Not really sure whether this is worth writing about, since my understanding of it is shaky at best, but I am going to have a stab at it regardless.
Isn't region locking a load of contrived horseshit?
My main area of region locking interest is games, I am not hugely into films, and tend to find that even though there is usually an unnecessary gap between releases in different areas, most films tend to be available globally. I don't really know enough about it to have stated that so confidently, but there we go.
My gripe is with games. My first run-in with region-based troubles was with Xenogears. I received a copied Xenogears disc as a young man, which is very naughty, until you consider that it wasn't available in the UK, and hasn't been released here since. Chipping the PS1 was a common occurrence (as I remember, at least), and it seems that as consoles become more complex it has quieted down, although it is sure to be popular amongst certain circles regardless (tech whizzes, criminals etc). Chipping enabled you to play games from other regions, although the main aim was to play cheap, copied games (I imagine).
With the internet now morphed into an all-powerful being, such retro naughtiness as copying discs has quieted down in favour of emulators which can play a huge catalogue of games on a computer, rather than having to muck around with the guts of actual consoles. Official console releases and OS updates are often implementing blocks that are trying to keep pace with hackers/modders/whatever they are called nowadays who are developing these emulations. I discovered this while looking for a port of Xenogears which was playable on the PSP. Playing PS1 games on the PSP has become a very simple thing thanks to the PlayStation Store, which enables customers to buy downloadable versions of the game, fairly cheaply aswell, which can then either be played on the PS3 system or sent to a PSP.
The system is there, officially there, for these ports to be done and for Sony and friends to make money, rightfully so, out of it. I have recently, as I'm sure I've mentioned, purchased Final Fantasies 7 through 9 in this way, and I have enjoyed the experience of playing them through again very much. I was doing some research earlier on, looking into what other RPGs have made their way to the PS store, so that I could enjoy more retro delights on the go. I looked down a frankly gargantuan list of old titles that have been released, which included Wild Arms (1 and 2) and Xenogears. I was delighted. Genuinely fucking delighted. I was excited that I'd get to play these games, and buy them legitimately, since I actually could.
But I can't. Because the duopolising fuckpowers of the trans-Pacific Sony twins (Brett and Shinji) hate anywhere that isn't North America or Japan. The amount of downloadable games released in Japan and the US is so staggeringly skewed compared to the stuff they've put out over here it's actually ridiculacious. There is no issue of physically making and transporting these games, even if a particular game isn't expected to sell particularly well, surely there's benefit of putting it up there? Surely the effort of making a game available in the European store isn't so restrictively high that there's a chance Brett and Shinji will make a loss on it?
I realise there are other issues, such as, in some instances, complicated rights/royalties involved which means that more care is needed with releases in different areas. Also, some areas of the world are slightly more squeamish and so games are modified so that they get, ironically, butchered versions of games with all the scowling digitally modified so that all the characters are smiling a plastic smile. But surely the vast majority of games aren't so steeped in unwieldy small print?
All of which doesn't really explain why there are less games on the European Playstation store. It's likely that the US and Japan are markets which make more money for the bastard twins, but maybe if you put more games on the store you'd make more money.
My argument has collapsed under the weight of its own infantile impotence. I look like a peuce-jowled parody of a South Park internet gamer as I write this. Arse.
Release Xenogears as downloadable content in the UK you bastards. I jest wants to pleh mah geeeem! AH WANTS TO PLEH MAH GEEEEEEEEM!!
XENOSAGA WAS OVERRATED, GIVE ME FEI FONG WONG!
FEI FONG WONG!
FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEI FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG WOOOOOOOOOOOONG!!!!!!!!!
P.S. I am old enough to know better.
Wednesday 30 June 2010
Monday 28 June 2010
E3: Evil Entertainment Effects
The radio is on a timer to come on automatically in the morning, because when I am too lazy to get up early it stops the dog from ravaging the upholstery. I usually knock it off when I get up, but on a whim in the week I left it on.
It goes to Radio Wales, it's a DAB radio, and I'd have it set to 6Music or XFM but there's no digital coverage in my area yet. So Radio Wales it is. The little bit I caught was a Jamie and Louise phone-in segment, the type of public opinion gathering show which is often lightly derided on the Rhod Gilbert show. This particular show's focus was along the lines of 'Do we do enough to remember our war dead, not just the ones what died in the World Wars?'.
What followed was a string of callers somehow affiliated with the army saying "No we don't do enough, X amount of people died in war Y" and then a string of callers somehow affiliated with anti-warfare saying "We do too much, warfare is barbaric". I think if we went around all the time remembering those who died in various wars there'd be very little time to do anything, especially in countries, such as the UK, with quite a long history of warfare. It is also missing the point that perhaps a number of these wars were fought so that the populace could live freely, not so that everyone could live in an unending morbid glorification of people who've died. Wars/conflict starts for a variety of different reasons, and I think soldiers of a war which is generally considered necessary for defence/protection are more likely to be remembered than in a war that is widely considered unjust and cynical. Having said that, I am not knowledgeable about war or its justifications, nor am I eager to become so.
What annoyed me about the broadcast, and is in an area I can discuss with some confidence, was a correspondent they had in the studio who was criticising video games (I can only assume he meant all of them) for glorifying warfare. His argument was that children who played war-based video games would be seduced by their glamour and decide to join the military when they grow up.
I'm guessing this gentleman probably isn't a gamer, and unfortunately a number of individuals who find themselves speaking animatedly about games in mainstream media wouldn't know a controller from a cock-ring, which is the only way I can rationalise the naive way they treat the subject.
I will assume, since he didn't go into any detail, that the games which he believes glorify warfare are first person shooters, specifically the Call of Duty series. I'm guessing that it is CoD rather than Halo et al not because those games aren't glorious, but due to the extra-terrestrial nature of those games, I'm sure that the correspondent wouldn't credit gamers with the imagination needed to transpose shooting aliens = good to shooting people = good. Because as everyone knows, gamers lap up what they are presented without applying any value/moral judgement whatsoever.
I would suggest that CoD doesn't glorify warfare. I haven't played or seen the campaign missions in any real depth so I couldn't really touch on that, but given that the main selling point of the series, and modern shooters more generally, seems to be the online multiplayer. I have, however, played through the stories of Halo and Gears of War, and I would hazard a guess that the characters in the CoD storyline are similarly a group of tedious swaggering yahoos. The characters in Halo and Gears of War work because of the cheesy grotesque macho-invincibility of their posing, summed up quite neatly by Marcus Fenix's "Naaaice!" soundclip, but while this works, and is amusing, in gameplay, I wouldn't want to be around them in real life. I suppose it is the same for characters in any medium (or is that too radical a suggestion?), as popular as Gene Hunt is as a character, he is, by today's standard at least, a tool.
In the multiplayer mode unless you are a ludicrously talented player it is likely that in the course of one match you will be killed numerous times. That's hardly the sort of glorification that'll see people rushing to the frontline. "Let's join the army! In an actual conflict we'll likely be dead within seconds!".
But the actual premise itself of 'kids play games and want to become what they play' is complete nonsense. I grew up playing Final Fantasy VII, Tekken and Vigilante 8, meaning that as an adult I should have modified my car with weaponry, thrown a family member into a volcano and saved the world from being destroyed by a meteor. I am currently having my life destroyed by Football Manager 2010, and despite an incredible debut season with Excelsior, which saw my team be promoted as Champions, I have no interest in becoming an ACTUAL football manager. The stress from playing the game has me pulling chunks out of my hair, were I in charge of actual human beings there would be murder.
When I was heavily into Grand Theft Auto 4 I spent the entire time stealing helicopters, flying full-tilt until I reached maximum velocity and then jumping out and watching my character freefall diagonally to the ground, taking full advantage of the glorious cinematographic camerawork, until he made contact with the ground and ragdolled for several feet, leaving a ragged trail of blood up to his broken body. I then, though this may beggar belief, didn't go out and do this in real life.
Surely the point with games is to do things you wouldn't or can't do in real life. I could never become the manager of a young Dutch football team, I wouldn't chop people in half with a three foot long ubersword and I can't blow up an alien mothership from the inside before jettisoning at the last second in an escape pod. But I can play the games, and I do.
I'd suggest that Alex Ferguson didn't start out playing a Football Manager equivalent on the ZX Spectrum, or that playing GTA lead people to steal cars. It's the same argument people use when they say murders happen because the murderer listened to a certain band, read a certain book or had a particular cola preference. Isn't it more likely that the individuals were disturbed beforehand and just latched onto one particular thing when they eventually snapped.
It's probable that some people who played CoD or similar did then go into the army. A huge amount of people have played FPS games, it is statistically probable that a number of them then went into the armed forces, just from dint of probability. I'm also guessing that people who are predisposed to want to join the armed forces are likely to play those sorts of games if they also have an interest in games. In which case the original theory of 'games make people want to join the army' is back to front, as it could very well be that it is the original desire to join the army that led some individuals to buy that game. I would also pre-empt an argument by suggesting that it isn't the duty of that game to present war in a way which would dissuade people from going, should they want to. It is a game. But on the other side of that, as I believe I've already said, I don't think the game is attempting, either explicitly or otherwise, to lure people into the armed forces.
Most of my friends grew up playing games. A number of them have played war-based FPS games. They generally tend to either end up in some form of IT or working in the education system. I'm fairly certain that is wasn't playing Extreme Teacher 2 for the Sega Saturn that led them to that job. None of them are in the armed forces.
Although one of them does now work at a Kung-Fu Dojo, teaching paper-thin rapping dogs how to do the kong foo, but I'm sure that's just a statistical freak occurrence.
The next time someone tells you how evil games/gamers are, give them one of these. Gotta love a lightning screw uppercut. Although that will only prove them right. Damn, hoist by my own video gaming petard.
It goes to Radio Wales, it's a DAB radio, and I'd have it set to 6Music or XFM but there's no digital coverage in my area yet. So Radio Wales it is. The little bit I caught was a Jamie and Louise phone-in segment, the type of public opinion gathering show which is often lightly derided on the Rhod Gilbert show. This particular show's focus was along the lines of 'Do we do enough to remember our war dead, not just the ones what died in the World Wars?'.
What followed was a string of callers somehow affiliated with the army saying "No we don't do enough, X amount of people died in war Y" and then a string of callers somehow affiliated with anti-warfare saying "We do too much, warfare is barbaric". I think if we went around all the time remembering those who died in various wars there'd be very little time to do anything, especially in countries, such as the UK, with quite a long history of warfare. It is also missing the point that perhaps a number of these wars were fought so that the populace could live freely, not so that everyone could live in an unending morbid glorification of people who've died. Wars/conflict starts for a variety of different reasons, and I think soldiers of a war which is generally considered necessary for defence/protection are more likely to be remembered than in a war that is widely considered unjust and cynical. Having said that, I am not knowledgeable about war or its justifications, nor am I eager to become so.
What annoyed me about the broadcast, and is in an area I can discuss with some confidence, was a correspondent they had in the studio who was criticising video games (I can only assume he meant all of them) for glorifying warfare. His argument was that children who played war-based video games would be seduced by their glamour and decide to join the military when they grow up.
I'm guessing this gentleman probably isn't a gamer, and unfortunately a number of individuals who find themselves speaking animatedly about games in mainstream media wouldn't know a controller from a cock-ring, which is the only way I can rationalise the naive way they treat the subject.
I will assume, since he didn't go into any detail, that the games which he believes glorify warfare are first person shooters, specifically the Call of Duty series. I'm guessing that it is CoD rather than Halo et al not because those games aren't glorious, but due to the extra-terrestrial nature of those games, I'm sure that the correspondent wouldn't credit gamers with the imagination needed to transpose shooting aliens = good to shooting people = good. Because as everyone knows, gamers lap up what they are presented without applying any value/moral judgement whatsoever.
I would suggest that CoD doesn't glorify warfare. I haven't played or seen the campaign missions in any real depth so I couldn't really touch on that, but given that the main selling point of the series, and modern shooters more generally, seems to be the online multiplayer. I have, however, played through the stories of Halo and Gears of War, and I would hazard a guess that the characters in the CoD storyline are similarly a group of tedious swaggering yahoos. The characters in Halo and Gears of War work because of the cheesy grotesque macho-invincibility of their posing, summed up quite neatly by Marcus Fenix's "Naaaice!" soundclip, but while this works, and is amusing, in gameplay, I wouldn't want to be around them in real life. I suppose it is the same for characters in any medium (or is that too radical a suggestion?), as popular as Gene Hunt is as a character, he is, by today's standard at least, a tool.
In the multiplayer mode unless you are a ludicrously talented player it is likely that in the course of one match you will be killed numerous times. That's hardly the sort of glorification that'll see people rushing to the frontline. "Let's join the army! In an actual conflict we'll likely be dead within seconds!".
But the actual premise itself of 'kids play games and want to become what they play' is complete nonsense. I grew up playing Final Fantasy VII, Tekken and Vigilante 8, meaning that as an adult I should have modified my car with weaponry, thrown a family member into a volcano and saved the world from being destroyed by a meteor. I am currently having my life destroyed by Football Manager 2010, and despite an incredible debut season with Excelsior, which saw my team be promoted as Champions, I have no interest in becoming an ACTUAL football manager. The stress from playing the game has me pulling chunks out of my hair, were I in charge of actual human beings there would be murder.
When I was heavily into Grand Theft Auto 4 I spent the entire time stealing helicopters, flying full-tilt until I reached maximum velocity and then jumping out and watching my character freefall diagonally to the ground, taking full advantage of the glorious cinematographic camerawork, until he made contact with the ground and ragdolled for several feet, leaving a ragged trail of blood up to his broken body. I then, though this may beggar belief, didn't go out and do this in real life.
Surely the point with games is to do things you wouldn't or can't do in real life. I could never become the manager of a young Dutch football team, I wouldn't chop people in half with a three foot long ubersword and I can't blow up an alien mothership from the inside before jettisoning at the last second in an escape pod. But I can play the games, and I do.
I'd suggest that Alex Ferguson didn't start out playing a Football Manager equivalent on the ZX Spectrum, or that playing GTA lead people to steal cars. It's the same argument people use when they say murders happen because the murderer listened to a certain band, read a certain book or had a particular cola preference. Isn't it more likely that the individuals were disturbed beforehand and just latched onto one particular thing when they eventually snapped.
It's probable that some people who played CoD or similar did then go into the army. A huge amount of people have played FPS games, it is statistically probable that a number of them then went into the armed forces, just from dint of probability. I'm also guessing that people who are predisposed to want to join the armed forces are likely to play those sorts of games if they also have an interest in games. In which case the original theory of 'games make people want to join the army' is back to front, as it could very well be that it is the original desire to join the army that led some individuals to buy that game. I would also pre-empt an argument by suggesting that it isn't the duty of that game to present war in a way which would dissuade people from going, should they want to. It is a game. But on the other side of that, as I believe I've already said, I don't think the game is attempting, either explicitly or otherwise, to lure people into the armed forces.
Most of my friends grew up playing games. A number of them have played war-based FPS games. They generally tend to either end up in some form of IT or working in the education system. I'm fairly certain that is wasn't playing Extreme Teacher 2 for the Sega Saturn that led them to that job. None of them are in the armed forces.
Although one of them does now work at a Kung-Fu Dojo, teaching paper-thin rapping dogs how to do the kong foo, but I'm sure that's just a statistical freak occurrence.
The next time someone tells you how evil games/gamers are, give them one of these. Gotta love a lightning screw uppercut. Although that will only prove them right. Damn, hoist by my own video gaming petard.
Thursday 17 June 2010
I Missed My J-Rock
I spent most of last night engaged in a large scale digi-enema.
That is to say, moving a mass of files from laptops into external hard drive storage, so that the laptops are less sluggish and congested.
An awful lot of data gets into my laptops, as it is necessary for it to store the raw footage from our radio shows (roughly just under 2gb per show and we've been going since November 09) and all the video footage from our sketches, which takes up a gargantuan amount of space. When you factor in the music, podcasts and videos that also find their way from iTunes then the laptops become a bloated mess.
Having a good clear out, even in purely digital terms, can be a very satisfying process. It's the same sort of feeling I got from clearing the back garden of nettles, albeit with significantly reduced chance of getting a farmer's tan.
I decided to also rejig my iPod a bit, since mine doesn't have a huge amount of space on it it is necessary to operate a squad rotation system with the songs, and it has been awhile since I've changed it. I realised if I left it much longer then I'd run the risk of really hating some of my favourite music.
I've been meaning to cobble together a playlist of Japanese music for the radio for a number of weeks now, so I took the opportunity to embark on that effort. Several hours later I realised I managed to fill my iPod almost exclusively with Japanese music, which is a fairly drastic, nostalgic change. It is an odd process where you can listen to music you probably haven't heard for a number of years, and still know all the lyrics. Made even more strange if they are in Japanese (and you aren't in Japanese).
One of the most interesting tracks I rediscovered was 'Nothing Can Be Explained' by Mike Wyzgowski. I warmed to the track a lot more than I had previously, it is strange, hypnotic and faintly sinister. What really hooked me about it, however, was how little information is available on Mike Wyzgowski. He is not to be confused with Mike Wazowski, who is the green thing from off've the Monsters, Inc. After a bit of digging it appears that he is a UK-based artist, who used to be in a band called Garlic. The vague nature of the name makes it very hard to find anything out about them, with the only site that mentions them being their own official website, which is out of date and desolate. There is no mention of them on iTunes or Wikipedia (which these days means they didn't happen) and the only sight of them on Amazon is of old and used albums.
More digging led to the discovery that he was more recently in an outfit called Stations of the West, which is another band name which is almost impossible to search. The only mention of them is on their own myspace. I found them on iTunes, and, having enjoyed the previews, took a chance. I am enjoying them so far, the album is called 'You Missed Yourself'. The standout track for me so far is 'Silly Cow', though the amusing title is surely playing a part in that.
It is strange, and exciting, to have found bands who seem to be mysterious non-entities, at least in terms of the internet's coverage of them. The band searching I did does flag up a more costly habit, however. Having invested an amount of time researching Mike Wyzgowski, when I then found an opportunity to buy an album, I instantly took it, and received it minutes later, thanks to the wonder/danger of the internet. This goes for a number of other things aswell. In the last week I have interpulse purchased two pairs of shoes (a new pair for work and trainers for exersize - they are practical purchases at least) a t-shirt, that album and the newest Football Manager game. I am an idiot.
The purchase of the Football Manager game also informed my data-clearing, as for the game to run smoothly, which it needs to if it is to have the best chance of devastating my life and mind, it'll need a system in good shape. FM is D&D for football nerds, and if the game and the time is right it is like a stat-based black hole which consumes weeks of your life in a blink of an eye.
My reacquainting with football is, as will be obvious, informed by the World Cup, which has sucked me in like a wily Bret Hart playing possum ready to drag me into a small package. I'm just glad some interesting matches have happened now. Switzerland 1, Spain 0 was enjoyable, and Argentina 4, South Korea 1 was similarly great.
Also, this is a special one for you fans of lookalike athletes that were at their best in the late-80s through the mid-90s; Jürgen Klinsmann is the doppelganger of "Rowdy" Roddy Piper.
That is to say, moving a mass of files from laptops into external hard drive storage, so that the laptops are less sluggish and congested.
An awful lot of data gets into my laptops, as it is necessary for it to store the raw footage from our radio shows (roughly just under 2gb per show and we've been going since November 09) and all the video footage from our sketches, which takes up a gargantuan amount of space. When you factor in the music, podcasts and videos that also find their way from iTunes then the laptops become a bloated mess.
Having a good clear out, even in purely digital terms, can be a very satisfying process. It's the same sort of feeling I got from clearing the back garden of nettles, albeit with significantly reduced chance of getting a farmer's tan.
I decided to also rejig my iPod a bit, since mine doesn't have a huge amount of space on it it is necessary to operate a squad rotation system with the songs, and it has been awhile since I've changed it. I realised if I left it much longer then I'd run the risk of really hating some of my favourite music.
I've been meaning to cobble together a playlist of Japanese music for the radio for a number of weeks now, so I took the opportunity to embark on that effort. Several hours later I realised I managed to fill my iPod almost exclusively with Japanese music, which is a fairly drastic, nostalgic change. It is an odd process where you can listen to music you probably haven't heard for a number of years, and still know all the lyrics. Made even more strange if they are in Japanese (and you aren't in Japanese).
One of the most interesting tracks I rediscovered was 'Nothing Can Be Explained' by Mike Wyzgowski. I warmed to the track a lot more than I had previously, it is strange, hypnotic and faintly sinister. What really hooked me about it, however, was how little information is available on Mike Wyzgowski. He is not to be confused with Mike Wazowski, who is the green thing from off've the Monsters, Inc. After a bit of digging it appears that he is a UK-based artist, who used to be in a band called Garlic. The vague nature of the name makes it very hard to find anything out about them, with the only site that mentions them being their own official website, which is out of date and desolate. There is no mention of them on iTunes or Wikipedia (which these days means they didn't happen) and the only sight of them on Amazon is of old and used albums.
More digging led to the discovery that he was more recently in an outfit called Stations of the West, which is another band name which is almost impossible to search. The only mention of them is on their own myspace. I found them on iTunes, and, having enjoyed the previews, took a chance. I am enjoying them so far, the album is called 'You Missed Yourself'. The standout track for me so far is 'Silly Cow', though the amusing title is surely playing a part in that.
It is strange, and exciting, to have found bands who seem to be mysterious non-entities, at least in terms of the internet's coverage of them. The band searching I did does flag up a more costly habit, however. Having invested an amount of time researching Mike Wyzgowski, when I then found an opportunity to buy an album, I instantly took it, and received it minutes later, thanks to the wonder/danger of the internet. This goes for a number of other things aswell. In the last week I have interpulse purchased two pairs of shoes (a new pair for work and trainers for exersize - they are practical purchases at least) a t-shirt, that album and the newest Football Manager game. I am an idiot.
The purchase of the Football Manager game also informed my data-clearing, as for the game to run smoothly, which it needs to if it is to have the best chance of devastating my life and mind, it'll need a system in good shape. FM is D&D for football nerds, and if the game and the time is right it is like a stat-based black hole which consumes weeks of your life in a blink of an eye.
My reacquainting with football is, as will be obvious, informed by the World Cup, which has sucked me in like a wily Bret Hart playing possum ready to drag me into a small package. I'm just glad some interesting matches have happened now. Switzerland 1, Spain 0 was enjoyable, and Argentina 4, South Korea 1 was similarly great.
Also, this is a special one for you fans of lookalike athletes that were at their best in the late-80s through the mid-90s; Jürgen Klinsmann is the doppelganger of "Rowdy" Roddy Piper.
Tuesday 15 June 2010
Cruijff on a Bike!
I think I've broken myself.
I was unable to shift a persistent headache yesterday, and it has transformed itself into genuinely feeling ill today. I therefore decided to veto exercising this morning in favour of resting up, which was undermined by my dog, who decided he would indulge into previously unknown levels of misbehaving. Continuous barking and climbing on chairs (not allowed), culminated in him sneaking upstairs (really not allowed) and chewing on socks and eating potpourri (really really not allowed and stupid). Attempting to summarily deal with these antics, especially considering he reacts to discovery of knowingly bad behaviour by exploding frantically around the room.
A restful morning, then.
Leaving him unsupervised in order to make food, wash up or run a bath resulted in returning to find some form of bad behaviour, or the aftermath. I think I'm going to put him in the washing machine, it's the only thing he'll listen to.
In between warring with the dog, I managed to get a bit of the podcast edited, this week it is the show we did on Valentine's day, which wasn't really a special, but that's what we called it. I am enjoying the editing so far, it will probably be another long one, it has a particularly good God or Fabio segment.
I think part of how I broke myself involves how full on I have been in going into things recently. My wholesale embrace of Royal Rumbles and the consequent binging on them left no room for anything else. Similarly, since restarting Final Fantasy IX I have been obsessed with it to the exclusion of all else, I've only managed to force out blogs in work, and the editing of last week's podcast was done as a last ditch effort on the Tuesday. I am now trying to force the World Cup into my obsessive habits, which has been disappointing so far, with some decidedly sub-par games. Hearing the disgusted commentary on 5Live was more draining than the actual match however. Rather than just rage that the match was a waste of time, it would be more beneficial to look ahead optimistically, especially given the very early stage of the tournament, and the plethora of opportunities for excitement there is to come. Having a professional, paid commentator wailing along the lines of "oh for fuck sake, what an absolute load of arsemangle!" just saps the fun and excitement out of the whole thing. I enjoying hearing Robbie Savage covering matches, but having a Welsh accent whilst commentating makes me feel as though there's rugby on. If the matches were covered by Jonathan Davies I think it would really unsettle Welsh viewers. I think it would be exactly the sort of low-level freakout that would add an extra frisson of interest during a game. Especially when they are being the absolute waste of complete time oh my god this is an hour and a half of my life I am never getting back, skies above and Cruijff on a bike! sort of games they've been so far.
Hopefully the Brazil match later on will be more exciting, but if not I have more editing to look forward to, and since I am suffering wrestling-based brain damage if it gets too boring I can always shut my eyes and watch the never ending montage of over-the-top-rope eliminations I have playing in my skull. What's the best elimination you've seen so far, you ask? Sgt. Slaughter being eliminated by Sid Justice in the 1992 Rumble, nothing beats a lumper going over bigstyle.
I am still trying to find a way to kickstart my brain, hopefully service will resume eventually.
I was unable to shift a persistent headache yesterday, and it has transformed itself into genuinely feeling ill today. I therefore decided to veto exercising this morning in favour of resting up, which was undermined by my dog, who decided he would indulge into previously unknown levels of misbehaving. Continuous barking and climbing on chairs (not allowed), culminated in him sneaking upstairs (really not allowed) and chewing on socks and eating potpourri (really really not allowed and stupid). Attempting to summarily deal with these antics, especially considering he reacts to discovery of knowingly bad behaviour by exploding frantically around the room.
A restful morning, then.
Leaving him unsupervised in order to make food, wash up or run a bath resulted in returning to find some form of bad behaviour, or the aftermath. I think I'm going to put him in the washing machine, it's the only thing he'll listen to.
In between warring with the dog, I managed to get a bit of the podcast edited, this week it is the show we did on Valentine's day, which wasn't really a special, but that's what we called it. I am enjoying the editing so far, it will probably be another long one, it has a particularly good God or Fabio segment.
I think part of how I broke myself involves how full on I have been in going into things recently. My wholesale embrace of Royal Rumbles and the consequent binging on them left no room for anything else. Similarly, since restarting Final Fantasy IX I have been obsessed with it to the exclusion of all else, I've only managed to force out blogs in work, and the editing of last week's podcast was done as a last ditch effort on the Tuesday. I am now trying to force the World Cup into my obsessive habits, which has been disappointing so far, with some decidedly sub-par games. Hearing the disgusted commentary on 5Live was more draining than the actual match however. Rather than just rage that the match was a waste of time, it would be more beneficial to look ahead optimistically, especially given the very early stage of the tournament, and the plethora of opportunities for excitement there is to come. Having a professional, paid commentator wailing along the lines of "oh for fuck sake, what an absolute load of arsemangle!" just saps the fun and excitement out of the whole thing. I enjoying hearing Robbie Savage covering matches, but having a Welsh accent whilst commentating makes me feel as though there's rugby on. If the matches were covered by Jonathan Davies I think it would really unsettle Welsh viewers. I think it would be exactly the sort of low-level freakout that would add an extra frisson of interest during a game. Especially when they are being the absolute waste of complete time oh my god this is an hour and a half of my life I am never getting back, skies above and Cruijff on a bike! sort of games they've been so far.
Hopefully the Brazil match later on will be more exciting, but if not I have more editing to look forward to, and since I am suffering wrestling-based brain damage if it gets too boring I can always shut my eyes and watch the never ending montage of over-the-top-rope eliminations I have playing in my skull. What's the best elimination you've seen so far, you ask? Sgt. Slaughter being eliminated by Sid Justice in the 1992 Rumble, nothing beats a lumper going over bigstyle.
I am still trying to find a way to kickstart my brain, hopefully service will resume eventually.
Friday 11 June 2010
Haribo, Lack of Ideas, Wil Hodgson and a World Cup Song
I am in work, and a child just pronounced Haribo 'huh-ree-bo' (rhymes with Kuriboh)(the example says more about me than I would like). Very amusing indeed. Kids and grown-ups love it so, across all the social classes it seems.
I have been at a loss for things to write somewhat this week, a mix of staying up late playing Final Fantasy 9 and having wrestling moves dancing around my mind during any free moment is not a healthy environment in which whimsy can flourish.
I went with mates to see a comedy gig last night, and I can't really write about that, because a page full of superlatives strung together to describe Wil Hodgson, while accurate and sincere, would probably seem mawkish. He is one of the most engaging performers I have seen, and surely a genuinely unique act.
It was one of the strangest room I have ever been in, we sat, as is our custom, right at the very front. We figure that having paid to get in, it makes sense to get as close to the performers as possible. Whereas everyone else decided it would be better to sit in the very back of the room, leaving a huge swathe of empty seats in the centre. This came together to give the impression that, for a lot of the time, our table was receiving a private, special gig. Which sounds either amazing or filthy, depending on how your mind works. It was amazing.
The gig was being compered by Elis James, which we didn't realise until the fact, which was a lovely bonus as he is a beautiful human being. I will leave my strange praise there.
I frightened a man in the toilet afterwards, (filthy), when I walked in and saw a poster advertising 'An Audience with Derek Acorah' and said "oh for fuck sake!" much louder than I had intended. It is one of the ugly inequalities of the world that Hodgson plays in the lounge room and Acorah will play in the theatre. It is an indictment of the area that people will turn up to it. If there's any karmic justice in the world then ghosts will be proven to exist and Acorah will be pulled inside out by a Greater Demon during his set. I am getting a message from beyond, it says to buy Wil Hodgson's DVD from www.gofasterstripe.com. Them ghosties know what they are on about.
I am circumcising this blog entry here, as I have to record a World Cup-based song for our radio show tomorrow, since one of our running sections where we cynically jump on a bandwagon to become 'popular' is returning. I have to write the lyrics now, although I think I am going to be relying on 'hilarious' singing to sell this one, rather than incisive satirical points. I pulled Algeria and New Zealand in the office sweepstakes, so they will feature heavily I assume. If only as much fuss had been made of the rugby World Cup and I'd picked those teams (with Australia instead of Algeria). That might also appear in the song.
I am loath to actually end this entry now, as I feel that if I keep blagging my way through then I will accidentally stumble on things I can do in the song.
Nope.
~fin~
I have been at a loss for things to write somewhat this week, a mix of staying up late playing Final Fantasy 9 and having wrestling moves dancing around my mind during any free moment is not a healthy environment in which whimsy can flourish.
I went with mates to see a comedy gig last night, and I can't really write about that, because a page full of superlatives strung together to describe Wil Hodgson, while accurate and sincere, would probably seem mawkish. He is one of the most engaging performers I have seen, and surely a genuinely unique act.
It was one of the strangest room I have ever been in, we sat, as is our custom, right at the very front. We figure that having paid to get in, it makes sense to get as close to the performers as possible. Whereas everyone else decided it would be better to sit in the very back of the room, leaving a huge swathe of empty seats in the centre. This came together to give the impression that, for a lot of the time, our table was receiving a private, special gig. Which sounds either amazing or filthy, depending on how your mind works. It was amazing.
The gig was being compered by Elis James, which we didn't realise until the fact, which was a lovely bonus as he is a beautiful human being. I will leave my strange praise there.
I frightened a man in the toilet afterwards, (filthy), when I walked in and saw a poster advertising 'An Audience with Derek Acorah' and said "oh for fuck sake!" much louder than I had intended. It is one of the ugly inequalities of the world that Hodgson plays in the lounge room and Acorah will play in the theatre. It is an indictment of the area that people will turn up to it. If there's any karmic justice in the world then ghosts will be proven to exist and Acorah will be pulled inside out by a Greater Demon during his set. I am getting a message from beyond, it says to buy Wil Hodgson's DVD from www.gofasterstripe.com. Them ghosties know what they are on about.
I am circumcising this blog entry here, as I have to record a World Cup-based song for our radio show tomorrow, since one of our running sections where we cynically jump on a bandwagon to become 'popular' is returning. I have to write the lyrics now, although I think I am going to be relying on 'hilarious' singing to sell this one, rather than incisive satirical points. I pulled Algeria and New Zealand in the office sweepstakes, so they will feature heavily I assume. If only as much fuss had been made of the rugby World Cup and I'd picked those teams (with Australia instead of Algeria). That might also appear in the song.
I am loath to actually end this entry now, as I feel that if I keep blagging my way through then I will accidentally stumble on things I can do in the song.
Nope.
~fin~
Thursday 10 June 2010
Big Break
I was struggling for things to write about today, and having resigned myself to staring at a wall until it is time to go out, the world decided it would intervene and send me something interesting to do. The world delivered unto me; Dai. The man's name was not Dai, it has been cleverly anonymised for reasons which will probably become apparent.
I work around computers, in a room which also sells food. This is called a cybercafe. Usually my responsibilities stretch only to making sure children are not too loud, do not hurt each other, themselves or the computers, and it occasionally stretches to putting the kibosh on improvised moth-executions. Today, however, I was shanghaied into being a graphic designer. Dai's graphic designer.
Dai was operating under the false assumption that since I was sat in front of a computer that I am a part of a group which he labelled "you tech-types". While Dai was half right, I am an internet nerd and I can touch-type, but simply because I can type a sentence out faster than he could read it, this does not mean that I have graphic designing capabilities. I do not. I am probably getting ahead of myself.
Dai is a short and sturdily-built fellow in a faded yellow polo shirt. He is missing several teeth from the bottom front row, which, since I am being generous, I will surmise that he lost in a sport-related accident. Dai is drunk, and smells it. It is around 5pm. He isn't aggressive, rather he is in a state of exaggerated sociability brought on by blunt self-confidence and the aforementioned prior drinking. Dai has a mission. He wants to make a poster.
I suppose I am doing myself down by opting myself out of the "you tech-types" group, I am very capable on computers and the internet is a key commodity that I hugely enjoy the use of. I blog, create sketches on youtube and release podcasts, which I often edit. However, I am not a graphic designer. The logos on our website are simple, elegant and professional. This is because someone else did them for us (our talented and generous friend over at HLW Design). Even the wonderful looking stand-in we had beforehand was constructed by The Fondantious ACRE, rather than myself. So it was with trepidation, having never used it before, that I opened Publisher.
Clumsily hamfisting my way through clip art, wordart and using google images to supplement these, I came the closest I have ever come to having a yes man. Dai became my goon, my henchman. He was overawed by my gerd (god and nerd) abilities. Clearly he was only overawed up to a point, having no real interest in computers himself, his awe was clearly coloured by his own technophobia/disinterest in computers.
Phrases like "wizard", "awesome", "you are a true gentleman", "this means so much to me", "this is excellent" etc flowed like a torrent, which was quite embarrassing, given the paucity of the actual poster.
It actually turned out quite nicely. It is simple, which is the only way it was going to be, but the simpler something is the less likely it is to look like absolute rubbish. Dai had come in with an idea; it was for a snooker tournament so the poster itself was a snooker table, replete with 6 pockets, with the information posted above and below a triangle of balls and two cues in the middle. It took a surprisingly short amount of time to bash up, given I have never seriously used Publisher, and the last time I opened it I was probably still in school.
I was amused that the superlative praise lavished upon the simplest of efforts was replaced by quite frank dismissals when an idea wasn't working: "No that looks shit" came out once, which I felt was refreshing. It is good that despite knowing the poster was being made completely out of my goodwill/boredom that he was happy enough to speak out if it was going in a way he didn't want. That isn't meant to sound sarcastic.
The experience was made more odd by the question "So what are you doing later?", which occurred a number of times, the answer to which on all occasions was "I'm going to a comedy night", which never really hit home for him. (Wil Hodgson is headlining, I am very much looking forward to it). He also had a habit of entering a manly handshake (mandshake) when anything went according to plan. Which was every few seconds. WordArt is to his liking? MANDSHAKE. This isn't a traditional handshake, but the 'cool' fist-grab/fist-hug/fist-clench, frustratingly I can't describe it accurately or find it's actual name from google.
When we'd printed a number of the posters out, he took me into a final mandshake and drew me into a manhug/shoulderbump which was highly uncomfortable and smelled of being drunk. It was 5:30, I don't want to be smelling being drunk. Also, I was in work.
He also bought me a bottle of diet coke, which was nice. It is unopened, so I wasn't too suspicious.
He knows my name, where I work and where I'm going tonight though, so if it was a clever drunken ruse then I am in for some raping later.
Suffice to say, having heard his profuse thanks, he is pleased and is going to be King Dong with his mates, and now I falsely believe I am the best graphic designer ever to write on this blog.
I have anonymised the poster and print screened the publisher file, so you can see how I cleverly I made the pockets. I am the cleverest person to ever live.
I would like to say thank you to whichever deity/force of nature/energy/etc deigned to send me Dai, it was interesting and has enabled me to write a blog entry, and coloured my day positively. It was probably Jesus what done it, given that I wrote on twitter:
"I am going to see Wil Hodgson tonight and, not that it's a competition, but that means my night will be better than Jesus'."
Take that you meddlesome godhead, I have defeated you by enjoying the awkwardness. Jesus fail.
I work around computers, in a room which also sells food. This is called a cybercafe. Usually my responsibilities stretch only to making sure children are not too loud, do not hurt each other, themselves or the computers, and it occasionally stretches to putting the kibosh on improvised moth-executions. Today, however, I was shanghaied into being a graphic designer. Dai's graphic designer.
Dai was operating under the false assumption that since I was sat in front of a computer that I am a part of a group which he labelled "you tech-types". While Dai was half right, I am an internet nerd and I can touch-type, but simply because I can type a sentence out faster than he could read it, this does not mean that I have graphic designing capabilities. I do not. I am probably getting ahead of myself.
Dai is a short and sturdily-built fellow in a faded yellow polo shirt. He is missing several teeth from the bottom front row, which, since I am being generous, I will surmise that he lost in a sport-related accident. Dai is drunk, and smells it. It is around 5pm. He isn't aggressive, rather he is in a state of exaggerated sociability brought on by blunt self-confidence and the aforementioned prior drinking. Dai has a mission. He wants to make a poster.
I suppose I am doing myself down by opting myself out of the "you tech-types" group, I am very capable on computers and the internet is a key commodity that I hugely enjoy the use of. I blog, create sketches on youtube and release podcasts, which I often edit. However, I am not a graphic designer. The logos on our website are simple, elegant and professional. This is because someone else did them for us (our talented and generous friend over at HLW Design). Even the wonderful looking stand-in we had beforehand was constructed by The Fondantious ACRE, rather than myself. So it was with trepidation, having never used it before, that I opened Publisher.
Clumsily hamfisting my way through clip art, wordart and using google images to supplement these, I came the closest I have ever come to having a yes man. Dai became my goon, my henchman. He was overawed by my gerd (god and nerd) abilities. Clearly he was only overawed up to a point, having no real interest in computers himself, his awe was clearly coloured by his own technophobia/disinterest in computers.
Phrases like "wizard", "awesome", "you are a true gentleman", "this means so much to me", "this is excellent" etc flowed like a torrent, which was quite embarrassing, given the paucity of the actual poster.
It actually turned out quite nicely. It is simple, which is the only way it was going to be, but the simpler something is the less likely it is to look like absolute rubbish. Dai had come in with an idea; it was for a snooker tournament so the poster itself was a snooker table, replete with 6 pockets, with the information posted above and below a triangle of balls and two cues in the middle. It took a surprisingly short amount of time to bash up, given I have never seriously used Publisher, and the last time I opened it I was probably still in school.
I was amused that the superlative praise lavished upon the simplest of efforts was replaced by quite frank dismissals when an idea wasn't working: "No that looks shit" came out once, which I felt was refreshing. It is good that despite knowing the poster was being made completely out of my goodwill/boredom that he was happy enough to speak out if it was going in a way he didn't want. That isn't meant to sound sarcastic.
The experience was made more odd by the question "So what are you doing later?", which occurred a number of times, the answer to which on all occasions was "I'm going to a comedy night", which never really hit home for him. (Wil Hodgson is headlining, I am very much looking forward to it). He also had a habit of entering a manly handshake (mandshake) when anything went according to plan. Which was every few seconds. WordArt is to his liking? MANDSHAKE. This isn't a traditional handshake, but the 'cool' fist-grab/fist-hug/fist-clench, frustratingly I can't describe it accurately or find it's actual name from google.
When we'd printed a number of the posters out, he took me into a final mandshake and drew me into a manhug/shoulderbump which was highly uncomfortable and smelled of being drunk. It was 5:30, I don't want to be smelling being drunk. Also, I was in work.
He also bought me a bottle of diet coke, which was nice. It is unopened, so I wasn't too suspicious.
He knows my name, where I work and where I'm going tonight though, so if it was a clever drunken ruse then I am in for some raping later.
Suffice to say, having heard his profuse thanks, he is pleased and is going to be King Dong with his mates, and now I falsely believe I am the best graphic designer ever to write on this blog.
I have anonymised the poster and print screened the publisher file, so you can see how I cleverly I made the pockets. I am the cleverest person to ever live.
I would like to say thank you to whichever deity/force of nature/energy/etc deigned to send me Dai, it was interesting and has enabled me to write a blog entry, and coloured my day positively. It was probably Jesus what done it, given that I wrote on twitter:
"I am going to see Wil Hodgson tonight and, not that it's a competition, but that means my night will be better than Jesus'."
Take that you meddlesome godhead, I have defeated you by enjoying the awkwardness. Jesus fail.
Tuesday 8 June 2010
Nostalgia-mounting RPGs
Over the last year I have played Final Fantasy VII and VIII on the PSP, having downloaded them from the aether (PlayStation Store) and uploaded them to a memory card inside the device. I am now doing the same for Final Fantasy IX. We are living in the future. WELCOME TO IT.
When these games first appeared they were on a number of discs each, they were the colossal RPGs of the PS1 era, the solid, shimmering jewels in Squaresofts Final Fantasy crown, before multiple spin-offs cut the jewels a few too many times, and the jewelocity became stretched far too thin. That's right, jewelocity. Final Fantasy X is perhaps the last of the worthy Final Fantasy titles, although an unfortunate twist near the end and a frustrating spin-off tarnishes its sheen. I never played XI, for at the time of release playing online felt like an impossible pipedream, and though I enjoyed XII it was for the gameplay rather than the story. I am currently stalled in XIII, having grafted through 20 hours of linear corridors, and finally being allowed out into a world which is numbingly vast, in an unfortunately tedious way.
It is possible that VII through X are as flawed as newer output, and I simply gloss over this using the magical power of nostalgia. Regardless, I am very much enjoying this playthrough of IX, the cartoonish medieval feel of the story is delightful. Having it in a portable medium is probably key, I doubt I'd commit to several hours in front of the TV using a console, but somehow playing it on a handheld device tricks you into believing that it isn't 3o'clock in the morning.
Having seemingly huge PS1 titles re-issued as downloadable releases is an excellent process, its just a pity that it doesn't stretch to releases such as Xenogears, which, as it was never released in the UK, is unlikely to appear in the British store. I had feared, when the newest generation of consoles appeared (PS3/360/Wii) that old-school RPGs (or perhaps JRPGs more specifically) would die out, in favour of family-friendly minigames masquerading as full games, or an endless stream of shiny FPSs. Thankfully, that hasn't really happened, and new RPGs do appear with a fair frequency, and though on the consoles they tend to be trying something a little different (which is a good thing, even if it means a few games mess up), I am glad that classic formats are still being worked in the handhelds. RPGs were, for me at least, never really about the graphics, and the gameplay is also a measured fixture which lends itself well to a handheld format, where button-bashing or fast sequences aren't ideal, whereas the story and tactical nature of the battling is more fitting. Even the relatively basic graphics are more aesthetically pleasing on a smaller screen.
I think my funny has dried up this week, this is another fairly dry examination. Rather than bail out of this I am going to see this entry through to its tedious, unamusing conclusion, if you are looking for laughs I urge you to abandon this entry post haste, lest my position as Visconte de Hilariare be forever compromised in your eyes.
The amount of hours I have spent grinding away on role-playing games is no ones business. Final Fantasy VII and Pokemon Red were the first nails in a coffin which is now shut with so many nails that the coffin itself is more iron than wood. The soundtracks to franchises of Wild ARMs, Final Fantasy, Breath of Fire and Xenogears swirl on a neverending MIDI loop in my mind, and the plinks and plonks of Pokemon, Final Fantasy Tactics and Dragon Warrior Monster vibrate in my forearms.
Playing through the first stages of Final Fantasy IX I was delighted by the presence of the Rufus Welcoming March, a track originally composed for FFVII, which was clearly added to the game in order to delight empty nerds such as myself. "I was delighted".
However, as futile as it may feel to have sunk quite so many weeks into RPGs, I think there are important and valuable life lessons to be learnt from them.
RPGs reward the player for putting the work in, the main format of levelling up means you have to work to get better. Often in the actual games this takes the form of some quite tedious grafting (unless the battling system is done well, as in FFXII (my opinion)), but the overall ideal is quite practical, it essentially boils down to: if you want to do well, work hard. This is at odds with what usually gets touted in anime (and in a number of idealistic/simplistic stories) where an individual will be able to battle through and succeed simply on the basis of him/her being particularly just or good. The disillusionment from these stories is something I'm planning on looking at in more detail, so I will leave it for now. Suffice to say, having been attacked for no reason by two brainless gimps I can conclusively deny the inspiring second-wind that seems to infuse those who are in the right. Either that or I was the baddie in that situation, which is impossible as I am the main character.
So it seems I am regressing of late, I have reacquainted myself with wrestling, started playing late 90s PS1 RPGs again and having shaved this afternoon I realised I had chosen to go shave down to sideburns, which were my original choice from back when bumfluff was first gracing my cheeks. After work today I am going to go slide down the banking on a piece of cardboard. That, of course, is a fabrication for comic effect, but I will do it soon, film it and it will become a sketch. I am not old enough for my puerility to be a starkly comic contrast, I just look childish. To such claims I would retort "I know you are, but what am I?".
I would love nothing more than to waste the entire evening tonight playing through Final Fantasy IX, but there is much editing to be done for the podcast tomorrow, and given that really I should also have edited one of our sketches by now, it will be a shocking betrayal of our hardworking DIY ethics to let the podcast slip aswell.
This will be the 26th week in an unbroken chain of slapdash audio silliness that we have released, our dedication to silly buggery has spanned around half a year, at this point it feels that our efforts are either highly admirable, or utterly delusional. The day they stop being released is the day we stop enjoying them, and there's not even a whisper of that point as of now, so admirable it is.
I am going to play Final Fantasy IX as well though. I can play it on the toilet. The future is indecent.
Monday 7 June 2010
Greenfinger ~nuh-nah-nah-nah-nah
Having had a week off, both from work and blogging, I should have a plethora of things that I really want to write about, but I spent much of my week in a wasteful vegetative state. This means that apart from two gigs (which went very well) and a day spent in filming sketches in the sun, I have done next to nothing of any cerebral or creative value. My continued hiatus from reading means that playful language often escapes me, and rather than colourful archaisms I am more likely to mention a Fisherman's Suplex or an Inverted Atomic Drop, due to my continued and possibly excessive Royal Rumble catch-up.
I am currently being distracted from writing this by a splinter in one of my fingers, which presumably got there while I was helping my father clear the back garden. The back garden is a sheer slope, bordered with ridiculously steep narrow steps, from which we attempted to cull the tangled overgrown Jumanji the garden has become. It wasn't overly grueling work, but applying myself to a tiring, practical physical task was oddly enjoyable. There was a clear, simple goal to clearing the weeds and brambles away, and it was a process which showed instant, tangible results. It felt good to be using a mix of problem solving thinking and a bit of physical climbing around in order to finish the job, and I also revelled in the use of oversized garden scissors which made me feel like Brutus 'The Barber' Beefcake.
I think the focus on simple, achievable goals and the non-grueling exercising made the experience valuable, but I'm sure a lot of my enjoyment came from the novelty of it. I will help out clearing the rest of the garden, but I don't envision developing full-blown green fingers. Although given the difficulty I am having removing the splinter from my finger it is possible that finger at least will be changing colour.
This piece is fairly turgid so I will cut it short today, hopefully more of my creative cylinders will be firing tomorrow.
Good time of day to you.
I am currently being distracted from writing this by a splinter in one of my fingers, which presumably got there while I was helping my father clear the back garden. The back garden is a sheer slope, bordered with ridiculously steep narrow steps, from which we attempted to cull the tangled overgrown Jumanji the garden has become. It wasn't overly grueling work, but applying myself to a tiring, practical physical task was oddly enjoyable. There was a clear, simple goal to clearing the weeds and brambles away, and it was a process which showed instant, tangible results. It felt good to be using a mix of problem solving thinking and a bit of physical climbing around in order to finish the job, and I also revelled in the use of oversized garden scissors which made me feel like Brutus 'The Barber' Beefcake.
I think the focus on simple, achievable goals and the non-grueling exercising made the experience valuable, but I'm sure a lot of my enjoyment came from the novelty of it. I will help out clearing the rest of the garden, but I don't envision developing full-blown green fingers. Although given the difficulty I am having removing the splinter from my finger it is possible that finger at least will be changing colour.
This piece is fairly turgid so I will cut it short today, hopefully more of my creative cylinders will be firing tomorrow.
Good time of day to you.
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