The whole XBOX Live subscription system is a wonderful thing. Between the infrequent influxes of vaguely interesting demos, and the impossible amount of things Bill Gates forces you to pay for via his much prized, non-existent currency: Microsoft Points, you could be forgiven for thinking you were being overwhelmed with spoils. But then the thought adorns your brain like a rubber glove that this isn't, after all, why you're here. At the end of the day you can forgive the 360 team for their shortcomings because the true nature of XBOX Live is its community, and the allowance for building one; a social environment you can sprawl in. You pay for this service to play games online, be that with friends or not. XBOX Live Gold is your ticket to the chocolate factory, but what then happens when the Gold suddenly, tragically slips away?

Only a matter of weeks ago I lost touch with Gold, and was relegated to the realms of Silver. A harsh, cold place. A place that, with its sheer existence, taunts your every moment on the 360 Dashboard. You can see it all; the latest demos, videos, e.t.c., and all of the games your friends are busily hammering away at together... But that's all you're getting; a glimpse of that happiness that could well be yours, if only you weren't such a disgusting peasant! You are now a gaming leper. Sure, you may have had friends before, but they're gone now! You're now the infected, and they are the survivors. The circle has joined, and you're on the outside, so what now? I was left feverishly scurrying from site to site looking for some sort of access to this world, and fortunately I found a way. In what seemed like the 360 equivelant of dressing up like a police officer and following the force around I had acquired a 48-hour trial; you're a part of the team for now, Lou, but it's a matter of time before the truth catches up again.

Fortunately my brother rescued me from the depths of this inner turmoil and despair, buying me an XBOX Live Gold subscription for Christmas. No longer will I spend each night crouched in the bath tub, scrubbing my skin away with a steel scourer. I am now cured, and when confronting members of my friend list they no longer grimace with disgust. I hear everyone is welcome on PSN? Sounds beautiful, but right now it's more of a cult than a community. I'm waiting to see if PSN release a statement in encouragement of a mass suicide event, if they don't then I guess its safe to assume they're shooting for the right stars, and I may be swayed on a Playstation 3.

I'm tired of sandbox games. The sandbox is overrated. Why did the concept ever take off in such a hugely overwhelming way, and why does it have to effect every aspect of gaming. GTA3 was the mutts nuts, sure thing, but the reason I never completed that game, nor have I completed any Grand Theft Auto game in history, is because i get too sidetracked by all the random shit that's going on. Don't rely on me to find my own missions, because you can bet your hairy set of cheeks I'll be sidetracked by the allure of running down a stream of pedestrians and then amassing a huge wanted level so that all manner of helicopters follow my ass as I weave through the city. I can't be trusted like that.

I need to be fucking told! I need to be led from A to B to C, and I need to be told exactly what I should be doing without exception. Need for Speed Underground was great. A to B. It gave me something to shoot for, EA, it kept me interested because I knew that as soon as I start the game up all i needed to press was "go to next race" and I'm playing the fucking game again. That was good. But no, that wasn't good enough, apparently. You guys had to go and fuck it up on the sequel and make it some free-roaming enviroment bullshit "hey Lou, we've done great new things! now you can DRIVE to your next race and waste several minutes of your life so that when you eventually arrive at your destination you no longer want to fucking race!" NO, EA! Keep your game, and go fuck yourselves! (Before anyone says it, I know there was a shortcut thing that let you cut this shit out, but it took so much deliberation and fucking around that I lost patience with even that; it's just not the same.)

There have been titles recently; Call of Duty 4, for a very good example, which have shown that you can still have a linear experience and make an incredible game. You don't need to give me the freedom to roam around a virtual Iraq for 20 minutes trying to find my next mission - it's just right the fuck there, staring me in the face! Begin next mission? I'd love to!

The removal of Gamespot.com editor Jeff Gerstmann has released a rip tide of ethical and professional questions, and like fallout from some sort of virtual A-bomb the effects have settled for miles. Whether or not it's openly admitted and acknowledged gaming publications and websites now face an era of transition. An ethereal connection between writer and reader has been severed, and a period of modern McCarthyism has begun as every journalist in gaming is now subject to a moral witch hunt. The feelings surrounding these circumstances have spawned their own incarnation of nihilism as readers find themselves betrayed by their faux-Gods; their all seeing eyes and guiding lights. This leads the reader to beg the question: with the abandonment of God, with whom does salvation then lie? In the midst of such skepticism and such suspicion who has one left to trust other than one's self?

For all of the speculation regarding the manner by which journalism will handle Gerstmann Gate, there's has been a vast oversight of how important it then becomes that the reader inherits power. It's almost as if the veil of naivety has fallen and pupil becomes master. Those who placed their belief in mass media have taken their understanding of the platform several steps further, and have endowed within themselves the initiative to weigh-in and judge various factors against articles. Critique becomes less a conclusion and more a perspective. Pre-Gerstmann Gate a review by your favourite website or magazine sold you on the game, now it's barely food for thought. The reader has been enthused with the savvy to dissect a spectrum of journalistic sources and pick those carcasses for the chunks that count. This is the only real way we as readers, as gamers, even as people can grow to use the mass media, rather than letting the mass media grow to use us.