You are ranked 70,454th in the leaderboard. Try again?

Blood, sweat and tears are shed over my now-soggy controller as another hour of my life is whisked away by the prospect of recognition. Not a red tape parade in my honour, just my name somewhere on the leaderboard. My slaving efforts prove worthless, as a soda-fuelled gaming marathon results in the simple message: "You are ranked 70,454th in the leaderboard. Try again?" So with that innocent yet prudently demanding message emblazoned on the inside of my skull, I crack on once again at the evil videogame that will continue to suck away hours of my life for no good reason, my only encouragement being that same, small, automated message resulting from my apparent
success.

Hmm. That's interesting. There is no bloody success! Only the failure at the hands of the mighty Top 10. (And many thousands of avid gamers that were anywhere from slightly to significantly better than me.) Yet somehow gamers everywhere are magically willed on by some bitter, invisible force: competition. Millions of people litter Geometry Wars and Halo 3, each one vying to show their superiority. Yet there will always be one slightly better than the other, a pattern which will carry down from the 10 million ranking to the coveted number one.

What's even more interesting is that each one of these gamers has the mindset that they can get their names high up there. But unless they want to piss in a cup while beating their way into the twentieth hour of Asteroids Deluxe with sleep deprevation and crooked finger joints, it's not going to happen. One look at the top ten will prove this, as elite gamers and liberally aggressive geeks practically have parking spots reserved for them on Gears of War. Still, thousands of people will slowly and excrutiatingly burn away their lives on PGR3, hopelessly trying to clamber into League 1 on the Nurburgring time trial. And the rare gamers that have the 'privilage' of standing on that pedestal will be as competitive and possibly masochistic as they come. These people are the ones that poured more hours of their time into said game than the gamers ranked in the hundredths, who simply couldn't pry their eyes open any longer and collapsed in a heap on the floor. Yes, most games require a fairly dedicated time investment, but that seemingly innocuous 'game over' message prompts the most extreme conditions of restless wives and pissed off parents.

And for all these gamers climbing into impossible scoring territory, gamers like me; who see themselves as pretty good on Halo 3 and beat their mates on Gears of War, will be slapped in the face by the fierce online competition and leaderboard stats that will summarize our actual worth. And so, some of us will shrug it off and continue to beat our friends in some split-screen deathmatch, while others will seek to better themselves on the leaderboards, which leads to the process listed above. These gamers will continue to be belly-punched by the ferocity of the leaderboard, which will continue to reward their slaving efforts with a game over sign and the words: "try again?"

Life, death and statistics.

A baby boy is born. From the first time his mother held him, he knew everything would be alright. That boy was raised well, with a clear sense of right and wrong. He worked hard and played hard. Made a lot of friends. Eventually got into university. By graduation, he had decided he wanted to change the world, to do something for the greater good. He was going to make a difference. Meanwhile, troops in Iraq; who thought they were making a difference, die pointlessly, in a war that the government sees as nothing more than a toy chess board-to be manipulated to their hearts content. And when one of those troops die, there are no grievances in Washington. Just a little cross on their checklist of assets. And so is the same for that man who wants to make a difference. The reality has yet to hit him, that he is just another surname in the governments database, along with the millions of others listed that want to make something of their lives. But the truth is, whether they're a lawyer, a nurse or a petrol station worker, they will never amount to anything more than a government statistic.

This isn't to say that they should hate their lives because of it. By all means, become a doctor, get married and raise a family. I'm not debating the point of existence, as that would effectively piss off every philosopher who takes the subject seriously. I don't hate my life. I'm just saying that no matter how great your life is, it is no big deal in the bigger scope of things. The earth doesn't stop spinning when you die. The government doesn't lose any sleep over it. It's the people who really care about you that feel the pang of loss, yet even they aren't worth a damn to the people at the top.

So what it boils down to is whether or not the government sees any value in you. They aren't going to say: "Oh, yeah. He's a great guy, that one is." They're going to see your name and go: "How can we make an asset out of this nobody?" Society is expendable. Every new-born baby is seen as no different to a drug dealer or chief justice of the supreme court. Appearances are skin-deep, as the government is just going to see a long list of names with yours somewhere in it. Anyone who has a dream is simply dreaming, as reality will show them just how futile their attempts are. We are all mere statistics. Nothing more.

Do you know if they know it's Christmas?

If Bono from U2 has taught us anything, it's that there are people in the world much less fortunate than us. Even as I write this, children in Africa are starving to death from famine and getting diseases from malnutrition and harsh living conditions. While there are people out there that care about this and are actively helping those in need, the majority of the first world population are perfectly content to lie in their recliners next to their fireplace, turn on their plasma TV, watch Live Aid and say that they care. Of course, it would be ignorant and cruel of them to say they don't care. I'm sure they feel very sympathetic watching that eye-opening documentary about flood and famine, before turning over to the news and complaining about the light drizzle that's to be expected in the local area.

I am being slightly hypocritical. I; like most others, feel genuinely sorry for those people. But am I inclined to go out there and make a difference? Am I inclined to research the topic further beyond the TV shows? Am I inclined to donate two bloody pounds to charity to aid a starving boy in Africa? The answer is obvious and is one that hopefully you will think long and hard about. The simple truth comes in three general responses: "It's not my job," "How will two quid make a difference" and "It's their problem." Would you answer like one of these? Would you donate money? Would you fly to Africa and give your soul in the people there? Or would you simply say you feel sorry for them?

The people who are out there dying do NOT need your pity. Quite frankly, if you wasn't living life luxuriously enough to own a TV, you would have no clue as to what is going on over there. By watching that TV and saying you care, you are effectively looking into the eyes of a thin African boy in rags, tutting and sighing in dismay and then casting him aside. Maybe it's because we first-world citizens are spoon fed this emotional crap by the the media, showing us the horrors of life over there, yet providing little to no insight on how and why we should help. Maybe it's because we have no real experience of living in such conditions. Or maybe it's just ignorance. So next time somebody says they care, tell them to stop lying to themselves, to go home and watch their TV's and forget about such an audacious notion. It's what would happen anyway.

Have they got no web-sense?

Homework is overdue. Must be finished by the end of break. I boot up the computer, log in, open the web browser, search for some salvation. Google churns out some results. I gratefully click the top website. I thank god for the Internet and the freedom it gives you. Websense. The site is blocked. Gratefulness turns to hatred. I've been stabbed in the back. Shot in the face. Thrown into a lake and left to die. Freedom becomes a far-off dream, drifting further away until it's gone. I am alone now. Homework is overdue.

The schools computer network has never been perfect. Some computers have a low resolution, others can take ten minutes to log in. I've overlooked these problems in the past, but I cross the line when they try to limit our freedom. Downloads are prohibited. Monitors are monitored. Those horrendous desktop backgrounds can't be changed, nor can we add our own files to the desktop. All this pales in comparison to what they've done to the Internet. I understand the need to protect minors from harmful material, but when you can't access a website about historical events or GCSE revision, you can't help but think: WTF!?!

I know what you're thinking. I sound like your typical disgruntled student who can't access his favourite flash game websites and so is blogging the issue on here. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't. For every hundred Google pages under the search term "flash games", there is one; maybe two, websites that aren't blocked. Why? During a conversation with an IT teacher, he told us that websense was there to protect us from weirdo's and such, or just generally harmful content. But how this necessitates blocking a rather innocent flash game website, I will never know. That teacher was only giving us half the news. The truth is, they don't want us doing anything on their computers other than the work they set. And I have heard many teachers threaten us with this. "If you're not doing work, it's an hour's detention. Any website not related to work and your in for it." This is what you here during a free period. But the problem is, nearly every website not directly approved by the school is likely to end up blocked. They want to eliminate all distractions, yet in doing so have dangerously imposed on our freedom in surfing the web. And if freedom is what the internet is all about- be it the freedom to say or to play what you like, then it is no longer an enterprise of freedom for anyone undergoing education. If I didn't have a home computer, then I wouldn't be writing this blog. My opinion would never be voiced. The school would assume total control over how the internet is used. And the homework will still be overdue.

Saw- Losing it's edge?

There is a thin line between phsycological horror and random acts of pre-meditated murder with the saw series. Unfortunately, that line is made of piano wire and attached to a series of spikes. Apparently, the 'life-teacher' known as Jigsaw and the disturbed murderer Darren Lynn Bousman don't want anything crossing this line. So the two sub-genres stay separated, the influence of the original saw film aching to re-united with it's later iterations. If it wasn't for the chain round it's leg, it wouldn't have to lower itself to random acts of violence like; say, cutting it's own foot off with a saw. But alas, after the poor unfortunate soul has done the deed, the director stands up in a pool of blood, closes the door and leaves the phsycological horror genre to rot.

As a result, the series succumbed to the "torture porn" genre, trading a severed limb for millions of wrenched guts. The old Jigsaw; who put his "subjects" in what you may call an ironic life lesson, involving harsh moral decisions and a wee bit of self-harm- is gone. Now Bousman decided grungy bathroom, two men and one saw wasn't enough. He had a blood lust that could only be settled with- you guessed it: blood. And guts. And twisted limbs. And nitrogen gas on naked woman. And drowning men in slaughtered pigs' guts. The list is endless. There was no lesson to be taught through these trials. They were conceived merely to show an unsuspecting audience what limb can be twisted which way. That's the lesson. It won't change a persons life. But it'll take it.

If the later saw films could be judged on one factor, it would be visceral response. The films (excluding the first, of course) have been praised and criticised for the 'churning' factor. If you get a weird taste in the back of the mouth, you're either overly engrossed in the film's grotesque tortures, or are picturing too vividly the effect of the tortures on-screen to your own body, were you in that situation. For me, the only reason I may have been physically affected by the film's graphic nature would be because I found it sickening how a director could stray so far from a series roots. I think it's time for Bousman to say "game over."

"Finish the fight? Or fight online?"

Imagine. September 26th. Sweaty, Slothful teenagers all over the world will fire up their 360's in a bid to finish the fight. They will finish that fight. Then they will fight each other on the hallowed ground that is the Xbox Live arena. Blood will be shed. Lives will be lost. Not just the various Master Chiefs that litter Valhalla, but the sweaty, slothful teenagers that splashed their oh-so-precious cash on the next First-Person-Shooter.

Before I come down on one side, let me make it perfectly clear that I think Halo 3 looks like a great game. It appears to take everything that makes a staple FPS work and then blows it up to the point of bursting. The gameplay looks sublime, the graphics are brilliant and as for the sound-well, you listen to thirty seconds of the soundtrack and tell me you’re not amazed. But it's beyond these factors where Halo 3 stands out. The Forge editor, 4-player online co-op, a dynamic replay editor and advanced; if not amusing, AI's are just a few examples of Halo's highlights that separate it from the rest of the crowd, thus thrusting it into the hearts and minds of gamers and non-gamers alike. Most of this attention is not from the game itself, rather from the title "Halo," the epic advertising campaign and over three years of hype.

Whether it's the cinema ads, the cliff-hanger from Halo 2 or the legions of fans posting 10.0 reviews before they've even played the game, Halo 3 has the hype of a high-powered rollercoaster. And those sweaty teenagers are buying it! Read the reviews. 9.5 on IGN and Gamespot. Now listen to what they’re saying. “Halo 3 is awesome! The Forge editor, the co-op, OMFG! But it was a bit overhyped.” At the end of the day, is hype not all Halo 3 has going for it? Sure, the game itself is great, but before the reviews hit the net some time yesterday, sweaty teenage gamers with acne and obsessive-compulsive disorder (Gears of War insane, anyone?) would have gladly believed what Bungie wanted them to believe. It’s a case of “ignorance is bliss” and the 1 million-upwards pre-orders online and in stores are testament to this.

Despite this, come Wednesday, every teenager and game-obsessed man-child is going to be clawing at game shelves, ravishing their ill-deserved copies of Halo 3. Then, for the next four years of their life, no-one will see them, except their 60-year-old mother bringing them soda refills so as to prolong their headshot marathons and machinima rip-off wannabes. With this lot, the fight will never be finished. And Bungie couldn’t be happier...

A new brain age of gaming.

I'm sure we've all seen the advert. You know, the one where a "typical" family of hired actors sit around the living room on Brain Training pretending to be enjoying themselves, even the teenage daughter who obviously has nothing better to do with her thriving social life. A few weeks ago, I would have remained firmly rooted to the belief that such activity by means of solving calculations was nothing short of insane. But then I saw it.
Sitting on the table in our dining room was a neatly packaged copy of Brain Training. "It's for your sister," my dad informed me. I dismissed it at the time, but fifteen minutes of gameplay proved me wrong. Contrary to my arrogant beliefs, it turned out to be a really good game. I fell in love with the Sudoku and indulged in the idea that the billions of thoughts and processes flying through your mind every second could be judged by the most eccentric and blocky faced Doctor I've ever seen. And you haven't been to my local hospital!
Fairly soon, a new idea formed between me and my brother- that we could compete aggressively to have a higher brain age. I shut that infernal Nintendo advert out my mind and focused it on the dual screen that rested before me. After bringing a questionable brain age of 80 to 37, I realised that by playing daily I could best my brother with my superiority, a notion hopefully shared by anyone with a sibling. This contradicted Nintendo's plan. We were playing daily, yes, but we were on a whole different level than those people on the train into London.
With all this going on, I overlooked the fact that my dad and seven-year-old sister were on the brain wagon. Hopefully no-one else would jump on it. With almost the whole families brain ages on that fateful touch screen, I thought of that Nintendo advert. I thought of the crap actors, how they may have been playing their role well. (As suming they were actors) I thought of that teenage girl, how maybe she didn't have anything better to do, but not because she was a loser. But most of all, I thought of the way they sat around laughing and happily chugging away on the thought train. This contrasted with our family, who's intense competition was the equivelent of either a chainsaw-revving shooter, or several rounds in the bull pit wearing a red cape and armed with a bloody pole.