Since yesterday, I’ve been suffering a vaguely guilty, gnawing sensation, and I’m pretty it’s from not blogging yesterday.
It’s not my fault, I tell myself. If I had anything remotely interesting to say, I would have written it. But peering into the barrel of thoughts worth sharing, I came up with nothing but scraping: the new grass, talking about the weather, a random story about E3 — from a year ago.
Still. You should write something.
Fine. Since no one who doesn’t have to look at it doesn’t care about the new grass I’ve magically summoned to fill the bald spot in my front yard, I’ll talk about E3… a year ago.
It was my first E3, and I was suitably impressed. Hundreds of video game companies filled the halls with their loud, raucous displays. BizDev types in suits cruised the aisles like sharks in shoes, while fanboys in black t-shirts lined up to see the New Hotness. And after the show closed, the parties were… legendary.
I went off on my own one night, leaving my too-tired-to-party compatriots to their own (mostly sleeping) devices. The next morning, I regaled them with my adventures.
“I ran into some Korean developers,” I said. “They didn’t speak much English. But they needed directions, and I helped them out. They said they were going to a party, and invited me along. We ended up in some industrial meat-packing district or something. I think. It smelled like raw meat. But there was this nightclub, right in the middle of it. Small, exclusive. There were meathooks on the walls…”
“Really?” asked my companions.
“Nah,” I said. “I just got some ice cream and went to bed. But it was a great story, wasn’t it?”
