A handsome piece of deformity.

Interesting couple of days. Killed time — and critters and about eighteen hours — playing Half-Life 2 over the past week. The engine suffers from major tearing without vsync, despite my upping the game refresh rate, though it runs smooth as silk while graphically maxed out on my system (minus the aforementioned vsync, though). Sound was decent, though I found myself more wowed by the way the engine presented the sounds (brief deafness, panning stereo effects, etc) than by the sounds themselves.

Difficulty was lacking and intermittent. Though I was playing on the game-professed Hard level, it was anything but for the majority of my time spent. Gameplay was set up in a frustratingly predictable obstacle-obstacle-obstacle-climax format, meaning I could play for fifty minutes without breaking a sweat, only to have to spend ten minutes of loading and re-loading to beat a two-minute ultra-hard scenario. A more balanced and consistent approach to the gameplay would have been preferred, as would having some options, such as being able to avoid a confrontation altogether through the use of stealth.

The plot was a rollercoaster, though this metaphor comes laden with both positive and negative connotations. While thrilling and exciting and (insert descriptive adjective here), the plot moved on rails. Once you’ve started the game, you are bound to a single course of action, something which is increasing obvious (and thus frustrating) as the game progresses. Deviation from the set course was impossible and reduced what was otherwise a solid game to a painfully linear experience, a carefully choreographed exercise in “here, look at this!” and “come this way!” As mentioned in the previous paragraph, some options would have been nice, serving to lengthen the game and promising more satisfactory replayability through variation and permutation based on player input.

Ironically, the lack of control and free-will experienced by the player plays into the plot itself by the end. Concluding the game is a monologue presented by a mysterious character, who serves as a convenient deus ex machina-cum-denouement. In his cryptic mutterings — which, for a denouement, leaves the player with more questions than answers about the plot of the game and thus his actions in it — this character says something very applicable to — and quite telling about — Valve’s philosophy in game-design: “Rather than offer you the illusion of free choice, I will take the liberty of choosing for you.”

Overall, even though the bulk of what’s written above seems to be negative, I enjoyed Half-Life 2. The problem is that it’s so good that the bad aspects of it strike a hideously jarring contrast with the wonders that Valve’s managed to convey. They manage to weave an intricate plot, create a hauntingly dark and disturbing future, and leave the player wondering by the end of it, doing so in style. The landscapes carved out and presented to the player are top-notch and opportunities for fun abound; I just wish that I had had more choice in my approach to the problems presented over the course of the game.

It’s been six days since I came down to the clearing. My meager supplies have dwindled to a mere nothing, though really, I’ve hardly eaten a thing. A bare handful of food was all that could be spared — let alone carried — and, for my pains, for my self-inflicted isolation on this bank, I’ve but a cramped stomach.

God, forgive me my arrogance. Spare Anna, I beg you — she in this matter is an innocent and I, I… I am a fool who overstepped his bounds.

It lacks context, but I would think that the imaginative among you will still get something out of it.

ADDENDUM, DAYS LATER: Think of it as a scribbled entry in a diary, found near a desiccated corpse in the far reaches of the northern wilderness. Several hundred meters away and halfway up a nearby mountain is the wreckage of a plane, a two-person single-engine flyer, nearly impossible to see from a distance due to the thick woods surrounding it. The serial number etched on the fuselage of the plane matches that of a flight reported missing over eight years ago. Near the wreckage is the remains of a camp, and those of a young woman. Investigators surmise that the two bodies are those of twenty-one year old Anna Kush and missing (and unlicensed) pilot Clayton Engh, 34, who took off without permission from Whitehorse’s control tower into a heavy snow storm, southbound for Fort St. John.

…and now Albertans. People baffle me.

…and to think I used a lyric as my previous subject line. Rest in peace, John.

The past few days, I’ve been distracted, irritable and grumpy and, overall, an unpleasant person to be around. Or, rather, at least that’s my perception of how I’ve been. In a valiant vague effort to apologize to the lovely young lady with whom I cohabitate and am engaged to marry, I did my damnedest this afternoon to explain why I’ve been acting the way I have.

Just as I told her earlier today, starting Wednesday afternoon, I’d been experiencing an unexplainable sense of dread.

Now, bear me with me. As I type, all the windows in the apartment are open, the fan is running and the dryer’s on, my feet are wet and my stomach’s grumbling.

Starting mid-Wednesday, I was seized with an unshakable anxiety, a certainty that something bad was going to happen. It was a spontaneous thing; one moment, I was fine, chipper, top of the world and braced for a long weekend of relaxation. The next, I was distracted, paralyzed by a fear without face or form, ruminating on every little thing happening in my life in an attempt to account for the fear that had settled in my mind. I’m not one to pander to paranoia, but I’ve come to trust my instincts over the years. I…

Argh. My fingers are freezing, as are my feet, I’m hungry, and — in all honesty — I can think of at least half a dozen other things I should be doing with my time right now. I’ll try to cut this short without removing anything of importance. Those of you who, like me, are nitpickers for tense in verb are likely to have noticed that I have been speaking of this feeling, this dread, in the past tense. That’s because the premonition of ill-action that was weighing on me has passed. Something bad happened, and just how bad of a thing it is remains to be seen.

This afternoon, my father came to the apartment to assist me in tightening a leaking faucet. Simple though it may seem, I needed someone with the tools for the task, having none suitable myself. Call placed, coffee on the go and Amy already at work, I sat back to kill the time by grading some papers.

Dad arrived. As a precaution, we sought to terminate the water flow in the apartment. Unable to find the kill-switch, went to find on-site managers for the information. No managers found. Decided to proceed with tightening the faucet regardless, as the work required was simple. Tools out and ready to roll, the last things I heard prior to all hell breaking loose went something like this… rrrrrrrrrrumblethe hell…tinkFWOOOOSSSSSSSSH!

I’ve never run so fast in my life. From the fourth floor, I was on the first in a matter of seconds, yelling at the height of my voice for an on-site manager to kill the water main which, within two minutes of that fucking fwoooossssssssh!, was done and accomplished.

My formless anxiety, an intangible fear, became something very real, and very tangible. The tap in my bathroom exploded a few hours ago. The damage to my suite — which, as mentioned above, is on the fourth floor — is minimal. Two of the suites below me sustained, at first glance, minimal damage. The apartment on the ground floor, however, was not as lucky. A lot of the water is pooling down there, wetting the carpet. I’ve been on major damage control all afternoon and, between shivering from the combined cold air coming in through the open windows and my wet clothes, I’ve been hoping like hell that the initial assessment of the damage — minimal — is accurate and that this is as bad as it gets. I’m praying that I’m not billed a few thousand dollars for dry-wall, ceiling, and carpet repair; hoping that they won’t be necessary.

One sense of dread has been replaced by another, but at this time I know what it is that I am afraid of.

UPDATE: I’ve just learned that one of my sisters was in a car accident today, as a passenger, due to the carelessness of the driver of another vehicle. I’m glad you’re alright, kiddo!

Given the day, I wish I owned an XBox. Hearing everything I have about Halo 2 — I do work in a junior high school, afterall — has made me rather keen to play it, what with me being such a gaming geek and all. Ah, well. Suppose I’d need to own a television first, yes? I shall have to console (oooh, is that pun? I think it is!) myself with Half-Life 2, come November 16.

Have been witness to a number of movies since my last update.

Let’s see… Ghost in the Shell 2 was excellent, if a little puzzling; movies of such a philosophical nature should not have subtitles that fly by at a mile-a-minute, as time is needed to appreciate and ponder the implications of each weighted statement. Ah, well. A rewatch will do wonders for my enjoyment of the film, I’m sure. It’s was visually stunning, with the bold contrast between the two different styles of animation employed working wonders to reinforce the theme of the movie, had the same cool factor as the first film, and really made me ponder the age-old sci-fi query: what does it mean to be human? Well worth the watch, and viewing of the first movie is, barring a bit of context, unnecessary.

The second film viewed of late was Pixar’s The Incredibles, and it was exactly what the title indicates. It’s been several long months since I was so entertained at the cinema and, time and again, I found myself thrilled by what I was witnessing. As both a fan of comic books and fine films, I heartily recommend this movie to anyone with even a passing interest in either. Seriously, what the hell are you waiting for? Go out and see this!

Beyond that, I’ve been spending far too much money on books of late. Hardcovers, hardcovers, hardcovers… :)

ADDENDUM: Thanks, love, for inadvertantly providing such an inspiring title.

Hello, readers of Matt’s blog.

This is the admin.

If any of you haven’t noticed, poor Matt’s been getting ass-bombed by comment spam from some kind of poker squad. Hopefully, that will have been fixed now, but on the off chance I broke something while doing it, please contact Matt if anything weird happens with the site.

Thanks!

(Matt, hope you don’t mind the invasion…)

The subject line of this post was found yesterday by m’love at the local supermarket, plainly written on a (not-)bag of Halloween candy. I wish I could make things this stupid up but, alas, it seems that every stupid thought I can possibly conceive of, some lawyer has already thought of, likely in anticipation of a potential lawsuit. Yeesh. The mind boggles at how far the justice system is willing to go to remove any sense of responsibility from the individual…

Speaking of lawyers, the cynic in me can’t help but wonder how many are currently sharpening their fangs in preparation for the outcome of America’s presidential election. I mean, I’m hoping and praying — atheist though I may be — that the world — let alone American itself — doesn’t have to suffer through a repeat of the 2000 debacle, but still… the boyscout in me tells that, though I may hope for the best, I should prepare for the worst.

Non sequitor ahoy, Amy and I were blabbing the other day and we had a good few minutes of conversation covering the following topics. I pose these questions here in the hope that those reading — the proud, the few, the foolish — can contribute something of meaning to the comments. Thus…

• what is the meaning of the word artistic, and what are its limits;
• how does one define science fiction, and;
• what does it mean to be well-educated?

Alternately, each of the three topics raised can be ignored on the basis of, “pah, who needs rhetorical questions, anyway?”