Sexual Content
At one point, the two teens discover a hot spring, and there’s the option to have them bathe together. Amy responds to this by telling you she’s a little shy. However, both are shown with their clothes still on even in the water. Still, at first the implication is there that this was not the case, especially if you choose one of them to go in alone. The other one will look away.

Also worth noting is that Amy and Jack live together while on the island. Now, both are shown sleeping in separate beds, but it’s still worth noting in this day and age.

My first reaction was giggles, because the hot springs cutscene takes about 15 seconds, compared to the HOURS AND HOURS OF MY LIFE I’ve spent repetitively spear-fishing, picking fruit, cooking food, walking Jack to the stream to drink, and trying to get Jack to eat the lunchboxes in his bag instead of STARVING TO DEATH.

Where was I going with this? Oh, right, Lost in Blue 2 is so open-ended that you need to have a certain relationship level been Jack and Amy, go visit the hot springs, and pick a certain dialogue option, and then the kids relax in the hot spring together, fully clothed, with space between them.  (But the famed Hot Coffee mod in Grand Theft Auto was much harder to access, and I don’t think being less-than-obvious makes content unimportant.) Also the kids sleep on separate piles of leaves when they take shelter in the same cave after a shipwreck, it’s hardly steamy cohabitating romance.

This type of rating review seems to have a checklist of what the writer or publication thinks may cause offense, so the review becomes a boob, booze and blood alert. One of the first computer games I played was the original Monkey Island, a game that would earn a Teen rating —  and some of the ire that Nancy Drew Dosser: Lights, Camera, Curses received – for existing in a universe that also involves alcohol. The problem with the checklist type of review is that it doesn’t address how that element is incorporated into the game. A pirate drinking grog is different from, say, a struggling, recovering alcoholic as an NPC.   Review ratings often cite Princess Maker — an awesome game — for showing your princess’ paper-doll panties as she changes her dress, and more rarely mention the assumptions in the game’s goal of helping your princess to be pretty, cook, look after children and marry rich.  There’s no blood when Grandpa Sim dies, but seeing his grieving family is much more emotionally affecting than a huge, bloody bodycount in a shooter.  I could go on and on with examples of disservices the hotbutton checklist does to games and to potential players.

But we read reviews because we really want to know what’s in the game. It’s important let players and game shoppers know what they’re getting into, whether it’s a parent choosing a game for a child, or just a player of any age  looking for a suitable, enjoyable game.  I don’t need a rating to protect me from so-called objectionable themes, but I don’t really enjoy running through corridors splattering guts.  I recently focus-tested the new Shutter Island game, but I spent most of the session asking the publisher to please please warn me if there were going to be any body parts or dead people or icky things. The lines between an adventure game, a RPG with combat, a RPG with bloody combat, and a total gorefest can be fluid, and I’d like to know what I’m going to play.

I wonder if there’s any way to talk about game content without condemning games with certain elements or slapping on an age rating. Can reviewers talk about what a game contains, without jumping to decide who should play it? Can we let potential players know what they’ll find in the game without putting our own biases into a rating review? Or is what’s acceptable on the screen too closely linked with what we find acceptable in real life?

From the blog Simpson's Paradox, please comment here:

Still Lost In Blue

Meg: What?

Guy: Is this your angel costume, baby?

Meg: No, I… Oh! Wait! You’re hitting on me! Thus proving that the library really is the place to meet boys!

From the blog Simpson's Paradox, please comment here:

No, I’m Just Oblivious

What I meant to say was, I wanted this.

From the blog Simpson's Paradox, please comment here:

NoDa, Charlotte

“Wow, this is an awful cover design.” I said.

“Are you saying My Boyfriend is ugly?” Stick asked. “Don’t be shallow, Meg, you should only care about what’s inside.”

I try to ignore him, but he keeps going.

“Did you rent this?” he asks.

“You know I didn’t.”

“Good, I didn’t want to hear that you checked out My Boyfriend.”

From the blog Simpson's Paradox, please comment here:

My Boyfriend

Optimist Club Originally uploaded by Simpson’s Paradox

This proves my theory that the people I hear talking about how great it is to live in the south and avoid winter, or how convenient everything is to the beltway are all secretly in league with each other.

From the blog Simpson's Paradox, please comment here:

North Raleigh Optimist Club

First, I recently reviewed the new Nintendo DS game Women’s Murder Club: Games of Passion on ThumbGods:

WMC follows the usual pattern of story cutscenes, hidden objects and minigames. The hidden objects casual adventure game is a pretty crowded genre, so it’s hard for a new game to really stand out. Probably the most unique characteristic was the James Patterson characters.  Players solve crimes and meet with the WMC ladies as Patterson’s detective Lindsay Boxer, and supporting characters with solid personalities made this more that just a reskinned HO game.

The story progresses via cutscenes and dialogue options. Players have some choices for what to say, but it was more of a quiz on recent plot events. Believable banter makes the cutscenes worth reading, and the linear storyline makes it feel like reading a novel, not being hemmed

Random side note: The mysterious Chinese markings found on the victim actually do say bu zhong, Not Loyal. My Chinese  literacy is just good enough to be completely thrilled with the developers for using real words when dramatic red scribbles would have acceptable. (It always cracks me up when I see upside-down characters or random other words.) Good work, THQ.

Via Thumb Gods » Game Review: Women’s Murder Club

I know I’m supposed to be all blase about it, but that’s a photo of my review copy of WMC. It’s a hard copy with a press letter and everything. I’m going to keep it it on the shelf next to my other review copy, just as soon as I finish doing my I’m-a-real-journalist happy dance.

I also reviewed the Screaming Narwhal:

Telltale’s new Monkey Island is not to be confused with the LucasArts updated re-release. No, the Screaming Narwhal is an all-new tale in the saga of Guybrush Threepwood, mighty pirate. Elaine and LeChuck (and at least one other familiar character!) are back as well, revamped from their grainy 2d incarnations, but following the spirit of the originals.

Goofy dialogue, creative uses for found items and pirate-y silliness are the hallmarks of the Monkey Island games, and the Screaming Narwhal has them all. Guybrush uses his razor-sharp wits to deal with the wacky denizens of Flotsam Island, whether that’s a clever ruse of selling fine leather jacket, an amazing use of misdirection (Look! It’s Louis XIV!) or coming up with a believable excuse on the spot. The dialogue is not a memory test of in-game facts, but a chance for zany interactions.

Via Thumb Gods » Tales of Monkey Island: Launch of the Screaming Narwhal

And over on TechCoquette, I have a new piece about beginning a relationship on Facebook:

The awkward conversation in which you ask the one you’re seeing if the two of you are in a relationship isn’t new, but Facebook adds a new dimension. Are we in a relationship … on our Facebook profiles?

If you’re taking your new relationship Facebook-public, congrats! That little in a relationship with link is our generation’s class ring or football jacket, a public announcement that what you’ve got going on is more than just a couple of dates. It says you’re exclusive, and it also means no more of those awkward “my, um, friend” introductions.

Via Being “In a Relationship” on Facebook | TechCoquette

And I have another article on TechCoquette about ending a relationship and defriending the ex on Facebook.

If you actually meant that line about still being friends, Facebook defriending may help you create the space you need to become comfortable on your new footing. You may refriend him the future, when time has passed and you’re both ready to reconnect; but until then, you don’t have to be reminded of him whenever you see his status updates. Also, you won’t have to read sickly-sweet wall chatter between him and his new girl, and you won’t be reminded when he goes back to your favorite brunch spot. Even after a mutual decision to split, reading a feed of your ex’s daily life and thoughts can be unpleasant.

Via Let’s Not Be Friends: Facebook Ex Etiquette | TechCoquette

This last one is significant because it’s one of the rare times I’ve titled one of my own articles and been really happy with the title. Let’s Not Be Friends. Clever, huh? And much better than my usual lame titles like What I’ve Been Working On.

From the blog Simpson's Paradox, please comment here:

What I’ve Been Up To

From the blog Simpson's Paradox, please comment here:

My Problem With Yoga

I told Hal Jordan that maybe this isn’t the best way to maintain a secret identity, but he didn’t listen to me.

From the blog Simpson's Paradox, please comment here:

Subdivision Superhero

It seemed, suddenly, like less of a surprising decor choice and more of a tangible symbol of excess, the constant bombardment of stuff. We don’t just consume Halloween candy, disposable naughty-cat costumes and window-cling ghosts, but we need a plastic severed head hanging from the ceiling to remind us that it’s time to buy those things.

Thinking about the layers of stuff reminds me that even my heavy-handed symbolism doesn’t exist in a vacuum. I didn’t look too closely (because, um… I did mention that it’s a plastic severed head, right?), but it seems to be injection molded plastic, which means someone designed the mold, and the paint. Do you think it went like this: Today, I have made my mark on the world, I designed a mold for plastic severed heads, and these heads will outlast me. Or maybe all those new hires in design are incompetent, so I got stuck redesigning the neck wounds. College kids come in and think they know everything, but it takes years in the field to really get that look of severed spine. Do you think, after that, someone else worked out that they could save 84 cents per dozen by making the plastic just a tiny bit thinner? And someone mixed a paint palette of  dead-flesh colors.

A factory probably bid on a contract for plastic severed heads, and lost.  Honey, I was thinking of going to Bali for our anniversary, but we lost the severed heads contract, so that’ll have to wait for next year. Maybe someone else was rejoicing over their new severed-heads prosperity.

Was it made, like everything else,  overseas? Eric once had a job working for a packing and shipping company, I wonder if he designed any cartons for the most efficient shipping of plastic severed body parts. If it was made in China, I’m starting to understand the pointing and staring thing. I mean, I come from the land of mass-produced plastic severed heads, who wouldn’t stare?

And the head in a chain store, which makes me wonder if there’s a Halloween seasonal plan-o-gram with the placement of the severed head marked out on a photocopied sheet. Is there a variation for other floorplans? Does a larger store get a tier-two plan-o-gram with a second plastic severed head? Does an employee get scolded by home office for misplacing or incorrectly hanging the severed head? And do you think it’ll go into a box in someone’s office next month, to make room for Santa Claus?

I hope in the far distant future, when archeologists are looking at the ruins of our cities, that the plastic severed head is an artifact uncovered for the American civilization.

From the blog Simpson's Paradox, please comment here:

Severed Heads

After reading the poem, I asked for reactions. The kids began to agree and disagree with the poem, some said that Frost must be wrong, this isn’t the high point of their lives, that they’re spending their golden youth shuttling between chemistry tutors and violin lessons, and even their Saturday mornings in an SAT English class, in the hopes of getting into a good college and  finding a good job. Today must be spent in preparation for tomorrow. Others responded that the future holds years in cubicles doing the same thing every day, and this is their one chance to be independent and unique. Responsibility versus enjoyment now.

I had seventeen teenagers actually raising their hands to talk about how the poem relates to their lives and our own mortality. It was the kind of moment you envision when you think about becoming an English teacher… not the hours of your life sucked into departmental meetings, sitting in a hard folding chair and looking at slides of new accountability procedures.  (And when I used the second person there, I really meant the first.) It was amazing.

I was packing up to leave, just glowing over their reaction essays and the way they’d tied the poem to their lives, when a member of the program’s administration came in.

It was pointed out to me that one of my students had torn his reaction out of a spiral notebook, and there were a few tabs of notebook paper on the classroom carpet. I was not to leave my classroom in such a state again, and my lack of professionalism had been duly noted by the authorities.

So Eden sank.

From the blog Simpson's Paradox, please comment here:

Leaf Subsides To Looseleaf