There’s a colloquial terminology often used to describe gamers; sad. Such an erroneous description was notably intimated at me for my own urging gaming predilections during the festive period. The fluctuating traveling between my girlfriends and my own propinquity at our respective relatives over Christmas meant there was little time for gaming, so much of these vestigial inclinations were sowed days before Christmas and promptly suspended. The gaming compulsion, prodding with territorial clemency was intermittently muted by the traditional confiscation of your favourite confectionery from the shared family tubs of chocolates (because the Malteasers are always the first to go!). Broached by the enamoured advances of a cool beer or vintage wine and the buffet of carnivorous provisions that only hastens your lethargy. With your pockets lined with discarded chocolate wrappers and stomach laced with enough alcohol and salted meats that your stomach feels as though it has had an abattoir dumped into a distillery, your mind soon becomes incapacitated at the mere notion of gaming. As I nurse the contractions of my consumed food baby, watching Angela Lansbury end the invasion of domestic Nazi infiltration in Bed knobs And Broomsticks, two things crossed my mind: 1. Why are Disney animals so concerned with their modesty? I mean they’re animals? They have natural protection from the elements or fear of exposure. And also why does being a gamer incur the patronising conviction from those that have never played computer games?
The latter query originated from an earlier interaction between my informal mother in law and myself. Now there was nothing overtly malicious in her remark, she has an incredibly acrimonious nature that makes her congenial to anyone that meets her, but there was an underlying conceit to her utterance. My girlfriend and I had been evenly distributed joint gifts to open, much of which consisted of various baby amenities (such is our lives now). We had both purchased individual gifts for each other too. I had purchased a digital photo frame for her to store and display her increasing collection of extraneous photos into one centralised location, amassing credited boyfriend points in the process. Her corresponding present to me was a £20 PSN gift card, a generous bounty particularly genial to my trivialised diversions. “Ooh, is that for your little games?” retorted my mother in law. Little games? It was only a fleeting, spontaneous observation, but it was uttered with such inert contempt that I couldn’t help but interpret a derisive overtone to her comment, as if “that sort of thing” is exclusively participated by teenagers with an aversion to sunlight. I don’t know why but such domestic ignorance always irritates me more than the proponent context, the awkward ignorance to the reciprocated conviction of such a dynastic group, intellectually debilitated by arcane sentiment. I couldn’t help feel abashed at the harsh assessment at my potential mother in laws innocuous comment whilst I sat uncomfortably, vaguely aware of the vapid consternation of period dramas and soup operas on television so eagerly encouraged by our corresponding households. It continues to rankle me still!
Days past, more communal gifts were unwrapped at various family homes, with all the versatile solutions for conscientious yet cynical materialist that we as consumers are. Even once the formalities of visiting all of the subsidiary constituents of your ever extraneous family, and the internal restructuring of your home is commenced to accommodate our surplus cache of festive gifts, I was still straddled by the off the cuff remark administered days earlier. I’ve dealt with ignorance before, the generational aperture between gamers and “others” is a common occupational intolerance regularly asserted by those who simply don’t understand. And then I discovered the sad news that Lemmy of metal band Motorhead had past away. That may seem a little out of context but bare with me. An acerbic performer who for years had indulged in the excesses of his proclivities. Sex, drugs and rock and or roll. And booze, lots and lots of booze! To the point that alcohol could be intravenously siphoned into his bloodstream. The aggressive form of cancer that afflicted him is of course horrible, but I was strangely humbled that Lemmy, the man who kept Jack Daniels in profit to the point that his blood type was probably “Old No 7” passed away peacefully at home with his family, playing his favourite video game. That for me is the most Rock And Roll exit you could possibly want and certainly put my dented pride into perspective. And I feel pity for those simple minded people that will never understand the basic pleasures that games generate.
How do you deal with people that don’t understand your hobbies? Let me know your thoughts. Cheers.
If you weren’t able to play the reworked version of classic platform adventure “Oddworld: Abe’s Oddysee” on the PS4 (why haven’t you bought one yet?) then fear not, because “New ‘n’ Tasty is now available for the PS3. Yeah!
Oddworld: New ‘n’ Tasty is a ground-up remake of the original Oddworld: Abe’s Oddysee, re-creating the much-loved cinematic platform adventure from scratch with all new controls, amazing new graphics, reworked audio and secrets.
On PlayStation 3, Oddworld: New ‘n’ Tasty features the game great gameplay that wowed players and critics alike on PS4, with rich visuals and a whole loincloth full of improvements and tweaks since the PS4 launch of the game.
I’ve had this downloaded on my PS4 for some time now. This just reminds me how much I need to play it. Oh great, there’s a trailer too!
Your riveting presence in the on-line community is always a fraught with conspicuous ambiguity. Often your best efforts become deferred by your forced support, with any distinguishable valour muted by the unpredictable nature of your partners astuteness. The majority of your exploits is spent reducing the collateral damage of the ineptness of indecisive gamers that exhibit all the impressive lucidity of an inebriated tortoise and present the dexterous cranial precision of a sieve addled Goldfish. You compromise supremacy for limiting the deferential deftness of the opposition with the only conceivable way to combat such a diverse range combative integration, is by enlisting the aid of suitably capable friends. Not an easy task when considering the various encumbrances that prevent the fluidity of recruitment, so its imperative that you diagnose potential friends with specified preferences rather than simply saturating your friends list. But it’s not necessary about ability, but about collaborative unity of social compatibility.
Currently I have an estimated alliance of approximately 20 virtual friends, some of whom have become a regulatory presence in my expeditions; whether advocating and aiding me in specified directives or simply an excuse to lark around like giddy, unintelligible provocateurs, there is always an excuse to fraternize. But after a self applied, though reluctant hiatus by one distinct friend–one I had resolutely convinced myself would be an indefinite absence–finally after a 6 month interval the prodigal compatriot returned and was a rejuvenating lift from the mandatory tedium that often accost my on-line prerogatives. After a brief synopsis that surmised his inflicted purgatory from viral connectivity, a finalised assessment of his depreciated skills due to his adverse visibility and obligatory jovial banter we once again bind, and strike anxiety into the minds of on-line community, with our infinite collaborative skills fused together, parrying and pivoting others less refined antagonistic countenance. Well to be more specific, much of our preliminary sparring were dictated by our comparative inability to penetrate the opposition with any piercing force, with failing becoming an abundant continuity. Game after game, lose after lose. A catalogue of errors, decreased momentum, with all the pace of a melting ice cream and all the earnest aggression of a sleeping kitten. We were tentative, demonstrating increased frailty in the face of imposing contention; and I couldn’t have been happier under the circumstances.
Boisterous exchanges between our respective earpieces, often distracted by our intimate conferrals and a concession of professional stability, but in the context of such socially integrated correspondences with a compatriot of similar charismatic disposition. Yes perhaps we weren’t as aggressive as we could have been or establishing any efficient camaraderie with other members of our proposed team, with a less than welcoming ambiance. But losing with such succession has never been so absorbing.
Do you enjoy the kinship of on-line collaborators? Let me know what you guys think. Cheers.
Of all the maps, in all the co-operative modes in all the matches, she had to spawn into mine. I’ll explain this confusing opening statement promptly, but first I would like to express that in the context of online interlacing, there are certain online eventualities that are seemingly indifferent to your evasive formulations, and utterly resilient to any underhanded subterfuge you adopt to avoid particular confrontations. The typically selfish individuals so intent on their own preservation and inflation of experience, that they require continued evaluation, protection and tactical monitoring to prevent them from either encasing themselves so far from cavorting with the intended assailants that your there to vanquish, and placing themselves into spirally induced narcolepsy, stimulated by, you would assume some form of hallucinogenic contaminate meshed into their confectionary, judging by their increased aversion to combat and the previously stated fondness for their rotating scurrying, which can only really be appropriately articulated by suggesting its like observing a vacant dog, which invariably hastens their deserved demise, as well as my own. But these inconvenient nuisances are mere trivialities in comparison to what I have affectionately refer to as the “Casablanca Incident”.
With continued, vigorous embraces online, you will naturally begin procuring allies, which can lead to favorable interactions and eventually, a list bulging with potential friends ready to lend aid when such services are required (what a quaint virtual world we socialize in). But pressures of life and potential virtual conquests can deteriorate even the most hardened of established bonds; increased activity with other recipients, choosing to engage online independently for an evening, and excluding your other friends who persistently message you requesting your assistance. This with varying degrees of acceptance can lead to former associates becoming disgruntled, to the effect of permanent deletion from their respective friends lists. This as you have no doubt guessed, had recently occurred to me, with initially minor implications and reserved disappointment, until fate or some sadistic manipulation of the gaming Deities, I encountered one persistently alluded betrayer.
A liberal sprinkling of anxiety coerced me into proceeding despite the familiar pseudonym appearing on-screen, as I began a completely random
co-operative game. As our respective characters spawned, our expressionless facades concealing submerged apprehension, accompanied by the ominous accomplice of abject silence, patiently awaiting the first wave of enemies, as well as each others reactions to one another’s sudden reappearance. All that was missing was some tumbleweed, the protruding western style whistling and Clint Eastwood clutching a fistful of dollars (probably to soak up my characters pixellated blood that was too soon be shed). This was a former ally, a friend who had joined me in many successful excursions, who I presumed had accidentally erased my name. There was a clear indication however that the individual in question remembered who I was, as my pleas for assistance were ignored with increased detachment, as I avoided stray gunfire and misguided grenades, which were becoming suspiciously more habitual in my proximity. Though a characters face is never an interpretation of the physical presence supremacy, I swear I could discern the slightest inclination of resentment towards me, and an ambiance of audible frustration as though various adjectives could be applied to my mere presence in their vicinity. Yes perhaps I was verbally mute when requests were made for my potential aid, and I could have expressed gratitude more openly when such instances were resolved. But to exclude me, and not be a little receptive and grant acceptable degree of leniency to indulge in other activities, as well as resent such trivial actions seems incredibly immature. I think it could have been the start of a beautiful friendship between us, but sadly not. Heres looking at you kid *zooms in with a scope*.
What bad instances have you encountered online? And have you lost friends due to petty differences? Let me know your thoughts.
Acquiring a platinum trophy, as I have discovered to my unbeknownst peril, is not only a provacating test of ones perseverance, patience and determination, but also one thwart with wallowing resentment to other, less determined individuals. Casually observing the wealth of online players, and comparing their auspicious acclamations to my own ambitious undertakings, I have deduced the defining characteristic and the one initially crippling distinction between my own spaciously inept, figurative trophy cabinet, and various other superior competitors; the sheer volume of accumulated trophies. What lucrative acquisitions these little figurative trophies represent, symbolic of the greatness achieved through brutal sacrifice in the face of overwhelming adversity. Until you realise the bulk of the adulations consists of no more than a few humble, relatively easy to acquire silvers and bronze.
“Congratulations, you fired a round from your pistol, here’s your reward, a bronze trophy!” Should you really be rewarded for such easily procured objectives that require little more than a standard 5 minute stroll? Does anyone really care? Or perhaps the more pertinent question is, should you care? There isn’t an enigmatic, demonic weapon of pure destruction to benefit your misadventures, or a furtive beneficial ability that imparts athanasia to your manipulated avatar, so what is the potent incentive to effectuate menial, largely irrelevant tasks?
Many of the targets set for you to achieve these “amicable goals”, are primarily obnoxious trivialities, requiring less formulating plans of intricate persuasions and more about lucky coincidences. Shielded by the anonymity of a loquacious, often absurd pseudonyms that protects your identity from people such as myself is very reassuring; no one is going to know about your lack of enthusiasm for the trophies, or total indifference to the stipulated tasks asked of you, and through my own obsessive experience, its legitimately understandable why no one attempts these stipulated tasks. Attempting to perfect Resident Evil 5 has left me shattered, brittle and more mentally abused than child who’s just caught his dad in the vigorous embrace, of the milkman. I feel broken, weary and at times display a worrying delusional perception of reality, that’s interspersed with psychological degradations, as I physically stop under bridges, peering attentively above to scope for gems hidden deep in the crevices.
The persevering collaboration and mental versatility that’s applied to achieve these ruthless absurdities, is a damaging expenditure of both physical dexterity as well as mental stabilities, with diminutive allowance for the passively inclined, but somehow, its masochisticly compulsive. But my work is not yet completed, and the habitual African setting is alternating in volume, both widening and constricting like an asthmatic python. I can hear the tenuous, though distinguishable sound of a chainsaw rattling in the distance, and the moans and grunts from approaching majini are becoming more distinct. The things I do for metaphoric trophies and recognition!
Have you found the process for gaming supremacy difficult? Or do you pity completionist? Let me know your thoughts.
I have already throughly alleviated to my utter dismay and crippling, emotional state at the loss of my PS3, which finally succumb to my years of brutish, disrespectful mannerisms, my blatant disregard for its well-being, as well as its ever accelerating deterioration. I hadn’t felt such remorseful dismay and helpless sobriety over an inanimate object, since Wilson the volleyball floated away. But the spontaneity of a sleek, aesthetically pleasing new model, the delicate balance of my virtual expeditions has been reestablished, with significantly taught equilibrium restored, apart from the sudden lack of documented virtual accomplishments.
Sure, I could spend time on easily accessible resources to recover my possessed data, to gather my historical achievements which have been sequestered with the cruel demise of my older, less sophisticated machine. It’s like rejecting Demi Moore, for the more rejuvenating embrace of Mila Kunis (though perhaps not quite so malicious and arrogantly). Instead, I’ve decided in my infinite wisdom, ambitious arrogance, and quite frankly defiant pride to reclaim my previous trophies, by repeating the process that won me these prestigious acclamations before, and a proclamation of intent to restore dignity, to my otherwise shattered ego.
In as little as 10 days, Resident Evil 6 will be released, and in nervous anticipation for its arrival, I intend to platinum its predecessor, Resident Evil 5. I began this simple subconscious request last Friday, fully expecting it to be a difficult proposition to undertake successfully, without permanent disintegrating faculties or embellished extends of such diligent time consumption, that feels more of an obligatory dictation, rather than ambitions aspirations. It’s difficult to vindicate as well as maintain such dedicated augmentations, when so many other aspects of life require greater consideration. Shackled by all the usual obstacles presented by active society, social interactions, earning a living and a continuing compulsion to eat occasionally, are all contributing factors when striving for virtual perfection.
I’ve actuated these ambitious, yet humble targets and I throughly intend to adhere to my own ethical, postulating policies. Though as laborious and painfully repetitive as the game inevitably becomes, which afflicts such a compromising strain on my patience, that’s so tightly tethered, that it could fissure at any given opportunity. The fixation to relish in the eventual figurative, platinum trophy for my excruciating struggles, wills me on. I find that in my unconscious state of regenerative slumber, my mind is acutely aware of the technical strategies that must be implemented to conquer theses impediments; the appropriate time to implement the distributing power of the shotgun, the devastating prowess of the magnum, and the knife, which in a combat scenario is as useful as ethics and honour are in Game of Thrones.
But despite my clear mental degradations, and my faltering accumulation of the rotten egg, which for a brief time was safe in my possession, before I was slaughtered by hordes of Lickers, and my ill-advised placement of sundries of health restoration, cost me to lose this rarity, and subsequent trophy…for now at least. But my admittedly impetuous determination to succeed will not deter me from retaining what was lost, as well as all other trophies to accomplish my goals. Hopefully?
If anyone would like to aid me in my quest for infected supremacy, please let me know. My PSN is: KarlWell666
Any assistance, however small would be much appreciated.