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The Session #111: Are you there Beer? It’s me, Oliver

May 6, 2016 · by Oliver Gray

At 3:00 PM on a Thursday, I found myself almost alone in the local hombrew shop.

Maryland Homebrew is a popular store. I’m used to sharing the mills with several other people, chatting about recipes while waiting my turn to crack. The yeast fridge is often crowded by homebrewing newcomers searching for a specific strain, while veterans reach past them for tried and true favorites. On any given Saturday, the warehouse space in the back hosts a smattering of curious DIY brewers, all of them sitting, laughing, sipping, while they watch a pot boil.

But this time, short of the staff quietly going about their work, it was just me. Just me and all that potential beer.

I took some time. And I mean took it. Gathered it up in my hands and consumed it. Spent each minute purposefully, deliberately, methodically.

It had been too long since I’d taken some time to be with my hobby. The stresses and obligations of life had turned it into perfunction, another box to check so my brain wouldn’t keep me awake all night with constant reminders of unchecked boxes. I had, in a way, distorted my fun into a form of work, disfigured my avocation with nasty scars of predictable routine.

I let the Maris Otter tumble through my fingers into the whirring maws of the mill. The exposed starch piled up in pillowy white hills. As I waited, I popped a few kernels into my mouth.

The next day, I brewed. Ten gallons, split into two batches of five. The batches are wedding bound; a simple Amber and Brown requested by the bride and groom, respectively. I normally brew alone, but my mom, staying with me before her trip to England, played an eager Igor. She’d had my beer before, but never actually participated in the brewing.

She asked questions I’ve long filed away as “known;” reminding me clearly of how much beer- and brewing-related information I’ve squirreled away in this caffeine addled brain. But her naivety was refreshing, if not down right rejuvenating. There stood a 59 year old woman who has seen and traveled and tasted the world, asking me, in earnest with sparkling curiosity, about the very basics of brewing beer.

And with that, on my front porch, drinking a Yuengling, stirring in an eye-balled half ounce of centennial hops, my heart broke. I saw in my mom myself, the me of 10 years ago, when all this brewing stuff was shiny and new. A version of me all but gone, replaced by some jaded asshole who thinks too highly of himself.

I had forgotten why. Why any of this mattered to me. What a hand-me-down kettle, some malt extract, and a dirty party tap on an old Coca-Cola corny meant to me when I first got it into my brain that I was qualified or skilled enough to make something as delicate as beer.

Forgotten all those hilarious stories of growing up with a dad who made his own beer-of-questionable-quality. Lost, in the wheel-spinning bullshit of Tweets and petty internet squabbles, the fact that I fundamentally love creating beer.

I’d let the demons of politics and pride in, stood by idly as they painted the walls, rearranged the furniture, and created a space I was no longer comfortable in.

And then I had the audacity to blame anything but myself.

It’s a weird thing to rediscover a wayward portion of yourself. Like firing up an old video game and finding a save file that you made, years ago, but having only vague recollections of what you did in the game to get to that point.

I just fired up that old save. I’m a little lost as to where I am exactly, but I do remember how to play this game.

Let’s just hope I can actually beat it, this time.

duclawoldflame

Review: Gordon Biersch Czech Style Pilsner

June 18, 2012 · by Oliver Gray

It is hard to tell at this point in my life whether I have gotten much better at video games, or video games have gotten much easier.

I’d like to think that I have the mental ability and dexterity to skillfully play any game, but deep down, a part of me thinks that my recent rise in skill is only thanks to a coincidentally timed decrease in challenge.

When I was but a wee-Oliver, I remember games like Secret of Evermore (SNES, represent!) being stupidly hard. Even now, if I fire up an emulator, the game isn’t incredibly easy. Easier, maybe, but that is because I’ve played (and beaten) it many times before.

I blame the years of World of Warcraft and Kingdom Hearts, and other such games that offer the gamer very little consequence. Failure means little more than restarting at the latest checkpoint, or casually trotting your ghost back to the place you died. The days of losing hours of progress because you forgot to save and got unlucky on one random encounter are gone.

Not that such a trend is a bad thing. I enjoyed the aforementioned games. Autosaves and in-game progress markers make for a much less frustrating gaming experience, and one that requires significantly less time to feel like you’ve accomplished something. But on the other hand, these “features” detract from the edge-of-your-seat excitement that comes from squeaking past a level or area to get to a save point, your characters and investment in the game on the brink of annihilation the entire time.

I enjoyed new attempts to revive gaming difficulty in the likes of Bastion (with all of the idols activated at the same time, the game was near impossible) and a fresh take on puzzles like in PlayDead’s creepy platformer, Limbo. I didn’t enjoy the illusion of difficulty in Dark Souls; I really tried to give the game a chance, but a lack of instructions and monsters that can kill you in one hit is artificial difficulty. The game is no longer testing the player’s skill, but instead, their patience.

Thus I come to the point of my post, the faux-difficulty wall that is Inferno difficulty in Diablo 3. I speak from nerdy experience (Witch Doctor in Act3 Inferno) when I say that Blizzard is simply capping how far players can go with stupid, overly strong encounters. It doesn’t require skill to progress, it requires borderline exploiting and repetitive, boring game play.

Boring game play. That’s kind of against the rules of gaming, right?

That’s why I like beer. Drinking beer is never more difficult than swallowing and savoring. Maybe after 10 or so the difficulty increases, but I’ll save that for another discussion. When I play a game and get frustrated by something completely out of my control (Fast/Invulnerable Minions/Fire Chains/Mortar, anyone?), I can always remind myself that I can have a beer, and enjoy it for what it is.

Gordon Biersch’s Czech Style Pilsner is exactly that. It carries a bit of German influence, but it is sour and malty, setting it apart from more acidic pilsners in the same category. It has an abudant, pure white head that smells hoppy, and takes a good minute to settle. Most importantly, this beer is the epitome of “drinkable.”

When everything is face-bashingly hard and unfun, GB:CSP goes down easy.

8.5 out of 10.

I normally play a Witch Doctor, but I was sick of getting killed in Inferno so I was messing around with a Demon Hunter.

The Emotional Lifecycle of New Video Game Ownership

December 29, 2011 · by Oliver Gray

The highly anticipated multiplayer video game from the big-time gaming company is finally available. It’s an FPS, it’s an RTS, it’s an MMO! You’ve been waiting for this moment for months and your unbridled joy is making the people close to you uncomfortable.

Thus begins the emotional lifecycle of playing a new game:

1. Excitement

No time to go all the way to the store to buy a physical copy of the game, I’ll just download it! Sweet, that was fast! Only 38MBs, that’s crazy. Installed already? Whoa, these splash screens are awesome. I have seen the future, and this is it.

Oh. A 4GB patch. Followed by a 3.2GB patch. Followed by a 2 hour install. That’s OK; I didn’t have to get out of my chair, so this is still a net victory. I’ll just read reviews of the game and all of the available wiki information until the install is done!

What. The. Shit. This intro cinematic is the single greatest thing to ever happen in video game history. How did people make this? It deserves a Grammy. What? Those are only for music? Well whatever, the music is amazing too. Give this all the awards possible.

I submit, after having played for 10 minutes, that this is the greatest piece of art and entertainment ever created by mortals. Zeus himself would have hosted a LAN party while Hera was out of town visiting her mother to play this game.

2. Confusion

Alright, I made my character! He looks exactly like me, except much more athletic and charming. Also, he’s 9 feet tall and blue. What is this tiny robed guy doing? Who are all these people running around with huge weapons? Why is all this stuff on my screen? I clicked the guy, but he won’t do anything! HOW PLAY GAME??

Calm down, you can figure this out. So these buttons move the guy, and that one makes him jump, and ohmygod I’ve got a laser pistol. What can I shoot? Why do I have to talk to all these people? I have a laser gun, let me laser stuff. Can I laser that robot? No? That is bad game design. I could have designed it so much better.

So I’ve collected a lot of these yellow data core things, but I can’t do anything with them. I tried selling them, but apparently this vendor only wants to buy the garbage I find, not anything worth anything. I’ll ask someone in general chat. What do you mean by “L2P noob?” I’m asking because…wait, what about my mother? She doesn’t even use a compu…whoa, dude, I asked because…ouch. Can anyone help me? I just thought I’d ask to…never mind.

Screw this, I’ll just Google it.

3. Comfort

Ding level 15! I got this down now. This game is pretty awesome, after you figure out all the key binds and class options. The graphics are so awesome, and I only have them on lowest setting. I can’t wait to finish up this zone, I heard you get to ride a freakin’ flying dinosaur to get to the next area.

Boom! Zap! Pew pew pew! Oh man, I’m so good, no one can beat me. Did you see that? I totally just took out like 10 dudes at once. I’m like the best player on this sever. Maybe in the whole game.  I should probably become a professional gamer.

Look at that guy in the glowing armor. I can’t wait to be like him. I’m going to be so cool.

4. Apathy

Guess I’ll login and see what’s going on. I already have three max level characters with the best possible gear, but I guess I could start a new one. Maybe I’ll make that one class that sucks and everyone hates just to prove that it doesn’t suck. Nah, I’ll just run around and kill low level people until I get bored.

Oh, you want to show me that quad-barreled, incendiary, fully automatic rocket launcher that you just found? Yea, I threw one of those away earlier to make space in my bags. It pretty much sucks. You want the most powerful sword in the game, for free? I’ve got 3 of them.

I’ll be back in like 5 minutes; I have to go kill the hardest boss in the game again.

5.  Closure

Nah man, I don’t feel like running that dungeon. It’s all the same stuff, you know? Kill bad guys, pick up gear, sell most of it because you already have better, do it all over again. It’s getting kind of old. I think I ran a dungeon while I was asleep last night.

Yea, the game is fun and stuff, but there isn’t enough variety. I mean, owning and commanding your own star fleet is pretty cool, I guess. Yea, I can use my mastery of ancient powerful magic to literally explode people, but meh. I don’t know. I just don’t feel it anymore. I miss the good old days, before they ruined it all to cater to the casual players.

I wonder what other games are coming out soon.

6. Repeat

No time to go all the way to the store to buy a physical copy of the game, I’ll just download it! Sweet, that was fast! Only 38 MBs, that’s crazy. Installed already? Whoa, these splash screens are awesome.

I have seen the future, and this is it.

This may or may not have had a direct impact on this post.

Bricks and Bytes

August 15, 2011 · by Oliver Gray

As a child, my obsession with LEGO was arguably unhealthy. I dreamt of filling a pool with the tiny multi-colored bricks; my dream-self diving deep into it, searching for that one 5×1 gray piece to finish my castle wall. Any time someone asked me what I wanted for my birthday/Christmas/being brave at the dentist, I excitedly mustered a two syllable grunt: “Le-go.”

I had pirate themed sets, medieval themed sets, sci-fi themed sets, and even a boring civil engineering set that included construction workers and a tanker truck. My room was a minefield of pointy plastic; bodies of small men with yellow heads and smiley faces strewn everywhere. I had more LEGO than I could keep track of, and I’m sure my mother was simultaneously happy with the joy it brought me and infuriated with the mess it made.

Although I grew out of formally playing with LEGO many years ago, my admiration for the versatility and creativity of the toy remains. I have a LEGO pirate on my key ring and a menagerie of various LEGO men (from knights to spacemen) on display in my office. On occasion, I even find myself engrossed in a video of the latest MindStorm creations, secretly wishing I had become and mechanical engineer so that I could still play with LEGO all day.

But then it hit me; I do still play with LEGO all day. Well, for large chunks of the day, anyway. It may not be LEGO in its original, multi-colored form, but it involves some sort of building blocks backed by logical order, used to create something tangible.

At work, I use Visio; a flow-chart program that involves logically placing and connecting blocks, to create an image. I organize SharePoint directories into logical hierarchies; like bricks stacked on bricks, color-coded for clarity. Even writing and editing is just a logical process of putting the right parts in the right places; anyone who has ever had to do a Reed-Kellogg knows exactly what I mean.

It follows me home too. I may not have huge plastic bins of smaller pieces of plastic tucked under every bed, but I do have a computer full of games. I just realized that some of my favorites ­– Minecraft, Terraria ­– are almost perfect digital reflections of my favorite childhood pastime. You literally collect and stack blocks of different kinds to create buildings and other large inanimate objects. It even includes elements of the incredibly frustrating but furious search for the one last block that you need to finish your architectural masterpiece. How many hours did you dig through that box of LEGO looking for a black block with a single dot (I called them “oners”)? About the same amount of time you spent mining deep into the blocky, 8-bit earth looking for a few errant diamond ore.

I think this is why I love these games. Their basic game play is the evolution of everything I loved as a child. My brain matured, the LEGO matured. All video games seem to contain an element or two of what made LEGO so engrossing and fun. Role-playing games have that element of subtle progression; each new item you get for your character is like a new tier you built on your underwater sea-fort. Real Time Strategies play out like an interactive LEGO instruction manual; build the spawning pool before you upgrade to a lair, place the blue blocks near the bottom, before you attach the wheels. Not spot on, but not overly tangential either.

Interestingly enough, the official LEGO attempts at games, while quirky and very fun in their own way, aren’t very much like LEGO at all.  They play like traditional platformers, with very little homage paid to the pure art of brick-building. The focus in nearly all of the LEGO games I’ve played seems to be faithful recreation of the subject matter over innovative gameplay. They have many elements of collecting, rebuilding, and revisiting, but I can think of dozens of games closer to brick-building LEGO than the formal, licensed LEGO games.

So are video games just the adult version of LEGO? Do they fulfill the same intellectual urges, prodding our creative sides and stretching our imagination to fantastic new highs? For me, almost certainly. I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to make the connection. Anyone else out there a LEGO-Maniac turned 1334 Gamer?

(Or maybe LEGO is like PRS Guitars...)

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