Two Weird Ideas for MMOs
There’s no conversation more boring than the one that hashes out what’s wrong with massively multiplayer online games. Everybody has an opinion, based mostly on having played one or two or a shit-ton. I tend to take these game design critiques with a dump truck of salt. Gamers only know what they want. And often that desire is what makes the game fun. Designers, on the other hand, I am terribly interested in how they think they can save the MMO. Back in 2007, I went to a conference for independent MMO designers. I was somewhat amazed to meet a
Mindways
Two things I dread: decreasing the signal-to-noise ratio and being dishonest about how complex the world is. Both of these are pretty paralyzing to a writer. Writing is violent. To write about something you have to cut away all the things that can’t be written down, rip it away from all the things you don’t notice and all the things you don’t know how to capture. Then, if you’ve managed to get your hands on anything, if there’s anything left, you begin to pick it apart. Editors, how-tos, the voice inside your head, everyone tells you to find the essence,
Harold Ramis, 1944-2014
I just watched Ghostbusters again, for the umpteenth time. It’s just as funny as it ever was, but now there is a hint of sadness mixed in as well. Harold Ramis had an astounding career beside Ghostbusters, but that is the movie I will always go back to. I always identified with Egon. It is strange to see him on the screen, to hear his deadpan voice and to also know he’s passed on. It doesn’t seem right.
Rookie of the Year: Dudes Deserve To Be Pampered, Too
The following is the latest in a series of journal entries chronicling the author’s descent into next-gen gaming degeneracy and assorted geekery – from getting his first television in years to trying to figure out why the @$@$&@@ you need two goddamn directional pads just to walk down an effing hallway.
Have You Seen the Yellow Sign?
In 1938, Raymond Chandler published a short detective story called “The King in Yellow.” It takes its name from the victim, a musician named King Leopardi. When the hotel dick, Steve Grayce, finds the man shot to death in his bed, clothed in yellow silk pajamas, he remarks, “The King in Yellow. I read a book with that title once.”
