If you have any sense of the common variety, you'll agree with me. Otherwise, fuck you.
Fuck you right in the demons.
Given that there's no way to gauge completion, I can't tell you exactly how far into the game I was when I arrived at this conclusion. I also dislike divulging too much about the complexities of the video games I play, in the event that some bright or ambitious mind decides to pick it up based on my praise. I would suggest that everyone reading partake in this pure virtual insanity (shout out to Jamiroquai...who doesn't remember that music video? Floor was moving all over the place...shit was crazy), and if I were the principal of Video Games High School, I would make this "required playing."
Third person shooter horror games are high on the list of favourite genres in my books, if not at the summit. I like the idea of survival horror, unless gameplay prevents me from defending myself. Several titles in this vei come to mind; Amnesia, Slender, titles that provide sufficient scares but leave me helpless in the face of them, my only option being to flee in a maddened, heart pounding manner. That's not a game, for me. However. Games in this genre (often the ones most people complain about...look at me with my opinions that contradict the norm) that provide the player with guns or melee weapons, or use the concept of light in concentration to ward off darkness, are some of the greatest games I've ever played. F.E.A.R., Condemned, DOOM, Alan Wake, Shadows of the Damned all fall into this wonderful category.
The last two excel (Shadows in particular) far past the rest by adding little quirks. Humourous extras that provide comic relief and enrich the gameplay. Things like pages from a story in Alan Wake or bottles of Hot Sake as health rejuvenation potions in Shadows of the Damned. Giving baby mouths strawberries to eat in order to unlock doors and continue the level or, even more hilariously, the explanation behind them (they're allegedly made from tongues. Cherries are even worse), given to you by the talking skeletal head you use as a torch to light your journey. Verbal captions that add another dimension to the game as you play it, while still managing to be relevant in a tutorial or descriptive sense. Mini bosses that destroy objects by singing opera. Shooting goats' heads in order to shed light on an area where the darkness would normally damage you, or make enemies more powerful. On top of everything, it's a constant, vulgar, gory mess.
In Shadows of the Damned, your gun is called a "Boner."
Games like this extend boundaries created by rigid genre-centric predecessors and competitors. Shadows manages to capture the concepts contained in multiple styles of design and gameplay. This epic funtime time-waster, and winners like it, are some of the best games I'll ever play.
October 26, 2012
October 25, 2012
So I Finally Saw the Suits Season 2 Finale
I must admit, I was pleased, and yet, disappointed. Simultaneously. If that was the aim, then kudos to the creators (the names of whom I'm not going to pretend to know). However, if their end goal was to leave me in a state of suspense, excitement or apprehension, unfortunately the job was only done in part.
You're here, reading the post, so I'll explain why.
Suits, if you don't know, is a television show about a law firm which is almost entirely based on lies. The main character is Mike, an addict with an eidetic memory who at one time would take the "LSATS" (testing for lawyers) for others, ensuring they would get a specific grade in exchange for large sums of money. In order to skirt a drug bust, he ran into a room which turned out to be an interview for a job assisting a popular attorney (Harvey, secondary character) at the firm for which he works, and he gets hired because this particular lawyer likes to "mix it up", which in this case apparently involves fraud and the possible destruction of his entire career and the firm itself.
Aside from that though, it's funny.
Now that I've given a brief explanation of the show, I'll attempt to provide understanding about my feelings regarding the finale without spoiling anything since you people are touchy about that sort of thing.
A large issue involving a former firm partner had ended, much to the dismay of some, but the enjoyment of others. Eventually, the discretion is resolved, to the pleasure of the majority. The collective story arc on this level was extremely entertaining and, for me, the best part of the show; the reason I began watching in the first place. As with most series these days, however, they make a great effort to involve quite substantial emotional turmoil as well, often making the show more full and complete, but at other times this element tends to be nonsensical and at a severe detriment to the feel of the show.
This is the problem I have.
Out of the many directions that the writers could've taken the relationships that Mike tends to immerse himself in, they chose the most farfetched, unlikely and damaging avenue. Nobody in their right mind would have done what he did when faced with the multiple scenarios that weigh him down by the time the last episode in the season rolls around. As with many shows, this one includes a lot of motivational monologues and decisive arguments in the writing which, when done well, makes the experience much more anxious for the viewer (this is a good thing). In this case specifically, though, what was debated earlier in the episode was utterly disregarded by the end, as though Mike didn't feel the same way he did that afternoon. It's absurd to think that he would have changed his mind (since this interaction was threaded throughout the entire show thus far) so quickly and thoughtlessly, and in the end, I'm left with the feeling that the show's writers had little clue how to hook viewers for the onset of the third season. What's more, the problem is essentially resolved already, since many bridges were intensely burned (so much so that it would require a nuclear holocaust to repeat the effect) and probably can't be mended with words alone.
I'm probably rambling, and this post may be difficult to follow if you're not currently housed within my cranium. Do your best to follow, though, and know that I'm about 50/50 on the pleased/displeased ratio. By the end of the season, I'm less inclined to watch the new one, for the same reason that some people look away when the news is showing video of two trains filled with Olympic gold medalists colliding on a track;There's just no positive outcome that hasn't already been achieved.
You're here, reading the post, so I'll explain why.
Suits, if you don't know, is a television show about a law firm which is almost entirely based on lies. The main character is Mike, an addict with an eidetic memory who at one time would take the "LSATS" (testing for lawyers) for others, ensuring they would get a specific grade in exchange for large sums of money. In order to skirt a drug bust, he ran into a room which turned out to be an interview for a job assisting a popular attorney (Harvey, secondary character) at the firm for which he works, and he gets hired because this particular lawyer likes to "mix it up", which in this case apparently involves fraud and the possible destruction of his entire career and the firm itself.
Aside from that though, it's funny.
Now that I've given a brief explanation of the show, I'll attempt to provide understanding about my feelings regarding the finale without spoiling anything since you people are touchy about that sort of thing.
A large issue involving a former firm partner had ended, much to the dismay of some, but the enjoyment of others. Eventually, the discretion is resolved, to the pleasure of the majority. The collective story arc on this level was extremely entertaining and, for me, the best part of the show; the reason I began watching in the first place. As with most series these days, however, they make a great effort to involve quite substantial emotional turmoil as well, often making the show more full and complete, but at other times this element tends to be nonsensical and at a severe detriment to the feel of the show.
This is the problem I have.
Out of the many directions that the writers could've taken the relationships that Mike tends to immerse himself in, they chose the most farfetched, unlikely and damaging avenue. Nobody in their right mind would have done what he did when faced with the multiple scenarios that weigh him down by the time the last episode in the season rolls around. As with many shows, this one includes a lot of motivational monologues and decisive arguments in the writing which, when done well, makes the experience much more anxious for the viewer (this is a good thing). In this case specifically, though, what was debated earlier in the episode was utterly disregarded by the end, as though Mike didn't feel the same way he did that afternoon. It's absurd to think that he would have changed his mind (since this interaction was threaded throughout the entire show thus far) so quickly and thoughtlessly, and in the end, I'm left with the feeling that the show's writers had little clue how to hook viewers for the onset of the third season. What's more, the problem is essentially resolved already, since many bridges were intensely burned (so much so that it would require a nuclear holocaust to repeat the effect) and probably can't be mended with words alone.
I'm probably rambling, and this post may be difficult to follow if you're not currently housed within my cranium. Do your best to follow, though, and know that I'm about 50/50 on the pleased/displeased ratio. By the end of the season, I'm less inclined to watch the new one, for the same reason that some people look away when the news is showing video of two trains filled with Olympic gold medalists colliding on a track;There's just no positive outcome that hasn't already been achieved.
October 19, 2012
My Issues Avec Community
That's a French word.
Before you ask, no, I'm not linguistically cultured, I just remember seventh grade. On that note, my memories are fleeting, sporadic and often irrelevant. Does anyone else experience this trauma?
Anyway, back to the matter at hand.
When I type "community," I'm not referencing large groups of individuals who live within a very close proximity to each other. Instead, I mean the highly popular and lucrative television series. The negativity of this article will overshadow the opposite, but that's because I don't mean to talk about the things I enjoy. That's easy.
Before you ask, no, I'm not linguistically cultured, I just remember seventh grade. On that note, my memories are fleeting, sporadic and often irrelevant. Does anyone else experience this trauma?
Anyway, back to the matter at hand.
When I type "community," I'm not referencing large groups of individuals who live within a very close proximity to each other. Instead, I mean the highly popular and lucrative television series. The negativity of this article will overshadow the opposite, but that's because I don't mean to talk about the things I enjoy. That's easy.
- The Moral - If there is one thing that upsets me about adult television, it's when it, for the sake of adorable hilarity, masquerades as a show that makes serious attempts to teach those watching a valuable lesson. Even worse, if that show integrates the concept into the core of the script, dedicating unnecessary time to the emphasis of said lesson (in a sense, 'drilling' it into the brain of the viewer), I begin to dislike the show as a whole. Community is written in such a way that it doesn't hinge on this principle, however, several episodes do end in this fashion. Some seem to effortlessly save themselves in the face of this catastrophe (citation: Anthropology episode), however many spend too much screen time focusing on a message that anyone with half their cranial filling has retained and understood for decades. The type of epiphany garnered by the characters on Community nearing the end of each episode is not fit for a show of this age-range; the mix of adult, crude humour and moralistic learning curve is kin to oil and water. I'm not saying don't try to educate viewers morally, but if you want to, don't approach it like a caveman, as though everyone watching is a one-legged retard with missing teeth and a sister-mom.
- Theme episodes - Whether or not I've touched on this in previous posts (perhaps, for instance, my stance on Metalocalypse could tie in well here), I feel the need to iterate my hatred for throwaway episodes that focus the attention on a change of, as an example, production style or progression format. Citing the Christmas episode from either season one or two of Community, I question the motives behind making the entirety of the episode a fabrication in the Abed character's mind, and, more importantly, doing it wholly in clay. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy witnessing a director or producer spread their artistic wings in an attempt to be creatively diverse or press their luck at a different medium. What I don't like, however, is when what is essentially a sketch comedy show in a longer format tried to be something is isn't. If I wanted to watch Robot Chicken, I'd blow my brains out with a shotgun and save my eyes/ears the trouble of sitting through it. Additionally (and in relation to my previous argument), the episode revolved completely around Abed's coping with his mom's integration into a family that was not his. In other words, the whole episode was about coping with divorce. Once again, focusing too much and too long on a subject not fit for the audience that the show initially pitched itself to.
- Senor Chang - Put bluntly, there isn't enough of him.
For the time being, these points are the most important reasons I have for not enjoying the show thoroughly. However, I should make clear that I think it's a hilarious experience, it deserves more credit than it gets (from people who aren't on the internet), and the issues I have with it are worth wading through in order to view this sensory gold.
Piss, shit, and dicks.
Just filling my swear quota.
October 12, 2012
Ramblings
I'm a couple years behind on this Left Rights album, but I'm not anywhere close to satisfied with its duration. The songs are mostly all amazing, but none are a length that pleases me. I find myself repeating several almost constantly for an hour longer than the album actually lasts, because I require more of this aural earthquake. Jimmy Urine knows how to hook.
----
There's been a new addition to the living organism tally in my household, in the form of a second feline companion. This one, however, is not to satiate me, as I've already obtained such. Needless to say, Elizabeth hasn't quite taken a liking to this intrusion. Initially, she had been passive; reacting to the turn of events as one would the news of a benign tumour, responding with apathetic acceptance. This was until the new one, dubbed Strange Puss by the CHUDs below (those familiar with Patrice O'Neal will understand the reasoning behind this name, and those familiar with my friends and I will understand why we're CHUDs) began to, as they say, "start shit." What has up until some days ago been pure aggression, in the form of vocal rumblings and wide-mouthed, raspy, territorial anguish, has devolved into piercing stares and the occasional punch in the face. These actions exchange between the two of them, neither being more at fault than the other. This may continue for some time, and I'm already anticipating such results for months into the future. My noir dove, dumpy pitch-black nightmare has had her Queen Bee status brought into question, and will not take this news lightly. As it stands she doesn't rest often when the two are directly sharing living space, which I'm sure means that both are unnaturally fatigued, and will require more real sleep (although, they're fucking cats, so they already get 90 hours' worth in a day). These are all predictions, though, and time will tell.
----
I know it to be fact that my excitement regarding the new Deftones album, due the 13th of November, is not mine alone. So far their singles have been gold (as Chino has been known to spin lyrics into) and I await the fruits of others laborious journeys to enter my ears, repeatedly, over a long period of time.
----
As stated in a less-than-elderly video of mine, I've begun collecting Ripley's Believe It Or Not! books, and I must say it's an investment I'm proud of. The strange is a fascination of mine (I just recently sent electronic correspondence to an Italian man who makes particularly gruesome and apocalyptic art, asking if it would be possible to acquire his pieces) and these books are exactly the right size to fit into my gaping maw. My emaciated oesophageal tunnel, metaphorically bereft of sustenance, in the absence of this candy.
----
I'm sure there is a large group of individuals who follow my online doings and think, consciously or otherwise, that my use of vocabulary is a means of showing off, as though I'm displaying some sort of verbal feathers, warding off predators in a dazzling display of meaningless self-indulgence. Or mindless (see what I did there? Yeah, you fucking do, dick). Let me reassure everyone reading that I try my utmost to facilitate this manner of speech as much as possible in my day-to-day, and I treat it as a form of mental exercise before anything else. My career choices don't present much chance to stretch the analytical or verbally creative parts of my brain, so I have to find ways to keep my mind sharp in different ways.
That's all for now.
P.S. Apparently Blogspot reads this, and heeded my complaint regarding the text-input section, because there is now a scroll bar. Good on you, sky-master of the blogosphere.
----
There's been a new addition to the living organism tally in my household, in the form of a second feline companion. This one, however, is not to satiate me, as I've already obtained such. Needless to say, Elizabeth hasn't quite taken a liking to this intrusion. Initially, she had been passive; reacting to the turn of events as one would the news of a benign tumour, responding with apathetic acceptance. This was until the new one, dubbed Strange Puss by the CHUDs below (those familiar with Patrice O'Neal will understand the reasoning behind this name, and those familiar with my friends and I will understand why we're CHUDs) began to, as they say, "start shit." What has up until some days ago been pure aggression, in the form of vocal rumblings and wide-mouthed, raspy, territorial anguish, has devolved into piercing stares and the occasional punch in the face. These actions exchange between the two of them, neither being more at fault than the other. This may continue for some time, and I'm already anticipating such results for months into the future. My noir dove, dumpy pitch-black nightmare has had her Queen Bee status brought into question, and will not take this news lightly. As it stands she doesn't rest often when the two are directly sharing living space, which I'm sure means that both are unnaturally fatigued, and will require more real sleep (although, they're fucking cats, so they already get 90 hours' worth in a day). These are all predictions, though, and time will tell.
----
I know it to be fact that my excitement regarding the new Deftones album, due the 13th of November, is not mine alone. So far their singles have been gold (as Chino has been known to spin lyrics into) and I await the fruits of others laborious journeys to enter my ears, repeatedly, over a long period of time.
----
As stated in a less-than-elderly video of mine, I've begun collecting Ripley's Believe It Or Not! books, and I must say it's an investment I'm proud of. The strange is a fascination of mine (I just recently sent electronic correspondence to an Italian man who makes particularly gruesome and apocalyptic art, asking if it would be possible to acquire his pieces) and these books are exactly the right size to fit into my gaping maw. My emaciated oesophageal tunnel, metaphorically bereft of sustenance, in the absence of this candy.
----
I'm sure there is a large group of individuals who follow my online doings and think, consciously or otherwise, that my use of vocabulary is a means of showing off, as though I'm displaying some sort of verbal feathers, warding off predators in a dazzling display of meaningless self-indulgence. Or mindless (see what I did there? Yeah, you fucking do, dick). Let me reassure everyone reading that I try my utmost to facilitate this manner of speech as much as possible in my day-to-day, and I treat it as a form of mental exercise before anything else. My career choices don't present much chance to stretch the analytical or verbally creative parts of my brain, so I have to find ways to keep my mind sharp in different ways.
That's all for now.
P.S. Apparently Blogspot reads this, and heeded my complaint regarding the text-input section, because there is now a scroll bar. Good on you, sky-master of the blogosphere.
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