
In Challenge: The Automyth, I've swung the white glove at the faces of Gamasutra readers everywhere. SMACK!
Mobile Gaming Hall Of Fame-Inductee
"Great Scott" - Edge Magazine
"The Tarantino of Games" - Escapist Magazine
"pioneer in mobile social games" - VentureBeat
"influencer" - Kotaku
"one of the most respected developers" - iPhone Games Bulletin
"gorgeous Adonis of the video gaming scene" - Gamasutra
"looks good in tight pants" - Yahtzee Croshaw
"possibly the best producer on the planet" - O'Reilly Media
Two-Time #NOEATFRIDAY Award Winner



The editorial staff over at Pocket Gamer requested a "valedictory address" - and here it is, Passing the Porch.
Friday was my final day heading up game production for Nokia San Francisco. I had joined Nokia in 2003, about a month before the launch of the original N-Gage, and let me tell you, going from Sega to a Fortune 100 organization (whose market cap is bigger than the entire games industry) is the kind of experience that leaves you at first fearing that you will die, and at second fearing that you will not die.
That Burn Your Resume opinion piece must have reached somebody in corporate gaming America, 'cause Epic Games can be seen here quoting me (with attribution) in a job description, of all things:
rs of Sega's Alien Syndrome for Nintendo Wii and Sony PSP, a person whom I have never met, a person who had, after having been for months frustrated by games industry interview process, stumbled across the Burn Your Resume piece on Gamasutra ...
Fisherman never made an awesome videogame that was enjoyed by millions of people, which means that - though he may everyday have relaxed to lazy pleasures - the Poor Fisherman probably went to Hell when he died. It's a rare and beautiful occasion when conference organizers give no direction as to the content of a talk: EIF 2008 was just such an occasion. This is a talk of which I am particularly proud, and not just because my futurist musings popped an entire page in Edge Magazine ("A Scott with a plan"), but because I got to eat breakfast that morning bubblegum-punk-humming to myself, "Fuck it! Here's something I believe in!"