Monday, 7 November 2016

Thought Bubble 2016

This might be a farewell to comic conventions, at least for a little while. Let’s write it and find out.

I’ve never felt very comfortable on the show floors at cons. For anybody who’s never been to one, imagine an aircraft hangar stuffed with rows of tables. At these tables are a mix of creators – some you’ve never heard of, some so beloved you can’t believe you’re in the same room – and people selling comics and comics-adjacent merchandise – t-shirts, prints, hand-knitted toys, Back to the Future-themed vinyls.

So, in theory, you can go up to the person who wrote or drew or coloured that one comic that broke your heart last summer, and tell them how it helped you grow as a person while they put their signature on the front of it. In practice – at least for someone who is: a) a bit socially anxious and b) reads pretty much all of their comics digitally – you end up awkwardly standing over their table going ‘hey... um... I think you’re cool?’ and then running away Zoidberg-style.

Which is how I met Jamie McKelvie and Kieron Gillen at a Birmingham Comics Festival, enough years ago that I don’t want to actually check the date lest my body erode with sheer age and blow away in the wind.

I followed them from event to event for a while, until I realised the whole comic-con thing might not be for me. I remember being at Bristol Comics Expo, dropping by their table for the fifth time that day and over-sharing (as usual) that, if I felt out of place even in at a comics convention, where the hell would I ever fit in? So I gave up on comics events.
Me and my boo.
Until, a few years later, Tim and I started talking online and, having heard the early legends, decided maybe we should meet up in person for the first time at this ‘Thought Bubble’ comics festival in Leeds.

It was a revelation, not only because it forged one of the most important friendships in my life, or even because Tim that weekend introduced me to beef brisket, an eating experience I would chase for many years afterwards. But because, for the first time in my life, I unreservedly enjoyed a comic con.

Let’s be clear: Thought Bubble uses the same basic format of tables in a hangar. And I still feel just as awkward at the tables of people whose work I love, stammering that fact in their faces down at waist-level. But it also has a dancefloor.
This year’s dancefloor, courtesy of Reece Lipman. The file name informs me it wasn’t even midnight yet.
The mid-con party is built around half-hour DJ sets from various comics creators, with the four core pillars being Kieron, Jamie, Al Ewing and Antony Johnston.

I might not be the world’s most comfortable talker, but drinking and dancing? That is somewhere I feel right at home, especially when said dancing is to the likes of Kenickie (thx KG). I’ve been to the past six Thought Bubbles, and that dancefloor is a large part of it. I have a pleasant enough day, mumbling praise at my favourite creators and sitting in some excellent and occasionally enlightening panels, but the whole time I am like J-Lo. Waiting for tonight.

 That lack of inhibitions, especially with Tim as my drift-compatible dance partner, means we’ve been first to the ‘floor a few times over the years, and felt a small warming nugget of responsibility when it eventually catches light.
Early doors on this year’s dancefloor.
Over the past six years, Thought Bubble has snowballed. As an event, slowly consuming more and more of the Royal Armories venue and moving, but personally too.

Our group has swollen, from that initial two into something more closely resembling Blazin’ Squad. I have friends I know entirely through Thought Bubble, faces and names I know solely from previous years’ parties. Every year the number grows – not least thanks to Boy King of ThoBubs Adlai McCook, seen in the below picture receiving his rightful worship.
Picture nicked off’f Al Kennedy’s Twitter. Sorry Al 

And every year we’ve picked up more traditions and running jokes and legends. That time we went to the party in full ThoBubs make-up. Chvrches. Red’s True BBQ. That time Alex tried to snog Kieron for some reason and ended up kissing Al Ewing instead. Cosplay bingo. Tim’s dancing. Alex & Tim’s dancing. That time DMC from Run DMC came and dropped a few verses at the party. “Try not to die.” Total Eclipse of The Heart. The Venga Bus. The eternal search for the 24-hour Greggs. Al opening his DJ set with War of The Worlds. Shirts coming off. Shirts always coming off.

 All this means expectations, and expectations can be dashed. There’s the fear that traditions can ossify into a mandated ticklist.

So I went into this year’s Thought Bubble having decided it would be my last, at least for a little while. Coincidentally, but also not entirely coincidentally, Jamie and Kieron (and Al, it turns out) had declared it also would be their last time DJing.

So my heart was especially big this year, and ThoBubs filled it. The feels runneth over.
Picture feat., and nicked from, the Whatnot Tree collective
Picture feat., and nicked from, the Whatnot Tree collective
The show itself was great. There’s a special energy to nudging your way past Judge Dredd to browse through Mondo’s latest prints, or to spotting a tiny Stan Lee clinging onto his mum’s hand while you queue for a talk. Thought Bubble goes out of its way to be kid-friendly, and that leads to a lot of these heart-warming moments. Here’s another: a kid dressed as the Flash battling a group of grown-ups dressed as his rogues’ gallery.

Then, on the other end of the spectrum, you have Speed Cock.

 The culmination of the Silence to Astonish panel – a sort of surrealist comics chat show hosted by a man in a homemade Galactus helmet and a rubbery-faced werewolf – Speed Cock is the ancient competition of drawing as many penises on a whiteboard within one minute as possible.

With its own theme tune. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

The panel in question, this year starring ‘temporary Ryan North’ Adlai McCook
But yeah, let’s be clear, it was all about the Saturday night. The venue – a food court on the second storey of a shopping centre – was unusual and not always ideal – the sound system scraped the bottom level of bass off every song, the audio cut out a few times, they kept turning on the lights in an attempt to kick us out.

Then again, when else are you going to get the opportunity to dance through a tangle of tables, a tray of ribs in hand, knowing that if the next song is a major banger you’re going to have to drop the food to the floor and sprint to the 'floor?

Besides, the audio problems also led to one of the night’s most magical moments. Faced with a minute of technical-difficulties silence, Kieron cast around for a song people might be able to sing without any accompaniment. 

“...Every now and then I get a little bit nervous, that the best of all the years have gone by.”
“Every now and then I get a little bit terrified, and then I see the look in your eyes.”
“Every now and then I fall apart!” 

The ThoBubs dancefloor in full effect.
And you look around the dancefloor, and you think about all the horror that’s been going on in comics of late, horror that like, much of 2016, you can summarise as cishet white men being awful to everyone else. And you look at the faces, as many women as men, everyone letting their freak flag fly, screaming the lyrics to a Bonnie Tyler song no of them can hear, and you think: No, this is comics

And then you step back from the dancefloor, partly because this song isn’t one you’ve got the moves for but mostly because the last run of Robyn/CRJ/Taylor Swift has left you with no shake remaining in your ass. And you put your arm around Adlai, and the two of you get a bit teary over what’s unfolding in front of you, and that this might never happen again. 

And then Modern Love comes on and you rush back to the dancefloor, and the circle of friends you left three songs ago is still there only it’s somehow grown even bigger, and you dance and you shout the words and know that there is some corner of Leeds that will be forever dancing, forever the very best of geekdom, forever ThoBubs.


Friday, 2 September 2016

Alex's Adventures in Internetland: June/July/August

Hey there, stranger!

The blog's a bit quiet these days, simply because I've been doing a lot of work for other sites. Work which includes some of the articles I'm most proud of, like, ever.

For example, this feature on in-game photography, for tech website
"A carelessly-tossed Molotov has set Kyrat's foliage ablaze. Mixed in amongst the crackle of flames are gun shots, getting louder and more frequent, but I'm paying them no attention. Two elephants have just sauntered out of the trees ahead. So, naturally, I'm crouched looking down the lens of Far Cry 4's in-game camera, waiting for the perfect moment to squeeze the screenshot button.
As the light hits the exquisite rough texture of the elephants' hides, a tiger emerges from the treeline and, like a game of golf ruining a good walk, proceeds to tear me to shreds. But it doesn't matter. I got the shot."
It's probably the single prettiest thing I've ever had published online, thanks to their lovely clean layout and especially to the pics from interviewees Gary Dooton and Dead End Thrills.

It's not perfect, but this Rock Paper Shotgun article about Hitman's Elusive Target mode was a fun challenge, pitching and writing something and having it published within 36 hours of me having the initial controller-in-hands experience. (I wrote about Hitman on the blog already. In any other year, it would probably be my hands-down Game of 2016, but we've been blessed with an anomalously good crop of the ol' electronic entertainments this year.)

If you're talking about games in 2016, though, there's a single title that is so hard to ignore that frankly even I'm surprised we've gotten this far without mentioning it. Summer 2016 will forever be remembered as 'the Pokémon Go era', especially when it comes to stuff I wrote.

There was a solid month where every third story on Mobile Marketing had a Pikachu pun in it, the best of which was probably this look at how pubs and shops were piggybacking onto the game's enormous success. I've got a couple of other Poké-themed articles coming out soon, which sadly just narrowly missed the August window, but the best thing I'll probably ever write on the topic is already out there.

That's this Kotaku article, where I talk about how inaccessible and tricksy and weird the game is, for such a big successful mobile title.
"It's aggressively light on tutorial, leaving you to work everything out for yourself. What does the colour of this circle mean, and why is it growing and shrinking like that? Do the rustling leaves mean a Pokémon will spawn in that spot? What the hell do I do with this egg? Confused, alone, you’re in the same state that you were when you took those first steps out of Pallet Town and into the long grass of Route 1.
By the conventional rules of apps – in terms of onboarding and UX and all the other jargony things that developers concern themselves with – this is disastrous. But it can actually be made to work in an app's favour. People have drawn the comparison with Snapchat, which was apparently designed specifically to be confusing in a way that repels old people like me."
If I wanted to get wanky about it – and when have I ever missed and opportunity for that – it's secretly an article about not being sure if I'm old or still a child, and the transience of any new experience, and trying to reconcile all that through a constant that has been in my life for nearly 20 years. Y'know, like Songs of Innocence & Experience, but with more Snorlax.

My column over at ComicsAlliance, The Issue, is currently going strong. I've been playing around with the form as seems appropriate, doing a review of Locke & Key's month-spanning "February" in 29 installments and even a choose-your-own article which can be read a dozen different ways to match an Adventure Time issue with the same gimmick.

Probably the best example, though, is considerably less flashy. In June ComicsAlliance ran a Pride Week, with an incredible breadth of articles and viewpoints. I was fortunate enough to get to contribute a piece on Generation Hope's "Better", which uses mutants to talk about some pretty harrowing real-world events:
"In late 2010, four young gay men in the US committed suicide within a single month. The most widely reported was the story of Tyler Clementi, an 18 year-old student in New Jersey who killed himself a few days after being secretly recorded kissing another man. “Better” puts those events through the filter of the X-Men, but it doesn’t work hard to disguise them. The story focuses on a student, Zeeshan, whose mutant powers manifest in front of two friends who choose to record the transformation and post it online.
It’s an imperfect analogue, as mutants always are. Using a group who are defined by their frequently world-threatening powers as a stand-in for an oppressed minority or community is troubling because it casts them as a threat. There certainly are people who see the LGBTQ community that way, but it’s not a worldview you want to ally yourself with. And, as recent events have brutally reminded us, it’s pretty much the exact opposite of how it actually works in the real world."
No gimmick, no experimentation, just me just writing my little heart out. It was uncomfortable and difficult to write, and I just hope that translates into something positive when you read it.

Also during Pride Week, I reviewed Si Spurrier and Jeff Stokely's The Spire, and tried to pick apart how the comic deals with queer issues. I'm not sure I did the whole thing justice, but it's one of my favourite comics of the year.

One final bit of ComicsAlliance stuff. I generally shy away from interviews, and Q&As especially, but that's exactly what I did after Comixology launched their Netflix-y 'Unlimited' service. I spoke to CEO David Steinberger about creator remuneration, ownership and what 'unlimited' really means. I was really happy with the result, and it laid the groundwork for another bigger piece I have coming out in the next week or so.

Finally, Tim + Alex Get TWATD – a side project that started out life on this very blog – has improbably reached its second anniversary. Now on Tumblr, TWATD is a way of forcing myself (and Tim, unfortunately for him) to find as many ways as possible to write about a single comic, namely The Wicked + The Divine.

The instalment I'd point you towards is "Don't", which is basically a close reading of every action scene (or at least, every major act of violence) in the series so far. Fair warning, it's full of spoilers, but I think this excerpt is okay:
"I watched Die Hard for the thousandth time last weekend, and it got me thinking about the rules of action movies. In order to make the guy with the gun their hero, these films have to draw a line between ‘killing’ and ‘murder’. When John McClane empties a machine gun into Marco’s groin, he kills him. When Hans Gruber shoots Ellis in the head, he murders him.
‘Rising Action’ basically conforms to those rules. The Pantheon don’t actually kill one other, but when they crack each other’s skulls, that’s action. It’s all cool entrances and backflips and laser katanas. Despite them arguably playing the ‘bad guys’ this arc, that’s equally true of Ananke’s faction."
Unless you've never seen Die Hard, I guess. Sorry about that.

If you're looking for something a bit lighter, we're currently doing a 30 Day Challenge, where Tim and I both answer a set question about the series (favourite issue, least favourite character, some more esoteric fan stuff). That's still rolling, you can check it out here.

Wednesday, 29 June 2016

PS4Play: Steamworld Dig (2014, Image & Form)

This weekend, I finished Steamworld Dig. That in and of itself is pretty remarkable. As much as I love games, these days I rarely finish them. Normally, I suck out all of a game's ideas and mechanics, like the marrow from its bone, or get stuck or just bored, and then move onto the next one.

In part, that's simply because Steamworld Dig is short. I polished it off in five and a half hours, though one of the achievements I browsed through after completing suggests you can do it in under three. By video game standards, that's positively skeletal.

The other part is the soothing rhythm of the game. Before I explain what I mean, I'd better lay out what Steamworld Dig actually is:
There's a robot. Rusty, his name is. Awful shiny feller. Into the two-horse, three-bot town of Tumbleton, Rusty comes a-strollin'. Tumbleton's a strange place, a mix of ol' Western tropes and steampunk science-fiction that the game shouldn't rightly be able to pull off, but does mainly thanks to its Saturday-morning-cartoon graphical stylings. Anyway, Rusty strolls into town clutching his uncle's will and a pickaxe, with a mind to digging down deep underground.

What follows is basically a two-dimensional adaption of the block-hitting action you've likely seen in Minecraft. The world beneath the world's crust is made up of a series of cubes, and by tapping the pickaxe button, you chip away at them to create a path and mine for precious minerals. As you dig down deeper and deeper, the blocks become harder to mine, but you earn new and upgraded tools that make you faster, stronger, harder and indeed better.

Steamworld Dig is not a game you'd accuse of being especially nutritious, but that simple loop – of encountering a tougher obstacle, and buying your way to an upgrade that lets you overcome it – is undeniably satisfying.

Playing Steamworld Dig, you're likely to catch yourself every now and then and realise, yup, these are empty calories. But occasionally a bit of mental junk food is exactly what you need from a gaming session. For example:

Waking up to the EU referendum result on Friday – after a few nights of limited sleep and travel – I found myself, to my own surprise, genuinely distraught. The idea of going outside or watching the news was unpalatable. Even music was too much, too likely to jangle my nerves, and all that made it incredibly difficult to work or even function properly.

Over lunch, though, I popped on a podcast (Jay & Miles X-Plain The X-Men recapping the '80s crossover event Inferno – no connection to real-world or even vaguely current events, no British accents) and Steamworld Dig on the PS4. It was an incredibly soothing experience. Not only did it take my mind off the chaos unfolding in the real world, Steamworld Dig offered a self-contained sense of order where, with a little effort, all problems were surmountable. I guess, to use a word I've always been uncomfortable with, it was empowering.
It's a game I find hard to actively recommend – it does what it sets out to do in slick rewarding fashion, and not much more – but that session of Steamworld Dig was magical.

It's worth adding that the magic held up beyond that, right until the end, those rewarding loops continuing to pull me deeper and deeper below the surface. I suspect half an hour more and the game would have outstayed its welcome, but that's the beauty of being short. I finished Steamworld Dig, and put it down happy, satisfied to never touch the game again.

Previously on PS4Play: Hitman, clockwork puzzles & Groundhog-Day syndrome

Wednesday, 11 May 2016

PS4Play: Hitman (2016, IO Interactive)

After a bit of a fallow year for gaming in 2015, when I played a lot of analogue cardboard games and MGS V and basically nothing else, I started this year by buying a PS4. I'm in that glorious post-new-console honeymoon period, where I suddenly have a huge library of games at my disposal. So as I cycle through games, I want to try and write about at least some of them. 

The plan is short blogs – not too much thinking ahead, not too much editing, just what I can shake loose in a single sitting – picking out one or two things I find interesting about each game. Here's the first:


I've always enjoyed the Hitman series, but none of its previous incarnations has ever made me swoon like Hitman, the awkwardly-named sixth (depending on how you count) game.

Maybe I'm being shallow, and it's just the lovely graphics. Sapienza in particular is luscious, the kind of Mediterranean seaside resort you wouldn't mind getting bumped off in.

Maybe it's the slightly increased willingness to hold your hand. The Hitmans (Hitmen?) have always been about finding off-kilter ways to dispatch your target, and this game introduces an Opportunities system that walks you through some of the dozens of murder options present in each sprawling level. That might sounds a bit off-putting at first, like Assassination For Dummies, but in practice it makes achieving that ludicrous
disguise-yourself-as-a-kitchen-assistant-poison-your-target's-spaghetti-then-kick-them-off-a-cliff assassination a feasible prospect without having to consult an online guide beforehand.

Maybe it's the episodic structure, which I suspect was a result of how the game got made rather than a deliberate design decision, but is nevertheless absolutely perfect. Releasing the game in level-by-level chunks means there's the promise of a new destination every month, and extra incentive to thoroughly rinse the missions you've already got while waiting impatiently for the next to come out.


So, for the first time in a over a decade of playing Hitman games, I feel like I really understand the series, for good and ill. The Hitman games pretend to be loose and spontaneous, with hundreds of ways to complete each level, and I've been tricked into thinking they're games of violent improvisation. But that's not really the case at all.

Let's use one of Hitman's coolest new additions to explain what I mean: Escalation Contracts. This mode recycles the levels you've already got with a brand new mission that takes two or three minutes to complete. Remember that guard on the left that you just sprinted straight past? Now he's the target. Once you're done, it runs you through five increasingly difficult variations on it. This time, you can't kill anyone but the target. This time, you have to kill this second guy as well. This time, that disguise you've been relying on doesn't work anymore.

It's a great way of underlining both the fluidity and the rigidity of Hitman's systems. As you level up, you can choose your insertion point, what clothes you're wearing, what weapons you have stashed in a dark corner of the level. This leads to a cool puzzle, capable of generating some genuine eureka moments before the level even begins. Oh, man, if I start in the kitchen with the poison stashed back there, I can probably do this in no time.
Equally, though, once you've found an optimal combination and route to success, you're likely to spend each new variation basically perfecting your racing line.

At best, you're Bill Murray jumping over the puddle in Groundhog Day, Tom Cruise shooting aliens without even looking in Edge of Tomorrow, Keanu Reeves seeing through the Matrix to the underlying code. At worst, you're living through the bits they cut out of those movies' montages, screwing up one tiny moment in that combo chain and endlessly reloading the same thirty seconds over and over (to ratchet up the tension, you can't save at any point during these Escalation missions, and have to start all over every time you fail).

This is exacerbated by some truly atrocious loading screens, which involve staring at a vaguely animated map of the world for up to a minute. Mess up the first couple of seconds a few times and you'll quickly spend more time in this dull geography lesson than actually playing.

All of which exposes the mechanisms beneath game's shiny (oh god it's so shiny) exterior. Hitman is set in a world world which revolves to a hilarious degree around the player. Practically every other male character is bald, and/or wearing a hat, and roughly the same dimensions (not to mention skin colour) as Agent 47, so that you could easily pass for that person with a simple costume-change, probably after garrotting them and dumping the body in a freezer.

This is something the game actually pokes fun at in its training levels, which are constructed out of cardboard and plywood and where you're assured all of your stabbing/poisoning/ejecting is completely harmless. It's a reminder that this is an artificial environment created for you to muck about in.

So, no, Hitman isn't the game I once thought it was. I remember criticising mobile spin-off Hitman Go for trapping the player on rails, which I saw as a fundamental misunderstanding of a series where the whole point is choosing your own approach. I was wrong. Hitman isn't an organic homicide simulator. It doesn't reward experimentation, except under very strict lab conditions.

But you know what? That's fine. In exchange, Hitman offers gorgeously deep levels, and it's hugely rewarding to learn the whirr and tick of their inner workings.


In the process of grinding out the perfect stealthy walk down a corridor, you might suddenly notice a speedboat parked up outside an open window, or a poisonable glass of wine that had passed you by the first six times, unlocking a completely different set of clockwork mechanisms that lead to you drowning your mark in a toilet rather than dropping a light fixture on them.

Often, though you won't be able to do anything with this information until the next time you play through this level, or by switching over to a different mode. So you do, this time spotting it's possible to scale that clock tower on the square –  but to do anything about it, first you'll need to keep playing and unlock the sniper rifle. And you do, starting over and over again and finding more and more ways to dispatch your targets until you know the nuances of this simulated town almost as well as that bloody loading-screen atlas you've got burned onto your retinas.

Tuesday, 10 May 2016

Alex's Adventures in Internetland: The Year So Far

Oh gosh. I haven't posted anything on this blog for the entirety of 2016 to this point. I've got a couple of things cooking, but in the meantime it seemed polite to let you know what I've been busy doing instead (namely, writing for other sites for actual currency that I can use to feed myself and my very hungry dog).

My column over at ComicsAlliance, The Issue, has warped into something I didn't expect: an outlet for the frustrated English-Literature student that still resides within me. Like when I tried to capture the purple-prose energy of Grant Morrison's ambitious but flawed picture-book issue of Batman and channel it into my write-up:
"Van Fleet’s art constantly strains to break out of the restraints it’s been given, blurring the edges of boxes so they look like a Papa Roach album cover, or even flopping out onto the rest of the page to disrupt the reading flow of the text. Morrison embraces his inner pulp-fiction writer practically to the point of strangulation; strings of adjective and simile tumbling out onto the page like he’s not fully in control of the keyboard.

The result is actually quite ugly, with a visual style evoking the manual for a bargain-bin videogame, and writing that crushes just about every convention of ‘respectable’ literature like a crook’s windpipe under the weighty tread of a Bat-boot."
(And if that's not highfalutin enough for ya, I also wrote one about Rudyard Kipling, or at least the version of him that appears in The Unwritten.)

On the exact opposite end of the spectrum, here's a dumb ComicsAlliance thing about when Spider-Man rolls his mask up to his nose, and how Kirsten Dunst getting off with Toby Maguire shaped me as an adolescent. (To this day, I can only get my mack on while upside-down and wearing a ski mask.)

"My own personal kinks aside, though, that rolled-up mask is just a cool practical consideration that makes the costume feel that much more lived-in. It’s probably also my favourite thing about cosplay at cons, or Hallowe’en — seeing people in these costumes in downtime, at lunch or a bar or on the dancefloor, expresses a different side of the characters they’re dressed as."

Meanwhile, over at the day job, the ongoing ad block war (which is the third most fun war of the last six months, after Star Wars: The Force Awakens and Captain America: Civil War) has provided plenty of fuel for my inner tabloid writer, as both sides of the debate throw increasingly soap-opera-esque insults at each others.

As part of that, I spoke to Alexander Hanff, a privacy advocate who's basically threatening to take the entire European ad industry to court. The result was one of my favourite interviews I've ever done:

“People have the right to block ads,” Hanff told Mobile Marketing. “People have the right to walk out of the room or switch the channel when their TV shows commercials. People have the right to not look at the ads or destroy the ads in a newspaper. There is no law anywhere that states people have to look at ads, so to call these ad block users ‘thieves’ is completely false.

“The people that are breaking the law are the publishers and the ad tech industry and the developers of the software that is doing this surveillance, and that needs to end. And it’s my goal to stop it.”

(I also got to write one of my beloved brief-history-of pieces, this time on the occasion of Twitter's tenth birthday.)

With the lonnnnng gap between issues, it's been a while since Mr Maytom and I once more returned to our Tumblr side project, Tim + Alex Get TWATD. But my most recent essay was heavily delayed enough to fall into the 2016 window, and fortunately it's one of the ones I'm happiest with, as I pick apart the distancing effect I felt across the course of WicDiv's 'Commercial Suicide' arc.

"Each guest artist bends the comic’s style to match with the relevant god, but in a lot of cases I think it’s actually more to do with how they want to be seen.

Brandon Graham trades in McKelvie’s crisp thin line for something softer and more sensuous, even while we realise that Ruth is actually a character in denial about her feelings, not embracing them. Stephanie Hans’ glorious painted art amps up the mythology angle, in line with Amaterasu’s self-presentation as the most classical god. Reading the issue, I didn’t feel any closer to the character, because Amaterasu is permanently posed, every panel is an epic mural."

(For more of me enthusing about Gillen/McKelvie comics, and exposing a little too much of myself, check out my ComicsAlliance review of their Phonogram: The Immaterial Girl, which kind of turns into a veiled rant about how I'm getting old.)

I mentioned already that I have a dog, right? Right at the start of the year, I managed to find a neat way of closing that using-my-time-to-actually-feed-him loop by writing a Kotaku piece about dogs and games, from Nintendogs to The Sims.
"There are some things that no game can really prepare you for. I don't remember the bit in MGS V, for example, where D-Dog is sick en route to a mission, producing a substance that resembles awful school-dinner chilli con carne but which he apparently finds delicious.
There's no Nintendogs minigame that has you waggling the stylus to pee against a shed at 3am in a sleep-deprived attempt to teach your new puppy that the garden is a great place to go to the toilet."
(I also wrote another thing over at Kotaku about pairing music with games, including Dre/GTA and Carly Rae/Audiosurf, but as that was specifically about 2015 stuff I've relegated it to this bracket.)

And if you'd like to get a little better acquainted with little Lucky Spencer-Dale, why not watch this lovely short film starring he, me and Imi, directed by friend of the blog Reece 'Shimmerman' Lipman?

(There's also a 'profile' on me in which I answer a set of questions about London as stupidly as I can manage.)

Oh, speaking of videos... Would you like to see me looking like an idiot in a variety of VR goggles? Of course you would.

(And if that piqued your curiosity, check out this more in-depth piece about my feelings and reservations about virtual reality after spending a bit more time there.)

About Me

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London, United Kingdom
Videogames, film, music, comics: feed them into the Alex-Spencer machine and out come neat little articles. Like the ones you're looking at here.