I suppose we should dispense with the pleasantries and get down to where, exactly, the hell I have been for the last two months. I can assure you, my apparition still haunts these binary halls, though I may only manifest physically when you're not looking.
Paul has an infectious love of video games. That isn't to say that I don't have a rather serious addiction to pixelated divertissement; I just can't listen to him talk about games for very long before I start to see them the way he does. It's one of the reasons I wish he would write more about them, but writing about video games would cut into his playing of video games. Guess which side of that divide he's going to land on.
The long and short of it is this: I'm not very good at the first Uncharted, and I wish Paul would stop telling me how much he loves it and asking me when I'm going to finish it. It is the first game in a good long while that has made me physically hurl the controller into the couch. A game in which I die a lot makes me feel stupid. It's an unpleasant sensation, and after a certain point, you realize that it's a voluntary unpleasant sensation. This realization makes me feel even dumber, which is when I turn on an episode of 30 Rock or something a billion times more enjoyable than feeling like a complete moron.
Of course, the harder a game is, the more satisfying the reward. I just, this very night, obtained the final two Batarangs in the Arkham Asylum challenge mode. That's three on every challenge, people.
Ladies, ladies, please. One at a time.