Hey guys, i'll explain to you how to completely fix the xlive.dll file thing. I had a couple of problems myself when I first installed the game, so for all the people who are bashing their Gears of War for PC's right now, all you have to do is read this post and you will have the answer.
First Things First:
1. Please check if you are running on Windows XP or Windows Vista.
2. What Service pack are you using? Service Pack 1 or 2?
3. What are your system specs?
>> Step 1: Reinstalling the Crap( If you Don't Have Service Pack 2)
1. First, if you do not have Games for Windows-Live, you must first download it off of www.gamesforwindows.com/live. Follow the links to download it.
2. Second, subscribe to Xbox Live, on live.xbox.com. Sign up for it and redeem your live subscription.
3. Third, Uninstall Gears of War for PC and keep the CD out of your computer untill further instructions.
4. Go to microsoft.com and download Service pack 2.
5. When Service Pack 2 has been installed, restart your computer and redownload Gears of War for PC.
If their are anymore problems, please email me at pwnagegear123@hotmail.com. You must leave your screen name and your email address on your message and if you have any trouble, I will write a directory on your question.
30 million people were slaughtered, some of them were cannibalized by other citizens.
do you people not remember this?
Name:
Anonymous2011-04-12 1:44
Why--in the process of asking "why?"--do I end up being the only one answering that question? Why did I want to go to Japan to interview, face-to-face, Hiroyasu Koga, the man who, in 1970, cut off the head of Yukio Mishima, the novelist expected to win the Nobel Prize?
It's important to understand that the well-known beheading incident was not only consensual, but orchestrated in exquisite detail by Mishima himself. So what we really have here is not so much an act of murder as an act of influence--with the emphasis on "act."
After a much publicized trial in 1972, Koga and two others (Masayoshi Koga [no relation] and Masahiro Ogawa) were sentenced to seven years in prison for "assisting in ritual suicide," an act given particular leniency in Japan. Since that time there's been plenty written about on Mishima, but nothing about Koga. So in the last summer of our inscrutable millennium I became a library fruit fly, exasperating the staff who did me favors, made special calls and used their influence to bend the rules. But for all that, the only thing I found on Koga was a citation in the 1972 Japanese version of Books In Print, listing Koga as the author of Saiban kiroku Mishima Yukio jiken (Court Transcript of the Yukio Mishima Incident). In my international search for this volume nearly everyone tried to direct me to--or sell me--stuff on Mishima.
So I changed my tactics and started hanging around Japanese restaurants, pestering waitresses and sushi chefs, hoping I'd latch onto a clue, someone who knew somebody who knew somebody who was related to someone who knew Koga. My understanding Japanese wife was willing to go to Japan and translate my questions, of which there were plenty.
Then one day it happened. I nearly fumbled a squid off the end of my chopsticks when I heard that the owner of a Japanese restaurant in Minneapolis went to college with "the man who cut off the head of Yukio Mishima." Perfect. An old classmate would introduce me and I could ask the questions no one has ever asked-who had the most influence, you over Mishima, or Mishima over you? Would it be absolutely true or absolutely false to say that the seppuku incident was fallout from nuclear war? Do you see any similarity between death by seppuku in the 12th century, and death today by karoshi (overwork)?
That much excitement can be dangerous for a person. I bumped into things. I sat motionless at green lights. I walked into rooms and forgot what I went there for, I had so many questions.
But it turned out that my informant had confused Koga with Masakatsu Morita, the first participant who tried to cut off Mishima's head, but bungled the job in a most horrible way. So Koga, a kendo expert, stepped in and finished things properly. Then Koga, by meticulous prearrangement, swung the samurai sword and Masakatsu Morita's head rolled across the red carpet of Gen. Kanetashi Mashita's office in Ichigaya and came to rest along with the head that composed Decay of the Angel and Death in Midsummer.
I wasn't discouraged, though. I continued schmoozing people at sushi bars and International Clubs at colleges. I was surprised how many cooperated in sending feelers back to Japan on my behalf.
My persistence paid off when I learned that a young man's parents, who were visiting from Japan, used to vacation at a resort hotel in Shimada at the same time Mishima was there with his family and members of the Tatenokai, which included Koga. If they hung around the poolside with Mishima, then they probably knew something about Koga.
A week later he faxed me again, mentioning that someone named Tanaka was sending a messenger to the city of Kamakura to talk with an attorney involved in the Koga case. After another week he faxed me again, saying,
they were unable, within the budget I gave them, to determine contact data for [Koga]. However they located a gentleman in Chiba Prefecture, Kiyoshi Honda, who was a leading member of Tatenokai, who, if contacted directly by you, is willing to put you in touch with [Koga].
In November my wife and I landed in Tokyo. I began to feel as manipulative as Koga himself, as I coached my wife on what to say and do when she reached Mr. Honda by cell phone, which we did from her parents' house in the coastal town of Choshi. The conversation was difficult. Did he forward my faxes to Koga? He was evasive. Could he introduce me to Koga in person? Yes, he could get me in touch with Koga, but then maybe he couldn't. I said, "Assuming the event of 1970 was a political statement of the right wing Tatenokai, which almost no one took seriously, not even Mishima, has history, with or without irony, proven Hirayasu Koga right?" Translate please. A serious deterioration of communication developed at this point.
I sent Koga several more faxes, via Honda, stressing the importance of our meeting, that I flew to Japan specifically to see him, and that "the historical record virtually screamed for his voice." I was told this last remark could not be translated into Japanese, but I said translate it anyway and she did. We left voice mails begging Honda to use his influence before it was too late.
I waited for Koga's reply, but the reply never came. I could understand Koga not wanting to speak out in Japan, where the Mishima incident is now regarded as silly and beneath consideration. The only people less critical of Koga's head removal act are those old enough to be adults when the war went nuclear, but there aren't many of them left. Since the American occupation, which was said to have greatly affected Mishima and Koga, Japan has gone from a nation of feudal conquerors to Sesame Street, an ultra consumerist culture buried in cartoons, little stuffed teddies, smiling flowers, wide-eyed Bambi's and kittens on top of every counter and cash register, many of which play animated advertising figures for you to enjoy while waiting for your change. Somewhere in this child-like fantasyland walks the samurai, Hiroyasu Koga, carrying a burden of memory. Why wouldn't he share that burden with me? The ancient mariner would have died for someone of my eagerness to come along and listen.
On the 11 hour plane trip home I composed my final fax.
Mr. Koga, is there such a thing as secret history, or is there just one story of Japan, the one written by those who prevail? Is their truth worth embracing? In Fushimi castle 300 samurai committed seppuku in the year 1600. Their faces and hands were imprinted on the floorboards in their own blood like eerie sunprints. The floorboards containing these bloodprints went into the ceiling of the Buddhist Hosen Temple in Kyoto and are shown to thousands of tourists every year. If you were the tour guide, and you were addressing a select group of interested people, what would you tell them? Do you posses secret knowledge of an experience like no one else has ever had and what is it like to hold this knowledge unspoken for 30 years, with perhaps another 30 years of conscious life ahead of you? Do you really want to pass up the chance to tell your story to the one person in your lifetime who will search deeper, go father, risk more to express your inner soul? Do you want all the complexity of your life to be reduced to a short paragraph of superficial details and lost forever?
Once again I was told the impossibilities of translating my words, that this made no sense in Japanese, but I insisted. I politely pulled the chair back from the table and invited my wife to sit. I patted the big pile of dictionaries, and promised this would be the last translation. I gently pushed paper and pens in front of her.
This final linguistic cage match continued through the first day, then a second day. When Japanese people are frustrated, they become silent, very, very silent. By day three there was little to say on her progress except that she was having difficulty sleeping, her appetite was affected, and alcohol had become involved.
On the fourth day she reluctantly handed over the page, neatly typed in kanji, but she was not proud of it. She had given birth to a monster. I put it in the fax machine and sent it to Japan.
That night my phone rang at 3 a.m., but when I picked it up I heard only background noise, like traffic. Otherwise silence. Twenty minutes later the phone rang a second time, and there was a different kind of background noise in the silence. Twenty minutes after that the phone rang a third time and there was yet a third kind of silence. Now insomnia kicked in as my mind came up with more questions.
In Japanese, unlike English, there exists an onomatopoeic sound for absolute silence. You sometimes see it in Japanese comic books (manga) where there are so many words that resemble the sound they denote that special English translators have been hired separately to translate them. The Japanese word for silence is "sin," pronounced more or less like "sheeeen....." with the sound trailing off at the end. Like "whoosh" is the sound of a sword cutting through the air, and "gurgle" is the sound of blood spurting out the neck hole, "sin" is the "sound" afterward, when all is done, the bodies removed, everyone gone home, and only the silence remains.
Did the silence of those phone calls represent a Zen answer, one each from Hiroyasu Koga, Masayoshi Koga, and Masahiro Ogawa, or did all three calls come from Koga himself? Or was it merely three different wrong numbers in the middle of the night that just happened to be spaced exactly 20 minutes apart, disturbing my sleep by reminding me, reminding me, reminding me?
Name:
Anonymous2011-04-12 9:18
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Name:
Anonymous2011-04-12 9:46
Come on... I've clicked "disconnect" once, don't make me click "really?"