One Can Never Be Too Careful
Brenna’s leg has decided that it no longer wants to be a leg, rather, it wants to merely ride around attached to her body while generating infinite pain. This means that the only games I’ve been able to play are Club Penguin, and… that’s it, just Club Penguin, which is only one game. I could go deep on Club Penguin - as deep, perhaps, as the sub in Aqua Grabber after you get all the Cream Soda barrels and the coral opens up and you get the Amethyst from the blowfish - but I won’t. I may punish you with it at some point. But not today.
Gabriel has been up to his navel in Resistance 3, though, and we managed to wring a strip out of it. I was here for the first intense day of play, I can understand well enough why it might be polarizing. There are a lot of games in the guns-which-bob-before-you genre. I’d argue that Insomniac always insures that they have the best guns; they took the mantle from Duke at the inception of the franchise and have more or less held onto it, despite a very strong play from Bulletstorm.
It’s a game that is, in a very real sense, about a mitten. As I’ve said before, with more parents making games, we can (and should) expect that a greater percentage of our games will feature mittens prominently or at the very least feature a mitten component.
I received the strangest question in an interview once: somebody wanted to talk to me about MC Frontalot, who coincidentally has a new album out. They wanted to know why rap about nerd things, or make comics about nerd things, and this all has a corrollary with why make games about parents and children. I scrunched my whole face up, and the region between my eyebrows shifted tectonically from plain to mountain. But he could not see this, so I was forced to express my confusion with the human words.
This was a person writing an article for a newspaper, a device which transmits culture, but he didn’t seem to understand what he was doing! Maybe he was confused because he was taught to “speak” without “voice,” that is, to communicate neutrally. Maybe he found the printing press in the woods, and operates it via dimly understood rituals. But here’s the apparently impenetrable math: people create culture. And they create it by describing the world in terms which are relevant to them. Who does he think makes all this stuff?
All that changed was the hand on the tiller.