Updates to Pages

Always wondered what this “aside” thing did — now’s as good a time as any to try it out, I guess. I’ve updated my About Pete and More By Pete pages. In particular, I’ve redirected the defunct What They Play links on the More By Pete page to use archive.org’s Wayback Machine so, as if by time-travelling magic, you can still read the articles, even though they don’t exist any more! YAY~

#oneaday Day 968: Silence to 1K

As I draw ever closer to that elusive “1,000 daily posts” combo it becomes more and more difficult to think of things to write about each day. I’m very conscious of the fact that I have already repeated myself on several occasions as well as spent several posts on a number of topics where one would have perhaps sufficed (hello, Katawa Shoujo) but I have no regrets as to how things have gone so far.

I’m not saying there aren’t 968 different things in the world to write about, obviously, it’s whether or not I can say anything coherent about them — and whether or not I can actually think of any of them when it comes to time to write this blog, since I almost inevitably end up doing it as one of the last things I do each day. (Today is an exception — I’ve specifically decided to write this before I settle down to a bit of pre-bedtime My Girlfriend is the President). Sometimes when you have to write something, your mind just goes blank and the absolute last thing you want to do is write. I get it sometimes during my day job, when I play a game so unbearably tedious or awful that the mere prospect of writing about how tedious and awful it is fills me with a sense of deep melancholy. (Other times, however, it’s fun to rip something that has clearly been crafted with no care or attention whatsoever a new one — or indeed to praise something that is worthy of praise.)

And yet despite occasional dalliances with writer’s block, here I am, day after day, posting my inane ramblings to anyone who will listen. To my surprise, I have built up something of a small but apparently dedicated audience over the last few years I’ve been writing this. My distaste for the Facebook “Like” button is well-documented, but the WordPress “Like” button is another matter — it gives me the opportunity to see when new (or familiar) visitors have stopped by and felt the need to show their presence, which is genuinely nice to see. (WordPress’ overly-positive emails make out that someone clicking the Like button is an absolutely massive deal on a par with being whisked away on a romantic getaway and proposed to in front of a sunset, but we both know you’re just clicking a button.)

Believe it or not, as self-indulgent as this blog is more often than not, I’m very grateful to those of you who stop by and read/like/comment. I’ve said on numerous occasions that this blog isn’t “for” anyone — the original remit of the #oneaday project was simply to get all the participants writing every day for the sake of writing, not for the sake of building an audience — but it is pretty awesome to see that, on occasion, something I post resonates with someone else somewhere else in the world. Ships in the night and all that.

Speaking of the #oneaday project, I have to toot my own horn a bit here — I’m pretty proud of myself for sticking with this for so long. Granted, with the number of words I’ve written across the last 968 posts I could probably have penned at least two or three novels, but that’s not quite the same as having an “outlet”. On more than one occasion I’ve been grateful for this blog as a means to share things I’m thinking or feeling with anyone who will listen — it’s not always easy to do that face-to-face or over the phone, but bizarrely, announcing it to the entire world via the Internet is absolutely no problem whatsoever, largely because in that case you can simply express yourself and walk away without having to have any of those difficult “conversation” things.

But I digress. To my knowledge, the only other original participant of #oneaday’s first year who is still going is the inimitable Mr Ian Dransfield of Play Magazine fame. Meanwhile, it looks entirely possible that the most pleasant Gemma Critchley is also about to start blogging again, which is nice to see. It’s been a bumpy ride for daily bloggers, though — in the first year, a huge number of participants (including the “founder”) dropped out within a week or two of starting; in the second year, I made a bold attempt to try and organise everyone via this “hub” site, relaxing the “rules” a little in order to (successfully) attract more people, and inviting readers to sponsor our efforts for charity. (In the process, I apparently pissed off one of the original participants who had not taken part since January of the previous year, who promptly posted an incoherent ranty post about how he was going to do things their own way, only going to prove my suspicions about said person. No, I am not saying who it was or what my suspicions were.)

This is now my third year of daily blogging and while the “community” feeling of blogging together with others is all but gone (for now, at least) it’s still satisfying to know that I can look back on the last 968 days and know that at least some of this waffle is worth reading again. It may be narcissistic to do so, but I do sometimes enjoy just hitting the “Random Post” button and seeing what comes up. More than enjoying rereading my past posts, it’s sometimes fun, sometimes sad, always interesting to think back on where I was in my life at that point — and where I might be another 968 days from now.

I guess I should start planning my 1,000 post party. Who can make a good cake?

#oneaday Day 967: I Love You, Irina

I have already said a few positive things about batshit crazy visual novel My Girlfriend is the President on here and done a writeup over at Games Are Evil, but I feel it’s worthy of another post as I’m still playing it. My initial writeups were based on a single playthrough, you see, and like any good visual novel worth its salt, there are several possible “routes” through the narrative. (Interestingly, once on a route, there only appears to be one ending and minimal decision-making along the way — something which I thought would bother me a lot more than it does, which is not at all.)

(Author’s note: it is nearly 2am and I am tired, so I apologise in advance for incoherent rambling.)

Mild to moderate spoilers follow.

Currently I am about halfway through Irina’s route. Irina Putina is the Rusian (sic) president who shows up early in the game’s (fixed) first act and then sticks around for varying amounts of time in the remaining three, depending on which route you chose. She’s a textbook tsundere in almost every respect, seeming abrasive, grumpy and quick to anger on the surface but regularly demonstrating that she has a soft centre beneath all the slapping. And to be fair to her, protagonist Jun deserves every single slap he gets from her.

Playing Irina’s route directly after Yukino (the titular “girlfriend” — actually better translated as “childhood friend”) is interesting. On Yukino’s route, a huge deal was made out of her history with Jun, particularly a key event in their past which made them the close friends (and, later, lovers) that they are in the game’s story. On Irina’s route, the pair are still very close to one another, but Jun’s attitude towards Yukino is markedly different, at least so far as I have progressed. The pair still play with one another — Yukino’s “puppy” impression is particularly adorable (“Wan! Wan!”) — but over time as Jun becomes increasingly aware of Irina, he becomes self-conscious about his relationship with Yukino and about how he is stringing her along and making her jealous.

Jun, just in case you haven’t read my other entries on the subject, is a bit of a dick at the start of the game. Specifically, he’s a wannabe sex pest, constantly making inappropriate comments and lusting after his female friends, most of whom know exactly how to put him in his place. It’s worth bearing in mind that he is a teenage boy, however, and consequently is wracked with perpetual horniness and no outlet into which to channel this energy. Moreover, his “harassment,” as he calls it, doesn’t escalate beyond ill-chosen words and an occasional bit of peeping at things he shouldn’t. His actions are regularly completely inappropriate, of course, but he could also be much, much worse.

It’s this thoroughly objectionable nature that Jun has at the start of the story that allows him to take such a bold personal journey over the course of the narrative, even as utter insanity is unfolding around him and his friends. By beginning as a heavily flawed character, a pervert, he has the potential to grow and change into something better, and the girls of the story provide the catalyst for him to change. In the case of Yukino, he learns to respect and respond to the feelings of others; in the case of Irina, he learns restraint and gentleness. (I can’t speak for Ell or Ran as I haven’t played their paths at all yet.)

It’s actually quite touching to see. We first witness Jun going through some changes on Irina’s path when she comes with him to a judo class and shows him her passion for the sport. When he ends up pinned beneath her and starts teasing her about her breasts, she gets absolutely furious at him and storms out. Normally, Old Jun would have just shrugged this off, but he actually feels bad that he has hurt her feelings by mocking something she loves so much. He goes out of his way to try and make things right — even more remarkable given that he knows she’s going to leave in a couple of weeks and thus he could just as easily stay out of her way. His feelings grow, and he realises that he wants to make her happy, to give her the opportunity to be a “normal” girl for those two short weeks rather than the “girl president” position she’s been lumbered with.

It’s an interesting twist on what happens with Yukino’s path. When Jun and Yukino become lovers, Jun stands by her, swears to support her and goes out of his way to help her complete her mountains of work — without her knowledge in some cases. As he grows to love Irina, however, he seemingly wants to provide her with an “escape” from reality for a short period, to let her be “herself” rather than the “Rusian Fairy” facade she normally has to keep up.

I really love that a game with such an utterly nonsensical overarching plot as My Girlfriend is the President still has such wonderfully-defined characters and a genuine sense of emotional engagement in its narrative. The game is absolutely masterful at building up sexual tension in particular, meaning the player is right there with Jun throughout, feeling the electricity of every stolen glance, flushed cheek and hesitant word of affection.

That sense of involvement, of being inside the heads of the characters? That’s why I love VNs. There are few other places in gaming where you can have such profound experiences.

#oneaday Day 966: Rest in Peace, Willow

This is Willow. She was lovely and cute and adorable and liked to bite people a little bit too much. She was a scaredy-rat but was slowly starting to come out of her shell. The first day we got her, she just sat in her box, too petrified to move, but over time she became more and more confident and started to assert herself more. Her cagemate (and possibly sister) Lara was very much the dominant one in their relationship, but Willow very occasionally managed to come out on top — more so as she grew older, larger and more confident in herself.

Willow died this morning. I feel like we had barely had time to get to know her — we’d only had her about two months or so — before she was snatched away from us far too soon. She’d been ill for around a week — she’d been out of sorts and dirty — but we’d been told that rats were prone to this sort of thing at times, and she’d probably get over it.

Unfortunately, she didn’t. Last night, she was very shaky on her feet, but was at least walking around, unsteadily getting food and drinking water. When I came down this morning, she was lying on the floor of the cage, unable to support her own weight. I put food and water in front of her and she couldn’t summon the strength to take it. Her sister was fussing around her, trying to clean her, obviously trying to liven her up. It was heartbreaking to see. Rats can’t talk, but all I could hear in my imagination was Lara whispering “please don’t die, please don’t die.” I was saying it to myself, too.

Half an hour later, she was gone, lying peacefully on the floor of the cage in silence. I don’t know if rats feel emotions or not, but her sister looked sad, and was sitting in her little house, keeping away from the body. She looked at me with sparkling eyes and I just broke down in tears. Little Willow was gone, and poor Lara was left all alone.

I buried Willow in the garden and left Roger the squirrel, a garden ornament who had taken up temporary residence in our living room, guarding her. She’s at peace now. I hope she didn’t suffer too much.

I’ve often found the subject of death to be an interesting one to write about creatively — if you follow my “Creative Writing” category you’ll find plenty in there — but I find it a terrifying prospect to deal with in real life. Not the prospect of dying myself, mind — that doesn’t occur to me — but the prospect of having to deal with bereavement. Today was a potent reminder that I have had to deal with relatively little tragedy in my life compared to some people — but at the same time, a lack of experience in dealing with death makes it all the more difficult to know how to respond when it does happen.

You may feel that a little rat is not worth mourning or grieving over — particularly when we had so little time together in the grand scheme of things — but I get very attached to pets, regardless of size and species. It is perfectly normal and healthy to mourn the loss of someone or something that has been a “fixture” in your life, something you came to expect to see every day, which is why I feel great sorrow at Willow’s passing.

Rest in piece, little rat. We loved you dearly and hope you’re in a better, more peaceful place now. If you see Kitty wherever you are, I hope you’ll be friends.

#oneaday Day 965: Geometry Makes the Best Games

Being “in the zone” is a curious experience. On the one hand, it’s enjoyable and satisfying, whatever the context — sports, games, music, writing — but on the other, it can be terrifying. The second you become aware of your own “in the zoneness”, panic strikes. Your pulse races and you worry that you will fall out of said zone any moment. You struggle to maintain your “in the zoneness” but as you become more and more stressed, you get more and more likely to make some sort of critical mistake until, eventually, you give up and go and do something else.

This is the feeling you are constantly battling against while playing Super Hexagon, a new iOS game from Terry “VVVVVV“ Cavanagh.

In Super Hexagon, you play the role of a teeny-tiny triangle attempting to not meet a sticky end against the various walls that are being inexplicably flung at it from outside the screen. Or perhaps it’s attempting to escape a maze without crashing into any walls. Or… well, it doesn’t really matter what it actually is. It’s an abstract, “pure gameplay” game in which the aim is simply to survive as long as possible. In essence, it’s similar to those “endless running” games that are so popular on mobile platforms right now, with the difference being that you’re rotating a shape around a point rather than jumping, ducking and sliding.

In your first couple of games of Super Hexagon, you’re likely to last a matter of seconds — five at most. This brutal level of difficulty will likely be enough to put many people off immediately, and that’s fine. Stick with it, though, and you’ll find yourself increasingly slipping into “the zone” as you survive just a tiny bit longer each time, your skills consistently improving as you learn to spot the various patterns that come your way — and how to deal with them.

Then, of course, you make the mistake of thinking “gosh, I’m doing quite well this time” and plough straight into a wall while 0.05 seconds away from beating your high score. Then, you will immediately tap the screen to try again and be unable to break this cycle for at least half an hour. (Consequently, I do not recommend playing Super Hexagon on the toilet.)

The simple, addictive, abstract nature of the game brings my love affair with Geometry Wars 2 to mind. Both are completely different types of game, of course, but both also have a lot in common. Both tend to have relatively short play sessions, both have an aesthetic so abstract that it stirs the imagination to a surprising degree, and both have a relatively low “penalty” for failure. Mess up and you’re back in the game within a second or two to try again.

This latter quality is one of the most important factors in making a game “addictive”. Super Meat Boy is another game that understands this — fail a level in that and simply by pressing a button, you’re trying again, with no loading breaks, no obtrusive “You Failed” screens or statistical breakdowns, just a tap of the “Retry” button and an immediate response. Geometry Wars 2 did this; Super Hexagon does this. Because it’s so simple and habit-forming to just tap the screen to retry after a failed attempt, you get locked into a compulsive cycle, determined that this time is the one, that this time you’ll be able to progress just a little bit further and hear Jenn Frank’s voice whispering the name of a shape with even more sides at you.

Super Hexagon is out now for just 69p. Grab it from the App Store.

#oneaday Day 964: Where Everybody Knows Your Name

As someone who suffers from social anxiety, I’ve never really been one to just “go out” unless I had a very good reason, usually in the form of some friends asking me to join them. (I have, of course, tried going out by myself a few times in the past, but as chronicled in this post, it rarely ended well.)

As such, I’ve never really had somewhere that I could call “my local” with any confidence, there’s nowhere that I could accurately describe myself as a “regular” of. I’m not really bemoaning this fact — I have plenty of better things to do than sit in the pub — but it’s an aspect of life that I feel may have passed me by somewhat.

It was a little different back when I was at university, of course. We regularly frequented a wide variety of places that could quite politely be described as “dives”, but all of them had their own unique charms.

In the first year, there was Chamberlain Bar, which was the “local” for a group of several university halls of residence in the area. It wasn’t a particularly exciting bar, bearing a closer resemblance to the sort of half-hearted establishment that exists to make a few extra pennies for a community recreation centre than a jumpin’ nightspot, but it was “home” for a while. It was where most of us discovered the “Juicy Lucy” (pint glass, vodka, blue curaçao or however you spell it, double shot of Taboo, topped up with equal amounts orange juice and lemonade) and the “Passion Wagon”, officially the laziest cocktail of all time (shot of Passoa with a bottle of Reef emptied into it). It also had a tendency to throw crap events — our flat were the only attendees to dress up for “Seventies Night” and a Hawaiian-themed evening consisted of them turning the heating up full and serving nothing but the aforementioned Passion Wagons all night.

Southampton had one big club at the time when I was studying at the university. I’m not sure what it’s called now, but it used to be called Ikon and Diva, as it was one of those weird places that was split into two separate mini-clubs inside. It was shit. It was the sort of place that you went after you got really drunk and consequently barely remember anything from. Consequently, I barely remember anything about this place save for the fact I was clearly so impressed by it that I never went there ever again after my first visit.

There were plenty of smaller clubs, though. One that springs immediately to mind was New York’s, which has been closed and derelict for several years now. It was also shit, and like Ikon and Diva, it was the sort of place you only went to when absolutely off your tits. I only have random flashes of memories of the one (I think) time I went to New York’s, but I vividly recall looking down from a balcony to a stage-like area below, where a bunch of drunk men and women were stripping because the DJ had asked them to. Sure, I got to see tits, but even in my horrendously intoxicated state, I found the complete lack of human dignity on display to be more obnoxious than titillating. Consequently, I never went back there, either.

Then there was Lennon’s, which I think is probably home to most of my best “going out” memories, perhaps largely because it’s the place that several of us tended to frequent most often. I’m not entirely sure why this was, as Lennon’s was a fairly bare-bones club, being essentially a moderately-sized wooden room with a bar on one side and a DJ on the other, occasionally accompanied by a nice man named Vince who sold chips. They played good music, though, and often played host to live bands. I even performed there myself on a couple of occasions, with our university band the Coconut Scratch Orchestra discovering the folly of leaving drumbeats up to a backing track rather than a live drummer. (We all swore after that to never, ever play Mission: Impossible again.) It was also nice in that it was not frequented by the sort of waxed-chest, greasy-haired chav that frequented places like Ikon and Diva.

Would I describe myself as a “regular” at any of those places, though? No, probably not. I see a “regular” as someone who knows the bar staff by name and is recognised by bouncers; someone who meets friends there without having to make prior arrangements; someone who sees it as a “home away from home” — a place to socialise, hang out and just relax. I never quite saw it that way — it was always fun to go to Lennon’s, sure, particularly if my friend had enough to drink to get to the stage where he thought kebabs made him literally invincible, but it was never a place that I felt like I was a “part of”.

I’m not really sure if I’ve “missed out” on something by not having that kind of experience. I guess I have another chance when I hit, what, 50 years of age and start liking real ales or something?

#oneaday Day 963: Being an Attempt to Rescue the English Language from the Imbeciles who Pervert it So

I’m not entirely sure why I’m writing this post, as I know for a fact that most of the people who follow this blog, whether they’re regular commenters or not, are literate and perfectly capable of using the English language correctly. I just thought it would be fun to have a whinge about some of my pet peeves with regard to English usage… or lack thereof.

I’m not entirely sure what it is about the Internet that makes people’s English usage so much worse. The world has plenty of intelligent people in it, yet if you were to go solely by Internet comment sections it would be hard to believe that. I know intelligence is a much more complicated equation than simple spelling, punctuation and grammar — and there are specific learning difficulties such as dyslexia to bear in mind — but the fact is, technology should make it easier than ever to write things technically perfectly. So why do people not bother?

Laziness, usually, or a desire to get whatever is in their head out into the digital domain as quickly as possible. Most people would be quick to blame social media for this one, with the presence of “Like” and “Comment” buttons on pretty much everything these days encouraging people to spew their facile musings all over things they really have no knowledge of whatsoever. But it’s actually a much older problem that, most likely, stems from more real-time forms of communication such as chatrooms. “a/s/l” is a linguistic object of ridicule these days, but in the early days of Internet communication it was an essential part of the “introductions” process when entering a new chatroom. (For those who don’t actually know what it stands for, it’s asking everyone present what their age, sex and location is.)

Chatrooms often got very busy, and it thus became important for people to be able to make themselves heard as quickly as possible. Consequently, a lot of the abbreviations we use (and/or ridicule) regularly today entered popular usage. Some had been around for a while; others had changed their usage significantly, occasionally leading to comic misunderstandings when one speaker thinks that “LOL” means “lots of love” and the other thinks it means “laughing out loud”.

This is no excuse, though! Proper English usage when addressing another person online is, to me, a sign of respect. If you don’t take the care to spell and punctuate correctly when addressing someone, to me that says that you don’t think they’re worth more than the bare minimum amount of time it takes to bang out a furious, cackhanded message and then switch to another tab to, I don’t know, watch some porn or play FarmVille or something. (Or both. The mind boggles at that possibility.)

Anyway, rambling explanation over, allow me to present the crimes against the English language that irritate me the most at present. If you are guilty of any of these, please stop being guilty of them, because they all make you look like a bit of a tool.

(Oh, before I go on, my day job requires me to write in American English so I am not going to cover any of the silly things they do with English, such as misusing the words “momentarily”, “solicitor” and “patronise”.)

1. “LOL” is not a substitute for punctuation.

I’ve lost the original Facebook post (not by me, I hasten to add) where I first became aware of this obnoxious usage of “lol”, but it happens all too frequently, particularly in comment sections. “LOL” is not a substitute for a comma, full stop, semicolon or indeed any punctuation mark.

To judge whether or not using “LOL” is appropriate, read the thing you have just typed out loud. Did you laugh out loud when you got to the “LOL”? If not, remove it and replace it with an appropriate punctuation mark. In fact, even if you did laugh out loud, please remove it and replace it with an appropriate punctuation mark.

2. It’s “definitely”, not “definately” or “defiantly”.

Definitely. Definitely. It’s not that difficult a word to spell. It’s no “accommodation” or “antidisestablishmentarianism” and it’s certainly no “floccinaucinihilipilification”. So stop fucking it up.

Also, every time you use “defiantly” instead of “definitely”, you are significantly changing the meaning of your sentence. Compare and contrast the sentences “I will definitely do the chores” to “I will defiantly do the chores”. One is a nice assurance that you will do the things expected of you; the other suggests that you are going to be an arse about it.

3. Games (and drugs) are “addictive”, not “addicting”.

“Addicting” is a word, but not in the way you think it is used. Angry Birds is not “addicting”, it is “addictive”. “Addicting” is a verb. “Addictive” is an adjective. Observe:

“I am addicting my little sister to Angry Birds because it is better than crack. She finds crack worryingly addictive.”

(Note: I do not have a little sister, and no-one I know is addicted or in the process of being addicted to crack. Also, Angry Birds is shit and I would rather my hypothetical little sister were addicted to crack than play that bollocks.*)

In fact, no. The word “addicting” is a surprisingly difficult verb to put into a sentence without it sounding stupid. So just stop using it. Addictive. Addictive. Got it?

4. When you write in lower case, you look like an imbecile.

I know professional writers who write everything — blog posts, status updates, comments, even their own name — in lower case when they’re “off duty”. It makes them look like imbeciles. I don’t think I need to say anything more than that. The Shift key is right there. Your little finger is probably hovering over it anyway as you type, so stop being so fucking lazy and use it.

5. This review is “biased”, not “bias”.

I’ll grant that speaking like a twat is something of a meme on the Internet, but any time you accuse something you read of “being bias”, you look like a complete cock. An article exhibits bias if it is biased. Not the other way round. Or any other arrangement.

If you can’t remember the difference, how about you just say you disagree with what you have read rather than accusing it of “being bias”? Or, better yet, just close that webpage before clicking the “comment” button?

6. Apostrophes denote possession, not plurals.

CDs. GCSEs. Sofas. Not CD’s, GCSE’s and sofa’s. Under no circumstances are you to use an apostrophe to denote something is a plural. Why? Because it’s wrong, that’s why. Even when using an abbreviation. And even when the word you are pluralising ends with a vowel, which appears to be when this issue more commonly raises its ugly head.

Related note: “it’s” is short for “it is”, while “its” means “belonging to it”. This is, I’ll admit, a particularly stupid rule, since it breaks the “apostrophes denote possession” rule by overruling it with the “apostrophes also denote missing letters” rule. Stupid language.

7. If you’re going to swear, just swear.

You’re not protecting anyone’s innocence by writing “f**k”. Everyone knows you mean “fuck”. If you’re going to censor naughty language, censor it completely. If you’re going to make it clear what all the words you’ve asterisked out are, then you may as well just type them all out properly, you f**king c**t-faced w**ksplat, you t*sser, you kn*bjockey, you complete twunting sh*tbag b*****d. (“Twunting” is not a swear, despite it sounding like it should be.)

8. You’re a twat if your knowledge of “your” and “you’re” is poor.

As Ross from Friends put it so succinctly: “Y-O-U-apostrophe-R-E means ‘you are’. Y-O-U-R means ‘your’!”

Read your sentence out loud. Could one of your “yours” be replaced by the words “you are”? If so, you should be using “you’re” instead.

Here’s an exercise. See if you can spot which ones are correct and which ones are not.

1. You’re mum’s face smells of poo.
2. Your not very good at this, are you?
3. You’re defiantly going to get some of these wrong.
4. Get you’re f**king words right lol
5. You’re very brave if you successfully managed to navigate your way through those monstrosities.

9. Have fun!

Above all, have fun with language!

Actually, no, bollocks to that. Learn to write properly first, then have fun with it.

(Author’s note: Any indication that I am a pompous grammar Nazi in this post is entirely intentional and mostly played for comedy value. Mostly. Comments that do not follow the above rules will be printed out and fired into the sun, then deleted.*)

* not really

#oneaday Day 962: Signal to Noise

We’re reaching saturation point with social media. In fact, I think we got past that point a long time ago, meaning that we’re at the “completely sodden and dribbling all over the carpet” stage.

There is too much social media. There are too many possible places for people to share things that nobody cares about with people they don’t know. And it seems that every day some bright-eyed startup CEO decides that what we really need is yet another social network service of some description.

I’ve indulged in a few of these superfluous social networks over the years. GetGlue was a bit of fun, allowing you to “check in” to movies, books, games and even “topics” that you were interested in, leave comments and discuss things with other community members. This was at the height of the “gamification” craze, so there were plenty of achievements to collect, and you could even get some real-life physical stickers sent to you if you collected enough achievements.

Similarly, Foursquare and the now-defunct Gowalla proved fun for a little while. During the period of time when I was unemployed and quite spectacularly depressed, I made extensive use of Gowalla to “tag” various places around Southampton and assist with building up a crowdsourced map of places of interest. I even made some actual real-life friends through it, but since then location check-ins have lost their lustre — what’s the point, really?

Then I tried Path, which promised to be a high-quality mobile-focused social network. But since you can access Facebook, Twitter and Google+ — the biggest social networks in the world — via your mobile phone, why on Earth would you need a mobile-specific one? Sure, Path had a lovely interface and the bizarre ability to track when you woke up and went to sleep, but it was ultimately pointless.

Today, I reviewed an app/social network whose purpose remained completely obtuse to me even as I made use of it — and even as an employee of the company frantically tried to convince me that the service was worthwhile via both Twitter and the service itself. (I’m not going to name it as I really can’t be bothered to be chased further — I gave it a fair shot, I explored it, I found it to be a complete waste of time. Sorry.)

The service in question allows users to, like GetGlue, “Like” things. Any things. Like cake? Then “Like” cake. Like Tori Amos? Then “Like” Tori Amos. Not sure whether you like broccoli and stilton soup? Then add it to your “To-Do” list, then “Like” it if you like it. Great. Sure. Fine. One question: why?

This questionable usefulness was only further obscured by the fact that the app also, for some utterly unfathomable reason, allows its users to “plant” “Likes” at actual physical locations, meaning you can claim to have hidden, say, an iPhone 5 in your local McDonalds, or Jedward in your local sewage works. Fun for about five minutes again, sure — and a means of seeing who lives vaguely near you and likes Jedward — but again… why?

There’s too much noise and not enough signal in social media these days, in short, and this fact is a big part of why I stripped back on all “non-essential” social apps a while back. I keep Facebook, Twitter and G+ around because there are people I regularly speak to on all of those, but outside of those “big three”? There’s really very little reason for a lot of these services and apps to exist, but the amount of money being thrown at them by venture capitalists is terrifying.

Kind of makes me think that I should come up with an “innovative” idea for a mobile social network in order to attract several million dollars’ worth of funding.

Okay… give me a minute.

Thinking.

Eureka! I got it. Everyone likes taking Instagram photos of food, right? Well, I propose a social photography network that is nothing but pictures of food with a selection of retro filters (some of which are available via in-app purchase). You can “check in” to the food you’re eating, discuss it with other people and share photographs of your lunchbox. It’ll be a big hit. I’ll call it “füd”, all in lower case, naturally.

That’ll be two million dollars, please, Mr Venture Capitalist. KTHX.

#oneaday Day 961: I am Thou

I wrote a piece about Persona 3 over on Games Are Evil earlier today. Go read it, please.

I have, as you may have guessed from the fact I chose to write about Persona 3 today, been playing Persona 3. I have been meaning to play the extended FES version for many, many years now and have started several times. This time I intend to finish it, including battling my way through The Answer, which I understand is a bit of an ordeal. Then, if I’m feeling particularly masochistic, I will proceed to play Persona 3 Portable as the female protagonist.

I fucking love Persona 3 and 4. They are still my favourite games of all time. I own the first two for PSP/Vita, too, but found the first one a little hard to follow plot-wise and haven’t delved particularly deeply into 2 yet. Fortunately, each one stands quite nicely by itself — though 3 and 4 are nicely interconnected, even if certain aspects clash (why do the kids in P3 need Evokers to summon their Personas, but the ones in P4 don’t?).

My love for these games stems primarily from the fact that they push all my gaming happy buttons. I love JRPGs and I love visual novels, and Persona 3 and 4 combine the best bits of both genres. You have a simple-to-understand, hard-to-master combat and character development system; you have an in-depth storyline tackling very “human” issues. You have “saving the world” drama; you have characters dealing with personal crises that can, at times, seem more important than impending disaster. Somehow the game manages to avoid pretty much every cliché that critics of JRPGs hate to create an emotional, mature experience with an absolutely badass soundtrack.

The highlight is, of course, the cast of characters throughout. And as I said in my piece over on Games Are Evil, the interesting thing about Persona is that it’s not only the heroes and villains who “matter” in the grand scheme of things. The “Social Link” mini-stories that arise as the protagonist gets to know his new school friends and people in the community are fascinating plotlines to follow through in their own right, and help to lend a greater sense of poignancy to the overarching narrative of the Persona-users attempting to Sort Shit Out. In other words, everyone has their own demons to deal with — sometimes these are literal demons, others they are the barriers we create for ourselves: fear, anxiety, shyness, a lack of self-belief. Watching the protagonist touch the lives of these people and be there with them as they come to terms with their own issues gives the small game world a much greater feeling of “life” than almost any other RPG I’ve played.

It also, once again, highlights the difference between Eastern and Western game design philosophy. When it comes to RPGs, I am firmly in the Eastern camp. I am yet to come across a Western RPG that has captivated me in the same way as the Persona series. You can rant and rave all you like about the beautifully-rendered worlds of Bethesda adventures or BioWare’s (increasingly questionable) storytelling chops, but, for me anyway, no-one has the Japanese beat when it comes to interpersonal relationships and a sense of “human” drama amid supernatural chaos.

#oneaday Day 960: Moe Moe Kawaii… Wait, What Are You Doing…?!

Where do you draw the line between art, entertainment, sexist nonsense and porn? It is a rather fine and difficult line to walk, particularly when the definitions of all of those terms vary enormously from person to person according to their open-mindedness, experience with various works, gender and general social attitudes. It’s a particularly pertinent question with regard to the genre of games that I seem to be spending a fair amount of time with at present — the ol’ visual novel.

The current game I’m playing is called My Girlfriend is the President. I will refrain from talking about it in too much detail as 1) I haven’t yet finished it and 2) I will be doing a READ . ME column on the subject for Games Are Evil this Sunday. Suffice to say, however, it is utterly bananas — and yet, there is a slight sense of discomfort while playing. Not enough to prevent me from enjoying it, but just enough to make me think that it might, in fact, be deliberate.

The tension stems from the game’s protagonist, whom in TV Tropes terms is probably best described as a Chivalrous Pervert. He openly admits to sexually harassing women and getting turned on by ogling his female peers in a less than honourable fashion. He takes every opportunity to make a smutty comment just to “try his luck”. And he’s a peeping tom. In short, he should be an immensely dislikeable dick whom any self-respecting player wouldn’t want to spend any time inside the head of whatsoever.

And yet he’s not. At least part of his perpetual horniness can be attributed to the fact that he is a teenage boy, and consequently subject to the same hormonal urges that all teenage boys find themselves afflicted with. His supposed sexual harassment never leads anywhere, as his female peers are all well aware of the fact that he is a wannabe pervert and thus make sure he doesn’t have the opportunity to do anything truly inappropriate — not that he actually would given the opportunity. Several of them even take every chance they get to toy with him, making him more and more wound up and frustrated while at the same time making it clear that they are the ones with the true power in their relationship.

And alongside all this perversion comes the fact that, at heart, he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to these girls. He takes every opportunity to attempt to prove his “manliness” and “protect” them, even if they don’t really need protecting. He gets embarrassed, flustered and overexcited if anything actually does happen, and when it comes to his adorable childhood friend (the titular President) he is — for the most part, anyway — respectful and sweet.

It puts the player in something of a quandary. Since the game takes place from the perspective of this horny young gentleman, we’re frequently subjected to his male gaze sizing up the bodies of the people he’s with and pondering what’s under their clothes. If he thinks there’s the chance he’ll see something naughty and the girls in question aren’t in any actual physical danger, he’ll stand by and watch rather than preventing something embarrassing happening to them. But when the chips are down and Bad Things are happening, he’s the first to spring into action in an (often misguided) attempt to keep them safe — usually with hilarious slapstick results.

So what does all this mean? Is the game itself sexist, or is it simply putting the player inside the head of a protagonist with definite sexist tendencies? Or is it somewhere in between?

I don’t know for sure. Whatever it is, My Girlfriend is the President is most certainly a gloriously guilty pleasure that I have absolutely no shame in saying that I am enjoying a great deal right now!