Over the past three and a half weeks, I've been working in crunch mode on X³: Reunion, the next-generation space simulation from Egosoft. Sadly, I've been compelled to do this around my day job doing applications programming. As a result, my flat has been transformed from a relatively sane place of living (as sane as anything can be with me spending any appreciable amount of time near it) into a complete madhouse.

By semi-popular demand, (read: I felt like it) I've sifted through the remains of my battles and archived the aftermath of the struggle for your sick, twisted enjoyment.

This is Celes, my beloved gaming rig and generally awesome reservoir of geekish powers. For much of the development cycle of X³, the game engine only supported Shader Model 2.0. Celes is my only computer that has a Model 2.0 capable video card. As a result, all of my testing was done on this machine. This translated to a lot of getting up from Pheonix (my development workstation) and walking over to the sofa to run the game. As you may imagine, this also translated into a lot of not feeling like getting off the sofa.

Here we have a rare and bold image of the darkest, dankest abode of The Beast. It is littered with devoured gaming implements and reeks slightly of game developers with neglected personal hygiene. Here you can see some empty containers of Bawls and Canada Dry Ginger Ale, two of my fuels of choice. On the floor is Terra, my old but trusty Toshiba laptop. Hidden under Terra is my Xbox. A slew of remote controls and unenjoyed entertainment media fills the rest of the coffee table.

Pulling back, we see a nice view of the infamous sofa. As you've probably guessed from the mound of blankets, this is where my sleep (what little I got) took place. Lazily propped up on the back are the rear satellite speakers of my Klipsch ProMedia Ultra 5.1 sound system. On the shelf is my other beloved implement of power: a ViewSonic PJ-501 LCD projector. The projector gives me an 84-inch, high-definition panorama of glee on the opposite wall.

The PJ-501 started getting really hot while being run for many long hours every night. I think this picture of the solution says everything that needs to be said.

I really don't know much about this pile anymore, except that it contains a lot of books I wish I had read and an extensive collection of Legos from when I was a kid. Someday, when I have one of those "life" things again, I'll see what's in that pile. Partway through the crunch phase a bunch of the stuff on the bookshelves fell over for no immediately obvious reason, so some of that is on the floor and the rest is just sort of stacked on there so it would quit making noise and bothering me.

Here we see Phoenix, my development box. Phoenix got nailed with a combination of bizarre driver crashes and a corrupt OS thanks to some misguided tinkerings of mine, and was rebuilt piece by piece as Phoenix. That was a while ago, but she's still here and still trusty. A whole page could go just into the dark magic that I've had to conjure to keep this box alive. Here too you can see Bärnd, my Bavarian polar bear and coding companion, and of course X³'s very own Miria. The most relevant part of the image here is the stack of cans. We have a conglomeration of Bawls, Sobe No Fear, Sobe Adrenaline Rush, Amp, Code Red, Cherry Coke, Vanilla Coke, and of course Canada Dry. There's some other random stuff in there too... probably. It bears mentioning that this is only a week's worth of stuff - I purged the flat of cans about a week and a half into the crunch.

Some things got neglected during the crunch, obviously. I had the energy to throw my laundry into roughly color-sorted piles... but then again, that was easy as virtually all of my clothes are dark colored anyways. I broke down once and actually washed the stuff at one point during the crunch when I ran out of stuff to wear.

The crunch was a time of unparalleled consumption. Depicted here are the remains of the less caffeinated forms of fuel that were burned. I have to say, it's really awesome how fast food takeout bags double as trash bags. There's actually five or six meals worth of trash jammed into those two bags. There's also the brutalized remains of an Amazon package and a package of homemade beef jerky that one of my sisters happened to send. I have formed the opinion that all calories should be delivered to the human body in the form of packaged beverages or homemade beef jerky.

Additional chaos and destruction brought about by the crunch. To be fair I should probably mention that a couple of the bigger cardboard boxes aren't actually direct byproducts of the crunch... they've just been sort of sitting there since I moved in to the flat. I vaguely recall the pen getting hurled into the stack of boxes during a particularly frustrating bug hunt.

This is an interesting artifact that I have uncovered from a previous era. According to my research, a bygone civilization would consume meals while seated around this construct. I cannot fathom these strange ways; everyone surely knows that God intended food to be eaten on the sofa.

I recently discovered these lonely survivors of a case of Moon Pies. These are truly a holy form of fuel, and I preserve these specimens for a short time as a quiet tribute to the sacrifice that their bretheren made on behalf of the crunch. Actually, my wanker flatmate ate most of them, but I still got a good portion. Thanks for the case, Kolohe - and I'll be needing another one soon...

This is an exceedingly rare capture of a box of One True Noodle. Those who have tasted enlightened noodle-dining know of what I speak. The rest of you... well, it just sucks to be you.

The great slaughtering of junk food has left many casualties, and few survivors. I managed to snap a shot of these frightened orphans huddling in their protective plastic bag. My heart stirs at the sight of their horrific situation. I must put them out of their misery soon. Here you can also see a box that once carried a delivery of Bawls. It was gutted in moments and placed in the middle of the floor as a warning to other unwary parcels.

This is the hallway of my flat, leading past the kitchenette and down to the Throne of Porcelain. Dark sacrifices are made on that throne, and the pervasive evil has permanently darkened the area. Actually, the flat is built into a walk-out basement, and all but one of the lightbulbs in the hall burned out during the crunch. I like the effect of evilness, though.

Another neglected area of daily life was cleaning of dishes. A little hot water and soap gets the significant food remainders off, and then the partially cleaned dish just sits in the sink for a while. Thankfully, the consumption of pizza and fried sandwiches does not directly require the use of traditional eating implements. The soggy dishes are hard to see due to the lack of lighting in the hallway, but I give you my personal assurances that they're actually not filthy and foul... just numerous.

Electric ranges are stupid. They do, however, at least marginally get the job done. You can also see the obligatory Holy Toaster. (Yes, boolean, I offer it sacrifices of incense and prayers on a daily basis.)

My extensive investigations have revealed that fuel must, of course, be purchased from somewhere. Many Wal-Mart Bothans bags died to bring us this information.

Yes, there is some space in my flat that isn't covered with discarded crap. Actually, this space is a fluke. I brought home my workstation from my day job one night to help hit a milestone there, and this was where the machine got set up. Within hours of returning the computer to the office, however, the crap-pressure in the flat forced random debris back into the empty space. Nature abhors a vacuum - even when filling it means making a terrific mess.

This is another excavation from my search through the war room. I do not know what the device may have been constructed for, but apparently I acquired it for a relatively hefty sum of money. Perhaps I shall ask my flatmate as to its purpose when he returns. Come to think of it, now that I'm done with this page, I think I'll go try to reacquaint myself with it.



Nah... I love my sofa.