By Mike Amari 
 
So, it seems that seven years have passed.  With all of the things that should remind me of the passing years; getting married, having a child, moving from home etc.., it seems odd that on of my first "oh shit, time is passing" moments as an adult came about because of Xbox live. 
 
When XBL first hit I was still an undergrad switching majors from forensic science to creative writing. Working as a computer sales/repair slave for staples was sucking the life out of me and I was three or so months away from ending a four year relationship.  I was still living at home, though that was no a bad thing, and working as the only video game writer on my college campus.  
 
Writing for that paper is inextricably bound to my memories of XBL. You see, the Editor in chief at the time always saved full page slots for what he called "hard news" items (with such hard hitting topics as "offices extend hours" and "student rally ineffectual"), relegating us entertainment scabs to quarter, or when he felt particularly magnanimous a full half page spot. I would harp about this, but he would always say "it's a newspaper, so we give news the space." It was difficult to fit a monthly review column in a quarter page, so when XBL was set to hit I made sure I had it day one and was ready with my notepad for a feature article that I figured he would never run but would write anyway.  
 
So, that night I played Mechassault until my eyes bled, sampled some demos that came with the service and noodled my way into every cranny of the then grand spanking new service. My feature covered the game, the critical addition of live voice chat, a rundown of the bugs and hiccups as well as an extensive opinion section where I opined on how this could very well be where everything is going, but there would need to be a lot of tuning and growing. 
It was optimistic, full of energy and four full tabloid pages long. I finished it the same night that XBL launched (the deadline for that month's issue was noon the next day) sometime around four or five a.m. and almost didn't email it to the editor. I figured he would simple kill the piece, as he hadn't asked for it, and it would fill too many pages. 
 
He loved it. He was not a gamer, he was a political science major who thought activism was the only thing worth discussing. For some reason he really latched on the implications of a widespread, mass market online matching system. We talked about not so much the actual game play, but what could happen if they successfully integrated the social aspects of the friends list with a fully digital marketplace.  
 
Mostly we were skeptical because the idea of buying purely digital content was unprecedented (and around this time Valve was making every mistake possible with it's development of steam) and social networking sites were cumbersome (friendster was the prevailing service at the time) and obnoxious (myspace was just starting to gain momentum, while facebook was still a dating service for college students.) It seemed like XBL would be a great toy for the niche, but it would never hit critical mass. 
 
So it is that when I think of the early days of XBL I don't just think of the service, or the games. I think of my time as a writer, then editor, then editor in chief of that school paper. I think of the warm nights spent with old girlfriends. I think of my failed attempts at publication, of my late night conversations online during bouts of Not It in mechassault with friends on the other side of the country.  I think of very specific years of my life whenever I see that mechassault or Ghost Recon box sitting on my shelf, the same way we think of past times when listening to songs or reading familiar books.
 
This is the ultimate test of anything as an art form. For a product to lodge itself into our subconscious, to bind itself to the very fabric of our life experiences means that it has elevated itself from simple product to something more. This is why i can say without reservation or embarrassment that I am fully mourning the passing of XBL. It has been replaced by the fully evolved XBLA, delivering on many of those seemingly impossible promises that I talked about in a college basement all those years ago. It's as if a large chunk of my life has been laid to rest. I feel like this is our generation's "M.A.S.H." final episode. 
 
XBL is dead, long live XBLA. 

By Mike Amari 
 
So, it seems that seven years have passed.  With all of the things that should remind me of the passing years; getting married, having a child, moving from home etc.., it seems odd that on of my first "oh shit, time is passing" moments as an adult came about because of Xbox live. 
 
When XBL first hit I was still an undergrad switching majors from forensic science to creative writing. Working as a computer sales/repair slave for staples was sucking the life out of me and I was three or so months away from ending a four year relationship.  I was still living at home, though that was no a bad thing, and working as the only video game writer on my college campus.  
 
Writing for that paper is inextricably bound to my memories of XBL. You see, the Editor in chief at the time always saved full page slots for what he called "hard news" items (with such hard hitting topics as "offices extend hours" and "student rally ineffectual"), relegating us entertainment scabs to quarter, or when he felt particularly magnanimous a full half page spot. I would harp about this, but he would always say "it's a newspaper, so we give news the space." It was difficult to fit a monthly review column in a quarter page, so when XBL was set to hit I made sure I had it day one and was ready with my notepad for a feature article that I figured he would never run but would write anyway.  
 
So, that night I played Mechassault until my eyes bled, sampled some demos that came with the service and noodled my way into every cranny of the then grand spanking new service. My feature covered the game, the critical addition of live voice chat, a rundown of the bugs and hiccups as well as an extensive opinion section where I opined on how this could very well be where everything is going, but there would need to be a lot of tuning and growing. 
It was optimistic, full of energy and four full tabloid pages long. I finished it the same night that XBL launched (the deadline for that month's issue was noon the next day) sometime around four or five a.m. and almost didn't email it to the editor. I figured he would simple kill the piece, as he hadn't asked for it, and it would fill too many pages. 
 
He loved it. He was not a gamer, he was a political science major who thought activism was the only thing worth discussing. For some reason he really latched on the implications of a widespread, mass market online matching system. We talked about not so much the actual game play, but what could happen if they successfully integrated the social aspects of the friends list with a fully digital marketplace.  
 
Mostly we were skeptical because the idea of buying purely digital content was unprecedented (and around this time Valve was making every mistake possible with it's development of steam) and social networking sites were cumbersome (friendster was the prevailing service at the time) and obnoxious (myspace was just starting to gain momentum, while facebook was still a dating service for college students.) It seemed like XBL would be a great toy for the niche, but it would never hit critical mass. 
 
So it is that when I think of the early days of XBL I don't just think of the service, or the games. I think of my time as a writer, then editor, then editor in chief of that school paper. I think of the warm nights spent with old girlfriends. I think of my failed attempts at publication, of my late night conversations online during bouts of Not It in mechassault with friends on the other side of the country.  I think of very specific years of my life whenever I see that mechassault or Ghost Recon box sitting on my shelf, the same way we think of past times when listening to songs or reading familiar books.
 
This is the ultimate test of anything as an art form. For a product to lodge itself into our subconscious, to bind itself to the very fabric of our life experiences means that it has elevated itself from simple product to something more. This is why i can say without reservation or embarrassment that I am fully mourning the passing of XBL. It has been replaced by the fully evolved XBLA, delivering on many of those seemingly impossible promises that I talked about in a college basement all those years ago. It's as if a large chunk of my life has been laid to rest. I feel like this is our generation's "M.A.S.H." final episode. 
 
XBL is dead, long live XBLA.