This week I was lucky enough to receive an invite code to the Blur multiplayer beta. The thing is, I’ve never really been the racing game type. There was a three-week period there where I got really into Gran Turismo 3 on the Playstation 2, even going as far as to order a steering wheel/gas pedal system on e-bay. Unfortunately, by the time the steering wheel arrived, I was bored of the simulation gameplay of GT, and had already moved onto some other, non-racing game. I used the steering wheel once.
That said, I love the Burnout series, particularly Burnout Paradise. I have put more hours into that game than just about any game this generation (the only possible challenger being Rock Band). I love everything about Burnout, but particularly I love that I don’t have to worry about racing lines or braking properly or any of that other stuff. If I eff up, my car explodes fantastically, and I get right back to racing. That’s what I’m looking for in a racer.
And, wow, you guys, does Blur ever deliver. It’s like if Mario Kart turned into Mario Awesome Licensed Cars, fucked Burnout Paradise until it shit out a baby, trained that baby to be more like Modern Warfare 2, and then belittled that baby, saying that it should look more like Geometry Wars. “Sure you’ve got awesome cars and crazy weapons and a fucking perk system, BUT WHY ISN’T EVERYTHING SHINY AND NEON?! You’re no son of mine!”
Dear fellow Call of Duty 4 player,
We were in a multiplayer match recently, and you disconnected from me before I could offer a fair rebuttal to your accusations, and so I wanted to take this opportunity, in a public forum, to express my dismay.
First off, I am not homosexual. Despite my gameplay shortcomings, and the way my xbox live headset ups the effeminate nature of my voice, I assure you that I have been attracted to women for as long as I can remember. I love the company of the opposite gender, both as friends and as sexual partners. In fact, I have been with my current girlfriend for ten months now, and things are going very well, thank you. I guess all I mean is, when I shoot you, or you shoot me, or whatever gameplay occurs, if you could refrain from incorrectly calling me “fag,” “faggot,” or implying that you just “butt-fucked” me with that last sniper kill, that would be much appreciated.
Also, if I may go off on a bit of a tangent, I would like to state, matter-of-factly, that there is a huge difference between getting “butt-fucked” and shot with a sniper rifle. They are different in many respects, for example, one involves a sniper rifle, while the other is primarily governed by the forceful insertion of… I should get back to the point at hand.
I’m not a big fan of horror movies. Partly, it’s because I’m squeamish. Even when watching House
, I turn away when they cut into the corpse. Yes, it’s one of my girlier qualities, which tempers my otherwise complete manliness, but the sight of blood grosses me out. It’s one of the reasons I have decided not to become a doctor or Dexter. (That and I spend too much time playing video games.)
Blood in video games, however, is different. Perhaps it’s because I don’t associate myself with the non-player characters in video games, so I don’t see blood and think “that could be me.” I can deal with the the splattered, pixelated brains, the simple ragdoll physics of a corpse hitting the ground easier than I can deal with the sight of red corn syrup flowing out of the top of an actor’s head. There is no uncanny valley with gore: there is either believable gore, as in movies, or you can not associate with the characters strongly enough to empathize, and feel the cracked bones and spurting blood as if it were your own. So I avoid gore in movies, and relish it in video games.
However, even I have seen enough horror movies to know that one thing always, always happens.
We are halfway through the movie. There is definitely, definitely something wrong. Something horrifically wrong. Two or more people are dead. The survivors know that the killer/mass of zombies/chupacabre/gay vampire is out there, waiting for them. “What is that thing?” someone asks. And then something weird happens.