Doodling in the Margins

When Roger Ebert's proclamation that games were inherently inferior to other art forms rang out, the gaming community derided him almost in unison. I know, for I was one of the many gamers berating his general ignorance of the art form from the safety of my keyboard. "What was he thinking?

July 31st - August 4th

When I first attended college, fresh out of high school, the powers that be decided putting a Street Fighter 2 machine in our dormitory would be a good idea. And, from the perspective of profit and popularity, I'm certain it was a good idea, right up there with some kind of Ramen Noodle vending machine, or a prophylactic dispenser.

Passing The Torch

With bright eyes and sweat-slicked hands, Spencer pulls me by my pinky finger up the stairs. He's taller now than when I last saw him, and instead of jutting into a mohawk, his hair now lays flat, prim and obedient. His knees are grass-stained and scabbed. On the back of his maroon Spiderman shirt, a popsicle stain marks a dark bulls-eye.

Escape Radio Launches!

After months of harassment, blood, sweat and beers I am pleased to announce that the first episode of Escape Radio has launched!


Carl the Longbowman leaned against the rampart, scratched dismissively at an area one would not manhandle in front of, say, the queen, and wiped the sweat off his furrowed and ill-cultured brow. He snorted, coughed, made a sound like a broken cappuccino machine (which would not be invented for several centuries), and spat something equal parts brown and green to the ground.

An Undead Hunger Walks Still. . .

I have a problem. It's a shallow, selfish, absurd problem, but a problem nonetheless. My problem is Resident Evil 4. This was the fourth or fifth title I bought for my Gamecube, and even though I purchased the game after acquiring the system it runs on, I still hail it as the reason for owning the platform. I really love this game.

Requiem for a Tough Guy

"I shook the rain from my hat and walked into the room. Nobody said a word." Frank Morrison Spillane died July 17, 2006. Mickey Spillane was one of the most reviled writers of the 20th century. He took a genre built from the dapper tweed of Sherlock Holmes and he ground it down until all that remained were bullets and blood. His critics called him a sadist, a racist, and a misogynist.

July 24th - 28th

It really doesn't matter how many times I do it, conquering the world and squashing its timid civilizations under my mighty thumb never grows old.

Who Wants to Play Oedipus?

Something is missing. To be honest, I didn't even notice it until recently, but now that I have, its absence has weighed on my thoughts. There is a narrative void in our medium. Games have thus far ignored a particularly revered dramatic template; a template which Western society holds in quite possibly the highest regard.

Word Nerd

As a college graduate with a bachelor's degree in English from a reputable university, I like to imagine that my mind is a passionate tumult of well-primed thought. As a matter of practicality, however, my accredited education has prepared me, at best, to coax readers into reading words that I conjure, or, at worst, to serve them delicious caffeinated beverages.