Leaving
A Travelogue, of Sorts
Overture
A prologue, weeks in advance
To be honest, I don't know why I'm writing this. I fully intended to write a travelogue documenting my journey across Canada with two good friends, from the tiny dot labelled Milton (if it is indeed on the map) to the slightly larger one labelled Victoria. Though... maybe it isn't any bigger. In all likelihood, it's merely a trick of my mind; my subconscious making manifest my desire to leave this place. Anyway, I did not intend to begin writing anything at this point. Indeed, why would I? I won't be leaving for almost another month. Until then, I sit, here in this town I have known all my life, and instead of relishing the familiarity, the memories embedded within the bricks and asphalt, the wood and grass, I grow stagnant. I atrophy. I decay.
There was a time when I rejoiced in the sameness, when I was empowered by the knowledge that, come what may, Milton would never change. I've grown up since then. In some ways, it holds true; in some ways, Milton hasn't changed, and probably never will. But in other ways, it has changed nearly to the point of being unrecognizable. The sameness no longer lifts my spirits; the familiarity does not offer any comfort. Instead, these things now instill in me a sense of emptiness. Not sadness, but emptiness. As if the sheer nothingness of this town is a black hole, pulling in everything I have, and everything that I am, until there is nothing left of me.
That is an image I would really like to drive home—that image of nothingness, of there being nothing left—because it truly defines one of my main reasons for leaving. Simply put: I feel as though there is nothing left for me here. I have used up all the resources. I have met all the people that I am likely to meet, and I have experienced everything that I am likely to experience. There is nothing left.
Milton, as much as I know it will always be home, has become to me a prison. Not a prison of iron bars and bare stone, but a prison of the mind. A prison of comfort. You see, it is far too easy to remain here where I am loved, and coast along, comfortable and going nowhere. Too easy to become one of those who are raised here and never leave, content with seeing the same people, having the same conversations, until I pass on from here and am remembered as one who was comfortable, who lived well but took no risks, and thus gained no rewards. Or worse, forgotten; consigned to the far more tangible prison of a Milton Champion obit: three lines of type accompanied by a picture.
Aden Daniel McCarville, July 15th 1989 – whenever.
Died peacefully in his sleep, or whatever.
May he rest in peace.
And that is all. Only my rest would be far from peaceful. To pass on into whatever awaits us after life's journey only being able to say that I was comfortable is not what I intend for myself; my ghost would not rest easy at that. And if there is such a thing as predestination—I try to remain open-minded about such things, even if to me they seem far-fetched—and doing something great with my life isn't my 'destiny', then I will make my own. I will shatter the bonds of fate through sheer stubborn unwillingness to conform, with the ferocity of my rebellion against that which would hold me back.
Though, if you were to ask me, I'd say there's no such thing as destiny, or fate. I'm open to the idea, but I have yet to see evidence that points to anything other than this: our lives are our own. We shape them ourselves, with every action, and every choice. And I plan to shape mine into something great, something wondrous. Something that I can be proud of; that I can look back upon and be glad I chose not to be comfortable.
I know that there are some who doubt this decision, and others still who doubt my motives, my reasons. I wish I knew what to say to placate you, but I honestly don't. If asked, I would not be able to look you in the eye and say that this is definitely the right decision, that BC is where I belong in the world. But I can tell you with all certainty that Milton, where many come and far fewer leave, the boneyard of so many dreams, and mine if I allow it, is not my place either. I hope that is enough. It certainly is for me.
I realize that these words I have written may shine too harsh a light upon this town I was raised in, or its inhabitants, or my very life. But I hope you—whoever you may be, reading this—realize that this song I've begun to sing is not a requiem for a better life; there is no discord in these notes. Instead, think of this as a prelude to new beginnings, to a search for a place to belong. A foreword before the true story begins.
Think of this as an overture to an opera of living.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
"Oooh, Shiny!" -- Why Avatar is an Overrated Piece of Shit, and Why You're Stupid For Liking It
There's a pretty solid chance that you've seen Avatar by now. According to statistics, every single person on Earth and three-quarters of the animal population have subjected themselves to it, and are now fellating the shit out of it as if it were Jesus Christ himself come down from Heaven to bequeath us with spunk-flavoured salvation. As you may have guessed from the rather inflammatory title of this review, I am not one such person, easily swayed by fancy 3D effects and glowing flora. Yes, Avatar is a very pretty movie, and yes the world of Pandora is rather well-realized. But is it a good movie? No. Does it deserve to be making the ten million billion dollars per day that it seems to be making now? Hell no. Does it deserve to exist in the same storytelling medium as such classics as Gran Torino, No Country for Old Men, Citizen Kane, or Big Black Bootiez 2 and 5? Fuck no. Here's why.
The Story
The Last Samurai in space. No, seriously. Think about it:
In The Last Samurai, Nathan Algren, a former soldier who is now an alcoholic, is given another chance and a job training the Imperial Japanese Army so they can clear out the Samurai people, who refuse to accept the Emperor's Westernization policy. During his first battle, Algren is captured, and taken to the Samurai home, where he is instructed in their culture, their skills, and their way of life. Gradually, he realizes that he feels more at home with the Samurai than he ever did with his own people, and when the Imperial Army attacks, Algren fights to defend the people he has come to love. He miraculously survives a Gatling gun onslaught.
In Avatar, Jake Sully, a former marine who is now a paraplegic, is given another chance and a job gathering intel for a corporate/military mining entity so they can clear out the Na'vi people, who refuse to get the fuck out of the way so we can bulldoze their shit. During his first research / recon expedition, Jake is separated from his team, and taken to the Na'vi home, where he is instructed in their culture, their skills, and their way of life. Gradually, he realizes that he feels more at home with the Na'vi than he ever did with his own people, and when the humans attack, Jake fights to defend the people he has come to love. He miraculously survives riding unprotected on a dragon-beast's back into a hail of machine gun fire, and a fucking knife fight with a fucking big-ass robot. Seriously.
Now, I realize, pretty much every movie ever shares similarities with other ones. But why Avatar makes my blood boil is that it seems every single major plot point is ripped straight from another movie. Even the movie's one saving grace as far as originality is concerned--the idea of people mentally transferred into a surrogate body (see what I did there?)--has been done before, although less often. (Hint: it was done in Surrogates, among others that I cannot recall at the moment.)
The Characters
Where they aren't downright annoying, they're cliché. We've got such original gems as "Stuck-Up Scientist Who Insults Marine's Intellect"; "Wise-Cracking, Smart-Talking Aircraft Pilot"; "Nerdy Guy Who is Jealous of Marine's Success, Since Marine Has Inferior Training, Experience, and Skills"; "Corporate President Who Doesn't Care About Anything but Profit"; "Gruff, Battle-Scarred, Foul-Mouthed Army Commander Dude"... need I go on?
Even the acting can't save these shittily-constructed cardboard-cutouts. It's not that it's necessarily poor... but it's almost aggressively average. All of the actors do a thoroughly meh-worthy job. Like I said, not horrible, necessarily, but am I wrong for wanting and, damn it, expecting better than average for such an over-hyped movie? Shit no.
The Presentation
Avatar is a damn pretty movie; I'll give it that. But that seems to be its crutch, the shiny knock-off jewellery that James Cameron continually tries to peddle to us. Cameron attempts to hide the movie's shortcomings under a layer of gloss so thick that it can blind you if you look directly at it. Sure, he allegedly spent a shit-ton of time working out the intricacies of all the flora and fauna... but why is it that some of the creatures are basically things we already have on Earth? Example: the "horses" that the Na'vi ride. They are horses, only the head looks like that of a seahorse. And it has two extra legs. He even used regular horse sounds for some of the noises they make. Then we have the cross between an elephant and a hammerhead shark, etc. etc. Sorry, James Cameron, if I wanted to see a bunch of amalgamations of different animals I'd go drop a few tabs of acid.
All in all, the word that best describes Avatar isn't necessarily 'shitty'--though don't get me wrong, I still think it's a piece of shit--it's 'safe.' The acting? Not good, but not horrendously bad. The characters? Familiar enough in an archetypal sense that the average moviegoer won't find fault with them, etc.
In summation: don't watch Avatar. Don't fill James Cameron's pockets more than they already have been; he deserves none of it. If you can't do that, then at least stop telling fucking everybody how it changed your life. Your life has been changed by James Cameron's intense love of the colour blue. Congrats.
Oh, and I almost forgot; the movie's worst offense to mankind:
Sigourney Weaver is Almost Naked at One Point
Not cool, James Cameron. Not fucking cool.
The Story
The Last Samurai in space. No, seriously. Think about it:
In The Last Samurai, Nathan Algren, a former soldier who is now an alcoholic, is given another chance and a job training the Imperial Japanese Army so they can clear out the Samurai people, who refuse to accept the Emperor's Westernization policy. During his first battle, Algren is captured, and taken to the Samurai home, where he is instructed in their culture, their skills, and their way of life. Gradually, he realizes that he feels more at home with the Samurai than he ever did with his own people, and when the Imperial Army attacks, Algren fights to defend the people he has come to love. He miraculously survives a Gatling gun onslaught.
In Avatar, Jake Sully, a former marine who is now a paraplegic, is given another chance and a job gathering intel for a corporate/military mining entity so they can clear out the Na'vi people, who refuse to get the fuck out of the way so we can bulldoze their shit. During his first research / recon expedition, Jake is separated from his team, and taken to the Na'vi home, where he is instructed in their culture, their skills, and their way of life. Gradually, he realizes that he feels more at home with the Na'vi than he ever did with his own people, and when the humans attack, Jake fights to defend the people he has come to love. He miraculously survives riding unprotected on a dragon-beast's back into a hail of machine gun fire, and a fucking knife fight with a fucking big-ass robot. Seriously.
Now, I realize, pretty much every movie ever shares similarities with other ones. But why Avatar makes my blood boil is that it seems every single major plot point is ripped straight from another movie. Even the movie's one saving grace as far as originality is concerned--the idea of people mentally transferred into a surrogate body (see what I did there?)--has been done before, although less often. (Hint: it was done in Surrogates, among others that I cannot recall at the moment.)
The Characters
Where they aren't downright annoying, they're cliché. We've got such original gems as "Stuck-Up Scientist Who Insults Marine's Intellect"; "Wise-Cracking, Smart-Talking Aircraft Pilot"; "Nerdy Guy Who is Jealous of Marine's Success, Since Marine Has Inferior Training, Experience, and Skills"; "Corporate President Who Doesn't Care About Anything but Profit"; "Gruff, Battle-Scarred, Foul-Mouthed Army Commander Dude"... need I go on?
Even the acting can't save these shittily-constructed cardboard-cutouts. It's not that it's necessarily poor... but it's almost aggressively average. All of the actors do a thoroughly meh-worthy job. Like I said, not horrible, necessarily, but am I wrong for wanting and, damn it, expecting better than average for such an over-hyped movie? Shit no.
The Presentation
Avatar is a damn pretty movie; I'll give it that. But that seems to be its crutch, the shiny knock-off jewellery that James Cameron continually tries to peddle to us. Cameron attempts to hide the movie's shortcomings under a layer of gloss so thick that it can blind you if you look directly at it. Sure, he allegedly spent a shit-ton of time working out the intricacies of all the flora and fauna... but why is it that some of the creatures are basically things we already have on Earth? Example: the "horses" that the Na'vi ride. They are horses, only the head looks like that of a seahorse. And it has two extra legs. He even used regular horse sounds for some of the noises they make. Then we have the cross between an elephant and a hammerhead shark, etc. etc. Sorry, James Cameron, if I wanted to see a bunch of amalgamations of different animals I'd go drop a few tabs of acid.
All in all, the word that best describes Avatar isn't necessarily 'shitty'--though don't get me wrong, I still think it's a piece of shit--it's 'safe.' The acting? Not good, but not horrendously bad. The characters? Familiar enough in an archetypal sense that the average moviegoer won't find fault with them, etc.
In summation: don't watch Avatar. Don't fill James Cameron's pockets more than they already have been; he deserves none of it. If you can't do that, then at least stop telling fucking everybody how it changed your life. Your life has been changed by James Cameron's intense love of the colour blue. Congrats.
Oh, and I almost forgot; the movie's worst offense to mankind:
Sigourney Weaver is Almost Naked at One Point
Not cool, James Cameron. Not fucking cool.
Moving On Up
Hello there my dedicated followers. Long time no talk. Well, I can't really say that. Over the last few months I've been getting a steady supply of comments, for which I am really grateful.
I have been blogging it up at adentheblog.tumblr.com, however I've noticed one very troubling thing: Tumblr apparently doesn't have a comments feature. I know, right? So, I believe I'll be either moving back here permanently, or posting on both blogs at once.
Jesus, the shit I do for my fans.
I have been blogging it up at adentheblog.tumblr.com, however I've noticed one very troubling thing: Tumblr apparently doesn't have a comments feature. I know, right? So, I believe I'll be either moving back here permanently, or posting on both blogs at once.
Jesus, the shit I do for my fans.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Things That Annoy Me: April 20th
Superstore-related Shenanigans
1) The way in which management decides to tell me how to pick shit up off the floor. Or: "Holy shit this piece of lettuce could have KILLED SOMEONE."
This might seem somewhat nitpicky, or even make me seem like a careless worker. However, such is not the case. For you see, management-type-people at Superstore love to walk by literally a second after I've finished with a customer, and am practically still telling them to "Have a nice day" or whatever suave line pops into my head, pick something up off the floor which wasn't in my field of vision in the first place, hold it up to me and say something along the lines of "We have to pick this stuff up so our customers don't die." Then, as I'm about to reply with something along the lines of "Sorry, I couldn't even see it," or "Shut the fuck up"--depending on how I'm feeling--they toss it quite snottily in my garbage and walk away.
Well excuuuuuuuse me. I had no idea that bits of lettuce were, in actuality, deadly hazards. Look, it's a piece of fucking lettuce. Either pick it up and throw it away without the shitty attitude, or just leave it there. It's not like the thing is going to launch itself down somebody's throat and choke them to death if we leave it unchecked. And trust me, nobody but a very unlucky person with one leg is going to slip on a piece of lettuce. Even then, it would take some effort on their part.
2) Customers that complain about anything and everything. Or: "Jesus Christ man, why would you do something as stupid as hybrid parking?! And you don't have BAGS?!"
This could also be summarised as me hating it when people act like I am the official voice of the Loblaw Corporation. I don't know how, but for some reason people get the idea in their heads that if they yell at me, a lowly cashier, about the lack of bags, or the size of the bags, or the stupid hybrid parking, or the fucking weather, by the time they get out the door I will have waved my magic wand and fixed it all. Or maybe they're mad at me because, clearly, it was all MY idea. Yep. It's true. It went something like this.
"Hey Chris!" I said, strolling over to my store manager and giving him a friendly clap on the back, "I just thought of a great way to piss off EVERYONE WHO COMES IN HERE!"
"Do tell!" he replied, turning to me with excitement plastered on his face, and ignoring the Prime Minister's attempts to continue their conversation.
"First," I began, ticking off the points with my fingers, "we get rid of the normal bagging system that everyone is used to. By this I mean we ELIMINATE PLASTIC BAGS COMPLETELY!" Chris broke into a wide grin at this, so I continued, "Second, we refuse to even bag customers' groceries. That's right, they have to bring their own bags AND bag their own shit!"
"This is shaping up to be a good plan, Aden! But still, something is missing..." Chris stroked his chin thoughtfully, turning his head slightly upwards in a pensive pose.
"Oh, I've got it covered! Third, we make special parking for vehicles that NOBODY OWNS! And lastly, we put these special parking spaces as close to the building as possible!"
"But Aden, what about the parking for handicapped people?"
"Who cares?" I replied, "They're handicapped!" And we shared a hearty laugh, followed by high-fives and butt-pats.
Side note: I don't actually have a problem with handicapped people. Please don't send me any angry letters.
Also, a large chunk of the people that complain about the bags, etc. have DEFINITELY been in the store before, which is why it's just SO. DAMN. ANNOYING.
Oh, and I've never actually butt-patted my boss. Or high-fived him for that matter.
3) The hours, or lack thereof. Or: "You must have a minimum availability of four days of the week, but we're only going to give you one day. No, we don't care if that totally screws up any chance of getting decent hours at your other job."
I think the subtitle neatly sums this whole issue up, but for those who don't make a point of being up to date on my life, here's a general summary:
I work at Rogers Video and Superstore. I am available at Superstore--by necessity--Friday through Monday, and available the remaining days (Tuesday through Thursday) at Rogers. Now, this would be a sweet setup, if not for the fact that Superstore decided to give me, on average, a single shift a week. So I can't even go to Rogers and say "Hey, I only really get Saturdays at Superstore, if you want to give me more hours", because there's always the off chance that I'll actually get more than just Saturday. For instance, take this week. I had become accustomed to banking on only getting Saturday at Superstore, so I made plans for Sunday. Plans which were quickly tossed down the shitter when, to my dismay, I actually received a Sunday shift. And, Jesus Christ would you look at that, a Monday as well.
In summation, it sucks.
Non-Superstore-related Shenanigans
1) PeOpLe WhO tYpE lIkE tHiS.
I mean, come on. For fuck sake. It's not cool, it's not "edgy" or "out there", it's just fucking lame. People need to do this less. And while we're on the subject of typing...
2) ppl who do dis wen dey type
This is like every typing pet-peeve, rolled up into one convenient package. Annoying abbreviations, "gangsta"-style variations on words--obviously a necessity because typing that one extra letter that you shave off by doing so is just SO not worth not looking like a dumbass--and a distinct lack of punctuation or proper capitalization. Its provin dat dey be gangsta, rite? Tru, tru.
Only not.
Well, that just about cleans me out for this time. Actually I just forgot about the other stuff that annoys me. Check back at a later date for more of what you love.
By which I mean more of the stuff that I write.
Just making sure.
1) The way in which management decides to tell me how to pick shit up off the floor. Or: "Holy shit this piece of lettuce could have KILLED SOMEONE."
This might seem somewhat nitpicky, or even make me seem like a careless worker. However, such is not the case. For you see, management-type-people at Superstore love to walk by literally a second after I've finished with a customer, and am practically still telling them to "Have a nice day" or whatever suave line pops into my head, pick something up off the floor which wasn't in my field of vision in the first place, hold it up to me and say something along the lines of "We have to pick this stuff up so our customers don't die." Then, as I'm about to reply with something along the lines of "Sorry, I couldn't even see it," or "Shut the fuck up"--depending on how I'm feeling--they toss it quite snottily in my garbage and walk away.
Well excuuuuuuuse me. I had no idea that bits of lettuce were, in actuality, deadly hazards. Look, it's a piece of fucking lettuce. Either pick it up and throw it away without the shitty attitude, or just leave it there. It's not like the thing is going to launch itself down somebody's throat and choke them to death if we leave it unchecked. And trust me, nobody but a very unlucky person with one leg is going to slip on a piece of lettuce. Even then, it would take some effort on their part.
2) Customers that complain about anything and everything. Or: "Jesus Christ man, why would you do something as stupid as hybrid parking?! And you don't have BAGS?!"
This could also be summarised as me hating it when people act like I am the official voice of the Loblaw Corporation. I don't know how, but for some reason people get the idea in their heads that if they yell at me, a lowly cashier, about the lack of bags, or the size of the bags, or the stupid hybrid parking, or the fucking weather, by the time they get out the door I will have waved my magic wand and fixed it all. Or maybe they're mad at me because, clearly, it was all MY idea. Yep. It's true. It went something like this.
"Hey Chris!" I said, strolling over to my store manager and giving him a friendly clap on the back, "I just thought of a great way to piss off EVERYONE WHO COMES IN HERE!"
"Do tell!" he replied, turning to me with excitement plastered on his face, and ignoring the Prime Minister's attempts to continue their conversation.
"First," I began, ticking off the points with my fingers, "we get rid of the normal bagging system that everyone is used to. By this I mean we ELIMINATE PLASTIC BAGS COMPLETELY!" Chris broke into a wide grin at this, so I continued, "Second, we refuse to even bag customers' groceries. That's right, they have to bring their own bags AND bag their own shit!"
"This is shaping up to be a good plan, Aden! But still, something is missing..." Chris stroked his chin thoughtfully, turning his head slightly upwards in a pensive pose.
"Oh, I've got it covered! Third, we make special parking for vehicles that NOBODY OWNS! And lastly, we put these special parking spaces as close to the building as possible!"
"But Aden, what about the parking for handicapped people?"
"Who cares?" I replied, "They're handicapped!" And we shared a hearty laugh, followed by high-fives and butt-pats.
Side note: I don't actually have a problem with handicapped people. Please don't send me any angry letters.
Also, a large chunk of the people that complain about the bags, etc. have DEFINITELY been in the store before, which is why it's just SO. DAMN. ANNOYING.
Oh, and I've never actually butt-patted my boss. Or high-fived him for that matter.
3) The hours, or lack thereof. Or: "You must have a minimum availability of four days of the week, but we're only going to give you one day. No, we don't care if that totally screws up any chance of getting decent hours at your other job."
I think the subtitle neatly sums this whole issue up, but for those who don't make a point of being up to date on my life, here's a general summary:
I work at Rogers Video and Superstore. I am available at Superstore--by necessity--Friday through Monday, and available the remaining days (Tuesday through Thursday) at Rogers. Now, this would be a sweet setup, if not for the fact that Superstore decided to give me, on average, a single shift a week. So I can't even go to Rogers and say "Hey, I only really get Saturdays at Superstore, if you want to give me more hours", because there's always the off chance that I'll actually get more than just Saturday. For instance, take this week. I had become accustomed to banking on only getting Saturday at Superstore, so I made plans for Sunday. Plans which were quickly tossed down the shitter when, to my dismay, I actually received a Sunday shift. And, Jesus Christ would you look at that, a Monday as well.
In summation, it sucks.
Non-Superstore-related Shenanigans
1) PeOpLe WhO tYpE lIkE tHiS.
I mean, come on. For fuck sake. It's not cool, it's not "edgy" or "out there", it's just fucking lame. People need to do this less. And while we're on the subject of typing...
2) ppl who do dis wen dey type
This is like every typing pet-peeve, rolled up into one convenient package. Annoying abbreviations, "gangsta"-style variations on words--obviously a necessity because typing that one extra letter that you shave off by doing so is just SO not worth not looking like a dumbass--and a distinct lack of punctuation or proper capitalization. Its provin dat dey be gangsta, rite? Tru, tru.
Only not.
Well, that just about cleans me out for this time. Actually I just forgot about the other stuff that annoys me. Check back at a later date for more of what you love.
By which I mean more of the stuff that I write.
Just making sure.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Things That Need to Stop Happening in Videogames: Vol. 1
It's no secret, I enjoy the occasional round of videogame playing. To be more specific, videogames are as much a part of my life as food, my family, and hating the mailman. So, one can tell that it is not with an inexperienced mind that I write this: lots of stupid stuff happens in videogames. Most of this is balanced by all the glorious things that happen, like chainsawing someone in half in Gears of War, to making someone a headless quadruple amputee using only twelve bullets in Soldier of Fortune. Yes, I find a majority of the glory in videogames comes from murdering fools as brilliantly and bloodily as possible.
Unfortunately, there are a handful of things that occur in videogames that sully their reputation. They occur often enough to be among the most annoying things ever to be birthed by a sentient being. Luckily, I'm here to drag them out from gaming's seedy underbelly into the harsh light of hatred and disgust.
Number one: Stupid quicktime events.
(For the uneducated masses: quicktime events are unskippable sequences in videogames that, when done properly, somewhat mirror what the character is doing onscreen, and usually require that the player execute them correctly, or suffer one of many horrible deaths. A button or direction will appear onscreen, and the player is required to press the correct button / direction in a set--incredibly short--amount of time, if they want to avoid the aforementioned death. A common quicktime event has the player combating some sort of enemy, or traversing some form of dangerous locale, pressing the correct button as quickly as possible to make the character jump across the gap, stab the enemy, outrun the boulder, not get eviscerated by the zombie, etc.)
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm normally a fan of quicktime events. If they are done properly. Now, you might be thinking "Aden, you dashing young comedic and intellectual goldmine! Quicktime events are super awesome! God of War proved this!" There, you'd be sort of right, and sort of wrong. But mostly wrong, because you'd be disagreeing with me. God of War didn't so much prove the awesomeness of quicktime events as it showcased the fuck out of them; requiring them to be used if the player's desire is to completely kill any enemy larger than an anorexic soldier. It sort of felt like the developers were saying "Holy fucking shit! Aren't these things awesome?!?!" And so decided to throw them in willy-nilly throughout the game. Some of them were done decently; the button pressed corresponded roughly to what was happening onscreen. These are known as "Good" quicktime events. "Good" quicktime events are featured prominently in Heavenly Sword. The player flicks the control stick to the right, the character moves / jumps to the right. The player hits the attack button, and the character tosses her blade-on-a-chain into a piece of scenery to create a cool swingy-thing, or into an enemy to create a corpse. I salute these sequences, as they make some degree of sense.
Unfortunately, many quicktime events fall into the "Bad" category. These include sequences like "Press the X button rapidly to run away from HOLY SHIT THERE'S A MOTHERFUCKING BOULDER BEHIND YOU!" This would be fine, except that up until this point, the X button has been used to interact with the environment; pick up items, open doors, etc. To me, this doesn't make much sense, and results in a lousy experience. A "good" game for witnessing "Bad" quicktime events? Resident Evil: Umbrella Chronicles. Players will be moving along, capping multitudes of zombies with casual presses of the B button, when suddenly something along the lines of "HOLY SHIT THAT GIANT SCORPION IS GONNA STAB YOU WITH ITS TAIL! PRESS B / SHAKE THE WIIMOTE AND NUNCHUK TO DODGE THAT SHIT!" will happen. I won't even get into the fact that if your only option is to shake the controller, you're basically fucked, as it is an unresponsive pile of feces. Nevertheless, my response is usually "What the fuck!? How will pulling the trigger or fucking DANCING save me from a case of Arachnid-in-the-guts!?" Note: "Dancing" is the only suitable real-life motion that I can picture being emulated by shaking the wiimote and nunchuk.
The mention of these quicktime events leads me into the next category: Quicktime events that fall under the category of "HOLY SHIT! PRESS THIS BUTTON TO NOT DIE!" These are steaming piles of horseshit. No questions asked. Anything that suddenly appears, without warning, and suddenly tasks you with hitting a button to save your life is just idiotic. What's even worse is that many of these crop up during cutscenes; sequences where I usually drop the controller in favour of a refreshing beverage or a sandwich or something. What's even worse than THAT is when these retarded scenes don't let you simply try again when you fail. Many of them will do that, but there are a select few that reanimate your horribly crushed / burned / stabbed / eaten corpse back at the last checkpoint, which might very well be fifteen minutes of gameplay.
To put it simply, quicktime events need to either universally be well done, or just stop existing. Simple as that.
Number two: "Horror" in a game that is entirely of the "Thing jumps out of nowhere and yells BOO" variety. To paraphrase: More atmosphere, fuckers! I'm not saying that "cheap scares" need to be entirely removed from videogames. Rather, they should--sometimes--be the "payoff" from the building up of incredibly creepy atmosphere. Games like Silent Hill scare you much more with what happens offscreen--the creaking of rusty hinges, the thumping of footsteps somewhere close by--than with any of the creepy-crawlies that shamble into your flashlight's glare. Sure, there are some cheap "BOO, MOTHERFUCKER!" scares peppered about here and there, but those aren't the only things being relied upon. Another shining example is found in Fort Frolic, of Bioshock. (Keep in mind that Bioshock is not entirely a horror game, and does not have tons of scares in it, but it does set a very motherfucking creepy atmosphere, at times.) So, you're walking along in Fort Frolic, and you come across some of Sander Cohen's "creations": corpses dipped in plaster and posed in various positions--of course, I didn't realize they were corpses until I smacked one with my wrench and blood came out. Ick. So, it dawns on you that this dude is a motherfucking psychopath. Now, this wouldn't be so much creepy as just weird, except for one scene that, to this day, still sticks out in my mind. You enter a room, lit only by the glare of a television. Further, three figures are silhouetted on the couch. You move around to the side, and you bear witness to another of Cohen's creations: a woman, a man, and their child, eternally gazing at the TV together. This scene is almost perverse in its tender portrayal of a family simply spending a few moments together, in the ruined Utopia that is Rapture, the underwater city that is the setting of the game. However, the creepiest moment in this area has to be discovering one of the audio logs of Sander Cohen. It's a simple poem, entitled "The Wild Bunny":
Freaky shit, right? A note to game developers: More of this! No more monsters bursting out of doors / closets / ducts. It's old, it's stale. Bioshock managed to set a really motherfucking creepy atmosphere, and it's not even a fucking horror game! Fail, game developers. Fail.
Unfortunately, there are a handful of things that occur in videogames that sully their reputation. They occur often enough to be among the most annoying things ever to be birthed by a sentient being. Luckily, I'm here to drag them out from gaming's seedy underbelly into the harsh light of hatred and disgust.
Number one: Stupid quicktime events.
(For the uneducated masses: quicktime events are unskippable sequences in videogames that, when done properly, somewhat mirror what the character is doing onscreen, and usually require that the player execute them correctly, or suffer one of many horrible deaths. A button or direction will appear onscreen, and the player is required to press the correct button / direction in a set--incredibly short--amount of time, if they want to avoid the aforementioned death. A common quicktime event has the player combating some sort of enemy, or traversing some form of dangerous locale, pressing the correct button as quickly as possible to make the character jump across the gap, stab the enemy, outrun the boulder, not get eviscerated by the zombie, etc.)
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm normally a fan of quicktime events. If they are done properly. Now, you might be thinking "Aden, you dashing young comedic and intellectual goldmine! Quicktime events are super awesome! God of War proved this!" There, you'd be sort of right, and sort of wrong. But mostly wrong, because you'd be disagreeing with me. God of War didn't so much prove the awesomeness of quicktime events as it showcased the fuck out of them; requiring them to be used if the player's desire is to completely kill any enemy larger than an anorexic soldier. It sort of felt like the developers were saying "Holy fucking shit! Aren't these things awesome?!?!" And so decided to throw them in willy-nilly throughout the game. Some of them were done decently; the button pressed corresponded roughly to what was happening onscreen. These are known as "Good" quicktime events. "Good" quicktime events are featured prominently in Heavenly Sword. The player flicks the control stick to the right, the character moves / jumps to the right. The player hits the attack button, and the character tosses her blade-on-a-chain into a piece of scenery to create a cool swingy-thing, or into an enemy to create a corpse. I salute these sequences, as they make some degree of sense.
Unfortunately, many quicktime events fall into the "Bad" category. These include sequences like "Press the X button rapidly to run away from HOLY SHIT THERE'S A MOTHERFUCKING BOULDER BEHIND YOU!" This would be fine, except that up until this point, the X button has been used to interact with the environment; pick up items, open doors, etc. To me, this doesn't make much sense, and results in a lousy experience. A "good" game for witnessing "Bad" quicktime events? Resident Evil: Umbrella Chronicles. Players will be moving along, capping multitudes of zombies with casual presses of the B button, when suddenly something along the lines of "HOLY SHIT THAT GIANT SCORPION IS GONNA STAB YOU WITH ITS TAIL! PRESS B / SHAKE THE WIIMOTE AND NUNCHUK TO DODGE THAT SHIT!" will happen. I won't even get into the fact that if your only option is to shake the controller, you're basically fucked, as it is an unresponsive pile of feces. Nevertheless, my response is usually "What the fuck!? How will pulling the trigger or fucking DANCING save me from a case of Arachnid-in-the-guts!?" Note: "Dancing" is the only suitable real-life motion that I can picture being emulated by shaking the wiimote and nunchuk.
The mention of these quicktime events leads me into the next category: Quicktime events that fall under the category of "HOLY SHIT! PRESS THIS BUTTON TO NOT DIE!" These are steaming piles of horseshit. No questions asked. Anything that suddenly appears, without warning, and suddenly tasks you with hitting a button to save your life is just idiotic. What's even worse is that many of these crop up during cutscenes; sequences where I usually drop the controller in favour of a refreshing beverage or a sandwich or something. What's even worse than THAT is when these retarded scenes don't let you simply try again when you fail. Many of them will do that, but there are a select few that reanimate your horribly crushed / burned / stabbed / eaten corpse back at the last checkpoint, which might very well be fifteen minutes of gameplay.
To put it simply, quicktime events need to either universally be well done, or just stop existing. Simple as that.
Number two: "Horror" in a game that is entirely of the "Thing jumps out of nowhere and yells BOO" variety. To paraphrase: More atmosphere, fuckers! I'm not saying that "cheap scares" need to be entirely removed from videogames. Rather, they should--sometimes--be the "payoff" from the building up of incredibly creepy atmosphere. Games like Silent Hill scare you much more with what happens offscreen--the creaking of rusty hinges, the thumping of footsteps somewhere close by--than with any of the creepy-crawlies that shamble into your flashlight's glare. Sure, there are some cheap "BOO, MOTHERFUCKER!" scares peppered about here and there, but those aren't the only things being relied upon. Another shining example is found in Fort Frolic, of Bioshock. (Keep in mind that Bioshock is not entirely a horror game, and does not have tons of scares in it, but it does set a very motherfucking creepy atmosphere, at times.) So, you're walking along in Fort Frolic, and you come across some of Sander Cohen's "creations": corpses dipped in plaster and posed in various positions--of course, I didn't realize they were corpses until I smacked one with my wrench and blood came out. Ick. So, it dawns on you that this dude is a motherfucking psychopath. Now, this wouldn't be so much creepy as just weird, except for one scene that, to this day, still sticks out in my mind. You enter a room, lit only by the glare of a television. Further, three figures are silhouetted on the couch. You move around to the side, and you bear witness to another of Cohen's creations: a woman, a man, and their child, eternally gazing at the TV together. This scene is almost perverse in its tender portrayal of a family simply spending a few moments together, in the ruined Utopia that is Rapture, the underwater city that is the setting of the game. However, the creepiest moment in this area has to be discovering one of the audio logs of Sander Cohen. It's a simple poem, entitled "The Wild Bunny":
Freaky shit, right? A note to game developers: More of this! No more monsters bursting out of doors / closets / ducts. It's old, it's stale. Bioshock managed to set a really motherfucking creepy atmosphere, and it's not even a fucking horror game! Fail, game developers. Fail.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Things That Annoy Me: February 18th
I've started yet another ongoing series of posts, cleverly titled "Things That Annoy Me". It's about stuff that annoys me. I don't know how long this thing will be going on, but it's safe to say that it could be awhile; there's a fuckload of stuff that annoys me.
Number one: The Google ads on my blog. When I signed up for this thing, I didn't exactly read much of it. I saw the part that said "get paid", and the part that said "advertisements", and I used my Holmes-esque logic to piece together what it was trying to tell me. What I didn't realize until later was that people actually have to click on the ads for me to make any money off of it, which is kind of lame--and ties into my actual point about this whole service. Another part that I did notice was where it said "relevant to your blog". Today, I have an advertisement for private investigations in Thailand. THAILAND. Have I ever *used* the word 'Thailand' on my blog? SPOILER ALERT: no, I don't think I have. And I *know* that I filled out a profile when I signed up for this thing. If anything, the ad should be for private investigations in Bumfuck, Ontario. I fail to see how I'm ever going to make money off of these ads, or indeed how Google is going to look even remotely intelligent, unless someone happens to have both a craving for some blog-comedy* AND a cheating wife in Thailand.
*side note: "blog-comedy" is now officially called blomedy.
Number two: My mailman. Remember the good old days, when mailmen--and mailwomen, to a lesser extent--stuck to their motto: "Come rain, or sleet, or snow, etc. etc."? The other day, my mailman rang my doorbell for a solid five minutes--waking me up and thoroughly pissing me off--to tell me that I had to shovel a better path for him, leading up to my house. Now let me explain something to you. The path leading to my front door is already officially a path. If you were to look at it head-on, I could draw it for you using simple characters on my keyboard: l___l
Yea, it's already a path. But the problem for this mailman, was the fact that the part that you walk on, rather than being the stone slabs that normally comprise my walkway, was comprised of packed-down snow. Also known as easily-walked-on snow. Unfortunately I was still too asleep to actually yell at him, or make orphans of his children. So I mumbled some sort of incoherency and nodded, while closing the door. Bastard.
side note: I never did shovel that path for him. Hah, dickhead.
Number one: The Google ads on my blog. When I signed up for this thing, I didn't exactly read much of it. I saw the part that said "get paid", and the part that said "advertisements", and I used my Holmes-esque logic to piece together what it was trying to tell me. What I didn't realize until later was that people actually have to click on the ads for me to make any money off of it, which is kind of lame--and ties into my actual point about this whole service. Another part that I did notice was where it said "relevant to your blog". Today, I have an advertisement for private investigations in Thailand. THAILAND. Have I ever *used* the word 'Thailand' on my blog? SPOILER ALERT: no, I don't think I have. And I *know* that I filled out a profile when I signed up for this thing. If anything, the ad should be for private investigations in Bumfuck, Ontario. I fail to see how I'm ever going to make money off of these ads, or indeed how Google is going to look even remotely intelligent, unless someone happens to have both a craving for some blog-comedy* AND a cheating wife in Thailand.
*side note: "blog-comedy" is now officially called blomedy.
Number two: My mailman. Remember the good old days, when mailmen--and mailwomen, to a lesser extent--stuck to their motto: "Come rain, or sleet, or snow, etc. etc."? The other day, my mailman rang my doorbell for a solid five minutes--waking me up and thoroughly pissing me off--to tell me that I had to shovel a better path for him, leading up to my house. Now let me explain something to you. The path leading to my front door is already officially a path. If you were to look at it head-on, I could draw it for you using simple characters on my keyboard: l___l
Yea, it's already a path. But the problem for this mailman, was the fact that the part that you walk on, rather than being the stone slabs that normally comprise my walkway, was comprised of packed-down snow. Also known as easily-walked-on snow. Unfortunately I was still too asleep to actually yell at him, or make orphans of his children. So I mumbled some sort of incoherency and nodded, while closing the door. Bastard.
side note: I never did shovel that path for him. Hah, dickhead.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Step One: Global Recognition. Step Two: Global Domination
As much as I love and cherish anyone and everyone in my hometown (probably consisting almost entirely of the few I have forced at gunpoint to access, read, and laugh at my blog) who reads this, you guys just aren't enough. I need a fanbase that includes people from *actual* towns or maybe *gasp* CITIES?!
Not that I don't appreciate the people who read, and tell me how much they love me, and my blog, but mostly me. Far from it. If I could remember--or cared--what Jesus said to that Peter dude, I would say it to you.
Anyway, anyone who has an idea on how I can gain a larger fanbase, let me know. Perhaps in a comment, on this post? Comments are one way of making me feel better about all the hard work I put into this thing. Seriously, comments, guys. I know a bunch of you have read stuff, but NO COMMENTS?!?!
As of this post, it is considered mandatory for anyone who enjoys some of my writing to post a comment stating as much.
In closing: NOTICE ME, JAY PINKERTON!! VISIT MY BLOG, ROBOTMAN!!! LEND ME THE MAGIC THAT MAKES YOU AMAZING!!
Not that I don't appreciate the people who read, and tell me how much they love me, and my blog, but mostly me. Far from it. If I could remember--or cared--what Jesus said to that Peter dude, I would say it to you.
Anyway, anyone who has an idea on how I can gain a larger fanbase, let me know. Perhaps in a comment, on this post? Comments are one way of making me feel better about all the hard work I put into this thing. Seriously, comments, guys. I know a bunch of you have read stuff, but NO COMMENTS?!?!
As of this post, it is considered mandatory for anyone who enjoys some of my writing to post a comment stating as much.
In closing: NOTICE ME, JAY PINKERTON!! VISIT MY BLOG, ROBOTMAN!!! LEND ME THE MAGIC THAT MAKES YOU AMAZING!!
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