[pixelation | weekly gaming column every wednesday]

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Diablo II turned ten yesterday. Wait, what. Really? Ten years. Jesus Christ. So that wretched, chill-inducing screeching I hear is in fact time being dragged down the corridor all too quickly. Why, it feels like just yesterday I was sitting in my room, covered in a pile of Pepsi cans, trying my god damn hardest to farm Mephisto for ill loots. Caloric intent high. Sleep minimal. Bone marrow? Yep. Laced to to the very core with caffeine.

Then is now.

Now is then.

Diablo II is one of those touchstone games that you can go back to. If you’ve played it. It’s the sort of game you can drunkenly bring up with a pack of friends who experienced it and just smash the red button labeled “Holy fuck, Nostalgic Trip” while buckling the fuck up. In almost no time, the people around you will be awash in a vernacular they don’t understand. “Motherfucking Stone of Jordans” and “Fucking Mephisto runs” and “Dude, dude, remember when the shit I traded for was actually duped, and when I logged in, it was gone?”

It’s deep, yo. Deep within my breastplate of rot. I can’t ever become jaded, Diablo-fueled nostalgia keeps me warm.

A decade ago. Fifty pounds heavier. One worn and gooey virginity card tucked into my pocket. God, was I going to hold that thing forever. Long shitty hair. But still super-pumped. But still super-enthused. About everything. A summer like this. Like any other summer. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. The crack. Before World of Warcraft stole my life, there was Diablo II. It cracked my Ridiculous Gaming Sessions hymen. Gouged with a sharp-stick, thrust with ill-intent.

Oh for sure I had played games for ten hours in a row before Diablo II. Oh sure, I had cranked out entire games in a couple of sittings. But fucking Diablo II, yo. That shit wasn’t a game. It was crack. I didn’t just play it. I lived it. Senior year of high school was merely seven hours of diversion before I could go farm Act III for another five hours. The repetitious gameplay giving away to an insatiable need to have better shit. God damn Blizzard. A decade later and the same technique still drives people who play WoW.

The mentality is simple: I need better fake things, and because I need these fake things, I’m going to stay up real late and compulsively play and ruin my real life.

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[legend has it that Ernest Hemingway wrote a six-word story to win a bar bet — For sale: baby shoes, never worn. leading to the author’s birthday, I’m going to offer a daily post of my own six-word story. readers are encouraged to respond with their own]

Gasoline is expensive. Shrimp is cheap.

It would have made me sixteen in the summer of 1977.

Wonder Woman’s getting a new costume, and she’s covering up. Like, woah. Sorry perverts! But the outfit which really never made sense and only got more ridiculous with time has been replaced with something “modern” or whatever. Designed by Jim Lee! Let’s get the downlow on the outfit:

Writer J. Michael Straczynski via Robot 6:

Form follows function. She has to exist a great deal in an urban setting. So I wanted her to have an outfit that she can close up and pass more or less without notice, or open when she’s in a fight to reveal her full appearance. I wanted the outfit to express her own situation, in that she lives in two worlds, which is also in a way the trap in which she’s found herself.

I also wanted it functional. As so many female fans have said over the years, “How does she fight in that without all her parts popping out? Where does she keep stuff?” She can keep or shed the jacket, there are pockets, it’s tough and serious looking while still attractive. It’s a Wonder Woman designed for the 21st century. Not to get all “Project Runway” on this, but what woman wears the same outfit for 60 years without at least accessorizing?

I’m for it. I really am. As much as I enjoy boobs and butts, the outfit was impressively outrageous in the amount of flesh it displayed. Even if that flesh was carved from clay or whatever Wonder Woman’s origin is, I know. The cynical part of me wants to start counting down until they return to the horndog wunderkind that she’s worn since forever, but hey, for the moment, enjoy some new Jim Lee artwork.

[image courtesy of slashfilm]

Fug yeah, Damon Lindelof is starting work on the script for the Star Trek sequel. I’m stoked, stoked, I say!

I can only imagine he may in fact be a bit excited to work on something that isn’t a monstrous, unwieldy bloated mess, too. I mean, I love LOST, despite its flaws; and intrepid LOST fans, spending more than ten minutes after the emotional resonancy of the finale has worn off will bring countless to light. By the end, it must have seem burdensome for everyone involved. But here Lindelof will get to work with a universe, while enormous, isn’t attempting to tie together six seasons of storylines with a bow.

Or, I suppose, not tie them all together! Zing!

No seriously though, I’m excited.

[legend has it that Ernest Hemingway wrote a six-word story to win a bar bet — For sale: baby shoes, never worn. leading to the author’s birthday, I’m going to offer a daily post of my own six-word story. readers are encouraged to respond with their own]

Ain’t no superheroes in our apartment.

Ahoy! Mutiny on the Cyber-Sea! Caffeine Powered has been sent walking Spanish and now I, Pepsibones Krueger, am steering this vessel known as VARIANT COVERS! Yes! Finally! I GOT THE TOUCH! I GOT THE POWER!

*Ahem* Yeah, so anyways, I’m going to highlight some of this week’s more notable comics releases. Join me – it’s going to be a blast.

Captain America #607

Bucky Barnes continues to rock the shield, even as Steve Rogers has been brought back from wherever. As a fan of character development (I know, I know, maybe I should reevaluate my loyalty to comic books), I am more than pleased that `ole Stars and Stripes’ status quo hasn’t been reinstated. Instead, Brubaker gets to keep pleasing fans readers by toying with paneled mythology.

Truthfully, I kind of forget what’s going on in the series right now. I remember that Bucky and Falcon slap down some thugs and Baron Zemo plans something treacherous. I’m assuming we’ll get more of that this week. With Brubaker/Guice teaming up, the book is virtually guaranteed to be enjoyable.

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Green Lantern #55

Holy shit. This might be the most ridiculous issue of GL in recent history. Setting the tone, this is a crossover with Brightest Day — an event whose direction I’m still unsure of. Yeah, we all know that it has something do to with the end of Blackest Night and whatnot, but what the hell’s going on? Is this something I should really care about or should I just put my eggs in the Return of Bruce Wayne basket? Nevertheless, I give Brightest Day the pass because I got hooked up with an ill White Lantern ring.

So, this comic promises a brawl between Lobo (at one-time a satire, now more of a pastiche) and Atrocitus (the Red Lantern who reminds me of Abdullah the Butcher). Of course, these two troublemakers won’t get away with this sort of intergalactic caca. If I had to guess, I’d say Hal Jordan is going to step it up, punch a hole in the butthead by whom he is most annoyed, and then call it a day.

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[legend has it that Ernest Hemingway wrote a six-word story to win a bar bet — For sale: baby shoes, never worn. leading to the author’s birthday, I’m going to offer a daily post of my own six-word story. readers are encouraged to respond with their own]

Bleeding paint, the artist feigned mastery.

Patrick Bolvin, the dude who brought us Iron Baby, concocted a cute-as-fuck short in which he addresses the important question: what would it be like if man’s best friend was an AT-AT? The results are predictable: it would be fucking sweet. Check out the video after the jump, and try and console yourself that you cannot, in fact, own one.

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