Kotaku
Why does this man hate freedom? Perhaps it is because after four days of rushing about from appointment to appointment, walking countless miles across the city of Santa Monica, the promise of a party finds him walking a long and lonely mile down a deserted beachfront along with hundreds of others doing exactly the same thing, which technically negates the deserted and lonely bits I know, but it's my narrative and you can't have it. At roughly 5PM on Friday, July 13th, Gamecock and a couple hundred friends mourned the death of the annual E3 'make the gaming press walk around for days' festival with another mile of walking.
I was hanging out around the outside of the Loews Beach hotel in Santa Monica Friday afternoon, trying desperately to ignore the growing red crispiness of my sun-punished forehead as I awaited the festivities promised by the Gamecock Media Group, when an all too familiar, mournful tune rang out through the dark...sunlit day. It really is hard to be moody and noir in Santa Monica.
In my austere reverence I decided there and then to take the air-conditioned shuttle bus in a circle around the city to ponder the heavy thoughts that the haunting image of this becockled piper stirred in my soul, and to get a Snickers bar. Upon my return, the festivities were beginning to get underway.
I entered the courtyard of the Hotel California, already filled with hopeful partygoers, with not one trace of Colitas rising up through the air. My disappointment was soon sidetracked by the strange items being passed around by the party organizers. Stylized black tambourines, black bandanas festooned with the Gamecock logo, dark umbrellas similarly festooned and, for some odd reason, a pickle in a bag, which remains to this day a subject of much speculation among my fellow press members.
In true Gamecock style the pre-funeral party was dotted with voodoo vaudevillians, dark and sexy creatures that were on hand to add a certain spooky beauty to the proceedings. The ghosts of booth babes past perhaps?
There was no time to ponder the origin of the specters any further, as the call had come, and it was time to give E3 the grand sendoff it deserved. The ever-growing procession of sad faces, black umbrellas and confused game reporters made its way down the long flight of stairs onto the sidewalk that parallels the beach. I found it a very moving ceremony and was ready to go back up the stairs for more beer, when the damndest thing happened. They kept walking!
Passersby stared at the mass of marching mourners in awe, perhaps wondering how those of the larger, sweatier persuasion (*cough*me*cough*) were able to maintain their footing without tumbling face-first into the crowd. Children followed along on their bicycles and skateboarder passed by us presenting very tempting lariat targets. Policemen on ATVs sat and watched us pass with the resignation of authority figures who knew deep down inside that if a group that large decided to start getting rowdy there was absolutely nothing they could do to stop us.
We walked and chatted and took picture after picture of other people walking and chatting as a brass band marched up front, setting the time. Then, despite my best efforts, I died of heatstroke.
Ahhh, but remember, I said I'd tell you about the time I almost died. *Rolling Stones music plays, digression ends*
Finally, after walking from the Hotel California to Venice Beach a full mile away, the procession lined a cement pier facing the ocean and urged the assembled gaming press to gather around to pay final tribute to the Electronic Entertainment Expo, taking a cue from Brutus by burying it but not praising it, only without the subversive undertones. Songs were sung and words were said. The Destructoid robot gave a speech I did not catch, too busy wondering when his brain was going to explode as the shiny metal helmet glimmered in the Santa Monica sun.
We stood and remembered the good times spent covering the gaming industry from the E3 show floor. Pondered all the good the show had done over the years to bring awareness to the business. Held a moment of silence for the...wait, beer? Later E3, they've got beer.
I learned so much that night at the Beer Garden. I learned that if you seem sincere enough when you tell the waitress the fried calamari is for your group, she will give it to you, just like that. I learned that if you accidentally call it katamari in front of several dozen members of the gaming industry you will never, ever live it down. I learned that Germans find it rude if you don't look them in the eye when you toast. I also learned that trying to keep up with beer-drinking Germans is a really, really bad idea. Most importantly I learned that you should write your flight time down on your body somewhere before attempting said keeping up, lest you find yourself running half-blind through the streets of Santa Monica screaming for a taxi cab nearly four hours before your flight is scheduled to leave.
Thank you Gamecock, and thank you E3. The lessons shall live on forever in my heart, as well as the inordinately large gallery that follows.
