I called an Apple Store, just for kicks, to see how things were going during the launch, and if he thought they might have any phones ever. He described the line to me, the one outside of his store, as something like a human Möbius strip - a warping tendril folded in, a thing without earthly end.
“I’m looking at eternity,” he said. “I can see the tail of The Beast.”
I’ve gone on at length about how waiting in line is a tonic for the soul. For tech and films especially, it’s a rare coordinate where you stand a reasonable chance of being able to have a conversation with any person next to you, any “random” person, but they aren’t actually random because simply by being in line we have some notion of how their variables might be set. Organisms who (under other circumstances) would be little more than shambling physical obstacles become something akin to people.
I can’t really swing a launch day in the middle of the week anymore, though. I’m not entirely sure what that is about. Kiko has one, and I pop into his office every hour or so to fondle it, but this probably isn’t a long term play. When the hunger dies down, assuming that ever happens, I’ll tiptoe over the launch wreckage and get my handset without blood.
We were able to secure another spark to push through the main campaign in Transformers, and here at the half-way point there have been what Robert might call “key learnings.”
This game will kill players without a second thought. It’s “old school” in its sensibilities, and by old school I mean paleolithic. It borders on mean-spirited, frankly, and it is only the incredibly granular checkpointing that has allowed me to retain my civility. The Decepticon campaign on Medium difficulty had boss fights that required nearly twenty attempts to complete, and more than one that needed ten, with heaps of instant-kill attacks and environmental shenanigans. There is a lot to like from what you might call a “kee kurr kee kurrch jown” perspective, and the palette shift from the cold Decepticon campaign to the fragile optimism of the Autobots has joy as its result. But God damn these guys, God damn them; when they yank the lever over to “murderous,” you can feel it in your entire frame.
(CW)TB out.
