This is an odd one for me. I’ve been looking forward to playing Pupperazzi for the better part of three years, ever since we first reported on the game B.C.—before COVID. The idea of exploring a handful of bright and colorful locations, taking pictures of adorable dogs as they hipped and hopped around seemed like it would be the perfect way to get a quick fix of instant joy I often need after a long day of working in public communications.
And it really is. I can’t help but put a smile on my face as I dress up the dogs for a little photo ses’. But that smile lasts for about 10 minutes at max before it slowly transforms into a look of abject terror as I can feel myself about to vomit like I just shotgunned an entire bottle of maple syrup.
Motion sickness from a video game. This is a brand new experience for me. I cannot recall any of the hundreds of games I’ve played in my life, of all different genres, making me feel the way I do after spending less than a dozen minutes trying to line up the perfect shot of a dog on a Vespa. It’s baffling, really, because it’s only this game. The first day after I started to feel queasy, I shut it off and switched over to Halo Infinite and felt perfectly fine playing that for almost two hours straight. The same rang true when jumping over to The Forgotten City or trying out the first-person view in Forza Horizon 5.
I’m absolutely befuddled because I generally don’t have motion sickness problems. The only time I feel queasy from movement is when I ride a particularly fast roller coaster with a lot of sharp turns, like the Woodstock Express at California’s Great America. I’m perfectly fine with tilt-o-whirls or teacups or the various Disk’O rides you’ll find at this nation’s various theme
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