The Spectre of Continuity
Human beings wanted to know how Gabriel losing his pants could possibly lead to continuity. Now you know.
Weird things kept happening this weekend.
A while ago, God only knows how long but a very long time ago, I was looking at GBA games at EB when a person recognized me. I do not own a blue shirt like the one in the comic, nor do I look like Tycho, so maybe he checked one of the Cam Portals I am on? In any case. This was one of the first times anyone had just come up to me and said “Hi” outside of some event, so I will admit that it made me a little agitated. I can produce a reasonable facsimile of “personable” virtually on demand, but I developed this weird mannerism on the spot that never really left me. I rub the right side of my jaw with my thumb. I don’t do it all the time, just when I get tense, which is… Most of the time. On Friday, I’d been thinking about that encounter. Does that guy just think I shuffle around public places like malls, rubbing my jaw with my thumb? It made me want to do it immediately, just rub the right side of my face raw. So when I got out of X-Men 2 - awesome, no longer review is required - there is this guy standing by the railing, I knew it was him, and I went up and said I’d been thinking about him that day and that I rarely, if ever, do a lot of rubbing on that side of my face.
That is Bizarre Scenario #1.
Bizarre Scenario #2:
I know a guy whose roommate knows a guy whose roommate works at Sucker Punch, which makes us practically best friends. He was having a party I guess, on Saturday, and under ordinary circumstances maybe I would have gone willingly, but I’d been playing Planetside for three or four hours and I was sort of focused on that. I angrily consented to Brenna’s request, but I told her that if the Faro Technology Plant fell to New Conglomerate dogs, she was to blame - and she was okay with that. It felt like a waking dream as I entered the party, seeing the guitarist from Seattle hip-hop group Optimus Rhyme, and lots of other people who obscuring my view of the liquor. I saw a man walk through the room a couple times and look at me with what seemed like familiarity, but I was talking to the guitarist guy, and besides - it couldn’t have been who I thought it was, because that would have been impossible. Having exhausted the kitchen’s meager store of intoxicants, I began to prowl the house for a fresh supply. Parting the beaded curtain to the Soul Funk Dance Party, I saw another kitchen, containing Seagram’s Dry Gin and also Monarch Vodka, which often goes by its trade name “Poison.” Without a mixer in sight, I poured myself a straight gin and began to seriously consider where my life had taken this turn. The mysterious stranger who was Tim Fucking Schafer approached me then and introduced himself as such. You might recall that I stole his yo-yo, he certainly does, but we were able to discuss other matters without returning to the Yo-Yo Issue overmuch, which I appreciated. He talked about how it’s all well and good to take three years making a game, but that he would like to leverage the artistic and development talents of a full studio to make episodic games no more than perhaps four hours in length at smaller intervals. Of course, I support this one-hundred percent - not just because Tim Schafer is my hero, but because I think as technology improves it gets less and less feasible for teams to create games as we know them. Tim then got out his cell phone and pretended that his ride called him, and that he had to go, which was nice because it allowed me to save face when he was essentially just ditching me.
Sunday was fairly normal.
no-one needs to know