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March 31, 2005

MOST. EXCITING. GAMING. NEWS. EVER.

For those of you who can only interpret the following as gibberish, I do apologise. You may want to try somebody more coherent. Try Dervala, she’s got coherency down pat.

ACK! GOLLOP BROTHERS! LASER SQUAD! LORDS OF CHAOS! BEST STRATEGY GAMES EVER! 8-BIT WONDERS! CLASSIC CHILDHOOD GAMING! NOW COMING TO GAMEBOY ADVANCE! REBELSTAR TACTICAL COMMAND!

From Namco, too. Who’d have thought it?

I think I need a bit of a lie-down. Should I explain to the non-cognoscenti? I don’t think I’ll bother. At least not until August, when you can actually buy the game in the shops… In the interim, you can read what I and some other excited obsessives think here and here. I’m the one getting very excited behind the ‘Horse’ handle.

Posted by Oliver at 11:52 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

March 25, 2005

New internet game!

Random google searches:

If I were young enough to have my parents still look after me, one of them would be popping their head around the door to say: “Oliver, it’s three in the morning and you’re addled from painkillers. Turn this monologue off and go to bed!”

Posted by Oliver at 03:11 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

See the final paragraph for a quick summary AND MISS NOTHING

I’m on holidays! … or at least, that was the plan. The plan went: Take off the Friday after Paddy’s day, and the days before Easter, and you’ll get a pretty long holiday for much less annual leave!

It was a good plan, and I had a lovely day celebrating St. Patrick’s saintliness by staying late in bed with my girlfriend watching the parade on the telly. Wasn’t that phoenix float lovely? And that drama crowd who re-enacted the legend about the emperor’s new clothes, they were good. And all the Americans, they were loud and suitably shiny. Anyway, Thursday was super and relaxing, and so was Friday, and Saturday, and Sunday was particularly great, and then it was Monday. The girlfriend had to vanish off to work at that point, something I think it’s fair to say I was insufferably smug about, and I had a slight headache. But that was no bother and I went into town to meet my best friend from my college days who’d taken some time out of her glamorous life in Paris to say hello to us backward Irish folks.

We spent the day wandering around town having a (I’ve used a fair amount of superlatives so far, I know, please bear with me) fun-filled time of it, going for Japanese food and shopping and avoiding the rain where possible. It was fun-filled and my headache got worse, and worse, and worse, until by the time I got home it was quite literally as if my skull was about to pop open to allow the throbbing brains inside leap free, splatter wetly on my walls, then slide slowly to the floor. Which would have been a relief, it was that bad.

But the funny thing was, I didn’t notice this until I got home. Because as well as being excruciating, my headache was also making me stupid. You will not notice the pain, it whispered, as I am making you too stupid to notice it.

I noticed the pain by the evening, and noticed the stupidity shortly afterwards as I wondered how the hell had I missed being this fucking sore. I noticed it even more when all the weak-ass over-the-counter medications just pushed it around for a bit before sloping off home after doing precisely nothing, which I’m pretty sure is not what they mean when they say they’ll hit pain where it hurts. Tap pain on the shoulder and ask for the time, more like.

Tuesday morning, head much worse, off to the doctor I go. I’m not nearly so quick to go to the doctor when I’m working but when I’m on holidays it’s a completely different story, as while I resent paying doctors 45 euro to listen to me moan, I resent being sick on holidays even more.

The nice doctor, bless her and make her a saint and have parades in her honour, gave me absurdly strong tablets that were also incredibly cheap (my perfect date, bdum-tshhhh) and then talked me into accepting a sick leave cert so I wouldn’t lose my holidays. She had to talk me into it! Clearly the stupidity was strong. Of course, it’s probable that I didn’t like appearing wussy in front of a smart lady doctor. I think that counts as native stupidity though. But who cares! I’m not on holidays, I’m on sick leave!

While the tablets are terrifyingly effective, they don’t solve the stupidity problem. And they do leave me woozy and in constant need of affection. So, it comes down to a choice between being dizzy, stupid and prone to hugging people, or being not quite as stupid, with my face screwed into a constant wince of pain. I pick being Forrest Gump every time.

In summary, when I’m sore I like to whine about it. As I think I’ve just demonstrated. Lucky you, Mr. Internet.

Posted by Oliver at 02:28 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

March 19, 2005

Who you calling a psycho?!

So it turns out, I’m about ten times better at Zookeeper drunk than sober. Damn it! My conscious brain just gets in the way! My subconscious knows what to do and would appreciate it if my conscious mind would just sit this one out!

One (shared) bottle of wine later, and my conscious mind did sit this one out. Result: Name on the high score table, and a bonus sense of elation when it was discovered that my girlfriend had set the game level to ‘Hard.’ I’m hard, me. Oh yes.

Actually, inebriation is kind of like a persistent dizziness, isn’t it? Spin on, world, spin on.

(Prize of a GBA game of my choice to the first person who names the film and describes the scene I’ve referenced, and it’s not bloody hard to any viewers of Friday night’s Irish television).

Posted by Oliver at 12:50 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

March 17, 2005

I'm naming my first child Yoshi

The Nintendo’s DS launched here last week, and I would have been first in line to buy one, if I hadn’t already imported one from the US before Christmas.

A brief rundown for the poorly-informed: the DS is Nintendo’s latest handheld console, about as powerful as Nintendo’s home console was about four years ago. It has two screens, the bottom one of which is a touch-screen. If you’ve ever used a personal data assistant you’ll be able to imagine the use of this in games pretty quickly; if not, a dinky pen or careful finger lets you touch the game objects directly on screen, and have them respond.

Given the ton of gaming hardware I have in my house, why on earth would I buy a DS? Because the new interface is a fantastic thing. It lets just about anyone intuitively play games on the system without needing to jump through the mental hoops required to translate joypad movements into on-screen action. That joypad, staple of console-gaming since its inception, has been a barrier to universal pick-up-and-play gaming no matter how ergonomically they build them.

They have this new, digital version of crack cocaine out now, called Zookeeper; if by chance you buy it, keep your significant other away from it or you’ll never see your DS again. It’s the perfect example of the direct manipulation touch-screen majesty you’re not going to get on any other console. Drag pieces into place to make them disappear. Playing it for five minutes is enough for your subconscious seize on it like some maddening pop tune.

Yes, I know about Sony’s Playstation Portable. It’s a beautiful piece of hardware (ignoring the poor battery life), but I’ve played many games during my short time on this earth, and I don’t see the PSP giving me that sense of a new gaming experience the DS with its touch screen has. The PSP will have its great games, but they’ll be games that could have as easily appeared on any recent home console - or even on the DS itself.

Every PDA maker ever should be kicking themselves for not turning out a few innovative touch screen games sooner. I cannot wait for Yoshi: Touch and Go.

Disclaimer for the gaming hardcore: yes, the DS has other great features: wireless multiplayer, gameboy advance compatibility (and GBA games will look better on the DS), good 3D performance, blah blah blah. Such features are pretty much required of any new portable console at this stage. Without the touchscreen the DS would just be an under-specced, ungainly rendition of the PSP. With it, a whole new way of designing and playing games becomes possible; required, even.

Posted by Oliver at 05:59 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

March 15, 2005

125 words of self-pity

I’m coming down with a cold. Make that: I’ve come down with a cold. I don’t really mind the minor symptoms like a sore throat or tired eyes; it’s the stupidity that’s annoying. My brain has become a gloopy, sticky mass my thoughts are having real trouble pushing themselves through.

I caught my last cold before Christmas, which wormed its way into my chest and stayed there. That earned me a week’s sick leave. It was great! I was too dumb to do much else beyond play computer games and watch the occasional Studio Ghibli film. I started (and finished) Thief 3 that week. Bloody good fun. Must do a belated review and fire it off to Eurogamer.

Sigh. I wish I was in bed.

Posted by Oliver at 11:20 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

March 09, 2005

The Retreat

I used to be a big newspaper buff, loving the Irish papers, reading at least one a day and two or three at the weekends. I used to watch the nine o’clock news any evening I was at home at the right time. Now I never watch the news and I haven’t bought a paper in years. My only real contact with newspapers is through work, which needs me to read articles on specific topics, and the occasional flick through ireland.com when I’ve got a spare few minutes at my desk.

I’m much more likely these days to read blogs and websites, especially those linked to in my sidebar. I only buy one print publication now, and that’s a games magazine. I think I’m joining the silent majority that tacitly gives the status quo (political or otherwise) its support. I still vote at every election, though mostly through recognising allegiances and not the individual candidates’ names.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so badly informed about anything of consequence my entire life. Everything I absorb is purely driven by self-interest: games news, gadget news, news of my friends.

Mental note: read a paper every day. That should have been my New Year’s resolution.

Posted by Oliver at 06:14 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

Note to self

A short discussion of my Sendo X review is here. I get a little het up as usual.

Posted by Oliver at 05:48 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

March 07, 2005

The Thirst

There’s a certain stage of, um, inverse sobriety, let’s call it, where I’ve had three or four drinks, and my short-term memory starts to not work so good. It’s at this point I usually slow right the hell down and consume water for the rest of the evening (I believe the term you’re looking for at this point is ‘Light-weight’). Or at least I presume that’s what I do; it’s a little hazy.

It all started with working late in work, then going out for a drink with the work crowd afterwards. I knew there was little chance at that point of my getting out to the dogs in Harold’s Cross for my friend’s birthday, but as they were going to be in town afterwards I knew it would all work out somehow.

Drinks with work people can be a bit tricky as, generally speaking, I don’t know who knows I’m going out with somebody in work (she was on a bus, heading home for the weekend), and who doesn’t. Most of my friends at work know at this stage (it has been over two years) but there’s always one person I assume knows who (deep breath) doesn’t know what it is I know they don’t know, you know?

I hope my boss doesn’t know.

Four pints later and the short-term memory failure is starting to occur. The rest of the night takes place in the style of one question leading on to several more, like the mythical head-spawning Hydra: How am I going to get into town? Why am I in the back of this car? Is that my workmate’s boyfriend driving? How did I get to the top of Camden Street? When did I buy these crisps? I hope I paid for them. Who ate all my crisps? How did I find this pub that has all my friends in it? Who bought me this drink? How did it get to be 2am? Is this my Nitelink, and how did I get on it, anyway? When did I put my headphones on? How did I get into bed? When did I send my girlfriend all those text messages?

Ah yes. Those text messages. The less said about those, the better.

Posted by Oliver at 12:40 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

March 04, 2005

Perils of table-quiz attendance

When attending a table-quiz in aid of Mountain Rescue with your girlfriend (who works for the same company as you, but in a different building), keep in mind that your girlfriend’s boss, a keen hiker, might turn up when you least expect it. And sit at the table next to you and your girlfriend, and make witticisms, and be more than capable of observing any casual hand-on-girlfriend’s-leg/arm/shoulder positionings. Keep in mind too that drinking alcohol at said event will only encourage the positionings.

In fact, the above rule applies when attending a restaurant in Ranelagh, going to any Dublin cinema, walking hand-in-hand down Dublin city-centre streets, or engaging in pretty much any public display of affection within a five-mile radius either company building.

Sigh. At least I knew that James Joyce was buried in Zurich. But not that the Sandinista rebellion happened in Nicaragua.

Posted by Oliver at 01:36 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

March 03, 2005

Making with the zuzz-zuzz

Even though February has ended the birthday march continues, with a trip to dogs tomorrow evening to celebrate a 29th, and a weekend in Kilkenny this month for another 30th (one of my girlfriend’s four best friends, even though you can only have one best friend, which she knows as she did English at college, but even so). And my mum’s birthday was this week, so there’s a birthday dinner on Sunday for that. She probably wouldn’t appreciate my telling you her age.

This would be great, and is great, but would be even greater still if I could just get a straight eight hour snooze, and not turn up at all these events in my trademark sleep-deprived zombie form. I have a pub quiz to attend later, one I cannot back out of, so I know I’ll be stumbling into bed at 1 am for a brief six hours before having to get up for yet another sleep-deprived day.

Hmmm. Who’s the patron saint of sleep, and what do I have to sacrifice to get some shut-eye around here?

Posted by Oliver at 04:47 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

March 01, 2005

Gambling on virtual horses

I spent last Saturday evening at a fundraiser in the Clonsilla RFC clubhouse. This was my first time in such an establishment, and my first time gambling, but it’s okay, mum, the gambling was in support of the rugby team’s upcoming tour of Hong Kong, see? As a good friend of mine and his brother are on the team, see?

They had a film segment showing the - pardon me, I’m new to this - ‘form’ of the horses, and then another segment showing the actual ‘race’. You’d place your bets, in my case based on what number I hadn’t bet on so far. I won four euro on the last race! I’m a winner!

Rugby clubs are full of very burly men. And their parents. I’ve never really played team sports, owing to a shy childhood, but I think I missed out.

Afterwards we went back to my friend’s house for more beer and the chance to emit disturbed laughter in front of the sex education scene from Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life. That’s as far as we got before falling into a drunken slumber. And the next morning I stumbled bleary-eyed into town to meet my girlfriend’s mum. Eeep!

Posted by Oliver at 02:33 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

Bookshopping

I seem to be a victim of a compelling desire to own large amounts of Stuff. Yesterday I rushed into town at lunchtime to spend a 50 euro book token, given to me by my parents gave me for Christmas. Why the rush? I was just in time to complete a ten-token voucher in the great Hodges Figgis money-off swindle! Er, after combining powers tokens with my girlfriend. We now have 15 euro credit at the store, after spending sixty euro.

So, new books to add to the shelves full of unread books I’ve got at home. Some for my long-term sci-fi addiction, two for my poetry fetish, and a G. B. Shaw biography:

I like those bulleted lists, don’t I?

I’ve already wolfed down half of the Paul Durcan book. It’s a great rendition of the classic Irish experience, both rural and urban. This was an experience I found unbearable growing up, to the point where I was forever fleeing into the fantasy worlds of games and novels. But now I’m nostalgic for something that I was inevitably part of, whether I liked it or not.

Posted by Oliver at 12:38 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack