Tuesday, December 28, 2010

The Art of Conversation.

This title is misleading (I thought it would attract more attention from my one follower). It has a douchy, superior air to it almost as though I know what I'm talking about and/or am vaguely proficient at the subject matter (i.e. making conversation). Know this: I'm not.

"Isn't he cute? his name's Wilson!"
Not that I am horrendous at chatting aimlessly with people. I have tact; my parents made sure I knew the golden rule of conversation: ask questions. It's easy to talk for some indefinite amount of time about your kids, your recently purchased lorikeet, your sweet kill/death ratio. And I don't at all find it difficult to talk with my close friends or my family. But faced with the task of filling in a few minutes with my old tennis coach -now a bearded, grizzly looking booze hound- it often seems insurmountable. And in my panic, I forget that Gary doesn't want to hear about my life just as much as I don't give a damn about his.

Armed with this precious knowledge, I should be fine. Indeed, recently perousing Wikihow's ways to make conversation I found that for the most part, I was already well familiar with their advice. Be confident, prepare yourself, exit gracefully, and the likes. This article seems quite self-deprecating, and the reality is that I'm no less awkward than the next 16 year old boy. But when I picture myself and the life I'll likely lead in 20 years time, struggling to make small talk doesn't fit in. A life of dinner parties, suits, luxury cruises, high salaries, business class travel- and great conversation.

When I think of conversation pros, I look to my mother. Every time one of her children would drag her to their friend's place, forcing her to chat with their mother, she wouldn't bat an eyelid. My father's bank dos? No problem. From what I have observed there is no magic solution, a cheat code, as it were, to make conversation easily. And she does admit that after an evening of it, she's exhausted.

Yeah... maybe I'll just be a forest-dwelling hermit instead. At least my cat Roger doesn't care what I say to him.

Friday, December 24, 2010

My thoughts on Quickscoping, and the Black Ops nerf.

Let me preface this by saying that I didn't buy Black Ops. I had Reach.

Quickscoping- I tried. For a long time, in fact, the Intervention with Sleight of Hand Pro was practically all I used in Modern Warfare 2, even though a) I was thoroughly shite at it, and b) There were, and will always be, far more productive methods of playing (watch a SeaNanners video if you disagree).

But all said and done, I had fun. I was even decent at it for a week or two. Half scopes, drag shots, they were thrilling in a way that drop shotting with a silenced Tar wasn't. But like everything enjoyable, it seems, in time it just becomes insufferably frustrating. Visited Modern Warfare Domination mode of late? One big sniper lobby, 360ing until they have their montage. Damn you, Grizz, look what you've created.
 
So I was somewhat torn over Treyarch's decision to render Quickscoping more or less impossible in Black Ops. Understandably, the Quickscoping community (I was really surprised there was one) gasped collectively. A part of me applauds Treyarch for taking a bold step like this. Nothing makes my blood boil like does spectating a montage guy in Search and Destroy opting to take no scopes rather than defuse. Yet the weird 0.25 second sway they implemented made regular sniping inaccessible for the rest of us, too, and when a game like Call of Duty cannot successfully achieve the quality for which it has accumulated acclaim, and because of which millions purchased it, there is a problem.

Hey Treyarch, why not take a cue from Reach and implement a sniper lobby in Black Ops? You can even call it "just for jerks", I don't care. You certainly didn't have any reservations when it came to pinching initiatives like Theater mode and a currency system from Halo, or the rest of that stuff from Modern Warfare 2. You wanted so badly to be different, to carve yourself a niche like Infinity Wards's controversy... but you can't have wanted this.

But we'll always have Forge.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

From my childhood: Road Trips.

Before my dad moved overseas (and us with him most holidays), we used to take a bunch of road trips around the South Island. I was pretty young, but a few memories stand out as funny, or... well yeah, mostly funny. Here they are:

1) The Scottish Cow incident.
I used to think my older brother was quite the comedian. In hindsight, however, he mostly just made straightforward observations and wittied them up with an accent. One time, we had a car towing a caravan of cows in front of us, only their black and white splattered heads visible. For some reason, James fancied them Scots, and proceeded to say "I'm a Scottish cow" in what I believed was a great Scottish accent. We all laughed until my parents got mad.

2) Ice cream in the wind.
Of course, we all needed to eat from time to time. Enjoying our respective flavours in the back seat of the car, no one could foresee what would happen next. Deeming himself full, James casually tossed his vanilla out the window. I saw it shoot by in the breeze momentarily, before a loud honking sounded behind us- the car following, stuck with James' cone directly on its windscreen. I've been telling that one for a while, but can never make it to the end.

3) Green grass.
We played Eye-Spy, among other things, to pass the time. Having successfully guessed my sister's item, doubtless something cheeky like "weather", I took pleasure in announcing "...something beginning with...F!", and then giggling and shaking in my head as they speculated in vain. After 5 minutes, the jig was up, and it was time to confess. "It was Green Grass!"

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Project Dark!- and a tribute to Demon's Souls.

Demon's Souls was hands-down my favourite game of 2009- and 2010 as well, probably. Nothing since Metal Gear Solid 4 had been so thrilling, or, on Big Boss Hard, so tough a challenge. I can recall watching the IGN video review, which cited it as one of the toughest, yet most rewarding games to hit the PS3, and pondering whether me, who reset his console upon a single alert phase, would actually get any pleasure out of it. I did, and unlike MGS4, proning with the tranq gun was not an option.

How I miss you, Red Dragon...
I won't lie, I struggled to begin with. I felt cheated when, without warning, a dog would leap out of the darkness, halving my health, or when I would tumble down a pit in the aptly named Valley of Defilement. I consider myself a pretty level-headed guy, but once that "You have died" message appeared (reflecting the no-nonsense approach of the entire game) and that ominous note sounded, I often felt like snapping my controller and hurling it into the wall before I could respawn, my wallet of souls empty.

But for the pain and suffering Demon's Souls brought me, the moments of joy easily outweighed them. I would finally best Armour Spider (yeah, I camped with a bow), and it would all seem worth it. No other game I have played could achieve this- it almost made me long for the days of insane 2D platformers for only the most masochistic.

Having made the switch to an Xbox 360, I knew that eventually I would have to man up and confront the inevitable exclusives of 2011 that I would be missing out on. And with trailers for not only Resistance 3 but Uncharted 3 as well airing this week, it's been tough. So, you can imagine how thrilled I was when I found out that the "spiritual successor" to Demon's Souls, Project Dark, will be multiplatform (I can hear my friend Nick groaning already). Between Project Dark and Metal Gear Rising, I may just make it through 2011.

An amusing anecdote: Vietnam taxi drivers.

Traffic in Vietnam is a seriously frightening thing, and kudos to all the Westerners who actually believe they will be able to navigate it with some degree of proficiency- I can't. Often, the thought of the struggles involved in leaving the hotel- finding a taxi, actually getting to the intended location, agreeing on price- sends me scurrying back inside to watch Cartoon Network or Spanish News.

Our hotel in Hanoi, though, made it easier, providing us with a reputed brand of taxi, and settling on a price pre-journey. One morning, we set out to see the Museum there, armed with nothing but our Tourists' Map and healthy amounts of Dong (I was a Dong millionaire). Unfortunately, the destination was much farther from the hotel than we had thought. Hilarious results ensue.

After much quiet debate, we thrust the map in the driver's face, pointing angrily, and demanding to know why, after a 15 minute ride, we aren't at the museum. A heated argument continues, made no easier by his only English being "OK OK", even when the situation clearly wasn't OK OK. After 5 minutes of this, the car stops- we're there. Thank god, though not before we've complained to the hotel about our driver. Also, he had ridiculously long fingernails, which I later speculated were to cut the faces of tourists disputing the 30 000 dong fare ($1.50). We all get desensitised to the amount of money we are actually spending in a cheap place like south-east Asia, and subsequently, really really tight.

So we tip the man for his ordeal, and I force my dad to the ring the hotel and admit that "Taxi no. 4705 is OK", though I suspect their english wasn't much flasher than the driver's.

I feel better, but the Museum is awful- full of fat, pale, sweaty tourists reminding me that I am no more than this.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

The joys of business class travel.

It's funny how quickly we can become unbelievably snobbish given the right circumstances (or maybe that's just me).

Example: business class on aeroplanes (don't try and tell me it's airplanes blogspot).

The planes that I tend to fly on are laid out so that business class is in the front, and economy at the rear. We are frugal folk, and cannot afford the extortionate prices of business class. As such I have the pleasure of trudging through the business cabin each time I fly. For me, it's all about the exchange of looks. Disdain from the business passengers already reclining and sipping a Moet while perousing the Business section of the paper. We commoners shrink back under their gazes, but we mask longing for what we will never have behind bitterness. Well, I did.

Recently, though, I flew a succession of 12-ish hour flights in Business- at the expense of my dad's employer- and immediately changed, for the better, I like to think. Suddenly it was I casting my upper-class gaze upon the working-class plebeians, and I have to admit I enjoyed the experience from start to finish. I fancied myself a James Bond type character, ordering gin and tonic with gay abandon, acting shocked when the hostess informed me that they were out of the champagne I had requested. Classic.

Yeah, that was me for 48 hours.
When a woman and her infant from back there attempted to use the business bathroom (bigger...less harsh lighting) but was swiftly blocked by our hostess, my mother and I tore her to pieces. Quietly of course- no raised voices in business. How dare she... Our bathroom... No right at all.

And it didn't end there. Express check in, KrisFlyer Gold lounge- there was even a physical red carpet for us too stand on, becuase we business passengers' feet are just to important to walk on regular floor.

But I'm 16, too young to already be such an douche. I shouldn't have got so wound up in my luxury, since now it's back to economy. Granted, I'm lucky to be flying all the time at all, but still. Where else can you act like a baby, demanding things left and right, and still be addressed as "Master"?