Nov. 26Jason WaddellComments Off on ChannelFireball Store Credit Contest Details
by: Jason Waddell
I’ve never been more excited about cube design than when I was figuring out ways to make multiples of Gravecrawler and Birthing Pod work in an integrated draft environment. They came in together as part of a large-scale overhaul that focused on sacrifice effects, and after several tweaking iterations, they both added some real texture and fun factor to my cube. Both cards form the foundation for a variety of deck builds, and the ideas have been successfully integrated and adapted by a number of other cube designers.
I’m looking for the next idea that will capture that same excitement, and I’m willing to pay for it! I’m throwing up some of my own ChannelFireball store credit to host a RiptideLab article contest. Check below for details.
The Question: What card would work well in multiples in a cube, and what changes would you need to make to that environment to make the design work?
Advice: Try to consider the environment holistically. In terms of the Poison Principle, consider what types of drafters would want such a card. How does it connect to various archetypes? The card doesn’t have to be as versatile as Birthing Pod, but these sorts of questions can help drive the design.
Be Specific: What cards will surround the design? For reference, in my ChannelFireball articles Remodelling Part One and Part Two, most of the focus is on the supporting cast. Additionally, what effects shouldn’t be present. My Gravecrawler update introduced Entomb, but removed the environment’s reanimation package.
Submission: PM me the article via our forums. Note that this contest is open to anyone. If you’re not presently a forum member, feel free to sign up and enter a submission.
Prizes:
If we have 1-5 entrants: $25 ChannelFireball store credit to my favorite article. If I later write a CFB article about your idea, I’ll send you an additional $25 store credit voucher.
6+ entrants: $25 ChannelFireball store credit to my two favorite entries.
Deadline Friday December 13th, Midnight PST
Entries will be posted to the RiptideLab front page.
Nov. 26Jason WaddellComments Off on ChannelFireball: Modern Tribal Flames
by: Jason Waddell
After a months-long hiatus from article writing, I’m back on ChannelFireball today with a constructed article, of all things. It’s a primer of the Modern Tribal Flames deck that I designed, and later tweaked with local player Shaun Pauwels.
I piloted the deck to Top 4 at an 80-person GPT for our hometown GP, losing in the semis to a rogue Summoning Trap deck that I didn’t really understand at the time. Shaun, with no byes, opened the GP at 10 – 1 before puttering out to a 12 – 4 finish.
The deck is the living embodiment of my cube, a five-color good stuff monstrosity with (at least) two of each fetchland and a full playset of Steppe Lynx.
It’s kind of a pile, but it attacks from lots of unique angles and gets to jam some of the format’s premier cards.
As Eric will surely note, my article once again has been run behind a Travis Woo headliner.
Nov. 14Jason WaddellComments Off on The End of Candy Crush: A View From the Top
by: Jason Waddell
Last night, after returning home from a screening of the terrible-but-not-sufficiently-atrocious-enough-to-be-a-classic Syfy (really?) film Sharknado, I booted up my phone for my new bedtime ritual: swiping candies while listening to Arcade Fire’s latest album.
I polished off a few levels and was met with an unusual message.
The end.
When I first wrote my Candy Crush review two months ago, I had only tackled one-third of the game’s levels. Several hundred levels later, what’s the verdict?
Cost
To my surprise, the entirety of Candy Crush is well and truly beatable without spending a dime. Although the difficulty continually increased, I never truly hit a brick wall that I had to pay my way though. Which isn’t to say the game didn’t present more than its fair share of frustration. A handful of predominantly luck-based levels required dozens of attempts to complete. Although the levels generally give players between 30 and 50 moves to spend, for the game’s worst offenders, defeat can be all but ensured after only a few moves. Playing these levels felt like taking pulls from a slot machine. Success simply wasn’t possible from most starting configurations. And should you be dealt a promising hand, you still need to play with near-perfect efficiency to seize the opportunity.
All told, I completed the game without once spending money to finish a level. I did, however, pay my way through the content gates (the alternative is to pester friends with Facebook requests) that appeared every 15 levels. Discounting the free credits that were given to my account by King Games, I spent a total of $6.60 while playing Candy Crush Saga from start to finish.
Catharsis
Frustration aside, playing Candy Crush is extremely cathartic. Its turn-based gameplay is perfectly suited for deliberate and calculated play. Personally, I play at a very slow pace, mulling over each move and visualizing future board states in my mind, only proceeding after narrowing down on the most promising option. The game’s limited supply of moves creates some real “back against the wall” scenarios, and weaseling an unlikely victory out of the apparent jaws of defeat can feel truly euphoric. Many games left me wishing I had recorded my gameplay.
Level Design
At its best, Candy Crush’s level design is truly top notch. Like any good puzzle game (is this where I namedrop Jonathan Blow?), Candy Crush subtly changes the formula to force the player to engage their brain in new and unique ways. There were long stretches of levels that hit the perfect balance of creativity and challenging. One particular level had me stuck for days, but the design was so engaging and skill-testing that I was almost disappointed when I finally cleared it.
But at its worst, Candy Crush is just a shitstain. Some levels give the player no freedom of movement, laying them at the mercy of forced-moves and a cruel RNG mistress. Others provide challenging objectives that can be entirely circumvented with the purchase of a given bonus.
Conclusion
There’s a good game built into Candy Crush, but it’s wrapped in the outrageous trappings of a cash-extraction gauntlet that intersperses compelling gameplay with barriers that demand tribute be paid either in dollars or in frustration. As much as I begrudge the formula, Candy Crush Saga is clearly a success by any conceivable metrics. For better or worse, the free-to-pay model doesn’t appear to be going anywhere.
Oct. 27Jason WaddellComments Off on Subcultural Anthropology – Partying with Eurovision Fans
by: Jason Waddell
“Never turn down an event with free food.”
My college money-saving mantra led to dinners with a group called “Jews for Jesus”, an underground tour with a university group that called themselves the “KGB”, and the vice-presidency of the Carnegie Mellon Astronomy Club (colloquially referred to as “Pizza Club”).
As a gainfully employed adult, the mantra has evolved into the nourishment-neutral “never pass up unique experiences.”
Last Sunday, despite some fairly strong base instincts to curl up in bed with a Murakami paperback, I biked across town to my friend Dave’s hipster-themed surprise birthday party.
There I met Dave’s gay friend Paul.
“The last time I went dancing, I got asked if I was gay. Twice. I took it as a compliment.”
This comment piqued Paul’s interest, and conversation moved to Paul’s passion: the Eurovision Song Contest. Despite being a cultural sensation in Europe, Eurovision-fever somehow hasn’t penetrated the North American market. For those unaware, Eurovision can be described as a campy, over-the-top American Idol on LSD.
The party turned to dancing as classic Eurovision anthems played on the iPad. I educated Paul on trashy American dance maneuvers like the two-person fishing line and the funky chicken, and shared my secret three-step procedure for looking like the world’s biggest creep on the dance floor.
Paul tells me that he’s involved in Eurovision fan club, and next week club members are gathering from around the world for a week-long meetup in Leuven, Belgium. He extended me an invitation to their Saturday evening festivities.
Days later I would receive a late-night message from Paul. Apparently my dance moves had given him some insecurities.
Saturday arrives and I drive to Leuven for the second time in as many weeks. I join the group at the end of their meal, and am welcomed with open arms. But there’s no mistaking that I’m a bit of a black sheep.
“So you’re a Eurovision fan?”
“Well, I actually didn’t even know it existed until last week.”
“Oh, but you’re a good friend of Paul’s then?”
“I met him last week too.”
Still, the group is very friendly and inquisitive, and they warm up to me as I do dramatic readings from some atrociously written self-published book about a Eurovision love story.
“A 500 page story about two men falling in love during Eurovision week and not a single sex scene”, bemoans the man to my right.
“Well, it is written by a woman. Maybe she just isn’t familiar with the, uh, mechanics?”
We move to a museum’s cafe that has been rented out for our private dance party.
The demographics of the party are unlike any I’ve ever attended: 30 gay men, 3 straight women, and me. It’s the first time I’ve felt that being a straight male made me in any way unique.
The first couple hours at the cafe are spent chatting, and everybody is refreshingly open with me. One of my complaints about Belgians, and perhaps Europeans more generally, is that most people are very emotionally guarded, and consequently I find it very difficult to connect. But the vibe is different here. Complete strangers talk with me about very personal topics, like how long they knew they were gay before coming out, and the experience of dating (or in one case, being engaged to) women while knowingly in the closet.
Dancing finally picks up and I hit the floor. I’m decidedly at a disadvantage, as I don’t know any of the music. Others around me mimic choreographed moves from the Eurovision competitions, and I’m left to improvise. It’s nice to dance without any romantic or sexual pretext though. I’m not there to attract anyone’s attention, but I’m noticed nonetheless.
“You dance very gay.”
“Thank you!”
I sit out one of the numbers, and the only woman in my age group comes to chat. She arrived late to the party, and isn’t a part of the fan club either, but lives in town and happens to be a Eurovision enthusiast. From the way that she talks to me, I can tell she assumes I’m gay.
“I think you’re very sexy out there!”
As we talk she digs into her bra to retrieve a drink voucher, then adjusts her exceptionally low-cut top in front of me. For the first time in my life I employ the “don’t ask, don’t tell” approach. Later in the evening she’s apparently heard something through the grapevine, and asks “wait, so you’re straight?”.
The jig is up.
There’s a noticeable shift in the dynamic. She’s still friendly, but I don’t think she’s going to be calling me sexy again any time soon. I mention this to one of the men later on.
“As a gay man, you can kiss a girl on the neck and cup her breasts, and it’s fine because there’s no sexual pressure. I’ve touched more breasts since coming out than when I was straight. A gay man can finger a girl and she’ll think you’re just being flirty.”
That last bit may have been for effect.
Every time I go to take a breather someone inevitably drags me back to the dance floor. Paul initiates a fishing line and I flop my way across the floor to thunderous applause.
A visibly drunk guy named Bart approaches me.
“Can I talk to you under the table?”
“Okay…” under the table
“On a scale of 0 to 100, how gay are you?”
“Pretty close to zero.”
“So you never fooled around with boys when you were growing up?”
“No, I’ve never looked at a man and felt attraction towards him.”
“Oh don’t worry honey, I’m not trying to hit on you. There’s like, two other guys at the party I’d try to fuck before you.”
Later in the evening Bart returns.
“Hey Jason, can you help me make Stijn jealous?”
I can do nothing of the sort.
I return to the dance floor. An older Swedish guy fashions my hair into a faux hawk to match his own. As the party nears a close, I dance myself to exhaustion. The penultimate song of the evening is the consensus pick for gayest song ever produced.
The party ends at four in the morning, and I’m far too tired to drive back to Antwerp. Paul offers to let me crash at a flat he and some of the other club members have rented out, and I gladly accept. Paul thanks me for coming out. He says he has a very segmented social life, and most of his friends aren’t willing to cross the threshold to see what the Eurovision side of his life is like. Even if they try, nobody has dived in the way I did. I thank him for inviting me. It was a really fun night.
Oct. 17Jason WaddellComments Off on A Steaming Pile: Ready Player One
By: Jason Waddell
Ernest Cline’s Ready Player One is unequivocally the worst novel I have ever read.
Let’s start with flimsy premise: the year is 2044, and the world has fallen into economic decline at the hands of the (not so) creatively named “Great Recession”. Worldwide, people escape from their dreary realities by immersing themselves in a Second Life-esque online game called OASIS. Upon his death, the game’s creator James Halliday releases a video detailing an in-game Easter Egg hunt, the winner of which will receive Halliday’s fortune and control of OASIS.
Ridiculously, the clues to finding the fortune can only be deciphered by those with an intimate knowledge of 1980’s trivia. We have the grounds for a lighthearted nostalgic romp, but Ready Player One never delivers. In lieu of actual character development, the characters that populate the novel are one-dimensional conglomerations of their particular 80’s pop culture vices. The books poseur du jour? A guy who claims to know more trivia than he does. The evil monolithic company? Hacks who dispassionately research 80’s trivia in sole hopes of winning the grand prize. Our protagonist? Enthusiastic 80’s trivia savant.
Rather than imbue the characters with any sense of personality, Klein’s characters stand as little more than a laundry list of Facebook likes. Our hero expresses himself by assembling a vehicle that is a mish-mash of various 1980’s pop culture franchises. It’s a Delorean infused with elements from Knight Rider and Ghostbusters. Even the book’s most laborious attempt at character development plays is tacked-on, forced and irrelevant: our protagonist’s best friend, presumed to be a nerdy white male, proves to be a chubby black lesbian when the two finally meet in person.
The book’s central draw, 80’s cultural references, falls flat as well. The references aren’t cleverly woven into dialogue and exposition, they’re just, there. It reads as a masturbatory laundry list of outdated culture. Hero plays a perfect game of Pac-Man. Hero memorizes the script of War Games. Names are dropped. Wil Wheaton is mentioned for no apparent reason.
The resulting world is one defined exclusively by outdated culture consumption. The characters contribute nothing to the crumbling world around them. Eventually our protagonist (spoiler alert) wins the contest, and receives a video from the deceased James Halliday, Halliday laments devoting a life to a long lost culture. He died alone, without love. He was too busy being an 80’s guy to cure his lone-itus.
Halliday hopes that whoever wins the prize will avoid Halliday’s fate, to find value in other people and not media obsessions. Which must explain why he set up a contest that propelled an entire generation into 80’s cultural obsession in hopes of escaping their crippling poverty?
To add a meta layer to this dynamic, author Ernest Cline ran a contest with the release of the book, the winner of which would win a, you guessed it, Delorean infused with Knight Rider and Ghostbusters. Cline himself drives one too. Halliday serves as the fictional parallel to Cline himself, and is, despite his wealth of trivia knowledge, the most tragic and pathetic character in the book. Maybe Ready Player One is just a cry for help. Perhaps Cline, an Austin resident, should take a page out of neighbor Romeo Rose’s playbook.
Ultimately Ready Play One is an awful depiction of nerd culture, one where its members are little more than a collection of their particular cultural obsessions. If you’re looking for a compelling novel that explores a world captivated by a Second Life style game, stick to Neil Stephenson’s Snow Crash.
