samred.com | ©2010 Sam Machkovech

Portfolio samples and contact info are linked in the column to the left.

The short answer: samred.com doesn’t have much content up because I’ve been busy at PubliCola.net, Seattle’s News Elixir, as its GameNerd columnist. Additionally, my freelance work for magazines and my tutoring work for 826 Seattle have filled out most of my free time. If you’re anxious to see what I’m up to, hit up PubliCola, subscribe to my Twitter feed, or be a pal and send e-mail (contact info, as always, is linked in the left sidebar).

If you don’t see another update at samred.com in the near future, assume that 2010 is treating me well. Hope yours is, too.

[NOTE: This PAX'09 wrap-up concludes my series of posts on the Expo at Seattle's PubliCola.net.]

If it’s the “biggest games show in the nation,” what does that mean?

For last weekend’s 6th annual Penny Arcade Expo, you can take your pick of answers: Expanding to the WSCC’s 6th floor to max out the hall. Surpassing an attendance count of 60,000. The number of video and board games that were free to play. The number of game industry hotshots who spoke at panels. The number of swine flu cases—enough to nationally rebrand the virus as H1Nerd1.

I saw a different answer beyond the massive crowds, the bombardment of screens, and the electricity bills. This year, more than any before it, PAX was a known quantity in its hometown.

“Wish I could be there!” my bus driver hollered as a college kid boarded with his PAX badge around his neck. Lest her nerd cred be questioned, the driver rapped with this guy for a second about the new World of Warcraft expansion. In the back of the same bus, another woman talked about PAX and video games in general, then harassed everyone around her about Wired’s recent “real life” game story.

As has been PAX tradition, the show has no promotional budget. The show sends e-mails to the press and hoists banners downtown, but that’s it. PAX isn’t on the same local level as the Seahawks reaching the Super Bowl, but PAX chatter was audible for the past week. Whether I heard it on buses, at restaurants, at bars, or in stores, PAX no longer required explanations of what the letters stand for.

Even the grayest-haired woman working the door didn’t need an explanation. WSCC staffer Doreen is plenty familiar with the world of PAX, though that might be because of her son. “He likes video games, but not these kinds of video games,” she told me Saturday night, explaining he was more of a military-war gamer (a fact that distressed her). “I used to take my three kids to the Wizards [of the Coast] store, where they’d play Magic, or Dungeons & Dragons, or those kinds of games. Now…” she trailed off. I asked if her kids have “moved on.”

“Well,” Doreen said as sweetly as she could, “I’ll just say that it’s nice to see people enjoying these fantasy worlds so much. It’d be nice if sometimes they spent less energy building the fantasy and more energy on their reality.”

I smiled and nodded, trying to be sweet, but I’d reached such a different conclusion by then. See, I asked most PAX-goers questions like “What’s been your favorite thing at PAX?” and “What are you most excited about this year,” and it took a while to make sense of their lousy answers. I almost shrugged it off by saying gamers are too shy to make good conversation.

But all those people were on to something. PAX isn’t a show with prominent spikes, but a zone of sustained fun. This year, that was the case more than ever, as PAX’s makers had finally cleared up the logistical hiccups of years past to make things like waiting in lines and attending panels much more bearable. Also, maybe it’s just my recession obsession talking here, but the escapism of PAX felt invigorating—nobody was bitching about jobs, money, or major changes in their lives. Game makers and players alike reveled in an almost otherworldly comfort zone. For just a few days, I didn’t have to spend energy on my reality, which felt great, especially when cast in the shadow of my last bus ride home. I’d left my PAX badge around my neck, so the alpha douche of the drunken Bumbershoot cotillion near me laughed: “You must’ve come from the dork convention!” (Again, PAX is a known quantity… though not always a plus.)

He spent the rest of the bus ride talking ignorant crap (reality TV, jokes about homeless people) with his pals TweedlePhi and TweedleDelta, while I fondly recalled the people I met via hour-long D&D games, 8-player battle games, thoughtful panels, and waiting in lines. Games were our hook, but they weren’t our only common interest, and it wasn’t uncommon to see players exchange contact info to keep the PAX fun going through the year. The way my hecklers were shouting on the bus, I imagine their eardrums were too blown to even bother talking to strangers at their fest.

It was the least nerdy-looking PAX ever, as well, if you can believe it. More attendees meant fewer fewer obese, stinky, costumed, and otherwise stereotypical folks standing out in the crowd. The ages, the genders, the sizes, and other factors made the PAX’09 crowd look, honestly, like a Seahawks crowd. Go team.

More PAX photos after the jump.

Read the rest of this entry »

[NOTE: This is a preview of my first post for PubliCola. I'll take it down from here once it goes live at my new games writing home.]

The back of Jerry Holkins‘ head is distinctive. Clean-shaven, pale, and typically atop a slooping pair of shoulders and a plain, black shirt, it’s easy to spot if you’re looking for it.

Jerry Holkins, co-creator of the Penny Arcade Expo, stands in front of a PAX'09 banner

This weekend, over 60,000 gamers will descend upon the gaming fest he co-created, the Penny Arcade Expo, at the Washington State Convention Center. Here, Holkins will put the back of his head on display, though not intentionally. Just so happens it’ll be the only part you can see when his face is glued to one of the zillions of screens at PAX’09 while he joins the crowd to sample the biggest video games in the world.

If he can find time to play, at least. I stumbled upon Holkins’ head this afternoon outside the WSCC as he took a break from today’s PAX setup. After saying hello, asking him to turn around, and making small-talk, I remarked, “See you later.” He jokingly, but tersely, replied, “No, you won’t.”

Holkins and his Penny Arcade cohort, Mike Krahulik, sought to keep up with last year’s record-breaking crowd by expanding PAX’s floor space and adding more panels, more games, more everything. Fans responded by buying every ticket a week before doors opened. This is the first hobbyist con ever held in Seattle in which fans cannot buy a ticket at the door. Holkins, taking a brief respite from the action with a roadside crepe, looked like a bald man unsure of what he’d gotten himself into.

Inside the WSCC, volunteers looked less flabbergasted, putting final touches on the show in decidedly geeky fashion. A cart full of Vizio HDTVs required two people to push it; another volunteer whizzed past, gliding on Wheelies shoes while holding a mini fridge. Another few carts went by, full of Magic The Gathering playing cards and A/V equipment for PAX’s nighttime concerts. One of those was manned by one of the many utilikilt-wearers in sight.

When a volunteer hit up a booth to sign in, he wasn’t asked to present his full name or ID. “What’s your handle?” the booth-runner asked, and when the volunteer responded with a word that sounded like “Al-khan,” he didn’t have to spell it to get his credentials. Next to these guys stood MC Frontalot, a “nerdcore” rapper who has performed at many PAX iterations. The guy–also complete with bald head–wore nine VIP badges around his neck. Geek bling!

I got close enough to sneak a peek at the main exhibition hall, which has tripled in size since last year. Seeing that scene of TVs, computers, game systems, and elaborate sets made me want to see the electricity bill for three days of PAX. Check PubliCola.net throughout tomorrow to hear about the best of those toys, along with panel impressions, crowd conversations, photos of crazies in costumes, and perhaps reports of rubbing poor Holkins’ bald head when he’s not looking.

Effective this week, I am joining Seattle news and arts outlet PubliCola.net as its GamesNerd. I have been proud to write about gaming for over two years in Seattle, and with PubliCola, I look forward to intensifying that writing with more local coverage and, as a result, more national impact.

A few things you can expect:

* PubliCola.net will be home to the city’s most comprehensive coverage of this weekend’s Penny Arcade Expo, full of panel impressions, hands-on game reports, and chats with the region’s most promising indie game makers. It’s the biggest gaming festival in the nation—not to mention the first hobbyist con to ever sell out in the Seattle area—and I’m proud to once again deliver the coverage that its rabid fanbase merits. Keep your eyes on PubliCola this Friday, Saturday, and Sunday for PAX impressions, or come back after the Labor Day holiday for a comprehensive wrap-up.

* Within the next week, my first feature will debut for PubliCola. My report on the state of Seattle’s games industry doesn’t just tell the history, nor does it settle on congratulating our status as top gaming zone in the nation. It takes a hard look at why the industry has remained the region’s cultural stepchild for so long and how it can shine in the face of a down economy.

* Weekly updates at PubliCola will go beyond the typical reviews-driven fare, seeking out our region’s game makers, promoters, and players to tell the best gaming stories in the region.

If you’re a part of the regional games scene—from the biggest producer to the lowliest clan member—don’t hesitate to contact me. I’d love to feature you in future articles at PubliCola. Contact info is in the sidebar to the left. Thanks for reading, and I’m excited about dragging you along to my nerdiest career move yet.

Sam Machkovech
GamesNerd, PubliCola.net

Yes, Paul… I’m sure the people who made The Beatles Rock Band will spare you a free copy of your game. Paul McCartney talks video games, official Beatles MP3s, and this fall’s remastered Beatles catalog in a smashing good interview in a games magazine.

I am up late tonight finishing an overdue article, and it’s hot in Seattle this week–not the worst heat in the world, certainly, but in a land of lackluster ventilation, it’s enough to keep windows open at almost all times. Unfortunately, the freaks fly in at 4 a.m.

As I’m about to log off, a blue-red super-bug with glittering eyes and, I can’t be sure, but I swear a diamond necklace of some kind, buzzes over my head with wings as big as my pinkies. It’s imitating a World War II B-12, accelerating over my head, then slowing while above for dramatic effect. I leap out of my chair to open the door and let him continue his journey, when what do I see but some junior-junior-sized scorpion-bug crawling across. It has antennae on its head as big as the rest of its body; nature’s flair. To top it off, two moths then buzz at me in a cross pattern like perfectly aligned wide receivers.

I turn out my lights, open the bedroom door, and turn on the hallway light whilst cowering in the corner in hopes that the bugs will take the visual bait. Or that I’ll have safe distance in case this infestation is a sign of the coming of the goddamned lizard king.

At this point, my housemate’s cat, Loo Song, comes barreling up the stairs, giddy with the belief that I’ve left my door open so she can hop into my room and OUT THE WINDOW. Loo Song loves to do this, but tonight apparently wasn’t quite right for kitty-kaze, so I grab her and throw her into the hallway, but not before one of the bugs follows her.

Loo Song and I lock eyes. I give her a look as if to say, “You know all those times you’ve hated me for throwing you like a water balloon out of my room? It’s our day of reckoning.” And then she eats the hell out of that bug. She’s kind of evil about it, as I’d expected–holds it to the ground for a second, front paws clasping, and eventually gnashes away with a Chex Mix crunch.

I wasn’t about to kill any of the bugs that got into my room–no point, they weren’t biters. But the immense satisfaction of contributing, in some small way, to the domestic pet circle of life… it’s a great bookend to a great evening. Or at least a rational alternative to that red-brown cat food she vomits on my housemate’s bed.

I’m at Neptune Coffee in Seattle and am approached by a younger acquaintance from the tutoring center down the block. She asks what I’m up to, and I tell her I’m working on an article about video games. I start in on the story’s angle—-I never leave a “what are you doing” query hanging—-when I realize the look on her face hasn’t changed for a few sentences. Like she’d seen her idol picking someone else’s nose.

I pause long enough for her to start in with “I just don’t know about…”

I interrupt. “You mean, you think it’s silly for people to spend their time staring into screens, acting like they’re brainwashed by machines, yes?” She nods. I’m driven to win her over, to compare gaming to TV, movies, and books (just cuz it’s on paper doesn’t make it any less of a meandering timesuck), to posit that interactivity doesn’t neuter artistic impact by default, to talk about the shared experience of the form.

The funny look returns, and with it comes an angle to her neck that can be measured by protractor. “How is it really interactive if everyone’s staring at a screen?”

I’d recently read an article by the President of the Entertainment Consumers Association (ECA), a pro-gamers’ lobby, in which he round-aboutly asks gamers to defend their hobby when afforded the opportunity. He believes gaming will be stuck in the reputation ghetto as long as gamers don’t “take ownership.” But in his article, Hal Halpin goes a little too far, likening anti-gaming sentiment to bullies picking on his son. Hal, the competitive, hostile bent to your piece is all wrong; it’d be rude and condescending to “defend” Adam Sandler movies, so why should making a stink over a twitch shooter like Halo be any different?

Hal’s problem is that he defends an industry whose icons and leading examples are dictated by sales, not artistic impact. And that’s the issue I face when looking back at the angled, squinting face in front of me: that the vocabulary of fine films, books, and television shows isn’t the same as for games. Shadow of the Colossus, Braid, Flower, and Super Columbine Massacre are tangential to the American gaming zeitgeist, yet A Clockwork Orange, Invisible Cities, and Freaks & Geeks are perfectly parallel to their respective forms. My hope to make an impact with namechecks and comparisons is voided by the basic roadblock of vocabulary. Will this always be the case with the learning curve of each separate game, compared to the passive consumption of most other media?

This is why I was excited enough about Natal to post about its debut; that its “gesture to play” mechanic might tear down one wall of gaming’s grammar, in a way that the misleading “motion” control of Wii has yet to do. Movies don’t need instruction books, and I’d hope a game that recognizes hand swipes in the air wouldn’t, either.

Decades into the form’s popularity, I’ve stopped believing that a single hit game will change people’s minds. No, gaming doesn’t need its Gone with the Wind, and it doesn’t need avid fans preaching its gospel. Maybe gaming needs its CinemaScope, a novel approach in which the toy aspects of gaming can be overwhelmed with the inspiring, emotional reactions we have to any life-changing form of art.

I didn’t say any of this to my acquaintance. I say, “Maybe a game will change your mind some day.” She responds, “Maybe.”

Stunt-racing video game Burnout Paradise gets all the little things right. With fewer loading pauses, the game doesn’t halt between races. Frame rates are smooth. Paradise’s developers have even given away bunches of free, downloadable bonuses.

These details are what we gamers beg for from so many developers, but I still have a bone to pick with Paradise. In its multiplayer cooperative mode, players drive together through the game’s sprawling city with a variety of tasks: rip donuts in a particular parking lot, then set up a super-stunt where everyone crashes into each other in mid-air, etc. Wild stuff. Trouble is, you can’t roll co-op with friends on the same screen. Everybody needs a copy of the game, a console, a TV and an internet connection.

Used to be, video games were a major couch activity for groups of friends. What has changed? My take on this troubling gaming trend can be found in this week’s issue of The Escapist.

My previous gaming articles for The Escapist can be found here.

[reprinted from my original report at Slog]

Minutes ago, Microsoft concluded its annual E3 keynote presentation, an event filled with old game ideas: killing, driving, killing, Final Fantasy, Rock Band Beatles, and on and on and yawn. But after the sequel party ran its course, Microsoft unveiled something different: Project Natal, the full-body motion control camera system for Xbox 360.

Game makers have tried doing motion-sensitive camera games, where a dinky webcam captures your body, then converts its silhouette into a game character, swiping at enemies and whatnot. But those are clumsy and inaccurate. In theory, Natal will take that concept a step further, using its cameras and sensors to turn you into a virtual wireframe skeleton that can accurately steer a car, dribble a soccer ball, or, of course, punch a dude in the face, all with nothing more than your body as the controller.

It also has a microphone for speech commands and doubles as a webcam complete with Minority Report-style waves of hands in the air to flip through menus and send photos to friends. But is this thing for real? Hard to tell 100%; most of the introduction was with concepts, not real games, and one of the three actual demos was a spastic, imprecise and confusing-looking dodgeball sim.

More interesting was the painting prototype in which a guy waved his hands toward the screen to aim splotches of color, Pollack-style, at an on-screen canvas. He pulled off his painting quickly and precisely. After that, MS debuted a creepy project that looked straight out of A.I.: Milo, the “My Buddy” of video games, made by Fable creator Peter Molyneux.

“He can recognize our faces, our voices, and our emotions in us,” Molyneux said as a woman had a goddamned conversation with a 9-year-old synth-boy. He recognized key phrases, then repeated them back to carry on conversation, and he’d mope and turn his head down when the tester mentioned things she knew he was uncomfortable with, like homework. (Molyneux gushed that the tester knew what Milo disliked and was building “a relationship” with the psuedo-child.) In the demo, Milo eventually babbled about his inability to draw a fish for his homework assignment.

The tester grabbed a piece of paper and drew a simple fish. She then held it up to the TV screen, and Milo grabbed the paper, recognized its fish shape, and thanked her. Wow. On Xbox Live, this is a huge step up from the usual interactions with idiot, racist teens (though lord knows how poor, little Milo would react to having one of them hand him a drawing of a penis).

No release dates, no prices, no games announced. But the Natal demos were convincing enough for now. I can’t imagine any game makers topping this for the rest of the week’s E3 games conference.

When Yoshi’s Island hit stores in 1995, mainstream 3D gaming was already wowing shoppers with brand-new “graphics”–that ever-important buzz word through the ’90s. Along came this weird Mario spin-off, though, and 2D crayon strokes ruled the day. It was possibly the first video game to set atmosphere and theme with deliberately distinct art direction, rather than merely push the hardware of the time to its limits, a peculiar idea at the time. In many ways, YI was a trailblazer, but only in the past few years has the retro/indie movement seen art direction take precedent and, more importantly, shape the best new-wave game experiences out there right now.

My emotional reactions to Yoshi’s Island were born anew this week when I stumbled upon this live-band take on one of the game’s themes. Even without the game in question, it’s a cute ditty, but the song definitely has some crayon strokes to it.