15 July 2010

My First E3: Part 5

[Late to the party? Get caught up by starting with Part 1.]

The L.A. Convention Center is a confusing, poorly designed space, especially for a first-time E3 goer. The place is chopped up into several cavernous halls: West Hall, South Hall, and Kentia Hall. The only "hall" I'd ever heard of previous to this was the "mead hall" that Grendel lays waste to in the Old English poem, Beowulf. Ah, 9th grade English class.

To make matters worse, each of these halls is approximately 4.3 miles from the other halls. So, if you get confused and head to the South Hall for an appointment that's actually in the West Hall, you can forget all about making the West Hall appointment.

I was trying to get the lay of the land in the name of locating the Press Room, where I would, hopefully, acquire an important object known as the press badge. The press badge is the key to E3, only instead of being wrapped in tinfoil and buried under some dirt in a planter, it was buried inside several tons of steel and glass inside the convention center. The Press Room, according to the useless L.A.C.C. map I was peering at, was not located in any of the halls, but in a "Meeting Room" on "Level 2A-1."

For the second time that day--but far from the final time--I was lost.

As I studied my map like Magellan, certain that I was on the cusp of discovering a lost, game-loving civilization--a civilization that I was sure I was always destined to be a part of--convention-goers milled around me with a great sense of purpose and direction. Almost everyone wore baggy-type khaki shorts and carried giant backpacks. A guy with a mustache walked by talking excitedly into a cellphone. "We need to get the live blog of the Nintendo presser posted NOW, NOW, NOW!" he said.

His trilogy of NOW's jarred me out of my map-gazing stupor. Live blog? Nintendo presser? What the shit? Not only did this guy have a cell phone, which seemed like an incredible indulgence at the time--like the last passenger on the Titanic, I was still clinging madly to my plug-in-the-wall AT&T home phone--he was speaking a language I did not understand at all.

The guy saw me staring at him as he barked still more important-sounding jargon into his fancy phone. He gave me a dismissive look before he and his dumb mustache strode off into the buzzing throngs.

I was suddenly overwhelmed with self-consciousness. I felt paranoid, as if all of these khaki-shorts-wearing, backpack-carrying people around me knew full well that I had no idea where the fuck I was going or what the fuck I was doing here. I recalled my first days in New York City, when I was constantly certain that I wearing the wrong clothes and doing all the wrong things; clothes and actions that were forever exposing me as some kind of banjo-plucking, jug-band-blowing rube from Upstate New York. (Which I was.) Here I was hemorrhaging cash, riding mysterious blue buses around L.A., looking for sets of keys wrapped in tinfoil, sleeping in some lady's apartment in Santa Monica who I'd never met before (and at this point, still hadn't met), looking at unreadable maps. In my head I heard that creepy Mr. Hooper from Sesame Street singing his creepy song, "One of these things is not like the other..."

I put away the shit-ass map and instead started to look at the people around me. I studied them the way that Jane Goodall studied her beloved tick-eating apes. Some people already had badges hanging around their necks; some people did not have badges. I focused on the badge-less. I noticed that they all seemed to be milling towards one particular nearby escalator. I followed these badge-less apes. I rode their escalator. And voila, they led me straight to the Press Room.

While congratulating myself on my display of cleverness, I located the "U.S. Media" line and took my place at the end. When it was finally my turn, I walked up to the attendant, a chubby, gray-haired woman who looked as if she'd recently had her entire mouth removed and had a frown tattooed in its place. I handed her my New York State driver's license--one of the so-called acceptable forms of I.D.--along with one of my flimsy, totally junky business cards. She looked these items over, shot me a skeptical look, then punched some data into the computer in front of her. She then spun around in her desk chair and stared at the large, humming printer behind her.

We both stared at the printer for awhile. Man, was it ever a big printer. It was the biggest fucking printer I'd ever seen. After a few agonizingly long moments, the printer began to groan, making a sound not unlike the front door of a haunted house opening. Then a small index-card sized piece of cardboard emerged. Without a word, the woman slipped the bit of cardboard into the pocket of a clear plastic envelope that was attached to a lanyard.

She handed the lanyard to me. "That's your badge," she said. "Try not to lose it."

Outside the press room, my need to don the badge became almost physically overwhelming. I found a quiet corner, then inserted my head through the loop of shoestring. I felt like I'd been knighted. I half expected a blast of clarions, or maybe a flock of dirty pigeons to take flight.

I looked at the badge, which, from my perspective, was upside down. It was still warm from the huge printer. Below my name, at the bottom of the badge, was the indicator of who I was here at the convention: MEDIA.

I let the badge fall to my chest. I surveyed the milling crowds below. Everyone was waiting for the clock to strike 10, so that the doors to South, West and Kentia--well, nobody was probably waiting to get into Kentia--would officially open.

With my badge in place, I suddenly felt a great sense of pride and belonging. I felt the day's momentum shifting in my favor. I was no longer a cash-hemorrhaging banjo-plucking outsider here. I belonged here now. This piece of cardboard hanging around my neck proved that I belonged here now. I belonged here because I was MEDIA.

I got onto the escalator, and as I descended into the crowds, I thought, Look out, you game-loving motherfuckers. Here I come.


  1. Too much Red Bull for lunch, me thinks.

  2. This is probably totally unrelated to your "blogpost" but I couldn't be assed to find the proper means of telling you straight up how much Reviews on the Run sucks.

    Just now I watched you review a game about a truck driver ramming a woman from behind. I couldn't stand you even finishing the review off because... you seemed to like it.

    Here it comes, the respectably disagree splee.


    You asked for more things 'like' this.

    Who the fuck are you people? like wtf.

    We need to get behind those who actually made good games with GOOD gameplay. And you're sitting here hyping up one of the lamest gaming devices ever. And one of the lamest games on one of the lamest portable gaming devices ever. I understand... the iPhone isn't weak, but I don't think its hard to find something better to review EVEN on that. Leave the crap to the crapeaters. Don't want people to say TV isn't worth it anymore, don't review shit. There's so much better stuff on the iPhone to review and once you're done with that, DON'T review the shit and say its good (I don't know how much money Apple sends you for mentioning the iPhone in that show but I don't think they said anything about having to force feed garbage down the millions of people who realise that THAT was a stupid GAME).


    If there's a good game for the iPhone there is NATURALLY a better game for the PSP atleast. Review THOSE. Show us something IMPORTANT. Game reviews for games on game devices THEN iShat.

    Reviews on the run was originally a gaming review show. It doesn't make any sense that i'd need to purchase a phone (or a music player... they're for iPod touch too right?) to play crappy games. There are tonnes of crappy games for the PSP and DS.

    Scott sometimes your opinion is respectably biased. You sometimes see the things people dont. Other times you're completely off... I wish I could go into more detail but how about I just say that if it seems like the reasoning you put behind saying the game in question was even remotely good... you're off... You don't need to impress us. Just review real games. It's your job... Don't eat shit and spit it back at us. (even if you somehow learn to like the taste of it. [Stop 69 spooning with Victor Lucas. No one needs to know what he smells like]).

    Oh and if you see Ben Silverman, tell the mother fucker that:
    the PC is not dead and that if you're on a mac I will kill you with a headshot... in Counter-Strike: Source. (Yeah, most noobs run from that which they fear and slander that from a safe distance. But now, there are no more safe havens. I CAN EVEN DISH OUT PWNAGE TO NOOBS ON MAC! here's a pitch for a shitty apple platform game: unscramble: todays scramble: PAER. Hint: its not pear.)

    hot off the press.

  3. Interesting perspective of your first experience to E3.
    I could feel your curiousity, confusion and perplexity of an unusual place. I'm sure everyone has been in a similar-type position at one time or another in their life, but as a gaming geek, I very much appreciate reading about your struggles at E3.
    Edited visions of E3 through Reviews on the Run and from EP Daily cannot (for obvious reasons) show us all the chaos behind the scenes at these hallowed events. Well, really cool events anyways. So thanks for sharing, much appreciated.

  4. "Anonymous" with the Reviews on the Run issue... Nobody's forcing you to watch it...
    you can just... watch something else on TV or better:
    Learn how to write, create your own blog and write your own review there! Again, nobody asked you to read this. You are entitle to your opinion but does it have to be that nasty??
    BTW: your opinion has NO VALUE, you didn't even sign your fucking text! Bravo!

  5. Mr. Jones,
    I love your work and hope someday we will get the chance to meet. I first heard you on CNET's The 404 and have been following ever since. You are an inspiration and I think your blog is fascinating. Starting my sophomore year in college, it's nice to see the trials and tribulations of a young journalist. Thanks for the entertainment,
    Chris Engels

  6. Hey Chris.

    Thanks for reading! I'm always at the various conventions, so please say hello should our paths ever cross. And if I can ever help you out in anyway, let me know.

    Good luck this sophomore year, buddy.

    Best, Scott

  7. First: I like your writing style, and all this geek culture reminds me of my ever so fruitful Coupland crazed days, good job!

    Second: whats with all the banjo hate man, that's just uncalled for. >_>

  8. Scott your the man. I watch ROTR everyday, but I did not know you were such a cool writer. I'll have to visit your blog more often. See ya at Fan Expo. PS: Unlike that other guy ^^ I liked your review of the truck driving game, it made me laugh.

  9. I just ran into your blog and have been reading it instead of translating the 200 lines of Beowulf that needs to be done by tomorrow, and I wanted to let you know that I think it's hillarious.
    Also, thanks to this particular post, I am reminded that I need to go translate some Beowulf. Thanks.