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Tribes 2 is the most graceful game ever devised, a subtle and deadly dance of flight-capable exoskeletons, rolling hills and explosive projectiles. Over spring break, having neglected to bring any games home with me, I impulsively dug the CD out of the closet and fired it up on my laptop. My old account, created in June of 2001 and unused since April of 2002, was just as I'd left it. The game's community has shrunk to a core of the most dedicated players, but the online infrastructure -- the browser for viewing the profiles of players and tribes, the internal email system, the master server, the chat interface -- remains completely functional, with the abandoned avatars of past players persisting long beyond reason.
However, the remaining host-servers are still quite lively, and the average player far more skilled than before. As I relearned the motions of jetting, skiing, aiming, and piloting, I realized that no game has approached the refinement of mobility and combat exemplified by Tribes 2. A veteran knows how to exploit every angle and contour of a vast landscape, how to transform a crushing plummet into a skyward soar; jetting hundreds of feet high, he hefts a spinfusor, compensating not only for the immense speed of his airborne target but also for his own, and sends an explosive disc spinning forth, watching as it glides with impossible accuracy to an aerial rendezvous.
Of course, the game is defined by much more than the intricacy of its duels. Complex, sprawling bases house the static equipment -- power generators, inventory stations, long-range sensors, automated turrets, and vehicle bays -- that enables a team to fight effectively. The variety of available armor classes, supplemental packs, weapons, deployable miniatures of base equipment, and vehicles creates a huge array of possible tactical niches, from flag-runner, to engineer, to saboteur, to sniper, to bomber pilot, to one-man artillery unit. A command interface, featuring a battlefield map updated in real time via the team's sensor network, allows a leader to monitor the enemy, issue specific directives, and coordinate assaults.
Games age most quickly with respect to their visual presentation, but for Tribes 2 the beautiful harmony of design that informs every object and landscape transcends the inconsistent detail of the newer Tribes: Vengeance and defies any first-glance dismissal. Although I remain ambivalent about the loss of classic Tribes' charming and grotesque neo-barbarian theme, which has been entirely supplanted in its sequel except for the occasional fanciful light fixture and a bit of wood paneling on the blaster, Tribes 2 achieves an aesthetic adequately unique and wholly united.
Basically, it's a good game.
posted on Friday, March 24, 2006
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Whether or not to walk beneath trees in rain is a question worthy of contemplation. The stoic soul endures the light but constant patter of droplets on the unshielded sidewalk, while a more roguish character dares the heavy gathered water-globules irregularly dispensed by a leafy or blossoming tree, that he might have the good fortune to be struck by none. The upshot of this dichotomy of downpours, both of whose approaches I tried while walking back to Granville, is that I am dripping wet, a fact that would be absolutely peachy in mid-summer, but is merely wretched at today's temperature.
The option of an umbrella is quite below mention, and I only note it to display the breadth of my consideration.
posted on Tuesday, March 21, 2006
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Spring break is over, and that sucks.
I dozed and lazed nearly continuously from Monday through Thursday, but on Friday I was awake before noon, driving toward Greensboro to visit Megan and Emily. Megan showed me around the campus, which is admittedly quite pretty, soon after I arrived, and Becca and Cassandra joined us that night for Mexican food, coffee and scandalous banter (taboos buttress humor so well) at UNC-G's pathetic yet charming knock-off of Franklin Street. Later, before I left, I borrowed a jacket from Megan against the unanticipated cold and climbed with her into a thick-limbed, broadly hulking tree for a long conversation. Made myself needlessly melancholy during the drive home by wondering what kind of person I'm made, if the friends by whom I define myself are so completely disparate. That seems to happen a lot recently.
Yesterday the family, including Mingo, packed into the van and drove down to Wilmington for Nana's birthday. We went to the Oceanic for an excellent lunch, then visited the gardens at Orton Plantation. Slept through the ride home, slept more at home, woke today, ate pancakes, packed, ate home-made hamburgers, arrived back at UNC, and realized I'd better start asking my professors for extensions.
posted on Monday, March 20, 2006
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Certain similarities between Die Hard and Air Force One are striking. Consider the following, applicable to either movie: a team of heavily accented terrorists seizes a large group of hostages, among them our protagonist's wife. The all-American hero himself, meanwhile, evades capture and kayoes a minor terrorist, taking his H&K MP5 and proceeding to pick off one bad guy after another. Eventually, finding himself in a standoff with the terrorists' leader (played by an actor who will later hold an important role in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban), who is holding a gun on his wife, the hero is forced to surrender his trusty German-made submachinegun, but still manages to kill the terrorist and save his wife. However, each of these two movies remains quite distinct, and kicks ass in its own right.
Anyway, I got back from Columbia International last night. Despite only barely enduring the return trip with Audrey, I'm glad I went -- I chilled with Amy, and met lots of cool people, and learned to play Mafia, Mao and Egyptian Ratscrew, and scratched my arms climbing trees, and walked down river-side railroad tracks with Amy and Colin, and got a sun-burn throwing a frisbee around. However, my (solicited) declarations of faithlessness and skepticism apparently give Amy emotional breakdowns. I don't mean to sound callous -- I felt terrible at the time -- but I wish she would spare herself the frustration, and focus on those more easily converted.
Mingo arrived last night shortly after me. He'll be living with our parents and Stephanie again for the next several months, away from his own family, while he settles into his new job and looks for a house down here. It's quite the novelty to share a room with him once again.
posted on Monday, March 13, 2006
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Just finished packing for spring break, which begins with hitching a ride to Columbia International with Audrey for a two-night stay. Diana spent most of yesterday afternoon and evening here; after her departure, as I was watching The Ladies' Man across the hall, several guys commented that someone had been laughing very loudly earlier.
posted on Friday, March 10, 2006
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I went home last weekend to see Mingo, who did indeed get the job he wanted, his ambition as strong as ever. On Sunday afternoon, Diana and I pedal-boated around Lake Johnston and drove around Raleigh; I had fun despite hating myself a bit for having nothing to say. That evening, Nana took the family to a Japanese restaurant, which generally means a half hour of deliberation, principally between Nana and myself, concerning what sushi to get, followed by an hour of feasting upon (for me) sticky rice, raw fish, barbucued eel and lightly fried vegetables.
I brought my old copy of the original Unreal Tournament back to campus, and was happy to find that it runs on my laptop without the speed glitch I'd seen on some new computers. The game is aged, ugly, and gib-splatteringly awesome, and I'm once again working my way through the single-player tournament.
Today was the day of foiled sci-fi movie-watching attempts. Ultraviolet, the original goal, got such bad reviews that Lici and I decided to rent Blade Runner instead, but after questing far and long in vain she returned with Tron, which I'd also been meaning to see, and which turned out to be a great substitute. Today was also a day of excellent early-evening Franklin Street pizza.
posted on Wednesday, March 08, 2006
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Lici brought a couple bottles of Smirnoff Ice (or "Beer 2.0" as I've affectionately dubbed it) over at about midnight for somewhat belated celebration of Fat Tuesday, and climbed on my bookshelf for a while, and now I've got a class in less than six hours. Good times.
Also, happy third birthday to this blog.
posted on Wednesday, March 01, 2006
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