I’ve been thinking more last night and today about PAX and the “corporeal internet.” Specifically, wondering why going to a convention about videogames can renew my interest and surround me with a warm glow, while reading about videogames on the internet makes me want to punch people in the kidneys.

It’s definitely not for the hands-on experience — over the entire weekend, the closest I got to actually playing a videogame was watching other people play Left4Dead for a few minutes. And I could just as easily go to YouTube or GameTrailers and watch somebody else play Left4Dead for a few minutes, all without having to fly to Seattle.

The difference, obviously, is that that video on YouTube or GameTrailers would be followed with pages of comments telling us that the video is more than a week old, that the game has no point to it, that the makers of the game are overrated, or that the video clip itself likes to have sexual relations with other video clips of the same gender. That’s the whole gestalt of Web 2.0: this is the technology that gives me accurate-to-the-second updates on what my favorite artists are watching on television or having for lunch, and that is a great achievement. But it’s also the technology that empowers millions of troglodytes to crawl up out of their pools of filth and bang away on their keyboards with the same need for constant stimulus and obsession with novelty as a retarded house cat on methamphetamines.

And the problem really isn’t the “troglodytes” part, like people usually assume. It’s the “empowered” part. It’s usually not all that hard to get away from people who are acting like dicks or being willfully stupid. But it’s impossible to spend any amount of time on the internet and not get overtaken by the glacier of human opinions. There are no facts on the internet, and no topic that someone won’t find contentious or “controversial”. It creates an oppressive mass of negativity that, paradoxically, is bred from optimism. We want to believe that everybody’s opinion is valid, and great things will come out of giving everyone an equal voice. What we refuse to admit is simply this: I really couldn’t give a rat’s ass about your opinion.

(Not you, of course. I mean the general “other.” You are a treasured reader of this blog.)

A post on Kotaku.com today, called “The Problem with PAX,” pretty much illustrates everything wrong with today’s internet. The premise is that PAX’s biggest problem now is that it’s called the “Penny Arcade Expo,” which is shutting out all the people who hate the Penny Arcade webcomic. Ignoring the logical leap from complaining about overcrowding to concluding that the convention is too exclusive, the theory breaks down because of two basic facts:

1. It doesn’t have to include everyone. We’ve all seen what happens when you assume that everybody with an interest in videogames is a unified group with the same interests and the same level of social skills: you get the comments section of Kotaku.com. (Or any other mass-market videogame website).
2. There’s no reason to hate Penny Arcade. There are exactly two acceptable responses to a free webcomic about videogames: enjoyment, and indifference. (Personally, I’m indifferent). Yes, I’m sure it just grates on your nerves how it’s so popular, and how you’re the only one on the internet who recognizes how it’s just not funny, and you have a duty to be the one who points out the Emperor’s New Clothes. But if it were truly possible to “hate” a webcomic just for not being funny, then everyone in the United States who could open a web browser would’ve had an aneurism by 2003.

I realize I’m definitely not the first person to suffer from Internet Fatigue, but I was surprised to be shown just how much of a drag it can get to be. And doubly surprised that a weekend surrounded by 58,000 poorly-shaven fans of a webcomic would be the thing to show me just how much nicer it is when people aren’t being dicks to each other for no reason. And I think the biggest difference is that the people there really wanted to be there; it requires an investment of time and/or money, and they did it out of pure enthusiasm. It’s the same reason I’ll always value a fan’s opinion of a videogame over some reviewer’s: the fan is the one who really wants to be there, who put in his money and time, and isn’t getting anything out of it other than enjoyment. We’ve got to just accept that it’s neither undemocratic nor elitist to think that some people’s opinions aren’t worth shit. And then keep that opinion to ourselves.

So to sum up:

1. Penny Arcade: Sometimes not funny.
2. Someone telling you to keep your opinion to yourself: Not censorship.
3. Things are better when people are nice to each other.

I’m not sure how they pulled it off, but PAX was loud, crowded, and packed with people trying to sell things, and it still managed to be pretty damn cool. I’m so used to leaving videogame-related trade shows and conventions with my will completely drained, convinced that I’ve made a horrible career choice — it’s odd to leave one excited about what I do for a living.

On the Penny Arcade site, Tycho says that one of the goals of the con is to “create a corporeal Internet.” And you know, it’s his show, he can say whatever he wants, but it strikes me as a disservice. What I saw of the show was free of the worst aspects of the internet: people were friendly and polite, enthusiastic about stuff without being self-conscious, and didn’t let negativity get in the way of everybody’s fun.

I had like ten people stop me on the floor (because they recognized me from the booth or a panel) and tell me that they loved Telltale and/or the Sam & Max games. On the internet, those voices tend to get drowned out by the relatively few complaints. Everyone I talked to really seemed to understand what Telltale’s trying to do, and described why they play games and what they wanted to see more of. There’s a lot of great stuff to think about for future games.

And it’s been said before lots of times, but it’s true: their volunteer staff is fanastic. Super-friendly and helpful.

I didn’t get to see any panels except the two I was on, but they were handled well by the staff, and the crowd asked genuinely interesting and insightful questions. The Make-a-Scene with Strong Bad panel was an hour of barely controlled chaos that turned out to be a hell of a lot more fun than you can tell from just a video. (Best moment was when Mark asked if anyone could do a Homsar impression, and like a dozen people all started the “Daaaaaaahhahhh” at once).

And I’m too self-conscious to remember much about the “Writing in Games” panel except for Ron Gilbert’s talking about the importance of being succinct, and then my answering questions with single sentences that lasted 5 minutes or longer. (Anybody who thinks I ramble on this blog should consider that everything on here gets edited first. Shudder.) Actually, the main thing I remember is that the Harmonix people I met there are some of the friendliest people you’d ever want to meet, which strikes me as unfair. Either you get to work on a really cool game that’s an enormous hit, accomplishes everything it sets out to do, and is changing the entire industry; or you get to be a nice person in real life. Choose one.

The Hothead people I met were really nice as well (but it’s easier for them, since they’re Canadian). And the X-Play crew that came by struck me as completely professional, but still as laid-back and unpretentious as you can be with an entourage and security detail and dozens of people you have to interview in one day.

Actually, almost everyone I met was nice. You really got the sense that people were there to enjoy games, not to sell them. Even from those of us who were selling them. It was a little off-putting seeing so many copies of myself — albeit younger copies — walking around; I don’t like being reminded that “chubby bearded guy with glasses” is a standard out-of-the-box Nerd Class. But this is the first convention I’ve been to in a long time where I was a little disappointed it didn’t last longer, so I could go to the panels and concerts and play the games on display and start random games with strangers.

Edit: I forgot to mention my favorite thing about the whole weekend. I was sitting in the lobby of the hotel, and one of the guys from the hotel staff came up and started changing the TV channel. All the warnings about Gustav and New Orleans were too depressing. He stopped on a channel about some female bodybuilding championship, and the camera lingered on one of the contestants, stripped down to a bikini and flexing and posing. He stared at it for a second, shook his head, and turned to me and said: “You couldn’t melt that and pour it on me.”