The Writing Habits of the Earthbound Games Journalist

Just about 14 months ago I made the last post on what used to be Captain Waycool, explaining that I had joined up with Destructoid but assuring my 14-20 regular readers (who loves you, baby?) that I had no intention of abandoning my post entirely. This was a terrible, terrible lie. I didn't make a single goddamn post to CWC in those 14 months, until starting up this newest incarnation — it's a mistake I don't intend to make again. So here I am again, my mea culpa and I, pleading for your forgiveness.

December was my busiest month, career-wise. I did some work for Ars Technica (links to the right, yo) and just a few days ago took a job working with the fine lads over at Shacknews. I remain the reviews editor of Destructoid, a job I love, so I don't suspect I'll be walking away from that any time soon.

And this week! Me, Ninja Gaiden II, and the one and only Tomunobu Itagaki. Got time pegged down for an interview, and I still don't have really great questions to ask him just yet, but fuck, I could ask him anything and it'd likely turn out to be solid gold. That man is batshit insane.

Also, this is something worth noting, because it hasn't happened in years: I had a game dream. A really weird game dream. With the bulk of the Rockstar catalog showing up on Steam yesterday at a discount, I figured, fuck it — I never did get around to finishing San Andreas. So I downloaded the game, and promptly looked up some cheat codes to spawn tanks and brawl with the military. Among those codes was the make CJ ripped code, automatically boosting the muscle and energy stat to the maximum. "Awesome," I thought, and promptly started beating hookers.

That night, I had a dream which featured a number of peculiar circumstances, not the least of which was that I got soaked at a whale exhibit (or something — what it was I can't quite recall). Cursing my terrible luck, I wondered what I was to do, covered head to toe in a soupy concoction of water and whale spit. And then, an idea: "I'll just go without the shirt!"

I'm a large man, the sort that recognizes the societal value of keeping one's shirt on in public, so this was an unexpected and sudden turn of thought. But in my head I recalled the cheat code — BUFFMEUP — and stripped away my long sleeves to reveal a sturdy physique beneath. Fucking awesome.

When I woke, I suppose the most rational response would have been a heightened resolve to improve myself, slim down and tone up, drink less soda and run around the block maybe once or twice a year. Not I; instead, the first thought upon waking was "Christ, how convenient would that be?", and promptly rolled over.

Indeed, this is the life of a games journalist.