I've been working at Sidhe a week now, and I'm on the R&D team. While some of the other members are doing neato stuff like engine development and extending a level editor, I've been assigned to work on an in-house groupware tool.

As I was expecting, I probably won't get to do anything remotely glamorous until they know what my capabilities and weaknesses are. They did take a risk by hiring me after just a single phone interview. So it's fair enough really – I should stop bitching and give it my best.

I have a flat. Just in time too, I start work tomorrow. Luckily it's somewhat furnished: I have somewhere to sleep. I ran out of time, so it's not a completely ideal pad (my sole flatmate is a heavy smoker, for one thing), but I'm pretty pleased nevertheless.

I've learnt my lesson, 4.5 days is not enough time to navigate an unfamiliar city, find a flat, and furnish the bedroom. Not enough time for me at least, I imagine a friendlier, less sullen, more car-owning person could probably do better.

When I started mentioning the move to Wellington, a lot of Aucklanders pointed out that it was the middle of winter and said I'd need to buy wooly hats, gloves, etc.
Well, it's been three days and I'm pretty much adjusted to the cold. I was expecting to be uncomfortable or something, but I guess the cold training I received from the bogan elders in the snowy wilderness of Invercargill has kicked in.

Is it me, or are only about half the streets in Wellington signposted? I've been attracting a lot of concerned stares from the other pedestrians from the way I've been staring intently into the scenery, looking for street signs. Where are they all? It's not that they've been stolen by Massey students; the signposts just aren't there. How on Earth do you folks drive in these conditions?

Flathunting continues, without any tangible progress. I viewed a particularly strange flat on Blair St. It was just off Courtenay Pl. surrounded by bars. There was a small doorway leading to two flights of stairs. At the top there was a cavernous lounge and doors in every direction. The landlord told me it was a 16 bedroom place. Never in my pathetic sheltered existence have I seen a flat with even half as many bedrooms.

The room was nice enough, but obviously I didn't get to meet all my 15 prospective flatmates. I asked one of the guys that was there whether any of the flatmates would have a say as to who moved in. He said it was pretty much a case of the first person to front up with the bond to the landlord. It's kinda like a boarding house, or a hostel, but without a manager present and only one bathroom. What's more, I don't remember any locks on the bedroom doors.

Imagine one of your old high school classrooms, kick out one half of the pupils. Now imagine living with the remainder. It'd be a statistical near-impossibility for there not to be an asshole in the group. This place must have flatmate politics worthy of the Balkans. I didn't see any UN peacekeepers so the international community might've already given up. The kitchen, well, it looked just how you'd imagine the kitchen of a 16 member student flat would look.

I really really have to find a flat soon, so I'd consider moving in, but I've got possessions I'd miss if they were stolen/drop kicked/buried/painted offensive colours.

Well, I'm finally in the games industry.

I've taken a job programming for Sidhe, New Zealand's largest games development company. They're based in Wellington, and I'm in the middle of relocating.

All I know at this stage is that I'm programming, I don't yet know the kind of project I'll be working on, or which areas I'll be involved in (i.e. tools, graphics, network, AI, and so on)

I've been at Clearfield for 3 years, and while it's a superb environment for programmers, it wasn't getting me any closer to writing games for a living. I love games, and I've always been keen to see inside "The Sausage Factory", as Phil Steinmeyer puts it.

Yaay!

Thought experiment: If Prince of Persia: Time Warrior Within Throne of Sands was

1. An isometric 2D game
2. With only the platforming bits left in the game, and only the ones without timed traps
3. With a spartan, utilitarian visual style (every swing bar looks the same)
4. Where all the surfaces in a jumping sequence are visible from a nice fixed viewpoint

Welcome:

Formless pseudopods reach out toward me from the gooey mass. The entire surface is covered with eyes; some gazing, some blinking, some milky with disease. A whispering chatter emanates from it. Many voices, but soft and sibilant; a riot in a library.

Movement! An eye stares directly at me. Others stare away, watching the other eyes. It watches me, and watches me being watched. All the time it vainly admires its own monstrous form.

The chatter intensifies.

Sticky trackbacks hang all over the mass, leaving a glistening trail of slime behind. It's in a constant state of decay. Eyeballs die and roll back in their sockets, they disappear from view; crushed by the mass of the newly bred pushing to the front.

I find myself ensnared. I am subtly altered; I find myself expressing second-hand opinions.

And if you're reading this, then the Blogosphere is coming for you too.