Bits For Rent

Today marks the beginning of a weekly project. With this entry, I begin a week-by-week catalog of my listening habits. As part of my class on Rock & Roll and American Society, I have been asked to submit at least 15 of these entries, taking me through a semester of rock’s great legacy as well as my own meandering interesting in the many niches and off-shoots of the genre. It’s a lot to ask of someone like me, who, rather infamously among my friends and family, cannot keep to a consistent schedule to save my life, despite being a rather organized person. Nevertheless, let’s get this thing started.

Since returning to school, I’ve been sifting through a torrent of new music that people recommended over the summer but only recently gave to me. Of the few bands I’ve been able to give a decent listen to, three in particular have caught my attention, and one is just a deliriously narcotic aural delight. In order from least to most played, they are as follows:

The Rumble Strips – I’m still not exactly sure where this recommendation came from — I think that I saw them on Rolling Stone’s Bands to Watch list — but the Strips are certainly a fair shake away from my normal listening preferences. If I had to classify their sound, I’d say it was somewhere along the lines of British Punk Ska, with a dash of emo. The songs are an irreverent catalog of little things in life that annoy and charm us all, but the up-beat tempo and soulful vocals somehow make a song about waking up early feel almost… anthemic. “No Clocks” is probably the best of the bunch, but I’ve been able to listen to the CD all the way through so far with only a few urges to skip to the next track. If Reel Big Fish are a bit too sarcastic and eye-winking, elbow-nudging “Aren’t we clever?” for your tastes, this might be a band to look into. And as a group that is only just now getting a small sliver of attention, I’ll definitely be interested in where they go from here.

The Hold Steady – Somehow I’ve missed out on what some call the greatest “true” rock band in the country (a statement that must derive from the straight-laced, effects-free guys-guitars-and-a-keyboard sound), but there’s definitely something about the Hold Steady that makes me want to wish I could completely and wholeheartedly endorse them in such a way. The lyrics seem to be from the same mold as classic Springsteen and Bon Jovi songs, full of soul and defiance and that rebellious spirit that transforms bands like the aforementioned two such colossal cultural figures. The only difference is that this group sounds like it’s doing it part time, like a weekend gig to beat the stress of a nine to five job. But somehow it works, and you’re sitting there an hour later still listening and thinking to yourself, “Hey, this stuff is actually pretty good.” It’s nice to know that, despite how progressive music tries to be these days, sometimes ordinary can work too.

The National – Even though this isn’t what I’ve been listening to the most, the National have become the group that I’ve been talking about the most. Having listened to their two most recent records, Alligator and Boxer, and watched a live stream of a recent concert they did, it’s easy to see why the indie music scene is obsessing over them. The mechanics at work — keyboard, violin, guitar, bass, and drums — have the potential to churn out some incredible songs, and the singer’s subdued, flat tone only helps to let what truly matters, the way the instruments layer over each other so effectively, stand out even more. Granted, the monotone lyricism means that what’s being said could be cut-and-pasted into another song and sound fine there, but that criticism could be leveled at bands like Interpol too. The fact is that it works, and it works damn well. There’s a chemistry to it all that makes me believe wherever these guys go next, the music industry is going to stand up and take notice. Perhaps it’s time you do too.

Fleet Foxes – Oh, where to begin? I tried listening to Fleet Foxes’ Sun Giant EP after Pitchfork called it one of the most impressive debuts in years, but found it to be so far from my current taste in music that it was almost repulsive. Five guys doing harmonies and acoustic sets while singing about folk mysticism and fabled tragedies and other bizarre Americana subjects? I’ll stick with the Decemberists for my story-telling, thanks. But then I kept hearing about them, and none of it was bad. I mean, absolutely none of it. So I got a recording of a live set they did, and sat down, determined to hear them out and hoping that I would prove myself right once and for all. But that didn’t happen. Somehow, I must have finally become “ready” for Fleet Foxes, because after listening to them a second time I have not gone a day with playing “Mykonos” or “He Doesn’t Know Why.” The harmonies are captivating, the drumming is enchanting, and the solo acoustic songs are flat-out stunners. And these guys are just a bunch of bearded hillbillies… from Seattle? It still doesn’t make sense, but then again, considering how Rock & Roll got its start from Ragtime, R&B, and country, is there any reason it needs to?

The plain and simple truth is, these guys knocked me out of my socks with a sound I never expected to hear from people born after 1975, and I couldn’t be happier to have been wrong about them the first time. Last time that happened, it was the Decemberists, and considering my previous comment it’s easy to see how that turned out. That’s the thing about music. It doesn’t always hit you right the first time, but let it sink its claws in a little and soon you can’t believe what you were missing.

We’ll see if that holds true for next week.

Has it really been seven weeks since I last wrote anything here? Well I guess that says a lot about the current state of affairs in the gaming world, let alone my own. To keep it short, college has become a bit of a mother-fucker this year, and the increased pressure from that, plus a few self-proposed changes in my disgusting habits–trying to keep up with the news, make more time for reading books and magazines, getting out of the computer chair every now and then–have left me very short on time for writing blog entries, and even playing some of the great games coming out has been difficult. However, that is not to say I have not persevered. So without further ado, it’s time to talk games.

The first game I’ve tackled is the last game I mentioned on here — Metroid Prime 3: Corruption. After only a few hours with the game, I was totally in love with the control scheme and blabbering to anyone who’d listen about how refreshing it was to play a shooter like Prime that placed an emphasis on interface; not just between the user and the controller but the character and the environment. Prime is truly an adventure game at heart. And so long as we forgive them game its historical conceits–everything seems made for a morphball to tunnel through, never naturally structured–the atmosphere the game presents is overly engaging. No two hallways are alike, no gimmicky puzzle must ever be repeated time and time again for the designers to get their jollies; Prime is a game that was made by people in love with the lore they created, and it clearly shows.

However, I must say that all is not gold in the land of Samus. There are several flaws with the latest Metroid that harken back to the roots of the franchise, as well as a few gaming cliches that should have been swept aside. First and foremost, the continuing, persistent use of voice-over directives that require the player to bring up the map before they stop are incredibly obnoxious. I cannot think of a more profound way of pulling the user out of the experience than to beat them over the head with instructions and insistent objective reminders. Yes, I know that I have to find an item capable of opening the next type of door in order to shut down the core reactor that will lower the shield and let me get into the giant seed that has plunged into the planet, corrupting all the life on its surface. You told me about it right before I turned the game off last night, I don’t think I’ve forgotten.

And please, must you belittle your own effort at making this game so beautiful by putting a time requirement on the last level of the game? I’ve played for 15 hours to get there, why the hell do I get 15 minutes to run through it? My friend, a longtime fan of the series, still to this day loads up a copy of Metroid Prime just to look around at all the detail in that game’s world. In Elysia, the Chozo-influenced world of Corruption, gorgeous mosaic artwork adorns the floors and doorways of all the floating buildings, and no one but a few steam-powered robots are there to badger me while I study them. There should be no concerns of “pacing” in a Metroid game; the entire purpose of the series was, until this game, to emphasize detachment, isolation, and the sense of wonder and fear one has in exploring a new environment. There were no commander’s orders to report to Waypoint A and grab Plot Device C, just suit upgrades imperative to your own survival. The further you pressed into the core of Zebes or Norion, that progression was made at your own risk, by your own accord. The fate of the galaxy was not in a bounty hunter’s hands.

I know a lot of people in the press said that the first level of MP3 is incongruous with the rest of the game, that it felt forced and too much like a Halo set-up for it to be truly Metroid. I agree, to an extent. Samus should not be the pawn of the Galactic Federation, she is and always has been an autonomous, independent figure. She has been a beacon of feminine power in the gaming world for too long to be forced to obey orders from some generic army goon, who we cannot and will not feel empathy towards as his ship is attacked by Space Pirates. That bastard got what he deserved.

In fact, the entirety of this game it feels like Samus is never really where she is supposed to be. After being attacked by Dark Samus (spoilarz olol), she is fitted with a new suit that gives her access to something called Hypermode: an essential yet utterly shallow game mechanic. After using this mode for too long, Samus will become corrupted and you have to expell an energy tank’s worth of energy to recover. Otherwise, you pop into it, fire off a salvo of lasers to kill anyone in your way, then pop back out. If the regular weapon and missiles were not so inaffective against the normal enemies, this would be entirely unnecessary. But that is a minor nitpick at this point. What I’m trying to explain is that Samus, or You, wakes up in this new power suit, “rebuilt” so to speak by the Federation and charged with saving the world. But you’re a bounty hunter. This feels more like the storyline of Bionic Woman (more on that one later) than Metroid. If only the game wasn’t so damn good, I would be outraged as a casual fan of the series.

So yes, Corruption was awesome. It’s about 16 hours long, the controls were never a burden unless a very precise aim was needed to hit a target (not often enough to cause me greif, thankfully), the levels are stunning for a Wii title, and the core mechanics of older Metroid games make a few welcome cameos–I’m looking at you, stacking beams. Overall, in a year starved for good games exclusive to the system, Metroid Prime 3 makes for a great breath of fresh air for Wii owners, and will at least make the wait until November that much shorter. Recommended.

Yikes. I really got on a tangent in this post. I’m going to just put this up as its own topic and post another article about the rest of the games, music, books, anime, and TV I was going to mention. Maybe two articles. Maybe a whole series.

To be perfectly frank, I have no idea what exactly the title for this post means. I needed to put something in the box, and some letters flew from my fingers. The rest, as they say, is history.

I’ve been feeling a bit distant from gaming lately. I still keep up with the news regularly — and my engagement in gaming-related discussions and the like have not waned in any discernible way — but something about the actuality of playing something has become something almost revolting. I still clock in a few hours on LOTRO nightly, trying my damnedest to get a steed and hit level 50 to hand with all the other big boys, but turning on my PS3 or Wii for something other than watching a movie or downloading games — yeah, I’m buying stuff and not playing it… how sick is that? — is simply no longer occuring. I think the problem lies somewhere with my decision to plow through FFXII this summer, before moving on to another game, as I still have ten or twelve hours to clock in there that I am wondering if I even have in me. But, damnit, sooner or later the pile of shame will crush me and I’ll have to play something to live with myself. I just hope writing about it will work as some sort of… catalyst for my gaming soul to get its ass in gear. That, and the trip I’m taking to New York should allow for great DS moments.

Instead of video games, I’ve been occupying a lot of time with chores, work, golf, movies, and books. one-upping the nation’s brightest minds. At its heart, Bourne is simply trying to get to the next place in one piece, to find out why he is a killing machine and who turned him in to one. He is intense, driven, and simultaneously selfless, risking life and limb for old friends and complete strangers that may be able to provide him with a clue as to where to go next. Its stunts are wild but never extraordinary. Its violence is brutal but controlled. Its a movie that is practically engineered to have plaudits whooping and pundits quitely nodded with grudging approval. In short, a hard film to hate that — even if it was less entertaining than the spectacle of Die Hard 4 — is solidly built and well-directed by the seemingly unstoppable Paul Greengrass. I urge you all to see this movie.

Ahh… so where does that leave me? I think I was going to write something about how Nintendo has been completely ignoring its major titles coming out this year, or something truly compelling about how the Wii is essentially what the GameCube could have been, given a few changes in the industry. I could have also written about some of those bloody books I’ve been reading (short story: Suite was good, Cussler’s Black Wind is feeling a bit stale so far, and Harry Potter you’ve heard enough about). But I think that having finally written something after a two week absence is good enough for me, and I’ll leave things here. There’s a horse that needs buying.

—————-
Now playing: Interpol – Pace Is the Trick
via FoxyTunes

I guess I only have myself to blame for this one: after promising, or really just implying, that I would be writing a review of each of the press conferences individually, and then finding myself utterly sucked into the void of the Electronic Entertainment Expo for what must now be the sixth year running, I can offer no defense as to why I have taken nearly two weeks to compose a new entry to this blog. No defense, save for Jeff Bell.

I find that whole story, as a member of GAF, to be a sad summation of the video game industry. If we’re at a point where the bitching and moaning of the internet masses can cause a public official to stoop so low as to create a forum account to get his shits and giggles from, then I really don’t think we’ve come very far from the video games industry that your parents and their parents always said was a waste of time, childish, and rotting our brains. Yes, the internet rots our brains, but isn’t that supposed to be one of the reasons we love it? It worked for TV.

Anyway, I’m not really sure where I was going with that thought. I have a lot on my mind in terms of E3 and the week that has occurred since, but I don’t know if I’ll be sufficiently capable of discussing that all tonight, when I have just finished Harry Potter’s seventh retelling, and am both emotionally and mentally flabbergasted by what I should say. I guess I’ll just get to putting it all into words. Words that may spoil.

I think that, right now, given all the changes in my life this summer, particularly in terms of losing things I hold dear, that something in me has been forever lost with this final chronicle of the teenage wizard. Since seventh grade, I have been reading these novels–essentially growing up with the character, though Mrs. Rowling’s prolonged drought between novels 5, 6, and 7 has stretched that on a bit more than expected– and it is with both joy and sorrow that I set about pillaging my way through the new book. To start, I wasn’t exactly ready to be back with Harry just yet. I saw Order of the Phoenix on Friday (definitely not the spectacle I wanted it to be, but enjoyable all the same) to get myself primed for the heavy injection of Potter I would be receiving the coming morning–midnight launches just aren’t my scene–but part of the trouble may have arisen from my hurried finished of the admittedly stellar Suite Francaisse. (Short side note: the second half of the book, Dolce, was an incredibly stirring 130-odd pages of prose. It was like reading a short and to-the-point version of a Jane Austin novel, without the old English pomp and circumstance and with a bit of the WWII mystique. Definitely worth reading for fans of rich writing, strong characters, and compelling fiction.) Having set this down, I gathered my wits and dove headlong into the 758 pages of Hallows, expecting nothing and everything at the same time.

I suppose that the first few chapters offered that quick reward the two years (it was two years, right?) wait had us fans yearning for, with a quick reveal of the Dark Lord’s plans and return to Harry at the Dursleys (sic), for one last time, as he is approaching 17 and the end of his time under the magical protection bestowed upon all underage wizards. We then get a brilliant “Flight of the Phoenix” chapter –yes, a terrible pun, but so, so fitting– in which we lose possibly the strongest of the Order and a glimpse of how ghastly Rowling is willing to go in her detailing of the wizarding violence. Then there’s a prolonged reprieve, in which we are at the Burrow, planning the Horcrux quest, getting ready for the wedding, and generally sitting around waiting for the next big thing. the new Minister of Magic drops in to give some bizarre remnants of Dumbledore’s will to the kids, and then we get to the first of the books several nadirs: the Bill and Fleur wedding.

Now, I have nothing against Bill and Fleur. They’re fine secondary characters. But I honestly thought I read an entire chapter to find out two things they could have stuck in anywhere: Luna’s father has a weird symbol on his necklace and Voldemort has taken over the Ministry. Yeah there was some dirt thrown up about Dumbledore in that chapter too, but it could have honestly been from anyone anywhere in the novel, even if it was Hermione reciting a newpaper clipping (a semi-cheap way of plot development employed throughout the novel with letters, fairy tales, and Daily Prophet excepts), but aside from the chase chapter nothing had yet gotten my fingers clenching the book close, my eyes skimming words as quickly as possible to find out where the events would lead. I think the lack of any sort of Quidditch match may be largely responsible for these initially greivances as well. I mean, what is Harry without his broom?

Anyway, that all leads to another getaway bit, only Harry, Ron, and Hermione are now on their own, and will be for sometime. In fact, the next quarter of the novel is mostly descriptions of the three scratching their head over Horcrux locations while some minor plot development occurs and Harry begins acting like his angsty 15-year-old self did in Order. I did enjoy the Ministry bit immensely, but that also seemed to continue a strange trend for the novel: We have periods of Harry, Ron, and Hermione sitting around discussing what to do and getting angry/upset/bored/etc. followed by a scene where they all use Polyjuice Potion to change their appearance and/or hide under the cloak to get into some dangerous place, get a horcrux or at least try to, and get out. And I kid you not, that happens literally every time they plan a capture. I think I saw a movie similar to this, where the same con was used over and over until it went horribly wrong, but I can’t think of the name.

Anyway, Ron leaves for a while, predictably, and at this point the book was becoming a little too grim and unfriendly, even for a tale that’s taking place during a war/occupation/whathaveyou. So it was great to have a chapter like Bathilda’s Secet come along and make you say Holy Fucking Shit that was not PG. I mean, that and the preceding chapter, Godric’s Hollow, are complete Tim Burton mindfuck material: disguised as old people, looking around in the thick snowdrifts of the cemetary, then going into a creepy, blind old woman’s home that smells like death and getting attacked like that? Pure awesome. Until we get broken-wand Harry-emo going again. Sigh.

But really, I’m not that down on it all. I’m being a little dismissive of the important plot development bits that get sandwiched in between all that angry, stubborn Harry stuff. That’s probably a result of me having tried to will the character into a more likeable, more awesome wizard for so long. Honestly, if he would have just sat there and read some spell books, trained himself in attacks and counters, and maybe brushed up on some wizarding history after the six years of shit he went through, you think we could avoid some of the pitfalls he has in book 7. But… it’s not like I could actually write a better book, I just nag.

And with that, I’m going to leave this summary unfinished and pick up tomorrow with the return of Ron and Dobby. Hopefully getting a bit of this off the old chest will do me some good. We’ll see!

Despair seems to be lingering over me like a little black rain cloud. After the tragedy I suffered in May, today I was forced to put my best friend down, a 13-year-old golden retriever. There’s not much more I will say about that other than it has been one of the most difficult days in my life, and that I will miss him dearly.

Perhaps equally depressing, I’ve been boiling away most of my evenings playing LOTRO (that’s Lord of the Rings Online for those who aren’t in the know). Having not played any MMOs of any sort save for a brief trial-period stint on the original Lineage, the world is shockingly familiar. Essentially, the game plays out like the epic Elder Scrolls titles, only with the added advantage (or disadvantage) of being inhabited by thousands of other dwarves, hobbits, and elves. Indeed, our colorful variety are rather antlike in our manner, marching to and fro, quests in hand, chopping at bears and spiders that may net us m4d l00t or some equally valuable equivalent. It’s a tenuous process that nevertheless feels sufficiently rewarding as each level is gained and new abilities are unlocked. At times, the sheer scale of the world and number of quests facing you can be incredibly daunting, but with continued effort and determination–like a mountaineer scaling Everest–the XP rolls in and you gradually feel more and more like the Saviour of Middle-earth you set out to become.

What I think to be the key to this game’s many hooks is the Deed system. By performing a range of different tasks, such as visiting all the ruins in one area or killing X number of Goblins, players can unlock additional Trait points (little stat modifiers that make you heal faster, less vulnerable to certain attacks, etc.) or, better yet, titles. These little sayings are attached to your name in the game, so for instance I can be Aragorn, Bane of the Barrows, or Gimli, Defender of Ered Luin, or just Sam Adams, Shire Brewmaster. So not only are you completing quests for the sake of building your character, you’re getting new names and buffs the more you branch out and explore the world, too. And if the content releases remain steady–Turbine just released a pack that added and entire new area to the game, which is essentially like a 15% content increase–then I can see my dwarf remaining a protector of the Shire, growing fierce with age, for quite some time. Just no Role-playing in my presence, Tolkein-sluts. I will shove my lute down your throat if I so much as see you typing elvish in my Fellowship.

And as an aside, I’ve started working my way through Planet Earth. Two words: Holy Fuckingshit. This is undoubtedly one of the coolest, most amazing documentaries I’ve ever seen. If you haven’t seen the show, go buy it. DVD, HD-DVD, Blu-ray, I don’t care. This is mandatory viewing.

I’m not even going to go into why I haven’t written a damned thing in two weeks. Let’s get busy.

I am officially in love with Cormac McCarthy…’s writing. After reading The Road last month I went to the bookstore and purchased the soon-to-be-a-theatrical-film No Country For Old Men, and it was–in a word– stunning. I’ll be very up front about it all: the man does not write comedies. Both books are dark and tragic in their own way, full of death and fear and brutality. Yet at the end of both novels, you realize that the point of the book wasn’t to envelop you in this violent and bloodthirsty reality, but instead to celebrate the smaller victories that come with even the biggest tragedies. I honestly cannot allow myself to say any more on the subject, as ruining either work would feel downright sinful, but rest assured that spending your money on either book will bring you hours of rapture and a strong dosage of enlightenment. For me, having recently suffered a rather dark hour in my own life, finding some solace in McCarthy’s bare prose and terse worlds was truly a blessing. I consider it my duty to inform you that such a feeling should not be hoarded, but shared with as many people as possible. So, go buy a book you bums. It’s summer, after all. I doubt you’re doing anything more productive.

BUT BUT BUT! Before you close this tab (you lazy little scumbuckets that can’t read more than one-hundred word posts I spit at you), Allow me some more gushing.

Planet Earth. I just got the thing on Blu-Ray and–after watching the first episode in HD a few weeks ago–I can’t think of anything I’m more excited to do that pop this bitch in tomorrow. If I ever for a moment regretted purchasing a PS3, this little gem has made it all worth it. Seriously, I haven’t even popped it in yet but somehow owning the series has lifted my spirits and brought a sparkle to my eye. Nature is a beautiful thing, and I am anxious to finally watch something that accurately captures its glory.

Afro Samurai is another one of my purchases, but I haven’t yet watched this Director’s Cut. Apparently most of the new footage is for the sex scene (BOOBIES BOOBIES BOOBIES!), but either way the show is some of the most balls-out ass-kickingly (not a real word) good anime I’ve seen in a while. Of course, the other anime I’m watching is Monster, which is far from ass-kicking but still good, so I guess you could say that I’m in good company as far as video is concerned.

Unfortunately though I haven’t had time to play my purchased copy of Odin Sphere, since I am boycotting myself from playing anything until I beat FFXII, which also means I’m waiting to buy Tomb Raider Anniversary, something I’m rather giddy to sink my teeth into. The other side of this coin is actually uplifting as far as I’m concerned: I’ve stopped playing Pokemon. Yes, I became champion, saw the 150, and quit. I know there’s a whole ‘nother island to go see, and all the 354 or something remaining pokemon to grab, but fuck it, I have more important games to play. Like Lunar Knights. And Tomb Raider. Bah, talking about pokeys gets me angry. I think I’ll leave off here for now. I’m going to go start Suite Francaisse tomorrow (finally!) and of course binge on Planet Earth. I’ll hopefully be back with more on those soon.

I guess the last entry took the wind out of me. It’s certainly been a while since I’ve managed to come around and punch anything in to this little text field that was worth punching in, but I’ll spare the lengthy diatribes for another time and just chat about some recent goings-on.

Since the last time I posted, Arctic Monkeys released their second CD, Favourite Worst Nightmare, and I’ve probably listened to the whole thing well beyond a dozen times. At just over 38 minutes, the disc is an dense compilation of break-ups, breakdowns, cultural criticisms and wry ballads about sex kittens now domesticated. It’s every bit what you’ve come to expect from the explosive little band of Brit youngsters, with a dash of cock-punching thrown in for good measure. If you like rock, then be prepared to hear some of the best guitar and drum coordination this side of the year 2000. I do not exaggerate.

Other than music, I’ve been dividing my time up betwixst a medley of anime, sci-fi, and good old fashion gaming. In terms of the latter, I’ve recently detailed the rekindled love affair between myself and Pokemon Diamond on the aL forums, plus I’ve been finding spare moments to level up and explore the world of Ivalice once more in Final Fantasy XII. I really wish that the PS3/Wii hype hadn’t occured at the same time as this game’s release, because if it weren’t for those things I honestly believe that I could have written about this game for months on end. (Which reminds me, I never did finish the Legend of Zelda articles on here… blast it all.) Something about playing an RPG where the story is so rich and the characters so complex and the combat so effortless that at times I merely steer my party around with naught but the analog sticks just seems so divine. Being able to type long sentences about such a game is also quite enriching, but I shant detract from my love session to indulge in that just yet. In reality, words are lost in describing how beautiful the world of FFXII is, even in its starkest dungeons and most vile of villains’ smiles. Undoubtedly, my game of the year for 2006. Bar none.

But what of the pokeymons? Ah, pokemon. Such an interesting one, that. I really do like the psuedo-3D that Game Freak went with in this one, as well as the nice big touch screen buttons that you tap on to carry out battles. Both add a great deal of charm and endearment to a series that is growing considerably long in the tooth. I cannot say I have great pleasure in the first 4 or so hours of the game that I have played. Something about the fact that the wild pokemon always being so weak and so repetitive (500 types and I’ve only got 14 logged in my Pokedex? What. The. Fuck.) and that first dungeon always being Rock pokeys just annoys me. And I had to get running shoes to move fast? What the hell was I wearing to begin with? Cinderblocks?

Early nags aside, the game does show some serious potential to fuck up my summer. I’ve been limiting my play sessions quite moderately, but once the looming figure of finals week has passed over me, it’s balls-out gaming time for me. Ninja Gaiden Sigma demo (Fucking SICK! You have no idea.), FFXII, and Pokemons to keep me company at the pool is going to make for a May like no other. Or like every other, only better. Either way, me and my Fire-spitting, Fear-of-God-inducing baboon Momo are going to be kicking ass and taking names for quite some time. That is, unless someone hands me my ass on the Nintendo WFC.

Two more bits I want to jot down here. First off, I’ve been trying to force-feed myself some anime, since I’ve been rather avoiding the stuff overall for the past few months. I’m working through Samurai 7 (good), and I totally made Afro Samurai at the top of my Buy List (right up there with the Pan’s Labyrinth DVD), but the one that has be intrigued the most right now is Madhouse’s Claymore. It’s essentially the same fucking cartoon we’ve seen forever: rogue, solitary antihero goes around killing demons or whatever in different towns, saves an obnoxious little brat and ends up buddying up with the kid to become a more “human” figure and learn a bit more about right and wrong, or something. What’s endearing to me is the animation quality and apparent spit-polish that’s been put into such a straight-forward plot. The visuals are truly striking, and each of the three episodes aired so far have been enjoyable from start to finish, enough so that I’m actually eager for my next filling. Madness, I say.

Oh, and then there’s some show called Battlestar Galactica that I decided to download and try out. I think you’ve probably heard of it. All I can say is holy shit how was I so late to this fucking party. The show has everything I require from life: a hot chick walking around talking nonsense while being naked or wearing something incredibly hot, a scientist that is out of his freakin’ mind with hallucinations and paranoia, a craggy old commander struggling to fight a war and keep his life together, hulking-ass robots that trying to wipe humanity out entirely, and a giant game of Guess Who’s the Cylon that only gets more and more intriguing with each episode. Color me impressed, folks. I’m about halfway through season one, and after watching the past seven episodes and the miniseries I’m just about ready to call myself a fan. And as my parting words for the evening, I would recommend you becoming one, too.

Well, it’s been a bit longer than the usually lengthy intermission between posts, but I’m back after a stressful and stress-relieving week. Some exciting things have been going on, some not so much. Let’s get down to the brass tacks then.

First, I’ve re-established my love for Interpol, the original hair-cut kings and princes of melodrama from New York. The group has some of the best sounding guitars in modern rock; not quite the roaring noise of metal but also dislike the wailing and waining of emo six-stringers. It’s more akin to a siren’s call, hauntingly ethereal yet hypnotically enticing, pulling sounds from the air and weaving them into some fine symphony. In total, the band’s two CDs (Antics and Turn on the Bright Lights) only span a scant 21 tracks, but I’d say about 16 of these are more than worth the time it would take to get ahold of them. So, then, that’s your homework for the week.

What’s more exciting, though, is that yesterday (today for me, and what a long one it’s been… 20 hours and ticking) I was lucky enough to go to see The Decemberists at the Hard Rock. Yes, this is the same group that I have said people must get off the cocks of, and the same group that I was wooed by some two or three months ago. However, what I failed to mention then that I am now capable of telling you all is that the band is fucking unbelievable in concert. From the moment the Russian anthem begins to the end of the encore (The Mariner’s Revenge Song … for those that know the song you know how pants-soiling awesome this was) there was never a moment where the group faltered. Each song connected and slowly ramped up the kinetic energy of the room until the standing-room only crowd began to literally stomp with beast-like fervor for more; our aural appetite was insatiable.

And then they came out and played Mariner’s, complete with an awful paper mache + sheet as a giant whale. Nevertheless, it was more than sufficient, and I left with “the boys” stunned at the spetacle I had just been fortunate enough to be privy to. I don’t think I can beat around the bush anymore on this subject: the band is great in concert, and I would gladly see them again anytime.

That being the highlight of my week, let me bullet point the rest: I’ve traveled over 600 miles this weekend, in car, and my brain is currently popping and sizzling like a bit of plastic in the microwave. I’ve been on go-karts, ATVs, truck-like workhorse vehicles, dirt bikes, and God knows what else. I’ve had barbeque pork, sushi, ribs, lobster, and plenty of chocolate in the last few days to probably feed five people. I’ve listened to over eight hours of podcasts, radio, and iPod music in my car in two days. I got refused at the Hard Rock Hotel because I couldn’t think of a restaurant name (don’t ask). I’ve stressed over tests that a five year old can pass, sold ice cream for fundraisers, and learned more about syphilis and measles than any sane man would care to know. I also have a cold sore on the side of my mouth that makes me think I have TB or Herpes, even though that would be utterly impossible. But still, I appear to be what they call “sane.” Go figure that one out.

I said last week that I would be reading Suite Francaise, however this is untrue. Instead of opting for the novella/French WWII drama, I went with the quirky yet gripping little book called Snow Crash, by Neal Stephenson. For those unfamiliar with the title, imagine a future where America and the rest of the world has been completely commercialized so that governments no longer exists, but instead we are merely a collection of sovereignties owned by big international businesses. Now add on top of this a dash of sci-fi tech (of course) and a virtual, Second Life-esque world called the Metaverse that people “goggle” into from anywhere in the world, where anyone can be anything from a massive prick (literally) to a rock god. Then add some of the best humor you can possibly think of, and you’re getting close to the glory of this book.

Short version: Read it, if you have any interest in science fiction, the internet, or high speed pizza delivery.

Also, I’ve been keeping pace with Guns, Germs, and Steely Objects, and that’s going rather well. It’s fun to learn some of the more obscure facts that Diamond presents, but unfortunately the book is far too dry and scholarly in its writing to be recommended without reservations. But… it’s growing late, so I’ll cut myself off here and hopefully pick back up in a few days with something exciting to discuss.

I’m not going to link to it, but many of you probably know that today marked the big reveal of GTA IV, or the Second Coming as far as most of the gaming world has been hyping it (although Super Paper Mario is fighting the Master Chief for the title as we speak). Suffice it to say, the trailer is all too brief and all-too-familiar as far as I’m concerned. We’re looking at a very nicely detailed Liberty City and a Russian immigrant who sounds like he used to be in the human trafficking business. Yawn. I’m sure the game will be all sorts of knee-to-the-balls awesome, but I’m just too ambivalent towards the franchise and its massive herd-like following to care.

At the same time, it’s never felt so good to slam some prissy Greek’s head into a door. That’s right, God of War II has been out for two weeks now and I’m currently about 55% or so through the game. To put it bluntly, the game is like sex for my hands and a rim job for my eyes. The combo system is utterly flawless and the game–which I’ve manned up and decided to tackle on Hard–is masterfully balanced. Each foe has a weakness to exploit and a strength to avoid. Unlike similar PS2 action romp Devil May Cry, the game rewards patience and precision. Carefully executed combo strings and magic timing are far more effective here than, say, DMC3′s aerial juggles and dash-slash handiwork. That’s not to say that the DMC games are bad–the original is one of my top favorites on PS2, and the third game is hard enough to make me want to kick a baby–it’s just that their particular style of game is more oriented around the flashiness of your movements where as Kratos’ controls are oriented around a whirlwind of chain-slinging death.

I could wax on about the story, but essentially the material is a direct continuation of God of War the original, with Kratos being a bitter so-and-so that wants to go all ancient-emo on Zeus. It’s not really the story that matters, good though it may be. What’s amazing about this game is the presentation. The fact that the tutorial level is a fight against the mammoth Colossus of Rhodes trumps even the momentous Hydra battle of the last title, and the scale of the game only widens as you move on. Whipping massive steeds to move an island, attacking Titans, and hauling ass atop a Pegasus whilst clipping the wings from a gryphon is just a taste of what the first twelve hours alone offer. I can’t really say it too many times: the game is fucking fantastic.

Elsewhere in the world, I’ve been rather intrigued by a couple things. First off, the Folding@home project is a perfect way to justify my electricity bills, and I’m really excited by how much support the project has gotten from PS3 owners (over 50,000 unique contributions). The system acts like a screen saver–I’m currently running it while typing this–as the globe slowly revolves, revealing the glow of city lights in a twinkling white and the active PS3s folding in a prominent yellow. It’s almost like using the weather forecast on the Wii: zooming out, spinning around the world and pulling in on Prague or Paris or Kyoto and seeing who else is putting their time in to find the cure to serious illnesses and cancers. Of course, it’s not something that I’m lauding because its on PS3–I run f@h on my PC too–it’s just such a positive feature and such a simple way to show you’re willing to help that I can’t think of a reason NOT to do it. Aside from the electric bill, that is.

Speaking of ways to help out, I just finished off Beyond Malthus a little paperback by the Worldwatch Institute that nicely summarizes the world’s coming damnation. In 21 chapters, the book identifies 19 issues present in the world today that, coupled with population growth (the number one problem facing us today), mark the coming of bad times for the world. Though the book was written in 1999 and we’re all still alive and doing moderately well, the facts are indismissable: fisheries are shrinking, land is becoming more and more densely populated, water supplies are dropping, and death tolls in third world countries are on the rise. It certainly says “fuck the spoon, you’ll need a whole crate of sugar to wash this down,” but I’d expect nothing less from an economic/ecological survey. And while the book provides no solid answers or solutions of its own to the dilemmas it presents, it does serve as a rather insightful and harrowing look at just how precious the world really is. I sure hope it doesn’t go anywhere anytime soon.

Ahh, what else… I’m reading Guns, Germs, and Steel, another dry droll about environmental determinism as a means to explain why whites rule the world and why indigenous people get slaughtered, so I guess that’s new. I’m about to start into Suite Francaisse as well, which got rave reviews last year when it was released, and there’s an insurmountable number of games in my Pile of Shame right now. Just looking at my dresser makes me weep in pity at my busy life and inability to plow through even the most simplest of games (Devil May Cry 2, anyone?). So if I make any progress there–Motorstorm is dying to be played–I guess I’ll jot a note down. Other than that, life’s just the same old, same old around here. Probably won’t write again until next Thursday, so Go Gators in the meantime and sayonara .

I will be the very first to admit it: I am a supporter of the PlayStation brand. I grew up with Nintendo consoles, and still love them dearly to this day, but when it comes to gaming I know that the large stock of my great game experiences will invariably fall on a Sony system.

I actually remember buying my first PlayStation. It was not long after the price dropped to $99, and it was at a Target near my home. My friend had bought one a few months earlier and picked up with it a few choice games, most noticeable among them being Spyro 2: Ripto’s Rage. This was my first Insomniac game, and from the moment I first controlled that floaty, purple dragon and started my quest to collect as many orbs as possible, I knew I was hooked. I even remember my first thoughts on the DualShock: it was uncomfortable, totally not ergonomic, and a complete pile of crap next to my beloved N64 pad. But there was something about the games that made me spring for the system, and it’s been the same story ever since: PlayStation is where the awesome is at.

Actually, on a slightly embarrassing note, I wasn’t even a hardcore gamer back then. I picked up an N64 title every two months depending on the reviews in Nintendo Power, but when it came down to genres and control schemes and music and the basic geek praise for Sakaguchi, Miyamoto, Naga, and the rest of the gaming gods at that time, I was utterly oblivious. I knew what a good game was, but I was just playing for the sake of the experience. There was no attachment or investment in the Spyro or Mario series, I just thought they were of a kind of quality other games lacked.

And so that brings me to the point of today’s post. In an interview with 1UP’s Luke Smith, Phil Harrison has done the odd thing for a Sony representative and spoken in terms that do not come across as arrogant nonsense. You can see for yourself, if you’d like. But it’s not really what he said that has driven me to sit down and type (I’ll blame that on a desire to not watch Econ lectures), it’s the message itself. Read closely those few responses he gives. This is a man that knows how to bait the reader and interviewer with hints of future greatness. He exudes a sort of placidity that shows immense control of will, as if he himself were able to change the face of Sony with a simple rubber duck. I say these things not to suggest that Mr. Harrison has some sort of supernatural ability to reconstruct the image of a caring, down-to-earth Sony — I personally doubt that such a thing ever existed — rather I emphasize this discussion because this is what needs to be done.

Sony has, for nearly a year, been caught in a downward spiral. They were late and bloated in their E3 press conference. They lost rumble in their controllers and “ripped-off” Nintendo with the tilt sensors. They sold two SKUs of a product when they criticized Microsoft for doing the same. They lost the GTA series as an exclusive. They undershipped a product that is over-priced. They had issues with scaling, backwards compatibility, Blu-ray diodes, online titles, and much, much more. In short, they practical drove their momentum into the ground, and only on rare occassions did they ever show signs that something about this behavior was wrong.

But here we are, a week from the release of Virtua Fighter 5. Tomorrow Full Auto 2 becomes the first third-party demo to hit the PlayStation Network. The thesis project flOw is right around the corner. In March, we get an online version of Motorstorm and Europe sees what might be the best launch line-up for a system in the history of videogames. And there’s GDC on March 7th, bringing us back once again to the man this post is all about, Phil Harrison.

So what, then, is the point of this lengthy and expansive post of mine? Timing. In my honest and — I hope — mostly unbiased opinion, this is the time when Sony needs to get out of the gutter, wipe the blood from its nose and stand firm in the face of the opposition. George Orwell is famous for writing a story in which a man changes history to coincide with the actions of his government, his actions unnoticed by the public at large. That story is far from a work of fiction, its message still rings true nearly sixty years after it was first put to paper. People are willing to ignore, forget, perhaps even believe anything that may or may not have happened in the past so long as you provide for them a present and future in line with their desires. We can forgive you, Sony. All you have to do is start talking. Show us a near-final build of Heavenly Sword. Show us a glimpse of Killzone 2. Show us a demo of Metal Gear Solid 4.

The public is waiting, and when the spotlight falls on Phil Harrison once more, three weeks from today, let us finally hear why it is that PlayStation systems have a 10 year lifespan. Tell us why we should play beyond instead of jump in. Tell us why the large hard disks, HDMI, and free online service are critical tools. Tell us something to make us think back fondly to our times playing Spyro, or unboxing that launch day PS2. The ball is in your court, all you need to do is swing.