Launch Party Massacre: The Next Generation

The question I grappled with was this: why pay $1000 to fly to LA which the publisher wouldn’t reimburse me on some kind of principle, to attend E3 when every game distributor was just beaming its entire presentation out via fibre-optic internet link to such public venues including but not limited to gigantic active-matrix billboards in Times Square?

Instead, myself, the Boots, and the usual crowd of vaguely games-related misfits I hang around with decided to have our own E3 party at the crumbling ex-Victorian-era power station that used to house the magazine offices until the interns deactivated the reproductive suppression field. We even wore tuxes and everything. Or at least, in my case, a rented tux. And in Vic’s case, a black suit top over a T-shirt printed up to look like a tux. And in Cmos’ case, his dad’s purple corduroy suit from 1982.

There’s something deliciously subversive about tricking a tech company into sending you a 1080p LCD projector. And something even more subversive about connecting said projector to a netbook leaching wireless from an apartment across the street. And then using the 1920 x 1080 native res of the projector to show low-res YouTube videos and grainy mobile phone photos on a mottled grey brick wall. At least the image was four metres on the diagonal. And at least the beer was cold.

“So Natal has a name at last,” rumbled the Guerrilla Gamer. Since it was past 1730h, he was well in his cups. “Cuticle.”

“Kinetic,” corrected Cmos, picking at his latest bunch of scabs and bandages.

“Katabatic,” corrected Vic as he preloaded another bunch of YouTube vids.

“Kinect Goddamnit!” screamed Silver. He’s my rich friend, as you may recall, and he was sitting all the way down the end of the wide, open zone we call the ‘cricket pitch’, about ninety-six centimetres from our four-metre screen, hands clasped in front of him in what could only be described as joyful rapture.

“Look at that thing!” he was saying. “So shiny! And the new Xbox. Even shinier! And all these games! Like, familiar titles but with all new features like cutting things or walking around the car before you get in it, just like at a real showroom…”

The Guerrilla Gamer rolled his eyes, and Silver saw him do it.

“Oh yes,” spat Silver, jumping up from his Zen lotus. “It’s so COOL to be all disaffected and cynical, isn’t it? This is possibly the most awesome era of gaming ever, with the most awesome lineup of products and the coolest new technological developments, and all you guys can do is drink beer and pour scorn!”

The Guerrilla Gamer shrugged. “So gaming is changing. Why should we have to change with it? Amiright? Fellas?” He looked around, but we were all too busy drinking beer and being disaffected.

“It’s like, the stuff is SO awesome, SO amazing that my brain can’t process it,” said Cmos. “Like, in the olden days, it was almost as if because my 386 could barely run Doom made the fact that Doom ran at all… more impressive.”

Vic gesticulated with a VB. “A dancing bear is much cooler than a liquid-cooled, lithium-ion powered dancing robot.”

“IS it?” cried Silver. “I mean… what is WRONG with you guys? Look at the Kinect! You stand in front of your TV, wave your junk around, and the game responds! Forget the iPad!” Silver cast aside his iPad, which he’d been using to follow tweets as the various press releases spooled across the web. “THIS is magical and revolutionary!”

“Oh I don’t know about that,” I said. “This building’s twenty-year-old security system has gesture recognition. It’s a very 90s techno-chic thing to have.” I gave a sort of half-twist wave and the lights dimmed. Something went beep. I waved again and the lights came back up.

“That’s awesome,” said the Guerrilla Gamer, jumping up off the couch where he’d parked himself six hours ago. “Let me see that again.”

“Well you gotta be careful,” I said. “There’s a lot of advanced functionality that I don’t really understand…”

The Guerrilla Gamer began dancing back and forth in front of the security system’s main control panel, aping some of the more ridiculous dance moves recently busted out by Microsoft’s crack team of professionally awkward older gamers.

“Destruct sequence is engaged,” said the security system. “Sixty seconds until detonation.”

“No biggie!” called Vic. “We just ran out of beer!”

*Apologies to Spike Milligan