Epic Default Productions

Unfortunately, I’m not so snappy a dresser as the good Captain Proton.

My name is Oz K. Fodrotski, and I’m an Alaskan expatriate hiding out in what some could call “The Big Pesto;” Seattle, Washington. I’d like to be able to claim that my move was a grand adventure in the tradition of the Underground Railroad (days spent in ditches or attic hideouts, nights spent evading the troops and patrols of the Palin regime, and all that lot), but this would be a lie. Truth is, things were boring in Fairbanks, Alaska, and I found myself unable to resist the siren song of living in a geek cultural capitol with an abundance of available tech-related jobs.

And then that “recession” thing happened.

So, by day, I work a dead-end job (of the most dull variety) at a failing bank. The role I currently fill is somewhere between that of a vulture and reaper, a grim real life parody of the “bring out your dead” cart-pusher in Monty Python and the Holy Grail; silently skulking from cubicle to cubicle, looking over requisition paperwork with an empty gaze, collecting userless computers and piling them away for later retrieval, while friends and co-workers of the terminated look on with quiet dread, knowing they may well be next.

Cheerful, no? Such is why I’m going back to school this summer.

By night, I’m your average generalist geek / gamer, if a somewhat curmudgeon-y one. In spite all the shiny effects and dazzling innovations of modern games, my computer finds itself loading FreeSpace 2, Planescape: Torment, or even Return Fire on a shockingly frequent basis. Don’t get me wrong; I really, really try to keep up with current A-list titles; my roommate and I keep a good TV, an Xbox 360, a Wii, and a PS3 to this end, and my computer is mid to high-end. There’s just something about old games I can’t get over — even in the face of their aging graphics and comparably poor user interfaces. Call it nostalgia, but it could just as easily be the larva of a Ceti eel in my brain.

Seeing as I have a torrid love affair with words, I’m going to draw this to a close in the interest of keeping it an “introduction” rather than an “autobiography” (besides, I don’t feel like finding a publisher or someone to write the foreword). I’ll be around, producing bile-filled old-man rants, and the occasional cheerful review. You may even hear me on the podcast some time; if alcohol is involved, I’ll be the noise in the background slamming my fist down on a table and yelling “FUCK!” at the top of my lungs.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go tell Snifit to get the hell off my lawn. Goddamn kids.

-Oz

(P.S.: Be careful playing Boom Blox multiplayer; you may say very hurtful things to friends and loved ones which you will later regret. I learned this the hard way.)