One of the things I’ve tried to wrap my head around over the past few years is the question of whether the anger and skepticism aimed at media is a relatively new phenomenon, or just one I hadn’t done a good job of paying attention to in the past.
I always get nervous writing what can certainly seem like a pessimistic article about the *trumpet fanfare* State Of Gaming. For one thing, it’s apparently easy to make a flawed logical leap from the idea that things are in a kind of slump to "we are all doomed" in one or two easy moves.
It had been a scant seven or eight turns since a cadre of my battle-hardened musketmen stormed through the streets of London. The cannons, which had camped ominously on the heavily mined hills outside the city limits, were now coming into position outside the final bastion of the crippled nation.
It’s a few short weeks until I celebrate the first year of the second half of my life. While it’s true enough that I’m closing in on forty next year like a police car chasing an underpowered golf cart, it’s not the number of years between today and 1973 that puts me in this frame of mind.
The much ballyhooed and/or widely-booed Real Money Auction House has now launched for Diablo 3, reconfirming, as if we needed such messaging, that the dynamic for advancing your character has firmly changed.
Watching E3 from the comfort of various chairs around my home and office — which I contend is now the preferred way to experience the event — found me spending a lot of time being internally cynical about what I was seeing.
As I prepare to match wits and wills against the final boss of Diablo III for the first, though certainly not the last time, I do a final check of gear and skills for my wizard, Muisyle. (It’s Elysium spelled backwards.