General

All the cool kids podcast. It’s an extra mile to go beyond the blog. To me, it seems more immediate, more interactive, and more technically challenging then writing a static post and then trying to respond to comments in a timely manner while the topic is still…topical.

So I’m considering a Levelcapped podcast. I’ve actually been “considering” it for some time, but was stymied by a few participatory hurdles. First, it started off as a video cast, complete with a green screen (which I have), HD video (which I have) and editing software to pull it all together (which I have). What I didn’t have was a crew that wanted to do it as badly as I did. So it was back to the pure audio route. The problem was, I didn’t want to do a traditional ‘cast. I wasn’t sure what, until I started thinking about what I could do as a one man show. Then I realized that I might not have to…

The basic premise that I’m working on is this:

• We’ll come up with a burning hot topic (or two) for the ‘cast, and we’ll post it here on the Levelcapped website. Comments will be closed, but we encourage people to build up a head of steam over the topic because…
• When it comes time to actually record the ‘cast, we want you to call in and be part of the panel. We’ll take a certain number of callers (how we do that has yet to be decided) to be the participants in the week’s recording. If you don’t make the cut, don’t worry! You’ll still be able to participate because…
• The ‘cast will be streamed live on LevelcappedTV. You can listen live, in real-time, and we’ll take your questions and comments to keep the conversation rolling. But live events aren’t for everyone, so…
• We’ll be recording the process for polishing, and will make it available through the more fashionable podcasting outlets for consumption at your leisure.

I’m still working out the process with the help of the other NHGU folks. We need to run a few feasibility and technical tests, and we’ll be reporting back once we have more data on whether or not we can pull it off to our — and more importantly, your — discriminating satisfaction.

Meanwhile, if you’d like to leave some comments here with podcasting experience, ideas, or caveats, any and all input will be more than appreciated.

As anyone who follows me on Twitter knows, I’ve decided to re-route Levelcapped.com.

I got the hosting bill this morning, and was shocked — SHOCKED — at the renewal price. They wanted a year’s commitment up front, which is more than I was willing to pay in one lump sum. I’m sure it was cheaper than paying in 1 or 3 month bursts, but there’s a real psychological factor at work, seeing that much cash go out the door. Plus I had to weigh the benefits and costs of hosting my own site: I could customize it to my liking, but I also had to deal with upgrades and such. So in the end, I decided that the benefits weren’t worth the cost, and have initiated the Transfer Protocol.

If you’ve never dealt with actually owning a domain name, consider yourself blessed. It’s gone from a fairly straightforward process of register and renewal to a byzantine affair involving secret handshakes and mind-numbing processes worthy of the greatest secret societies humanity has ever fostered. I had to unlock and un-hide the domain name, then obtain a secret code. The code was passed to the new registrar via duffel bag deposited at a pre-arranged drop point, which was then picked up by the new registrar’s currier and secreted away in some vault buried under a mountain, where it will be housed and re-released sometime in the next 14 days. Meanwhile, I’m driving this ghetto domain around; same engine, but different rims and bourgeois paint-job. Free hosting doesn’t offer all the bells and whistles, but the price is right.

The “official” Levelcapped.com domain will be back soon, so if you manage to see this, know that the levelcapped.wordpress.com domain won’t be the end all, be all, and once the official URL is back, I’ll update the RSS and all that for those of you who are kind enough to subscribe to my humble  and long-winded musings.

Thanks for the support.

Being a gamer is a choice. It’s a lifestyle. It’s a hobby. It’s a passion. It’s a source of inspiration. It’s also a source of anger.

We live, love, eat, sleep, breath and dream of gaming. Our virtual adventures present us with problems to solve that we fall asleep thinking about, and wake up knowing how to solve.

It’s thanks to the Internet that we’ve found one another, which is something we tend to forget. There are those who are too young to remember the days when talking about video games in public was verboten, lest you be shunned, or even beat up. Believe it or not, there was a time when it was hard to find other gamers. Video games were sold in toy stores, which were the domains of little children, not teenagers or even young adults. If you had a modem, you might find other gamers on a BBS, or if you had a local users group, you might be able to find kindred souls in a church basement or unused library room.

The internet has allowed us to come together at the same time as gaming is maturing. Having expended it’s store of geeks and nerds, the industry turns to the mainstream, pulling the stereotypes of those that decades ago wouldn’t admit to playing video games: the moms, the jocks, the females. Being a gamer now is acceptable, and verily borders on commonplace when shopping meccas like Wal-Mart and Target get their own “exclusive” versions of pre-release titles. Anyone with an Internet connection can jump into the fray, playing online with strangers, talking about their favorite games, and coming together as a community.

But what has brought us together also can push us apart. Differing opinions were never much of a stumbling block in the early days of gaming because there wasn’t enough stock to diversify opinions, and any opinions to be had were rarely heard in large numbers. The Net has opened the doors for people to toss their hat into the ring to express their opinions, and to confront and engage those of differing minds. This freedom can, when executed in a controlled, civil manner, make us all better though exposure to points of view, if we’re willing to accept them on their own terms. When discourse turns to debate, and debate into partisan sniping, we lose what gains the Internet has given us: connections, friends, and solidarity.

If you’re old enough, think back to the times when heated exchanges over video games was impossible because there was no one to have them with. Remember when it was far less socially acceptable to talk about video games because they were considered toys that tethered children indoors and to the television. Remember how much of a relief it was when you did find another gamer that you could talk to about the things that you wanted to talk about, but otherwise couldn’t with the people around you. If you’re not old enough, then try it: unplug for a month. No blogs, no social networking, no news feeds, no digital downloads, no online gaming, no trips to GameStop. Engage your non-gaming friends, family and co-workers in discussions about gaming, and record their reactions, and then pretend that you can’t get out of that loop. 

We’re lucky that things have turned out the way that they have, and in a way and at a pace that we never could have imagined back when we enjoyed our gaming in isolation. We can’t take it for granted, though. This hyper-connectivity isn’t a conduit for anger, sarcasm or combat, and shouldn’t be used to isolate ourselves and others behind arbitrary walls of unwavering opinion. We’re all together now, sharing our experiences both good and bad. It’s the kind of togetherness that we wished we had when video gaming was first taking off, and that is something that we should not forget.

Just a footnote: We tend to get into some heated discussions on the net, which is perfectly fine because it signals our passion for the topic, but because it’s all walls of text, it’s often times difficult to really make the exact point that you want to make the way you want to make it and not have it read in a totally different way by people on the other side. It’s unavoidable. The key, then, is to remember that we’re all talking about things that we love, and while we all want to share our enthusiasm, the net is in imperfect vehicle for conducting our excitement and passion. We’ are all very lucky to be able to be able to have these discussions these days, and with the kinds of people we always wanted to have them with.

Living as an expatriate in Japan, I often think of the things from my home country that I can’t get here. Usually it’s the little things I miss,  like Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups or cold cuts from the grocery store. But every time I go back to visit the States, I get the feeling that so many things have disappeared. They’re never things I can put a finger on, just small fragments whose absence speaks of some kind of subtle change. They create a kind of vacuum in my memory, but I can never seem to remember the shape that is supposed to fill them. It’s easy to notice the new things, like the chain store you’ve never seen, or a new kind of cereal you’ve never eaten before. Things that have just gone missing are harder.

One missing thing I do remember are the arcades of my youth. I realize that these probably disappeared before I left for Japan, but the reverse culture shock when coming home made their absence all the more stark in contrast. The arcades of my teen years were gone, replaced by huge, brightly lit rooms full of people who happened by after shopping. The new arcades seemed to be strategically placed in the mall, near a food court, or even as an extension of a CD/DVD/video game store, decorated in bright primary colors. The people walking through didn’t seem like the type who went there specifically to play video games. While I have no problem with gaming spreading to every corner of the globe and every type of person, this was different. The arcades I remember were dark, sometimes smoky, and didn’t share an entrance to the mall. It was almost as if the mall at large wanted to disavow any kind of relationship with the arcade. Those bygone dens were places of ill repute (according to my parents) grimy, and full of kids who propped their skateboards up against the game cabinets. We went there solely to play games like Rolling Thunder, Aliens, and Beast Busters. There was even an etiquette that existed. You had your jean pockets full of quarters, and always placed one on the screen if you wanted to go next. I have no idea how we all knew to do that, but we did. And they were gone.

Coming back to Japan after every trip to the States made me recognize the contrasts, and to my great surprise I found out that those arcades still existed. Sure, they’re different, but they are still the spiritual cousins of the lost arcades of my youth. They were so ubiquitous I almost didn’t notice. There are places that are small and smoky, that only carry the sit-down Street Fighter, or Gundam type game, and others that were gargantuan structures that could have housed a couple of airplanes,  staying open 24 hours a day. They sell the same crappy arcade food that I remember as a kid (albeit you can get grilled octopus nuggets and udon noodles in addition to hot dogs and pizza at the ones here), and attract the same shady and normal characters. Despite the huge advances in portable and home gaming technology, these places still thrive. I even see people come to the arcades just to play their DS or PSP. Sure there are the mall arcades filled with parents and kids, but the real arcades still exist.

Finding these long lost places in Tokyo opened my eyes again, and made me notice for the second time how many forms of gaming exist here. It’s a haven for the vanished game culture of my youth. Not only in the form of arcade games, but all video games. From the old school, to the cutting edge, to the black market. A real haven for the data that matters most to us. I want to share this haven with all of you. I hope you enjoy it.