Recently there was a story on NPR that stated (and I’m forgetting the statistic) that there was a dramatic decrease in the amount of people that believed global warming was real. It focused on this one teenage girl who thought it was an interesting theory, but like evolution, upon further scrutiny the argument wouldn’t hold up. That’s what I perceive to be the biggest gap between smarties and dumbies — the dumbs perceive scientific fact to be “theory”.
Now I’m going to try very hard and not just make this an us-vs-them post. Some rant about how certain people are retarded and I’m awesome and everyone who thinks like me is therefore awesome. While true, I will try and break it down a little more sensitively.
On this NPR documentary, Ira Glass pitted this very articulate and level headed (yet completely misinformed) teenage girl against a scientist who studied global warming and the effect that humans have on this planet. The scientist laid out point after point, and Ira made sure that the girl understood each point so that nothing was lost in translation as it got quite technical, and when the scientist was done he asked, “have any of these points convinced you that global warming is real?” To which the teenage girl replied, “it’s a very interesting theory.”
Theory. Theory.
It sounds like more of a philosophical debate now rather than fact vs. fiction. Clearly this teenage girl, and the others like her, will not be swayed with fact. I would ask why, but it seems like their minds are made up. To me, it makes the most logical sense to take the word of someone who has spent their entire life studying these things as opposed to a few Google searches and reading the blogs of conspirators/fucking weirdos (yes, I understand that to the people I’m trying to convince I am the weirdo blog conspiracy guy). But it’s not just one scientist who is ringing the alarm bell. It’s many. In fact, the entire scientific community. Yet pundits, politicians, bog water people, friends and neighbors, even teenage girls, think that their conclusion is more sound. They know. Perhaps they know more about the theory of relativity than Albert Einstein?
But, there’s new evidence that suggest even the theory of relativity is broken due to recent discoveries. And to that, one might say, “see, Thomas? You’ve proven yourself wrong right before your very eyes.” You’re right. The only thing any human can be exactly sure is whatever cause and effect they experience for themselves. This is precisely the reason why I think the world is doomed. Too many people will shrug it off, then when Mad Max: Real Life Edition hits they’ll say “oh, wait…shit. Now I see it!” Actually, they’ll probably blame it on hippy liberals or the gays. Or actually, they’ll probably just call it The Rapture and blame it on God. Don’t you see, you fools? You’ve only yourselves to blame! FOOOOOLLLSSSS!
However, the theory of relativity is actually genuinely a theory. It’s plausible, and until this recent discovery (whatever it is) we could view the cause and effect and deem it to be relatively accurate (see what I did there?). Global warming on the other hand is based on factual data and evidence. Real, tangible things. From carbon rings in ice, to satellite photos, to rises in temperatures, higher snowfalls, the emergence of super storms, and much much more — all linked to humans and their machines. So if there’s all this evidence, why deny it? I personally don’t understand this. But then again, I don’t understand religion. I don’t see how anyone can base their guiding compass in life on unquantifiable nothingness. On faith.
The difference between faith and global warming is big, though. Ideally, you can believe in God and I won’t, and we can still be friends and it won’t effect anything other than the odd intellectual debate at a dinner party. But if you don’t believe in global warming and I do, then you consume more while I strive to not, and you directly melt my planet. Please don’t melt my planet.
Perhaps I’m wrong. Perhaps I’ve presented global warming as fact but in reality it’s scientific category is indeed theory. What is required for it to be fact?
Part of me feels like it’s not wanting to admit that you’re wrong. Or better yet, not wanting to have to change. I remember when I was learning about the food industry and discovering how utterly evil it is and wanting to share it all with people. “Don’t make me watch that!” or, “I don’t want to read that!” came up again and again, some people even admitting that if they saw or knew about all the atrocities that are being committed to our livestock, our agriculture, which trickles to the environment, and indeed you, that they’d have to change. “If I see that cow filled with hormones wallowing in its own shit fed on a diet of corn it can’t digest while it’s still alive as it’s electrocuted and mauled by handlers, I will never be able to eat McDonalds again.” Good. You shouldn’t be eating Mcdonalds you fat fuck!!!
“If I subscribe to your hippy enviro-nerd “theory” then I will feel guilty for driving my SUV in the city, or when I don’t recycle, or when I leave my lights on, or when I flush my toilet just for fun, or when I x, y, z.” Good! That’s entirely the point. But look, I’m not a vegetarian. I love meat. I eat beef and pork and chicken and everything under the sun. Do I eat it every day? No. When I do eat it, do I try and eat ethically reared livestock? Yes. Does that happen all the time? No, but most of the time it does. I’m not perfect but I try. The “hundred-percenters” are usually really weird. I’m like a seventy-to-eighty-percenter.
The same goes for the environment. Look, even if you don’t think global warming is real, you can see the effects of mankind and our machines, right? You can walk outside Los Angeles and see the smog. Or any major city. Or you can see the rivers being polluted. You can see the vast areas, acres upon acres, of forest (needed to turn CO2 into oxygen) cut down. These are all tangible things to most people. Ok, so perhaps we can all agree that we people are detrimental to the well being of the planet. I’m not saying don’t drive a car. I’m saying pay attention to fuel efficiency and indeed what type of fuel — I drive an ‘82 Benz and that mutha fucka runs of vegetable oil…shit’s cherry red with chrome trim! Chrome trim, biatch! I also had vegan sushi for the first time the other night. Yeah. Fishless sushi. And guess what. It was great! My point is — there’s an alternative for almost everything. And that’s good, because biologists predict all wild edible marine life to be gone in under a century. Yay! Fuck you Japan, you kill whales and dolphins!
It’s a collection of little things. The big things have to come from powers beyond you — like figuring out how to power cities from hydrogen. But if you willingly pull the wool over your eyes you do no help to anyone. And I get the reaction to withstand ideas that are fed to you. I get it. Fight the power, fuck the establishment, question everything. That’s good. It’s funny to me that questioning everything hasn’t led you to atheism and a strong belief that we’re all going to kill ourselves because of overpopulation and overconsumption, but hey…whatever. At least, in the meantime, while you figure it out, do us all a kindness and buy some florescent bulbs for crying out loud — they’ll save you money in the long run anyway.
This is the best and scariest video yet. And it’s in my eyes completely foreseeable, as there’s too many people who don’t think anything needs to change. Watch the video on the main page there. Ooof. What a doosey.
Why does “nerd hole” sound way dirtier than “rabbit hole”?
Either way, I’m building a model airplane. The ol’ Messerschmidt Bf 109 G-10. It’s a late-war version of the famous German ace maker. By this time in the war, it was generally outclassed by many Allied aircraft but it still had speed and a stable gun platform which was greatly needed to take down the unending stream of bombers flying overhead. The 109 (G-2 variant, however) is on my top 3 favorite WWII aircraft list, tied with the American F4-U Corsair and the Russian Mig-3.
It’s both fun and terrifying that I can talk to in-depth about this stuff. Only 1% of people would think that’s cool, but this blog isn’t about being cool. It’s about being awesome. So either get awesome or turn off your computer and never come to this blog again.
In all honesty, I was never into building models as a boy. My older brother painted Dungeons & Dragons lead figurines (yup, it runs in the family) and I remember wanting desperately to play with them but that was so far out of the picture any request to do so was met with furious anger on my brother’s part. Heaven forbid I break the hilt of a mace. No, seriously, that would be awful. I think I did that and I was beaten severely for it. I remember the smell of the paints, and the hours on end my brother spent hunched over the little lead men, painting away with tiny brushes.
Some years back, I built my first model. I forget the version model, but it was a Japanese Zero. I did a horrible job, wanting only for it to be completed and not caring how good it looked. It was pretty shoddy work. Glue marks, poor paint job, embarrassing really. But now, things are different.
I’ve got an incredible amount of free time currently. I’m in New Orleans shooting my small contribution to a film called Dog Fight (yay!) and in between shoot days there are some considerably lengthy periods of downtime. I forgot my usual gateway to time-wasting (Xbox) so I figured “why not take another stab at building a model?”
I don’t know what happened, but something clicked in me where I realized it’s not about the end, but doing the work to get you there. I’m WAY more patient this time around. I just turn the TV over to the desk, pop on HBO, and quietly snip off the various pieces, smooth out all the little jagged edges, and methodically piece together everything. It’s surprisingly relaxing, and even downright fun. I’m pretty surprised about it actually. Granted, the subject matter is very much so up my alley, but I was expecting my brain, conditioned to respond to the blinking lights and fast reaction times of video games, would consider the patient model-building hobby to be a snooze fest.
It’s not adrenaline packed, but it’s fun. My painting skills are neophyte at best, but you’ll see one of the photos is a close-up of the cockpit and my attempt at some weathering/grime. I think I’m missing a pretty crucial color. I have light grey and dark grey but I’m thinking I need just regular grey. So, I’ve concluded that the paint scheme of this particular 109 won’t be historically accurate, but in the realm of historical fiction. I went back to the New Orleans hobby shop today to get the grey, but the guy steered me to the light grey, and then slid it across the table and said, “Merry Christmas.” Top shelf guy. Quiet and kind of creepy, but a really nice man.
Does anyone else do this, or did I just sign up for a project that literally only boys and old men do?
Holy smokes. What a game, what a game…
So some of youze guyz may know that I’m a big fan of the ol’ NHL video games. It’s a recent and furious love affair for me. You see around about this time last year I picked up NHL 11 from EA Sports. I had played 07 some years back and noted how far the game has come since the 94 days, now with right-stick deeks and all kinds of fancy business to keep you moving and thinking on the ice. Each year it gets more fluid, each year a few new things get added, and each year it starts playing more and more like real hockey. Granted, 90% of the improvements could be doled out in the form of a downloadable patch, but how would EA be a billion dollar powerhouse then, right? Fuckers.
What’s great about these games is that they’ve converted me into a genuine hockey fan. I never liked hockey growing up. 1) because I’m Canadian and it was “expected” of me to love hockey. You know me, counter culture to the bone. 2) every hockey player I knew growing up was that guy with the backwards hat and beginner’s goatee who walked into a party with chewing tobacco in his lip wanting to fight any “pussy faggot” who got in his way.
Anyhoo, I’m onto the latest and greatest, NHL 12. I may have tried to recruit you for my in-person Sunday-only mega league, the League Of Champs, but the following is in regards to the EASHL mode in the game. To explain, the EASHL is EA Sports Hockey League. That is to say it’s online Be A Pro. That is to say you make a dude, give him a name and a look, tweak his skills and attributes, and go online only playing that one dude and that one position with a bunch of other people all doing the same thing and try to get some hockey done. My guy, Creme Brule (which the announcer actually says his last name when he gets the puck, etc.) has his picture below. Just a real greaser…like every hockey player I knew growing up.
Here’s the review: it’s amazing.
There. Done. Let’s move on.
Now, you can go about the EASHL a couple of ways. You can do Drop-In games where you just join a random team of motley crew players and hope for the best. Trouble with that is you end up playing with a bunch of 12 year olds, really mean people, guys that don’t play hockey but just want to “deke errybody”, or some dude that wants to try playing goalie and then literally stands out of the way of the net. It’s rare that you have a team that wants to play their position and set up plays.
OR, you can create or join a club. That’s what I’ve done. We are the Friendly Van Owners, and it consists of me and George Basil. Greg Tuculescu is in it but he’s only played one game so it’s hard to count him as a determined member of the team. We’ve also got this new guy, Wayne. Ah, Wayne. Wayne is 42 and works in construction. He lives in BC, Canada. Dude loves hockey. Now, all I ask for outta my team is enthusiasm, communication, and to play your G.D. position. What does Wayne do? All three, and bless his heart, I love him. He’s not half bad either. He scores here and there, but his biggest asset is positive encouragement and telling us how “we have-ta go into the playoffs, boys! We’ll clean up!!!” Wayne wants that Stanley Cup boy howdy, and he feels like George-y boy and I can take him right to it.
Things were going great all evening until our last game. It’s got a good ending and a bad ending, depending on who you’re talking to. If you’re Wayne, it’s got a bad ending, where after lord knows how many beers he couldn’t get out of a rut where he waited by the blue line for a long pass and then just got checked whenever he entered their zone. The repeated frustration and copious drinking turned Positive Wayne into a real Angry Paul. So much so that to our delight, he would throw his headset and freak the absolute fuck out. A 42 year old man. Guy was telling me about The Triple Crown line on the Kings way back when and I was like, “who’s that?” to which he replied, “you’re probably too young.” He was having temper tantrums. Things got so bad that a few minutes into the 2nd with us down a mere 2-0 he chucked his headset and next thing we heard was the little *blip* that told us he had left the party. I hope he’s not perma-mad at us because we love to have him around. Come back, Wayne! You’re the fuckin’ man.
So what do George-y boy and I do? I’ll tell ya what we do. We buckle down. We grind it out. We show that grit can win over finesse any day, and these punks who are trying the fancy shit on us will in the end fail due to one thing and one thing only: determination. That, and some seriously amazing hockey, which suddenly George and I started breaking out. We manage to sneak one in by me being aggressive on the rush and I grab a rebound just outside the slot. We celebrate, but our cheers are cut short as they return the favor within minutes. We’re back where we started, two in the hole and we close out the 2nd period with the score 1-3.
“Let’s keep a cool head out there, George-y boy. Let’s cycle the puck and keep communicating. These guys aren’t that good, let’s stay in it and tilt the ice back.”
The 3rd period is when the floodgates open. George is playing center and I’m playing right-D. Stay hungry. Our computer winger gets tripped on a breakaway and gets a penalty shot but it’s no dice. Minutes later, George gets tripped on a breakaway and he nails it with some clean, methodical deking. We’re at 2-3 now. We’re catching up, boys!
By this time, as head D-man, I feel like I have sussed out their playstyles. They’ve got one dangler who waits by our blue and tries to set up one-timers from the corners and another dude who likes to rip ‘em in with a heavy snap shot. I start embarrassing them, taking the puck away at every moment. George lays some heavy hits. The computer starts throwing its weight around too. We are getting some momentum.
George slaps in a one-timer and we’re fuckin’ tied! The minutes are counting down and we are smelling blood. We get a little over-aggressive going in for the kill and they sneak one in with the official’s finger just hovering over the period buzzer. Two minutes to go, tops. It’s 3-4 for them.
“Stay cool, George-y boy…”
It’s a blur. It’s back and forth but we get a couple good rushes. I honestly can’t remember scoring but I must’ve because my tally at the end of the game said I did. I can’t tell you what happened, all I can say is that I remember saying to George “if we score and tie this up I am going to go fucking bat shit.” Next thing I know, my vision is white — I went bat shit.
Overtime, and it’s 4 all. By this time I’m all over these jokers. I’m staying right in the slot and poking the puck anytime it comes near. I’m taking a knee to block shots and shaking off blistering slap shots right to the face. We are in it to win it, but no matter how hard we try, we can’t put the biscuit in the basket. It goes to double OT.
Not only is it double OT, but goes nearly the full length of it, too. Everybody’s getting chances. The first OT taught me that I need to hang back. I’ve got two goals and I don’t need to be up in the corners on a turnaround and have some winger cover my position. So I’m all about hanging out at the point and then hustling back at the first side of danger. This safe playing pays off and they can’t do much on our end no matter how hard they try. Luckily, there’s a whistle and we’re in their end for a faceoff.
“Come on, George-y Boy, let’s win this one.” I say, referring to the faceoff. Poor bastard has had the puck taken from him nearly every time the ref drops it. I tell him, “slap that right stick back a bunch of times, really hammer it.” As the right D-man, I’m waiting back and to his right for the faceoff. The ref drops it…
And I tell ya, the son of a bitch gets to it first and slides it back to ol’ Creme Brule who just winds up, picks the left side as his mark, and let’s go the most vicious TWINE-SEEKING MISSILE KNOWN TO MAN! BLAMM-O! BINGO BANGO!! THAT’S NOT ONLY A GOAL BUT A HAT TRICK FOR BRULE AND THE FRIENDLY VAN OWNERS TAKE IT IN DOUBLE OT!!!
George and I get a little worked up in these games, and to say we flipped out in this instance in a massive understatement. I am literally jumping up and down pumping the ol’ fist and giving the TV the business. I’m screaming. I can hear George on the other end doing his best to whisper-scream as his daughter is in the other room sleeping the night away. We settle down and the revel in our victory, for it is sweet. I think I honestly said at one point, “I think I’m going to cry.”
But something was missing.
Dear ol’ Wayne. Where was Wayne? We had played a few games that night, and after a few wins he was all completely positive. ”You guys are really good. It’s just refreshing to play with guys who know hockey. We should be in the playoffs!” I can’t tell you how many times he talked about us being in the playoffs. The victory was sweet, don’t get me wrong, and perhaps unattainable had Wayne been there until the end…but since he wasn’t, it felt lacking. It felt like a piece of the team wasn’t there to feel the warm embrace of victory’s tender, glistening arms.
BAH! Fuck it. That was the greatest game I’ve ever been apart of. Hats off, George. Wayne, you missed a doosey. Me? Get some sleep, am I right? I’m starting to sound like my ex-wife!
That sounds almost like a villain in a Harry Potter book. Maybe I just miss Malfoy.
Ok. So, my dame gets magazines. Not cool magazines like WWII Dogfights, or Armchair General, or PC Gamer, the magazines that I get — no no, she gets Cosmopolitan and Glamour and Elle, etc. To no end she gets these magazines. So much so that I counted something like eight subscriptions at one time. In my eyes, they are all ridiculous.
Now before you expect the classic reasons as to why I think they’re ridiculous, like “because they’re gay”, hear me out. I mean, they ARE gay, but hear me out…
First, let’s take a magazine like Bazaar. Without even saying anything, it’s a fashion magazine. High fashion, even. The most ethereal, existing-on-pure-bullshit industry out there. As far as I can tell, Bazaar has no Table Of Contents. As far as I can tell, a magazine like Bazaar has literally HUNDREDS of pages that are nothing more than advertisements. There are maybe a handful of articles, and they are about so-and-so’s new such-and-such, or how one time “I was almost raped in an alley in Italy when I was photographing Lady Ga Ga”, but the majority of this magazine, which requires you to pay for it, is advertisement after advertisement. Gucci, Prada, Tommy Hilfiger, whatever, page after page, it’s some deflated model looking hungrily (literally) at the camera with a bottle of the latest perfume or stick of mascara by her side.
And that’s it.
And YOU PAY FOR IT. You pay to be advertised to! What the fuck is going on?! Why? That magazine should be free. That magazine should be a catalog that fashion labels pay to be in (which they’re doing now) and you should be able to order it online for free. Or just look at it online for free on their website. But instead, you have to pay for it. You pay for a book of print ads. That seems just wrong to me.
As I wrote that, Meatloaf just growled. I hope that’s in agreement.
But the worst is Cosmopolitan. How can you not see through this magazine?! Are the women that read Cosmo retarded or just asking for it? I joke, but I don’t. Also, not calling my girlfriend a retard — I love her so hard, so just chill. Look, disclaimer, I know plenty of smart and intelligent and savvy broads who read Cosmo and the like, my very own broad included, but that only serves me to perplex me further. You need only to look at the cover to realize that Cosmopolitan is written by men to make women more like how men want them to be. The Cosmo in front of me has tips on how to make yourself prettier, make yourself more of a porn star in bed, “you won’t hear THIS from your gyno” (absolutely serious), and then some story about Nicki Minaj…an oversexed “just be yourself!” pop star who “overcame obstacles”.
Sorry if I sound cynical. But seriously, what the fuck? And please, do NOT get me wrong, I fully understand how utterly cliche this little post is. Some guy, condemning all the girls who read Cosmo and then secretly wishing his girlfriend was the sexiest, freakiest little thing that ever cooked the best meal this side of the Mississippi? I get it. My point is, if you’re a smart, aware lady, why the hell are you subscribing to Cosmo?
Serious question. Because seriously, I don’t get it.
(sorry Andree)
Things are spiraling out of control in Garageband. I’m scared that this song represents what’s constantly playing in my mind at all times. Plus, for no reason, it’s called Spaghetti. Shame on you for listening to it.
Was about to lay some voice over stuff and I got carried away. Things get out of hand quite easily for me in Garageband. More of these songs are in the Random Stuff section of my website. This one was very impromptu, however. I mean…why does it even exist?
Very honored that a bunch of people recently started following this blog, I’m assuming, as a result of the hipster post. I’m sure they’ll all unsubscribe once they realize what this blog is primarily about — my unabashed and intense love of video games. Fuck the haters, let’s talk about IL2: Cliffs Of Dover.
If you’re any kind if decent human being, you’ll have read the previous posts about my recent acquisition of a gaming PC, and my long love affair with flight simulators. I’ve upped my game recently when I purchased a proper HOTAS (Hands On Throttle And Stick) setup. Three pieces. Throttle, flightstick, and rudder pedals (with a foot axis for brakes) made by CH Products. There they is.
IL2: Cliffs Of Dover, or CloD as it is referred to in the flight sim community, is the official follow-up to easily the most quintessential and definitive WWII-era combat flight sim ever made, IL2 Sturmovik. Ten years ago, when PCs were still a major force in the gaming world and the idea of releasing simulation games wasn’t an insane notion, IL2 Sturmovik hit the scene to much critical acclaim. Over the years, after numerous patches, expansion packs, and an insanely strong community that has over time released enough graphical mods and content packs that it shadows the official developments made by the developers, IL2 Sturmovik (now known as IL2 1946) is held on a pedestal so high by its fans that it’s nearly impossible to live up to.
They even tried. 1C, the publishers, released IL2 Birds Of Prey for the Xbox 360 in an attempt to bring to sim to consoles. Another publisher, Gaijin Entertainment, took Birds Of Prey and changed it into Wings Of Prey to then release the exact same game on the PC — all falling short of highwater mark of IL2 1946. In fact, the original game still has one of the largest online communities in the genre, with the only other competitor in the combat flight sim market being newcomer Rise Of Flight, a WWI-era sim — another fantastic title, btw.
So in comes Cliffs Of Dover. If you’ve read this far, congrats. You will have probably said, “I don’t get it…where are all the jokes?” Guy, this is my blog and I can do what I want. If you think I’m anything but deadly fucking serious about video games you need to get your head examined…BY MY FIST! Dr. Punch. Anyway, CloD is a game that came out many months ago; first in Europe, then in North America, to much criticism. Why? Because it was released in a nearly unplayable alpha state. I won’t get into this too much as it’s been talked about ad nauseum and to be honest, anyone who’s interested in the flight sim scene and in particular, this game, needs to move on and look to the future. But what’s important in this very lengthy setup is that there was a huge older brother shadow to live up to and the younger brother failed in nearly every way, and now it’s up to the devs to pick up the pieces.
But, I think it all might just work out.
Up until last week, I hadn’t really touched the game. There’s nothing I can’t stand more than spending a ricidulous amount of money on a bleeding edge gaming PC only to have it struggle with a new game just because the code is broken. So with CloD, I bought it, couldn’t play it, then shelved it. Now, after some very piecemeal patches, it’s playable. It’s not perfect, but it runs…kind of. There is still so much more to go in terms of performance, AI, content, interface, and pretty much everything else under the sun. The game only got proper sounds around two or three weeks ago — something like five months after its initial release.
So why am I writing? It’s because yesterday, it all finally clicked for me. This game is amazing. Well, it will be. What’s there shows so much promise it makes me giddy. The work will be done, I’m sure of it. Either by the devs themselves, or by the community when the devs give up and release the SDK to the public (the SDK, Software Development Kit, is kind of like the secret code building blocks for the game — you need that to really tinker with it). But it was during the copious flying I did yesterday when I started to see all the merits of the game. The immense draw distances allow you to see the white cliffs of Dover from the shores of France. The large world now allows for the proper perception of speed and height. What that means is that in games like Wings Of Prey, which has small maps, and even the heralded IL2 1946, you get the sensation that things are much closer to you. It doesn’t take as long to pounce down 1000ft onto a target because instead of playing on the beach, you’re in a sandbox. CloD is 1 to 1, and that makes it very realistic.
That’s not all. The cockpits are stunning. The detail is insane. They look like the real thing, and, 90% of the buttons and dials work, so over time you actually learn how to start up the plane you’re in. In other games, you assign a button on your keyboard or joystick to do something, for instance raise your landing gear, you press it, and then the thing happens in game. There’s a disconnect there for actually knowing what you just did. You can do the button thing in CloD, or you can literally take your mouse and pull the lever in the cockpit that raises the gear in the airplane. I know where everything is now. I know what everything means. If there was a Spitfire or a 109 outside on the street, I could start it up and take off in it — I would know how. That’s amazing.
There’s a ton of great little things that are there, too. The tracer effects are very satisfying, and the damage model is ultra complex. I think there’s some ironing out to do with it, but the system at least is setup so that you get damaged exactly where you’re hit. There are no “stages” to being damaged. A bullet strikes you at point X in the wing, you get damaged at point X. My favorite part about the damage model is that there are no Hollywood style results. Occasionally a plane will explode or its wing will fly off sending it spiraling towards imminent death, but that’s quite rare. What typically happens is an aileron being shot off and the plane spins out, or so much engine damage they are forced to land. I’ve seen a lot of WWII gun camera footage, and they more often than not culminate in the target’s engine belching thick smoke or leaking fluids, some chunks flying off the plane, and then the pilot bailing the fuck out. Except for the Japanese planes, which burst into flame from a few rounds.
The sun glare is very realistic. This is the first game where banking up into the sun to avoid a pursuer, or diving in on a target with the sun on your back, actually does anything good. I don’t think the AI recognizes it, but I certainly do, which means it has a big effect online.
Flying in a BF110, the twin engined Zerstörer made by the Luftwaffe, I strafed a British convoy just outside of Manston airfield. Coming in low, the stable gun platform of the 110 (just about the only good thing on that aircraft as it performs horribly in the air) allowed a very steady stream of bullets raking the vehicles plodding along below me. It felt just like, again, the strafing gun camera footage I’ve seen. As I banked and pulled up for another pass, keeping my eyes on the convoy, I noticed my shadow on the ground. It wasn’t a nice sharp shadow only smaller because I was far away like in many other games that have dynamic shadows, it was soft…fuzzy, even. Like how in real life, the fidelity of the shadow changes based on the distance between the light source and the surface on which the shadow is being projected. Tiny thing, very nerdy, but super awesome to see. For simulation nerds like myself, immersion is pretty much the name of the game.
I flew online yesterday. Not many people were on the server. I think at times, the highest was around 14 in total. They had a teamspeak server, and you could chat with your fellow pilots. It was the first time I got verbally technical with other virtual pilots. I was shocked that after a decade of playing flight sims I’d never communicated online with other people. I’d been online in the early IL Sturmovik days, but the majority of the time I progressed through single player campaigns and when I did play multiplayer I didn’t even think of using the microphone because I just wanted to “pwn noobs”. What have I been doing all this time?! The guys that I flew with, of which I assuredly was the only twenty-something “hipster” (as my guess put them at fathers, ex-pilots, and the odd weirdo), were from all around the globe. We had Aussies, Canadians, and I’m guessing Norwegians? It was great. We all called out each other’s positions, the enemy’s as well, got incredibly technical with our headings and altitudes, flew in formation, organized shipping raids with fellow pilots flying low in Blenheims in an effort to skip-bomb (where you literally drop a bomb set with a five second delay fast and low so it skips along the water like a skipping stone) cargo ships while we fighters flew high for cover. And everyone was nice. People in this genre of gaming tend not to scream and shout about how everyone is a “nigger faggot”. It’s a breath of fresh air.
The more I play this game, the more I realize how much it has to offer. The more I realize how much it has to offer, the more excited I get about the idea of it actually being polished. So I hope the game continues to be developed and have more content added. There’s really not much else to say. This blog was started because I needed a place to vent about video games. This isn’t a review, this is a vent. And, guess what, it’s got a poor conclusion. But I doubt anyone’s even made it this far. I think there’s only about two people who actually play video games that read this blog. So you know what?
NOTHING. THERE IS NO WHAT! I’M AN ADULT AND I CAN DO WHAT I WANT!
This is a fantastic fan-made short film using all in-game footage. Not only makes the game look awesome, it’s actually quite “artsy”. Who knew?
I just recently did a show at the UCB here in LA where we all kind of bashed this somewhat recent cultural phenomena known as “hipsters”. Just to say it, I’m not putting blame on my fellow improvisers on this one — we saw some comedy available and attacked it, which is what we should do, but I can’t stop thinking about it since so, well, I’m writing on a blog and sending it off in a bottle across the Internet Ocean.
Every so often, be it in real life, some TV show, the internet, whatever, I will come across some comment that’s anti-hipster. Hell, I even used to be a source of those comments. Now, I can’t stand them. Why this change of heart? Mainly because if I took a long look at myself I would be a hipster to most people. I’ve been called such. I mean look at my fucking Tumblr photo for shit’s sake. I used to play if off like, “nah man, I don’t know any cool bands or anything.” But fuck it, I do know cool bands. Someone in the aforementioned improv show actually summed it up quite well, that in someone else’s eyes you’ll probably end up a hipster. I run around with some cool cats, naturally, and nearly every single one of them would be a hipster to someone else. There’s someone out there who’d look at me and my friends and be hating.
What is a hipster anyway? Is it someone that dresses a certain way? Likes certain things? Talks a certain way? Has a pre-determined level of unaffectedness? All of the above? Secondly, why is any of that so bad? Why is it so slammed upon? Is it because it’s so alien it’s scary? Maybe we’re all collectively saying “that guy thinks he so cool — but don’t worry, I don’t think I’m cool at all (psyche, I’m awesome).” Eating my toast today I suddenly thought, you know, hipsters are like the modern day 60s era hippy. Free-wheelers, unaffected people, doing their own thing, and the squares absolutely can’t stand it. So the squares come up with a term for them and take them down a peg every chance they get, because fuck those guys walking around expressing themselves and not giving a fuck, that’s not what I signed up for! You fucking hipster!! Honestly, most of the time I hear that word used it could easily be replaced with the base bullshit you heard in high school. ”Look at that guy, he thinks he’s hot shit…fag.”
Textbook hatin’.
I think the word hipster is gross. It’s gross because it’s a term used to quantify a group and then discriminate them. It’s like fag, retard, nigger, all that shit. Now, I’m not saying that the trust fund kid living in Williamsburg has had the same amount of strife as an enslaved race, I’m just saying it’s derogatory. But even that last sentence is backpedalling a bit because it assumes every “hipster” is a rich white kid which is entirely untrue. I’m also aware that I use the above words, and a whole slew of others myself, albeit not in a serious “I hate _____” kind of way but in a way that personifies the people that do use it that way. The point is, these words aren’t going anywhere, just like that bully in school would never leave you alone, they’re here to stick around. So, it’s just about ownership I guess.
Nowadays, I hear someone call me a hipster I’m like “damn straight!” To me, the term “hipster” just means someone who is into cool shit and dresses like a fucking champ. Honestly, I go to that absolutely hilarious site Look At This Fucking Hipster and 90% of the people on there I’m like “that dude has got some serious swagger!” Granted, those straight dudes who walk around in women’s hot pants and the loosest tank top ever made, wayfarers loosely balanced on their ears, might cause you to bite your knuckle to keep yourself from laughing as they roll by…but…those guys are having sex with models. Better yet, they are laughing at you as they ride their fixed gear bike to theirhipster model girlfriend’s house! Because hipster girls are outrageously sexy (black hair, straight bands, thick rim glasses, a few tats, vintage dress — fuck yeah!), and while we’re busy being mad that they are too cool for school, they are having cocaine sex parties while blasting the best music an iTunes account can buy! It sounds fucking awesome to be honest. If I wasn’t such a pussy I’d demand to be included in that madness. But alas, I am half baked in my hipsterdom.
So yes yes, it’s all fine and good to offer up some well deserved ribbing now and again. Any and every culture clique deserves to be made fun of at some point. We all should be laughing at ourselves because we’re all ludicrous. I, especially, can’t be waving the “let’s all leave each other alone!” banner because as a comedian it is my solemn duty to tear apart absolutely everything just to get a laugh. It’s just the hating I can’t stand. The legitimate “fuck those people” sentiment is what bums me out. You know who’s a hipster? Elton John. He’s fucking awesome. Or David Bowie. Or The Beatles!!! Or me, for fuck’s sake. I think it’s fair to say that I belong in the same category as those guys, right? Yeah, I believe the top ten coolest fucks of all time goes, from high to low, Elton John, David Bowie, The Beatles, Thomas Middleditch. So why try and hide it? Why can’t I just be internally fabulous? It’s not like I’m actually walking around shitting on people for it — people who know me probably wouldn’t describe me, first thing, as “arrogant prick”. Maybe some people would. But know who those people are? Haters, dawg. Mad haters.
Besides, you know who we should really be hating on? All those fuckwad late-comer douchebags who now realize it’s cool to be cool and want in on the hipster scene! Nothing pisses me off more than some Jersey Shore cuntsmear walking around with skinny jeans and a pair of vans only to combine it with a coif-hawk, Gucci sunnies, and a fucking Ed Hardy dragon shirt! Those dicks need a term. Douchester. Yeah, all the douchesters of the world need to be hated to extinction, son! I’m starting a hate website! www.fuckthesedouchesters.org (it’s a non-commercial site). Errybody join up, y’all!
I’m talking about these knuckledraggers. First comment with 30 thumbs up so far says it all.
SHIFT THE HATE!
Well, disc 3 complete, credits rolling, the last case closed. It’s been a marathon. The girlfriend’s left town for the week and my goal has been to clean the streets of LA from wake ‘til slumber. Me? I’m the most determined gumshoe in town…except for the few hours yesterday when I thought it’d be a good idea to play LA Noire stoned and got nearly half my interrogation questions wrong. This is a game that you need to pay attention to, that’s for sure. And that’s one of the many things I love. But…there are some things I don’t, and some of them have to do with narrative and storytelling, so if you’re reading this and haven’t played the game and plan on doing so, know that there is a serious SPOILER ALERT coming your way. Right now. SPOILER ALERT. There. It’s been said.
First, the loves. Love the setting. The city of LA in the 1940s, right after the war, is just a perfect setting for a film noire story. Team Bondi captured the architecture and the style of it dead-on. My favorite parts are even attributed to the soundtrack, with the right raps on the drums to get your heart pounding and the screeching violins to get your blood curdled when it’s scary-time — and there are times when it’s actually scary. When you’re a homicide detective on the hunt for The Werewolf (the guy behind the Black Dahlia killing), it got me so spooked right before bed that I thought I was going to have nightmares. Granted, I went online and looked at the real B.D. photos because I was like, “hey, let’s learn about shit.” Bad idea. That crime scene is a gnarly one indeed. Poor girl had a run-in with an absolute maniac. But it doesn’t matter, I didn’t even have one nightmare! What-WHAT!
The supporting cast is great. The technology behind all the face-capturing is truly something awesome. While it loses some fidelity, it gains in the minutia detail that comes with a real actual face. It’s not an artist’s creation, it’s a human face. I recognized actors I’ve worked with in the game. Not only from the sound of their voice, but seeing them and going “hey, that’s so and so!” That’s pretty damn cool. Expect to see a bunch of familiar faces from Mad Men. Some great performances in there; and you can say that and mean it. Performances. At times it’s an interactive movie.
All the crime scene stuff is great. I couldn’t get enough of it. In fact, if you ask me, it’s one of the best parts of the game. The stint in the homicide division was my favorite part, and it’s the heaviest in the crime scene stuff. Seeing clues, a blood trail here, a strangulation mark there, bullet casings, motives, finding all the stuff that’s going to pay off when you press your suspects makes you feel like a proper sleuth. You need to find the right piece of evidence to break someone in interrogation. Speaking of, praise, and also my first nitpick.
Interrogation is awesome. Another favorite part. Catching glimpses and knowing that fucker in front of you is lying, then pegging them? It’s legitimately satisfying. But, I will say there are some frustrating moments where you really couldn’t tell the difference between the three Truth, Doubt, Lie options. Where you thought you should Doubt, you actually should of pressed Truth. Vise versa. And when pressing with the Lie button, it goes into the evidence to back it up, and sometimes the descriptions of the evidence were confusing or lacking in information and you end up making the wrong choice even though you had the right piece of evidence. But, it was a great part of the game, and if they ever make a sequel (I’m hoping either Starsky and Hutch style 70s or turn of the century Scotland Yard in London) they’ll refine it further.
Other shortcomings are gunplay and driving. The driving feels overly tuned, with the cars handling like race cars and the turning being super sensitive — while it’s not bad, it pales in comparison to GTA. The shooting is the same. While not bad, moving from cover to cover is clunky, some shootouts are so easy they’re done in a matter of seconds, and overall not as slick and flawless as GTA or Red Dead. And now, my biggest gripe…
You may be like, “this wasn’t really a spoiler”…well, it’s about to be, so you’ve been warned.
I love Phelps as the protagonist. He’s that tightly wound goody goody that makes you want to punch him in the face as much as root for him. It’s his by the books nature that makes him (ie: you) get cases closed. He has so many quirks and details, he so rich in development, he’s got so much going on, especially with his rise and fall and rise again…it makes me wonder WHY THE FUCK DID I START PLAYING A DIFFERENT CHARACTER FOR THE LAST THIRD OF THE GAME?!?! Nothing against Jack Kelso, he’s the man, he should’ve been my partner at some point…but why switch? I’ve grown to love Phelps and root for him and pretend I am him, so why pull the rug from under me for no apparent reason and force me to play as someone else? I hate it when games do that! Phelps doesn’t even finish the game! After all that work as Phelps, you play as Kelso to wrap the game up! Kelso gets to put the bullet in the crazy man, he gets to go after that smug fuck Monroe in his mansion estate…what the shit? I love that Phelps dies at the end, it’s brilliant, but I should’ve been him when it happened!
Come ON, guys! And, all that switching around forced you to make up for all the holes with flashbacks and cutscenes and newspaper articles. There’s even a whole section in time that’s left out where apparently, during the time you’re playing as the troubled but good guy inside Kelso, Phelps is promoted from arson back to homicide. Wait. Isn’t that important? Oh wait. I guess not. Now that I’m not even playing as the main fucking character in the story!
I can’t tell you how much that aggravated me. Strangely enough, I’ve encountered this in games before. They set a bunch of stuff up, and suddenly you’re playing as someone else, either for a little side mission (which I hate equally as much) or as was the case in LA Noire, the entire third act. And the game wasn’t set up as this shifting points of view game where you play as multiple characters. It was set up as you, officer Cole Phelps, cleaning up the streets. I should’ve known with all the newspaper cutscenes that something wasn’t right. Why show us what all the bad guys are doing on the other side of town? A) It just confuses us, as now I’ll enter an interrogation knowing that the guy is lying (because I just saw the dude doing a bad thing in the cutscene) and then make the wrong dialogue choice and B) I’d rather have the mystery unfold in front of me as I go and having my mind blown at the end like, “oh my God…it was you, Kawalski…the whole time…you bastard…” that type of shit.
The story just got lost in itself a little bit near the end. And when you combine that with the horrible idea to jump perspective, it made for an unsatisfying climax. BUT…
The majority of the game is a really solid noire genre game. Working cases and putting baddies behind bars was very satisfying. As much as you wanted to bust ‘em in dialogue, you wanted them to run so you could have one of many truly epic foot chases. LA Noire both impressed me and frustrated me. I can understand why review sites didn’t give it a perfect score, but I’d also say it’s a must-have. That first three-quarters of the game is undeniably a great experience.
Now if you’ll excuse me, toots, I have to go see what outside in real life looks like. Catch you on the flip, Jimbo.
If you’ve read my earlier posts about Operation Flashpoint or ArmA, you’d know the story. Or, if you’re in the know, you know the story. The quick briefing: the original OF team split up, and the hard core sim guys started making the ArmA series, while the mainstream wanna-bes kept the Operation Flashpoint brand. Now I suppose it’s a little unfair that I’m giving my opinions of Operation Flashpoint: Red River before I’ve completed the game, but then again I am by no means a professional member of the gaming press so I am not held to the same standards. The two people who will read this will likely give less than two shits. NEVERTHELESS…
Weirdly enough, Red River is kind of like the Stanley Cup finals right now. Operation Flashpoint: Red Rising (the first OF console game) was a foray into the console world from a rich history on the PC. Like the Canucks’ squeak-by victories over the Bruins, it was by no means a home run but it got the job done. After playing an hour online doing 4-player co-op with friends, an experience I was sure would be thrilling, I can safely say that OF: Red River (the sequel) is just like the Canucks’ most recent performance, ie: a massive mound of absolute horse cock. Dead, steaming horse cocks. Bloody, and covered in shit.
How can you take a franchise that has a chance at being something unique and fresh and innovative, strip it down, and TRY and make it like every other FPS out there? How? HOW, can the SEQUEL, have shittier graphics than its predecessor? How in God’s name can you have the minstrel show that is the fucking Sergeant or whoever it is that’s supposed to train us “knucklehead marines” spouting his endless, offensive dribble and be ok with it? Who signed off on this fucking game?
I feel bad for convincing my friends to buy it, I really do. I assured them a good, realistic, tactical, “different than all the other games” game that we could all play. Granted, they are fun dudes, and when you have fun dudes around you’re going to have at least some amount of fun. But I’m attributing the fun to the DUDES. Not the game.
To continue my horrible Canucks analogy, I’m writing this as the second period has concluded and the Canucks have gone to the dressing room with a 3-0 deficit. Morale is low. I ended my first gaming session of OF: Red River walking away completely shaking my head. Almost as if I lost a Stanley Cup finals game 8-1 kind of shaking my head — wait, no, that’s fucking impossible. If I shook my head that hard my brains would fly out of my ears. BUT, there’s hope. Maybe? Maybe the Canucks will come back? Maybe me and my buds will reach a point in the campaign where Sergeant Black Stereotype will get shot in the face and die, then suddenly we’re not being rushed to every objective with the same two lines of dialogue being repeated every two seconds? Or perhaps the AI will smarten up and not just run over the hills in the open in a straight line? Or maybe there’s like a secret code to make the game NOT look like it was programmed for the Sega Saturn?
There is only one true milsim (military simulator). And that’s ArmA. Well, not really, there’s some intense software that governments use to train their soldiers and it costs hundreds of dollars for private ownership and I can’t remember the name so fuck that — There’s only one in my mind. Just like there’s only one Stanley Cup. So, I don’t really know where this is going or how to wrap it up other than I am extremely disappointed in both the Canucks and OF:Red River. And I wanted them both to do well SO BADLY.
Turn it around, guys. This is 2011, ok? It’s time to shine.
Wait. Fuck. I couldn’t even click “create post” before the Bruins scored again. 4-0? What is happening?
I am an actor/comedian based in Los Angeles. I'm also a fart enthusiast. I also play a ton of video games.
