Monthly Archives: April 2012
I had nothing to do with this video, I’m just relaying the message. ~ AJ b33m3R
Remember to Check the entire Description! Click to Tweet and Like the Video to spread!
Click2Tweet – http://clicktotweet.com/LOWsa
If you want to message them individually contact @Zh1nt0 @Demize99 @crash7800 @gustavhalling with their twitters, voicing your concerns and link them this video. We just want answers, not excuses… simply talk to us!
Bump the Reddit Link – http://www.reddit.com/r/battlefield3/comments/t0h53/dice_please_fix_battlefie…
Hacker Video – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NMqag6XB5Vo&feature=plcp
Special thanks to all the commentators that added their parts to the video, and all the others wanting to help the cause as well, in the end we have come together and try, and that to me is a success, and hopefully they respond!
Overall the addition of BF3 rented servers to consoles is a good thing. For one, it’s now easy for anyone to learn how to fly a chopper or plane and boost your unlocks with a couple of friends (because EA is charging people to unlock items that have an affect on gameplay, I no longer find boosting objectionable, nor do I consider it cheating.) And having the ability to set the rules for you and your pals is worth its weight in gold. But the implementation has come with some undesirable and pesky side effects.
The most annoying side effect is the shear amount of time it can take to find an appropriate game. If you’re not careful you can get stuck on a 5000 ticket Metro Conquest server. Who the hell wants to be spawn trapped on Metro for six hours? Who the fuck has the time to play Metro for six hours? You can no longer jump safely into a server. You have to take a look at the server info page to be sure. So much for a quick game every now and then.
Would it be so hard for DICE to implement a little code to restrict rented servers being named [DICE] or anything official looking?
At first I thought I could easily solve this dilemma by hopping only into official DICE servers… Yeah, good luck finding one of those these days. From this perspective it seems as though DICE and EA have figured out a way to con the community into paying for something they should be providing as part of the $60 package you purchased. Not only are these official servers rare these days but when you do find one you’ll soon discover that it’s probably NOT an official DICE server.
You see, in an effort to get more people onto their servers, many unscrupulous gamers have taken to the practice of naming their rented servers in a similar “official” fashion. Just because the server description says something like ‘[DICE]- BF3 Classic Only‘ or ‘P2135468‘ doesn’t mean it is. The only way for you to be sure is to go to the server info page and hit the Y button to see if someone’s gamercard shows up. To be fair, if you do a search for ‘dice‘ all those “lost in limbo” servers will show up, now all you have to do is figure out which ones are legit and which ones are rented. Once you suss this out I advise you add these servers to your favorites. Would it be so hard for DICE to implement a little code to restrict rented servers being named [DICE] or anything official looking?
“Everywhere I go, there’s always an asshole.” ~ McCoy, Streets of Fire (1984)
While the ability to customize a server may be worth its weight in gold, it to has its shortcomings. My two buds, CHAD and erock, and myself hopped onto a server for some squad rush action. After about ten minutes, erock ended up on the other team. At first we thought he had done it by mistake and so he switched back over and we continued to play. The same thing happened again a short while later. Long story short, it turned out the server’s owner (who was on the other team) was switching erock over to his team. When CHAD asked him why he was doing this he replied ‘to balance the teams.’ CHAD went on to explain to him that the three of us were good friends and only play together and he could take anyone else but please do not separate us. He replied with something along the lines of ‘how about you let me administrate my server my way.’ We replied by quitting the server.
None of this is game breaking, just mosquito buzzing around your ear in the summer heat annoying. A final bit of advice before you go renting your own server, go have a gander at the empty ones first before wasting your own money. Maybe even get to know the guys who own those servers and become friends. Maybe they’ll make you admins.
Seeing the story laid out here on the blog, I’m becoming more and more displeased with the structure with every section I post. I’m not sure what is bothering me though. Some ‘parts’ could be chapters unto themselves I suppose. Or is the pacing setting me off. Nevermind, I must set these distractions aside for now and push on through to get this finished. I can suss this out later.
FUNKY LITTLE DEMONS
A novel by AJ Beamish
copyright © 2012
CHAPTER 3: SOMETHING HARDER THAN A WIFFLE BAT
Piper greeted them with a smile that belied relief and ushered every one into the kitchen where the pizza was waiting. The two boys sat at the small kitchen table and Piper’s mother, an elderly lady with graying hair, a crouched gait and not a word of English in her vocal repertoire poured some soda into the glasses sitting in front of them and placed a plate with a slice that had extra cheese in front of Marley. Then she said something in Spanish to Roland and motioned for Marley to follow him as Roland went to the sink to wash his hands.
“Extra cheese OK with you G?” Piper said as Marley washed.
“Yeh, my favorite. How did you know?”
“Thought all white people liked extra cheese.” This brought a snicker of delight from Roland and Mike but a slight mew of disapproval came from Piper’s mother. Marley wanted to say something about Hispanics eating fried plantains and their propensity to constantly play crappy music consisting of large horn sections at much too loud levels to early hours of the morning. Marley wanted to. But he didn’t and just took the hand towel from Piper’s mom with a sheepish smile. She smiled back at him and patted him on the shoulder as she motioned him to go back to his seat then slapped her son hard on his arm.
“I was just kidding Ma,” Piper whined like a little boy in trouble. Then he and Mike were ushered out of the kitchen.
The rest of the meal went by without incident with Piper’s mother doting quietly over them. Marley liked her, she was a gentle sort. Sweet, considerate and kind. A little like his own mother. She was constantly cleaning or wiping over something. Roland’s apartment was as near to immaculate as an apartment in Washington Heights could get. Plastic covered everything, even the kitchen table and Marley could not remember seeing a single roach in all his visits here. That in itself was a remarkable feat, roaches were to Washington Heights as loud stabbing horn sections were to merengue.
Marley wondered if she knew what her son did for a living? Surely she could not approve of it if she did. Looking at her with a sideways glance the thought occurred to him that what he was seeing was some thin veneer of a facade and right underneath its surface was Ma Barker. Guiding her son and his criminal empire from the shadows and safety of her subtle, innocuous position. Suddenly she was standing next to him with another slice of pizza and refilling his glass of soda with such a warm and obviously caring smile that Marley flushed at what he had been thinking. Returning the smile he thanked her and silently cussed the Heights for making him so cynical.
She stepped between the two boys and gave them both gentle kisses on their heads. First Roland and then Marley. Marley ate his slice carefully, making sure his mouth was closed whilst he chewed. Careful of his manners. Some things did not have veneers. Washington Heights certainly didn’t, the shit that you saw was the shit that you got. And this kindly old women standing at the kitchen sink, wiping dishes and softly singing to herself was no Ma Barker. Marley didn’t think she was stupid either. She had to know what her son did though he was sure she turned a blind eye to most of it. Maybe she held on to the memories of a younger and innocent Piper and covered them in plastic that protected them and her from the taint that her son had become.
I hate allergy season. I can’t take non-drowsy allergy pills because they make me anxious, wired and more paranoid than Philip K. Dick on meth. The regular allergy pills make me drowsy, dull and somewhat negative and depressed. Had to step back from blogging for a week because of this. I’m not the misery loves company type and everything I was writing wasn’t cool.
The following section of this chapter is rather long for a blog post so I’ve broken it down into smaller pieces. I find that I tend to glance over long posts when I come across them on other blogs. I think I’m not much different than everyone else out there so I imagine most people do the same thing. I found Eric Swett’s 100-word challenge easy to read and keep up with because they were short entries. And so I’ve decided to follow suit with this story here and will keep the entries short and therefore more easily digestible for the modern day short attention span internet psyche, hence the part 1.1, 1.2, etc.
FUNKY LITTLE DEMONS
A novel by AJ Beamish
copyright © 2012
CHAPTER 3: SOMETHING HARDER THAN A WIFFLE BAT
Piper’s right hand was waiting for them as they passed Marley’s apartment building and was no less insistent that they see Piper than Roland had been, albeit a lot less subtle. This time a carrot had been dangled in front of the prospective donkey. Marley liked pizza so he didn’t bother mentioning to Mike that they had been heading directly to Piper’s house anyway. A slice of cheesy goodness sounded really good right about now, after all, donkeys had to eat too.
Piper’s building had an elevator but like most everything else in Washington Heights it was out of order. Marley pondered the tiny mosaic tiles along the landings as the three of them walked up the four flights of stairs to Piper’s apartment, silently marveling at how every building in the neighborhood was exactly the same. Same tiles. Same geometric pattern in the tiles. Same shit colored paint on the banisters and handrails. Same mud colored paint on the walls. The same tiny crack vials hiding in the crevices of the stairs leading up to the fifth floor and like all the other buildings in Washington Heights Marley didn’t have to see the roof to know it was carpeted with them.
“Not too smart.” Marley muttered.
“What’s that kid?” Mike had been trailing behind them, watching Marley.
“Don’t seem like a bright idea to let them get high so close to home base.” Marley said.
Mike regarded him with a smile. “Pretty street smart for a white kid.” Mike placed a hand on Marley’s shoulder and knelt down so he could talk soft. “We don’t keep nothing at Piper’s. This is from all the junkies that come in here after we close shop for the night. It’s like this in every building. What wouldn’t be smart is looking different from those other buildings.” He patted Marley on the back and proceeded on into Piper’s apartment.
It was a little rough being one of the few white kids growing up in Washington Heights in the 80′s. These things Marley is seeing are all the things I experienced as a child. In that respect Marley is me. But he is more, he’s a lot tougher than I was, smarter too for his age. You have to put a little bit of yourself in all your characters. Your good self, your bad self, and even your evil self (don’t look at me like that, like you’ve never wished someone dead, maimed or tortured.) That’s why it’s important for us writers to be complex individuals with multiple personalities. Else, we run out of characters to write about.
FUNKY LITTLE DEMONS
A novel by AJ Beamish
copyright © 2012
CHAPTER 2: ANGELS, DEMONS AND THE ODD GOAT
Piper stared thoughtfully at the pay phone’s receiver for a few seconds before slamming it back in its cradle. He looked to Mike who should have been scanning up and down St. Nicholas Avenue for cops and other perils to Piper’s existence and followed his line of site to the two giggling females exiting the elevators that went down to the 191st street subway station. Piper inhaled sharply and turned on his second-in-command.
“You seen that cabron and the white boy?” It was more demand than question.
“They didn’t show up for the game of football like we talked about.” Mike answered with a shrug, his gaze fixed firmly on the females.
Mike stood near two feet taller than Piper, and considering Piper was fairly well built, just a bit wider. Piper gazed up at him, wanted to yell and scream at the incompetence that surrounded him but Piper hadn’t got this far in life on rage alone and pragmatism took precedence over the frustration he was feeling. After all, it was not Mike’s fault that that pendejo, C-Wreck, had taken his puta with him on the downtown run this morning. The two of them probably argued all the way to the Village, drawing the attention of every transit cop from here to Brooklyn along the way. The original charge on C-Wreck had been a simple assault. ‘I slapped the bitch to make her shut-up,’ he had said, ever so proudly, according to Piper’s lawyer who he’d spoken with a few hours ago.
Slapped the bitch. The words echoed in his head with a dull throbbing pain.
He had slapped the bitch in public while the bitch was carrying five grand worth of drugs in her backpack.
“Chinga a tu madre. That stupid shit can’t do anything right.” Piper cussed, not sure whom he was really referring to, Roland or C-Wreck? Both, he decided, and vented a deep and prolonged sigh.
“Okay,” Piper said sullenly, “go wait for whitey outside his building, tell him we’re having a pizza party, he’s invited.” He stared straight up into Mike’s eyes. “Don’t take no for an answer. What kind of pie you think white people eat?”
“Plain,” Mike chuckled back at him, “I’m pretty sure the kid likes plain cheese, maybe extra cheese.”
“I’ve seen him order it. Get one with extra pepperoni too. That’s for me.” Mike flashed a smile at Piper and disappeared around the corner of 192nd Street.
Wondering how the latest Battlefield 3 patch (1.04) affects gameplay?
- Battlefield 3: F-35 Lighting Patch Changes and Jet Changes by LevelCapGaming
- Battlefield 3 PATCH 1.04 Details – FLAK Specialization by TheRealMossi
- Battlefield 3 PATCH 1.04 Details – Coaxial HMG by TheRealMossi
- Battlefield 3 PATCH 1.04 Details – Tank Cannon by TheRealMossi
- Battlefield 3 PATCH 1.04 Details – RPG vs. TANK by TheRealMossi
- Battlefield 3 PATCH 1.04 Details – JAVELIN vs. TANK by TheRealMossi
- How suppression really works post patch and what it EXACTLY does by rivaLxfactor
- BF3: Bring Your X Game – Suppression Tactics by DCRU Colin and rivaLxfactor
- Battlefield 3 Heavy Barrel Vs Flash Suppressor Post Patch by 1WINDSHEAR
- BF3: What happened to the Attachments? A G36 Study! by CANjamin000
- Battlefield 3: Foregrip Guide (After Patch) by LevelCapGaming
- Battlefield 3 The Best Guns Post Patch by 1WINDSHEAR
- Battlefield 3-AK-74M Post Patch: A Brand New Gun by cloudedtruth
- AK74M assault rifle gameplay thoughts and setup by rivaLxfactor
- AKS-74U Engineer gameplay and weapon setup with thoughts and advice by rivaL xfactor
- Battlefield 3: RPK-74M Weapon Review by LevelCapGaming
- Support and RPK Review Post Patch by 1WINDSHEAR
- Magnum post patch gameplay featuring a breakdown info and tips by rivaL xfactor
- Favorite 3 assault weapons and specific attachments post balance patch by rivaL xfactor
- Battlefield 3: AEK-971 Heavy Barrel, Foregrip (Patch Changes) by LevelCapGaming
- BF3: Patch Thoughts and Server Update by SHuSTYBANG
- Battlefield 3 New Patch Analysis by 1WINDSHEAR
- BF3 Server Rental Guide & Features – Walkthrough Tutorial by TWTHEREDDRAGON
Overall the patch makes some great changes to the dynamics of the game. Ground forces are a bit more effective against vehicles. No more USuckAtShooting Frag round spamming and people seem to be switching things up a bit now. The game feels more tactical and less run-n-gun.
While I am thrilled that we can now rent private servers I am a little dismayed that EA and DICE have apparently implemented this system at the expense of official [DICE] servers. It is near impossible to find an empty enough DICE server to get a 4 man squad into. It’s starting to seem like DICE and EA have figured out yet another way to make you pay additional fees for something they should be providing as part of the package. The general population servers that once seemed so plentiful are now being allocated as subscription servers.
The other caveat with the private servers is the sometimes idiotic and insane setups you can stumble into. 3,000 ticket Operation Metro servers and if you’re not careful you could end up playing a 3 hour long round of Conquest.
They have now unlocked flares for jets right away. That’s fine. But I already unlocked flares for my jet. Shouldn’t I have the next item unlocked in consolation for my now pointless efforts? No? Oh, that’s right, they want me to pay to unlock it. Yeah, once again, FUCK YOU EA.
As far as what loadouts I’m using now. I’m kind of partial to the G3A3 (with Heavy Barrel, mostly because I haven’t unlocked Flash Suppressor for it yet) with a Masterkey setup (DART rounds) or smoke if I’m playing Rush for my Medic class. I’m undecided on what gun to ride with on my Support class. LMG’s seem to be only good for suppression these days so I think I’ll stick with the M240B I’ve been using or maybe go back to the QBB-95. I’ve gone back to the SG553 on my Engineer class but I haven’t really settled on attachments for this gun yet. I may just set up the SG553 for long range encounters (Heavy Barrel and Bipod) and set up the A-91 for close range encounters (Laser, Grip) so I can adjust to the SITREP faster. I like both guns, but I have not used the A-91 much post patch so this may change. As for Recon, I’ve been using the SKS a lot. For my sidearm I’ve been going with the .44 Magnum as per DCRU Colin and rivaL xfactor’s advice.
All this is bound to change as I put more hours into post patch play and the community adjusts to the patch and inevitably figures out how to manipulate it. After watching some of the review videos above I may go back to my beloved AEK-971. But first I want to finish unlocking the rest of the attachments on the G3A3, just so I have that long range ‘ooomph‘ for the larger maps available.
Alas, everything I select is situational these days, more so after the patch. I’m not afraid to waste a few extra seconds prepping a different loadout after I die. If the enemy is letting me flank them too easy, I’ll throw a silencer on the gun. Enemy air a pain in the ass? Pull out the Stinger. If we have plenty of missiles flying upwards, pull out the SOLFLAM. And I think this is where the patch shines. The game now seems to be rewarding you for making tactical decisions like this, where as before it seemed to punish you for it.
Now the little yellow Post-It notes in Writer are telling me I may want to reorder the following section and place it before the previous one. And we’re back the whole POV conundrum again. I’m still not seeing a problem with it. Am I consciously aware of it because it’s a blatant mishap that is a distraction for the reader or am I aware of it because it’s my job to be aware of it… Am I using it as a tool to sculpt the piece or as a crutch to lean on? I’m confused and getting a headache the more I think about it.
Another yellow Post-It note in Writer informs me that I may not want to refer to Rammy as being an angel this early in the story, that I may want to keep an ‘air of mystery’ longer. After reading that note I immediately thought to myself, ‘then why did you title the chapter so, dumbarse?’ Then I read the second part of the yellow Post-It note which said, ‘also, note the chapter’s title.’ Yeah, so whose the dumabarse now, future-self?
FUNKY LITTLE DEMONS
A novel by AJ Beamish
copyright © 2012
CHAPTER 2: ANGELS, DEMONS AND THE ODD GOAT
“Piper, my dear boy, this delay is disappointing.” Zero leaned back in his leather high chair with the phone resting comfortably in the crook of his neck, his tone inflected an air of confidence that subtly noted his pedigree. “And, I might add, that a little more warning would be prudent. This is the third day that I have had poor Michael waiting in the park for your man.”
Michael stirred in his seat from across the huge mahogany desk, his head held slightly down and his eyes shifting nervously around, scanning, one by one, the leather bound volumes of ancient texts that packed the walnut bookcases behind Zero, then up to the bas-relief images of antiquity that crowned them. Then twitching back and forth between the two Tiffany glass lamps that stood guard on each end of the mahogany expanse between them. Then darting from object to object that littered it. Pen. Paper. Ink pad. Pencil. A worn dictionary. Then back to the pen. His eyes racing for a place to rest; someplace, anyplace, that was not Abdel ‘Zero’ Gadi.
“We all have problems, but you are completely failing to realize your biggest problem,” Zero paused, letting Piper soak in what he had to say. “You are not the only game in town. Understand?” He placed the phone gently back in its cradle and eyed Michael. He enjoyed the way the slovenly mass of human wretchedness squirmed in his presence. Of all the fear Zero had ever relished in, Michael’s was by far the most fulfilling.
“There are more party favors in the basement vault. Use those for tonight. I’m sure our friend uptown will come through in a day or two.” With that said, Michael rose awkwardly from his seat and left the room, his back hunched and his eyes following the elaborate patterns of the Persian rug below his feet all the way to the heavy arched doors that served as the study’s only portal.
“You should put him out of his misery.”
The voice came from Zero’s right. It’s tone held no malice in it considering the statement, and Zero knew the speaker meant it as a way of showing Michael mercy. Zero scoffed.
“I wish you would stop sneaking around like that, I had no idea you were here.” He turned to face the figure coming out of the alcove where the more priceless volumes of his extensive and rather ancient manuscript collection were kept. A figure of beauty, he noted, a pleasant vision. Even its walk was an elegant and seemingly effortless exercise of grace in motion. Zero smiled.
“How have you been, Rammy?”
The figure scowled at him and went back to fingering through the worn and delicate pages of the manuscript it had procured from the alcove with apparent disregard for the book’s age and fragile nature. And yet the pages held, flowing as graceful and delicately through its fingers as it did through the room.
‘Rammy’ was a few inches over six feet and slender. His clothing impeccable. Soft cream colored pants, ironed smooth and a new-wave shirt of white, the kind with the lapel that reached far across the breast to buttons hidden under a smooth long white leather coat that ran down the length of the creatures body to the heels of its soft gray shoes. Rammy looked up at Zero, the scowl replaced by a warm cool smile crested with eyes of a soft, heavenly blue.
“Having withdrawal symptoms?” Rammy said.
“Me?” Zero laughed. “No, not me. My customers on the other hand… They need something to crush their inhibitions. Something to expose their id.”
“Your customers or your life source?”
“Ramiel, would you care to change places with me?” Zero said, his face suddenly contorted and pained.
Ramiel looked back down at the manuscript. “Never in a hundred thousand lifetimes,” he said sullenly. Zero was as he was made to be and there was little more anyone, even God, could do to change that. Ramiel walked over and sat in the chair Michael had just vacated. He placed the ancient book on the desktop and studied his friend. Ramiel knew It had to be hard on him, fighting ones true nature was never easy. But when your entire existence depended on you being and doing what it was you were placed here to do, fighting your nature was surely pure torment.
“More research?” Zero asked, eyeing the book.
“Gnostic text. More of a review than research.” Ramiel replied, letting the awkward moment pass and settled himself more comfortably in the chair.
“And the child’s instruction? How is she coming along?”
“She’ll be ready when she is needed,” Ramiel gave Zero a disapproving look. “She told me that Michael brought her dinner twice last week.”
“I was busy, I had little choice in the matter―“ Ramiel cut him off with a wave of his hand.
“We cannot afford the chance of that child being tainted in any way. We’ve invested too much time in her.”
“I know that,” Zero retorted, “Michael is far too afraid of me to do anything. Would you have preferred it if I’d sent one of the degenerates that frequent the club to do the job instead?” Zero stared into Ramiel’s eyes, pleading for understanding, and finding little.
“I had not fed in weeks,” he said finally and his face fell to the floor “I was caught up in my own rapture. It won’t happen again. She wasn’t hurt, was she?”
Ramiel let the silence ebb for a while, hoping the gravity of the situation would not escape Zero’s conscience.
“No, I would have felt it if she had been,” he said finally. “You must be more careful in these matters, Zero. You must remember that you are as much a slave to your predicament as I am to mine. Your willingness to fight the primordial urges you have is very noble for your kind but make no mistakes about what you are. If you must feed then do so.”
Zero continued to stare at the floor. He felt ashamed of himself. Of what he was. He took a deep breath.
“You have visitors.” He heard Ramiel say.
When he looked up the angel was gone as silently as he had come and the heavy wooden doors opened with an explosion of light from the hallway outside. Michael began stumbling forward only to be shoved aside by a rather diminutive man in his twenties who confidently strode up to Zero’s desk and stopped.
“Are you Abdel Gadi? The one they call Zero?” The man asked. He had the air of confidence that one normally found in drunk troublemakers amongst equally drunk friends.
“I am he.” Zero said, a little bemused at this curious intrusion. Another man stood under the wash of light in the hallway, indistinguishable from where Zero sat.
“My Master seeks audience with you.” Benny said motioning behind himself with a flick of his head.
Zero looked towards the washed out visage in the doorway. “And who might this master of yours be?” He asked wryly.