Russ Pitts wonders what happened to the fun at this year's E3.
Smile and Nod
Every Monday, The Escapist's Russ Pitts presents a treatise on games, the games people play and the people who play them, sharing his decades of experience as a gamer and media producer. With biting wit, cutting commentary and in-depth analysis of the trends driving today's media culture, Smile and Nod is a must-read for everyone with a brain and the eyeballs to feed it.
Russ Pitts is off to Los Angeles for this year's E3, and he's taking the video camera with him. It seems reasonable to expect shenanigans.
What do brunch, movie rentals and Best Buy have in common? They all remind Russ Pitts of his showdown with Billy Kramer and the appeal of flying beneath the radar.
Who wants to be a drummer? Not Russ Pitts, that's for sure, but maybe he's just too old to appreciate Rock Band.
Russ Pitts returns home from the Webby party in Manhattan to play Russian Roulette, Jelly Belly style.
Russ Pitts fights the summer gaming doldrums by busting out five oldies but goodies.
I have to admit to a certain reticence when it comes to praising games. Like most writers, I can usually find something not to like about a game, and those bits usually make the best copy. But 30 hours into Grand Theft Auto IV I can easily say it's my main contender for Game of the Year. Hell, it's in the running for Game of the Decade. I'd even go so far as to say it's the best game I've ever played.
If I could have paused the sun, located my jogging pants, stopped a second to thoroughly tie my shoes, found my iPod without tearing apart the whole house and tripping over the dog and gotten out the door without knocking over old paperwork snowdrifts I'd been neglecting for months, I'd have been a lot happier. But life is not turn-based. In life, the other guy is moving during your turn, too.
This is the story of how I almost bought a boat, but didn't. How I tackled a storm of projects I'd been putting off for years, all for the purpose of spending the weekend in the Atlantic Ocean, the wind at my back, my troubles left on the shore behind me. Almost.
I couldn't help myself; it was a really nice hoodie. They offered it to me at the registration desk at this year's D.I.C.E. Summit in Vegas, and I almost refused, but it came with a bunch of other stuff and, although I wasn't sure I wanted any of it, I was curious to see what all was in the bag. So I took it. I asked for a medium; all they had was a large (if you can believe that), but I took it anyway. I didn't think I would wear it, it being too large and all, but I took it and immediately felt ashamed.
A week ago Saturday, I was in Jamaica. It was wonderful. No, allow me to be more precise: It was absolutely, incredibly wonderful. Every evening a few clouds rolled in and we got a nice, warm rain shower, but the clouds didn't last and by the next morning the sky was blue again, the weather warm, the ocean perfect and the drinks served with just the right amount of rum and obsequiousness. No computers, no deadlines and no videogames. It was like being in paradise on Earth.
Sometimes you get a second chance at happiness. Not often, and I wouldn't suggest you go around expecting it unless you're prepared for the laborious process of rebuilding your ego with careful applications of alcohol and one-night stands, like re-inflating a used car dealership's giant gorilla with a bicycle pump. But if you stay on target - for just a few more seconds - every once in a while, what was once wrong will become right. And that will be a joyous day.
You have to give credit to The Originals. Steve McQueen, Ferrari, Coca-Cola and the straight razor all have a special place in my heart. Sure, the newer models are flashier, more fully functional and, perhaps, better, but The Original is where it all started; the inspiration for the new. Without them, we'd still be sitting on our hands wondering why nobody had ever thought of driving fast, looking cool or shaving.
I don't take public transportation, so I don't have much occasion to play games away from my more comfortable gaming setup. And I don't believe in playing games on the toilet. I know some of you do; don't pretend. I've heard the clicks and bleeps in the stall next to me. But I don't do it. The idea of holding the thing in my hands again afterwards ... no thank you. So I don't do handheld gaming.
Except now I apparently do.
I'm not sure what strange portent of the apocalypse this is that people send out "exclusive" invitations to parties and then expect you to wait in line for hours just to get in. Where I grew up, we considered that rude. I declined to wait and had burgers with Yahtzee and crew at the diner near the Moscone.
