Time for gamers to get a bit of perspective (and no, that doesn’t mean buying a 3DTV)

This photo speaks for itself, really.

At the height of the riots last weekend, with tempers running high and flames even higher, wild rumours and speculative nonsense were zipping around like turbo-charged fleas as a confused, terrified public grappled with the incomprehensible question: why would anyone want to do this? As things wore on, the twittering masses argued tirelessly over what was most to blame: poor public-police relations, disenfranchised youth, unemployment, cuts, inherent psychopathy, lack of education, gangs, left-wingers being soft on crime, right-wingers oppressing the poor, and so on and so on until the sun runs out of hydrogen and we all collapse into the eternal dustless void.

In other words, there was a lot of speculatin’ going on, and a lot of it was a bit silly. On Sunday night, during what now seems to have been the worst of it (fingers crossed), an unnamed constable was reported in the Evening Standard as saying: “These are bad people who did this. Kids out of control. When I was young it was all Pacman and board games. Now they’re playing Grand Theft Auto and want to live it for themselves.

The response from the videogaming community was as rapid as it was shrill. Here are a few excerpts taken from forums at The Escapist and PC Advisor:

  •  My God, video games are turning into the type of scapegoat that communism was in the 50′s. Blame everything on them. Are games the only things that can be blamed for everything now?
  •  I wouldn’t be surprised if all the cuts are just going towards paying off the media to make pitiful excuses.
  •  This idiot believes that I’m merely on the brink of committing vicious crimes because it would be FUN!? If this theory were true, why aren’t the 100′s of MILLIONS of gamers out there committing such acts right now?
  •  this kind of article story is an unoriginal, ignorant, scaremongering story written by people who know nothing about the subject they write about and are trying only to sell newspapers by any means necessary, adding 2 and 2 to get 78.

Now, I’m a gamer myself. I’ve written before about the effect games have on children, and ridiculed some of the outrageous attempts to blame them for completely unrelated problems. I think GTA is brilliant – while the latest one was dull and painfully unfunny, Vice City still stands out as glorious cartoon fun in a hilariously parodied 80’s Miami. So, you could expect me to fall in line with the anonymous tykes quoted above, viciously springing to the defence of the poor widdle multi-billion-pound industry.

However.

They’re wrong, in at least two important ways.

Firstly, the constable had a point – GTA and other games must have featured in the looters’ lives. From what little we know, they were mostly young males aged 12-22, from low-income areas with high unemployment: all of which are factors likely to make them videogamers, according to a 2005 survey by the BBC. Gaming might seem like an expensive hobby but it’s not really, thanks to the secondary market in knackered old Xboxes and cheap, scratched disks – a galaxy of C-grade items spiralling around the twin suns of CEX and Cash Converters. These kids certainly didn’t start calling police “feds” because they’ve been watching The Wire, as Zoe Williams joked in her intriguing piece for the Guardian – they picked it up from GTA (among other places).

By now, the research shows unambiguously that violent games can and do have a negative influence on teens. Yes, fans can point out that these titles all have eighteen certificates and shouldn’t be placed in younger hands at all – a fair point, but one which serves only to shift responsibility away from the producers. The fact is, these games do end up being played by underage kids – it’s inescapable. However, look a bit further into the research, and you’ll see something interesting. Games only have a negative effect when played alone, regularly, for long periods and without any parental discussion of what’s going on. Also, they don’t have anywhere near the same impact on young people that family violence does. The point, then, is that violent games can be bad for kids but the badness is completely mitigated by decent parenting.

Most gamers are perfectly able to spend their days helping old folk cross the street before settling down at home for a bit of wanton destruction. We can do this, and enjoy it healthily, because we recognise the difference between the consequence-free world inside the magic box, and the real community outside in which we have responsible roles to play. These kids, probably for a long list of reasons (a list which nevertheless has the words SHODDY PARENTS scrawled across the top with a fat red marker), felt like they had as much of a stake in the streets of London, and in the lives of its citizens, as they did in the virtual Liberty City. Real shopkeepers were given the same consideration as virtual automatons, the notion of consequences became laughable, and grotesque trophies were swapped and bragged about. Which is exactly what the officer said – he didn’t blame Rockstar for the violence or accuse them of actively melting down that vital reality/fiction distinction, he just said that the kids were living out GTA for themselves. And he was right.

Rather than insist on flatly denying everything, gamers ought to engage with the real problems associated with our hobby

But gamers weren’t just wrong to blindly say that games had absolutely nothing to do with it. They were wrong in the way they said it: it’s shameful how childish and overblown the response was. Yes, a lot of the time games don’t deserve the stick they get, but you’re not helping anyone by screaming and stamping your feet like a rabid teenager frothily bellowing “IT’S NOT FAIR!” We need to take a much more nuanced approach to our industry, recognising that it has its dangers but that they are manageable, and far outweighed by the benefits. What we definitely shouldn’t do is react to every criticism with an absolute shitstorm of temper tantrums. That poor constable had spent an entire night fending off gangs of people intent on smashing his face in, and was gearing up to do it all over again. Like everyone else, he was tired and shocked and struggling to find an explanation for the unthinkable, so he made one slightly daft throwaway comment – and all we can do is hide behind our keyboards and jeer at him?

Gamers: it’s time to calm down and grow up. Just think for a second about how all that savage viciousness makes us look, and how much better it would be to show a little restraint now and then. There are people out there who’ve died trying to protect their businesses, who’ve lost everything in one mindless evening – they are the victims here, not us.

Thanks to Nick Fox Moran for the tip about this one


Tortoises versus whippets: how the ‘net makes fools of the lawmakers

 

"Rarrrgh! What's the latest on Twitter?"

By now, we’ve all been poking around the internet long enough to know that it has an odd, twisted mind of its own. The visionary director Randal Kleiser, with brilliant foresight, captured the coming spirit of the internet age way back in 1992 with his superb speculative piece, Honey I Blew Up The Kid. A colossal, three-hundred-foot-high toddler? Wielding enormous power and potential, but easily distracted by shiny baubles and cuddly animals, inspiring terror and awe in those who seek to appease its whimsical wrath? That’s definitely the internet, that is. A hotbed of infantilism that’s adorably brilliant one minute and smearing its whoopsie in your slippers the next, impossible to predict or control.

Nevertheless, the stuffy dads of the world – that is, legislators and government types – are still willing to have a go. Everyone seems to be looking wistfully over at China’s famous Great Firewall and wishing that they had one too. Australia’s already had a decent attempt at it, making a system designed to sieve out all the porn (though it sometimes gets a bit overexcited and cuts off access to such smut-laden filthpots as, er, Wikipedia. Having said that, the exact same thing happened in the UK too). The EU has been making noises about doing it for years – albeit the sort of noises you make by sticking out your tongue between your teeth and squeezing air through your top lip. They caused a stir a few months ago when the minutes of some obscure group of moustachioed wonks came to light, detailing a plan for “a single secure European cyberspace” with a virtual border that blocks “illicit” content. “What’s that all about, then?” was the angry cry; “Er, sorry, we’re on holiday,” was the timid response which gave the game away: these chaps didn’t want to actually go to all the hassle of getting all their internet providers to talk to each other, and agree on how to get all the expensive technology in place. The fabulously saggy bureaucracy just wants to look busy, and then toddle off to Malaga for a fortnight. Really, this whole business is a nice excuse to have an extended “consultation period” – lots of meetings, lots of documentation, lots of nice biscuits and after a decade they’ll still be no closer to sorting it out. Best order a big tub of those shortbreads – the little round ones, with the nice thick chocolate around the edges. Mmm, lovely.

Since biscuit scientists invented the shortcake/chocolate fusion, the average number of meetings held in government and industry has increased threefold.

Here in Britain, things seemed to getting a bit scarier this week when the High Court ordered BT to block access to newzbin – not because it carried kiddie porn, which we’ve blocked for years – but, for the first time, on the grounds that it’s stuffed to the jowls with pirated films and albums. Yet within a few days, Ofcom also published a report saying that blocking websites is pointless and they won’t bother with it for now. Erm, pardon? The thinking here seems about as well co-ordinated as Charlie Sheen after a late night binge in a centrifuge. Then there’s the fact that blocking just doesn’t work, and that piracy itself isn’t a clear-cut evil – oh, and let’s not even go near the astronomical can of worms that is the Internet Watch Foundation (though do read this great article from Wired, which prises the can apart and lets the worms spill freely all over the rug).

Should we terrified by all this, then? Are our fundamental freedoms being quashed? Will we never again have easy access to crappy rom-coms for free? It’s impossible to tell, but I wouldn’t count on anything drastic happening in the near future. The only consistent conclusion that you can draw from all this is that the legal system – particularly here in the UK, with our system of checks and balances dating back over a thousand years – is not a particularly fast-moving beast, and it has no idea what to do about all this newfangled computer nonsense. The law’s a wrinkly old tortoise, plodding through the mud, while technology moves like a greasy whippet down an icy slope. The poor old judges just can’t keep up – remember when twitter ran circles around them? Astonishingly, it’s only a few days ago that they finally decided that it’s not illegal to copy music from a CD to your computer: you know, that thing everyone’s been doing since about 2001.

The rate things are going, it looks like the giant toddler can carry on stomping around for a good while yet, scribbling all over the fireplace and smearing pudding into the floor, while Dad looks on helplessly and considers forming a committee to investigate the potential options involved in buying a mop.

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NEW NEWS FOR OLD BUCKETS


SERVICE BUCKET

The twisted degenerate behind the Thursday Bucket is currently stranded in a barren wilderness with only the faintest trickle of internet connectivity, and apologises for this week’s lack of update – but please do come back next Thursday when normal babbling incoherence has resumed. In the meantime, maybe you can can amuse yourself by imagining what your existence would be like if you were a penguin – all that fun sliding about on your belly, scoffing fish! Ah, that’s the life.


If phone-hacking is a turd pie, there’s a lot of people with smelly fingers

"I have deactivated my emotion chip, father. It has no market value."

The phone hacking scandal staggers on like a hen party at two a.m, carving a swathe of destruction through the city centre and leaving nothing behind but a glittering sea of splintered WKD bottles and tattered pink bunny ears. And like frightened barstaff, quivering in the face of an oncoming stampede of L-plates and cellulite, newspapers and Met policemen desperately try to divert the oncoming swarm: “No, you don’t want to come in here – we’re closed! There’s nothing for you here! Why don’t you try that place across the street, they’ve got loads of shooters for a pound! No – what are you doing? Get…get out of there! Please! I can’t serve you all at once…you…you’ve been sick all over the optics, you animals!” Some find themselves dragged under by a furious storm of cackling middle-aged bum-pinchers, but others are managing to largely avoid the attention. Who they, then?

Well, there’s The Daily Mail for starters. The Mail is very keen to deflect attention away from the issue, claiming that the complete collapse of trust in British journalism isn’t really that important, and even if it was – which it isn’t! – then they had nothing to do with it anyway, and hey, look at Tyra being strange! Ha ha, oh Tyra. What were we talking about again?

The Mail has reason to twitch nervously – in 2003, the Information Commissioner’s Office raided the offices of Steve Whittamore, a private investigator suspected of trading in illegally obtained information. They stumbled into a goldmine – Whittamore had kept detailed records of all his jobs and who they were for, and when the officers had finally finished sorting through the whole sordid lot they totalled 13,343 separate requests for information from 305 different journalists, who wanted to get hold of everything from address details to criminal records. The biggest single source of these requests wasn’t the News of the World – it was the Daily Mail (though the Times, Evening Standard and Observer were also amongst Whittamore’s clients). The ICO’s report – from an investigation started a full eight years ago! – goes as far to declare rather fruitily that “this was not just an isolated business operating occasionally outside the law, but one dedicated to its systematic and highly lucrative flouting.” The Mail in particular seems have dived in with more gusto than the rest –  Nick Davies, the lead investigator on the Guardian’s phone-hacking coverage, claims to have spoken privately to Mail hacks who’ve admitted bribing police and civil servants in order to gain access to sensitive databases containing social security records, Scotland Yard’s casebook, and even medical histories.

The Met, meanwhile, are definitely taking a righteous kicking for how they’ve behaved, with P45s flying out everywhere as if Rebekah Brooks just cast a Resignatio Curse on the Yard, but there’s more to this than the fact that a few coppers were on the take. They simply shouldn’t have been able to sell the info in the first place, because government systems are supposed to be securely audited, with every query recorded so that suspicious access – regardless of the user – is always investigated. So what happened? Given the ongoing drive towards bigger and more closely linked databases, there are questions to be asked about how good these systems really are. Since a small group of blaggers, bent cops and BOFHs managed to milk the government’s info-teats without anybody noticing, we have to wonder: are the companies responsible – big firms like Accenture and Thales – fulfilling their lucrative contracts, many of which were drawn up by people who still have a lot of sway in government affairs?

Ah yes, those guys. Initially, the political class were having a gay old time of it, painting themselves as a repressed bundle of paupers finally freed from the oppressive clutches of an evil Murdoch press which bludgeoned and blackmailed them into silent acceptance. Like dwarves suddenly realising that the Eye of Sauron wasn’t peeking into their bathrooms anymore, they danced, they sang, and they strongly protested that they always hated Murdoch’s lot and had nothing to do with any of their naughty games. Except! While they didn’t condone all the illegal stuff (though Peter Oborne thinks otherwise) they were hardly the beleaguered peasants they’ve made themselves out to be – even as the papers continued their merry muckraking in private databases, the political PR machine effortlessly manipulated their coverage. With journalists having far less time to check stories in depth, political offices and lobby groups can steer a story’s course from the start by controlling its vocabulary in their initial press release: thus Guantanamo detainees are labelled “terrorist suspects”, the adjective implying guilt, police can crack down on “anti-social behaviour” without really knowing what it is, and abortion is considered as a “pro-choice” or “pro-life” issue.

Failing that, you can just disseminate a lie: constrained by both time and the need to be ‘neutral’, news organisations fall back to simply reporting what is said rather than checking whether it’s actually true. In 2005, the Washington Post reported that “a senior Bush official” had said that the governor of Louisiana, Kathleen Blanco, “had not declared a state of emergency” following the hurricane that demolished New Orleans in 2005. This claim was utterly false, but the Post’s story was technically accurate: somebody had said it. The truth of their statement was irrelevant (though a correction now appears on the Post’s website, it didn’t emerge in print until after the story had been picked up and spread like Marmite across the web and other papers). In the UK, it’s even easier for this to happen: with tighter libel laws, it’s riskier to accuse someone of lying, and it’s common practice to run a story without naming sources or even the writer. People can spend years just making stuff up and getting away with it (step forward Johann Hari, who looks like Harry Potter would if he packed in the wizarding and became an insurance broker).

Right now, there’s an uneasy alliance between a diverse range of newspapers and political groups united by their mutual hatred of Murdoch’s mucky media empire, with everyone teaming up to heap shit on crusty Uncle Rupert and the terrifying James, who comes across like a robot sent back in time to terminate charisma. While it’s undoubtedly great fun to watch corrupt cops and wrinkly media barons getting sprayed with farm-grade slurry, we need to ask: who’s pointing the hose, and do they deserve a bit of a turd-blasting themselves?

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P.S. Hello friend, and thanks for stopping by at the Thursday Bucket. If you made it all the way down here, that probably means you like reading things on the internet, in which case please let me heartily recommend that you take a peek at the  ”Bucket Pals” links on the right. They’re really good, Steven. Thankyoubye!


Either side of the Atlantic, the news is a soggy sack of wet squirrels

Coming up next: ANGRY BALD MAN TERRORISED BY SENTIENT NEEDLE WALKING ACROSS SHOULDER

Here in the UK, a lot of us look over the sea towards the US and scoff mercilessly at the state of their news media and political discourse. “Oh ho ho” we chortle, crumbs of crumpet spilling from our mirthful lips right into our teacups, “those funny Americans, with their Palins and Bachmanns and silly Fox news dizzily spewing crap everywhere like an incontinent toddler strapped to a ceiling fan. Thank goodness things are so much more sensible over here.” Are they, though? Are they really?

About a fortnight ago, Fox News – which is a bit like ITV with an advanced case of rabies – broadcast a fascinating interview with one of its most prominent critics, Jon Stewart. Stewart hosts the mostly brilliant Daily Show, a satirical news program that sometimes be found in the UK lurking somewhere around the less reputable end of More4. Five days a week, Stewart spends half an hour mercilessly making fun of those in the political spotlight – and, naturally, some of Fox’s frothier zealots (such as the genuinely unsettling Glenn Beck, who finally left the network last week) come in for a fair bit of that ire. Looking to defend themselves, Fox invited Stewart over for a chat with the seemingly-reasonable Chris Wallace, and the unedited footage is a fantastic summary of exactly how news media works in the USA. You can watch it right here (it’s 24 minutes long, but well worth it).

One of Stewart’s more interesting points, which Wallace seems to deliberately refuse to grasp, is that media outlets don’t have ingrained political prejudices so much as a general bias towards lazy, sensationalist reporting that suits their own interests. He’s absolutely right – and any British folks who think that this statement only applies to America should dismount their high horses and have a good close look at the state of things. The Sun, for example, has for the last few years taken a curious line on the News of the World phone hacking scandal, arguing that the whole investigation is a pointless waste of time and money – they even wheeled out Jeremy ‘genuinely aroused by the combustion engine’ Clarkson, who twisted logic into a neat little pretzel by claiming that “if your child is abducted you will be held in a queue and your call will not be answered until officers have decided who John Prescott was meeting for dinner eight years ago, and whether anyone knew about it.” Yes, Jeremy. That’s exactly how the police work. Of course, as Private Eye points out, this ferocious angle may be related to the fact that The Sun and NotW are both owned by the same company. It’s only now, after the whole thing’s blown up like a manure factory pumped full of hydrogen and left everyone involved smelling of burnt turds, that they’ve they finally lifted the smokescreen.

Then, of course, there’s the Daily Mail, the UK’s second favourite paper and most popular newspaper website. Many are happy to deride the Mail as a trashy right-wing rag, but to do so misses the subtle intelligence behind its success. As Nick Davies shows in his excellent book Flat Earth News, the Mail is actually devoid of any political stance in its writing. Rather, it looks at its profitable demographic – the English middle classes – and does its best to reflect their opinions, acting as a sort of amplification chamber which takes their minor worries and prejudices and explodes them into huge stories with headlines like “How using Facebook could raise your risk of cancer” or “Council race spies secretly rummage through rubbish bins.” The thing is, the Mail doesn’t have a political stance of any kind, apart from that which it perceives to exist in its readers. That gives it a flexibility that other papers lack: it can run a story on its main pages thumping on about how sexual imagery damages children, while simultaneously filling its women’s section with, er, saucy celebrity photos – and this is in no way problematic. The two sections are tailored to different audiences, and you can’t be a hypocrite if you don’t actually believe in anything. It’s the perfect embodiment of Jon Stewart’s argument.

But then, when Brits sneer at the inferiority of American news, we’re not thinking about the Sun or the Mail – we’re thinking about the BBC, who stick their noses up in the air and proclaim to be above all the daft nonsense that everybody else gets up to. If the tabloids are Bart Simpson, the BBC is Martin, sitting respectably in the corner as the other kids trash the birthday party by getting off their faces on squash and doing a wee in the cake. Yet even in an organisation with a guaranteed income from the license fee and legal imperatives to provide output that’s informative rather than sensational, the BBC is in danger of falling into the same pattern as everybody else. Graham Linehan, the man behind Father Ted and The IT Crowd, illuminated this process when he appeared on the Today Programme for what he’d been told would be a “a discussion about the technical challenges afforded by turning a classic film into a worthwhile play,” but turned out to be “a typical bunfight” in which he was constantly goaded into an argument with a theatre critic who’d been briefed to wind him up as much as possible.

The BBC’s problem is that it has to stick to rigid guidelines on fairness and impartiality, while also competing with the more lurid, outlandish style of its Murdoch rivals. A cheap solution is to turn things into a manufactured ‘debate,’ with two people representing opposite points of view encouraged to have a pop at each other, as occurred in Linehan’s case. This is all good fun, but it can distort the issue at hand by boiling it down to two irreconcilable extremes which are apparently equal in value: with something like climate change, for example, it makes it look like there’s a fifty-fifty split of opinion in the scientific community when in fact there are far more believers than sceptics. Things get even more messy when you consider that the News division has endured huge job losses over the last decade (with more on the way) and yet is still expected to produce the same high level of output – local TV and radio news, a massive online operation, BBC News 24, what’s left of the superb World Service. The inevitable consequence is that overstretched staff don’t have time to properly research stories, follow up leads, or investigate the news in depth – they have no choice but to rely more on ‘easy’ stories, and importing news from other outlets that can often turn out to be a load of old guff. Like, say, the one about Israeli judges ordering the execution of a dog possessed by evil spirits.

So people of Britain, by all means pour scorn on the American media – but save plenty in the barrel, because we’re going to have to dunk our own heads in too. We’re all in the same gondola really, paddling lazily towards a future where even the best journalists are forced to focus on the cheap and sensational. And the worst? Well, on one side of the Atlantic they scream divisive, partisan nonsense, and on the other they interfere with ongoing criminal investigations into the murders of innocent young girls.

Happy Thursday, everyone!


Are videogames good for your kids, or are they playing with fire?

"Go on, stab someone. It'll be fun!" - said a videogame, yesterday. Maybe.

Hello loves! I ran out of time to write something from scratch this week, so instead I offer this: a piece I put together in August 2010 for the marvellous iN Magazine. The brief was to come up with an article aimed at parents, explaining videogame addiction and how parents can deal with it, so it differs quite a lot to the style I use here at the Bucket. Back in August, the World Cup was still big news – which is why Robbie Green keeps popping up – and looking over it again I wish I’d found a less trite and contrived line to to wrap up the article. Nevertheless, it was good fun to write – and iN really is a very lovely magazine – so I hope you enjoy it.

Incidentally, one thing I’ve learnt from reformatting this for the web is that writing online can be a lot more complex than print, because you have to explicitly link to all your sources. Or, in this case, scramble around the net trying to find them all again.

Anyway, here’s the thing!

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You almost have to feel sorry for videogames: they’ve taken the fall for just about everything. In the past decade, they’ve been blamed for rickets, vandalism, obesity, cancer, the destruction of Swedish pot plants and even England’s failure to get anywhere in Euro 2008. Seriously: Robert Green, the goalkeeper whose fists of margarine now live forever in World Cup infamy, bizarrely suggested that other countries performed better because they were too poor to buy Playstations and had to settle for plain old footballs instead. Maybe if we’d paid him less, he would have actually stopped a few more goals during the group stage?

With all this silliness, it’s difficult to know whether games deserve their reputation or not. They’ve long been seen as the enemy of the caring parent, nasty little boxes of tricks that turn your child into a violent maniac, an addicted slave or possibly both. Do games deserve their reputation, and how can parents keep their children safe? The argument over videogame violence is an important and difficult one, with no easy answers. We’ve all heard the horror stories of teenagers supposedly going on the rampage after a bout of Grand Theft Auto, or the American boy who shot his parents after an argument about Halo. However, if you look behind the shock of these headlines, things aren’t always what they seem: the kids in these cases had a history of underlying social problems that confound the issue. The science, too, is unclear: for every research study that says one thing, there’ll be another claiming the exact opposite – so while an experiment from Iowa State University suggests that violent games significantly increase aggression, one from Essex finds that they actually reduce it. Since the folks in white coats can’t seem to make their mind up, what exactly are we parents supposed to do? If your child spends hours daily executing Arabs in Call of Duty, should you stand back and let it happen or try to take the game out of their hands, knowing that they might react aggressively?

The industry’s position on this is clear: kids should not be allowed, under any circumstances, to buy or play adult-rated games. Have a look, for example, at the box for the latest big- money blockbuster – saddles ‘n’ stetsons cowboy simulator, Red Dead Redemption. A phenomenally grizzled outlaw sneers at you over the business end of a shotgun: follow his eyes downwards, and you’re immediately drawn to the huge 18 certificate which glowers like a fat wart from the corner of the box. As with all games, the age rating logo is significantly bigger than those on mere films. Everything about the whole image practically screams, “Parents beware! The man on this cover is NOT a role model for your kids.” He hasn’t even had a shave.

"You just said WHAT about my goatee?"

Back in the eighties, when life was all Pong, Space Invaders and Tetris, nobody would have ever considered that games would be anything other than bright and bleepy playthings for timewasters of all ages. Yet as technology has developed and suddenly the bleeps have become swelling orchestral scores while the vivid colours have morphed into swarthy cowboys, games are starting to become capable of telling more complex stories. Stories that you might not want your kids to hear, but are nonetheless a lot more interesting for us grown-ups. Lazlow Jones, of the infamous Rockstar Games (makers of Grand Theft Auto and Red Dead Redemption) puts it bluntly: “Our games are not designed for young people. If you’re a parent and buy one of our games for your child you’re a terrible parent. We design games for adults because we’re adults.”

If only it were so simple. Children are pesky creatures, as cunning as a fox and with the annoyance power of ten Go Compare commercials. And they know to strike when you’re at your weakest: when you’re rushing the midweek supermarket run after a gruelling day at work, it’s difficult to object (or even to notice) when the devious devils slip a violent game into the trolley, sandwiched innocently between two DVDs and a jumbo bag of Haribo. So, if your children have managed to get their sneaky hands on the latest violent title, should you be worried? Maybe, but don’t panic. A quarter of all children aged 11-16 identify an eighteen-rated title as being among their favourites, meaning that you’re hardly the only parent in this situation. Most of those kids will grow up to have respectable careers as bank managers, doctors and magazine journalists – only a tiny minority will actually end up showing the violent and antisocial behaviour that games supposedly cause. Indeed, those studies which show that gaming can lead to violence point out that it only occurs when several other risk factors are also present. Social problems, family trouble, depression, low discipline: a child needs to experience several of these in conjunction with violent media before feeling any serious effects. If your children are otherwise happy and successful, they probably won’t suffer any long-lasting consequences from violent games so long as you keep a careful eye on what they’re playing.

The same could arguably be said for addiction, the other – and perhaps more sinister – side of the gaming coin. Addiction is a potentially overused term: a quick trawl of the internet will show you people who claim to be addicted to everything from body piercing and dirt-eating to unicycling and facebook, though sadly not all four at once. If you ever come across a bloke with more studs than skin cells who can balance on a single wheel, leaving one hand free to update his status and the other to stuff his face with delicious soil, let me know: I’d love to see the pictures. Despite all that, it’s perhaps surprising to see that neither videogames nor any of the ‘addictions’ mentioned above are listed in the DSM, the medical manual used across the world to diagnose mental disorders. There are pages on kleptomania and compulsive gambling, but nothing related to gaming. That’s not to say that videogame addiction doesn’t exist: just that there isn’t enough reliable data available yet to make a proper medical decision. Until that happens, it’s up to us as parents to try and decide whether or not our children have a problem. The tricky part is figuring out where to draw the line between harmless play and a troublingly compulsive habit. When your child spends almost a whole day gawping blankly at a screen, it’s natural to be concerned. But it might not be so bad – let’s be honest, most of us have at some point spent six hours straight (maybe more) reading a book, or watching the Hollyoaks omnibus all the way through. Your child might spend the same amount of time with a videogame: that doesn’t mean they’ve got a disorder. They’re just throwing themselves into a new hobby with the sort of energetic gusto that only children can achieve.

So where can we find reliable information on game addiction? Again, not in the newspapers, which are often full of terrifying reports that don’t quite ring true: one story in Lancashire quoted an “expert” as saying that two hours of gaming produces the equivalent high to a line of coke, which might come as a bit of a surprise to those of us who enjoy a spot of Sudoku Master on the DS. With claims like these flying around, it’s a good idea to delve into the science itself and see what’s really going on. First, the bad news: studies of brain chemistry by Dr. Norman Doidge suggest that game playing – violent or not – can indeed be harmful. Whenever you’re enjoying something, your brain releases dopamine: “the fun chemical”. Dopamine doesn’t just make you feel like you’re having a good time, though, it also reinforces the mental pathways involved. In other words, the more time you spend playing games, the more your brain will rewire itself to become better at playing them and even start to expect it. In very young children, whose brains are still developing, this could spell trouble: games, with their fantastical colours and sounds, are highly stimulating and the instant rewards they give the player can lead the brain to expect rapid dopamine hits and become easily restless. However, this can also work the other way: studies by the Mind Research Network suggest that games can improve motor skills and spatial reasoning – turning gamers into expert problem solvers. Meanwhile, communication-based games can develop teamworking abilities and diplomacy. While some studies have found a link between excessive videogame playing and low social skills, a research team from Nottingham Trent University are keen to point out we might have it all the wrong way round. They argue that games are used as a means of escapism by troubled teens: their excessive playing is not the cause, but rather a symptom of their underlying mental problems.

The conclusion, then, is that games – even the violent ones – aren’t necessarily bad for your kids, so long as you take an active approach to parenting. They might even do a little bit of good. In their book Grand Theft Childhood, Drs. Cheryl Olson and Lawrence Kutner explain that the best way to ensure your child’s safety is to get involved and take an interest. Talk to them about the games they like to play and why they find them so much fun, while encouraging them to look critically at how violent the characters actually need to be. Keep the TV and console in a public room so that you can see what they’re playing, and if you’re feeling adventurous, you could join in and play with them – you might even enjoy it, given that the average gamer is thirty-two years old. The key issue is engagement: by talking about games, you’re not only taking an interest in your child’s hobbies but also getting a glimpse of what goes on in their head while they play.

If you don’t like what you see, or your child refuses to talk and you think they might have a problem, don’t react angrily or try to ban games outright: this will just encourage them to retreat further. Try to see if they’re having any other problems, at school or with their friends, which could be leading to this behaviour and encourage them to open up about how they feel. If you think things are really out of hand, if your child can’t walk away from the game and seems to be getting aggressive, if they’re not sleeping or eating properly for days on end, then consider seeking help. Organisations like Broadway Lodge can help you find the right treatment programme to get your child back on track. However, for most kids, this won’t be necessary. So long as you keep games out of really tiny hands while taking an interest in your older children’s gaming, you can make sure that the hobby doesn’t become a habit and find new ways to connect with your children. As with TV and films, games are just another thing that we have to watch closely to make sure that our kids enjoy them in moderation. Otherwise, you risk ending up like England’s slippy-fingered keeper: trying to blame it all on the computer games, instead of keeping your eye on the ball.


You can’t hide in a fortress of lesbians

Oh LulzSec! You cheeky fellas.

Sometimes, like a baby owl chucking up its first pellet, the internet mulches together a big ball of skeletons from deep within its guts before violently throwing it up right in our faces – and like squeamish ornithologists, we’re both fascinated and disgusted by this rotten lump of icky, long-hidden secrets.

This week the net hocked up a big one, with the revelation that lesbians on the internet aren’t all they’re made out to be. Of course, we all knew that anyway: dig below the web’s thin layer of plausibility and into the sticky, mucky mass of its three-thousand-dollars-per-second porn industry, and you’ll find a world founded on the fabulous lie that lesbians account for 89% of all women, and have evolved to the point where they can only survive if they stick their tongues down each others’ throats every forty-six seconds.

This time, though, it’s a little different. First came the news that the popular “A Gay Girl in Damascus” blog contained nothing but the fantasies of Tom McMaster, a married middle-aged man. Then, it turned out that Paula Brooks, editor of the “Lez Get Real” gay news site, was also rather more manly and rather more married than she may have previously let on. At this rate, it’ll have been revealed by the end of the week that there are actually only three real lesbians in the world, and the rest exist solely in the fevered imaginings of those with an XY chromosome and a compulsion to tell saucy lies.

When asked to explain why they built themselves such elaborate glass houses from which to catapult stones at lesbians worldwide, the two were bizarrely adamant that their cause was noble.  “The purpose of the website is to try to be a champion, to do something good,” wailed Bill Graber, the man who would be Paula Brooks. “I wanted to try to give some people who didn’t have anything, everything.” MacMaster, meanwhile, furiously maintained that he was battling “the often superficial coverage of the Middle East and the pervasiveness of new forms of liberal orientalism.” Right. And I suppose that the Black and White Minstrel show was meant to heal the nation’s racial tensions?

This weak dribble of mouth-effluent can’t submerge the overwhelming global consensus that these men were narcissistic idiots. The responses had a few predictable and completely correct themes: the pair were hurting lesbians across the globe, they didn’t have a clue about lesbotics in the first place, they’ve given ammunition to an already hateful regime. A few writers, though, have chosen to use this as an example of how easy it is to fake your authenticity online.

At this point, I’m going to have to jump off the boat and paddle against the tide by saying the opposite: if anything, it’s only ever going to get more difficult. These two examples both show that the net’s vast echoing chamber of tweets and links can turn a tiny lie into a worldwide phenomenon, forcing the original pushers of filthy falsehoods to become ever more ingenious and creative, stacking huge whopping lies on top of the original until the whole bloated, sordid mess collapses in on itself like a wrong soufflé. These two men may have been crying for attention, but once they actually got it in serious amounts then their stories quickly came unstuck. That’s one way the modern web makes things harder: compared to just ten years ago, it’s now a lot easier for people to quickly shine a spotlight on anything suspicious. There’s also the fact that, compared to the wide-eyed optimism of the nineties, we’re now well used to seeing the internet as a shabby establishment filled with cranks, trolls, and peddlers of sadly ineffective sexual performance enhancers – less of a Utopia and more like Mos Eisley, or Blackpool. We’ve come to expect everything to be a scam of some sort.

Nevertheless, those two arguments are relatively minor palate-cleansers compared to the main dish: that there is a strong financial incentive for people to track who you are and what you’re doing online, and the ongoing giddy rise in connectivity and computer power is only going to help them. The net-traipsing public are squirting out more data than ever before, and it all has to go somewhere: from Myspace profiles to server logs, everything you do online leaves a trace of some kind. As I wrote last week, tech behemoths like Facebook and Google can’t wait to capture as much of this as possible and make a big profile of everything you do. Your ISP, as well, might be looking more closely at your connection to check for naughty behaviour, or even holding secret trials of new software that allows them to follow your every move online and sell that data on. After this, throw in the amazing amount of personal information held by credit referencing agencies and you’ve got trouble.

The web still feels like an anonymous playground, but unless you’re really good at covering your tracks, then the data is all out there just waiting for someone to join the dots. Businesses such as Wonga.com are already beginning to capitalise on this, but in the meantime there are still plenty of folk about who’ll turf up your secrets just for the fun of it.  Step forward LulzSec, the hacky-go-lucky team of japesters who forcefully demonstrated the point this week when they broke into a porn site, stole all its users’ login details, and stuck them online – reddening the faces of more than a few military and government officials who’d signed up with their workplace email addresses.

For anyone who thinks they can still hide safely in a fortress of assumed identities (lesbian or otherwise) and terrorise the web’s marginal communities, this all adds up to a sobering warning: your indigestible truths can’t stay hidden in the internet’s gizzards forever. It’ll throw them up, probably at the most inopportune moments, and it’ll be up to you to deal with the smell.


How the internet turned us into a species of short-tempered eyeballs

"Whoops, I...Oh crikey, my trousers."

Prince Charles is, to put it mildly, an unorthodox fellow. He looks like he’s starting to melt, for one thing, and has said some very silly things about grey goo bringing about the end of mankind – as if all the world’s wallpaper paste could rise up into one wobbly mass and overthrow its cruel human masters, leaving them flailing helplessly beneath a smothering blanket of hitherto properly-hung chintz and fetching floral prints.

Nevertheless, for all his well-meaning but slightly misguided bluster, sometimes he does make a point, albeit in a very accidental sort of way. Look at this outburst about how kids need to read more ‘good’ books and play less ‘evil’ computer games: “None of us can underestimate the importance of books in an age dominated by the computer screen and the constant wish for immediate gratification.” Books are nice and all, Charlie, but there’s a problem with your logic which I’ll explain here to avoid clutter.

Still, he might have been onto something with the “instant gratification” bit. That’s definitely a technology thing – I’ll happily wait half an hour for my soufflé to rise (read: pizza delivery) but the sight of a spinning hourglass on my laptop screen becomes unbearable torture after about three seconds. The have-it-all-faster-bigger-better dream of technology means that the second an ordinarily well-balanced adult steps into the oblong light of a computer monitor, they transform into a knicker-twisting and horrendously spoilt toddler, banging their rattle against the keyboard and bawling “WANT THING NOW!”

One of the worst examples of this is the furore over music service last.fm changing its mobile policy. Last.fm is a lovely idea: it automatically keeps track of the songs you like listening to on your computer, then uses this info to build a customised “mix radio” of songs that you haven’t heard before but it thinks you might enjoy. You listen to this personal radio station through their website – it’s free, with its costs covered by the advertising placed around the site and inbetween the songs themselves. If you want, you can subscribe for three pounds a month – less than a sandwich, or a tube ticket – and the ads go away. All very nice indeed.

However, since showing ads on smartphones can be as fiddly (and as unprofitable) as building a combustion engine entirely from matchsticks, the people behind last.fm made the reasonable decision to restrict their phone apps so that they’d only play personalised radio to subscribers. This unleashed a flood of snotty whinging which continues unabated on the Android Market and elsewhere:

“money grabbers. I would wish you luck but that will probably cost me as well.”

“I loved this app… Used to be free WTF. Greedy much? :( deleted”

“Sucks now. No point in having it when you can’t listen to music unless you pay”

Bloody hell. You’d think that there was a UN declaration that everybody has the unassailable right to unlimited quantities of free, personalised music.

"They stopped streaming free music to mobiles?! I'm ENRAGED!"

Where does this all come from, this madness? In part, it might be down to the way the internet changed our relationship with advertising. This happened in two ways:

First, it gave businesses far more power to monitor their audience: you can track exactly how many people click your ads, how long they spend on the site, what sort of things they usually search for (and pay for), and so on. Previously, audiences and advertisers were like coy Georgian lovebirds, exchanging love letters at a distance. Now, they’re rolling around on the sofa with their hands down each other’s pants. Huge companies like Facebook and Google are locked in an arms race to grab more and more info, to track you and profile you in ever greater detail, so that they can offer marketers the best chance of having their ads seen by the right people.

This mad rush ties in directly with the second change: now we’ve got the unlimited pages of the internet, marketers can’t just arrogantly slap a commercial on ITV and expect the whole country to pay attention. As far as the internet goes, whatever ads they put out are just farts in a snowstorm – this sudden anxiety over relevance has led to web advertisers becoming obsessed with “eyeballs.” You have to get high up the search rankings, to grab those eyeballs! Make your banner image really exciting, to grab those eyeballs! Break into people’s houses and smash their stupid, fickle faces into the screen if you have to, just so long as you get THEIR DAMN EYEBALLS ON YOUR STUFF. This newfound desperation has been pretty good for the industry in some ways, and abysmal in others. The good: cool agencies make their own funny videos, release flash games, or get involved with your friendly free radio service. The bad: shitty agencies shoehorn references to Charlie Sheen, Paris Hilton and donkey-fisting into everything because, hey, that’s what people search for, and you have to – say it with me – grab! those! eyeballs!

It’s a fittingly reductive bit of terminology from an industry that revolves around degrading human beings into shapeless demographics and target markets.

What does all this do to us, then, the consumers? It gives us a newfound power over the advertisers: our data and attention are suddenly precious gifts that we control, like tubby sultans perched on piles of gold. Some people have found clever things to do with this power, like fight poverty and cancer. Most of us let it go to our heads – drunk on a dizzy cocktail of self-importance, we DEMAND free stuff. Let the marketers pay all the actual cash for things online! And if they do, then maybe we shall deem them worthy of having our eyeballs pointed at their hoardings. For we are not just people, but sentient commodities – and we are as kings to you!

Except that often, it doesn’t work. Sure, you can make a lot of money out of ads, but only if you pull in seriously large numbers of eyeballs. And this is the quandary for last.fm: to get those numbers, it needs to increase its userbase. But users cost money: every song they play incurs a licensing fee for the publisher. And it follows that subscribers make more money for the site than free users, otherwise there’d be no need for subscribers in the first place, so this means that non-subscribed users must bring in less than three quid a month in ad revenue. That sub-three-hundred-pennies has to cover licensing, staff, rent, equipment…it’s a difficult balancing act. So when they need to make a minor change to this delicate economy of scale – like making mobile radio a premium feature – how do we respond? Do we sympathise with the fact that, in the bizarre eyeball-based economy of the internet, it’s difficult to hit on the perfect business model right away?

Of course not. As the web’s spoiled sultans, we stamp our feet, and ball our fists, screaming and crying and crying and screaming until there’s snot all over our turbans and we’ve been sick on the rug. How DARE those GREEDY SWINE take away OUR MUSIC! Don’t they know who we are? Don’t they know that we make the world a better place just by signing up for user accounts and looking at things? Those BASTARDS!

And that, right there, is our future: the whole human race reduced to bundles of enthralled eyeballs, quivering with righteous fury at the latest perceived slight to their overblown sense of entitlement, until finally, mercifully, everything sinks into a puddle of hungry grey goo.


MINIBUCKET: When bad trees die, they get turned into Tom Clancy novels

This man has seen things. Terrible things - horrendous fusions of man and machine. And I'm not talking about The Terminator.

Two words which destroy forever the argument that books are better for you than movies, or videogames, or throwing cheesegraters at a henhouse: Tom Clancy.

Tom Clancy has had thirteen titles hit #1 on the New York Times best-seller list. He’s also the best argument imaginable for the annihilation of the printed word. His books are all jingoistic war-wank fantasies of US troops stomping down the commies in ever more bizarre ways – my favourite is The Bear and The Dragon, a weird little romp in which the US and Russia team up to invade China, a country whose people are referred to constantly as “Klingons” and “barbarians,” and ultimately quail before the superior economic might of the USA (ha!). It’s the sex scenes, though, which really put a brown cherry on top of this turd pudding. Here’s an excerpt:

“He unbuttoned his own cuffs, and she forced his shirt off, down his back, then lifted his T-shirt over his head or tried to, for her arms were too short to make it quite all the way— and then he hugged her tighter, feeling the silklike artificial fibers of her new bra rub on his hairless chest. It was then that his hug became harder, more insistent, and his kiss harder on her mouth, and he took her face in his hands and looked hard into her dark, suddenly deep eyes, and what he saw was woman.

Her hands moved and unfastened his belt and slacks, which fell to his ankles…”

And so on, until your genitals shrivel with shame and crawl off to die under the doormat. If the Dubai authorities were really serious about preventing improvised displays of beachside passion, they’d set up a series of loudhailers playing the audiobook in an endless, lust-smothering loop, barking forever into the sea the immortal line: “and what he saw was woman.”

With all those weirdly impersonal nouns and a strange focus on describing clothing rather than, say, emotions, you might think that Clancy just isn’t that into the whole business. You might think that his sexual preferences lie…elsewhere. Perhaps this clipping from Red Storm Rising can shed some light:

“Lockheed called her the Ghostrider. The pilots called her the Frisbee, the F-19A, the secretly developed Stealth attack fighter. She had no corners, no box shapes to allow radar signals to bounce cleanly off her. Her high-bypass turbofans were designed to emit a blurry infrared signature at most. From above, her wings appeared to mimic the shape of a cathedral bell. From in front, they curved oddly toward the ground, earning her the affectionate nickname of Frisbee. Though she was a masterpiece of electronic technology inside, she usually didn’t use her active systems…”

See? Books can be horrible sometimes.


How I learned to stop worrying and love De Blob

Look at that cheeky smile! Don't give him a hug though, unless you enjoy being doused in three litres of Dulux's finest.

Whatever your age or situation, chances are that at some point you’ve been confined inside a regimented system – school, the workplace, maybe even prison if you’re the naughty sort – and gazed out of a window, dreaming of freedom, of casting away the shackles of organised homogeneity and running around in the sunshine rejoicing in the colours and noises of the world. This is why people go to music festivals – it’s also why De Blob is the greatest summer videogame of the last five years.

Chroma City was once a vibrant, cheerful place abounding in joyful hues – but then along came Comrade Black, head of the nefarious INKT Corporation, who sucked the colour energy out of the buildings and turning this once-unique city into a dull vista of identical grey skyscrapers. Not only that, but its cheerful Raydian inhabitants were locked into prison suits and forced to labour as accountants and clerks. Boo! Fortunately, the titular Blob is exactly the right hero for the situation: as a sentient ball of paint able to instantly coat any object it touches in a thick layer of vivid emulsion, you’re on a one-blob mission to restore the city’s lost colour and free the Raydians from their drudgery. Yay!

The basic mechanic – hoover up some Dulux and hurl De Blob at everything in sight – could easily become repetitive but is handled with such skill that it never feels like a chore. Every building you repaint is instantly transformed from a dirty grey, Soviet-style faceless slab into a gorgeous, flamboyantly decorated work of architectural art.  Paint an entire city block, and the trapped Raydians will spill out into the street: one touch from De Blob is all it takes to burst them out of their prison garb, changing depressed office drones back into happy-go-lucky spirits who jump for joy at their freedom. As you progress through the city, transforming INKT’s propaganda towers and polluting factories back into jazz cafés and football fields, the world comes to life in response: the clouds clear, the sun shines, and the fantastic soundtrack swells gradually from a few isolated drumbeats into a full-blown funk explosion that sweeps you up in its irrepressible energy.

This what gives De Blob its cult appeal and stands it apart from the Modern Warfares and Grand Theft Autos of the world: it offers the sheer, warming satisfaction of actively spreading joy throughout a downtrodden populace. It’s not the best designed game – individual levels can take several hours to finish properly, with no chance to save your progress while you’re at it – but what it does have is real heart and a knack for raising a smile. Who cares if the economy’s recovering with the speed and stability of a ginned-up unicyclist traversing a valley of jelly? Budget cuts, the price of petrol, global warming…De Blob urges us to forget them all and just celebrate the brilliance of life in itself – to escape the drab for the dazzling, reclaim civic spaces from corporate hands and bust out of our suits to have some fun.

When the inevitable British drizzle puts a damper on your holiday plans, break out De Blob: it’s the very spirit of summer, distilled into a videogame and delivered with humour and affection. There was a sequel released this year which flopped like a soggy origami halibut, meaning that the series is likely finished, but you can still pick up the 2008 original for pennies online. I can’t recommend it highly enough.


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