BruteStomp officially live!

That means this blog is officially dead. Or, at least, it will live on at www.brutestomp.com.

I'll see what I can do about making this link redirect over there. To those who have followed me thus far, again, my humblest thanks. Valete.

Onion: Dorm Fire in NYC

Police Slog Through 40,000 Insipid Party Pics To Find Cause Of Dorm Fire

Coming Soon: BruteStomp.com

It looks as if I'll be moving (that's a preview, not the final product) very soon. Since I graduated, I've spent much of my time working and working on working, so Stomping Grounds--or www.brutestomp.com--will be my online portfolio and new cyber bullhorn. Everything will be final in just a few days or so.

Think About This

When Democrats lose, they're pathetic. When Republicans lose, they're bitter and mean.

-Timothy Noah

Voicemail, You're Not Wanted...

From Farhad Manjoo, of Slate:

The bill of particulars is damning. Unlike your e-mail inbox, voice mail is impossible to skim: If your phone tells you that you've got five new messages, you've got no choice but to listen to at least a bit of each one before you can decide what to do with it. In a user-interface decision that I suspect might violate some subclause of the Geneva Conventions, your voice-mail system insists on making you listen to the same instructional prompts between each message. But wait, is it 9 to archive and 7 to skip, or is that the way the work phone does it? I couldn't tell you, because every voice-mail system seems to have settled on different numbers to activate its main functions. It's an absurdly backward mode of human-computer interaction.

In other words, someone out there with some smarts has realized how much voice mail sucks. The Intern (that lovable goat) will be delighted to hear it.

Elsewhere Interweb

Do not f*ck with Bionic Commando: Rearmed. This is the spiritual mantra of Capcom's re-imagining of their 1988 NES classic. While it isn't quite at Ninja Gaiden levels, death is constant, often, and happens a whole helluvalot in BC:RA.

But every true gamer knows that sheer challenge doesn't make a game. By that standard, Rise of the Robots is an unplayable masterpiece. No, what makes the player return for death after control-flinging death in BC:RA is the fact that it's almost never the game's fault. Moving around the world map may be annoying, but BC:RA's precision, in-level controls are the stuff of gaming legend, on par with Mega Man, Tecmo's already-mentioned signature game franchise and any title by hard-core developer Treasure.

Meanwhile, BC:RA's difficulty also begs for a cultural revival in video games; not the one associated with achievement whoring, the one associated with getting good for good's sake (only slightly different). Around 1/5 of the secrets in BC:RA don't even empower the player; they simply unlock more challenge rooms. Alternately put, this game rewards completion of blisteringly hard game play with more blisteringly hard game play. And bragging rights on Capcom's leaderboards.

When you take these play mechanics--that turn novices into pros over 12 levels--and marry them with retina-seering graphics, Simon Viklund's flawless 8-bit-tronica soundtrack, and a $10 MSRP, you have the gold standard by which all other downloadable content and classic game retreads should be measured.

For these reasons, I believe Bionic Commando:Rearmed to (also) be game of the year.

Garamond

A fine font, I say. I may never use Times again.

Elsewhere Interweb

Late in Grand Theft Auto IV, the player is tasked with kidnapping a daughter of a local don, Gracie Ancelotti, for ransom. Like many missions in GTA, getting Gracie to her destination becomes a lesson in creativity and random experimentation, chiefly because she tries to wreck the car the entire trip. What most players figure out is that the drive-by fire button allows protagonist Niko Bellic to knock Gracie unconscious, making for a smooth trip to the safe house. And that's just the beginning of the required domestic abuse. Subsequent missions have the player taunting and photographing her in a battered state.

Missions like this one are the embodiment of what makes GTA:IV so compelling. Comparably to the darkly comic mockumentary Man Bites Dog, GTA:IV lures the player into its satiric world of dick jokes and leftist politics, eliciting the feeling that nothing that bad is going to happen. But then the player reaches the latter third of the game and becomes party to hedonist violence and difficult moral choices, all underscored by the fact that Niko Bellic is an illegal immigrant whose every action spells political commentary of various sorts.

In other words, GTA:IV is every bit the controversial video game the moral watchdogs say it is, just for an entirely different set of reasons. Players don't just watch Niko, they play him, which means that even if they disagree with how he feels, they still take up his ideals in order to advance the game. This overtly politicized gameplay is a first for the industry, but it's also a breakthrough for all arts. No other medium can claim to be so uncompromising and it's a wonder more games haven't been this way since narrative was introduced in the mid-80's.

For these reasons, I believe Grand Theft Auto IV to be game of the year.

Another Bigot is Falling

The hits just keep on coming for Carrie Prejean (from Huffington Post). She spoke out against gay marriage, took up the cause for NOM and then the bottom dropped out. First, we found that her breasts were bought on the pageantry dime and then we learned that she lied about her past to compete. Now her claim that she only took one topless photo has been debunked as well. In other words, when Carrie opens her mouth, she sh*ts herself.

Don't get me wrong here. I find the implant "controversy" a little contrived and I don't care whether she violated pageant code by taking semi-nude photos (it's a living). And I also don't give a capped tooth about the hypocrisy of her lifestyle coupled with her brand of Christianity (the kind that loves their women hot, stupid and scared). But I do have a problem with someone so comfortable with her own sexuality acting as if others can't act the same way. With any luck, she'll be asking me if I need any salt, pepper, or ketchup with my order very soon.

Just Because - No Regrets

"No Regrets" opens with Aesop Rock's stoner-drawl making jeers at Lucy, the strange girl who draws all day. Rock then reveals her story, which begins on the pavement and turns to canvas as she ages. Lucy embraces her hermitry for the sake of her art, politely turning away offers for playtime and lunch all her life, before dying alone (and undiscovered) in a hospital surrounded by her works. In this, Rock serves up a familiar tale, one where a brutal artist sacrifices supplemental pleasures for a life well-lived. But the twist comes in the Tim Burton-esque atmosphere ellicited by sampled string-plucks and ghostly vocal melodies. Rock calls us to live as if we're dying, but puts no gloss on the cost. The implication is not that we may fail, but that we may prevail beyond our wildest dreams, turn outcast and die with few or no friends to give a damn.

The Brute is a Real Boy.

Aw, yeah, suckaz! *pumps fist*