tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56641692009-02-21T09:54:22.605-05:00WORDS AND PICTURES BY CHRIS LAMB.chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.comBlogger123125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1156429923278164022006-08-24T10:29:00.000-04:002006-08-24T10:32:03.290-04:00

A particularly appropriate installment of Scary Go Round today, as Confluence and Ideaspace seem particularly out to get me. Fucking girls. Fucking bears.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1155569106476766482006-08-14T11:23:00.000-04:002006-08-14T11:27:58.016-04:00

So, the game we did for Naruto is up on CN as of today. You can find it here. I really can't tell you how happy I am to see this thing done and dusted. What should have been a very simple project (top-down scrolling shooter, nine levels, three bosses) picked up when CN yanked it from Some Other Company who couldn't get their shit together evolved into an all-consuming monster, a flash-based

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1154361468372598192006-07-31T11:57:00.000-04:002006-07-31T12:05:23.056-04:00

Quick diversion before getting into the brain dump of the trip what was by way of some recovered pictures from my first time out in San Francisco. Further evidence that anything you're really looking for is probably in a box under some one's bed.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1154322150554671952006-07-31T01:02:00.000-04:002006-07-31T01:02:30.570-04:00

San Francisco is Mars, and Mars is Heaven. After weeks (Two? Three? All of them?) of New York being slow broiled by the Heat Wave That Wouldn't End, after the last couple of of months at work being dominated by ninjas, the Finnish, and marine life in increasingly difficult to explain scenarios, I am on vacation. Actual, real, paid vacation, in San Francisco. Which is Mars. I am in San

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1154322075275589212006-07-31T00:58:00.000-04:002006-07-31T01:01:15.286-04:00

San Francisco is Mars, and Mars is Heaven. After weeks (Two? Three? All of them?) of New York being slow broiled by the Heat Wave That Wouldn't End, after the last couple of of months at work being dominated by ninjas, the Finnish, and marine life in increasingly difficult to explain scenarios, I am on vacation. Actual, real, paid vacation, in San Francisco. Which is Mars. I am in San

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1152724470692058902006-07-12T12:45:00.000-04:002006-07-12T13:15:11.433-04:00

I quit drinking caffeine. Mostly. After a good long while spent going back and forth sinc e a bit of self realization last August, I've cut my consumption per day down to one coffee, one Coke, and the occasional green tea. This down from what roughly rounds out to "whatever I can get my hands on, oh my god give it give it give it", or the number equivelient there of. I don't know math. The (

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1150809707582340122006-06-20T09:20:00.000-04:002006-06-20T09:21:47.593-04:00

I suppose there are worse times than the beginning of Summer to realize the fans in your room are dead. I have three to use in various combinations as needed: two window units that suck air in or pump it back out again and a smaller, more portable fan that was the one good thing to come out of a week of baby-sitting the sort of country mouse house guest Time Out New York writes charming features

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1145630471372971682006-04-21T10:35:00.000-04:002006-04-21T10:41:11.406-04:00

Hi, internet. Sorry things have been so quiet for the last few weeks - loads happening on the game design front and New York deciding it's Spring have kept me away from here. Stuff and things happening soonish, I promise. I'd like to get back in the habit of making regular use of this thing. Of course, every time I say that, my work load doubles. So we'll see. Work music of the day: "

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1142379450578124922006-03-14T18:29:00.000-05:002006-03-23T11:08:09.420-05:00

Talking about the Arctic Monkeys a few days ago leads all-too naturally to listening to Kenickie. A lot. A lot a lot. Not wanting to go on too much more at risk of ending up with something on the long and shambling side of a rant, but songs about things that happen while trying to chat up girls are the best thing ever.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1141929559001130682006-03-09T13:33:00.000-05:002006-03-09T13:39:33.323-05:00

"Right now, I'm sitting here at my whiteboard with my dry-erase marker and I'm trying to figure out how to get this level to work in our new game for the PSP. That's all there is. On one hand, that's nice because all of the bullshit goes away and you ask yourself, do you truly enjoy the work of being a game designer? There are days where I find the answer is a resounding yes. I'm obsessed with it

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1141231112163890422006-03-01T10:57:00.000-05:002006-03-01T11:38:32.233-05:00

So, the Arctic Monkeys. After months and months of seeing "AM: Cure for Cancer?" style headlines from NME online and the other usual suspects, their first album's coming to America at last. I've listening to an advance over headphones while working. Or putting off working, as the case may be. They're very charming, aren't they? After three listens to the record I think I've narrowed down

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1140644763196578192006-02-22T16:45:00.000-05:002006-02-22T16:46:03.206-05:00

Doing Capoeira – Brazilian martial arts disguised as dance – last night finds me today sore, stiff, and wanting to be Batman. For all the initial frustration, for all the pent-up intimidation and doesn’t-play-well-with-others bad feelings from spending a decade and change in public school physical fitness programs that marked my first class (and came up again last night, the by-product of

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1140533478991113832006-02-21T09:49:00.000-05:002006-02-21T09:51:19.000-05:00

Don’t call it a comeback, I never left. 12:19 counts as tomorrow, doesn’t it? I’m getting back into the twenty lines a day habit but don’t trust myself to wake up early enough to hammer them out before work. That, and after the four or five glasses of wine I’ve had on top of Audrey and Cary in Charade, writing feels like the best thing to do, lacking a dinner cruise down the Seine or a

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1140375474098475082006-02-19T13:56:00.000-05:002006-02-19T13:57:54.110-05:00

Twelve till ten on a Saturday night and there's a lot I should be doing instead of blogging. Like capital-W writing, for instance, or going out into the bitter cold to drink with people for friend's birthday. Yet here I am instead, whiskey chilling in a glass and new pop music coming in over headphones. It happens sometimes. Though "new" is a bit subjective here: I'm listening to the

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1138750078957592352006-01-31T18:03:00.000-05:002006-01-31T18:27:59.020-05:00

Bear with me, here: I'm currently at the mercy of a persistent dose of Tylenol Allergy Sinus Day Time which, despite it's up and about-sounding name, has me more doped up than a sorority girl on club night. Thinking about writing, specifically the writing of mine being held in limbo on an Apple store hard drive, patiently waiting to be recovered and dropped into the body of Norrin Radd.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1138232043947461952006-01-25T18:26:00.000-05:002006-01-25T18:34:03.960-05:00

In the end, all it took to get my new laptop was the threat of legal smackdown. Remember that, kids: the trick to dealing with assholes is all in proper use of the words "federal crime" in a sentence. I am now the proud owner of a silvery-shiny 15" Powerbook that I've taken to calling "Norrin Radd." As that's a bit cumbersome, I might end up shortening to one word - because when you're naming

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1137511719727330962006-01-17T10:22:00.000-05:002006-01-17T10:28:39.743-05:00

Forgot to mention this a while ago, then continued forgetting for, um, several weeks: there haven't been any new installments of the twenty lines a day thing I was doing because there hasn't been a computer to write them on. My ibook, lovingly referred to as Doombot when no one was around, had a massive logic board failure and died about a month ago. I'm still working on getting a new machine,

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1137395533394719722006-01-16T01:34:00.000-05:002006-01-16T02:12:13.456-05:00

Ben10: Battle Ready is up at cartoonnetwork.com. It's the first game I did for Pop, the project who's hellishly short production schedule also marked my slow shift of accepting all this as What I Do. It's weird, seeing it finally up and running and out of our hands. The first day it was up I'd load it on my screen at work just to look at it, all this dumb shit from my head made real on a

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1136569230550187262006-01-06T12:40:00.000-05:002006-01-06T12:40:30.600-05:00

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1136093264789777392006-01-01T00:26:00.000-05:002006-01-01T00:27:44.790-05:00

Just to say: between the roar of fireworks shaking the window panes and the mass of voices singing and shouting outside and in the surrounding apartments, the mental image of the city declaring war on Dick Clark and his yearly ritual of rejuvenation involving the skinning of years off the ends of the thousands of lives gathered in Times Square to watch his hideous Rite Of The Disco Ball

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1136093052540412722006-01-01T00:23:00.000-05:002006-01-01T00:24:12.553-05:00

How 2005 ends: sitting on the edge of a futon in robot-mode, stabbing at a borrowed keyboard during a break from a marathon push through season five of Angel. This is the good one, apparently, and so far the appearance of Spike has gone a long way to offset the mumbled half-acting of David Borenzahozenhausen, the guy what plays Angel. If part of me must be a seventeen-year-old girl spending

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1134014368247449292005-12-07T22:35:00.000-05:002005-12-07T23:05:30.673-05:00

I threw this in the sidebar but forgot to actually talk about it, for I am dumb. I have a game online. When I came on with Pop, they were in the early stages of a game for Cartoon Network's Hi Hi Puffy Ami Yumi Show. It's a decent cartoon, nothing special: the animated adventures of the two girls of Puffy Ami Yumi and their zany tour manager Kaz. They travel the world in their van, bring the

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1133966807384188342005-12-07T09:45:00.000-05:002005-12-07T09:46:47.403-05:00

Last night, in rough order: phone call, whiskey, hip-hop; then the long walk home through almost empty streets to dream about running through the city with a huge chorus just offstage roaring through Simon and Garfunkel's "Cecelia." There. There is some sentence structure for you. I see your crude diagrams of proper form and I laugh at them. It was the sort of night that reminds me why I'm

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1133882429310334642005-12-06T10:18:00.000-05:002005-12-06T10:20:29.323-05:00

Woke up to the first snow of the season Sunday, and now we're living in the days of the Weathermen, where every storm is a potential blizzard and the streets become more dangerous with stray Snow-Melt than they ever were covered in ice. Still, it's better than it was growing up in the South where every heavy grey cloud riding a cold front in is a cause for alarm, emptying the grocery stores and

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1133789503674731862005-12-05T08:31:00.000-05:002005-12-05T08:31:43.686-05:00

It isn't work without these days; without ever sitting in front of a blank screen, just staring when you could be sleeping, there would be nothing to make you appreciate when the words do come. If there was never any frustration, if dodging cliche was as easy as setting your fingers to the the keys, every one would do it. If it was as easy as all that, you'd never bother trying to do it at all.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0