My review of NBA Street V3 is up at PopMatters. It’s okay, I suppose, but I’m feeling a little inadequate as a critic tonight, having just read Adam Gopnik’s survey of food-related writing in the New Yorker. In one article, he manages to review six books, catalog the highs and lows of being a food critic, and make my mouth water (the primary goal of all food, writing about food, and writing about writing about food). My aimless ramblings about the Beastie Boys and Rafer Alston seem awfully lame in comparison.

I guess this is why I generally stick to reading things by bad writers: it’s a lot easier on the ego to compare yourself to 15-year-olds on LiveJournal than Gopnik or Sars. On the other hand, one of the best video game reviews I’ve read in months was written by an 11-year-old girl. I think I’ll just go cry myself to sleep now.