"Look Mr. Bubbles! This isn't an angel... What is it?"

"Hrrmmrrrmmmmnnnnngh."

"I think it's full of adam..."

"Hurmhurm?"

"I can't read that thing up that... What does it say?"




I love you, Target.

On March 31st, a good woman was taken from the world. My roommate's mother was the victim of a break-in when she was alone in her house in upstate Pennsylvania. She was killed by a single gunshot wound to the head. The case is still under investigation by the authorities.

This post isn't a tribute to her. I'm not nearly eloquent enough and a gaming blog is far from an appropriate place for it. Instead, I thought I would post about the effects the incident has had on me personally.

As a roleplayer, the Thief has always been my favorite archetype. Stealth and subterfuge has been my preferred niche whenever such an option is presented to me. The number of houses I've burgled, the pockets picked and locks jimmied spans in the hundreds if not the thousands. As soon as your back is turned, little NPC, I'll be rifling through your worldly goods like they're mine. What I can't use, I'll unload at the nearest merchant for a handful of silver. And I certainly can't let you alert those guards if you should catch me.

This play style extends to shooters as well. Presently, my STALKER is waiting at the Bar, haggling for more slugs for his shotgun. They're powerful enough to take down soldiers in one shot if I'm careful. They last me longer than machine gun ammo as well. I've always been lousy at that "controlled burst" notion, you see. No, sniping is my forte. Hide in the shadows and around corners. Wait for the opportune moment. Drop a grenade as I flee to a different ruin, perhaps. A deterrent to any persuers.

I guess that's why Sniper and Pyro are my two best classes in TF2. Surprise attacks. Boom, headshot.

It makes me sick now.

Not in some knee-jerk, emotional response where I'm suddenly looking down my nose at ther players of these games, but an actual tangible feeling. The thought of doing these things makes me physically nausious. I tried to continue my progress in The Saboteur a few days back and after a few minutes of forced play I became motion sick. Even when simply driving around Paris, I felt lightheaded at the thought that I may have to shoot at some Nazis at any moment.

I'm incapable of attacking a virtual Nazi.

I've experimented with the sensation somewhat since then. The nausea only seems to come in situations where I'm shooting at another humanoid. Spaceships, 8-bit foes or heavily stylized opponents don't seem to have the same effect. Neither does melee combat or RPG battle text, for the most part. Small favors, I guess.

Anyway, there you have it. With the incident so closely parallelling what I do as a daily hobby, I can't help but want to break out the introspection. I suppose I should see a therapist at some point. Armchair psychology can really only take a body so far and clearly I feel a need to discuss the situation openly. Comments are welcome.

I don't like Valentine's Day. Many folks are of the same mind, but for different reasons. Some folks perpetuate the So Ronerly stereotype. Maybe they had a plan backfire into a firestorm of a broken relationship like me that permanently turned them off of the holiday. Or they could be fatally allergic to chocolate. To each their own.

In any case, it's rarely a holiday that intersects with our hobby. Target has been so kind as to remedy this.



Not pictured: the Game Over keychain and Galaga-style tins.

It was enough to make me grin a little amidst an aisle that would generally put me right off. I'd recommend anyone else of the same mind swing by and see if there's something that might turn you around as well.

Our washing machine konked out tonight. This is a problem as 1) there's no money for a new washer and 2) I can't drive to a laundromat as my car broke down earlier this week. This is, as they'd call it, a right dilly of a pickle.

Thank goodness for the internet and two decades worth of A-Team, MacGuyver and Mythbusters reruns.

Some Googlin's of the model number and the symptoms brought me to a number of DIY sites where folks had similar issues. I eventually narrowed it down to the lid switch. Think of it like the Door Nubbin in your fridge that tells the light when to come on. It works like that, except it tells the washer that the lid is down. Seems that the current Door Nubbin on the washer just didn't cut it anymore. With the scientific process of Jamming a Screwdriver In confirming the issue, I set about trying to jerry rig a solution.

That was when I saw my DS sitting nearby.

My solution required the noble sacrifice of a spare stylus. Snipped in half, glued into place and reinforced with a few strips of electrical tape... I felt like a monster the whole time, thinking about that scene from Braveheart where Mel gets eviscerated.

In the end, it worked. The washer is chugging merrily away.

The stylus is dead.



Long live the stylus!

Video games are not books. Why would you sell them, you silly goose?

So here's the progression of events.

1) Sim 3 comes out. I purchase said Sims in a retail environment in exchange for real Human Monies.

2) Best Buy has a 1/2 off sale on point cards for the Sims. Sim-meep is getting along well and I want to get him a DLC tiki lamp. Despite my skepticism at the system, I pick eight of the things.

3) Sim-meep starts getting mad lady action. The game is shelved in a mix of jealous and self-loathing.

4) A pile of point cards shows up in the mail. Swearing commences.

5) It is discovered that Sims points are actually generic "EA points" that can be used in their store. Dragon Age is nearing release. An inquisitive eyebrow is duly cocked.

6) The collector's edition of DA sells out everywhere but the EA store. A heavenly shaft of light pierces the clouds and shines on the pile of cards currently relegated to the Corner of Shame on my desk.

7) Six and a half cards are traded for the CE. There is peace.

8) Now, about to install DA for the first time, I go to the EA store in expectation of being able to buy the inevitable DLC there and burn off the last of the cards. They are nowhere to be found.

9) I venture to the Dragon's Age website, clicking around to locate the DLC. Eventually, I find it.



Seriously guys, fuck you. I'm playing Torchlight first now. Go sit in the goddamn Corner of Shame.