Back in September of 2006, I had the chance to preview Microsoft Flight Simulator X. My reaction was mixed. While it was very pretty, it was essentially unplayable on my aging P4 and ATI 850XT. I mentioned, with a hint of embarrassment, that my investment in Flight Sim 9 was roughly $500 due to the number of add-ons and fiddly-bits I'd added over the years.

Through chance and hard work, I finally managed to join the cool kids with new computer and retake the skies, and perhaps more important, to check on the industry that has grown up to service the past iterations of flight sim junkies.

Never do anything standing that you can do sitting, or anything sitting that you can do lying down. -- Ancient Chinese Proverb

Last Tuesday, as I sat surfing the web and pondering the intensity and depth of my loneliness, the doorbell rang. Waiting was a blue-clad delivery man, who, by means of a series of grunts and gestures, indicated that I should Sign Here. Having done so, I was frankly shocked to see the size of the package he hauled up my side steps and manhandled through my door. It was a box big enough to ship an adult human being in, and I entertained the brief yet hilarious idea that someone had purchased us a Realdoll. When I tore open the cardboard and hauled out the contents, I was relieved to find that it wasn't a creepily lifelike sexdoll, but rather an improbably large beanbag.

It was, in fact, the Sumo Omni.

Once upon a time, the graphical adventure game was king of the genres. Set the wayback machine for 1993 and you'll arrive at a time before first-person shooters, hooker-beating simulators, and massively-multiplayer time sinks dominated the shelves. CD-ROM drives were just becoming mainstream, bringing lush soundtracks and spoken dialog to gaming. This was the year Myst was released, a multimedia experience that changed what we expected from a new title. It was the year the market started to shift away from adventure games toward shooters and strategy titles. It was also the year LucasArts released one of their greatest point-and-click adventure games: Sam & Max Hit The Road. With its left-field humor and beautifully drawn artwork, Hit The Road became an instant classic, just in time to see the king of genres dethroned.

Anyone who thinks the adventure genre died back then, however, is dead wrong. Telltale Games is introducing the psychotic freelance police to a new generation of gamers in Sam & Max: Episode 1: Culture Shock. And it's every bit as good as the original.

The sirens are going off in London. 18 hours ago the fragile alliance the EU held with the Chinese was called off, the two diplomatic leaders walking off in a high school-level huff. Tensions were high already, thanks to the constant threat of an African attack on the British Empire. Now, with no allies left, Her Majesty's loyal subjects are crowded in bunkers and bomb shelters, listening to the shrill call of an imminent attack and waiting for the inevitable.

When the first ICBM strikes, 11 million people will die in a fiery instant.

Welcome to Defcon.

The incongruity of my quoting rap lyrics, saying them out loud, or even thinking them is something my wife and my friends discourage. I do not have the look or attitude for rap, even though I can't help but enjoy it on some level. In much the same way, shoving a brainless, Korean action game into my Xbox 360 is about as advisable as my quoting Jay-Z songs while walking past a dark alley in LA. Most reviews have already grabbed Ninety-Nine Nights, dragged it behind a dumpster and done unspeakable things to it. I might as well join in.

I have always been notoriously picky when it comes to how I spend my pleasure time. Books, food, boyfriends – I know what I like, and the hell with the rest of the pack. Games are no exception. I cherry pick from the crowd, and while attrition is high, those games that do hold my attention are played within to an inch of their pixilated lives, often repetitively and at great length.

I have spent the last seven days playing Dead Rising.

This weekend, men and women like you and me will be flocking to Indianapolis to attend this year's Gen Con. They'll spend four days rescuing damsels in distress, crawling through dank dungeons, vanquishing mighty foes, and spending far too much money on twenty-sided dice. It is a celebration of the original geek culture. Not all of us are lucky enough to attend, however. Some aren't willing or able to travel to Indianapolis with the sole intention of pretending to be a gnome. But if you still want to celebrate the fine art of tabletop gaming, there's a game that will take you back to your days of minotaurs and magic missiles. That game is Munchkin.

"Every murderer is probably somebody's old friend" – Agatha Christie

I'm in third-class cabin 3.

For reasons I can't remember, I have 90 seconds to kill someone. Mr. X told me to do it, and I can't refuse. The hair on my neck stands up. I know Mr. X hired someone to kill me, too.

Please God, let me find a weapon.

"Oft expectation fails, and most oft there
Where most it promises; and oft it hits
Where hope is coldest, and despair most fits."
-- William Shakespeare, All's Well That Ends Well

It's 1991. I am the proud owner of an Atari ST. I bought it specifically to play Dungeon Master, the very first 3D RPG. But computing has moved on: now all the cool kids own Macs. My ST is sitting on a side desk at work, where its sole remaining function is to connect to CompuServe and run a few BASIC programs I wrote to do accounting. Gaming consists of my smokin' hot new SNES system.

But, along comes a title that completely kills my work productivity and brings that Atari back to life:

Lemmings.

A Postmodern Dialog

INT: ITALIAN CAFE, MANHATTAN - DAY

A small cafe, reminiscent of the old Italian
coffeehouses of McDougall street in the village.
The espresso machine is a tentacled hairdo of brass piping and
weathered wood. Behind it stands a 19-year-old, pierced
BARRISTA, cute. It's raining.

RABBIT enters. Disheveled, eyes baggy from one too many
martinis and 4 hours of sleep. He orders a double shot of
espresso, overloads it with brown granulated sugar and
sits at a small table, looking out at the rain.

After a few moments, JAMES TIBERIUS KIRK enters, limping.
His uniform, the color of ancient urine, is torn.
He approaches the counter.