The Netfly

I usually write some pretty bad nonfiction, as most of the readers of the Injun* know. Those who know me also know that I also write all sorts of terrible fiction that I usually keep to myself. Today, I figured I’d put up some of this shit and see how it goes.

Fuckin’ With Kilroy (not porn, I promise)

It was way early in the morning and we were fucking with Kilroy. You may remember Kilroy del Dancefighter Estallion the Third from when I fired his ass unceremoniously from the Injun for suggesting that my output was lacking and that he had to pick up the slack. That’s just something you don’t tell the editor, motherfucker.

I had a few things to tell Kilroy. “You suck at time shadows,” I half-croaked. After all the coffee, and cigarettes, and yelling things at people, my usually impressive voice was taxed and totally punk rock. “Look, he’s sad, you fucked it up.”

“Stop failing!” shouts another friend, as Kilroy misses the puzzle piece again. I started to think that Kilroy wasn’t as much of a time travel understander as I previously thought, and decided to drag my laptop outside so I could smoke.

On the way out, I heard Kilroy say “I’m going to make this jump just to spite you guys,” followed by more screeches from the peanut gallery.

Outside was cold and colder, thanks to the constant wind that goes through the city. I sat on the yellow scooter just outside the shop, one bought for transportation that found more utility as a place to sit and smoke. Or in my case, a place to sit and smoke and write.

We spent the entire day at our home away from home, a little place on the far eastern side of the city known as Game On!, exclamation point and everything. I’m not exactly good at sitting still, and Game On! is one of the few places in town that I could actually do so for more than a few hours. We were on hour nine or so, which is extraordinary, mind-blowing, and typically Saturday behavior.

I looked through the window and watched Kilroy deftly manuever through a puzzle that I once saw him trip up on for over an hour. As he tripped up on the boss in the next level, the manager of the store yelled something I couldn’t quite hear. I wanted to, though, and I was done typing anyway, so I stomped out my cigarette butt and headed back in.

I’ve been off the gaming beat lately, folks. Yesterday marked the first time in a little while that I could actually dedicate some time to it. It’s not that I haven’t tried, it’s just that my usual raging boner for video games seems to have gone, err, soft. Seriously, this has never happened to me before, not in the nineteen years I can remember hating Bugs Bunny’s Birthday Blowout.

It’s been a nice break, though; not gaming has made me really appreciate the times I get to toss my hat in and wreck shit. I played the Brutal Legend* demo that night, and elevated its status from ‘probably one of the best games ever’ to ‘probably the most fucking important thing to ever happen to humanity, and yes I’m including the invention of the nuclear missile’. I also got to watch some people fool around on Scribblenauts, which is a joy for someone so in love with words as myself.

(the best part of that one was when mothman ended up driving an anti-air vehicle around and shooting indiscriminately at the player)

So, in the terms of cutting-edge games journalism**, I’m down but not out. I’ll be sure to sound the sirens if anything important happens, but for now I’m out living like a goddamn alive motherfucker.

*umlauts omitted on account of a raid by the Umlaut Police

**something that has never been, and never will be done on the Injun

Classic Pump: I dunno?

Well I promised you bastards an article, and I’ll be damned if I don’t make at least some semblance of an effort to deliver.  I just got back from a tournament in The South, specifically North Carolina and Virginia.  I had previously acquainted myself with Raleigh during other traveled.  Virginia was new to me.  If there is ever a state that could be accidentally mistaken for a golf course, Virginia fits the bill.  Other than that there isn’t much I can say.  I flew 6 hours to Raleigh, and then hitched a ride with a local furry chap for the 4 hour drive to the location.  Immediately after we crossed the border we were severely accosted by local authorities.  Ostensibly for excessive speed and driving in the median, but such a pretense is ridiculous.  This was quite plainly an instance of fursecution, and also clearly of athletic intolerance, as speeding is the name of the game for Pump players.  (cue worlds faintest rimshot.  Seriously, wikipedia will be necessary to understand the humour of the last sentence fragment.)

Anyways, this tournament was supposed to be a shot across the bow for all the bastards of the classic pump community.  I have been involved in a number of high profile quarrels in the past, both over my tournament record and over my involvement with Pro.  It started with the pretty dramatic botching of the MMSD pump tournament way back in the summer of 2007, in Omaha.  To explain further it will be necessary for me to deliver some context.

Music games other than guitar hero and rock band have something called a timing window.  This differentiates between different levels of accuracy when hitting a note, as opposed to simple hit and miss.  In classic pump, it is extremely easy to hit notes with the highest level of accuracy.  However, there is also something in dance games called machine score.  For the longest time I thought it operated through some sort of voodoo magic, and to a certain extent I still think that plays a role.  In pump, the machine calculates score something like this:

Perfect = +200

Great = +100

Good = 0

Bad = -100 and combo break

Miss = -200 and combo break

In addition, everything good or better increases combo and every combo over 50 adds something like +200 per note.  A combo break resets this, essentially making a bad worth as much as -11,000 and a miss worth as much as -12,000 (from optimum score, being an FPC or full perfect combo.)

In contrast, music games like DDR, ITG, and more recently Pump Pro have not included combo in their machine scoring mechanisms.  Tournament organizers have also made no effort to stress combo play.  They have, however, made efforts to remove it from pump.  This is what happened at MMSD.  It happened badly.

Let me elaborate.  A system where minus points are delivered for certain levels of innacuracy is absolutely necessary to PA (perfect attack) play.  This was not done at MMSD.  Instead, 1 point was awarded per perfect, no other factors were considered.  This makes a miss of exactly as much consequence as a great.  This means a player such as myself could literally ignore the more technical parts of songs, focus on getting perfects on the easy parts, and win.  The technical patterns in question are what classic pump players center most of their training around learning how to hit.  They determine who the winner is in any sort of high level play, and rightfully so.

There were other sins committed as well, but none of them quite so egregious.  Anyways, way back in the day I took second (of 6) at the tournament in question.  A list of winners of the tournament went up.  My name was omitted.  About a year later I revisited the topic and complained.  Apparently this was taken as a sign of an ego problem, triggering a drama cascade which continues until this day.

So there’s a whole load of rather specific context.  More broadly, classic pump players tend to hate PA based systems and prefer combo based systems.  Why?  I can’t be sure.  As far as I have been able to discern, combo play only makes accuracy less important to the extent that sliding is easier than turning.  This is profoundly ironic given the stated emphasis classic pump players place on turning.  The real epiphany for me came when playing a song called Love is a Danger Zone, which is filled with rather complex turns.  I had learned them all, and in the process I had raised my score on Pro to a 96%, which I’m told is in roughly the top 6 recorded scores in the world.  I had 5 misses.  Asking Jboy if this was a competitive miss count for classic pump, he flat out told me no.  Then he showed me how it was customary to play it.  He comboed the most technical section without turning, finishing with a dramatically low percent score.

PA based pump play incorporates turning, and it incorporates comboing by necessity except in very specific cases, those ironically being difficult turns which can be better comboed by sliding or double stepping than by turning.  That much I have learned, and am confident of.  Hence from experience I have concluded that the classic pump purists do not actually understand the game.  Their issue can only be the lack of applicability of combo-based strategy to PA systems; It is my firm impression that PA-based strategy has greater applicability to combo-based gameplay than vice versa.  Certainly more than the purists would care to admit.

This tournament was supposed to be a test case.  Instead, it ended up being pretty close to Omaha all over again.  About 18 people were supposed to show up.  It ended up being 5.  I took first, but I can’t even begin to claim any sort of consequence to it.  I did not even perform to my own satisfaction, picking up misses on songs I am accustomed to FPC-ing consistently.  In the entire tournament, I believe there was only one song I lost.  It was Bemera CZ, and as far as I know I only lost because I gave up halfway through the (5 minutes of 200 BPM drills of the) song.

I wanted to consider the importance of strategy on PA vs combo systems, as opposed to simple skill.  I cannot really evaluate that at present.  My hypothesis was that it would be harder to consistently combo a song than to play it for accuracy, and that this would lead to players being strong on certain songs and weak on others, hence making information about other players more important.  I suspected this because of some of the more eccentric pump charts, and the techniques they required for comboing.  I realize now that to the largest extent, PA techniques translate to comboing techniques, and there are not enough eccentric charts to lessen the importance of simple skill.  The tested skill set just broadens to incorporate sloppy techniques like sliding.

Foot alternation does not change in utility.  Hand use does not change in utility.  Turning decreases in utility.  That is the only discernable difference I have so far encountered.  The only other issue I could possibly consider is which style of play requires greater consistency.  It seems to me that combo based play might, and that this would stress the importance of stamina more than usual.  Given the higher priority of sliding techniques, and the lack of sufficient evidence to examine, it is hard to rule either way.  My intuition tells me that stamina and consistency are marginally more important in classic pump than in pro.  It also tells me the difference isn’t enough to actually make a difference for a high level player.

I lost my opportunity to shut them up this time, but I have a renewed sense of dedication to that purpose now.  Classic pump, by all measures I can yet see, is an inferior game for an inferior player.  Also, all I won for my troubles was a copy of Fallout 3.  They didn’t even give out door prizes as promised.  So yeah, now I have a $400 dollar copy of Fallout 3.  Maybe I’ll review that sometime.

– Kilroy

Kilroy’s Millions

Mazo’s journal. Kilroy called. Said he’s rich beyond mildest dreams. Could I have some? Must investigate.

Saw the Watchmen movie. Twice. Thought it was good. Now we need some burgers.

Nevermind

And thus ended my first, and likely last, Martial Arts tournament.  Oh wait, I haven’t written anything yet.

The day started off bad enough.  I had to wake up much earlier than I would have preferred.  That’s hardly a solid start.  Really though I should have known based on the previous day, which consisted of 4 hours of sitting around and a direct order to eat food.  I don’t like food.  Well, maybe when it’s free, like some of it was, but not even then really.

So the Taekwondoka thing apparently consists entirely of breaking boards, patterns, and sparring that lacks any sort of legitimate contact.  I thought that maybe this wasn’t the case, and that training was different from tournament play.  I was wrong.  I hung around the scene too long.  Bad things happened.  I broke someone’s arm, caused structural damage to someones diaphragm, and worst of all I put on muscle.  By the time the tournament came around I should have been long gone.  One of the only things that kept me there was the commitment I had made to team patterns, and I knew my team would directly suffer if I didn’t show.  Of course it’s not like things could have been much worse in that area.

It was the first event of the day.  Understandably everyone was still tired.  I’m not sure how that excuses this shit though.  I can understand staying awake until 3am the day before a tournament; I can’t approve, but I can understand.  No, what was really ridiculous was contained squarely in how shit went down.  First off there was the 5 minutes or so of everyone in my team running over ideas while we were at attention waiting to be called up.  Then there was the little issue of a dispute over who should call the commands, which ended in two different people calling them at 3 different times.

I wasn’t innocent in all this.  I suppose, however, that I could say my crime stemmed from rashly trying to compensate for the failures of my teammates.

So that ended poorly.  There were still 2 other events though, surely they would go better!

Armed with early morning tiredness combined with bounded optimism, I prepared for the breaking tournament.  It started with one of my classmates failing to break 2 boards.  Then there was this conversation, which went on for about 10 minutes:

“Man, that’s one gnarly knot in that board.  I’m going to wait until someone else breaks that board.  Do you want to go?”

“No, I don’t want to go.  I’m going to wait until someone else breaks that board.”

“Well I don’t want to break that board.”

“I don’t want to break that board either.”

“Excuse me tournament director, can we break a different board?”

“No I am the tournament director you can only break the board I put there I am the tournament director.”

After what seemed like an eternity of that, I stepped forward and, fearing the board of doom, neglected to put up additional boards.  Then with my mighty foot of justice I smited the damned thing to the 9th circle of tree and tree product hell, allowing the breaking tournament to continue.  Did I get thanks from anyone for this dirty work?  Did anyone stop to realize that things would have been different for me under different circumstances, that by taking this task upon myself I removed myself from competition?  No, of course not.  No praise for a fallen American hero.

The only interesting part of the tournament happened in the 10 hours between this and the third event.  I was called upon to coach Talon, a fighter who even at his young age has managed to have a totally badass name.  Thanks to what I could only possibly credit as my outstanding ability to shout platitudes and contextually inappropriate advice, he rose to 2nd place in his division.  None of the other coaches were skilled enough in that department, and I maintain the only reason he didn’t take first was because of the superior size and reach advantage of the other coach.  He also happened to be a grand master but whatever.

Then I stood around for 100 hours.  In defense of the tournament organizers, the standing took place in a large number of different locations, but if I am paying to stand then I would expect the standing to be much higher quality than what was provided here.  This was hardly even well thought out standing.

When it finally came time to do what I was most looking forward to, sparring, I had been standing around for at least 1000 hours.  Other people had ruined the fun and used excessive contact to the point someone ended up going to the hospital.  There was a big lecture about it, in which the tournament organizer, my instructor, told people that TKD was not about hitting people and that they should do MMA if they wanted to hit people.  Point taken, but also hilarious.

So I got up there and was worried purely about not having a repeat of previous incidents in a highly public, official setting.  So I didn’t throw a single technique with any sort of commitment or enthusiasm, and was promptly run over by a proper Irishman doing what came naturally to him; moving directly forward and punching a lot.  This strategy proved so successful that he took first place completely without incident.  The tournament was single elimination, and there were 5 people in the bracket.  This means 3 lost in their first match.  However for whatever arbitrary reason one of them was given a bye.  Because of that, he took 3rd in the bracket.  No,  no round robin or anything, and double elimination is apparently much too tedious, but a person deserves a medal if they managed to beat the fictitious person designed to balance brackets.

I mean Bye isn’t even good.  He’s been in damn near every tournament I’ve ever been in, sometimes in multiple brackets and sometimes even in the same bracket multiple times, yet he’s never won so much as a single match.  Bye sucks.  If I had been up against him, I would certainly have won, and so would anyone else, yet for whatever reason one person was seeded against him.  So that one person took 3rd.  That person, who prepared for the tournament by staying awake until 3am.  Talk about getting blown by the brackets.

This tournament was offensive in a number of ways.  Standing around doing nothing for 10000 hours was offensive.  Patterns, team patterns, breaking, sparring, the perfect body of the EMT (minus her injured Diaphram), the lectures, the pomposity, and the sheer ratio of tourney-faggotry not perpetrated by me over actual tournament, all make me pretty confident I wasted several hundred dollars.  There wasn’t even the possibility of a money finish even, just of a trophy.  That’s basically just a shiny, physical representation of the words “good job“.

So I think I’m done with martial arts.  I liked Judo better, but I was putting on muscle doing all of this stuff and I would like to at least try and salvage something of the figure I once had, before I start transitioning in a few months.  Also this is definitely not all just an elaborate excuse to avoid the problems and difficulties that would arise from training martial arts while transitioning, shut up.

my traveled

i went for a traveled again.  it was longer this time.  i went on it because there ws was dancing games.  they didnt have the dancing game that i went there for though and because of that they are a liar and i hate them.  i had a layover in new jersey.  new jersy isfunny.  the only buildings in new jersey are in new york.  here is a piture.

new jersy

even though the game that i went there for was not there when i got there except at jboys house where it wasnt in the tournament there were a bunch of games.  the games that there were there was impressive.  there was lots of impressive scores.  here are the picures

a persons did this by their own

this was done at an aw in new jersie

i met a bunch of people there and stayed in attic

ONE OF THE PEOPLE THERE WAS EVERY PEOPLE, INCLUDING ME.  I took a picture.

Mr everyone

a guy got 5 on determiiatator.  it was fun.  the end.

Professionalism

The Infinity Injun no chousenjou prides itself on our high standards as a video game publication.  To that end, it was a while ago that Mazo* commissioned a professional quality theme song and intro, as is commonly expected of all such publications.  It still somewhat of a work in progress.  However, this is what I have managed to produce as of yet.  I humbly present it to you, the reader, for your enjoyment.  I hope it properly represents the quality and dignity of our publication.

*As represented through official transitive psuedo-proxy via publication associate (me)

Zanac is pretty awesome

It is. What other shooter gives you eight different weapons and way too many enemies to fight?

Besides Radiant Silvergun.

Anyway, I’m here to sound the Official Infinity Injun Horn of Complete Victory for Kilroy, for… well, he’ll explain. Afterwards, I’m heading back to the sewers to play the Official Infinity Injun Moody Organ of Almost Beating Clash At Demonhead. Then, cheap beer.

After-Thanksgiving After-Action After-Report

Happy day after Thanksgiving, everyone! Today’s the day when America collectively recovers from eating too damn much turkey, watching football all day, and being civil to family members for a change. It’s the start of an entire month of dishes made from leftovers, cursing the cold weather, being pissed at things, getting sick as a fucking dog, eventually remembering that Christmas is around the corner and everyone you know will be expecting presents, so on and so forth.

Both Kilroy and I have a habit of getting everyone we know cheap games, regardless of whether the recipient has the system in question or not. Last time he got me Mortal Kombat, six months before I got my Genesis and another copy of the same damn game. The year before that I got everyone five-dollar PSX games I assumed they’d like. I was right on the money, but had to give up copies of Wild Arms 2 and Galerians to my excessive festive mood.

(I wasn’t looking for either of those games, of course, I just wanted them because I didn’t have them.)

But enough of that. You wanna know what I did this Thanksgiving? I don’t care if you don’t, but I played games all day. After spending most of the week trying to reassemble my Genesis and one of my fifty thousand Super Nintendos, I felt like playing for a while. I almost beat Ghostbusters, I got three emeralds in Sonic The Hedgehog, I even started a new city in the SNES SimCity, AKA the best SimCity ever.

Oh, and I took apart my Genesis arcade stick, since it has this habit of leaning up a little when you hit left or right. This is downright mean in a game like Ghostbusters. So I pulled it apart and found out that it does that because of the weird-ass stick and buttons it uses. On top of that, screwing it all back together too tightly makes the stick totally unmovable, so now it’s out of commission until I do all the math required to get everything screwed in properly. But I guess I’ve been meaning to get a six-button controller anyway.

Kilroy’s out of town and lacking the internet, so sucks to be him.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I’m sure there’s a lot I could say about this.