Big Smoke

'cause it's hard to see from where I'm standin'

Now This Is Meta

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There, but for the grace of god: A blog about a cartoon lampooning blogs on a news site whose business model revolves around blogging. This is what they must have meant about dittoheads.

Do I think the blogosphere (to speak of ancient memes) is squeezing out mainstream press for readers and ad dollars? Kinda. But the genre is not the same: Bloggers don’t soberly report the news. They comment on the news. It’s an infinite opinion piece. News and news analysis are two different things that, I believe, cannot be further apart. (Do ya hear me, MSNBC? Huh? Do ya?)

With that posit, bloggers may only be one third of what killed the newspaper model. Read the rest of this entry »

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  • Published: Mar 3rd, 2009
  • Category: Media
  • Comments: 1

Keep That Heartrate Up

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And for another round of “innovative gameplay yet regressive storyline,” I’ve had the pleasure of trying Mirror’s Edge.

Now, FPSs are a few of my favorite things, and I’ve mentally catalogued every time the genre branched out into something new – from the Arcade FPS (aim rocket launcher at feet, fly through the air shooting guards while doing a backflip) to the Tactical FPS (sit in corner and shoot guards from half a mile away) to the Stealth FPS (knock guards out, steal everything in sight) to what I can only describe now as the best Running-From-the-Police FPS I’ve ever encountered.

You don’t run in with guns ablazing, you don’t sneak around the corners, you just run for your life. That’s it, really. The game is practically adrenaline in a box, where your protagonist heroine basically runs her ass off in some mix between parkour and basejumping to do… something. It doesn’t really matter what. It kinda reminds me of Run Lola Run with the stylistic influences of Oni.

That said, the storyline is basically some generic twenty-minutes-into-the-future dystopia that came straight out of a WTO protestor’s conspiracy theory wet dream. The corporate-military-industrial complex is out to get our favorite dissidents, a collection of uniformally pretty 20-somethings in brand-name athletic gear, because they hop around rooftops and streak accounting departments with little briefcases. You know it’s a dystopia because everything is squeaky clean and the last time a city was that ridiculously spotless there was a Reich going on. Or something.

I’d actually rather no storyline or even less of an attempt at making this whole grand scheme in favor of complete suspension of disbelief because running my heroine ragged’s way too damned fun. Tho I kinda feel sorry for her, because the number of gunshot wounds, broken bones and serious faceplants I’ve given her so far ought to get her frequent dier miles at Futuretopia General Hospital.

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