The F2P In-Game Economy is a post from: Kill Ten Rats
ARAM is a post from: Kill Ten Rats
DocHoliday's MMO Saloon
DocHoliday's MMO Saloon - LOTRO, Secret World, & Rift with an End-Game View
For me Update 11 has been a bit of a mixed bag. There are a number of cool little things they’ve put into the game and of course the new epic story line, but I can’t help but be overly frustrated by the lack of quality and revision control that Turbine continues to show with its launches. There’s [...]
The Ups and Downs of LOTRO’s Update 11
In her May 1st segment "Are Video Games Ruining Your Life?", Katie Couric blew it. She reduced the complicated issues of parenting, psychology, and violence in media to a bumpersticker-slogan solution.
We've had this conversation more than once over the years. So rather than reflexively taking her out behind the rhetorical woodshed, we took some time to gather up our facts. Hopefully, as a parenting veteran and [according to my editor] "expert in parenting in a gaming household," I can bring up a couple points from my experiences, and, most importantly, point out some tools and resources people can use to decide how they want their household to run.
[NW] Development at Cryptic is a post from: Kill Ten Rats
[NWN] Development at Cryptic is a post from: Kill Ten Rats
[GW2] The Crab Grab Hustle is a post from: Kill Ten Rats
I have now been forty years old for thirteen hours, if my birth certificate is to be believed. Like so many others before me, and so many more to come, what I find is that being forty is exactly like being thirty-nine, except people are more likely to make fun of your age. What this tells me is that there is a meaningful lack of good 39-year-old jokes, but really not much else. I woke up this morning the same way I always do: with a big, cleansing stretch; the metal sound of the piece of titanium in my heart echoing up my jugular vein; and a notable disquiet at the acrid taste of morning breath in my mouth. The rare pleasure of sleeping in on a beautiful day off from work was not fully appreciated.
I’ve started my day in what feels like a relatively cliché way. I took a shower, put on a blue, collared shirt; checked my work email out of habit; packed my golf clubs into the trunk of my Lexus; and proceeded to knock about on what Mark Twain has described as a “good walk spoiled.” It occurred to me on the seventh hole, after I’d shanked my tee-shot into the deep rough near some trees, that perhaps I wasn’t getting the most out of my day — that, from certain perspectives, I was locked into the archetype of forty-year-old, middle-management, white guy to an extent that would perhaps seem sad. But then after a nice recovery shot (if I do say so myself), I snapped the picture on this article on my walk to the green as I realized that this was the kind of day for which I would wait through six months of winter.
Thing is, I’m in a place where I hesitate to talk about how I feel about my life, because I’m afraid it will come off as bragging. That’s a luxury and a sense of self-worth I’ve not had for many of the 14,610 days I’ve been alive to date. What I have become is the sum in the equation of a stretch of time much of which I would prefer never to live again. As the late-spring sun warmed my shoulder and I three-putted to a double bogey, I found myself with plenty of time to take a brief stock of my life.