Cream Wolf is a fever dream in Flash form.
Concretely, Cream Wolf is about an ice cream vendor and werewolf who gobbles up his clients by night. It proves to be a strange and interesting premise for a game that is eerily familiar, yet alien and unsettling. Goofy 8-Bit graphics and an off-kilter MIDI ice cream truck music are merely a veneer for this game’s black heart. By contrast, its gameplay systems are surprisingly complex, again throwing player expectations off-guard. Your avatar prowls the suburban streets in his little white van, playing Jack-in-the-box tunes to attract new customers. Collecting cones for speed and supplies, and holding ‘X’ to roll that siren song, the player must avoid other vehicles (because ‘they just wouldn’t understand’) while delivering iced confectionery to sweet-toothed children. Each order triggers a roulette-style mini-game, where the player must craft a specific ice cream creation quickly and accurately for reward. The reward? Fatter, meatier children, more susceptible to “Greensleeves” than ever before. As dusk sets in, your vision blurs, and it’s time to gather up the little blighters before the curse takes hold.
As the fat pre-teens – like rats – marched hypnotically towards my humble abode, an unmistakable wave of feeling washed over me: this is wrong. And then, with a blood-chilling howl, I eviscerated my prey, painting the lawns with the blood of children. Indie developers, take note – it is possible to disturb and entertain at the same time!
Score: 
(out of four)
Click here to play Cream Wolf.
I really should have written this in time for Valentine's Day, but as you can probably tell, this took me a few days to write.
It's no secret that despite heading up a number of relationship advice columns over the years, IGN's own Jessica Chobot has long struggled with the art of digital courting in Bioware's RPGs. Having played and explored the fullness of several Bioware RPGs, and having courted a few real-life ladies in my time, I believe I can offer Ms. Chobot some help in this regard. Here I will address each roadblock she has encountered with real-world advice that - perhaps contrary to 'popular wisdom' - will also work in a Bioware game.
(Strangely enough, these games are programmed by [mostly] men who have interacted with women in real-life. I know, it's surprising! Presumably, the folks at Bioware also did a lot of research before implementing their romantic subplots.)
DISCLAIMER: While I realise that you, Ms. Chobot, are currently assuming the role of a female Shepard, it appears you are intent on pursuing romantic relationships with the female NPCs. I *could* argue that Shepard, whether male or female in appearance, is most definitely a masculine force for change within Mass Effect's greater narrative, but that is unnecessary and the subject of another blog post entirely. We need only make the observation that in any given relationship, whether it be heterosexual or not, one assumes the masculine pole while the other assumes the feminine opposite (and these can be switched between male and female as well). Ergo, these principles of male and female attraction still apply here - as the pursuer (and hero of the story), Shepard is assuming the masculine role. The gender of the pursuer doesn't even matter, to be truthful - the only condition that matters here is that we are trying to bag you a lady-friend, and so we need only look at how to create that feeling we call 'attraction' in a woman.
Without further adieu, here we go:
Problem 1: "Everyone I try to attempt a relationship with is a frigid b*&^%!"
Unfortunately, any woman you are not already familiar with is likely to put up a cold front. The reason? Women are afraid of strangers, for a start. Psychological studies have shown that women are far less likely to let a stranger inside to make an emergency phone call than men. And fair enough - statistics likely also show that women are most likely to be raped and/or killed by strangers. So the other reason is there's a lot of freaks out there, and a woman doesn't want any old freak coming up to her and talking to her. An attractive woman is likely approached by multiple men on any given day - she doesn't have a whole lot of time on her hands - so this frigid demeanour is her way of sifting the men from the boys.
Solution: Only the Hero May Cross the Threshold.
Yes, it's a cliche straight out of Joseph Campbell, but it's a cliche because it works. Deep down, a woman just wants to be loved, but she doesn't want to give it away to just any old guy: the wall of ice is erected by the woman as a challenge. The hero that breaks through the wall of ice proves himself worthy as a man, and as a lover. The man's unconscious goal in all things, is to penetrate; be that the world, their career, this 'wall of ice', and ultimately, their woman. And I'm not just talking physically. I can tell you right now that even once you snare your lady-love's fair hand, the testing will not stop. EVER. If a man instead allows the world, his job, or his circumstances to instead penetrate him, this will have a flow-on effect to your woman. She will sense it, and the tangible result of that is - believe it or not - excessive nagging and complaining. This is not the woman nagging and complaining about the particular subject or topic she's nagging or complaining to you about - this is her way of asking you, "why aren't you being all that I know you can be? Why are you denying me the fullness of your ferocious love?" Oftentimes, you will need to penetrate your woman's mood, no matter how loudly she protests - she might tell you she's "fine" even though you know she's furious; she might be caught in a self-perpetuating loop of negative thinking - it is your job as a man to face this challenge head on, to stand before the storm and yell "do your worst!" and weather it out. She wants you to charge through her mood on your horse and sweep her off her feet, again and again and again. Unfortunately, a man's first instinct is to retreat to his cave instead, and avoid potential conflict altogether. And guess what? It all begins at the pub/club/supermarche/library/spaceship with her front of frigidity. If you prove you can break through that, you're proving you're the fierce hero and not the cowardly cave-dweller.
But how do you go about it? Well, it's called an 'ice breaker' for a reason - go up and talk to her, silly! And when you talk to her, talk confidently. Not like a jerk, but with a bit of cocky humour. Call her out on her icy disposition, she knows she's doing it, and she won't believe you dared to point it out. The girls at school always, always crush on the boy who pulls their pigtails, not the boring, quiet, nice one (and I should know - I was that boy). Making her feel something, even wrinkled-nose annoyed, is better than being utterly forgettable. This is the part that women often confuse: what women logically want (a nice, sensitive, caring boy) versus what women subliminally want (an exhilarating, unpredictable adventure) and primally need (a strong warrior-man to hunt and kill food, and protect her young). This is where the whole idea of 'cocky and funny' comes from; it provides equal doses of adventure and security that a woman wants and needs. If you lack the confidence of 'cocky', you'll come off as insecure, she'll sense it, and as a result you may even creep her out. THIS IS NOT GOOD. Stand up straight, make proper eye contact, and speak clearly for God's sake. Okay, so you may not be able to control all of these factors in a role-playing game, but you need to grasp these principles, so stay with me here.
To summarise: be challenging, not boring. Be the rugged bad boy, not the goody-two-shoes. Respond to her fronts and jibes with 'cocky and funny' dialogue, and BAM! You have what is commonly known as flirting! Flirting is essential! (Most women, including Chobot, probably already know this.) It takes a bit of effort to melt a woman's icy disposition - it's all part of the test.
Problem 2: "Where does this chick get off telling me that she’s perfect and questioning my authority?"
Solution: Hold Your Ground!
Can you not see that this is the perfect beginning to a flirtateous repartee? She says she's perfect? Well, that's the perfect opportunity for a little teasing! Have a go at her for something trivial - if she gets even the smallest thing wrong, there goes her whole argument - and congratulations, you've just posed an interesting challenge! By backing down and retreating to your man-cave, you've effectively validated her shitty attitude.
As I said before, her complaint isn't actually about your leadership - well, it is, but it isn't. She's actually challenging you to be all you can be. What she's really saying is, "why do you deny me the fullness of your presence?" Your heart's not in it, and she can sense it. You're not going to demonstrate your authority by running away with your tail between your legs; you need to face the storm head-on even if it's a frightening squall of feminine anger. If you're still standing at the end of it, she'll love you for it.
Problem 3: "Just as things were going well and Jack was starting to open up, I went in for the kill and straight off the bat, she told me to politely eff off and that she didn’t want 'to play.' ARGH!"
Solution: "Two Steps Forward, One Step Back"
AND
"Always Leave a Little Mystery."
Never, ever, EVER, go straight for the kill. She's using it as bait to see how quickly you'll succumb, and guess what? You just failed the test! By all means, act interested, but you need to give the impression you could take it or leave it. You're a very busy person (have to save the galaxy and all that); you're in high demand (plenty of NPCs in the sea...); and you've got plenty of options (at least, dialogue-wise). You're kind of a big deal around here. Of course, you don't go around trumpeting that from the rooftops (lest you sound like a jerk), but you need to believe it to carry it off. They can smell the fear! They can smell the desperation! Going in for the kill at the first opportunity reeks of desperation.
Always, always, always tease, tease, tease. Two steps forward, one step back. For women, attraction is always about anticipation, and you don't get anticipation if you go for the whole hog at once. Run your finger across the back of your hand - she'll want to hold it. Let her hold it, but after a while, just let go. She won't know why, but that's the point: she won't know what's coming next, but she'll desperately want to know. Maybe play with her hair, behind her ears. If she lets you do this, then she'll let you kiss her. Lean in close, so there's that classic movie-distance between your faces. Then don't. Pull away. She won't know why you just did that, but you've just upped the intensity. She'll be left wondering when you're going to kiss her. If you're a woman and you're reading this, you're probably getting turned on right about now. That's because this is the way romance novels are written: two steps forward, one step back. Maybe this time you'll go in for the kiss, but it'll just be a peck on the cheek. Then go back to just hand-holding. This will infuriate her to no end. Pretty soon you'll have her so frustrated she'll grab you by the shoulders, give you a long, passionate kiss, and suck the air out of your lungs. Mission accomplished. See what happened there? You made her want it by dangling it there, and then pulling it away. She wants what she can't have, not what's readily available. If you go straight in for the kill, you're readily available. And while videogames haven't evolved quite this far as yet, the principle still applies when it comes to dialogue options.
Always leave a little bit of mystery. Women are very good at this, and it drives men crazy, but it works just as well the other way. If you tell her your life story in one hit, what have you left to intrigue her with? Nothing, that's what! You've effectively put yourself in an all-too-convenient box, and she'll lose interest. No, you need to dodge questions, give vague answers - this is why women call men liars, but this is also why they love male liars. Besides, they hate it when we get in on their trade, because they're so damn good at it themselves. Sure, it'll frustrate her to no end, but it will also drive her crazy. Pretty soon, her one obsession will be to unravel the mystery that is Captain Shepard. And that's exactly what you want.
Problem: "...she’s only used me to buy her dinner..."
Solution: "Go Dutch."
For those unfamiliar with 'going Dutch', that means split the bill. Let your date pay for her meal, and you pay for yours. By paying for everything, you're saying "I need to provide incentives to make you want to hang around me." This is not what you want. She should want to hang around you for you. Hanging around you should be such an amazing time, that she doesn't care where you go. It's okay to pay for things every know and then, as long as it's clear you're doing it because you want to - on your terms - not because society has thrust it upon you.
I think that about covers it for now. If you have any dating questions for me, ask away, and I'll do my best to answer them in my next post. Until then, go get 'em, Tiger!
Saturday 30th January, 2010 at the Brisbane Riverstage, Australia.
Dreadlocks and weed smoke were the order of the day at the Brisbane Riverstage this January. Indeed, it was in surplus, or at least that’s the tale the Glad-bag full of joints on the ground outside told. Never have I witnessed a festival queue this long at this venue, not even for The Hives, Franz Ferdinand, or Nick Cave. And yet, for all the joints being passed around, I can’t imagine the bag-checking was terribly thorough. It seemed to be an unwritten rule – police presence was minimal if not non-existent – and security cracked down on fold-out chairs while developing convenient black spots in their vision in the shape of hand-rolled blunts. And why would you, I suppose; it kept the masses subdued enough not to cause any real trouble.
Unfortunately, I missed festival openers House of Shem due to the shambolic queuing system. I can at least say that their music sounded studio quality, as I was under the false impression that the music coming from the loudspeakers was being played from a compact disc.
When I finally entered the festival grounds, I wondered what perverted brand of justice would allow me to miss a talented band and not the infernal scribbling of Sean Kingston that followed. I don’t have much to say on the subject, actually – fans of Mr. Kingston would have been better off staying at home and listening to the CD – he was essentially standing on stage performing karaoke to his own tunes. Truly awful.
Thank God redemption was at hand, though, when Steel Pulse took to the stage. They sported a powerful reggae groove throughout the set, emphasising the bass line as all good reggae should. And while said grooves sat back in the saddle (again, as all good reggae should), the band played with a tightness that can only come from 35 years of musicianship.
Building on this strong musicianship came Melbourne-based blues and roots band Blue King Brown. Their set was as rhythmic as it was politically and emotionally charged. A great deal of that came from Haitian-born backing vocalist Ngaiire on the back of their tragic loss, but the stage well and truly belonged to lead singer and guitarist Natalie Pa’apa’a, loaded as she was with fire and charisma. This is strong message music at its finest – though perhaps a little too strong – I almost felt bad dancing to it, as if I was somehow trivialising its meaning by enjoying it aesthetically. I’m sure Pa’apa’a would be pleased to know this – mission accomplished!
Julian Marley, one of Bob’s many sons, followed to take things down a peg (or ’simmer down’, if you will). From a distance, I could have sworn it was the Man himself. Closing my eyes, I believed he was there. Unfortunately for Julian and his siblings, they will forever live in his father’s shadow. And how could you not, really – but there is still a degree to which they’ve failed to build on their father’s music – musically, politically, and spiritually. He looks like Bob, he sounds like Bob, but he doesn’t stir like Bob. Nonetheless, it remains a great privilege to be able to hear a Wailers tune sung by a Marley in this day and age.
Sly and Robbie came up as the sun went down, and the people danced into the night to their laundry list of riddims, each folding seamlessly into the next. Much as I revere them as pioneers and innovators of the Jamaican music scene, I found myself unable to penetrate their sound. It seemed so lost and unfocused, a reggae take on a Grateful Dead acid jam. But that’s some people’s bag, and I respect that.
Next came the one we were all waiting for (contrary to what Shaggy would have you believe) – Ms. Lauryn Hill – and by God, she’s still got it. I was truly astonished at how many devoted fans she still has even today, and in Australia no less. Their devotion was well deserved: Ms. Hill delivered a truly incendiary performance, spitting out lyrics like machine-gun fire. Set highlights included “Ready or Not” and “Doo Wop (That Thing)”. Julian Marley returned to the stage to perform a stunning duet of “Turn Your Lights Down Low”. The only down side was the annoying deejay, who was louder in the mix than even Hill, repeatedly yelling “come on Brisbane, make some nooo-oise!!” between each track. (Everyone could tell Lauryn hated him as well, which only added to our affinity.)
Shaggy closed the festival along similar lines (to the deejay, not Hill herself), under the false impression that everyone had come to see him. He seemed not at all impressed with the Brisbane crowd’s tired enthusiasm, despite the fact that it was 11pm and half of them were stoned out of their minds (some perhaps passively). It was a classic case of mismatched demographics: Shaggy was the drawcard to bring in a wider audience (mostly women who want to sleep with him for reasons unknown even to them), while reggae enthusiasts regard his music as Reggae Lite – watered down for the Great Unwashed. Strip reggae of all its political and spiritual significance, and what are you left with? A ‘rude boy’, and just a ‘rude boy’. Indeed, as I watched Shaggy (and Rayvon) amuse with his sexually-charged stagecraft, I found myself wanting for the stuff of substance: your Steel Pulses, your Blue King Browns, and your Lauryn Hills.
Wyclef Jean was originally billed to headline the show, but postponed his performance to 2011 to help the relief effort in his homeland of Haiti. It left me wondering – was Lauryn called in as a last-minute favour for an old friend? Or did she come out of hiding for the one opportunity she was guaranteed not to bump into her former lover and bandmate? Part of me hoped for a Fugees reunion, however unlikely that may have been. Nonetheless, I came away from Raggamuffin far from disappointed.
(out of four)
