Call of Duty and Impending Adulthood.

Happy New Year, my attentive fan base. 2007 was a great year for video games, except Bioshock and Halo 3 were extraordinarily overrated, winning GotY awards left and right when the clear winner should have been Call of Duty 4 in my opinion. CoD4 is he first game to ever make me cringe, much the same way I do when hypodermic needles are present. One of the game's missions is nothing more than awakening in a crashed helicopter and trudge around the scene of a recent nuclear explosion for a minute, the whole time ominously hearing- and feeling, via force feedback- your own slowing heartbeat. No towel head shooting gallery here, just witnessing the means of mankind's own destruction at work. And when your eyes find themselves transfixed on the massive mushroom cloud slowly rising on the horizon, you die. Yes, the objective of the mission is to die, and never have I died more poignantly in a video game before.

Enough about Call of Duty 4, though, it's 2000 motherfucking 8. I turn 18 on September 18 this year, whereupon I will promptly be granted a great deal of grown-up liberties, like the ability vote, stay out late as a want, fight for my country, be tried as an adult, and pay taxes! Fuck yeah! The only new concept I am yet unable to ascertain is whether being an adult in high school will rock or suck.