Killing Time 

After a while, you get tired of shooting people. That's natural. You get tired of shooting them in the head, in the leg, in the gut. You get tired of pulling the trigger, over and over. You get tired of aiming. You get tired of counting ammo, tired of reloading. Your hand gets tired, and your mind, too: your mind wanders. You kill by rote. You get a little bored. You're always putting one gun down, picking another one up, just to make your own life more interesting—to feel the kick of this gun, to hear the pop of that one. It doesn't matter which gun you use, in the end. They'll all kill people just as well. You love all your munitions equally.

You get tired, too, of stabbing people, bayoneting them, beating them with crowbars and baseball bats, beating them with brass knuckles, beating them with your fists. You get tired of tossing grenades and pipe bombs and Molotov cocktails, tired of laying down land mines and C4 and IEDs and bear traps. You get tired of the blood spatter, the cries of pain, the dismemberment, the incessant collapse of bodies, their piling up higher and higher, your stepping over them en route to new targets. You weave through buildings and courtyards and streets, sewers and subways and caves, always looking for something to shoot, but you're tired of all the killing. You can't even remember why you're doing it.

Oh yeah: because it used to be fun.

When finally you've been at it so long, all this killing, so long that your back is sore and your legs are numb and your trigger hand possibly permanently injured from repetitive stress, finally you concede that maybe it is time to stop playing video games, that perhaps they are violent and somewhat strange, and that maybe you'd be better off and happier if you just read a book.

Where Every American Dream Goes to Die 

I'm not a very good driver. You should know that, first of all. This fact doesn't keep me off the road, but I do hit things: I bump into cabs, crash into streetlights, and every now and then, I'll sideswipe a pedestrian in a crosswalk. It's terrible.

It's terrible and it's kind of fun.

I've been doing it for hours.

The self-appointed public watchdogs who attack Grand Theft Auto IV as "gratuitously violent" are chasing their own tails, failing to understand the real appeal—and danger—of the game. It is true that the game's protagonist, Niko Bellic, arrives off the boat from Eastern Europe and finds himself in the midst of an impoverished, crime-ridden city. But during the few hours I played the game, I saved relatives and friends from violence, I spared the life of a man I had been ordered to kill, I helped put down organized crime, and, for the most part, I lived the life of an upstanding citizen: I bowled. I went on dates. I drove a cab (though badly, and sometimes accidentally crashed into things).1

The game—like most games, movies, TV shows, comic books, songs, and news shows—has violence. But the violence is not gratuitous, any more than it is symptomatic of a large societal (or subcultural) ill: antisocial and even violent people may find an outlet in videogames, but the fact that these people are sometimes drawn to games is not to say that they are drawn by them:2

A U.S. Secret Service study from May 2002 found that only 12 percent of those involved in school shootings were attracted to violent video games, while 24 percent read violent books and 27 percent were attracted to violent films. An Australian study from March 2007 found that only children already predisposed to violence were affected by violent games. (U.S. Secret Service and U.S. Department of Education.)3

The real menace of videogames is that they are the new opiate of the masses. They don't make us more violent; they make us more complacent. They make us inveterate consumers (game publishers quietly hiked the price of each title from $50 to $60); they cut into our productivity (see "Halo Flu"); and they make other entertainment seem lackluster in comparison (see "Iron Man vs. GTA", or this classic which blames videogames for declining national park attendance).4

The real and present danger of Grand Theft Auto is that I'd planned to go to the gym and a writing workshop today, and instead I'm cruising around Liberty City.

If the American Dream dictates that hard work will lead us to a better life, then perhaps Grand Theft Auto really is "where the American Dream goes to die"—because it supplants our desire for hard work, and even our desire for a better life. Why bother, when we can just play a game? "Keep calm," it tells us, "and carry on."

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1. My one intentional, glaring deviance from the law came after a night of drinking with my lonely, troubled cousin, when I got behind the wheel to drive him home. The game warned me in no uncertain terms that it was unsafe for me to drive while intoxicated. As soon as I turned the ignition and started down the road, the police arrested me.

2. Drawn, in the Jessica Rabbit sense.

3. See also, The Effect of Violent Video Games on the Human Psyche, and Caution: Children at Play.

4. I often feel like I'm falling behind in my entertainment: for example, my ever-accruing To Do list tells me that I need to catch up on an episode of Battlestar Galactica, two episodes of Lost, seven different rentals from Netflix, thirteen podcasts, and the small pile of books I've started and not finished—not to mention, of course, Grand Theft Auto, which promises to consume no less than 60 hours of time.

Don't Ask, Don't Tell 

EA's Army of Two Gets a Few Things Right

The first thing to notice about Army of Two, the new cooperative shooter from Electronic Arts, is how cute its two mercenary-heroes are. Or rather, what a cute couple they make: Salem is long-haired and downright pretty; Rios is a rougher sort, like Mr. Clean if Mr. Clean had been hit in the face by a little too much shrapnel in Somalia.

The second thing to notice is how much fun they have together. Even in the midst of heated battles, they're always funning each other—head-butting, high-fiving, tripping one another. Those guys! Sure, they squabble like an old married couple, but that's just another sign of how close they really are: in the end, there's no doubt they have each other's back.

The third thing to notice is how much time the two of them spend accessorizing. They jet from continent to continent, chasing terrorists in exchange for cash (these two are soldiers of fortune with hearts of gold), and when all of the bullets and bombs are said and done, ... they go shopping.1

In short, this quick, fun, machismo (and otherwise not-too-remarkable) game is the most homoerotic piece of military hardware since Top Gun. Who'd have thought that the conservative-seeming developers of Madden and The Sims2 would come out with such a strong critique of the Pentagon's anti-gay policy? But there it is: Army of Two is the story of two openly gay soldiers who leave the Army Rangers despite an exemplary record, then thrive as guns-for-hire. They are not only great at soldiering; they look good doing it.

"It's not the goal of the game [to educate people], because it's entertainment," says Alain Tascan, general manager for the EA division that developed Army of Two. "But if they learn a little bit more about it like we learned about it, it might open their eyes a little bit."

That's right. Who do you want in your foxhole, bro?

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1. In this case, they go shopping for goofy metal hockey masks and bling-encrusted submachine guns. "Nice gun, bro."

2. The Sims: a game that is entirely about working and shopping. It doesn't get more conservative than that.

Best Disappointing Games of 2007  

You have to love something before it can break your heart.

2007 saw the release of some of the biggest, most visually-stunning, hyped, expensive videogames in the industry's history—games that people very much wanted to love. So much anticipation was bound to lead, too, to some disappointment.

Below are capsule reviews of the Best Disappointing Games of 2007—games that might have been great but weren't (though they were generally considered great by critics), what I loved about them, and why they broke my heart.

Game Over 

When the course of human history is set, it's not usually set by fat guys in bad t-shirts who spend all their time playing videogames. Therefore I imagine it'll come off as a tad hyperbolic when I say that this week, a crack was revealed in the foundation of Western civilization, when media company CNET fired Jeff Gerstmann, the senior editor of its videogame publication, GameSpot.com.

The reasons behind the ouster are shrouded in the rhetoric of corporate obfuscation: "It is CNET Networks' policy not to comment on the status of its employees, current of former." But actions speak louder than words, and here are four:

1. Game publisher Eidos buys huge blocks of advertising on CNET sites, leading up to the release of its anticipated shooter, Kane and Lynch
2. Gerstmann posts an unfavorable review of the game, saying "It's weighed down by bad storytelling, a real lack of character development, and a host of gameplay-related issues."
3. Gerstmann, 10-year editor with GameSpot, is locked out of his office and CNET won't say why, leaving the rest of the editorial staff feeling "devastated, gutted and demoralized."
4. Gerstmann's video review, and the Eidos ads, are removed from the CNET sites.

Maybe CNET responded to the pressure of an advertiser when it fired Gerstmann or maybe it was an unlucky coincidence of events. But the insinuation alone is enough to compromise CNET's editorial integrity, forcing readers to re-think every favorable review ever posted by the publisher, and if they're wise, to re-think every article written by every ad-driven or sales-driven publication in the market (which is to say, nearly all of them). ¹

The idea that CNET might kowtow to advertisers (like the idea that Rupert Murdoch might use the Wall Street Journal for less-than-objective ends) begs a question that can't be asked often or loudly enough: in a wholly capitalist society, when publications answer to shareholders and profit margins, why wouldn't they kowtow?, and is there any status at all left for the Fourth Estate? ²

1. In the midst of this controversy, Eidos was also caught fabricating reviews of the game on their own site. Who needs the press, when the publisher can review their own product?

2. Chuck Klosterman (of whom The Urban Sherpa is an avowed fanboy) wrote this article, suggesting that there will never be an "authoritative critical voice within the world of video games" because "absolutely everything is built around consumerism."

Let's Go Cyrodiil 

Whether you're looking for quiet sailing by the beach, hiking in rugged, snow-capped mountains, or you just want to swap stories at a tavern and watch a show, the province of Cyrodiil has it all. Its seven cities each have something to offer a traveler, and during your stay in Cyrodiil, you should plan to visit all of them. An extensive road network means you can get around easily; some residents prefer jaunting from place to place on horseback.

Cyrodiil is known foremost for its wide variety of flora and, especially, fauna. The countryside is decorated with dozens of varieties of wildflowers and fantastic-looking mushrooms. Wildlife, too, comes in many fantastic varieties, many of which you won't find anywhere in the world. Indeed, it's nearly impossible to go for even a short walk without running into a creature or two. (Most of the animals you'll see are not at all shy about approaching people; as always, be safe: travel in numbers when possible, and always carry a whistle or other device to frighten the creatures off when necessary.)

The people of Cyrodiil are a mellow folk, approachable and generally helpful to strangers. Even in cities, people are quiet. Most are at home in bed not long after sunset, though bars and pubs stay open all night long. People are, on the whole, religious and law-abiding. The police are a visible presence and keep the province very orderly. Cyrodiil has a remarkably effective justice system, and nearly all wanted criminals are eventually brought to justice.

Visitors to Cyrodiil will never be at a loss for things to do: the cities have book shops and restaurants, and each region within the province has its own unique cuisines and flavors. Shoppers won't be disappointed, either: the mostly-quaint mom-and-pop boutiques are lively; haggling is not uncommon. A sports arena in the center of the province hosts contests through all of daylight hours, as well as legalized gambling on the outcome of the events.

The countryside, too, is full of adventures for anyone interested in exploring, and rich with destinations of historic interest—cathedrals, old forts and ruins from antiquity are scattered throughout the province.

Indeed, Cyrodiil has so much to offer that few visitors will have a chance to see it all. If you choose to visit, pack light but be prepared for anything, and know that more than two-hundred hours of adventure await.

See you in Cyrodiil!

Forty-seven hours, fifteen minutes 

Sorry not to have written in all this time. You might say I've been away. In fact, you might say I've been "far, far away." I'll explain what I mean below, but first, I have a secret guilty pleasure, and I'm going to tell you what it is:

What's kept me busy all week, and made me so neglectful of my blog, is the study of "dynamic technique of search and evaluation in a multi-dimensional problem space incorporating information retrieval and realized in a Chomsky Type 2 language." In layman's terms: video games.

Like the rest of all grown adults, I quit video games years ago, around the time I started shaving on a regular basis, around the time I discovered girls, around the time I got a life. But then something unexpected happened: having gotten a life, and then gotten somewhat bored with it, I rediscovered video games. And I'm not the only one: the game industry now brings in $25 billion a year—a number that would put the Hollywood film industry to shame—that is, if the games weren't so wrapped up in Hollywood's intellectual property. It's now commonplace for a blockbuster film to release a (usually lackluster) video game; and now, almost as common, the biggest games get new life in the form of Hollywood movies.

In other words, games are mainstream. The target audience of the game industry is not the sex-starved pubescent with thick glasses and thin social skills we've all come to expect. The games are aimed mostly at young professionals, aged 18-30, willing to fork over $50 for each game. (Following the record-breaking $125 million first day of Bungie's Halo 2, these young professionals called took sick days in droves, a phenomenon that came to be dubbed the "Halo flu.")

So let's just say that I came down with a bit of a "bug" this week, after picking up a new game based on the Star Wars movies. I bought it late on Sunday and more or less played it straight through, with as little sleep as possible. I played without eating or showering. I played so long that when I closed my eyes, I saw pixels of color—the rods and cones of my optical nerve were so over-stimulated that they wouldn't stop firing. I played so long that I dreamt the game while I slept; I played so long that I literally got nauseous from staring at the moving images on the screen. But still, I kept playing.

Forty-seven hours, fifteen minutes.

Never having been addicted to crack, I can only guess that this is what it's like. I just can't stop. I can't. The feeling isn't so different from an addiction to a good book—the overpowering need to read just one more chapter, and then you promise, you'll return to the real world. But unlike a book, a video game offers no chance to flip ahead, to count pages to the end of the chapter, or measure thickness with your fingers. There is no sense of how far there is yet to go. There is only the overwhelming appetite for what comes next: One more level. Just one more room. One more puzzle, one more fight, and then, I promise, I'll stop. I promise.

Say what you will about video gamers and their geekish, obsessive compulsions. What non-gamers probably don't realize is how much commitment a game demands, how much discipline, before it gives up its secrets. There is no dabbling in video games. If you want to know how a chapter ends, if you want to know what "Halo" really is, if you want to know the secret that Lara Croft's mentor holds over her, if you want to know who really started the Mandalorian War and why, then you have to work.

Forty-seven hours, fifteen minutes. About the amount of time it takes to read Ulysses or Gravity's Rainbow.

The Video Game Revolution
Deathmatch, Julia Roberts style