Some people can handle defeat gracefully, but I am not one of those people.

When I finally die in Geometry Wars 2, a few million points into what was surely a historic run, I really can't believe it. Suddenly I'm Tiger Woods on the 18th hole, and someone just blasted an air horn in my ear.

I look around the room for people to blame, like a secret service agent hunting for the source of the magic bullet. I start putting together wild theories in my head to explain such a shocking turn of events.

The television glass was clearly refracting the light from that lamp at a 24 degree angle, striking my right eye long enough to obscure my vision, directly impairing my reaction time, which resulted in that blue rectangle thingy exploding my spaceship.

Anyone in the vicinity is immediately branded a suspect in the ongoing investigation of my death. Was that a cough I heard coming from the corner of the room? Did you close the refrigerator door on the night of the 25th? Don't you realize I was playing a video game? How can you live with yourself?

I was talking with a friend recently about the range of emotions that Geometry Wars 2 puts one through. Certainly I feel more playing this game than any two melodramatic war shooters. I can't begin to describe how much more hatred I harbor for... Read more

I can still remember the confused look on her face as I scrolled down the page. It was like watching a second grader open a Calculus textbook.

"What the hell is a Freezepop? Coheed & Cambria--isn't that somewhere in Polynesia? Oh, Iron Maiden! Like from Teenage Dirtbag, right?"

But a few weeks later, my friend was drumming along with Boston, growling out Metallica lyrics, and looking up the Yeah Yeah Yeahs on iTunes.

Rock Band and Guitar Hero get a lot of attention for their alternative uses. For instance, did you know those guitar games are actually getting kids interested in playing real music? They're helping to rehabilitate the handicapped, too. I'm sure somewhere out there, a scientist is desperately trying to figure out a way to solve global warming with a plastic guitar.

But lost amongst all of this press is the real power of Rock Band: the power to get your 12-year-old interested in The Who. ... Read more

The town is quiet. Not a monster is stirring. The villagers stare straight ahead, painted faces frozen, waiting for someone to talk to. Nobody ever comes.

Nothing is more sad than an empty MMO. What was once a bustling crossroad of virtual activity becomes a dead, static mountain of data. Without human players to fill in the roles, whole continents can be reduced to lonely collections of unused backdrops. Even mindless gold farmers can become a welcome sight.

Sometimes an entire world becomes a barren wasteland as the popularity of an online game declines. In the case of Blizzard's immensely popular World of Warcraft, older territories are simply abandoned for bigger zones and better raids, left behind like worthless, ethereal loot.

And while many accept the cycle and look forward to new expansions, other players aren't always entirely happy to see their old haunts transform into ghost towns. ... Read more

Some of us have fond memories of the first Olympic games. For the rest, the carpal tunnel will serve as a reminder.

The button-mashing mechanics of early Olympic video games served as a sort of thumb-wrestling simulation. Whether it be Track and Field or Athletic World, those games were some of the first truly competitive multiplayer titles--games that let you beat your buddy fair and square, digit to digit.

Even Beijing 2008 video game cover girl Amanda Beard remembers.

"I played the old Nintendo Olympics game with the Power Pad, where you started out as the turtle and worked your way up to the cheetah," said Beard, a former Olympic gold medalist in swimming. "My family would have competitions against other families who were close friends and we'd rock it."

The first Olympic titles were not elegant representations of Olympic sport, but at least they were new. It was a novel experience at the time, like Pong. But not many of us have paid to play Pong lately.

Today, it is hard to find a genre more stagnant than Olympic... Read more

10.0? Whatever.

Game of the year? Who cares.

During the course of any PC game, there is only one grading category that really matters--a single moment that will determine whether we'll be coming back.

Tasking out. Alt-tabbing. Minimizing. Whatever you want to call it, it is the ultimate litmus test--when great games rise to the top, and other great games show their truly annoying colors.

Take Half-Life 2 and the Source engine, sworn enemy of multitaskers everywhere.

The Source engine is like the kind of ancient Macintosh computer you'd find in an elementary school: sticky to the touch, and always thirty seconds behind... Read more

"I don't give a fuck what they call it, I'm calling it the revolution."

The real uprising started the day the Revolution died.

It was April 27, 2006, and gamers were primed for Nintendo's next-gen box, codenamed Revolution. In the all-important console war, the company had ended the previous generation in last place with its GameCube. Thoroughly beaten by Sony's juggernaut PlayStation 2, and even edged out by newcomer Microsoft with its Xbox, Nintendo was sucking wind--or just plain sucking, depending on who you asked.

Despite a healthy business, both publishers and consumers were losing interest in Nintendo's approach. Though the Revolution and its motion controller seemed a radical move, it was also seen as a possible gimmick, a last-ditch effort that wouldn't play with real gamers. One got the sense that the company's next big play in the home console game might be its last.

And then, like an oblivious plumber bending over in a bow, Nintendo let loose a gaseous mushroom cloud of megaton proportions.

"Introducing the Wii," they said.

"The what?"

A collective state of denial quickly washed over the internet. Disapproval of the name was almost universal. Noses turned, some fans vowed to simply ignore the name in favor of the old inspirational codeword.

"I can almost hear the sound of Xbox 360 and PS3 sales rising," said... Read more

The stark white tombstones hover over the blood-red background of the graveyard.

"Tried taking on Duriel solo," reads one. "At level 19, I thought it would be cake."

RIP, FROZENBIATCH.

Nearby, another sad epitaph: "My poor golem and mercenary bought the farm immediately. I played the potion keys like a retarded kid playing a xylophone, but that only prolonged my own agony for a few seconds more."

RIP, JonesMcBones.

These are the last words of the hardcore; the truly brave souls that begin Diablo II never planning to see their own corpse. A single death, and the character... Read more

Midway through the second hour, even most of the die-hard nerds started to leave.

On stage was a man who, by all accounts, did not need to be there. Wealthy, successful, busy programming rockets and enjoying family life--id Software president John Carmack has plenty of excuses to be a recluse, not the least of which is his admitted lack of "people skills."

But there he was regardless, lecturing away on a Thursday night, professor to his students. Seemingly undeterred by his thinning class, he moved from topic to topic in Picard-like fashion, holding the microphone as the rock king of computer programming.

Though the overall scent noticeably improved with each departure, the buzz within the ballroom also noticeably quieted. Near the end you could almost hear the soft death rattles of fizzling laptop batteries, exhausted journalists resorting to pen and paper, or just plain giving up. Still he rolled on. And on.

Through hour one. Hour two. Hour three.

And then he took questions.... Read more