depth and customizability, but simplified, stripped down so that each upgrade need only be purchased once before it can be used by the entire team.  Nearly every problem I had with how the core game of Mass Effect 2 played has been corrected, iterated on and shifted into a positive.  I’ve never enjoyed playing a sequel to a game I hated as much as I’ve enjoyed playing Mass Effect 3.

Even the painful exploration mechanic of Mass Effect 2 has been improved upon, though it’s far from perfect.  Exploration is no longer both a resource and time sink, instead simply requiring time, and much less of it than Mass Effect 2’s “scan every square inch of every planet” nightmare system.  You’re still pushing your ship around a tiny map like some sort of dipshit, but there’s no real in-game currency cost involved (unless you make some serious mistakes) and the flavor text for each individual world, while still there, is no longer oppressively crammed down the throats of min-max players who simply want “the best ending” and “the most resources.”  That said, there are problems with the new system to be sure. 

See, the new system still involves probes.  These new probes ping the map, revealing points of interest beyond bits of flavor text (which are a totally viable reason to want to explore planets for plenty of people).  But there’s a catch: these probes alert the invading Reapers to your presence.  Ping too many times, too close to where the Reapers are listening, too greedily or too deeply, and the invading armada will come down on you, hard.  Introduce reapers to a system and you’ve got no choice but to run or die, and running means you can’t harvest resources in that system until you complete another mission.  It’s a smart little trade between risk and reward.  It’s not simply a matter of investing time in the game, it’s a matter of considering when and how to scan a system, and whether or not a scan that will draw full-on Reaper attention is worthwhile.  On its surface, it’s a great idea, but in practice the system promotes mad, suicidal pinging to determine the location of potential points of interest followed by a quick and easy reload.  Savvy players can easily game the system to find points of interest and remove the guesswork from the equation, which removes a lot of the risk that Bioware left in the mix.  That said, metagaming aside it’s a huge improvement on the old system.

And Mass Effect 3’s story is tremendously dumb.  Bioware is exceptional at building worlds, but as great as many of the concepts that they bring to bear are on a grand level, they remain terrible at actually establishing characters, motivations and a textured storytelling experience.  The cultures and peoples of Mass Effect are tremendously interesting, particularly when you investigate them in the meta-text of the first game, but the intrigue, romance and politic populating the games themselves showcases the nuanced understanding you’d expect from a high school student.  Relationships are less adult things about dialogue and maturity and more polarities of desire and passive-aggressive sniping.  Good luck being friends with an ex.  And some fundamental plot points simply don’t make sense.  The existence of Cerberus, for example.

This isn’t something limited to Mass Effect, or Bioware in general.  In fact, I call it the David Mitchell Effect, in honor of David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas, where it’s particularly prominently displayed.  Mitchell spends roughly half his book building futuristic worlds, one of which is explored from the perspective of a cloned fast food worker who is made sentient by the government of her world in order to discourage the potential movement to grant human rights to potentially sentient fast-food-working clones.  The system required to enact the story Mitchell tells relies upon a degree of control that totally negates the necessity of the enacting such a plot, and heavily implies an existing framework possessed of sufficient wherewithal to recognize the unnecessary nature of such plots.  Simply put, it’s a dumb story arc that relies on the bulk of a world’s population, including people who have ostensibly built some pretty complicated systems, being thoroughly dumb in almost every way.

Likewise, Cerberus is so powerful in Mass Effect 3 that it can operate openly in conflict with multiple governments at once for decades at a time and possesses such an aptitude for infiltrating these governments and their support systems that it moves about and attacks them with absolute impunity and apparently limitless resources.  An organization that powerful could exercise considerable covert control over the government without entering open conflict and, in fact, would have motive to avoid open conflict in favor of covertly coordinating with the resources of the governments it undermines.  I’m making a bit of a straw man here, and I’m rushing through my point, but again, simply put, Cerberus is dumb, and it’s symptomatic of a bunch of stupid shit that happens in the story of Mass Effect as people try to expand its world to add in things they think of as “cool.”

But I don’t want to simply rag on the story of ME and its world.  Some people enjoy it, and while it’s dumb, it’s very invested in its own dumbness in a way that can be quite satisfying, like the most self-possessed and self-congratulatory pulp, arguably the best kind.  And in fairness, I’m only about eight hours into the game right now; while I fully expect the story to resolve in a laughably dumb way, the game itself is good enough that I really don’t care, and if it doesn’t, I get to be pleasantly surprised.  Plus, Bioware gets tremendous points for, for the first time in Mass Effect’s history (really, in the history of any of their major AAA release titles), recognizing the existence of real, grown up gay people who don’t act like a version of fucking Puss-In-Boots from Shrek.  That’s tremendously refreshing – even if the relationships are still often adolescent, they’re celebrating equality and representing a maturity that makes me excited for Bioware’s future releases.  Perhaps the day when Bioware presents players with a non-shoe-horned in-game romance with a character who isn’t an underdeveloped object of desire isn’t far off.  If the way they zeroed in on Mass Effect 3’s sweet sweet gameplay is any indication, if they keep working on it, they’ll get it sooner than later.

Saturday, August 24, 2013

Congratulations Warren!



You think you’re pretty clever, don’t you?  Well you are!  You’re a clever feller, Warren, and it shows when you do things like what you pulled today: robbing a bank without ever firing a shot or alerting anyone in the bank to your presence.

Step one involved entering a bank through a series of subterranean tunnels carved from the earth by CHUDs.  Step two involved holding those aforementioned CHUDs at bay with fire while a high powered drill breached the walls of an underground vault.  Steps three through seven were some bullshit involving cameras, duffel bags, and all the money in the vault.  Step eight involved getting back into the rental car you got from Hertz and driving back to your parents house.  Step nine: stash the money under your mom’s mattress.  Step ten: return your rental car.

Today you’re going to start step 11: looking for new places to live.  It’s not that you don’t love your parents, or that living with them is particularly bad.  It’s just that you’re a pretty successful bank robber now and you’re almost thirty-five (happy almost birthday, buddy!) so the general consensus is that it’s time for you to start living life on your own and maybe making a little batch of bank robbing kids of your own.

We recommend using Craigslist and specifically targeting properties run by Russian gangsters.  Your ability to pay in cash will impress them, and their racism will insure that you live in a neighborhood safe from the foul influence of black people or the Irish.  Just make sure they never discover just how much money you have, or they’ll hack your limbs off with machetes and then rape you until you tell them where you’ve stashed it all.

Happy apartment hunting!

Congratulations Warren!

Friday, August 23, 2013

Congratulations on Surviving the World Ending Plague with that Girl You Like!

The news anchors will sign off one by one.  Some will politely excuse themselves and then wander off lens, presumably to find their loved ones or die with some measure of privacy.  Some will sit in front of the camera, describing their experience, moment to moment.  Some will stammer and sit, waiting for something, anything, to happen, to overrun the studio and eliminate the necessity of making a choice in their life.  Some will succumb to the disease, doing their best to, with their last moments, present some sort of lasting image to the world.  One man will shout his goodbyes to his loved ones as a rabid mob tears his studio apart.  You’ll flip through the channels quickly before turning the television off and walking over to the young woman you escaped to the bunker with.

She’ll be taking stock of the supplies, making marks on a clipboard, no doubt thinking about shelf lives, rationing, how long the two of you will be able to survive in your high school’s conspicuously well funded fallout shelter.  She’ll be muttering to herself when you interrupt with your obvious “It doesn’t look good.”

She won’t look up when she flatly retorts with “You don’t say.”  You’ll nod.

“Supplies look good?” you’ll ask, voice cracking as you remember to frame it as a question.  She’ll shrug.

“For two people it should be enough for a long while.”  You’ll smile and nod.  She won’t even turn her head to acknowledge the gesture.  Her eyes will be fixed on boxes and boxes of food, medicine, and the pistols and rifles which will sit, unloaded, in their open gun cases, well oiled and free of moisture.   You’ll take the opportunity to take in her beauty.

It won’t be the obvious, jaw dropping kind.  She’ll have tiny hairs at the back of her neck that will curl up into the bundle of her ponytail.  Her shoulders will square oddly, one slightly lower than the other, and her face, heart shaped, will have a tendency to frown.  As she works she’ll purse her lips, making them seem less full and juicy than they really are, though it will make her look like she’s expecting a kiss.  Wisps of hair will scatter out of her ponytail and on to her shoulders, filling you with the urge to brush them off, tighten them up and replace them in her secure single braid.  You’ll resist the compulsion, but the urge will make you tense up, shifting your breathing and drawing her attention.

She’ll know what’s going on immediately.  She’ll roll her eyes in response.

“Jesus Christ,” she’ll mumble.  “It’s not gonna happen, nerd.”

You’ll nod at her.

“Sorry,” you’ll murmur.  She’ll raise one hand and give you the middle finger before she goes back to her checklist.  In response, you’ll begin exploring the confines of the shelter.  It’ll be spacious, but you know that it won’t feel that way for long.  But part of you hopes that she’ll get over her rule about sleeping with guys who do close-up magic before the six month stay in the shelter is up.  It’d really suck to spend the entire end of the world with the girl you’ve had a crush on for the past three years and not even kiss her.

Congratulations on Surviving the World Ending Plague with that Girl You Like!