Late to the Party: Knights of the Old Republic II

No eyes, glowing eyes, lightsabers...oh baby.

I played Knights of the Old Republic long after its original release. Despite its wonky controls and my lack of game mechanical understanding, its plot grasped me. It has one of the most baller twists at its climax. The writing is pretty good and its voice acting is very good. It's Star Wars. You are a Jedi. The fact that BioWare--the Canadian developer responsible for Mass Effect--made it didn't hurt, either.

I knew KOTOR had a sequel, and I knew that sequel wasn't the work of BioWare but Obsidian, a developer known for its veteran management team comprised of the brains behind critically lauded Planescape: Torment and the first two Fallout game--all of which known for their excellent storytelling. Unfortunately, Obsidian is not known for its original IPs: to date, only two of their released games are non-sequels: Alpha Protocol and South Park: The Stick of Truth, the former being a misfire of a good idea and the latter being a pretty good game.

"Buggy" doesn't necessarily denote "bad," however, as between Obsidian's bug fest Fallout: New Vegas and Bethesda's bug casual get-together Fallout 3, I got more enjoyment out of Fallout: New Vegas. Part of my appreciation of New Vegas stems from a better understanding of its mechanics and a better understanding of role playing games in general, so I can't give Obsidian all the credit. But their writing did keep me going.

And so far, the writing of Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords has been compelling, maybe even more so than the original KOTOR. The dialogues between the player character and NPC Kreia contemplate the role of the Jedi in the Old Republic and what purpose they serve, rather than reduce the Jedi to merely the side of good as the films are wont to do. The previous game is even referred back to, even though The Sith Lords isn't a strict continuation of the original's story. The fate of KOTOR's player character is discussed by characters, and KOTOR II's player character can even speculate what happened.

It's a minor thing, but such writing allows for the player to rewrite the mythology of a game, even if they previously rewrote the mythology themselves. We don't get that sort of writing often, though it may be the product of KOTOR II's being a sequel to a game by another studio. The fact that they didn't produce the original didn't give them a strong enough attachment to characters and locations to just let The Sith Lords be KOTOR: The Next Chapter. That wouldn't be a bad thing, but dispensing with the old allows for new worlds to be trod.

Not all of the old is dispensed with in The Sith Lords, however. Characters from the original make appearances, but they make room for new characters. I got a warm feeling seeing these characters, then an immediate chill because I don't know what happened to them and the game hasn't told me yet. Still, it's all a comforting callback while letting us go elsewhere.

I am not done with KOTOR II. So far, I've had an easier time with it since its mechanics are distantly based on Third Edition Dungeons & Dragons rules, which I now get. Mysterious NPC Kreia intrigues me with her unknown origins and hood pulled down so it obscures her eyes. Blaster noises make me giddy. I still need a lightsaber. Six hours in, I still look forward to what's left.

The Burger Town Manifesto

In the beginning was the hamburger, and it was good. In its simplest form, it consists of a disc of ground beef called a patty comfortably placed between a halved roll of bread called the bun. The patty and bun are required for the formation of the hamburger. The addition of cheese transforms the combination into a cheeseburger. The hamburger and cheeseburger are fundamentally different as the latter intermingles cheese and meat. Additional ingredients can be added such as onion, tomato, pickle, fried egg, bacon, and lettuce--all glued together with a paste of mayonnaise, ketchup, mustard, or barbecue sauce.

These ingredients do not fundamentally change the cheeseburger. A woman who has her burger dragged through the garden is still eating the same burger as the woman with only mustard and ketchup on hers. At its core, the cheeseburger remains a simple combination of meat and bread and cheese but the types of meat and bread are what set the hamburger apart from a boring ham sandwich. French fries accompany the burger as an iconic side, and while the burger is still a burger without French fries, it looks happier with deep fried potato comrades.

Burgers are universally available. One can purchase a burger anywhere from Fast Food corporate giants McDonald's and Burger King to smaller regional chains like the West's In-n-Out Burger and the Midwest-based White Castle. Independent establishments, or Mom and Pop places, serve burgers of substantial quality for a slightly higher premium compared to the franchised restaurants whose meat and bread come prepared by a factory. Fancy or gourmet restaurants who serve sophisticated clientele serve their own burgers for their pickier guests. If none of that satisfies the hunger, one can simply buy their own meat and prepare it to their preference.

I argue there is a hierarchy to the burger and it is based on the simplicity of the burger itself and its ease of preparation. At the top stands the independent, the Mom and Pop place whose influence stretches no further than its city limits or even its own parking lot. These establishments eschew the online or televised advertising for the oldest form of media: word of mouth. Some places struggle, and worse so, others become complacent. But rarely does the quality of the burger itself suffer. These burgers are handcrafted by a worker of the restaurant or the meat market from which the meat is ordered. Though they make many, they are not mass produced. There is no opportunity for additives or preservatives to be injected into the burger. The burger is barely tampered with from cow to Styrofoam container.

Just below the top sits the Fast Food restaurants. The quality of their burgers will never exceed those of the top tier, but their philosophy keeps them above the bottom. Speed and cheapness are the hammer and sickle of Fast Food. They are cousins to many of the Mom and Pop joints in the sense that the hamburgers are to be made as quickly as safely possible and sold as cheaply as economically viable. While the quality of the product may differ significantly, most Fast Food restaurants have no illusions about what their product is. In their advertisements, they may apply makeup on a burger to make it more aesthetically pleasing, but they know that once the baited customer enters t heir store after witnessing a near-pornographic hamburger commercial, they're not going to complain that their Hefty Burger w/ Bacon doesn't look exactly as it did on TV. Both the restaurant and the customer have identical expectations, even if they are low.

At the bottom of the hierarchy sits the fancy restaurant with their Gourmet burger. Here sit the liars, the charlatans, the snake burger salesmen who believe they can justify charging at least $15 for a burger because everything else on the menu costs at least $20. They follow the formula to a T: meat and bread. They also mutate it.

The bun is not a standard hamburger bun but an artisanal brioche roll baked in our adobe kiln by a baker trained in Baguette, France. The meat is a Kobe-style beef that comes from free range cows who watch French New Wave films as they enter the slaughterhouse. The lettuce and tomato come from our rooftop garden where we use gutter water for irrigation but use no harmful pesticides. The cheddar cheese comes from a small dairy farm in northern Wisconsin where there is no electricity or 4G. Price: $18.

Buzzwords blind the burger buyer to the truth that, while mathematically what they eat is a burger, it is a burger that has lost its innocence and been sullied through hipster-Frankenstein super science. The price elevates the burger to bourgeoisie heights. It may taste good, but look at where you are, look at the square plate on which your burger was delivered. Were you even able to get French fries as a side? I should be clear: the Gourmet burger may actually be tasty. I've had them before. I will continue to get them. But the pedestals on which they set themselves are so high that any fall is disastrous. The Gourmet burger cooks are deluded, and the idea of a Gourmet burger in itself is pretentious.

There exists an ideal hamburger. I believe it has been made but I have no way of knowing if I've had it yet. It might not even sit on the top tier among the Mom and Pop restaurants. It could even be among the Gourmets. It falls under the following criteria:

• The burger must be inexpensive. I do not outright say "cheap," but it cannot cost an exorbitant amount.
• The burger cannot take long to cook. This will differ depending on how busy the establishment is and whether the hamburger is the restaurants meat and potatoes.
• The burger must be obvious. On the menu, the burger must be advertised in a clear and concise manner. There is no room for buzzwords. And most importantly:
• The burger must stand on its own. Without topping, without condiment, the burger will impress at its basic formula of meat, bread, and cheese--or even just meat and bread.

It is not enough that the ideal burger should exist. It should be a guideline for burger cooks everywhere to follow. In an ideal burger world, the standard is perfection; anything less is trash.

Doctor Why: Falling Out of Like with a Series

My relationship with Doctor Who has never been a steady one. When the rebooted series with Christopher Eccleston first premiered on Sci Fi Channel--back when it was Sci Fi Channel--I caught an episode here or there, often times the same episode in which the Doctor combats farty aliens who--gasp!--have taken over the government. Or something. The production quality seemed dodgy as BBC shows sometimes do, especially circa 2005, but the performances were oddly solid, especially from Eccleston himself. But the show never became habitual for me, only filler until something else came on.

Enter David Tennant, the Tenth Doctor, and my interest in the series waned further. He seemed too excited and playful compared to the brooding veteran who had proverbially "seen some shit." Then, down the road, I caught the last half of The End of Time and I reconsidered my assessment. Even though some silly pulp sci-fi crap goes down (population of earth turned into clones of the Big Bad Evil Guy), the performers are all in top form and the themes are oddly mature. First, this happens:


Later, the Tenth Doctor faces death with reluctance even though this was no true death since he would just be regenerated. Though I hadn't watched enough episodes to feel an attachment, Tennant's performance made me sorry for the Doctor. But regeneration means new actor, and new actor means new personality for the 900-plus-year-old time-and-space traveler.

I picked up right at the start of the Matt Smith-Eleventh Doctor-Stephen Moffat era, having just enough context to know what's going down. I sped through it, watching two or three episodes at a time. Lunch time? Doctor Who. Dinner time? Doctor Who. Bedtime? Fall asleep on the futon while Doctor Who is on. When I was through with what was available of the Eleventh Doctor's adventures on Netflix, I started at the back catalog with Tennant himself. And I grew to like Tennant's Doctor. The Tenth had a vengeful, angry streak that made him profoundly human. A few of his episodes got dark, borderline kid-unfriendly. He was a Doctor I could appreciate. While Matt Smith's Doctor is entertaining if not goofy, he wasn't a Doctor I could invest in.

At a conference I went to in 2012, a presenter argued that the new era of Doctor Who, this post-David Tennant, post-Russell T Davies period was a shift towards not only more kid-friendly but child-geared television show. The Eleventh Doctor was himself profoundly childlike. Once it was pointed out, I couldn't not notice it. When we're first introduced to our new Doctor, he hankers for a paring of fish sticks and custard, something you would expect a child to do or at least laugh at. Endearing at first, but exhausting as the series carries on.

Also, the story arcs of the Moffat-ran Doctor Who are outrageously convoluted to the point of contrived. The "Death of the Doctor" arc is one of the more unpalatable story arcs I can recall in a TV show with a lackluster resolution that is all too clever for its own good. Moffat's Sherlock also suffers from a similar malady: hyper-cleverness that points and laughs at the viewer for both not figuring it out and trying to figure it out. It's all entertaining, but it takes the heart out of a good program.

Now, after a long absence of Doctor Who on my TV screen with the exceptions of the occasional Tom Baker serials available on Netflix, I've returned to the show with the new Matt Smith episodes. The departure of companions Amy and Rory took a significant part of my investment out of the show already, and the mystery surrounding his new sort-of companion Clara is not engaging. Maybe it's because I slipped out of routine, or that I've seen more engaging television since the last time I watched Doctor Who on the regular, but this most recent series feels meandering. I hope there's a pay off, though. I need to watch something and it's a few months before Sleepy Hollow comes back on.

Reluctant Hero, or Avoiding the Main Storyline of Skyrim

For a game that came out over two years ago, I'm still a big fan of Skyrim. The free-form classless leveling system opened the boundaries for more freedom in an already liberated game in which you were not bound by levels bookended by cinematics. It was up to you to craft the story of the Dragonborn--Bethesda just gave you the set pieces to do it.

The sad truth is that Skyrim's story isn't as compelling as it could be. One could argue it's due to narrative limitations imposed by the sandbox nature of The Elder Scrolls series, but I don't believe Skyrim was built with story in mind. Skyrim is in itself a viking-inspired playground with glory to be had and foes to be driven forth. The main quest is just a guideline, and an underwhelming one at that. But the hundreds of hours I sank into Oblivion, Skyrim's older brother, didn't give me high hopes for its successor's main quest. It's a reservoir of fantasy trope runoff, siphoning whatever might be popular. A lot of it is regurgitation, but the player's actions don't have to follow suit.

My first character was a Redguard that I lazily named "Prisoner" with a long terrorist beard and a great bundled mane of dreadlocks. For nearly ten levels, I disregarded improving his hit points and focused solely on improving his stamina. Near the end of his tale, he could sprint great distances, wielding two delicately crafted one-handed axes. Dragons would fall before him with only three spin attacks from his axes. Prisoner thirsted for blood and cared not how he got it. He fought alongside the Stormcloaks despite their xenophobic platform to whet his appetite for carnage. To put it simply, Prisoner was a psychopath and he will forever be remembered in the canon of The Elder Scrolls as the one who slew Alduin the World Eater.

At that point, the narrative is out of my hands. Yes, I killed the World Eater but only because the objective sat at the top of my quest journal. Is that why Prisoner did it? No, he did it to explore a monster's insides. Threat to mortals or not, Alduin's death by Prisoner's hands was by no means a noble deed. But Skyrim the game doesn't care. I had to be a big damn hero and save the world.

Not this time. In the upteenth I've started a new character, I've decided to reclaim my ownership of Skyrim's narrative. It will not be hijacked by the game's prescripted main plot. I will avoid the main quest like the fantasy equivalent of the plague. Right after I escape the raging dragon in Skyrim's opening, I'll head to Riverwood and collect whatever supplies I'm offered. But I will not head to Whiterun. I will not inform Jarl Balgruuf the Greater that his town may be threatened by the return of winged horrors with scales. I will not shout as dragons do, regardless if I am the Dragonborn.

There is no achievement built into the game or Steam for this. By avoiding the main quest and the path of the Dragonborn, I forfeit any true conclusion to the game. Alduin, the almighty butthole of a dragon set to gobble up the world, will not taste my blade because I will ignore the call for as long as mechanically possible. This may prove more challenging because, though the game is designed in such a way that my enemies increase in level as I do, it is also designed to balance with the player's ability to use dragon shouts. But I will not use them.

In doing this, I seek to change the ultimate narrative of Skyrim. For all intents and purposes, if my character is the fabled "Dragonborn," he will not know about it. Though the name my escape the lips of those I meet, my character will not know. This is, after all, the purpose of the open-world game: strip of the player of a linear path. Not only allow for diversion but mandate it. It is not destination but the journey. And if I need a destination, the Ebony Warrior shall serve as a final boss. His defeat will not affect the game's main quest. It is only at level 80 that my character my encounter him, and as that is the level cap it is fitting that I should fight him last.

Considering the fact that the highest level any of my characters are at is 56, I'd say it's going to take time.