Based upon part four of the Mimesis as Make-Believe serial.

When one plays most videogames there is a tacit understanding that one is entering into a fictional world – the term virtual world, is often deployed to mean exactly this. It is self-evident that this also happens when one plays a tabletop role-playing game, the play of which is precisely concerned with conceiving of a fictional world and taking actions within it. The same is true of boardgames: players of a game of Cluedo enter into a fictional world in which they are attempting to solve a mystery. It is even true of the more abstract games – players of Jenga enter a fictional world in which (rather arbitrarily!) the player sitting to the left of the player who collapses the tower is declared victorious.

According to Walton's theory, the appreciator of a painting or the viewer of a movie plays a game of make-believe with the relevant prop or props, and thereby enters into a fictional world. Walton also identifies a separate fictional world – the world of the prop, known as the work world – which can be considered to consist of those fictional truths which must apply in all the fictional worlds that the individual appreciators or players experience with that work. In the context of games, the work world is that which is present for all players; the environment and its interactions for videogames, or the pieces and rules for a boardgame, the essential principle at work remains the same.

Walton also talks of authorised games in the context of representations: those games which correspond to the presumed intentions of the artist, generally speaking. This authority is attained via the background of understanding and is essentially social in nature. We can say that if one plays along with the spirit of an artwork, story and so forth, one is playing the authorised game. Otherwise, one's interaction with any given representation (including a game) is considered an unofficial game. These games are still perfectly legitimate activities – there is nothing illicit involved in playing one – but they are to be considered essentially distinct from the authorised game as they go beyond what is conventionally licensed by the work in question.

It is easy to extend this idea into boardgames and tabletop games in general: if one "plays by the rules", one is participating in an authorised game. Pragmatically, however, the rules of hobbygames can be complex enough that most players are unknowingly playing an unofficial game anyway. When I used to play on the tournament circuit for Magic: The Gathering, I was often struck by how many players did not fully understand the rules (having learned principally from another player and not by processing the rules themselves). For much of the play, this didn't matter, but because my tournament deck was extremely technical it was often involved in rules disputes that showed up the other players' misunderstandings of the basic mechanics of the game. If one is willing to take into account the near ubiquitous habit of adding house rules to boardgames, the normal experiences of hobbygame players with respect to the boardgames they play is essentially dominated by unofficial games.

Yet in videogames, as Miguel Sicart and Jesper Juul have noted, it seems that the rules are definitively enforced and not subject to change. Are the play activities conducted in videogames always, therefore, authorised games? They are not. An initial point to address it that it is quite possible to change the rules of a videogame: this happens in MMOs all the time as a result of discussions between the players and the developers, and it also happens without the developer's consent. Within a week of release, there was a "trainer" produced for my game Ghost Master that allowed players to circumvent the progress mechanics, thus producing an unofficial game. I do not believe (contrary to Sicart) that this was in some sense illicit: in a solo game, why shouldn't the player alter the mechanics for their own enjoyment?

There are other ways in which the videogame play experience can become unofficial in Walton's sense. The authorised game associated with any given videogame is arguably the one in which the player pushes through to completion. But the vast majority of players do not do this, they play until they lose interest, or until it gets too hard, and then give up. There is a sense in which this truncated version of the play is another instance of unofficial games – in the fictional world these players enter, there is no resolution, yet in the work world of the game that resolution is eternally transfixed. (Compare the person who doesn't read the last chapter of a book, knowing it will end in tragedy, and decides in their fictional world of the book it will not end this way). Additionally, we should take into account the wilful or accidental distortion of the play activities of a videogame, such as the middle-aged man whom was brought in to blind test Midtown Madness and drove around the town following the traffic signals and ignoring the races declaring it was "a great game". Maybe so, but the man in question was certainly playing an unofficial game!

The fictional worlds that players engage with are as distinct from the work worlds of games as the fictional worlds of art and stories are from the corresponding work worlds. The variety of unofficial games that are available to be played is vast, and from the point of view of the game designer the appeal of any game can be seen to escalate in proportion to the possibility of unofficial games. The Grand Theft Auto games (such as San Andreas, pictured above) have enjoyed phenomenal success because the authorised game – the game corresponding to the story spine – is essentially optional. A vast number of players simply mess around in the world, making their own unofficial games, assuming a significant degree of control over the fictional world of their play. Similarly, a boardgame that supports many variations (explicitly or otherwise) stands to gain significant appeal.

Appreciating that the player of a game enters into their own fictional world (and not into the work world of the game that the developer has constructed) gets to the heart of the player experience. This is true even in MMOs, where other players have influence in the player's fictional world. Each player is still, nonetheless, in their own personal fictional world when they play the game. Walton says that we essentially live in the worlds of our games, despite knowing they are not real. He is talking about the games of make-believe we play with art and stories, but it is just as true (and indeed, more obviously so) in the fictional worlds of literal games. He notes: "True, these worlds are merely fictional... But from inside they seem actual." They have the power to carry us away, and in this lies the power of representation of all kinds to marshal the human imagination.

Next week: Participation

Reprinted with permission of Chris Bateman.

Chris Bateman is a philosopher, game designer and writer, best known for the games Discworld Noir and Ghost Master, and the books Game Writing: Narrative Skills for Videogames and Beyond Game Design. Chris runs International Hobo, a consultancy specialising in market-oriented game design and narrative, and has worked on more than two dozen videogame projects.

Graduating with a Masters degree in Artificial Intelligence and Cognitive Science, he has since pursued highly-acclaimed independent research into how and why people play games. His most recent player model, BrainHex, is based upon neurobiological principles and the test has been taken by more than 30,000 people.

As well as his many books, Chris writes at two blogs: ihobo.com, which carries pieces on game design and the videogames industry, and Only a Game, which contains an eclectic selection of articles on philosophy, ethics, metaphysics and other nonsense.

New York City is one of the most played locations in games, serving as the inspirational backdrop for games like Grand Theft Auto, Prototype, Crysis 2 and many, many, (perhaps too many) more. Will future visions of the Big Apple be... fun?

Newsweek tasked three architecture firms with envisioning and designing how a future NYC might work, resulting in a fascinating interactive piece that's potentially a downer for those of us who love stealing cars and driving wildly through its city streets.

Relatively unchanged are the towering skyscrapers that make playing as Spider-man or Alex Mercer so enjoyable. But instead of the dystopian and alien-invaded visions of near future New York—Newsweek's charge was only to look 20 years into the future, we should note—it's "green," filled with public transportation, shared living and work spaces and so clean you could eat off it.

That's perhaps the biggest threat to New York City as a guest star in video games: it could evolve into something... boring. We're going to need those jet packs and mech suits pronto, science.

While we dream of zombie infestations, carjacking and illegal street races set in the New York of the now—and hope that its parody version of Liberty City remains a fun place to be—see what the future vision of the town looks like at Newsweek.

The Future of Work [Newsweek]

Attention Grand Theft Auto IV fans looking to complete the "Impossible Trinity": Rockstar's second expansion The Ballad of Gay Tony is the Xbox Live Deal of the Week. Revisit Liberty City slightly cheaper, just 1200 Microsoft Points. [Live Marketplace]

Does size matter? Compare the size of these seven video game words to the amount of enjoyment you got out of playing the game. Found via Digg.

Clothing puts flesh on the avatar.

I'm with Tim Gunn on this one (and really in a sense anthropologists and sociologists before him, like Erving Goffman), fashion is a form of rhetoric.  What you put on tends to communicate, be your desire to align yourself with your favorite sports team or with a musical subculture, advertise your competence for a job or political office, or make clear that you are available to the opposite sex (or maybe just for sex).  What we put on is emblematic.  Even the slob who just throws on whatever is in his closet this morning is inadvertently telling us something.

Thus, as games have grown more mature and more interested in communicating messages, stories, and ideas in a more complex way, it seems to me inevitable that the virtual closets of our avatars have expanded.  In a medium where the visual plays a big role in speaking to its audience, understanding characters through their physical appearance is important.  Character customization additionally plays to the medium's strengths as it allows the player the opportunity to participate in how a story is told and how their virtual self is supposed to be understood in the context of the virtual performance that they are taking part in.
Just to illustrate what I am after in a relatively minimal way and to demonstrate how a single shift in appearance can make a difference in how we understand virtual drama, I would draw your attention to Dogtek's simple Flash game, Hippolyta.  In Hippolyta, the player is asked to take on the role of a captive amazon who is attempting to escape captivity by a Grecian army on the back of her horse.  Hippolyta is dressed and armed minimally, wearing only a loin cloth and possessing only a spear for defense. 

Now while reviewers of the game have made a great deal of noise over the fact that Hippolyta appears topless in the game (you know, the excitement of "boobies!"), few mention the effect that this choice of apparel has on understanding the character and her predicament.  Indeed, the choice on Dogtek's part to feature a near nude protagonist may be entirely salacious.  However, the choice still has symbolic consequence.  Like the infamous shower scene from Psycho, tension ramps up around a character that is in peril particularly when that character is represented at their most vulnerable.  Part of the reason that Marion Crane's murder is so powerful and memorable is the defenselessness that nudity implies.  Clothing protects on a whole host of levels, and when you only have your bare hands to prevent being stabbed, the terror of vulnerability is heightened.  Hippolyta's situation, as a single individual trying to escape an entire army with the rules of the game also heightening her vulnerability (Hippolyta has no life bar, a single hit will kill her) , becomes more dramatic due to her vulnerability and reminds the player of his or her own vulnerability (again, the threat of the one shot kill).

The few character customization options that exist in the game make this tendency for the image of vulnerability to affect our understanding of Hippolyta's predicament more clear.  A full suit of armor is unlockable in the game.  Thus, with more time spent playing the game and as the player's competence at doing so grows, Hippolyta can be clothed.  A fully armored Hippolyta astride her horse has the appearance of a far less vulnerable figure.  Ironically, this armor does not actually effect the actual gameplay in Hippolyta (the armor literally provides no additional benefit for defense or add to vitality in the game), however, it does create the illusion of a less vulnerable protagonist.  Additionally, there is some truth to this representation as well.  As noted, the armor is only unlockable based on performance in the game.  It is a safe bet that the armored Hippolyta is being guided by a player who will likely (due to practice and experience with the game) be less vulnerable.  They are likely more competent at survival then when they first took on the role of Hippolyta, and the armor reflects that degree of competence.

Along somewhat similar lines, the transformation that occurs in the physical appearance of the Batman in Arkham Asylum speaks some clear messages about the protagonist's (and player's) experience in the game's world.  As the game progresses, Batman's costume begins to show signs of wear.  Tears across his chest appear after a few hours of gameplay.  Soon enough his cape is torn, then becomes slightly shredded.  The careful observer will note that Batman is sporting a five o'clock shadow in the closing encounters in the game. 

Batman's slowly unraveling threads serve one obvious symbolic function and that is merely to represent the passage of time in the game.  While time is sometimes marked in game worlds, often enough (except in games like the Fable franchise or the Sims series, which actually concern themselves with the aging of characters) it rarely can be seen on characters themselves, especially in the short term.  Clothing remains cleanly pressed and unsoiled, despite characters that are often bathing in the blood of their enemies.  Even games, like Dragon Age, that allow for blood to stain characters only make such effects temporary.  Eventually your characters magically emerge clean and fresh for no apparent reason.  In Arkham Asylum, Batman's unshaven jaw and steadily more disheveled duds clearly illustrate that encounters here have temporal and, thus, actual effects.

They are also emblematic of what is going on in the narrative itself.  Batman begins his descent into Arkham seemingly rested and ready for battle.  The state of his costume seems to speak to his state of preparedness.  However, the eventual wear in his clothing and the more "uncivilized" state of his hygiene speak to the deterioration of his own body and mind as the regularity of battle and the psychically challenging encounters with characters like the Scarecrow also wear him down.  If Bats is feeling a little nuts, he is beginning to look a little crazy.  His body speaks his state of mind. 

A similar sense of how the deterioration of clothing and hygiene effect our sense of an individual is built very directly into the gameplay itself of Deadly Premonition.  Besides making sure that he has enough ammo to battle supernatural hordes, assuming the role of Agent Francis York Morgan of the FBI also requires the player to concern themselves with maintaining York's appearance.  It might seem strange that a survival horror game is interested in what are more or less the mechanics of a life sim,  interestingly though, this need speaks very directly to the fact that the main character of the game is a professional.

At the beginning of the game, York has three suits that he can swap among to change up his look.  However, the choice of suits is not merely arbitrary or based on the players desired look for the character.  When York visits his suitcase, the various suits' statuses are given, a suit might "look like new" or be "starting to look dirty" or be "very dirty."  York can send suits out for cleaning to improve that status, though that takes time in the game.  Changing out of a dirty suit into a fresh one results in a monetary bonus for the player.  Additionally, York can shave when he stops by a bathroom mirror and doing so also results in a cash reward.  These rewards might seem strange to players who are more accustomed to games in which they are financially rewarded only for doing things like looting bodies and treasure chests, but again, this really speaks to the nature of York as a professional. 

York is given a cash bonus at the end of missions in Deadly Premonition seemingly in response to him "doing his job" for the Bureau.  Such rationale also explains why cash bonuses are received for dressing appropriately.  It is a requirement of his job, dressing well in an occupation that requires one to lean heavily on his credibility when interacting with the public is going to make for a successful agent.  Intriguingly, Deadly Premonition allows the maintenance of clothing to speak to job performance and success in ways more subtle than most games have considered.  Additionally, it is entirely possible for the player to ignore the reward system built into dressing respectably.  Monetary rewards do not follow such decisions, and ultimately, the folks that York encounters during his investigation will begin to treat him differently, less respectfully, as York's soiled clothing begins drawing flies.

It may seem counterintuitive that placing a layer of what is already an artificial representation (clothing) over an artificial representation of a human makes that representation seem more real, more "natural," but clothing puts flesh on the avatar.

Reprinted with permission of PopMatters.

PopMatters is an international magazine of cultural criticism that reviews music, film, television, DVD, books, comic books/graphic fiction, and video games. Additional coverage of gaming culture can be found in their Multimedia section.

It is no secret that much of the world sees our beloved hobby as a nothing but juvenile, ultra-violent, and ultimately irresponsible. Some have gone so far as to coin the term "murder simulators" for first person shooters and titles like Grand Theft Auto.

These statements are often met with either blind rage or immediate dismissal by the gaming community (at least the part that follows industry news). This is fair. More often than not, those making blanket statements like these are entirely uninformed. However, I have come to the realization that while I do not believe violent video games to be the cause of real world violence, there have been enough noble attempts and genuine progress made in the area of taking death and the act of killing a little more seriously in games lately to warrant a discussion on the matter.

For me, the biggest problem a game can have is a disconnect between myself and those I am being asked to ruthlessly gun down. I like to know why I am killing that guy or blowing that building up. If I am thrust into the body of a character and tasked with a very serious act, one that I would morally oppose in the real world, I am extremely turned off if there is any confusion as to why. It can be something as simple as "These guys are invading Earth!" or "Your kidnapped daughter is in there!". Sure, I would prefer it to be something a bit more meaty and original, but without any proper context behind the violence, for me, the immersion is immediately and irreparably broken.

I would like to preface the remainder of this article by saying that I am a longtime player and lover of all video games, many of which could be considered incredibly violent. As with all entertainment mediums, I have no issues whatsoever with the use of violence in games as a central gameplay element or a narrative device. Nor do I take issue with others who bask in the glory of a head shot or squeal with delight at the death screams of a grunt you just lit on fire. This article is meant to examine an emerging trend in video games in which the player is asked to take the act of killing more seriously, and consider the moral implications and consequences.

Ever since I was granted infinite time to pull the trigger at a certain heart wrenching moment in Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater, I have truly valued being given a little time to stop and think when tasked with serious ethical decisions in games. To me, "its just a game" has never flown. No. This does not mean I think all games have to be completely realistic and utterly serious. I for one have no issue at all with the violence levels in many of the most highly criticized and controversial titles. Plowing through a dozen innocent bystanders in a stolen 4-door coupe in GTA isn't fine with me because "its just a game". Its fine with me because Rockstar Games presents the scenario (to all but the most stubborn onlookers) with a palpable sense of absurdity and satire.

In more universally accessible and popular forms of entertainment, senseless violence is not tolerated if presented in a such an inconsequential manner. Over the top gore and dismemberment is reserved for specific genres, often presented with tongue planted firmly in cheek. Either that, or when the violence is meant to be unpleasant - bringing the viewer into the atrocities or war, for example. When there seems to be no reason or justification behind the violence, or no self-aware or comedic tones, the violence is viewed as irresponsible - both morally and artistically.

Certainly then it is possible for a game to be irresponsible with its use of violence, especially with it's handling of player-controlled killing. Why should video games get to slip by without considering such things? With guns and death a part of nearly every major studio release, there are a rare few moments when we are asked to actually think about our actions. Pulling the trigger has become second nature. Its no longer about taking a life, but clearing the next checkpoint. Here are a few recent examples of games that take a moment to shine a light on the decisions they are asking their players to make.

Modern Warfare 2 - No Russian
Arguably the most controversial level in any game of the past few years. When news first broke of this levels inclusion in the game, I began to feel almost guilty about what I was going to have to take part in. After finally playing through it, while it did leave me rather unsettled, I felt that the developer's intent was clear. Could the same information been given in a cutscene? Of course, but I do feel that the emotional impact for players willing to take the scene seriously would have suffered. Infinity Ward took a very big risk allowing players to take an active part in a massacre of innocents. At the same time though, they were giving players the chance to play it passively, walking at deliberate pace, taking in the savagery around them. For those willing to see the level as more than "just a game", I think there was something pretty powerful to take from that. Was a Call of Duty game the ideal venue for such a statement? Perhaps not. Nevertheless I find such a compelling attempt at bringing real world ethics into play commendable.

Heavy Rain – I'm No Killer
About two thirds through Heavy Rain, one of the protagonists is tasked with killing a complete stranger in order to receive valuable information. This plot device is not new. Countless games feature execution missions. In Heavy Rain though, the severity of the task is always on the player's mind. At first, I was disappointed that my character even walked out the door to go begin the mission. It seemed to go so strongly against the nature of how way I had been playing up until that point. During the mission itself though, Quantic Dream's intentions became evident. At the height of the drama, I stood there, gun pressed against a man's head. Did I have the guts to pull the trigger? For a change, I didn't have to.

Bioshock 2 – Savior: 25 G
Having some degree of a morality system is practically mandatory for all current generation RPGs (or role playing shooters). Giving the player the option of good and evil allows us at home to feel like we have even more control over our avatar than in more linear titles. Honestly though, these choices, more often than not, amount to little more than doing what is morally the "right" thing to do or being a comic book style villain. Sure it can be fun to take the dark path, but being "evil" in a game with a morality element hardly ever feels like a realistic path.

At a few key moments in Bioshock 2, the player, after being informed of various key bits of backstory, is offered the opportunity to kill a character. Through brilliant use of unreliable narrators and contradictory advice, these decisions can be truly difficult. We are left with our gun pointed at a quivering man or woman, at their most vulnerable. With the information at hand, are they worth being kept alive? We are given all the time we need to make out choice. Pull the trigger, or just walk out the door?

Brutal Legend: A Fallen Friend
I know. This is one of the last games anyone would expect in a list like this, but there was one moment in particular that really stuck with me. It came after the entire story was over and I was just roaming around the open world. I came across the grave of a character that played a major role in the game until his untimely death in battle. Exiting my car, I walked over to the monument. When I got close enough, it triggered a change in camera angle that pulled back, revealing a gorgeous landscape view as my character knelt down and paid respects. For as long as I didn't touch a button, this angle would remain, allowing me to mourn and reflect on all the life lost in the battles that got me to this point. Overall, the game carries a very light and comedic tone throughout, but by giving us the chance to stop and take a breath, Tim Schafer and his crew allow the player to think back on everything they just experienced – a very rare and very special moment.

An important detail about instances like these is that they do not all end in the player deciding to be morally "right" or "good" and putting down the gun. It is when I am asked to take my own morality into consideration before pulling the trigger, and I still go through with it, that I am truly surprised. When an in-game decision teaches you a little bit about yourself, that is a powerful moment that no other entertainment medium can provide in quite the same way.

There will always be those who miss the point and exploit a game for less honorable means. Graphic imagery will always trump artistic intent for a certain section of the population. That should not, however, be seen as the fault of the artist. Game developers who look to progress the medium, like all artists who do so, should be commended for bringing a bit more significance and weight to the stories they tell. Violence, when used properly can be an incredibly strong narrative tool. It is only when proper artistic intent is absent that a problem arises.

From allowing the player to develop a deep understanding of their soon-to-be-dead enemies, to trusting in the emotional impact of being asked to pull a trigger only once rather than thousands of times, game developers are advancing their treatment of death in the medium. As technology improves how realistically people and faces can be rendered, it is important to improve how realistically serious acts of violence are represented. To me, nothing is more immersive than having actually pause the game and think about the tasks I am being asked to carry out. Not because we "must please think of the children", but because it makes for a richer overall experience.

Feel free to share your thoughts and favorite moments like these in the comments below.

Reprinted from The Geek Beast: It's Just a Game with permission of the author.

Daniel Carbone (Female Orca) is a filmmaker and writer living in Brooklyn, NY. Co-creator of Geek Beast (www.thegeekbeast.com) and lifelong lover of video games and all things interactive, he hopes to play even the smallest part in further elevating the medium to the level of respect and attention it deserves. He can be contacted at danielpatrickcarbone@gmail.com or geekbeast@gmail.com.

A galpal and I are discussing video games over cocktails at a bar. Well, kind of. She's trying to tell me why she plays FarmVille, and in the course of the discussion I find out her life is a mess.

This new acquaintance of mine and I have recently bonded over our fondness for farming simulators. I'm trying to explain to her how my personal favorites, the Harvest Moon games – as much life simulators as farm simulators – are and aren't like her FarmVille favorite.

"It just feels really good to know that I'm on top of things," she tells me, chewing on her straw a little nervously as she explains why she's so into FarmVille. "I like to know my farm is in good shape and, like, everyone can see it."

I know the feeling; our motivations seem similar. I get really into Harvest Moon's evolving, character-based chronology. The act of progression is satisfying. You build your farm in a village of others who become your friends as you watch them fall in love, marry, and participate in seasonal festivals. You yourself are a character who can choose a husband (or wife, if you're playing as a boy) and have a baby, family pets, and a home that you can upgrade.

Rosie (not her real name) is a FarmVille junkie like millions of others. She's probably poured as many hours into her Facebook farm as I have into my Nintendo DS one. "It makes me feel like I have my shit together," she tells me after a pause.

But the way she tells me this is funny; she looks a little furtively around her, speaks a little bit softly. Guiltily, even.

I ask her, "You don't have your shit together?"

Silence.

Farm Junkies In The Facebook Era

Rosie and I aren't close, and it's uncomfortable for her to reveal the anxiety she feels about being unemployed. Especially in the Facebook era, where she alludes to a sense of insecurity that old classmates from her alma mater, or friends of her mother's, are continually privy to a social profile she considers unimpressive. She doesn't like how she looks in tagged photos.

She balks at admitting that her status as a "total FarmVille addict," as she describes it, is a reaction to the sense of helplessness she feels in the exposed world of social networking – but I suspect I might have hit on something by the way she can't meet my eyes.

I am twenty-something, old enough not to want to specify the "something." I am aware of the passage of time and hypercritical of my ability to balance work, play, and home life. I don't often think about why I play video games like Harvest Moon – to me, they've always been a way to unplug from the common pressures of living; most people, to some extent, use video games as a form of distraction or escapism.

"Pete," The Nice Guy

Wondering if I'm onto something, I phone up an old friend — let's call him "Pete." Pete's a quintessential "nice guy." Shy and retiring, he'd never hurt a fly. He's the kind of guy who holds doors open for women, pulls out chairs. He quit a job he loved so that he could move back to his hometown and look after his sick mother. Seriously.

Of course, the old adage about nice guys finishing last is true for Pete. Despite his unfailing gentleness, he has trouble with girls. Time and time again, he's ended up relegated to the "friend zone" while some big jerk swipes his crush. I remembered playing Grand Theft Auto: Vice City with him when we lived in the same city, and feeling like his enthusiasm for crashing cars and shooting pedestrians felt just slightly out of character.

I ring him up to see how he's doing, and rather than explain that I'm kicking around an article about coping mechanisms, I just tell him I'm exploring people's most common gameplay behaviors. I ask him if he still plays GTA – he says he's played every iteration since Vice City, pretty much. I ask him what his favorite things to do in the game worlds are.

"I kinda make up these weird story things," he says, a little sheepishly. "Yeah, I think they're funny – like, I pretend I'm shooting a movie and then I have the characters do all this random shit that has nothing to do with the game."

Like what?

"Like… I'll pick up a whore and do it with her and then I'll drive the car off a cliff or something."

Or something?

"Or like, I'll drive around until she freaks out and bails, and then I'll chase her down and beat her and get my money back," Pete says. The way he laughs nervously is kind of unlike him.

He continues: "One time I drove a prostitute to my girlfriend's house [in GTA: San Andreas] and when she jumped out in the chick's driveway I beat her to death with the pink dildo, and then I gave it to my girlfriend as a present." Laughs. "She loved it. It was hilarious."

I get psychoanalytical again; I ask if he resents women, or resents his nice guy status, and if he's acting out these feelings through the game. I expect the same kind of embarrassed dismissal that Rosie gave me. Instead, Pete gives a strangely bitter laugh and tells me frankly, "Probably."

Control Freak

I think of Rosie's latent emotionality about FarmVille, and Pete's repressed anger, and figure I should turn the lens inward a bit and think about the way I play Harvest Moon. In contrast to my real life, I am eager for time to pass in the world; I like the opportunities for new crops and new festivals that the changing seasons bring. Unlike my real life, I find it a burden to go out and socialize with the game's villagers, as one must do to gain certain perks of their friendship. I am obsessive about hoarding money (in real life it burns a hole in my pocket), and compulsive about removing weeds and stones from my garden (in real life, I can't be bothered to do dishes more than once a week).

I'm not living as myself in Harvest Moon; I'm not projecting a "fantasy life," as the series has often advertised. In fact, I'm using the repetitious organizational tasks within the game as a counter-measure to real-world activities. I'm not using the game for escapism. I'm using it for a sense of control.

Except one uncomfortable parallel: When playing Harvest Moon, I always choose the most unattainable, reticent bachelor. Time after time, I marry the mean ones. The game mechanic requires you to win over your future husband by regularly approaching them with gifts. I elect not to disclose some of my past dating habits here.

I tell Pete this, when I'm explaining to him all about the real nature of my article, asking his permission to write candidly (if pseudonymously) about him, and he was all for it. In fact, he seemed surprised that I'd address the topic.

"Doesn't everyone use games as a coping mechanism? You're gonna get a million comments saying, 'duh,'" he suggested, only half-joking.

He says: "You really only pursue the jerks in that farm game?"

Yeah.

He laughs, "You're so totally the kind of girl that makes me beat women in GTA."

I don't think it's really that funny. But Pete really is a nice guy. That's his idea of a joke.

[ Leigh Alexander is news director for Gamasutra, author of the Sexy Videogameland blog, and freelances reviews and criticism to a variety of outlets. Her monthly column at Kotaku deals with cultural issues surrounding games and gamers. She can be reached at leighalexander1 AT gmail DOT com.]

A galpal and I are discussing video games over cocktails at a bar. Well, kind of. She's trying to tell me why she plays FarmVille, and in the course of the discussion I find out her life is a mess.

This new acquaintance of mine and I have recently bonded over our fondness for farming simulators. I'm trying to explain to her how my personal favorites, the Harvest Moon games – as much life simulators as farm simulators – are and aren't like her FarmVille favorite.

"It just feels really good to know that I'm on top of things," she tells me, chewing on her straw a little nervously as she explains why she's so into FarmVille. "I like to know my farm is in good shape and, like, everyone can see it."

I know the feeling; our motivations seem similar. I get really into Harvest Moon's evolving, character-based chronology. The act of progression is satisfying. You build your farm in a village of others who become your friends as you watch them fall in love, marry, and participate in seasonal festivals. You yourself are a character who can choose a husband (or wife, if you're playing as a boy) and have a baby, family pets, and a home that you can upgrade.

Rosie (not her real name) is a FarmVille junkie like millions of others. She's probably poured as many hours into her Facebook farm as I have into my Nintendo DS one. "It makes me feel like I have my shit together," she tells me after a pause.

But the way she tells me this is funny; she looks a little furtively around her, speaks a little bit softly. Guiltily, even.

I ask her, "You don't have your shit together?"

Silence.

Farm Junkies In The Facebook Era

Rosie and I aren't close, and it's uncomfortable for her to reveal the anxiety she feels about being unemployed. Especially in the Facebook era, where she alludes to a sense of insecurity that old classmates from her alma mater, or friends of her mother's, are continually privy to a social profile she considers unimpressive. She doesn't like how she looks in tagged photos.

She balks at admitting that her status as a "total FarmVille addict," as she describes it, is a reaction to the sense of helplessness she feels in the exposed world of social networking – but I suspect I might have hit on something by the way she can't meet my eyes.

I am twenty-something, old enough not to want to specify the "something." I am aware of the passage of time and hypercritical of my ability to balance work, play, and home life. I don't often think about why I play video games like Harvest Moon – to me, they've always been a way to unplug from the common pressures of living; most people, to some extent, use video games as a form of distraction or escapism.

"Pete," The Nice Guy

Wondering if I'm onto something, I phone up an old friend — let's call him "Pete." Pete's a quintessential "nice guy." Shy and retiring, he'd never hurt a fly. He's the kind of guy who holds doors open for women, pulls out chairs. He quit a job he loved so that he could move back to his hometown and look after his sick mother. Seriously.

Of course, the old adage about nice guys finishing last is true for Pete. Despite his unfailing gentleness, he has trouble with girls. Time and time again, he's ended up relegated to the "friend zone" while some big jerk swipes his crush. I remembered playing Grand Theft Auto: Vice City with him when we lived in the same city, and feeling like his enthusiasm for crashing cars and shooting pedestrians felt just slightly out of character.

I ring him up to see how he's doing, and rather than explain that I'm kicking around an article about coping mechanisms, I just tell him I'm exploring people's most common gameplay behaviors. I ask him if he still plays GTA – he says he's played every iteration since Vice City, pretty much. I ask him what his favorite things to do in the game worlds are.

"I kinda make up these weird story things," he says, a little sheepishly. "Yeah, I think they're funny – like, I pretend I'm shooting a movie and then I have the characters do all this random shit that has nothing to do with the game."

Like what?

"Like… I'll pick up a whore and do it with her and then I'll drive the car off a cliff or something."

Or something?

"Or like, I'll drive around until she freaks out and bails, and then I'll chase her down and beat her and get my money back," Pete says. The way he laughs nervously is kind of unlike him.

He continues: "One time I drove a prostitute to my girlfriend's house [in GTA: San Andreas] and when she jumped out in the chick's driveway I beat her to death with the pink dildo, and then I gave it to my girlfriend as a present." Laughs. "She loved it. It was hilarious."

I get psychoanalytical again; I ask if he resents women, or resents his nice guy status, and if he's acting out these feelings through the game. I expect the same kind of embarrassed dismissal that Rosie gave me. Instead, Pete gives a strangely bitter laugh and tells me frankly, "Probably."

Control Freak

I think of Rosie's latent emotionality about FarmVille, and Pete's repressed anger, and figure I should turn the lens inward a bit and think about the way I play Harvest Moon. In contrast to my real life, I am eager for time to pass in the world; I like the opportunities for new crops and new festivals that the changing seasons bring. Unlike my real life, I find it a burden to go out and socialize with the game's villagers, as one must do to gain certain perks of their friendship. I am obsessive about hoarding money (in real life it burns a hole in my pocket), and compulsive about removing weeds and stones from my garden (in real life, I can't be bothered to do dishes more than once a week).

I'm not living as myself in Harvest Moon; I'm not projecting a "fantasy life," as the series has often advertised. In fact, I'm using the repetitious organizational tasks within the game as a counter-measure to real-world activities. I'm not using the game for escapism. I'm using it for a sense of control.

Except one uncomfortable parallel: When playing Harvest Moon, I always choose the most unattainable, reticent bachelor. Time after time, I marry the mean ones. The game mechanic requires you to win over your future husband by regularly approaching them with gifts. I elect not to disclose some of my past dating habits here.

I tell Pete this, when I'm explaining to him all about the real nature of my article, asking his permission to write candidly (if pseudonymously) about him, and he was all for it. In fact, he seemed surprised that I'd address the topic.

"Doesn't everyone use games as a coping mechanism? You're gonna get a million comments saying, 'duh,'" he suggested, only half-joking.

He says: "You really only pursue the jerks in that farm game?"

Yeah.

He laughs, "You're so totally the kind of girl that makes me beat women in GTA."

I don't think it's really that funny. But Pete really is a nice guy. That's his idea of a joke.

[ Leigh Alexander is news director for Gamasutra, author of the Sexy Videogameland blog, and freelances reviews and criticism to a variety of outlets. Her monthly column at Kotaku deals with cultural issues surrounding games and gamers. She can be reached at leighalexander1 AT gmail DOT com.]

Keith Elam, a hip-hop artist who performed under the name Guru, died Monday after ending a long battle with cancer. Elam voiced 8-Ball, the demolitions artist with whom the protagonist escapes at the very beginning of Grand Theft Auto III.

Rockstar Games noted Elam's passing in a brief obituary on its newswire today. "Guru was truly a hip-hop legend, one of the genre's greatest voices, and we are eternally grateful for his contributions to the Grand Theft Auto series as the character 8-Ball," the studio said. "Our condolences to the entire Elam family, to our good friend and his long-time Gang Starr collaborator DJ Premier, and to everyone else who had the pleasure of knowing or working with the man."

In the game, Elam's character is the first associate of Claude, the main character, although their partnership presumably ends when it's revealed that 8-Ball rigs with explosives a vehicle Claude is meant to drive, as part of a trap devised by mob boss Salvatore Leone. 8-Ball later appears in Grand Theft Auto: Liberty City Stories

As Guru, Elam was one half of the rap duo Gang Starr, and made eight albums between 1993 and 2009.

In Memory of Keith Elam aka Guru [Rockstar, thanks James H.]

Grand Theft Auto, often the whipping-boy for the anti-violent video games movement, is being used by a program in Merseyside, England to help stop children becoming desensitized to violence. Welcome to Bizarro world.

Whenever the subject of violent video games arises, Rockstar's Grand Theft Auto franchise seems to be the go-to example of a game that can seriously harm children playing it, altering their brain meats until they are seething masses of aggression and hate - and I'm only exaggerating slightly here.

So excuse me if the fact that the Get Real project in Merseyside is using images from the series to help teach children the harsh reality of swinging about stabbing or shooting people.

The program, backed by a £15,000, is the result of collaboration between the Merseyside branch of Support After Murder and Manslaughter and the Merseyside Police. Images from Grand Theft Auto, along with The Simpsons' Itchy and Scratchy and Bugs Bunny cartoons, are placed on a series of cards, which educators use to provoke discussions on the real consequences of violent actions.

While some parents objected to the display of images from Grand Theft Auto to primary school children, Support After Murder and Manslaughter branch chairman Gaynor Bell explains there are methods behind this madness.

"They (children) see violence so often in their daily lives that they are desensitized to it and cannot really appreciate the consequences of picking up a hatchet and swinging it around. This is all about showing them that if they put a knife in someone, that person will die and they will end up in jail. It is getting the message over to them about what's real and what isn't."

And Mrs. Gaynor certainly knows the difference, having set up the group after one of her sons was stabbed to death and another was killed after being hit by a car.

"The kids these days are just getting worse and worse and I blame the mums and dads. They just don't teach their kids respect any more. They don't teach them what's right and what's wrong which is exactly what we're trying to do with this programme."

These are sentiments I've personally echoed time and time again, so I certainly feel this endeavor is a noble one.

Not everyone agrees.

Margaret Morrissey, from campaign group Parents Outloud, said it was "inappropriate' to show certain images in primary schools as many parents had been "conscious not to allow their children to see these things and are trying to protect them until they are old enough to cope".

I always figured that was one of the things parents did; helping their children cope with overwhelming things until they were old enough to handle it on their own. I didn't realize that children ripened like fruit on trees, and one day some sort of fantastical 'Cope Capable' meter would pop up, letting us know when they're done.

Well that's certainly a load off my mind.

Grand Theft Auto used to turn children against crime [Telegraph.co.uk]