#oneaday Day 742: Being a Treatise on the Nature of Friendship in the Digital Age

Today was a good day, because I took the relatively rare opportunity to take a friendship with an “Internet Friend” to the next level — real friendship. Speaking face to face. Being able to see each other, and having to actually speak words instead of typing things.

My erstwhile Internet Friend Holly and I had been conversing online for some time after a chance encounter — as I recall, it was a Twitter follow and a question on Tumblr that has long since been lost among pictures of cats and pushed Formspring answers. Regardless of exactly how it happened, we got chatting, and we did that Internet Friends thing of talking a whole bunch, going quiet for days, weeks, months at a time, and then picking up where we left off without too much difficulty. A familiar story to many of you reading this, I’m sure.

As it happens, Holly used to live where I now live (not literally in the same house, that would be super-weird). As such, she decided to come on down to visit her friends who are still in the area now she’s elsewhere in the country. And we decided that it might be fun to meet each other and hang out.

Now, anyone who’s ever broached the subject of a real-life meetup with an Internet Friend, whatever the motives for doing so might be, will doubtless be aware of that feeling of unease and anxiety that comes as the date for your meeting approaches. (Or perhaps it’s just me. For the sake of this entry, however, I am going to assume you know what I’m talking about.) Will your friendship successfully carry over into the real world? Will you be able to make the same jokes you do on Twitter/Facebook/Tumblr/text message/however you’ve been conversing previously? Will the other person take one look at you, think you’re some sort of hideous freak and run screaming out of the door?

Statistically, this is fairly unlikely to happen — in my experience, anyway. Out of all the Internet Friend meetups I have had over the years (and I’ve had a surprising amount, now that I come to think about it), only one encounter was a failure, and even then, it wasn’t completely disastrous — we just didn’t click in person for whatever reason. Past successful meetups saw me attending a showjumping event; getting married (though, granted, that didn’t end all that well, but that’s not the point under scrutiny here); flying to Toronto to play a ton of boardgames, see the sights and get sunstroke at the zoo; flying to Boston for super nerd-convention PAX East; having someone other than my brother and his family to visit when I’m in California (not that I don’t enjoy seeing my bro!); and, indeed, my current living situation and relationship with Andie can also be attributed to a successful Internet Friend meetup.

That one failure has haunted me a bit over the years, though. Despite all the other successful encounters, I still think back to that awkwardness I felt when I met Julia for the first time, and how awful I felt on the way home, thinking that all our long, heartfelt emails to one another had turned out to be essentially worthless. As those who know me well (and regular readers) will know, I am not the most confident person in the world, so to feel rejected like that — regardless of whether she had actually rejected me or it was simply my own social ineptitude that had caused the awkwardness — well, it hurt, quite a bit. As such, any time I’ve had the opportunity to meet up with someone I get on well with from the Internet, I’ve always been wary. All my insecurities and neuroses about my appearance, my personality and everything else all come out to play, and I find myself wondering if meeting is actually a good idea or not. In short, I worry the situation in the image above is what will happen.

Fact: it usually is a good idea to meet, and the situation in the image above is, mercifully, fairly rare. Look at it this way: you get on well online for a reason. For most people (those who aren’t making a specific effort to troll, anyway), their online persona is a pretty true representation of the person they are — often sans any insecurities they have in face to face meetings. And if you get on well when speaking in text, it’s pretty likely that you will get on in person, too.

You’re doubtless waiting on tenterhooks to know whether or not Holly and I hit it off, then. (Maybe not.)

We did. We managed to easily fill several hours of conversation on a variety of topics, and both left feeling good that we’d done that. We’re hopefully going to do it again before she has to depart back to far-off climes (relatively speaking). I’d call that a successful Internet Friend meetup, then, resulting in a real-life friendship. Hurrah!

So there you have it. You can make a Real Friend out of an Internet Friend. But you probably knew that already.

#oneaday Day 741: Glee – It’s a Feeling You Get When Your Brain Finally Lets Your Heart Get In Its Pants

I posted a short while ago that I had been watching Glee, and had found myself surprised that I was rather enjoying it. Like many other people (I imagine) I had certain preconceptions as to what the show would be about — misconceptions, as it happens. Misconceptions fuelled by media coverage of the phenomenon of “gleeks”, and endless playing of their version of Don’t Stop Believing on the radio.

Watching the show with an air of objectivity, i.e. having ignored most of the coverage about it because of my misconceptions it was cheesy and lame, has surprised and delighted me with its quality. I’m genuinely enjoying it — cheesy songs and all — and have come to care about the characters. As I’ve said on a number of occasions before, caring about the characters in something is the one thing that will keep me watching or playing something, even after said piece of media in question might have long outstayed its welcome with other people. And I can see how Glee could easily rub people up the wrong way. It’s an acquired taste, but one I have well and truly acquired with aplomb.

Glee is good at high school angst. Above all else, outside of all the cheesy songs and elaborate dance routines, it’s about teenage troubles. And some surprisingly weighty issues, too — I’d assumed that it would all be a bit Disney, judging by the saccharine, autotuned nature of the music. But in the space of the season and a quarter that I’ve watched so far, the show has taken in teen pregnancy, homosexuality, bullying, infidelity, abstinence, discrimination and a wealth of other topics, and it’s handled them all in a surprisingly sensitive manner. Most of the “dealing with” said issues involves singing a song that is tangentially related to the issue in question, but somehow this never seems too forced. Sure, if you’re going to go over it with a fine-tooth comb and pick apart exactly why a high school could never have the budget to pull off some of the productions they do, you’ll come away feeling slightly I satisfied by the whole experience. But accept it for what it is — a heavily stylised depiction of high school that blends realism with escapist fantasy — and there’s an incredibly satisfying, well-written and, at times, very touching show underneath.

It’s a show of great characters, too. Mr Shuester (or however you spell it) is a great lead. While there’s an element of “cheesy choir leader” about him by the nature of his character’s role, he’s a deep, interesting and flawed character who presents an interesting counterpoint to the colourful adventures of the teen stars. Sue Sylvester, too, makes a brilliant “villain”, and is all the more powerful for being a very complex, unpredictable character. It would have been easy to leave her as nothing but a heartless bitch, but even well into the second season, she continues to surprise.

Barring a few missteps early in season 2 — the themed episodes based on Britney Spears and the Rocky Horror Show were a bit silly in that they felt far too shoehorned in, even for a show about retrofitting pop songs to express your inner angst — the show is fairly consistently great. Said theme shows were followed up by some brilliant episodes, however, with the eighth entry of the second season providing one of the most genuinely moving moments I’ve seen in a TV show in recent years. (I shan’t spoil it for those who intend to watch it, but suffice to say for those who have seen it, it’s the bit where that song “You’re Amazing” is used, if that’s what that song is actually called. I’d check, but, you know, I can’t be arsed. You know the one I mean.)

I will be following Glee with interest as it continues — particularly as the high school nature of it means that the entire cast of kids will theoretically have to be replaced over the course of the next few seasons.

#oneaday Day 740: A Story About a Girl I Once Knew

Those of you who have been reading for a while will probably know I used to be a teacher. Those of you who are new to this blog… I used to be a teacher. Three years in secondary education, a term in primary.

I had a fairly hellish time for the most part, culminating in having a nervous breakdown and having to get signed off sick with stress. While this meant that I could legitimately sit at home in my pants and play video games all day while getting paid for it (and not having to write about said games), it was a demoralising, embarrassing experience that reflected much of my time in the classroom — demoralising and embarrassing.

But it wasn’t all bad, and lest you get the impression that I spent my entire time in the classroom hating every single child who sullied the sanctity of my room with their presence, I wanted to take a moment to appreciate one particular student who has stuck in my mind ever since. She isn’t the only one, and if I’m strapped for writing ideas I will talk about my memories of the others at a later time. But she is the one that popped into my head when I was considering what to write about this evening. I attribute at least part of this to the fact she has a memorable name, and is the only person I’ve ever known with that name.

Her name was Berri, and when I knew her she was in year 8, or the second year of secondary school. I only knew her for a year, as I was only employed at the school in question for a year thanks to the headteacher who employed me officially being Shit With Money. But that’s another story.

Berri may have only been in year 8 at the time, but she was incredibly mature for her age. She was the sort of kid you could have an actual meaningful conversation with, rather than simply chasing them up for homework. She was intelligent, witty and had common sense. She also had the patience of a saint, something which I display for the vast majority of the time but sometimes found reaching breaking point when confronted with a class of unruly, uncooperative children who thought their weekly Music lesson was an excuse to goof off. Berri never got annoyed, though, even when young Danny, her classmate who liked to climb bookcases and shout “CUNT” at people, was at his worst.

Berri was also very musical, which meant that the vast majority of the secondary school music curriculum was pitched way below what she was capable of. She never minding mucking in and doing a task that was beneath her ability level, though, and if she finished early she was more than happy to go and sit in a practice room playing her violin. Although classical music isn’t particularly cool among kids, seeing a peer who is good at a musical instrument is usually enough to impress even the most unruly child into temporary silence. In retrospect, I should have perhaps taken advantage of this fact more regularly.

In short, I appreciated Berri for being one person in those classes of 30 that I didn’t have to worry about. She was one pupil who actively made my life easier and more pleasant, rather than more difficult and unpleasant. Her practice room was often a haven of calm when the rest of the class, supposedly composing a piece based on Indian raga, were in fact just trying to see who could press the “DJ!” button on the school’s keyboard the most in the space of five minutes. She never said anything, but I could tell from the way she acted and looked at me sometimes that she understood how much pressure I was under, and how difficult I found dealing with the unruly mobs. That look of understanding that she occasionally gave me was one of a few things that kept me safe in that hellhole.

I always thought that she was out of place at that school, populated as it was mostly with the sort of twats you’d see on Britain’s Chavviest Teens, should such a show exist. I hope that whatever reason brought her there wasn’t enough to keep her there, and I hope that in the intervening six or seven years since I last saw her that she has been able to make the most of everything that she had to offer the world. If she went on to university after school, she’d be about halfway through her course now. I wonder what she’s doing.

Wherever you are, Berri, and whatever you’re doing, thanks for making my life a fraction easier. I wish you the best of luck as you look forward to your life as an adult truly starting, and hope you achieve all that you deserve to.

#oneaday Day 739: I’m Flickin’ Me Net

I mentioned it briefly yesterday, but I feel some good, old-fashioned enthusing about Netflix is in order. I know, I know, you American types have been enjoying its streamtastic charms for a very long time now, and us Brits have been watching enviously for the whole time (and occasionally trying to do clever things to see if we can get signed up) — but now, we have it too.

And it’s awesome.

As I’ve noted on some post back in the dim and distant history of this blog, I’m not huge on movies. It’s not that I don’t like them, it’s that I’d rather spend two hours at a time doing something else. I’m not sure why this is. Perhaps there’s something in my brain that sets me up to enjoy interactive, rather than passive entertainment — I’ll happily sit and play one game for hours at a time, after all. But that doesn’t explain why I might take a new TV show discovery and devour large proportions of a season at once (see: Community). That’s no more interactive than a film, and yet I have no qualms in doing that.

I think my main bugbear with movies has historically been their perceived “value” when buying them to put on your shelf. I have a bookcase in front of me at the time of writing — look, it’s over there — that is almost filled with DVDs. (The bottom two shelves are console games.) Of those DVDs, the only ones that I think I have watched more than once or twice are the TV show box sets. The movies I’ve kept around… well, I’m not sure why, really, since I certainly haven’t watched Human Traffic for a very long time, and my copy of Hot Fuzz actually remained shrink-wrapped for a considerable period, too (it was cheap in HMV, then it was on TV, so I didn’t really need to watch the DVD). I guess there’s some sort of curious feeling of “attachment” to many of these movies, like I remember the time I bought them and associate them with a particular period in my life. As such, it’s never really occurred to me to get rid of them, even though I rarely watch them.

The age of Netflix, however, has me rethinking this. Now for a few quid a month I have instant access (assuming I have an Internet connection) to a pretty huge library of movies and TV shows. Some are complaining that the selection is a little limited at this time — and perhaps it is if you’re a big film buff, but it’s certainly more than satisfactory for me at the moment. And the reason I mention the “perceived value” vs “time constraints” thing above is that I’ve been more than happy to just sit and watch a movie on Netflix, because I know that I haven’t spent £[x] on it, and have to feel obliged to enjoy it.

It’s the same for the TV shows, as it happens. I’ve been meaning to check out Twin Peaks for a very long time, for example — even more so since I played Deadly Premonition — but never got around to picking up the DVD set. It always seemed a bit expensive for something that was — to me, anyway — an unknown quantity. Would I like it? (As it happens, I love it, 90s hairstyles and all) Would it be worth the money, or would I be stuck wishing I’d spent my £[x] on something better?

This consideration is now irrelevant. Like Spotify allows me to check out music that I might not have felt inclined to buy outright, Netflix allows me to broaden my tastes in film and TV shows without any risk of feeling like I’ve wasted my money. And through the “creepy” (no it’s not) autoshare to Facebook facility, I have plenty of opportunity to check out what my friends are watching, start some discussions about it and become more “well read” in the media of TV and film.

So, then, fellow Brits; if you have a decent Internet connection and like watching people perform for you inside your TV, PC, iPad or iPhone, I suggest you get yourself signed up for a free trial. For me, it’s been worth it purely for the iPad compatibility — Netflix on iPad in bed has revolutionised insomnia.

#oneaday Day 738: Diversifying

In a recent blog post, one Ben Goldacre described Spotify’s auto-sharing behaviour as “creepy” and called for greater transparency in opt-out procedures. While I don’t disagree that users should have the option of whether or not to share what it is that they’re doing, I do disagree with the good Doctor’s assertion that showing off your tastes to others is somehow “creepy” or “wrong”.

The reason I don’t find it either of those things is because of discovery. Spotify is built in such a manner that it’s easy to check out an artist or album you’re unfamiliar with in a risk-free environment. You don’t drop any money on the album directly, so if you wind up hating it, you haven’t lost out. And if you end up loving it, you can whack it in a playlist or star it for future reference.

Combine this ease of trying things outside of your usual comfort zone with social features and you get a powerful tool to expand your own tastes. Because music is an ever-present part of society these days — silence, it seems, is frowned upon by most people, particularly those of more tender years — conversations about what artists are awesome are less common than they once were in the age of buying CDs (and, heaven forbid, cassettes). Music is just there for many people — a disposable thing that people may well have a strong connection to but perhaps don’t always think to actually discuss,

What Spotify’s sharing feature does is allow you to see what friends have been listening to and, if it takes your fancy, jump right in there and have a listen yourself. I’ve discovered more than a few new favourites this way, and I’m certain other people will have been curious about some of my tastes too. I don’t have any objection to people seeing what I’ve been listening to and I’m certainly not ashamed of it. The same is true for Netflix, newly launched in the UK and nicely integrated with Facebook to allow you to share what you’re watching. On the whole, I’m much more inclined to pay attention to new releases if my friends are enjoying them rather than if they’re simply “critically acclaimed”. See: The Squadron of Shame

Goldacre suggests that people will make judgements based on what you have been listening to, and your playlists which, if you weren’t already aware, are made public by default. And perhaps people will — but the attitude I have always taken with personal taste is that it is just that: personal. If you’re the sort of person who ridicules someone else just because of what music they listen to, how they dress, or their appearance… I probably don’t really want to know you. Everyone is free to make their own choices with regard to what entertains them (unless, you know, if you’re into something fucked up and illegal) and so people should not feel ashamed or embarrassed to share what it is that they have been enjoying.

In fairness, it’s entirely possible that there is the scope for cyber-bullying among schoolkids based on what they might have been listening to with Spotify, or the content of their playlists. But there’s the scope for cyber-bullying based on their photos, their status updates, all the other stuff that’s on Facebook, too. This isn’t excusing it. However, it does mean that Spotify itself isn’t some sort of creepy bully-magnet. As with all forms of social media and teens interacting with others on the Web, it’s important for parents to be involved and aware of what their offspring are up to. If it looks like causing a problem, they should be familiar with the options that are there to protect people — and Spotify has those options if, for whatever reason, sharing things does become a problem. But someone’s listening habits are public by default — and why shouldn’t they be? There’s nothing to be ashamed of there.

Perhaps I have a naïve view of social media and sharing information on the Web. But I just don’t see how sharing your entertainment consumption is particularly harmful. Sharing deeply personal information, yes. But the fact that you listened to the Lazy Town soundtrack today? For me, that’s the start of an interesting conversation, not something creepy.

#oneaday Day 737: Attack of the Clones

So it seems that Zynga, lords of the social gaming space, are cloning Nimblebit’s Tiny Tower. This isn’t the first time Zynga has ripped off someone else’s game and removed all trace of personality from its visuals, and it certainly won’t be the last. The different this time is that people are actually taking notice, because Tiny Tower, for all its faults — and it has many, that not even its glorious retro pixel art aesthetic can counter — was extremely popular, made Nimblebit a fair amount of money and was even chosen by Apple as its iPhone game of the year.

Zynga’s new game is called Dream Heights and one of the guys from Nimblebit conveniently compared it to his game here. As you can see, it has pretty much all the gameplay of Tiny Tower with none of the visual appeal.

Now, in the mainstream games market, this sort of thing is generally frowned upon quite a bit. For all of the complaining that the big shooter franchises all look very similar, they at least try to differentiate themselves with how they play, the modes they offer and the like. Battlefield 3 offers a very different experience to Call of Duty. I don’t care for either of them, but I can appreciate that each appeals to a different subsection of the audience,

In mobile and social gaming, however, developers and publishers seem to have no such scruples. In my current position writing game reviews for Inside Social Games and Inside Mobile Apps, I regularly see games that are almost identical to each other. Most of them follow the FarmVille model to one degree or another — you click on things, there’s a countdown timer before you can click on them again to get a reward, there’s a list of insultingly simple “quests” on the left side of the screen, you get experience points every time you exhale and, generally speaking, the game is designed to be a series of not very well disguised Skinner boxes.

Other popular genres include the growing hidden object genre, where you’re sent into a cluttered room/street/train carriage and tasked with locating lists of completely arbitrary items, with scenes tied together by an often flimsy excuse for a plot. Just in the last couple of weeks, Zynga released Hidden Chronicles on Facebook, only to be followed this week by the almost identical World Mysteries from Brazilian developer Vostu. See, it’s not just Zynga doing it — it goes both ways, too.

Fans of Spry Fox’s fun puzzle game Triple Town on Facebook and Google+ may also want to check out Yeti Town on iOS by the obnoxiously-named 6waves Lolapps. This game has drawn criticism for ripping off Triple Town completely and releasing on iOS before Spry Fox were ready to release their own iOS version of their game. You may argue that Spry Fox should have been quicker off the mark in getting their iOS version to market, but it’s hard to believe that 6waves Lolapps came up with an identical concept (not almost-identical, identical) completely independently of Triple Town.

Independent developer Vlambeer ran into this issue last year when, like Spry Fox, they were beaten to the punch on an iOS game. Gamenauts’ Ninja Fishing hit the App Store shortly before Vlambeer was ready to release its own title Ridiculous Fishing, itself a reimagining-cum-sequel of its earlier Web-based title Radical Fishing. I’m very pleased to see that Vlambeer will be speaking publicly about this debacle at GDC this year.

Where does it end, though? Games are a creative art form and for all these clones to hit the market is to do the medium a disservice. You don’t get books hitting store shelves where an author has simply done a Find and Replace on all the characters’ names from someone else’s work, nor do you get movies which are simply shot-by-shot reconstructions of another movie. We get remakes, sure, but at least those are usually reimagined for a contemporary audience — and they’re being honest about their source material rather than attempting to pass themselves off as a completely new product.

This practice needs to stop. Unfortunately, cloning, it seems, is already an established part of mobile and social game development. In the long term it will only hurt everyone’s business.

So devs? Be bold. Come up with an original idea. Don’t call your game “innovative” if it’s the same as something someone released last week, and the week before, and the week before. Try something new. Break out of established conventions. The most memorable games in the mainstream are the ones which tried something new. The moment we see a successful social game break out of the market’s conventions is the same moment we’ll see people willing to be a bit less cynical and a bit more enthusiastic to see what this burgeoning industry has to offer.

#oneaday Day 736: To Sir and Miss, with If Not Love then At Least Fondness or Enduring Memories

Following a conversation with Andie, I thought I would challenge myself to name as many teachers from my own schooldays as I possibly could, along with the contribution they made to making me the person I am today, for better or worse. Mostly the better, I think, which doubtless they’ll be delighted to know if they do happen to be reading this, as unlikely as that might be.

If you are one of my old teachers and you are reading this and I forget to mention you, I apologise in advance.

Anyway. Let’s consider these in roughly chronological order.

At primary school, our early years were accompanied by Mrs Place. I have to admit I don’t remember a great deal about her, but I think given my tender age at the time, that can probably be excused.

Class 2 in primary school was taken by Mrs Robson, whom I also can’t remember a great deal about. I do remember her not being there one day though, and me being tricked into saying “shit” to Mrs Powell the cover teacher by Natalie Forster, the bitch.

Class 3 was taken by Mr Edwards, who had a bit of a mullet and a moustache. He liked to play the guitar at every opportunity, meaning that “Circle Time” (the point of which I’m still not sure of even having been a primary school teacher myself) more resembled a campfire singalong than anything more meaningful. It was fun though.

Class 4 was taken by Mrs Barrett, a formidable lady by all accounts who had some very old-school values. The rest of the school was terrified of her, because she had a withering look that could cause geese to fall dead out of the sky if she so desired it. Once you got into class 4, however, it became apparent that she wasn’t so scary after all, and even had something of a sense of humour. Her insistence on strict discipline meant that she ran a tight ship, and her class achieved well. Crossing her made you feel like, as cliche as it sounds, you had let yourself down.

On to secondary school, and my form tutor was Miss Quirk. She was Scottish, had short black hair and said “poem” as “poyem”. She taught Maths, but I don’t think I ever had a lesson with her.

Elsewhere in the Maths department was Mr Wilbraham, who may or may not have had a drinking problem. He was certainly rumoured to have a drinking problem, but I can’t say we ever saw any direct evidence of that. He was another of the Mrs Barrett breed — regarded with fear and misunderstanding from afar, but actually turned out to be very pleasant to work with once you were in his class. He didn’t help me enjoy Maths, however.

The English department was my second favourite department. At various points, I was taught by Ms (not Miss) Derbyshire, who was a bit like Victoria Wood when she was being funny; Mr Bowie, who was the obligatory male teacher whom all the girls fancied, was very cool and convinced me to explore the music of Jeff Buckley; Miss Idziacszyk (I think I’ve even spelled that correctly), who was a good, knowledgeable teacher, particularly at A-level. On one memorable occasion, Mr Bowie came with us to a local recording of Songs of Praise which our steadfastly secular school had, for some reason, been invited to. On that occasion I had my shortest ever relationship with a girl — we went out for a week, during which time I saw her once, kissed her once before she decided she wanted to go back to the way things were before.

The Music department was my favourite department. Initially staffed by Mr Murrall and Mrs Choy-Winters, later by Mr Murrall and Miss Garrick (whom my erstwhile best friend Craig fancied the pants off) and even later by Mr Murrall, Miss Garrick and Mr Wrigley. All of the teachers in the department were laid-back, fun and a pleasure to be with both in lessons and outside. By far the highlights of my time at secondary school were the school concerts, during which staff and student were able to interact in a way that just wasn’t possible in the normal classroom.

Up in the Upper School were the Geography and History departments. Here, two particular teachers stood out — Mr Mason (pictured above) on the Geography side, and Mr Watts on the History. Mr Mason had long hair and a porn star moustache, and always spoke in a calm, quiet voice. Instead of shouting when he got angry, he went quieter. It was terrifying.

Mr Watts, meanwhilem was the exact opposite. He could shout your face off, and frequently did. Despite his deservedly formidable reputation, he was an excellent teacher. Okay, I can’t remember a lot of what we covered in History, but I certainly remember the lessons I had with him — and the occasions he looked out of the window, saw a year 7 kid and just tutted and shook his head.

Mrs Lloyd taught Integrated Humanities and Sociology. She knew a lot about her subject and was also one of those teachers whom it was very easy to talk to. Perhaps it was the nature of the subject itself, which often dealt with issues that affected us directly, or perhaps it was just her nature. Either way, I remember her very fondly.

Then there’s the senior staff. I have fond memories of Mr Cragg the erstwhile head teacher for understanding fully why I turned around and lamped Murray Crofts in the face after the little cunt had been harassing me all day. And Mrs Knight, who was a motherly figure to much of the school in many ways — right down to inflicting embarrassing discipline on those who stepped out of line. (One of the worst punishments, particularly for younger kids, was to be forced to have lunch with her, or to to be on “Five minute report” to her.)

There are doubtless plenty of others I’ve missed — Miss Cuthbert, who was one of heads of Sixth Form, and regularly tried unsuccessfully to get us all being a bit more religious; Miss Stafford the art teacher, whom I didn’t spend a lot of time with (as is probably apparent from the pictures which accompany these posts); Mrs Graham the formidable and terrifying Home Ec teacher.

I know one thing, though — as difficult as schooldays were at times, I’ll remember the adults who got me through it for the rest of my life, even more so than those whom I considered close friends at the time, but have since drifted far away to pastures unknown.

I now know first-hand how hard your jobs were, Sirs and Misses. I respect you even more than I did back then. Those of you who have the courage to remain in education with the kids of today, I salute you.

#oneaday Day 735: Enough with the Period Jokes

I’ve been using our new toy, the iPad 2, for a little while now, and I have to say it is a most wonderful device of much majesty. Like many others, when the original model iPad was first announced, I was skeptical as to whether such a device could be useful when we already had smartphones. No one seemed quite sure who needed a tablet device, and it didn’t look like Apple did either.

That’s because, as it turns out, pretty much anyone can get something out of a tablet device. My experience with this particular breed of tech is, at this time, limited to Apple’s entry to the market along with my Kindle (not exactly the same breed of device, but does what it does very well and is making me read more — always a good thing) but I can imagine there are similar benefits to Android tablets, albeit without the robust infrastructure that is the App Store.

Let’s consider what I have used this device for today. I have browsed the Internet on it. I have looked at Twitter on it. I have shared images using it. I have played games on it — both five-minute diversions and deep RPG experiences. And right now I am writing a blog post on it, the cack-handed image you see at the top of which was also created on the iPad.

In short, I’m rather in love with it. In fact, the only thing I can’t completely do with it is my job, since the sites I currently write for use self-hosted WordPress that isn’t set up to work with the iOS app, and this means I can’t upload images via the Web interface. A bit of a pain, sure, but at least I can write the posts on the go and put the images in later should I need to.

I’ve been impressed with what an all round entertainment device it is, particularly now we finally have Netflix in the UK. Should I find myself wanting to watch Twin Peaks while on the toilet, I can. We really are living in the future.

I’m sure the novelty will wear off soon, but the fact that since I’ve come home from Americai haven’t played a single PC or console game as yet is somewhat telling, and the videos I’ve watched on the big TV were simply to have them on the big screen — if I wanted a more personal experience, it’d be no big deal to transfer them to the iPad, particularly now you can do it over Wi-Fi.

A sound purchase, then, and not a hint of buyer’s remorse. I may be done with Apple as an employer, but it’s hard to deny that they make damn good products through that gradual process of refinement they go through over the years. I’m intrigued to see what the third iPad may have to offer, should the rumours of its release in March of this year turn out to have any validity whatsoever.

#oneaday Day 734: Pay Attention

Since getting an iPad a few short days ago it’s become more clear to me than ever that if you are ignoring the iOS platform on the grounds that it’s “just mobile games”, then you are Doing It Very Wrong.

Let’s face some home truths first of all, however. Traditional control schemes suck on touchscreens. The lack of tactile feedback is the main thing — you can’t feel those buttons under your fingers, so it’s all too easy to drift away from them, particularly if they’re of the breed that are fixed in place. Alongside that, your thumbs blocking part of the play area isn’t a great look, particularly on the small screen of the iPhone and iPod touch.

That is the main issue with iOS gaming, but also a blessing in disguise.

The fact that traditional control schemes sucking is such a well-established fact by now means that iOS developers are forced into making some important decisions when creating their games. Do they remain steadfast and shoehorn in a virtual joypad control method? Do they support external controllers such as the iCade and make the assumption that anyone serious about playing that kind of game on iOS will already own one? Or do they throw conventional thinking about what makes a good portable game out of the window?

It’s the latter option that leads to the most interesting experiences, and it tends to lead in one of two directions. The first direction leads to the explosion in new styles of gameplay we’ve had since gaming really started to take off on the platform. Granted, some of these existed in the form of independent and Flash games prior to iOS’ emergence, but Apple’s platforms have very much brought them to the masses. Physics-based puzzlers. Line-drawing games. Match-3 puzzlers. “One-touch” games. All of these provide simple mechanics that are surprisingly versatile. In the case of the line-drawing genre, for example, go play Flight Control, DrawRace 2 and Heroes vs Monsters and tell me that isn’t an incredibly versatile control scheme.

The second direction is in the resurgence of genres which have lain all but dormant everywhere except the independent PC game development community for many years. Turn based strategy titles. Board game adaptations. First person flick-scrolling dungeon crawlers. Deep, hardcore roleplaying games. Roguelikes. All have made something of a comeback on iOS, and it’s no coincidence that these games provide some of the most satisfying experiences on the platform. It’s also these titles which provide the strongest, most compelling evidence that yes, you do get “proper” games on iOS, and there’s no reason to believe that you’re getting a “lesser” experience than what you would get from a console, except perhaps from some diminished graphical quality — and even then, that gap is rapidly closing.

iOS does also bring with it its share of controversial topics. The monetization of games in particular. It’s not unusual these days for games to have the option to purchase in-game currency or even skip out parts of the game altogether. I’m not a big fan of this practice, but if done correctly, it can actually have several benefits for both consumer and developer alike.

Firstly, it allows the game itself to be released at a far cheaper price point than you’d ever see it on 3DS or Vita. I bought a racing game today for 69p. It has impressive graphics, fun gameplay and is certainly on a par with the PSP version of Burnout in terms of depth. 69p. You can’t even buy a cup of coffee for that anywhere, yet here I am paying it for a game that would have been at least thirty quid a few years back. And how can it afford to do that? Because of the few people out there who value their time more than their money and would rather unlock content in the game quickly through dropping a few pounds on it rather than playing through it normally — which, I hasten to add, is very much still an option.

The downside to above is that it has affected the perceived value of these games. If you paid 69p for a game — or even got it for free in some cases — are you more or less likely to play it through to completion? I’m guessing “less”, because if you’re anything like me, that feeling of “I just spent forty quid on this, I’d better bloody play it” just isn’t there. This factor is actually mitigated somewhat by the titles that are considered “expensive” on the platform — look at Square Enix’s £10 RPGs, for example, or £5 titles like Infinity Blade and Galaxy On Fire. £5-10 is considered “expensive” for an iOS title so people are more likely to think before they buy, and by extension take a bit more time to play through these less “disposable” titles.

I think by far the greatest thing about the platform, however, is how there’s something to appeal to pretty much everyone. In my circles of family and friends, there are kids and grandparents who like playing Angry Birds; hardcore strategy gamers who like deep, complex mechanics; commuters who appreciate having something quick and low-maintenance to play on said commute; hardcore gamers who crave the depth of a console or PC title in a format they can carry around with them; people who don’t have time to immerse themselves in the sprawling experiences that are today’s interactive entertainment titles but appreciate the opportunity to play a quick game of Words, Scramble or Hero Academy with friends. All of them are catered to, and there’s a bunch of crossover between the groups too. That’s amazingly awesome, and it’s probably done more to help the image of gaming in the mainstream audience than any other technological innovation we’ve had over the years.

So in summary, then, if you arestill of the belief that iOS as a platform isn’t important to the games industry and games culture at large, I say again: you are Doing It Wrong.

#oneaday Day 733: The Greatest iOS Game You’ve Never Played

Oh boy do I have a treat for you iOS owners out there. A free game that is brilliant, doesn’t try to con you out of any money and doesn’t have a single ad in it anywhere. Not only that, but it also features the most spectacular Engrish you will ever see, as evidenced by the screenshot which accompanies this post.

The game in question is HungryMaster by xionchannel. I found it completely by chance while browsing titles related to Square Enix’s catalogue on iPad, and downloaded it out of sheer curiosity. I was expecting it to be a five minute novelty, to be deleted immediately afterward.

What I instead found was a wonderfully silly, addictive little game whose use of touch controls puts big-name developers to shame.

The premise is simple and insane. Delica is hungry and walking in the woods one day when she comes across a talking white cat called Saten [sic]. Saten offers to give Delica magical powers for some reason I feel is somewhat lost in translation. Said magical powers allow Delica to defeat monsters by turning them into food, which kills two birds with one stone.

In gameplay terms, the player controls Delica by touching on the screen anywhere, and she follows. In order to use her new-found magical girl powers, the player must draw a line starting from her and running through enemies. The player can lock on to as many enemies as they can draw a line through while a brief timer is running, then they explode and turn into food when the player releases their finger. Delica can then collect the food by running over it. Collecting more food in rapid succession gives a combo bonus, and the main objective of most levels is to collect enough food to deliver to houses scattered around the map. There are occasional boss fights, too, where twenty pieces of food can inexplicably be used to set off a bomb.

It’s as gloriously ridiculous as it sounds, but the gameplay is very solid thanks to the excellent touch controls. The whole thing is presented on the iPad or iPhone screen in portraitwise orientation, features 80s-style pixel art and scanlines. It’s like holding a forgotten 80s arcade machine in your hand — the sort you only ever found at that one arcade at that one seaside resort, but would always insist on going to whenever possible because that hidden gem of a game was just so good.

I’m very happy that I’ve found such a hidden gem on iOS. Check it out for yourself here.