Dogstorm!

Just took my dog out into the year's best windstorm yet. Now he's curled on on the bed next to me, all semi-toweled and smelly. Rudy's his name, and he may well be the greatest canine in existence.

I've been meaning to blog it up on a couple counts. Writing has been interesting. I've gone few three casual drafts of this kids-and-gaming piece, doing what I can to add to the conversation while keeping my sanity. To that end I've interviewed a couple folks on opposite ends, the ESA and a games clinician, and have more to work with than I've got room for.

Grandma's getting better at the games. Still beating me at Smash, and still the handicap rating between her and I shrinks. We played a little guitar hero one, and with a little teamwork managed to get her through a song! It might have been "I wanna be sedated," though don't hold me to that. Katamari is what I'm most excited to show 'er, now that I've unlocked the no-time-limits. I also showed her Resident Evil 4, which was a uniquely interesting experience.

Grandma watches TV, so she's seen gore before. Now bear with me, because it's one thing to say that. It's entirely something else to hold the controller and converse with her as Salazar proclaims the might of his "insect friends." I jump my character into the sewer, while bemoaning the writing in games made four years ago. Grandma's hand goes up to her chest as she gasps -- there's the sound of some insect running right up to my character. It has become our character. Calmly, I explain that for close-quarters combat, I may want to equip my shotgun. She watches intently, and jumps when the insects finally strike from on high. Handily, I dispatch them, with excellent banter all along the way. Then I explain some videogame concepts to her.

She's curious to see how this story begins. We restart it, and the intro to the game gives me more opportunities to verbally cringe at the quality of the writing. I offer to show her a little bit of the beginning of the game. Leon, my character in the world, comes across a man speaking in some foreign language. He picks up an axe, then swings, giving me a decision. Do I shoot this man in front of her?

Yes, just not in the head.

Of course, I explain to her later that to do so would have conserved ammo.

Me and my dog say hello to you, whoever you are. For the night is young, and I must now venture forth into the most miserable weather of the year.