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Who are you?
I'm the newly-appointed Future editor at Business 2.0 and the former San Francisco correspondent for Time Magazine.
Wow, so does this mean everything you write reflects Time Inc's opinion? Or do you perhaps have some sort of standard disclaimer to the effect that it doesn't?
Naturally, the opinions contained in this blog are not those of my employers. In fact, some opinions may be the polar opposite of my employers. Some may be the same, for all I know. Hey, it's not like I ask my employers their opinions about everything in the news, okay? Let's just say that if this were a Venn diagram with one circle marked "my opinions" and the other one marked "my employers' opinions", there would doubtless be some overlap. But neither I nor my employers are able to pinpoint exactly where that overlap is.
What is this Daily Blah thing?
An experiment for a column I wrote about blogging back in December 2001. All these years later, I haven't been able to kick the habit.
If it's called Daily Blah, how come you don't ... hey, wait, you're writing every day!
See? Told you I'd try harder.
Mister, you talk funny. Are you one of them furrners?
Why yes I am, as it happens. I was born, raised and educated in Great Britain. I've been living in the U.S. since 1996 and identify as British.
I say, old chap, you forgot the "u" in "colour."
No I didn't. I may identify as British, but I am also an American journalist writing for an American audience about mostly American issues. These two different sides of me are a constant source of tension. Nevertheless, Daily Blah will adhere to American English grammar and spelling.
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Daily Blah for... Friday, May 16, 2003
Die, E3, Die
Ah yes, E3. Did I forget to mention I was at E3 this week (translation for non-gamers: the Electronic Entertainment Expo)? Did I forget to mention, perhaps, that I went to the Playboy Mansion? Well, I am, and I did. Now it's Friday afternoon and I am so very ready to get the hell out of this show. The rumbling my-game's-louder-than-yours bass of the booths and the sheer adolescent gawkiness of the games geeks who clog up the corridors by stopping and gawping and pulling out a digicam every time they see a semi-naked my-game's-hotter-than-yours booth babe -- well, they start to grate on my soul every year about this time, and I always tell myself I'm never doing this again. This is my fourth E3.
My workdays have contained nothing but appointments with games companies since Tuesday. Each of them go something like this. You squeeze through the slack-jawed hordes to an ever-more crowded reception desk under epilepsy-inducing colored lights, and try to yell your name and the fact that you have an appointment to the surly-looking receptionist. She will yell "what?" and look at you as if you just crawled off her shoe. Eventually you will establish your identity and, after a little more work, the concept of appointments. It will transpire that there was a piece of paper in front of her with your name on it all the time. No matter whom your appointment was with, your name goes into the random PR person generator and come out with someone completely unknown and impossibly thin and tanned, who will always greet you with the same toothy smile and falsetto "hiiiiyyyy!" as if you were a distant cousin whose name she couldn't quite place, and this were a wedding. A full-on, Indian-style three-day wedding.
From this point on you will be treated like a rock star, plied with sugar snacks and sugarwater and swag, have all your jokes laughed at with the same false laugh, and be whisked in and out of conference rooms to see a dizzying selection of games in varying stages of completion. You will not have enough time to play any of them. You will not be able to hear them because the prefab felt walls are shaking. Some demos will interest you, in which case they will last two minutes. You will never see these games again. Some will bore you to tears, in which case they will last fifteen and contained a detailed examination of a dozen different customizable skateboards. You will receive calls about these games for the next month, "just to follow up."
You will spend about three minutes before and after each demo shaking hands and exchanging nothing pleasantries with each of the five poor slobs who spent the last year working on this piece of crap and are simply glad to see other human beings. Then you will wonder where all the time has gone, why all your appointments are overrunning, and why you don't feel like you've really seen anything that matters. Finally, the PR bunny will ask in the most nonchalant way possible: "so, do you know what you'll be covering yet?" You will say something noncommittal, and with a final toothy grin, she will drop you like a wet stone.
Still, I did get to go to the Playboy Mansion.
I'm never doing this again.
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