Perspectives

I don’t play video games like a reviewer. I just don’t operate that way. The thought of being handed a game and tasked with marching through it without fail, clinically analyzing details and dropping endless notes on relative subjective qualities sounds like a great way to kill a fun game in the best of circumstances, and a march through hell in the worst.

Split Second is a game that demands few words in its service or critique. It is unabashed in its presentation, an arcade racer with a one-trick note that keeps it fresh for a few days before droning on into repetitiveness. Think listening to Jack Johnson while hyped on amphetamines and you begin to get the general sense of where I’m going.

Live support for the original Xbox has passed on. To celebrate, friends gathered together to relive the past. For one last time, they trekked across Coagulation as an unseen clock counted down to the great disconnect. It wasn't money, or fame, or bragging rights that drove the games. Rather, it was a way to reconnect with yesteryear.

Tap. Ruth sits down at her desk, her newly acquired mug of coffee clinking as she places it beside her keyboard. I hear the click of her mouse, the rustle as she adjusts her keyboard. It's 9:05am. Tap. "How was your evening?" she asks. I don't think she's looking at me. I certainly don't look up. My evening was fine. Tap. "Everything okay?