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Eulogizing 1UP and EGM, sort of

Know what got shut down yesterday?

Waterford Crystal. I saw it on the Associated Press newswire. I said to my mom, “Oh, man, hang on to those glass vases or whatever, because it’s all over for Waterford.” I mean, Waterford Wedgewood is only bankrupt, but you know what that means.

Mom and I were at dinner, still talking about Waterford vases and Wedgewood dishware, when Chuf’s roommate—why am I calling him Chuf now?—IM’d me. My phone buzzed; I spent the rest of dinner staring at it.

If you don’t know what I’m getting at, please catch up. If you don’t feel any sense of loss or regret right now, this isn’t for you; come back later. Or, if you want to hear from someone who actually suffered real loss today, that’s over here. Or all over 1UP.com. Take your pick.

Or maybe you’re looking for something really articulate. You won’t find it here.

Right now, on a popular games message board somewhere in the dark recesses of the Internet, people are posting direct download links to, and torrents for, complete collections of audio and video files, and to screenshots of EGM cover scans. The idea is to hoard them, the same way I hoarded Circus Animal cookies in August after Mother’s shuttered its factory. I went to the convenience store, looked at the bags, counted my cash, tried to Collect Them All.

My mom knows a lot of people in that office on Second Street, by the way. She’d periodically come to San Francisco, intending to ruin my life for a week at a time, and she’d start by killing my credibility in the office (thanks for the help). She’d take a cab directly to the building; she’d bring her rolling luggage right to my desk.

“Stay here,” I said to her once, putting her in my desk chair. “Play Solitaire. Here,” and then I pushed the mouse toward her, “I am giving you Solitaire.”

Other parents play Guitar Hero. Why can’t my mom play Guitar Hero?

“Where are you going? Can’t you leave work yet?” my mom wanted to know. Her rolling luggage was now in Alice Liang’s chair.

“No, play some Solitaire,” I told her. “I have to record a podcast.”

My mother looked at me sidelong. “Wearing that?” she scoffed.

Oh, my God.

Later that night, Sam Kennedy said—I think only teasingly—“Your mom has no idea what you do for a living, does she.” I laughed. I was heartbroken.

My mom is affable, and she has the best of intentions, but what she loved about my job was a magazine to put on the kitchen table, with a byline to show off to visitors. She is 77 years old. She is a willing patron, but she has no idea what you do for a living, does she.

My mom is the Betty White of corporations.

My mom reminds me, with a sigh, “Look. You need money to do what you want.” That’s true. I get that. It’s sad when you run out of money.

My mom wants to know how everyone is doing. My mom wants to know that everyone is safe. How is that nice young man, Sam? How is Garnett? (“He’s handsome and charming,” she once observed, “so stay away.”) Scott? Is Scott OK? Let’s just start with who is not OK. OK. So we go through secondhand lists of names, and she is filled with worry, even though she isn’t sure what’s going on. Me neither.

Print is dying. We all knew. “Oh, eyeballing pixels will never be as satisfying as the tactile experience of holding a magazine, book, or newspaper,” we said confidently, even as we canceled our magazine subscriptions one by one.

I don’t have a fancy business degree, but I will say they did everything right. Rule number one: Believe in what you’re selling. Done.

Rule number two: Be human. Reorganize your company quickly and carefully, so that when print media dies, you can all link arms on the lifeboats. Done.

Rule number three: All these shall be added unto you. A noble benefactor, a patron of your fine writing, will come.

And hopefully that benefactor will be a Daddy Warbucks 2.0. The alternative, of course, is a rich and stodgy Dead Tree Media Giant who pins all his hopes to the leaves of his old, dead magazines, who hopes your website will play pacemaker to all his old, dead magazines.

It’s easy to feel hopeless. This is not a culture, on the whole, that rewards writing or creativity willingly. (I don’t mean videogames’s culture, I mean Earth’s.)

Blogging for the sake of blogging does seem a little sad, doesn’t it? I thought to myself in December, shelving the Avatars drafts and dutifully feeling sorry for myself. I started work on my grad school application and on a kids’ book about head lice (based, of course, on my real life head lice trauma). I looked at my gaming blog and shrugged at it. In January I will casually mention that I’ve moved on to head lice, I thought. I will tell them that blogging merely for the sake of blogging is completely depressing, and then I’ll be done with it.

I’m glad I never typed that out in earnest, because I don’t believe it. I hope you don’t believe it. Rule number one.

Some people do believe that, though. They think that writing for the sake of writing, blogging for the sake of blogging, PageMaker and InDesign for the sake of layout, podcasting for the sake of podcasting, video-making for the sake of video-making, is total bullshit—but bullshit well worth capitalizing on, anyway—because they believe in money for the sake of money. In these hard times, it’s hard not to think about money.

But at this instant, it is also extremely difficult to understand how a noble benefactor could lay waste to so much talent. I am trying my very best to not sound angry.

Companies make money on other people’s passion. Some people make a lot of money by overseeing entire sweatshops of passion. I am trying my fucking damnedest to not sound angry.

I assure you that your favorite writers are not in it for the money. Some might be in it for the notoriety, maybe—to be fair, it is notoriety in an extremely small, sometimes creepy pond—but it’s safe to guess that most writers like writing, most filmmakers like filmmaking, most designers love bringing cosmological typeset harmony to the written word, and that we, on the whole, really do think video and computer games can change the world. Being liked, being respected, having a nice salary, this is all secondary and very unlikely: if you want to be respectable, become a travel writer, a broadcaster, do anything but this.

The blogosphere—the little blogs—are winning. Absolutely. Not this blog, because it’s not monetized and it’s too surly or too twee and the writing is awful and it has no schedule because it hates you, but some are. Low startup costs, sure, and the glass ceiling always has a sunroof, and then, of course, the credibility that comes of having few obligations to motherships. But more importantly, little blogs are gratifying to write for, and that makes them satisfying to read. Not this one, dickbags, but you know, some.

Sorry. I’m angry. Let me try again:

1UP, the website, started small. It sprang out of Gamers.com and, as the old campfire myth goes, some hotshot young branding team was paid beaucoup dollars to rebrand the site into a marketable Something. They tried to name it things like “He-Man Game Zone” or, no, I don’t know, but the point is, everything they came up with was awful. So Sam, who was in his mid-20s, maybe, paid the hotshot young company and dismissed them. And he gave his baby the first name that had occurred to him: “1UP.”

That’s the story. I love this story. Then 1UP gets acquired by a big publishing company, becomes EGM’s stepbrother, etc. It’s a real success story, really Arthurian. The tale isn’t special—it probably goes like every other website’s story—but it’s 1UP’s story, too. And I would tell this dumb legend breathlessly because, after all, it is our Camelot.

But like most true stories, the truth mostly depends on who you like and who you ask. You know, Arthurian.

I dare you to believe for an instant that 1UP’s invention didn’t do something for all of you. For you professional games journalists, it gave you a successful business model of community structure and, for better or for worse, of translating personality cults into monthly uniques. For a lot of you kids, it gave you dreams and aspirations. For all of us unprofessionals, it gave us a safe place to congregate.

Gaming community was new back then. And it was important that community finally for-real-happened, because gaming used to be such a lonely thing. The PS2’s online community was bogus, you had to “tunnel” the GameCube, and no, I didn’t have an Xbox until Jon’s Xbox moved in.

My friend Bekah would come over to Nik’s and my Chicago apartment to play Mario Party and Mario Party only, provided we invited her husband Jeremy along, but we needed beer and food and a day off, and the stars needed to align and Mercury needed to be in Neptune’s house. So there I was, a lonely gamer. When I saw a 1UP ad in OPM, full of smiling normal-people-gamer-faces, I ran for the computer. “WE KNOW GAMERS,” the two-page spread had said. This was it. And I blogged, and I made friends. And one day I was sitting at a retail toy store and I checked my email, and finally, my life would start! And I gave the most legendarily shitty interview you can imagine, with Milky and Garnett and John and Sam all sitting there staring, and then I put everything I owned into boxes into a car, and I sped off toward California with Nik.

And you’re right, none of this is about me. But for everyone who was laid off, or who quits or who stays, that’s probably their story, too: uprooted, and uprooted again. But it’s also my story, and I tell it breathlessly.

Also, this. My story, from user registration to being hired, is two years long. Get it? Everything always seems so abrupt, even when it isn’t.

But there was a culture of workplace paranoia—“You don’t make enough to be dispensable,” Shawn Elliott once assured me, early on—and that paranoia was inspired by Ziff Davis itself.

When I say Ziff Davis, I don’t mean to confuse that name with 1UP or the magazines, even though we called ourselves Ziff Davis, too. But in a way, Ziff Davis was just the family name that we took on when someone married someone: Ziff Davis proper was, in actuality, that distant father in the sky (well, New York City), that drunk daddy we were unsure of, but loved, but were scared of, who we avoided phoning unless there were legal issues or a payroll problem to sort out. Sometimes dad would visit us from New York and persuade us that everything was fine, that we would be OK, and then he’d congratulate us with free beer. We lived for that.

Do you understand? We longed for divorce. We hoped we’d be adopted by a new parent company soon. “I won’t give you up to just anybody,” Ziff assured us.

Hindsight is 20/20, as they say. When we wanted divorce, we didn’t know what we were asking for.

I’m an industry outsider, just some peripheral character with alarmingly inaccurate anecdotes, so I think I can get away with saying all this. And I do feel credible in saying that Ziff Davis, our Ziff Davis, was a family. And that family—complete with its own black sheep, scapegoats, dysfunctional holiday parties, and total, unconditional love—that family did its very best. You couldn’t have done any better, guys.

I am so, so sorry.

And I’m angry. I keep expecting myself to suddenly type something encouraging or reassuring, but each time I try, I have to start over. I think it just isn’t in my nature. “These things happen,” that’s the only thought that helps me reconcile anything. “All good things, like all bad things, go the way of the buffalo”—that’s what I keep typing. “All castles are built on sand”—trite, depressing, frustrating. “You will always look back,” maybe.

But all small sites eventually languish and die (this one) or are gobbled up by bigger, faster websites (that one). Or, in limited, anomalous cases of lasting success, enormous moneymaking sites deftly masquerade as small, intimate sites, I guess. The point? The point. This is the nature of things, the perpetual rise and fall in which no matter is ever created or destroyed. This is, I fear, the furthest thing from reassuring.

If I could pretend to be wise, I would say: Be your own benefactor.

But I’m no fortune cookie, and anyway, easier said than done. Instead, here are some life lessons I learned from some very good people:

“You can’t expect anything if you don’t ask for it.” -Garnett Lee

“Family first. Family always comes first. And, uh, your pet rat—that’s family.” -the unbelievably compassionate Sam Kennedy

“Everyone, even if they don’t know how, everyone should make videos. Just… make videos.” -Cesar Quintero

“Watch out for stalkers. One guy followed Jen Tsao to her house.” -Shane Bettenhausen (I think—I’m trying to remember whether Shane or Jen said this)

[after having just met him, and after losing a long document on a computer without saving] “Do it again, and this time, do it better.” -Garnett Lee

“Are you ready to leave your life behind? It really tests your mettle, lets you see what you’re really made of.” -Demian Linn

Of course, these are transcribed from memory, the least reliable narrator of all—memory is sappier than real life—but I tried to get close.

In the interest of closure, here is a quick confession, and it is for Vanessa Alvarado, former Marketing Manager: I stole all of the black permanent markers out of your desk cupboard while you were out of town. We were upset because your markers were thin-tipped, but by God, we used them, assuming you wouldn’t mind. After we ran your markers dry, I carefully boxed your markers and put them back in your desk cupboard. I hope you hadn’t purchased them yourself. There you go, your mystery solved.

It was for a good cause, though.


I think, with the pressure of grief and the late hour, I might be typing some weird things, or maybe the conflation of feeling is just that hard to do justice. So I give up.

But this is what 1UP very literally means: you will always get to have one more life to play on, because you fucking earned it.

38 responses to “Eulogizing 1UP and EGM, sort of” »

  1. LordAndrew says:

    This whole ordeal is pretty messed up. Batgirl (former GameSpot employee Kristen Reilly, recently laid off) is twittering about how the suits call all the shots, and frankly it scares the hell out of me.

  2. j. gaj. says:

    Thanks—things like this are really helping the catharsis process along. It’s amazing how close I feel to 1up and 1up-related types despite the fact that I don’t know any of these folks much at all except through their writing. I guess that really speaks to the success 1up’s had in establishing a community.

    Good luck with grad school; it’s a long slog, but I’m personally almost there, degree in hand, and suddenly looking back on the neglected ruins of my 20s isn’t quite as hard as it was two or three years ago. Protip: blogging helps with perspective and writer’s block.

  3. Mason says:

    I heard the news late last night and went to bed with an oddly sick feeling. It’s a weird reaction to have since I don’t know anyone laid off personally (although I do feel for them), nor have I ever really involved myself in 1up’s community. Nevertheless, it buoyed my spirits to know that such an intelligent community of fans and fans-who-happened-to-be-professionals could exist under the umbrella of corporate America. One that made being a gamer something to be proud of.

    All anyone really wants is a place to belong. So it’s discouraging to see such a great community come together, only to be pulled apart over cold business decisions. I see it happen again and again, and it bums me out.

    So as I took my morning coffee and stumbled upon this post, I’m feeling better. I think I needed a moment of eulogy to help process it all. As self effacing as you may be Jenn, reading this post helped me scratch that itch. Onwards and upwards.

  4. Larry Madill says:

    Thanks Jenn, this post got me a bit teary eyed.

  5. Hi Jenn. This was a beautifully heartfelt post that made me teary-eyed, too. I really feel for you and anyone else who has been affected by this – obviously I have a vested interest in whatever happens to 1up thanks to big bro’s past involvement in it along with everything that has happened with the Squad – it brought us together and as we move on to bigger and better things, this happens. End of an era, beginning of a new one and all that.

    The outpouring of emotion today via blogs and Twitter – I haven’t even looked at 1up itself yet – is heartbreaking. Here’s hoping that everyone hits the ground running.

    Thank you for posting this.

  6. Kevin Bunch says:

    This was a fantastic post, and I think it paints an excellent picture of the people behind the site. No matter what special ‘behind the scenes” people try to put together, it really takes something like this to humanize it.

    My condolences to you and your friends.

  7. NiceTimes says:

    Thank you, Jenn.

  8. @gajderowhat says:

    If you haven’t seen it yet, this is the most eloquent response to yesterday’s 1up/Hearst events I’ve seen: http://tinyurl.com/a3q6fk

  9. excalipoor says:

    nice post, jenn. i’m not as well verse, but you express part of my fustration toward this incident. losing a magazine i read for 18 years it’s really hard for me. i was kinda out of the 1up network for awhile and the podcast pulled me back in. now with the shows and the staff mostly gone, i feel really sick inside. some of the guys are still in 1up, but it will take me some time for me to start to look at 1up again. (especially the UGO site feels like a spiketv site. i’ll read some of the stuff right now and see if i’ll give it a chance in a few months.) i was going to ask if you guys have a group picture. but that picture above it’s good enough. I’ll still follow up on sam, garnett, jeremy plus others who are still on 1up. but like i said before, it will take some time. this is just like the time when g4 fired all the tech tv people. all the personalities that people like were gone. i just hope that the guys will be like tech tv staff and rise again for the better in a few years. it took me almost 2 years before i start watching g4 again. so i wish 1up can rise from this a keep up and rise again too.

    once again. a nice post. i digg it.

  10. Jeremy says:

    Great post Jenn. I’ve missed seeing your blogs on 1UP.

  11. wetMutt says:

    I would like to post some great words of inspiration as well to the staff… but similarly, I keep finding myself at a loss for words…

    I wish everyone good luck, staying or going… it is a sad sad day…

  12. Jon Conley says:

    The sincerity of your writing has never been as beautiful as this post.

    Your story is a story that most of us are familiar with. Leaving home, to find a new home. Your real home. The ‘grown up you’ home. It’s a story that I feel, most people working at 1up probably shared. It felt like a group of friends who just happened to get paid to sit in cubicles and do the things they would’ve done anyway, for free and on their own accord.

    It felt honest, for once.

    It was one of those communities, where everybody was a fucking expert when it came to something. Some would call it ‘elitist’; I called it ‘home’. Though I found it difficult to participate in the forums (oh, internet), I followed the writings and rantings of the staff; using them as a unit of measurement for my own writing. A ‘gold standard’ so to speak.

    What annoyed me, with other sites, is that the people covering the medium are often generic. It felt like HIgh School. But let’s not discuss this, for now…

    Everybody experiences this sort of thing, and has an interesting tale to tell. And sadly, that tale – more often than not – ends the same way for everybody. It’s filled to the brim with unfortunate circumstances, ends in sadness, and is on your mind for the rest of your life. But in retrospect, it was a life-changing experience; and in some cases, the time of your life.

    It is the end of an era. An ugly divorce. That sense of ‘family’ will never be captured again. And though many talented people will go on to perform many great things (one can hope), a large number of people will spend the rest of their days missing the familiar and the ideal. I, for one, will be joining those people.

    This is life, unfortunate and depressing as it may be. ‘You Can’t Go Home Again’. But at least you can look back upon it and smile, knowing that you were part of it.

    Keep writing, Jenn. No matter how depressing, seemingly pointless and detrimental to your bank account it may seem, it reaches and affects people; just as the sagely advice you received has affected you.

    Honestly, your recollections are unique and endearing. Seemingly generic terms, but meant with complete sincerity. You are an excellent fucking writer; and I know that means a lot to you, coming from a seemingly anonymous internet person. You are not a hack, and you should do everything in your power to find a way to make a living off of what you care most about (which I assume is writing). At the very least, find the spare time to pursue it. It would be a pity to lose your stories.

    To everyone out of a job (1UP or otherwise), losing faith in their skills and in general, just fucking depressed: give it another go. It’s fucking unfair that it happened to you, but it happened. It doesn’t have to make sense: that’s the beauty of corporations! They’re the abusive father you’ll never understand, but always hoped would come to love you. Only, they don’t love you. And now, you’re stuck with daddy issues for the rest of your days.

    Be angry. You’ve earned it. But don’t let it defeat you. Find similar people who are passionate about the things you care about, and stick with those people. Form a new family, out of the shards of the previous. Because that’s what it’s about. It’s not about your traffic, or your World Exclusives. It’s about your honest fucking opinion and the company you keep.

    And no amount of marketing or ‘synergy’ can replace that.

    And Jenn, if you were to ever write a book about head lice, I would most certainly pay for it and read it. That’s one sale. I’ll even buy a friend a copy to share. That’s two. Go and find the rest (write more, you fool).

  13. librarian says:

    Mr. Conley,

    Thank you. That all means a lot to me. I won’t lie: I love to hear it. But it also makes me feel really, really guilty. Let’s face it: I’m totally OK. There’s a lot of hurt going around, and I am entitled to absolutely none of it.

    But I look at how sick I feel, and all that tells me is, I cannot begin to imagine what this looks like on the inside. My extended family has been mangled. 1UP is disfigured. The people left behind need a lot of support, too.

    You’re right, though. I wanted to write, but not be a “personality,” and that paints a pretty clear picture about realizing, eventually, I didn’t want my job at all. (Of course, if I had actually been “fired,” I would have gotten a “severance”—that’s a little edit just for you, GAF.) That isn’t the entire picture, sure—there’s always a corporate hierarchy to crush you, too, and personal matters to deal with that are never anyone’s business but your own—but a lot of Ziff had those problems, too, and gradually just slipped away, somehow sidestepping so much heartache.

    But thank you, so much. A lot of people need to be encouraged right now.

  14. Gareth says:

    That was awesome.

  15. Cody W. says:

    That was really beautiful Jenn. Count me with the ones who got teary eyed because of it.

    I’ve been a member of 1UP.com for 4+ years now. That’s a little strange to think about. I’ve seen so many writers and my own friends on the site come and go, and I’ve gone through all of the hard times and the glitches, but I don’t think anything hurt as bad as last night. Keep in mind that I don’t actually work for 1UP (though I did finally get a job offer there), but it’s like a home to me. As it turns out, that tag line speaks an absolute truth. Everyone who lost their jobs last night are like family to me, or at least people I respect and admire. I’ve gotten to know a few of them, and even helped with certain site makeovers and glitches. Seeing people like that get kicked to the streets is like being punched in the gut. I can’t even imagine how they feel.

    I’ve just been surfing the site all day, along with Twitter and Facebook, and reading about everyone’s memories, and if they’re sticking with the ship or taking the lifeboat as they see it sinking. I’m not sure what I’ll do myself, but seeing those left on board try and make their way through the storm by themselves without lending a hand does makes me feel a little guilty.

    Anyway, thanks for such a wonderful posts. It makes the end of an era a little more bearable.

  16. That was phenomenal. Thanks for sharing it.

  17. Fil K says:

    I’ve spent four years as a member of 1UP, following every newspost and preview and most especially the podcasts and editor blogs. I never knew any of you personally, but I feel like I did. I’m so sorry for your loss.

  18. @randrews says:

    @red_hedgehog No doubt you read this: http://tinyurl.com/a3q6fk

  19. Craig Ostrin says:

    When I walk into a GameStop and see how poorly managed and utterly disgusting the store is, it doesn’t make me want to go to work there. It makes me want to open my own retail shop. And do it better.

    Likewise, when I learn about how Ziff criminally mismanaged their properties, driving their very best talent away before flushing 1UP down the toilet—leaving the survivors to mutate in a toxic sewer system (but at least they’ve got jobs, right?)—it doesn’t make me want to write for them. It makes me want to open my own publisher. And do it better.

    In any case, thanks for a touching post. As someone said above, it’s amazing how close we the readers feel to the 1UP staff, just through enjoying their work. Really shows you the magic of the place and the people.

  20. ...I actually remember Gamers.com.

    I was mad too when that transitioned into 1up, and I used that partially as a testament to leave my blog behind yesterday for a new one I started today. I won’t pretend to empathize with everyone of the loss of the editors, as I have faith that they’ll land on their feet graciously & I think that hits members like Cody more than me. I was extremely picky with who I sided with and I really lost a chunk of my love there when John Davidson left (at least he was back on 1upYours for the holidays). I always appreciated the distinct personalities the editors offered, but there was always a barrier between that side of the camp and all the crap I did on the site. The only thing I’m worried about right now is the fracturing of the community itself now. I really hope it doesn’t wither and die now.


  21. Austin Boosinger says:

    Beautiful blog.

    I’ve been feeling hopeless about blogging as well (thinking about it 24/7; blogging bimonthly). But all the things you said were absolutely true, and passion prevails!

    We’ll all find our place.

    And if it’s any consolation, this is by far the best blog I’ve read in a while, and easily the most human, honest blog about games I’ve read in months.

  22. jc says:


    I’ve been trying to leave a comment about this post all day, but I keep typing something and deleting it. I’ll be brief in the interest of actually making it to the send button: this was absolutely beautiful, and it completely wrecked me this morning.

  23. @seanmolloy says:

    @jennatar @demian_linn When I uprooted to SF to write about games, I felt invincible. Thanks for reminding me. http://tinyurl.com/a3q6fk

  24. Mr. Recycle says:

    Mother’s shuttered its factory?!? whaaaat? What a 1-2 punch… Not that i ever did it, but what would be better than eating Mother’s circus animal crackers while listening to CGW podcast…

  25. SixSp33d says:

    Wonderful post. You are a talented writer.
    I would buy your book as well 🙂

  26. Poetry from @jennatar: http://tinyurl.com/a3q6fk One more life indeed.

  27. DH.Jin says:

    trying to think of something nice to say, something meaningful or something. been with 1up almost 3 years and really loved all that time. aww f*** it.

    thank you.

    great post.

  28. We’re all mourning this different ways.


    Great Job Jenn. I expect nothing but the best from yah.

  29. Samit Sarkar says:

    This was such a great read, Jenn. One of the few good things to come out of this mess so far, for me, has been the spate of wonderfully written, heartfelt farewells and eulogies from the gaming community — whether laid-off 1UP/EGM employee, current 1UP/UGO staff, fan, or gamer. This one was particularly beautiful.

    While I never had a subscription to EGM, and I only read 1UP.com casually, it still was shocking and saddening to see a fellow gaming website — especially a fellow community-based site like 1UP — lose so many talented individuals; gutted is a term that comes to mind.

    I was discussing the situation with some of my fellow editors, and we concluded that while it’s easy to make UGO out to be the bad guy, the real culprit is Ziff Davis; as my boss put it, what’s shocking here is how a major media company could be so “bloated and mismanaged.” As you said, we all knew it was coming, but I don’t know if you can ever truly prepare yourself for something like this.

    What can anyone say? It’s a damn shame, is all.

  30. Samit Sarkar says:

    Oh, here’s the link for the “as my boss put it” part:


    I’m new to this Textile markup thing.

  31. Ken says:

    This is scary.. I mean I’m studying journalism now.. I wanted to be part of gaming culture in media print.. But seeing something as established as EGM go… It is really hard… I mean.. just what am I to believe now… EGM was the magazine to go to for nearly 20 years . Sure there were some down points but I think most of us who have been gaming before 2D died know that EGM was an integral part of the gaming world. Suxhi – X, Shen Long, Shoe changing the game with the interview with Moore… It was also the one magazine that I really respected because I could tell the people behind the print seemed to genuinely love their job and it showed. We are all going to miss this mag.. Yeah.. horrible way to begin 09…

  32. Ken says:

    Owh and yeah hey it was really great read Jenn 😉 It was touching to see the insight from someone close to this… And yeah I think as Shoe put it, I think you guys post-1up will be doing fine since you all are a talented bunch and we all hope that the economy reinforces that theory because we all want to hear from you guys again. Godspeed to you and the rest yea : )

  33. librarian says:

    Thanks for the Dtoid link, Samit. Looks like your boss and I were up till the wee hours thinking and scribbling at the same time. Except that, probably, the average SF Ziff employee probably made much less than he approximates (hah!), he really has a grip on the whole mess.

    More notably, hidden inside this news article, there’s his own personal worry: What will happen when you get so big that you no longer can rely only on yourself? Frightening stuff, and he puts it into words.

  34. Vanessa Alvarado (former Marketing Manager @ 1UP) says:

    HMMM – I thought something was fishy with those markers!!! oh well, i forgive you! i miss the 1UP office antics. serious. sometimes it felt like it was too good to be true. i’m happy for the memories though. those were some good times! we rode the waves while we could but i guess it wasn’t meant to last forever. maybe i’ll end up back in the gaming industry someday, we’ll just have to see.. cheers to the ziff davis alumni! 🙂

  1. Goodbye EGM, Godspeed 1UP | Southern Gamer
  2. chewing pixels » Detroit is Dying

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