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MARCH 9, 2010. Fuck yes. That’s when Final Fantasy XIII drops. And I’m shooting ridiculous loads onto my own face in excitement. I’m screaming at my Nana, yelling at her about Final Fantasy. She’s cowering in the corner and I don’t care! Why? Because fucking Final Fantasy XIII has a release date! I’ve been sweating this thing forever. I’ve gone through some serious shit since this game was released! I lost my virginity, got addicted to sleeping pills, got unaddicted to sleeping pills, watched my fucking Patriots lose the Super Bowl, three girlfriends, fourteen pairs of shoes, nine beards, four hundred and fifty thousand cans of soda, and a new sweet ass cat.

MARCH 9, 2010. Don’t knock, don’t call, I will fucking stab you.

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I’ve given up on being good at first-person shooters for a long time now. I simply accept that I don’t have the quick-twitch muscle fibers, or the brain capacity to be excellent at them. So when I try and talk my friend Bags into playing some MW2 with me, and he hits me with:

It’s going to be tough, because I’m going to suck at first.

I can absolutely relate to him. I’ve just come to grips with that a long time ago. I am not a unique gaming snowflake. There’s always going to be noobs that school my sad ass. Even with my acceptance of this fact, it still burns deep down inside to hear some twelve year old kid laughing at me because I missed with two full clips and then had the dishonor of him meleeing me to death.

The horror, the horror.

It didn’t always use to be so resigned to mediocrity. I used to be the shit in my close-knit gaming circle. High school friends and myself spending hours in my room as I took them to task with the beatdown stick in Mortal Kombat II or Mario Kart 64. My mortal enemy was also my best friend Joe, and it was usually the two of us giving each other a run for our money. Of course, even back then I sucked at FPS gamers. I can recall the teenage rampages I’d go into as Joe would remember spawn points (before we knew they were called spawn points) and usually throw a knife through my dumb face.

Then everything changed when Al Gore invented the fucking internet. And global warming. He condemned me to bake under the sun’s unleashed fury amidst a legion of gamers far superior to me. I was like the high school quarterback, trying all of a sudden to play college ball.

Oops.

Double oops.

I learned quickly that whatever lame skills I had on a local level didn’t translate to the global scheme. Fucking internet! I was aghast, I mean, I won the local Blockbuster video game challenge! A year’s worth of unlimited gaming rentals (which they stipulated in the small text was two a week; even my pre-pubescent brain recoiled at the trickery) at my disposal! But I wasn’t special, I wasn’t even good.

Fucking shit.

So the same applies to Modern Warfare 2. I’m not really good. If I get five kills, I feel like the fucking man. Oh, those ungracious gamers who rattle off 15 kills a session. What does a kill mean to them!? What does sex mean to a pornstar! Probably fucking nothing!

But Modern Warfare 2 is different. Because It’s kind of like little league. Everyone can win! Well, sort of. In other words, there are things even retard gamers like myself can strive for. With their dope-ass built in leveling system, this RPG whore right here can work towards swag, even while blowing. If I have enough persistence I can unlock new guns, modifications, et cetera. This is probably old hat to other Call of Duty players, but for me, it’s friggin’ tight. I mean, what other way to suck in a WoW-addicted gamer who sucks at FPSers?

Give them swag to work towards! If there’s one thing I like, it’s loot! LOOT, sweet, delicious loot. And even if I never come in first place, I can still garner myself a tight grenade launcher.

It’s a nice balance. Because of course, the skilled gamers, as in not me, can unlock this shit quicker. Every match gathers you XP, and the better you do, the more points you gain. They even have “Aw, you’re cute at sucking” type rewards, like getting five assists. I mean holy shit, they reward you for breaking your own death streak. It’s like free experience points. A little league reward for the kid who finally hit the ball. There you go Charlie, you may drool and you run to third base instead of first, but you successfully threw a ball to first base today.

Well done, here’s a cookie.

I love it.

Warren Ellis is my goddamn hero.

In case you don’t have a clue, Warren Ellis is pretty much the comic industry’s best mad scientist. Not only is Ellis responsible for some of the best creator-owned properties of all time (Transmetropolitan & Doktor Sleepless come to mind), but he also pushes well-established properties into more compelling storylines. I’ve spent the last few years fawning over Ellis’ writing, going as far as to write a twenty-four page research paper exploring the implications of hyperreality in Doktor Sleepless.

But more than just the scribe behind some great funnybooks, Warren Ellis always has something interesting to say. Through his website, weekly columns and forum, the mad Englishman (aren’t they all?) offers a brand of insight that can only be understated as unique. Without reservation, Ellis tackles what he believes to be the trends/technologies/perspectives of the future while examining the precedents to which we so desperately cling.

For your pleasure, one of my favorite excerpts from Ellis’ 2001 collection of short essays/posts, Come in Alone:

Fuck superheroes, frankly. The notion that these things dominate an entire genre is absurd. It’s like every bookstore on the planet having ninety percent of its shelves filled by nurse novels. Imagine that. You want a new novel, but have to wade through three hundred new books about romances in the wards before you can get at any other genre. A medium where the relationship of fiction about nurses outweighs mainstream literary fiction by a ratio of one hundred to one. Superhero comics are like bloody creeping fungus, and they smother everything else. (p. 78)

Clearly, Warren Ellis is a creator devoted to the medium of comic books rather than the industry. And that’s a sentiment to which all artists should aspire.

Last week it was brought to my attention that pre-orders were being taken for Shivering Sands, Ellis’ new collection of essays, rants, reviews and other musings. At first glance, I figured that I would just snag the paperback at a bookstore; but then I realized that Shivering Sands is only available online. The author is experimenting with print-on-demand (yes, it is exactly what it sounds like) and therefore offering his newest compilation through Lulu. More than willing to give my (barely) hard-earned cash to Ellis, I ordered immediately and began anticipating the delivery.

My copy of Shivering Sands arrived last night. Despite being inundated with work, I have already blasted through the first sixty-some-odd pages. Seriously, I wish that I hadn’t already finished the media-component of my English degree because I would walk into the classroom wielding this book like Mjöllnir and smashing shit up with a ferocity that would make Thor piss his God-sized underoos. The examinations of technology and media are fucking mindblowing, delving into the notion (also found throughout Doktor Sleepless) that we are actually living in “the future,” but are incapable of recognizing it as such.

Another early highlight is found in Microcast, a January 2004 theorizing of why 2003 was an absolute dud in terms of mainstream entertainment/art. Ellis posits that niche broadcasting and narrowcasting in the digital era allows for the user to reverse the once unilateral transmission of information; in other words, users are now looking for what they want to find rather than accepting what they are given.

Ellis muses,

The mass audience is breaking down into smaller sets; and beyond that, into what Dr. Joshua Ellis (no relation) terms ‘taste tribes’ — people whose group status is defined by their particular cultural apprehension. Where one says, I know and interact with this person on the initial basis that we share tastes. Not that we all trade notes on Star Trek — not a fan thing — but that we share a cultural sphere. This creates and defines a loose community of its own, stitched together by cultural communication. And with the net in place, taste tribes are borderless. (p. 40)

I’m not even finished with Shivering Sands but I’m going to suggest that you purchase it. If you’re at all interested in comic books, media theory, chemically-induced diatribes, supporting great artists or just finding something with which to pass some time, check this book out.

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I beat Modern Warfare 2 this morning. Sort of. With a FPS like MW2, is saying I finished the single-player campaign the same thing as saying you’re done with a meal when you finish your appetizer? I mean, I assume that any serious player is just getting going when they finish off the story mode.

It’s a pretty dope game, but I think it peaks a bit early. I felt the same way about Uncharted 2. I like my final episode, chapter, whatever, to be stacked with awesomeness. And if you rocket your hardest load two hours prior to it, even if what you’re experiencing is awesome, you’ve already jumped the shark.

For me, nothing topped the nuclear blast and the fallout in Washington. Everything after that was simple “sweet” as opposed to “holy fucking shit.”

It’s the same reason I’ve began to tune out of 24 every season right around thirteen episodes in the past few years. Take aside the fact that every season is practically the same – you know, just like Modern Warfare, it’s a couple of rogue dudes going against the government to truly save the world. But also, right around the thirteenth episode of a season of 24, Jack has already:

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Bayonetta’s coming out on my birthday. Bayonetta’s coming out with a special edition. Bayonetta’s coming out on my birthday. Friends, family, brother, parents, girlfriend, thinly-tethered acquaintences, please, please, please, I’m not begging. But chip in and buy this collector’s edition for me for the 360. The picture displays the PS3 edition, but I assume it’ll get some Micro-love as well:

Via Destructoid:

The Bayonetta special edition will contain a soundtrack disc and a hardcover art book, all wrapped up in a spiffy slipcase. So far it’s been announced for the UK, Spain, France and Australia, and will release alongside a standard edition on January 8. Sega of America has not announced anything regarding a US special edition, but it’s safe to assume that such an announcement is likely.

Insert dreamy sigh.

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