I've been having some hard times with my Playstation. From marathons of inFamous and constant upscaling of streaming movies from my PC, my almost two-year-old console has prematurely lost it's life. Having been a victim of failing systems, I saw no stress in sending the out-of-warranty PS3 in for some official Sony "repairs". $161.21 and PS3 wiped is my price to pay for keeping PS2 backwards compatability. Worth it. Kind of.
After getting the PS3 back from Texas, I was sure that everything should be repaired. Sony support was nice enough on the phone that my faith in them was surely high. Polished and dust-free, I was ready to keep up my gaming summer. For a bit. Fans as loud as leaf blowers didn't help my focus on the gaming at hand, or lack thereof. So, second repair in warranty. No big deal.
Pixels blinded the Capital Wasteland, the WWII Pacific Theater, Brooklyn, and the streets of New San Vanelona until there was just a frozen image of what was. Third PS3. Fully loaded with peeling serial number sticker, pixel pop-in, and constant freezing. "Repaired". Customer support was much more aware this time after exclaiming, "So, third time in a month? That's quite unheard of." Transferred to "Special Support Team" to emphasize the seriousness. After a long, and quite technical talk with A-Team, another repair is in progress. Third time's a char...yeah.
But, when I could stand wind tunnel fans or pixel junk, I did play and beat some games.
inFamous=done.
Uncharted (again)=done.
Persona 4=undone, but fun.
BF1943=BF1942.
Trash Panic=the solution is fire.
GUN=done, but not fun.
Practice makes perfec... whatever. I need more practice writing if I'm going to get a hang of this Journalism major, so impressions, reviews, and stuff will be more frequent. Errors aside, there's much ado on the blog front. Now, to get nicker to start writing...
-misclet
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