On Warcraft, pt. II

The fall of 2007 found me moving in with one of my best friends from high school, Matt Grajcar, and some of the guys he'd been living with for their last few years at RIT. I had been out of school for the two years prior due to my at-the-time girlfriend's parents forbidding me to go to the same school that she attended. Having done nothing but sling coffee for over a year, i felt like i needed a change of scenery, so up my stuff got packed, out to my job got transferred, and away i went.

Amidst these new surroundings and rowdy new roommates, i did leave behind another of my best friends from high school, Nate, who was basically the only friend i had had for that preceding year. And so, in an effort to keep up with him while away, he convinced me to start playing World of Warcraft and join the guild he had found, the Hammer of Go'el.

I should point out - with apologies to the girl in question - that Warcraft also fulfilled another need in my life at that point. You see, dear reader, i had been dating a girl at the time who, in her immaturity of that age, wanted me to spend all waking, non-working hours on the computer, talking to her. Myself, also immature and trying desperately to make the long distance relationship work, usually agreed. This unfortunate interaction ensured that i was spending more hours a day on the computer than i really care to reveal, and i desperately needed something to DO while "talking" to my girlfriend. Enter, Warcraft.

Now, in this reflective state in which i find myself, it would be appropriate to comment, for a moment, on the game play that Warcraft demonstrated - some could argue "pioneered" - but such musings are not for me and mine. For me, the important part of my time in WoW is almost entirely the Hammer.

I particularly remember one terrible time in Shattrath, the major city of that expansion, during prime time hours. My computer - which i had built myself with some help from various friends - was currently ROCKING out on half a gig of RAM, which up until that point, hadn't been more of a problem than my considerable patience could handle. But that night... that night it took me over an hour to get from one end of Shatt to the other. I was trying to hold a conversation in Guild chat, sending messages as if by carrier pigeon, the rest of the Guild carrying on in between my sporadic missives. Finally relating the reason behind my perforated existence in Azeroth, one of the officers - whom i only knew as Tuula, the female troll hunter - offered to send me some spare RAM he had lying around.

For free.

I tried to pay him, i did, but he refused. Maybe a week later, a manila envelope arrived in the mail for me containing two gigs of ram and a short, hand-written note signed, "Tuula and Sylvaina". I could barely believe the freely bestowed generosity and trust, but that was the norm in the Hammer of Go'el: genuine, human attention and good-will. It was there, piloting my undead warlock avatar across the non-existent hell-scape of Hellfire Peninsula, that i bumped into a community that i never knew existed and - even more inexplicably - in which i was welcomed with open arms.

The following summer, Nate and i did something that leaves the average person rather disconcerted: we made the journey into Massachusetts to attend the Guild's annual barbecue at our Guildmaster's house. There, we put faces on people's voices and characters. Elves, orcs, trolls, zombies, and cows all suddenly became real people with real names and real jobs and real lives. I met Todd and Ethan and Duane and Jenn and Joe and so many others that it was honestly a little overwhelming, but i guess that's why our Guildmaster makes sure that there's alcohol at these things.

Today, the Massachusetts branch of the Hammer are some of my best friends. I have more shared history with them than i do most coworkers. With them, i've crafted legendary sets magical robes (which took me weeks and a fairly epic string of quests), invaded fortresses of demon princes, fought for control over important resources and staging grounds, led the first wave of a continent-wide incursion into enemy territory, trained a team of highly organized and efficient assassins, and eventually toppled the terrible Lich King - the same Arthas Menethil from Warcraft 3.

I see the Mass. folks once a month now as we embark on a new set of adventures in the tabletop realm of Dungeons and Dragons. Together, we represented the Hammer at PAX East '11. Joe and i recently romped our way through Portal 2 and have plans to record some future gaming sessions for the entertainment of the Internets at Large.

I left Warcraft earlier this year not for any social reasons, but because of a terrible plague that sometimes effects regular MMO players. Currently unnamed, this affliction makes a change in the gamer's conception of the value of game time. Before infection, a player may feel that any time spent enjoying a game is inherently worthwhile. After a certain period of festering, however, it becomes difficult to justify playing any game EXCEPT the MMO because we are faced with a terrible choice: spend X time working on the next goal in the MMO, which yields permanent - albeit intangible - rewards, or fritter away the same time in a different game with nothing to show for it afterward. This scourge, combined with the very real argument that i'd already accomplished everything there was to accomplish in the game, led to my eventual decision to cut the cord and ditch WoW.

Yes, it would be difficult for me to argue against the idea that i had "wasted" a great many hours playing a video game, but it would be impossible for me to assert that i left the game having gained nothing. I gained friends, insight, a community, new skills, and, while it is definitely a story for another post, a new lease on life and will to keep living. WoW, and the people i played it with, got me through a very difficult time in my life and i have nothing but gratitude for my time spent in Azeroth.

On Warcraft, pt. I

I don't remember exactly when or how it entered our lives, but a certain computer game popped up on my family's computer some time when i was nine. I know its appearance was due to my brother, but the circumstances beyond that have evaporated with the mists of time. A quick Wikipedia search tells me that it must have been either late 1994 or early '95. It was called Warcraft: Orcs & Humans and it required a whopping 4 MB of RAM.

My first introduction into Real Time Strategy games, Warcraft was actually the second RTS game ever released for home computers, the first being Dune II. Interestingly enough, Blizzard pumped out their debut RTS game as fast as they could simply to take advantage of the warm reception that Dune II had garnished, hoping to take advantage of a perceived void in the market. Because of this rush, the saga of orcs vs. humans began with little script to speak of, their bloody conflict existing as a vehicle for the game more than anything else. My brother and i didn't care, of course, reveling - as any Tolkien geek would - in the gory spectacle of orcish combat.

My first experience with Warcraft II: Tides of Darkness was at a friend's house. All i remember from that tiny campaign was the excitement over the new, shiny graphics; the faster pace; the driving, awesome music. Then a small mob of enormous, fat, naked men with two heads waddled into my village and punched the entire settlement into the dirt. Surprisingly enough, this traumatic first experience did not deter me at all and i whiled away many hours with WCII, deepening my love for all things orc. I vividly recall the first time i met Zul'jin and badass teal scarf. Truth be told, i can trace back my love for scarves and unsymmetrical ear piercings to this troll axe-thrower.

While Warcraft III: Reign of Chaos probably didn't get as much play time from me as Starcraft did, i definitely owe it more. Warcraft added a slew of additional features in its third incarnation, including a third playable race, heroes and 3D graphics. More importantly for me, however, was the incredibly dynamic storytelling made through the vehicle of in-game cut scenes. The characters came alive, then, and i found myself truly sympathizing with Thrall, Cairne, Jaina, and the rest of the characters i would come to see so much of in the coming years. It was halfway through the Undead campaign that i first saw the fall of Sylvanas Windrunner, Ranger-General of Silvermoon, the soon-to-be Dark Lady who would steal my WoW-heart.

At this point, i'd be in Azeroth for the better part of a decade. I was intimately familiar with orcish culture and magicks, the role of gnomes in human society, and the fear of an undead scourge. My formative gaming years had been heavily marinated in war paint, battle cries, honor contests, glorious deaths.

To me, orcs will always be hulking and green-skinned.

The Burn Phase, or, Things I've Learned as a Geek, Part 2

In any game involving conflict, the player is given an array of options of varying potency and efficiency. This is done to add dynamics to the game, lest it end up as simplistic as tic-tac-toe. In combat-based games, these options are usually limited by certain conditions or qualities in order to balance the system. If one were allowed to use your most powerful tactic whenever one pleased, the game would quickly become one-dimensional and boring.

In World of Warcraft (for example), each character class is given certain powerful abilities which can only be used every so often. These abilities are categorically referred to as "cooldowns" due to the fact that after each use, the ability has to "cool down" before being used again. This core mechanic to the game means that, at any specified point, the combat potency of an individual or group can increase drastically for a short period of time, followed by a equally balanced cool down.

I have learned something about myself in my observations of how i use cooldowns. If the cooldown was short - say, two minutes or less - i would usually have no trouble using it as it was available since i knew that it would most likely be available again when i needed it next. If the cooldown was long, however, - which is anywhere from five minutes to thirty - i found myself stingily hoarding the ability, terrified to use it for fear that it wouldn't be available to me when i truly needed it.

I almost never use any ability with a cooldown of five minutes or more. My fear of misusing my most powerful abilities prevents me from utilizing them at all.

In my life, i know there are many instances of the same fearful behavior. For example, i'd much rather do nothing than fail spectacularly. I'd rather say nothing than cause pain. I'd rather bide my time in hopeful observation than risk getting hurt again and losing what little i had.

Such behavior is based off of a fallacy; it gains you nothing to wait for the perfect moment and so lose any advantage you might have had. Now, i am by no means saying to cast strategy and logical thinking to the wind and act recklessly. I firmly believe that a clear head and a comprehensive array of data is key to discovering the most advantageous move in almost all scenarios. Sometimes, though, fortune truly does favor the bold. Use the advantage when you have it or risk losing it completely.

Sometimes, you should just go all in.

Orly?

I've recently been thinking on a post i wanted to write about the nature of the experience that is a musical concert. Instead, today's post is going to comment more upon the nature of Art as a whole. You see, Twitter brought to my attention Roger Ebert's recent article delineating why video games are not, and can never be, Art. As a rabid geek, self-described gamer, artist, writer, this assertion rankled with me. The riling nature of his opinions are all the more exacerbated by the fact that, as near as i can tell, Mr. Ebert has played few - if any - video games.

This nest-rattling claim was first made way back in 2005 and has been brought up every now and again ever since, responded to by such names as Tycho & Gabe, Kellee Santiago, my fellow writers at Cracked.com, and many others. The debate has only recently come to my attention, although i've held the Gamer's position for many years now, not even considering the opinions of the general masses, let alone considering them for any length of time.

Many good points are made on both sides. Ebert's big talking point - and the one i have the most difficulty refuting - is that the very interactive nature of a game is in conflict with what his conception of what a piece of art is. This view, i must believe, is generally shared with the non-gaming public; Art is viewed, appreciated, experienced, but not "played". The gamers' usual rebuttal begins with Ebert's admission that he's never seen a video game worth playing. Some simply leave it at that, since it proves his stance, however well thought out, comes from a place of complete ignorance regarding the medium. Many, however, go further into the fray, formulating complex arguments with all the rich design that one would see in the programming of one of their exemplary games. And that is why this fight will never end.

Eventually, all the arguments come down to trying to define what Art is in such a way that their view point falls within its parameters and the other side's doesn't. Obviously, any rhetorical conflict is doomed to idiocy when the parties involved cannot agree upon the definitions which make up the very foundation of any point they might try to make. It seemed Ebert tried to clarify this at least once, in 2007, when he admitted that what he should have said is that, "games could not be high art, as i understand it", but since has become so mired in his single-minded position that the thesis of his most recent article is simply "Video Games Can Never Be Art". This claim is the last nail in the coffin Gamer Good Will.

Let's go a couple steps back and look at why i consider video games to qualify as Art. First off, let me say that i do not believe all games to be Art, just as i don't think all music or movies are Art. Wilco's "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot" is a paramount of modern rock and roll and rewards careful and repeated listens, but i'd get pretty stabby if someone tried to tell me that the new Hannah Montana album is Art. Gus Van Sant's "Elephant", yes. Keenan Wayans' "Scary Movie 2", no. I think its safe to say that all examples do not have to qualify in order to claim that the medium can be considered Art. With that supposition in mind, i formulated my own definition of Art, then talked to my brother (of Good Night, States fame) for his thoughts. His thoughts are thus:

Art is that which is crafted using physical means in an attempt to comment on something metaphysical. Personally, while this definition is rather weighty, i think that very factor is important. Good art should strike you in a way which you cannot precisely define. This point is complimentary to my original thought, namely, that art is anything which is both aesthetically pleasing AND evokes an emotional or visceral response in the perceiver. I'm sure there are as many different views on the concept as there are possible readers of these words.

After our conversation, i found myself unable to reconcile a specific aspect of Steve's definition with my own thoughts. The problem is that my definition leaves out the idea of intentionality. Both my brother and Mr. Ebert agree that Art is created by an artist. This is important.

Very few (if any) games are designed to be works of Art. Hell, not many movies these days are, either, but this does not mean that they are not beautiful.

This is the delineation which i believe is causing such a schism. We, the video game-playing generation, have spent decades sharing a metaphysical experience in the interactive, narrative, sometimes-competitive landscape of a plethora of games, video or otherwise. Be it the sweeping story arc of a beloved Dungeon Master or that one cut scene in Final Fantasy Whatever, we have all be touched by a game we have played in a way that just slightly defies explanation. We have found beauty, and it has changed us.

What makes us such a unified front is that these experiences, while often occurring in the stereotypically dank, isolated caverns of our mother's basement, has been shared by millions of gamers. This effect has cleaved us together, mind and soul, with a bond much akin to that shared by the audience of a momentous event, or the brothers-in-arms of a conflict. We all watched Aeris die. We all dread Water Temples. We all know that the cake is a lie. We all recognize the Konami Code. These experiences make up the shared history of Gamers in a way that is no less meaningful than any other demographic-defining denominator.

And this, dear reader, is why we, the gaming community, are so pissed at Roger Ebert. I think Cracked.com writer Robert Brockway put it very well in the closing paragraph of his defense:

"But why even bother with all of this? Ebert himself wonders: 'Why are gamers so intensely concerned, anyway, that games be defined as art? Bobby Fischer, Michael Jordan and Dick Butkus never said they thought their games were an art form….Why aren’t gamers content to play their games and simply enjoy themselves?' And he’s already answered his own question: 'do we as their consumers become more or less complex, thoughtful, insightful, witty, empathetic, intelligent, philosophical (and so on) by experiencing them?' Anybody who’s ever felt even an inkling of something like that from a game is going to be understandably 'concerned' when you insist that they’re lying."

The aging critic is just lucky he doesn't drop any purples, or there'd be a queue to take a crack at him.