How to Play Wizard101 on a Mac

Wizard101 is a freemium MMORPG designed to be playable by all ages 10 and up. Unfortunately, the client is PC only, which leaves those of us who are on the Mac and want to play high and dry. Fortunately, there is an awesome program by CodeWeavers called CrossOver Games that will let you play Wizard101 on the Mac almost perfectly. (I say almost because it occasionally crashes and requires a program restart if you try to change resolution. But there are some games that do that when played on Windows natively, so its an oversight I’m willing to overlook.)

This process was tested on two Macs running OSX Lion, but there’s no reason it shouldn’t work on Snow Leopard. DISCLAIMER: Just because it worked for me doesn’t mean it’ll work for you, and I’m not responsible for anything that happens. Also, this might break the TOS for Wizard101. I don’t think so, but it might. Let’s get started!

Start by grabbing a copy of CrossOver Games. Put in your info, and start the download. This is the 14 day trial. To go beyond that, you can buy the program (which I recommend because its such good software) or you can find other ways of keeping it working. While CrossOver Games is downloading, download the installer for Wizard101.

Once the CrossOver Games is done downloading, open the .dmg file from where it downloaded and drag the application from the disk image that opened to your applications directory. You can follow the instructions that pop up.

Once the application has finished copying, open CrossOver Games from the Applications directory. When the purchase window pops up, click ‘Try”.

You should see the CrossOver start screen. Click “Install Windows Program”. When the installer window opens, click the “Select an Installer” blade, select “Choose Installer File”, navigate to where the Wizard101 installer downloaded, and open the Wizard101 installer. Clicking “Proceed” will kick off the installation progress, which should include 3 sub-installers that will run before the Wizard101 installer (one for Direct X, one for Flash, and another for Direct X). Follow the instructions and complete all the installers.

Once Wizard101 has successfully installed, enter your name and password to get any updates, but DO NOT click “Play” once the updates are downloaded. Rather, exit out of Wizard101 by clicking the red ball in the top left of the application window. This will signal to CrossOver that the installation is done. CrossOver will finalize the installation and present you with an application link to Wizard101, which you can put in the dock and use like a normal application link.

Congrats! Have fun playing Wizard101!

UPDATE: CodeWeavers also has a page for Wizard101, and they’re offering a discount on CrossoverGames and the CrossOver Bundle! Check it out here.

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The Journal of Brix Wagoner, Entry One

So I’m going to be starting an Exalted game with some friends in the Fall, where I will be playing a Zenith Solar Exalted. In order to really make my character come to life (as well as practice writing) I’m going to try and do weekly ‘journal updates’ from the perspective of my character. Ready? Let’s go.

I was born special. I know this. In a world full of the unprivileged, those struggling just to feed themselves and their families, I was born to the wealthiest family in Nexus, the center of commerce for the whole Threshold. My family, the Wagoners, started as simple transporters, hiring out our single horse cart to transport goods throughout the region. That was seven generations ago. Today, my family’s shipping empire controls the riverways, roads, and warehouses of Nexus. Thousands of talents may trade hands in the streets of the city, but they goods they haggled over were brought to them through Wagoner channels, and we get our cut.

Strange. Even after all this time, I still think of my family in the present tense. The problem with living in an empire always fighting for dynasty is that, no matter how high you rise, you can always be put down by the noble-born, for not other reason than being in their way.

I can remember the night my family was killed in front of my eyes. We had become too powerful in the eyes of the royal families, and an army of murderers forced their way into our estate in Bastion. I was the only survivor. As I look back over the course that brought me here from that moment, I can only hope I have done my family proud.

So that’s entry one. A little rough, I know, but hopefully they’ll improve with practice.

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Living in Borrowed Time: A Reflection on LA Noire

I want to start by saying what is possibly the most controversial statement I’m going to make here: LA Noire is going to require a redefining of what qualifies as a game.

My immediate impulse while playing LA Noire was to try and classify it less as a game and more as an ‘interactive movie’, but there are problems with that term as well. It brings to mind a choose-your-own-adventure with spliced video clips, badly shot and poorly constructed. Applying that term to LA Noire, given all the baggage that ‘interactive movie’ can come with, would be almost criminal.

But the experience that LA Noire provides is more than what I think of when I think of a game. Telling stories through games is is no way unique, and games have been seen as revolutionary method for story-telling as far back as Half-Life. (Note: I choose Half-Life as an example not because it was the first game to try and tell a story. It wasn’t. But it was one of the first games where its creator looked at games as a new medium for telling complex and interesting stories.) The difference in LA Noire, compared to the multitude of other story-based games, is that the gameplay of LA Noire is in complete service to the story, and yet manages to not feel broken for the most of the game.

What really separates LA Noire from other story-based games, though, is the complete immersion through attention to detail. Plenty of other writers have waxed poetic about the obsessive level of information about 1940s LA that is contained with the game. Since I’m a fan of GiantBomb, their review would be a good place to start, and I don’t feel the need to repeat what’s already been said. I will say I was tremendously impressed, and its that impression which prompted me to have the response I did.

My grandmother grew up in Los Angeles during the 1940s, and lives in the LA area today. I spent decent portions of my childhood visits with her listening to stories of a city from the past, a city that gleamed with promise. She visited Union Station when it first opened, and when we visit there I can almost see it through her eyes, the people dressed in their finest traveling clothes, waiting for trains or being waited upon at the swank station restaurant, being served by waiters in white waistcoats.

If this sounds like I’m describing a scene out of LA Noire, that’s no accident. As I played through LA Noire, I couldn’t help but feel like I was living in the city my grandmother grew up in, and playing a character that added to the tapestry of that time. I realize the in-game maps of LA aren’t perfect, and that the landmarks so painstakingly re-created are not exact replicas, but I couldn’t shake the impression that, were my grandmother sitting next to me, we could go on a tour of LA as it was, with her as the tour guide nad me as the credulous tourist. I felt like I was playing in the time of her childhood, and that the gameworld had been borrowed by Rockstar and Bondi by the generation that actually lived in that time.

I can think of no other game that provides anything close to this experience. Even the most advanced simulation, virtual world, or MMO doesn’t provide the level immersion that LA Noire does. When you add a story that feels authentic to the time, down to the NPC reactions and social tensions, what the player gets is something unique: a play experience that truly suspends disbelief, and makes the player feel that they are not just playing a game, but playing a real person in the story of their life.

This is, of course, a personal reflection and not an objective review. My connection with my grandmother is obviously influencing how I feel about LA Noire. But the idea that a game can even provide a space for such emotions to come out is almost entirely unheard of, and is only going to expand from this point onward. LA Noire has paved the way for the transformative experiences that games will necessarily strive to be from this point forward, and the definition of what a game is will never be the same.

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The Killer: My Impressions

So I’ve been thinking a lot about video games recently. This isn’t revolutionary news, especially since I’ve recently finalized my education plan for UCSC to study Game Design. What this has meant, though, is that I’ve really started analyzing what I like in games, figuring out the kinds of games I want to play and make. I’ve been keeping a journal on all of my game ideas, but there’ll be more on that later.

A side-effect of all this deep thought in games is that I’ve been thinking about where games are going. This subject has been on my mind for a while, and probably merits a post in and of itself, but suffice to say that I think games are going to be the media outlet of this century, the way movies were for the last. Games will one day be as emotionally charged as any other art form, and potentially more so.

There have been lots of games that have dealt with focused, specific messages, games that are trying to make a statement. Especially in the flash game arena, titles like Darfur is Dying and September 12th have been pointed to as hallmarks that games can be serious media. For me, though, there was a problem with both of these titles: they looked too stylized, too close to what those who study such things normally think of when they think of Flash games. And they didn’t really provide any character for the player the associate with. Jordan Magnusson’s The Killer changes that.

I am a somewhat-regular reader of  Giant Bomb. So when they posted an article about The Killer, it sat in my browser for a bit before I got around to reading the article and playing the game.

You should follow that link above, and go play the game. Then, read their article, and come back here to see if my impressions match yours.

The Killer gives almost no context, and really only has two controls. You can move forward, with the space bar, and at the end of the game you can aim with the mouse. You control a man with a gun who is obviously forcing a prisoner to march in front of you, and you are given commands to march to some destination known only as ‘the fields’. If the prisoner starts to lag, the character shoves them with the gun, and if you stop pressing space, the game informs you that you have not reached the fileds yet, and should keep going. The graphics in The Killer are simple, but simple with a point: they serve to make the characters anonymous, and therefore representative of everyone.

I’d like to reiterate here, just to make the setup abundantly clear. As the player, you have two options: Force a prisoner to march at gunpoint, or don’t play the game.

I was immediately reminded of the Milgram Experiment. Go read about it. It was a psychological experiment from the 1960s used to exonerate a lot of Nazis from being willful in their war crimes. It basically proved that the majority of humanity will do anything if an authority figure tells them too. You don’t get the full effect of what happened without reading about it, so go do so. I’ll wait.

As I was playing The Killer, with Jónsi’s incredible music score wracking my emotions, I started to feel somewhat despondent, even over the short period of the game, and began to wish that we would reach the fields and make an end of it, even though I knew that reaching the fields would probably end badly. I experienced actual hope at seeing breaks in the trees enter the screen, because it might mean we had reached the fields, and sank deeper into this strange mini-depression. The stretch of earth that I was frog-marching this prisoner over seemed to last forever, rather than the five or so minutes that it actually was. I began wishing for the ability to get rid of the prisoner in some way and be done with it, because I felt so terrible about what I was doing.

I’m not going to say what decision I made at the end of the game, whether I ended up saving or killing the prisoner. You don’t need to know what kind of person I am. That’s a choice that I think every person who plays it should make in private, and then carefully consider why they made that choice. I will say I was struck by the ending seqeunce, as this collection of pixelated bodies float past you, getting less and less recognizable as human icons as more and more of them pile. That animation serves as one of the most powerful reminders about the human brain’d inability to find humanity when presented with such devastation.

I feel like I could write even more of an essay about the reactions to this game, but I’m going to stop here, and end with this: Video games, as terrible a misnomer as that term will come to be for the creations that comes over the next century, are going to tell stories and express art in ways we never imagined possible. While the solid authorship of traditional art forms may be broken by this new medium, not everything in video games is a soulless free-for-all. The Killer demonstrates that experiencing the breadth of human emotion doesn’t take much in terms of graphics, or technical wizardry, but in order to truly feel like we have experienced what there is to experience about the world, we need to interact it with it.

 

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I’m starting up again…

Inspired by a lot of what I’ve been reading and seeing around, I’m going to start blogging again. I’m hoping to hit a couple of posts a week, wish me luck.

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Reflections on a Commute

Today we drove, my carpool driver and I, along the 280 at night. The last time I had done this, I was with you. We were coming back from Wondercon, listening to your favorite music, me with one hand on the steering wheel and the other hand in yours. Those were happier times, for me at least. I know they weren’t the best times for you. I can still remember how real it felt, your hand in mine, the feeling of serenity it brought to the night that was creeping in through the car windows, the red lights of the cars ahead like the eyes of animals in the bush, waiting to rip us apart. Ironic that the monsters who tore us apart were with us al the time.

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A Poem: Pain Without Bleeding

So yeah. Darker, right? And emo too.

The pain grows stronger.

And the heart aches more.

The wound is ethereal,

No scar mars the flesh,

Though the agony is knives.

A scalpel in a madman’s hand

Could do no more damage

Than an unkind word from you.

Emo. Wheee.

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A Poem: Victory at Sunset

I needed to get something written today to not break the chain. Poetry seemed easiest. Enjoy.

The amber glint off sharpened steel,

A silver snake reflecting the sun,

My blade did flash and slice the air;

Cut through my foe ‘fore he knew twas done.

A scarlet rain did splash my face;

My tongue did taste the new-spilled iron.

The battle done, my heart did race,

Arms heaving in Apollo’s fading fire.

I dared not gloat over my fallen foe,

Though I had proved the better man,

Hard years of fighting had taught me thus:

No fight is yet done before some other began.

I turned to face the setting sun

And raised my sward to salute its grace.

I cast one last look at the defeated man

The turned, and let the world draw on apace.

Huzzah. Comments welcome.

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Script Frenzy 2010

Script Frenzy 2010

Script Frenzy 2010

So I’m doing Script Frenzy this year. I actually signed up to do participate last year or the year before, but never got around to actually starting. I take that back. I think I wrote a page. Terribly. Hopefully my Spring Break Story Stub experiment has successfully implanted a writing habit in my psyche that will actually get me to sit down and right every day.

I would like to go back and edit or expand upon the Stubs, and that’s currently the plan for May, or possibly April if I abandon all hope with Script Frenzy.

I will attempt to post my dailies here, and would of course welcome any feedback.  Script Frenzy starts next Thursday and ends on April 30.

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Spring Break Story Stub 7 (Final)

This one was hard, and its the end of this experiment. Most of the stubs up to now have been short, little forays into different genres. This one took up ten pages in my notebook. I both loved and hated writing it, and I hope I get the chance to fix it some day.

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” intoned the minister, one hand holding the holy book and the other stretched out over the coffin, “we ask thee, Lord, to accept into everlasting peace your servant Nicole Hailie. Carry her forth into your bosom, lord, and let her struggle and worry no more.”

John looked around as the preacher continued his resquiet. The chairs on the lawn surrounding the grave had been arranged in a loose circle, and John could see most of the faces of those gathered in memory of the newly dead. Directly across from him sat Nika’s family, her mother openly weeping and with an expression so intense in grief that it could not be described with words or painted by any master. Nicole’s father clung to her mother absently, his expression the same look of saddened confusion John had seen on his face for most of the day; he looked like a man who had stumbled into a confusing and frightening dream which he kept expecting to wake from.

The rest of Nika’s family sat to either side of and behind her parents, their faces all appropriate masks of grief and sadness. John studied a few of them in turn, and wondered if he had become too cynical. He couldn’t convince himself that all their grief was real. Too many years in his early life spent living with people who changed emotions like others put on sunglasses had made him skeptic towards most outward displays of emotion. The only convincing performances were those given by Nika’s parents, and John believed their feelings were real.

Sitting on either end of the slice of circle that was occupied by Nicole’s family were Brian and Daniel, friends of Nika’s who had at one time shared a relationship with her similar to the one John had shared. John had met both of them briefly at the service earlier; he had received and awkward greeting from Daniel and a glare of morose contempt from Brian. In the chair next to John sat Luke, staring at the coffin with such ferocious intensity that John wondered in he were trying to bring back the casket’s inhabitant by sheer force of will. John paused to study Luke for a moment, then turned his attention back to the rest of the gathering.

“… he restores my soul. He guides me in the path of righteousness for His name’s sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me…”

The service before the burial gathering had felt awkward to John, a strange parody of a wedding service. The bereaved had filtered into the chapel slowly, and without any clear direction had divided themselves into friends on the groom’s side and family on the bride’s. John had been to enough funerals to recognize the difference between those that celebrated the life of the passed, and those that mourned the passing. He wished Nika’s service had been more of a celebration. Later, he would drink to her memory with friends and find some way to celebrate her life, but this particular moment was a dirge. John had willed his body to cry then, but the tears hadn’t come; his damnable eyes remained dry throughout the burial.

The minister wound to a close at the grave site, and sat down, bowing his head in contemplative silence. The cemetery crew, previously standing with their tools in the shade of a nearby oak tree, came forward now and began the process of lowering the casket into the earth. John wondered what working in a cemetery must be like, and reflected that it was nearly impossible to look dignified and respectful while your arms were straining with the task of interring someone else’s traveling coach to the afterlife. The workers eventually finished and retreated back to the tree. A silence, broken only by the wind through the trees and the singing of far-off birds, descended on the gathering.

After a moment, a woman John recognized from pictures as having been a friend of Nika’s came forward and let a bracelet slip from her fingers into the open grave. She turned and headed back towards the waiting line of cars at the road through the cemetery. Others from among Nicole’s friends and family slowly followed suit, and soon enough John, Brian and Daniel stood up as if having all come to the same thought simultaneously. The three of them formed three points of a triangle, as if each was trying to be equidistant from the others. John gave a chuckle under his breath at the absurdity. Each man took his turn and left some token of memorium, Brian and Daniel leaving some trinket that John couldn’t see. When it came John’s turn, he paused, reached in his pocket, and drew out a necklace with a pentagram charm, each side of the pentagram a different word wrought in silver and framing a dark purple gemstone.

“I wish I could’ve given this to you earlier,” John whispered, and he left the necklace fall into the grave. John turned away, and saw Luke drop a ring identical to the one Luke wore on the third finger of his left hand into the grave. John walked towards his car without looking back.

The reception was held at the house Nika shared with Luke. John felt no appetite, and so wandered past the plates of food laid out in the dining room and quietly explored the house. He saw little signs that indicated Nika had spent some time in this place, the splash of color in a drab setting, or the twinkle of the sun’s rays through a crystal hanging in a side window. Moving slowly but purposefully John tried to familiarize himself with the place where Nika had spent some of her last days. He felt he was missing something, as though he only had part of the story that was Nicole Hailie, and that he could not lay her to rest until he was satisfied with the ending. He passed an open doorway and saw what could only be Nika and Luke’s bedroom. John stood as memories of other bedrooms with Nika washed over him, but quickly turned and continued down the hall until he found a door with a familiar symbol of figures and shapes painted at shoulder level.

The cut glass knob was cold under his hand as he opened the door, and the old wood creaked. A glance around the room told him he had found what he was looking for. Pens and papers and pencils and books and dried flowers and dozens of other wonderful things filled the space, the floor, the desk, the walls. Beanbag chairs and throw rugs were the dominant furniture features, as Nika was rarely one to be confined to a chair. John moved over to the shelves, eyeing new additions to Nicole’s library wedged with old favorites, before he noticed three large binders prominently set aside on the desk. Realizing what the binders must be, John nearly tripped on a throw rug in his rush towards the desk. Flipping the topmost binder open, John breathed out slowly as he reveled in the confirmation of what he had hoped: here lie the collected writings of Nicole Hailie. The collection had grown since last John had seen it, and he hunted through the binders with absolute focus, noting the new material as well as edits to the old. So engrossed was John in his exploration that he did not notice the figure standing in the doorway until it spoke.

“She never got any of it published you know.” Luke stepped into the room and gazed towards John and binders with a faraway look in his eye. “She never thought it was good enough.”

“I’ll never understand why,” John responded, closing the binder and looking towards Luke. “I kept expecting to walk by a bookstore and see her name on the cover of a bestseller.”

“She never thought she was finished.” Luke let his gaze wander, taking in the organized chaos that had been Nika’s sanctuary. “It was never quite perfect enough.”

John nodded in sympathy and returned his focus to the binders, wondering what was inside that Nicole had never shared. He heard footsteps approaching and turned towards the door. Daniel and Brian, both contriving to look as if neither was aware of the other’s presence, poked their heads around the door and stepped into the room.

“So here’s where you both are. I noticed you left the group and couldn’t stand to be trapped any more. So I thought I’d find you. ” Brian spoke to both of them without paying any real attention to the words, his eyes roving over all the little details of the room. “This room was hers, wasn’t it??

“Yes,” replied Luke. “Yes it was.”

“And those?” Daniel asked, pointing to the binders. “That’s her writing, right?”

“Yes. Why?” Luke cast a suspicious glance toward Daniel.

“What were you planning to do with them?”

“Hadn’t really thought about it yet.” John cast Luke a look. That had sounded like a lie. “Again, why?”

“Some of that was written while we were together,” said Daniel. “I feel I have some say in what happens to it.”

“Me too,” Brian added.

“Why should either of you have any say over anything of hers? Luke demanded angrily, fire flashing behind his eyes.

“Some of us here have known her a lot longer than you.” Venom dripped from Brian’s words.

“Oh? And what vows did you make to her before your family and friends? When did you swear undying love and adoration for as long as you both shall live?” Luke was near yelling now, and there was rage and pain in his eyes.

“Gentlemen, let’s face it.” John spoke quietly from the corner near the desk. “We forfeited any claim to Nicole the day her and Luke exchanged rings. You’re dishonoring her memory, on today of all days.”

“Fine,” Brian growled. “Well, Luke, what are you going to do with those binders?”

“Nika left instructions, actually,” replied Luke. “The binders are supposed to go with John.”

“What!” John, Brian, and Daniel exclaimed in tandem.

“The binders go to John with the stipulation that he get Nika’s work ready for publishing and perform due diligence on getting it published, due diligence to be judged by me. If John is found slacking in any ureasonable way, money is set aside to sue him for gross negligence of property.?

“What if I refuse?” inquired John.

“Then there are a few pieces I am allowed to keep, and the rest must be burned.”

John stared for a second, then gave a little giggle, which became a roaring laugh and then settled down. John sighed.

“Ok. I’ll do it.”

Seven years to the day after John had sat on this hill and watched them lower her into the ground, he returned to Nika’s grave. He had done so previously to see if it had been time yet, but the feeling had never been right. Today he returned with a package in hand and thought he just might be able to see how the story ended from here. He stood in silence for a moment, searching for something to say. He could only think of one thing.

“It’s done, Nika, and you were amazing. Be at peace, love.”

With that, he unwrapped his package and laid it at the foot of the headstone. Glancing at the flower-within-a-pentragram on the stone, he smiled and thought of the neckalce of words under his feet with Nika, the same words on the book now lying in front of him.

Live As Only You Can

Vol. 1

By Nicole Hailie

John turned, and walked away.

And that’s it. I’m done. Next stop: Script Frenzy.

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