Pikoti’s five-year-old son came to stay with us for a few days last week; what a strange and new experience. Although I was a little nervous about being a sorta-step-girlfriend-or-whatever for a while, it went very well. The big surprise wasn’t that having a kid around takes up every minute of your attention and every joule of energy; I was rather well-prepared for that. Rather, I was stunned by how much more time needs to be budgeted to get anything done with a kid. And after just a day or so, I found myself becoming one of those people who talk about the kid all the time.

After this momentous meeting, we went to Paris to stay with Pikoti’s parents, both of them shrinks. With regular business visits to HQ, Paris has somewhat become for me synonymous with a conference room in Montreuil (the Longueuil of Paris). I hadn’t really had time to build up too many expectations about this Easter weekend stay.

But Paris being what it is, I didn’t have to look for anything to be blown away. It was a gorgeous sunny 25C, we enjoyed incredible food and drink (ahhh, Conté), and I spent a fortune as Pikoti took me on a veritable tour of all the best shops. One nighttime dinner and walk in Montmartre particularly moved me; the place looked very much to me like Québec City, and after almost a year in northern England it was touching to be (sort of) in the homeland.

We’re now concluding two days in sunny London before returning to Newcastle tonight.

As for work, Driver San Francisco has come under media attention again, with positive cover stories in Joy-Pad and GamesMaster this week. Watch this space for links to those and other stories.

It was a sunny Wednesday morning in June, in Newcastle. A producer from Montreal had just landed to give us a hand to close and ship Driver San Francisco for the holiday period of 2010. However…

Nine months later, things have evolved quite a bit. lightspeedchick is cooking dinner while I am checking her blog from the Gym/Gameroom of our tiny apartment in downtown Newcastle, hoping that she might have updated it during a fit of insomnia I would still be unaware of. But still no news since the last July post where she was mentioning the difficulties of settling in somewhere that is definitely not home. I have since been pushing her to start posting again, but it seems our relationship, Driver San Francisco and her life as an expat have sucked up any energy she could have used to write. She is busy slicing onions when I start to push her once again:

Quand est-ce que tu postes sur ton blog ?
Ché pas. Trop à raconter.
C’est le moment là, tout est en place.
Pourquoi tu le ferais pas toi ?
Moi ?
Oui, des fois j’ai des guests, ça s’fait.
Tu veux que moi je raconte ta vie ?
Ben oui !
Et parler du boulot, de nous, de nos conflits, du reste…
C’est ben correct.
T’es sérieuse là ? Parce que moi là écrire ça me démange.
Mets-en.

But who am I? I am pikoti, an arrogant little fucker from Paris. I have been designing games for quite a while now. Prior to that I was a film and game reporter and a wannabe screenwriter. I have a five-year-old son, living with his mother in the 15th arrondissement of Paris in an apartment I called home for seven years, before a very unlikely chain of events transported me to Newcastle a few weeks before Christmas 2009…

So, back to that sunny Wednesday in June when the producer from Montreal landed. She called a meeting at her desk to be updated on the recent design changes operated on Driver San Francisco. We spoke in Franglish as her French and mine were not really in synch. She referred to “chars” all the time and I soon realized that I didn’t follow. For me a “char” is a military tank or chariot like the one driven by Charlton Heston in Ben-Hur. For her, it is what I would call a “voiture”, an “automobile” or a “caisse”, a car in English. And during that meeting I had the feeling that she was checking me out. It was subtler than what I could express with my written English skills, but I think she was definitely checking me out.

Later during that day, some colleagues I was not really close to proposed to take her out for a welcome meal. I had been added to the mailing list as a French speaking expat who could help her blend in with the studio more quickly. Without consciously realizing it, I felt motivated to join in. It’s not exactly my kind of thing to join in a crowd that I hardly know. I prefer the tranquillity of my apartment and the company of movies and video games rather than superficial discussions that often end up in drunken nights, especially in Newcastle. But this time the Montreal producer was to attend, and some mysterious magnetism was pulling me toward her.

And so we found ourselves side-by-side at Wagamama on Eldon Square, chatting politely about our respective careers and the games we worked on previously. Then the meal was over and the group split. I was surprisingly disappointed by the lack of final drinks during which I could have talked to her a little more…

At the end of the week, the two workaholics that we are found ourselves together at the office on Sunday, while the rest of Newcastle watched England be booted out of the World Cup. Late in the afternoon, I offered her to go on the quayside for a pint… There, we chatted for hours about movies, religion, video games, books, politics and evoked the complicated relationships we were both in. I think she had me when she said that she loved The Untouchables and had done a thesis on James Cameron focused on Aliens.

The rest would be some very good material for a Franco-Canadian romcom, where a Montreal girl and a Parisian boy, both tangled in some serious shit back home, find themselves working together in Newcastle - the British capital of Stag Nights - and fall for each other…

7 years ago, when I had been searching high and low for a Boston Terrier, a vet friend called to tell me that a pregnant one had been abandoned at his clinic. They didn’t know what to do with the litter, and thus entered the loveliest of puppies into my life.

Over the years Comet became more than a pet, more than a friend even, as she was with me through two relationships, and a few years of single life in between. Through the (sometimes major) changes that life inevitably brings, she was my constant roommate, a faithful presence that grounded me.

When my time in Newcastle became longer than expected, she was taken care of by my excellent dog-loving parents. Over this time she had some gastric issues that seemed to recover by Christmas.

Unfortunately, things took a sad turn last week as my parents called on my birthday to say she had started suffering a lot, crying for hours each day. Vets suspected a new problem, namely a slipped disc in her neck, and recommended surgery. Two days ago, while she was under anesthetic to undergo this surgery, an MRI revealed quite numerous and extensive tumors, including in her stomach and neck. They felt that treatment would be quite painful and not prolong her time much. My parents frantically tried to reach me in Newcastle so I would give my consent not let her wake up from the anesthesia. When they couldn’t, they faced the horrible burden of making this decision for me, then having to break the sad news a few hours afterwards.

When I did reach my mother, she was inconsolable. I knew immediately things had gone horribly wrong.

A fearless, friendly and happy dog, she had taken part in everything, be it running, swimming, kayaking, camping and hiking, bike riding, and even acted in a play last year. Her sweet and even temper helped her make many dog friends and converted several indifferent humans into dog fans. Her silliness (like not barking at the flasher at the window, but at the cops trying to catch him) never failed to cheer us up.

With all that we shared, having Comet in my life became a much bigger part of my identity than I realised. I can’t help but think that with her passing, a very special period of my life passes as well.

I’m devastated not to have been there to say goodbye to my most faithful, dearest girl. I know she had a very happy, full life, was loved dearly until the very end by her mom and grandparents, and that after this heartbreak subsides, we will have the good memories forever. I know this but I can’t imagine feeling that way any time soon.

Sleep well doggie chien, and say hello to heaven.

Marie-Ève doesn’t have a cellphone so I got to remember what it was like to lose someone in a crowd in pre-cellphone times when we became separated at Ikea, where we had gone by taxi (my second visit in as many days, because we couldn’t get everything done in one load). Then I tried putting together the furniture but had no tools. Destroyed my hand trying to twist screws without a screwdriver, and hammering with a shoe. In the end the furniture was held together mostly by hope, and I actually feared leaving the window open lest the wind blow my Billy shelf apart.

Even if I didn’t have about 12 different screwdrivers at home in Montreal, buying one would have been a matter of crossing Mont-Royal street to one of three nearby Ronas. Not so in Newcastle. After running around town in search of tools, and finding everything closed (at 4:45 PM!), I remembered a 24-hour Tesco located out of town. Walked 40 minutes to get there (for a &?%$#@ hammer!), past billboards boasting its opening hours with slogans like “Tesco - Still Open!”. Got there and found it closed. Ah ben SACRAMENT! On a bright, cheerful sign that shouted “Open 24 Hours!” at me, were also listed the actual opening hours (10 am - 4 pm Sundays, and not one day where it doesn’t shut). What?

The washer/dryer with whom I’m living a lie (I suspect it of just being a washer) is covered in forgotten, obscure Runic symbols instead of text, and locks my panties inside if I don’t enter the right incantation combination of buttons.

With the months all this will probably become familiar and I can carve out an efficient life for myself. However, the Buddha on my Billy would say that for the time being, it’s probably best to let go of such opulent luxuries as a dépanneur.

UPDATE: I can’t make this shit up. I found the washer/dryer manual online at work, and sent myself the link at home. Get home and set up the laptop nearby, click the link, and it’s blocked as inappropriate content. If I was high I’d be seriously paranoid right now.

Dr Wank says: “That’s the brits for you: Keep Calm and Carry On (i.e., unless you’re actually AT a football game, in which case freak out and beat the shit out of everybody).”

Newcastle looks like an old town that’s had a lot of investment to modernize it, full of Edinburgh-like brownstone, spires and ancient cathedrals, mixed in with a lot of modern “culture centre” buildings. The result is schizophrenic, but not without charm. In some areas the understated modern signs work well with the stone walls, in others (a huge sculpture of DNA made of shopping carts next to a wall built by the Romans), it’s a stretch. A search for a Tesco (UK version of Loblaws) took me for a walk down Quayside near the water last night, and it was quite beautiful.

The apartment is great. Centrally located, clean, bright and modern, with huge windows and a view over the city. Enough groceries were waiting for me to make dinner and breakfast stuff, as well as a bottle of red. Strange priorities, though: there are puzzles in case I get bored, but no alarm clock. Gardening stuff including earth and seeds, but no hair dryer. Along with the absence of an Internet connection or TV service, it seems this trip is intent on connecting me with my inner Zen.

Have already hit a few of the UK required milestones: Friday night at the pub, Tesco, curry and Antiques Roadshow. Football tomorrow!

I once dated a windsurfing instructor for 5 years, and over 5 summers of frustrating, hard training and personal instruction, I never managed to learn to windsurf. That’s when I realized that mastery can never come from just training. You need training AND potential.

I’ve always thought I could draw if taught, but my drawings have always been technical-looking outlines, with shading and color my nemeses. I’ve been taking some lessons over the past few weeks, and the instructor had me do this charcoal exercise to overcome some of my shading demons. It’s been fun but exhausting getting over my normal style.

Here’s hoping drawing doesn’t become another futile exercise in windsurfing.

Afterwards, several members of the amazing Station C audience requested references to some of the games I mentioned, so I’ll delay my post on how Jane Austen has finally made it into the modern space opera to provide these.

Games with good story elements
Mass Effect: The one with the romance.
Bioshock: The one with the Fountainhead references.
Portal: The one with the cake. Tells a fantastic story without cutscenes. Available on PC through Steam for 20$.

Top recent Xbox/PS games mentioned
Some of these are also available on PC.
Modern Warfare 2
Mass Effect 2. You can also read my take on the first one here.
Assassin’s Creed 2
Uncharted 2

Other games mentioned
Execution (free)
Wedding Dash is available for free download (for an hour, then 7$ to purchase permanently) on Big Fish Games, along with a host of fun time-management and other games.

And for other meaningful games, you may want to try
The Marriage (free)
Gravitation (free, donations encouraged)
Braid on Xbox live

Thanks to all that showed up, I had the best night in ages! (And Canada trouncing Russia was just a bonus!). Huge love to Tanya and Station C.

Next post: How Mass Effect 2 put Mr. Darcy into a Canadian commercial from the 80s! Really! Honest this time!

Filmmakers, photographers, new-media creators, graphic designers, sound artists, programmers, interactive storytellers, writers, and other techie creative creatures are invited to apply to First Person Digital, a new program set up by the NFB with Studio XX.

Representatives will be present at my Girl Geek Dinner talk next week.

You can also listen to one of the organizers talk about FPD on Wednesday’s edition of CKUT’s XX files.

Deadline for application is March 1st. Go!

Next post: How Mass Effect 2 put Mr. Darcy into a Canadian commercial from the 80s.

“Heading to Madison Square Garden for a basketball game? Pop down the touch pad, finger-scribble the word “Knicks” and get a Wikipedia entry on the arena, photos and reviews of nearby restaurants, and animations of the ways to get there.”

Can’t picture myself finger-writing “Knicks” on the dashboard while driving in NYC, without mentally killing a pedestrian and rear-ending a cab.

But don’t fret: these genuises have thought of everything. “A notice that pops up when the Audi system is turned on reads: ‘Please only use the online services when traffic conditions allow you to do so safely.’”