I discovered something last night: Fifty per cent is not an improvement over thirty per cent if the player still cannot achieve the desired result at fifty per cent.
Archive for October, 2008
A recent post on Jezebel has inspired me to browse slutty hallowe’en costumes, but I cannot find much that speaks to my experience as a pasty cubicle dweller who actually has a really enjoyable job. So, to live my secret fantasy of pretending I am a naughty pasty cubicle dweller who actually has a really enjoyable job and an all-too-repressed wild side, I present the slutty game designer costume ensemble:
- baggy jeans
- sabre-toothed lime T-shirt
- Fluevogs in desperate need of a shine
- fishnets
The advantages of this costume are the minimal investment costs (and when I say “minimal investment costs” I mean “picked up off of my bedroom floor and maybe shaken out”) and the fact that almost all of the pieces can be reintegrated into my day-to-day wardrobe after the celebration.
The idea is at best lame and at worst terrible, but it’s mine and I’m willing to take ownership of it.
The by-now famous case of an online divorcee “killing” her ex-husband’s character in Maple Story could raise compelling questions about the nature of virtual accomplishment, actual versus implied valuation and what it really means to not exist. However, for someone like me who takes the “the woman used login information she got from the 33-year-old office worker when their characters were happily married” bit to heart, I think what it comes down to is a lesson in not giving out your login information unless, of course, you actually want to wake up one day to log and find your characters stripped and/or deleted.
If humanity collectively ditched speech altogether and reverted to a system of communication using cave paintings and wild gesticulation, would that solve the problems caused by international language barriers or would socio-cultural differences in the expected pitch and yaw of the opposable digit just lead to even more wars?
For all of Age of Conan’s shortcomings, I have been questing in Tarantia Noble for the past half-hour as the sun has been coming up over the district in-game, listening to the crows caw and watching them fly around as birds do at dawn; something I have not seen or heard in the real world in years.
Old Tarantia at dawn.
The genetic artist in the cubicle next to me insists that I am not, as previously thought, locked in to a very narrow selection of creature parts in Spore if I plan to succeed in the creature stage. Apparently all I need are a great set of wings and a kick line. Maybe I shouldn’t have nuked my first creation after all.
I just heard the phrase “uber-absorbent material” used in a maxi-pad commercial. There are so many places I could go with this it astounds me, but I will defer to my more sensitive readers and restrain myself.
Don’t Shoot the Puppy ended up sucking down about half an hour of my life today, even though a successful playthrough takes exactly fourteen minutes and ten seconds.
While not the revelation that You Have to Burn the Rope proved to be, Don’t Shoot the Puppy isn’t without its charm.
Because I am apparently now on said tank’s “healers to call on” list.
Because tanks that can’t hold aggro amuse me that much.
