A letter to Google

Sup Googs,

Of all the letters you get, I'm sure most of them are from fans admiring how awesome Google is. The rest must be from paranoid idiots shouting about the legality of being tracked, privacy control and all manner of conspiratorial bullshittery. I don't belong to either category, but rather I'm sending this letter to give a constructive response of how to make Google a better, more user friendly place for people to conduct business.

After spending a considerable amount of time trying to figure out how to work Google sites, I have come to the conclusion that it was designed, implemented and tested by feces throwing spider monkeys. I suppose the first question I should ask is 'how the hell did this get by a QA department', or better yet, 'was this even run past a QA department?'. This shit barely works and is BY FAR the worst product Google has to offer (which is really saying something, since Google wave and Google buzz sucked so much it could take the chrome off a trailer hitch).

Want to start with a totally blank page and just put in your own html? NO. Want to get rid of the search bar, or place it elsewhere to center a header image? NO. Even creating a splash page is ridiculously difficult. These are basic things that can easily be fixed, I can't even edit the html. it's nice to offer ease of use access to those who know nothing about what they're doing and are a bazillion years old, but it makes things super difficult for people who know even a BIT about what they're doing. $10 for a domain and an easy-to-build website is enticing, I just didn't know THIS is what I was in for. Even if some of those features are there, they're ridiculously hard to find. The process is NOT easily navigable...I'm not trying to steer a trade ship through a narrow canal in the 1600s, I'm just trying to build a goddamn website.

Oh I know, everyone at Google are super geniuses and I can't argue with that, but I'll make this really easy to understand: I can't conceive that the same company that produces the best search algorithm in the world, makes billions of dollars annually, has a $600 price tag for ONE SHARE and that practically OWNS THE INTERNET made this product that, in comparison, looks like it was made out of Popsicle sticks by an eight year old girl with no hands...

Sincerely,
Chief

An Open Letter to BioWare

Dear BioWare,

I have been a gamer for the majority of my life, having spent countless hours plopped in front of some type of screen plugging away at the latest and greatest the industry has to offer for my own amusement and entertainment. While there have been some massive hits, and some massive failures, it has occurred to me that BioWare's offerings give players a unique experience with polish and detail.

That being said, there is one thing I have noticed about your games universally that amuses and confuses, astounds and confounds...and that is the fact that every character you've ever allowed me to take control of cannot jump.

That's right, you can't fucking jump.

In Dragon Age, you play as any of 3 races (humans, elves and dwarfs) that become great warriors and team up with all different sorts of characters using magic, wielding weapons you and I couldn't DREAM of wielding in real life, and set forth to destroy mythical creatures - yet not one person in this world has discovered (or learned) the ability to jump?

Fast forward to the year 2183 AD - Mass Effect is a character-driven, science fiction, action packed space adventure, where you take control of a team of warriors spanning all kinds of races and species...and they still can't jump. what kind of lame universe is this anyway?

Mass effect 2 has come to us, and walking around the environments brings a sense of familiarity as I recall playing the first game. My hand rests comfortably on the edge of my keyboard. I see a small ledge and I press the space bar, expecting my character to jump over the small ledge, but he doesn't, and another familiar feeling becomes apparent - frustration. HOW THE HELL IS THIS THE FUTURE?!

Even in the Star Wars universe characters are vertically challenged...for all the effort put into the lore and mechanics of how this universe should function, in Knights of the old republic (both of them) characters are unable to jump. This, to me, is a bit odd. I've seen the films, the characters jump quite frequently, especially in the heat of battle, yet for some strange reason, jumping is not permitted in the house of BioWare...why is this?

It seems that for all the effort that is put into details making characters realistic, story elements that make characters believable, and creating massive worlds that are meant to let players immerse themselves in universes of wonder and splendor, the fact that you can't jump presents a serious disconnect between the world and the player. Am I really supposed to suspend my disbelief and believe that I care about this world or its inhabitants when none of them are capable of performing a simple task such as jumping? It also makes me feel as if 'exploring' the world being presented is futile because I can't explore vertically, but only along a horizontal plane.

Sincerely,
Chief

The Difference between My Mom and Yours: A Stark Contrast

Note: This was a paper that I wrote for a class that I was never enrolled in. My room mate at the time submitted it annonymously for me. The paper is as follows:

The Difference between My Mom and Yours: A Stark Contrast

In looking at the various differences between humans in nature, the differences are plain to see to those with the naked eye. While the common man can spot the differences between other humans just by employing the thought process, taking two individuals and examining them together produces a stark contrast that may shock and perhaps amaze observers up to the task.

Take for example, the difference between my mom and yours. My mother is a fairly conservative woman who is also independent and has many rewarding qualities. Your mother on the other hand, is a dirty cockmongling whore dependant on her pimp to give direction in her life.

My mother has a job, though nothing that is as disgusting as the employment your mother has chosen. My mother wakes up early for the common 9 to 5 schedule, employs the same tasks day to day to ensure that her given objectives are complete before the day is done. The slut you lovingly refer to as ‘mom’ on the other hand wakes up every day in strange places, and is forced to sucks dick for a ride back into town where her workday will begin. She has a wide array of varied tasks that change from day to day. Whether its sucking cocks, doing anal, or fucking someone in the dirty men’s stall in the local eatery, your mother has all the bases covered for any task her customer might need, no matter how abstract or degrading.

My mother is happily married to a man with a respectable job. He travels day-to-day doing various tasks, employed and paid through the almighty tax dollar. Your mother is not married, but her deadbeat boyfriend does support her seven illegitimate children by selling crack cocaine on various street corners throughout the tri-state area while simultaneously evading local authorities. Though he might not make enough to support all of her children, your mother’s meager income supports the rest of the family needs. After a long day of fucking plunger handles in front of webcams and being bent over various bathroom appliances, your mother returns to her pimp, Dopetastic Bootywrangler III, who questions your mother’s daily take with a firm slap in the face. He then takes his fee, and shoves her out of his tricked out suburban back onto on the streets to go pick up his next big score. These methods are obviously not something my mother would tolerate, as one examining the situation can plainly see.

The comparisons go on and on, but through this simple examination, we have learned that through an examination of both my mother and yours that they are nothing alike. My mother is a kind, independent woman, happily married while your mother is a sick, twisted degraded whore who loves taking it in the cinnamon ring whenever she can get it, and that bitch doesn’t even get PAID. And that concludes my examination of my mother and the filthy, disease ridden cumdumpster you call your mother.

What is LA Like?

I cringe at the edge of the street, watching as self-important twatwaffles walk by with their upscale merch firmly gripped in one hand, while the other is used to hold a cell phone to their faces, spitting psychobabble into it about how their wealthy lives in upper-suburbia are spiraling out of control. From behind me the distinct clip-clop of high heels seizes me with fear as this creature looms over me, artificially heightened by her heels and trussed up hair. Her dull, listless gaze meets mine only for a moment and she attempts a smile, but it is blocked by her botox injected lips, and her plastic, readjusted face does not facilitate such emotions visually. Like soulless dolls they trudge about, touting accessory kits and worthless garbage in expensive bags, doused in makeup ordered from the far reaches of a dreadful cosmetics chain, scooped and applied from an industrial tub caking their face with layers and layers of toxic waste suffocating their own skin to a ghoulish grey tint cleverly disguised with spray on tans. the scent of hairspray and bad perfume assault the senses, even in the street you can smell them. They walk about like hollow shells, too self-absorbed and worry some about the fabricated mask they wear, they spend countless hours in front of the mirror, yet do not realize that they appear more like paintings from a distant past, far from any sort of reality, far from the image they envision in their minds. They appear sub-human to me, abnormal to the fullest extent. nothing relatable springs to mind, thus conversation is mind-numbing on a scale immeasurable.

This mind boggling display of fakery is not reserved solely for the women, much to the contrary, the men are just as horrendous, if not worse then the gender opposite. They strut about, blissfully ignorant of the laughter that must befall them behind their backs. Designer jeans hug their figure tight at the waist and ankles, leaving no breathing room for any genitals tightly crammed in them, elevating their vocal pitch several octaves. They adorn shirts 3 sizes too small, usually with the collar popped, and hair slicked up and stuck in place with styling gel or something sticky of that sort. They roam in packs, yet they all look the same. They talk about their clubs and friends with an all-important smugness, nose pointed directly north at all times. While they roam the streets often, you can usually find them hanging about the same clothing and cosmetics chains as the females, not hunting for the opposite sex, but shopping for similar cosmetic needs. There is hardly any muscle on them to speak of, or any fat for that matter. These things subsequently blur the line between the genders, and for me, I no longer classify them in that manner, I classify them together as an entirely new species that I can only hope becomes endangered or extinct in the not-too-distant future.

The landscape these creatures dwell in is also foreign in nature. The dense cloud of smog hugs the ground tightly, the sun shines through it painting the world around us a pale yellow color akin to urine. The heat makes the dry, brittle plants shrivel and turn the setting into nothing more than bland shades of brown and grey. It isn't abnormal for it to be set ablaze by the dry heat, and the fires rage very near to the homes of stubborn imbeciles more concerned with their material possessions than their physical safety, and they refuse to move out of the path of the approaching firestorm. The firefighters valiantly control the blaze, burning the mountaintops to ensure the fire doesn't make a second appearance, however the rains, though rare, will undoubtedly spawn mudslides in the same region where homes are built...the same place where people chose to have dwellings built to call their homes. This is nothing compared to the massive rumblings of the earth itself, as the ground quakes somewhat frequently, rocking the surrounding areas with such a destructive force that wrecks everything in its path without pity or remorse. Yet, strangely, through all this danger, devastation, and decimation, people seek to live their lives here, and bring children into the world here, and seek employment here...why any person would choose to dwell here considering the potential destructive consequences is truly a testament to the ignorance of the people that surround me.

When asked what LA is like, this small offering is but a fraction of the horrors to be encountered here, it simply is not possible to properly describe the amount of strange and terrible that has penetrated this place...so please, for the sake of all that is good, keep yourself from this place. The myth of wonder, splendor and opportunity are crushed under the weight of something much more sinister, much more nefarious. If you wish to save whatever scraps of humanity that remain within yourself you shall evade this place at all costs, for the curiosity that will bring you here is nothing compared to the crushing disappointment and anguish at the knowledge of what lurks in broad daylight.

Television? In My Videogames?

Often times when playing a game it becomes easy to lose yourself in the immersive worlds built for us without realizing the extent to which the world is built. I use the TV as a prime example. More often these days, as the technology evolves to accommodate extensive worlds which developers are able to build, sometimes the player is completely oblivious to the efforts of developers to place a TV in the game-world to make the world seem more complete. It’s not just enough to have a TV in a shop window. It has to display something to make it seem real. The ‘TV within a TV’ motif is used for plot device purposes in a ton of games.

This plot device can be explored in the PS3 exclusive game InFamous. Throughout the game, televisions can be spotted on top of buildings and in shop windows and passing by them will initiate News reports on current events spurned by your actions in the game, as well as random interruptions from an underground frequency hijacker spouting messages claiming your character is the root of all evil and that the citizens should be on the lookout. Even though these shows are meant to inform you that the world is watching your every move, and are placed perhaps to illicit a response they aren’t really all that necessary, and they even have text ads displayed on inactive TV’s for fake products like ‘Jamie’s Soda’ (now available in a 4 liter fun size!) and ads for toys (“toys with Lead-based paint now marked!”).
The TV plot device can also be seen in Mega-man 9, when Dr. Wily announces to the world that he is not responsible for the robot revolution and claims that Dr. Light (Mega-man’s creator) is responsible and broadcasts his bank account number on national television to suck funds from the public for his next nefarious scheme, to the shock and dismay of mega-man and his compatriots.

While the TV is mainly used for a plot device, usually involving a news flash informing the player that news crews and/or police are aware of your actions within the game to create a sense of urgency and tension, developers are taking a much more varied approach to the way television is represented in games. In Max Payne 2, walking by a TV will increase the volume to attract your attention to various shows, such as Lords and Ladies, a satire of ‘Upstairs Downstairs’ styled soaps, Dick Justice, a silly self-referential police drama that has a plot that mirrors the player’s experience through the main story of the first game, and Address Unknown, a twin peaks-inspired show. All of these shows are originally written content and serve no other purpose other than to make the world seem more real (and for comic relief in this case).

The game that takes the cake has got to be 2K Games’ shoot-em-up ‘the Darkness’ for X360/PS3. There are news flashes chronicling your misadventures, and at one point Uncle Paulie, head of the Franchetti crime family, sends you a videotaped message displayed on a TV acknowledging your betrayal and instructing the player to check the closet for an explosive surprise. Scattered throughout the game are various TV’s that let you change the channel to flip between news briefs, music videos (from real bands), episodes of the New Three Stooges, Popeye, Flash Gordon, and features not one, not two, not three, but SEVEN full length feature films available for you to watch in-game (to Kill a Mockingbird, Man with the Golden Arm, Nosferatu, The Street Fighter, the Return of the Street Fighter, Sister Street Fighter, and The Street Fighter’s Last Revenge). This has got to be the most in-depth television system in a game, and the appropriate licenses were obtained to broadcast this material without even instructing the player to pass a glimpse at the television set…you could own the game forever and never know this content was on the disc!

So why go through all the trouble dealing with licenses, creating original video content on top of a game that already has an extensive development cycle and making the TV seem real to us? Isn’t it enough to be playing ON a TV? Simply put, because it’s fun. It’s like an Easter egg, something to keep an eye on and appreciate. It is my personal belief that detail is what makes a good game a great game and little touches like this don’t go unnoticed by the veteran gamers out there. While I’ve mainly focused on the television, let’s also not forget touches like GTA Radio in the Grand Theft auto games have brought much-enjoyment, and while it isn’t exactly necessary to include features like that, it makes the world more believable and enjoyable. So the next time you play a game, keep an eye out, you might end up watching more TV than playing games.

Understanding Attraction

It’s no secret that opposites attract, and while most of the world is struggling to contain potential overpopulation, it is important to understand the mechanics of how and why people are attracted to one another and why stupid people breed in the first place. The opening scene of Mike Judge’s film Idiocracy paints a startling picture of the present, ultimately painting an even bleaker picture of the future in which stupid people multiply and those with high IQ’s have more complications conceiving thus resulting in less births spread across high IQs, producing a future population of idiots. Though this is a good setup to the film, one flaw immediately becomes apparent: shit doesn’t work like that most of the time. Sure, the human carnal nature to breed cannot be ignored and this can present some overpopulation concerns across all academic levels, but physical attraction is not taken into account, just the desire to ‘drink beer in massive quantities and fuck anything with legs in the back of my pickup’. It is on this missing area of information that we will focus on.

Understanding how attraction works sets up the problem list immediately. If there is one thing society has taught us it’s that first impressions really DO matter. If you were to attend a blind date you would doll yourself up to look your best right? This is misleading, as it would be more appropriate to show this person who you are on a normal day, and then they can use that as the basis for their judgment on you and whether or not they would like to continue dating you (the result of which will ultimately be a resounding ‘No’ on her part). So you look your best, tell your best jokes and anecdotes, wear that special pheromone cologne you ordered off the internet to seduce her and you’ve strapped a roll of quarters to your dick to make it seem larger…why hasn’t she called? What went wrong?

You obviously haven’t taken into account that she is doing the exact same thing (except the male enhancement treatment, unless you’re dating a tranny you dirty fucker). And since you are both opposites, and you’re both putting on a façade to look your best, you are not presenting who you really are and both become disinterested in one another (your inner desire to copulate says this isn’t true, ignore it, that’s just your penis reminding you that you haven’t had sex since 2003…that or the roll of quarters on your dick is cutting off blood circulation). I’ll use myself as an example:

I’m a total fucking asshole and I’m not afraid to admit it. My brain tells me when I’m with a woman that I should act nice to her, lest I scare her off on the first date. I’m subconsciously searching for my opposite. This creates a problem, because there is a woman in front of me pretending to want me to pay the check for her and play rough with her in the back of my Pontiac (a trademark staple of the asshole image). She’s really just a nice, independent girl looking to get verbally abused pretending to be an asshole, and I’m an asshole pretending to give a shit about what she says and pretending not to stare at her tits. So we’re presenting ourselves as something we’re not and failing hard at trying to woo one another because of it. So what now? She hasn’t called for another get together…time for plan B. Break out the liquor and make yourself look like a jackass in front of people you don’t know.

Over the ages, Liquor has been the X-factor, the unknown variable in how people are conceived. There’s no telling who you’ll wake up next to in the morning after a night of binge drinking. A night on the dance floor is no longer what it seems, it has become a hot, sweaty, loud platform in which females gyrate to attract males, and males flail around under flashing lights as a visual mating call. The liquor enhances this experience for both parties here. As the male spots a gyrating female on the floor, he will attempt to woo her not only with the sacred mating dance, but with the promise of more liquor. This intrigues the female, and the more she drinks the more her judgment is impaired, making the male appear more attractive. Inexorably, the male becomes self-confident the more he spends on booze, and finally whisks the female away to attempt to drive her to his home, where they will stumble about naked until thrusting themselves into a messy oblivion where both parties collapse and/or blackout as a result of both intoxication and exhaustion from the dance we lovingly refer to as ‘Tappin’ Dat Ass’.

In the morning, both parties awake suddenly to try and piece together fragments of memory to determine the course of actions of the night prior. The woman will wake to find a man in her bed, and wonder what he must think of her copulating on the first date. The man will wake as well, afraid to turn over and witness the horrors he had brought upon himself the night before. He will also wonder where his money went. The result is a slow and awkward process in which both parties are unsure of how to proceed. If the male turns over to discover that the woman he slept with that night isn’t a monstrous whale, he might regain some of his former confidence and try to exchange telephone numbers. This confidence, and the use of the word ‘baby’ at the end of every sentence, will turn the woman off completely. Conversely, if no exchange takes place the morning after, it is most likely that one of the two parties awoke in the middle of the night to pass out on the bathroom floor, or they awoke to the terror that is the bedroom and decided to flee, but not before stealing something of little or no value to them (but with significant sentimental value to you) upon their departure. One thing is certain, whoever drove there will leave to find their car parked curiously on the front porch, which is never good. 9 months later a child is born, a product of selfish sexual indulgence spurned by the alcohol induced mating ritual of the young adult. All of this because of attraction skewed in the drunken eyes of two people who weren’t really attracted to each other in the first place.

We can go on and on about liquor and its effects on the mating scene, but realistically it’s hard to find advice on putting yourself in the right situation to achieve the maximum potential for finding the proper mate. Sage advice for the ages: Stop being an idiot. Be yourself for real once in awhile, and stick with it. The guy or girl you hated on that first date is a faker, unsure of how to proceed with you. Stick with it and try to break them down and chisel away at that façade. That asshole you nice girls are looking for are probably nice guys underneath it all…find a nice guy instead, eventually he’s going to think you’re a bitch and fuck you up, and that’s what you were looking for anyway right? God you people are retarded…

Real World/Game World

For those unaware, I recently moved to Los Angeles where a wildfire is ravaging the Angeles national park only a few miles from where I’m staying. This is my first wildfire experience, but It’s interesting to watch how things progress. Trying to keep on task, we’ve been taking shifts to ensure we don’t miss any evacuation notices from local authorities, and being a night-owl gamer, I’ve offered to take the night shift watching for updates and notices while everyone sleeps.

While this seems like a tedious task, I find myself unafraid of the wildfire only a few miles from me, but I feel strangely comfortable instead, as if the sights of a wildfire spark up a hint of familiarity, as if I’ve been here before and I think I know why.

The smoke from the fire is making its way down the ridges just up the street, creeping into our neighborhood, and as it does tiny flecks of ash begin to fall all around me. As I sit in the patio chairs outside, the smell of burning wood seems out of place…perhaps that’s because I can’t smell burning woods through a television screen. The ash falling like snow, and the smoke, taking place of the dense fog that shrouds the mythical town of Silent hill, all bring back memories so real it haunts my imagination. I previously stated online, that I’m inclined to reach for a portable radio and a flashlight, and step into what is slowly becoming the familiar town I’ve trudged through before.

Even when I’m not outside, the objects in the house still remind me of the familiar, almost ghost-like environment outside. Taking the night shift, it’s pretty obvious that most of the lights are off in the house, making the rooms I walk into poorly lit, conjuring up more imagery of the town I remember so vividly. Led pipes line the garage walls, easily accessible for my venture out into the unknown. The kitchen has always been a good source of supplies; I could easily grab a kitchen knife instead. Even opening the fridge helps to make the situation even more real. As I peer into the fridge, I spy a plastic container filled with juice, and after reading the brand name and juice type, the label reads ‘health drink’ in tiny letters towards the bottom.

While the burning smell seems to bring the reality of the situation at hand closer, it does nothing to distract my imagination, as I’m instantly thinking about Alessa and her revenge birthed from the fires of Silent Hill in the 2006 film. I would imagine that this same smell inhabits the town, and I think the next time I pick up a controller to play, the scent will be forever burned into my brain associating it with Silent Hill. These things kind of distance me from the real dangers of the fire, but while thinking about where exactly the fire is moving, I suddenly remember that Toluca Lake, a body of water in the town of Silent hill, is a real place located here in California, though Silent Hill’s location is ambiguous (it has references to Maine, New England, and the film stated Silent Hill was located in West Virginia). I’m taking the fire seriously, but the comparison cannot be overlooked when it is so startlingly obvious. As the sun rises over the mountains here in California, the smoke seems to thin out a bit, transforming the scenery from a dark, brooding, fog and ash filled haze into a normal town like any other. Sound familiar?