Journal articles on the topic 'Browsing regime'

Selective browsing by cervids has persistent impacts on forest ecosystems. On Anticosti Island, Quebec, Canada, introduced white-tailed deer (Odocoileus virginianus (Zimmermann, 1780)) have caused massive changes to the native boreal forest. Despite the apparent stability of the deer population over recent decades, we suspected that they were not at equilibrium with their browse supply and that further degradation of the habitat had occurred. A comparison of two browse surveys conducted 25 years apart showed a strong decline in browse availability. Although balsam fir (Abies balsamea (L.) P. Mill.) remained the most available browse species, it declined or disappeared from most stands (n = 13). Preferred deciduous species that were still available 25 years ago have almost disappeared. The continuous decline of the browse supply confirmed our hypothesis. This situation may be exacerbated by a subsidy from the winter litterfall, a significant and stable alternative food source. The abundance of litterfall from mature trees is independent of browsing over a long time period, which introduces a temporal uncoupling between the impact of deer browsing on balsam fir seedlings and the negative feedback from recruitment failure of mature balsam fir on the deer population. This means that the system is susceptible to being forced into an alternative regime.

The response of vegetation to a large reduction in red deer numbers was assessed over a 20 year period in two contrasting glens in the Eastern Cairngorms. Monitoring was done in spring when the annual maximum herbivore impact accumulates on the heather. We estimated deer presence from pellet-group counts, and for heather we measured cover, height and shoot browsing. Deer numbers declined earlier in Glen Derry, and correspondingly heather height increased sooner. Trends in Glen Lui were related to plot wetness and distance from places where the deer were fed in winter; dry plots received much heavier usage from deer and rabbits initially, keeping the heather short and cover stable, whereas on wet plots usage was much lower and heather increased both in cover and height. Subsequently, as deer densities fell, the Lui heather thrived, and by 2013 heather height on dry plots had surpassed height on wet plots. Colonisation by pine saplings was very patchy, being virtually confined to plots within 50 m of mature trees and having heather swards less than 25 cm tall. Despite deer numbers falling, saplings still suffered browsing by black grouse, lagomorphs and voles. Annual increments were greatest on dry plots in Glen Lui. However, we estimate that another eight years of negligible deer numbers are needed for the present sapling crop to become safe from deer damage. A limited regime of burning near mature pines may assist regeneration.

A DISECTOR program is presented, offering the possibility to count particles by the disector or unbiased sampling brick principles as well as to apply the point-counting method needed for estimation of the particle volume density or mean particle volume. Three modes of counting, two semi-automatic and one automatic, are offered, allowing the user to choose the one most suitable for his image data. In a semi-automatic regime, the user marks and counts individual particles by a mouse during browsing through the stack of images. In the algorithm working in an automated mode, the role of a human operator is suppressed, assuming that segmented objects are available in individual levels. The settings of the point grid and 3-D probe can be tailored for each application. The DISECTOR program applications are shown on the examples of the estimation of the number and numerical density of mesophyll cells in a Norway spruce needle and the mean volume of tubular cells in a chick embryonic kidney.

Purpose The purpose of this paper is to give an outline of existing laws that regulate each area of the Commons. With specific reference to the growing international concern for the protection of the global commons, this paper aims to re-examine to what extent present legal regime for global commons is successful. Finally, it proceeds with some way outs and suggestions that may, if adopted, play significant role to protect common areas from environmental damage. Design/methodology/approach This paper is purely analytical. Analytical approach has been applied to proceed with the write-up which is basically based on the review of primary and secondary literature studies including books, scholarly articles and laws. Internet-browsing is being used for collection of most recent literature on the subject. Relevant case studies in this regard are evaluated. Findings Transboundary damage is a practical and contextual matter requiring concrete rules and principles, both procedural and substantive. Here, priority is to establish minimum standards of conduct for such activities that affect the environment of global commons, at the national and international level. An expertly designed treaty with balanced contents, which are strong enough to hold the state parties liable for their activities and, at the same time, motivating enough to be bound by obligation by ratification, is to be adopted. Originality/value This paper is original in calling for the full participation of all states, rich and poor, to address damage to global commons effectively and efficiently.

Invasive winter annual grasses are one of the largest threats to the arid and semiarid rangelands and wildlands in the Intermountain West of North America. The most impactful species include downy brome (Bromus tectorum), medusahead (Taeniatherum caput-medusae), ventenata (Ventenata dubia), and to a lesser extent Japanese brome (Bromus japonicus), feral rye (Secale cereale), and jointed goatgrass (Aegilops cylindrica). These winter annuals can germinate in the fall, winter or early spring, exploiting soil moisture and nutrients before native plant communities begin active growth in the spring. These characteristics impart a competitive advantage in the perennial grass dominated natural landscapes of the Intermountain West. Downy brome, a winter annual grass native to Eurasia, is the most widespread invasive species in the western US covering an estimated 22 million ha and a projected 14% annual spread rate. Invasive winter annuals negatively impact these ecosystems by depleting soil moisture and nutrients, reducing native plant productivity and diversity, altering fire frequency, and diminishing pollinator and wildlife habitat. Large amounts of litter which act as a fuel source are left after these grasses senesce early in the summer, greatly increasing the frequency and spread of wildfires in invaded areas. Historically, fire frequency in the 41 million ha sagebrush steppe occurred every 60 to 110 years, but this interval has been shortened to less than every five years since the introduction of invasive annual grasses. Annual grasses quickly (re)invade after these fires while sagebrush (Artemisia spp.), the dominant vegetation type in the sagebrush steppe, can take decades to recover. Therefore, the altered fire regime has resulted in a substantial loss of sagebrush and converted millions of hectares into monocultures of winter annual grass. This altered fire regime also negatively impacted the abundance of small mammals, birds, larger browsing mammals, and pollinating insects in the sagebrush steppe. Managing the weed seedbank is the key to long-term control of invasive winter annual grasses on rangelands and wildlands. Past herbicides have provided adequate short-term control but have often failed due to annual grasses reinvading from the soil seedbank. Indaziflam is a new tool for land managers to achieve multi-year control of the annual grass seedbank while promoting restoration of native species. As wildlife and pollinator habitat continue to be degraded and fragmented through development and agricultural production, indaziflam is a viable option for restoring the rangelands and wildlands impacted by winter annual grasses in the Intermountain West that serve as critical habitat areas.

Browsing by introduced cattle (Bos taurus) and rabbits (Oryctolagus cuniculus) can limit the recruitment of some arid zone tree and shrub species. In a study conducted at the Arid Recovery Reserve, Roxby Downs, SA, we aimed to quantify initial recruitment changes in shrubs after the removal of cattle and rabbits and the re-introduction of locally extinct fauna. The presence and abundance of seedlings was measured at groves of seven native perennial shrubs over 6 years under four browsing treatments: (1) ‘reserve-reintroductions’ [re-introduced greater stick-nest rats (Leporillus conditor), burrowing bettongs (Bettongia lesueur) and greater bilbies (Macrotis lagotis)], (2) ‘reserve-no browsers’, (3) ‘pastoral-stocked’ (rabbits and cattle), and (4) ‘pastoral-destocked’ (rabbits). Recruitment of mulga (Acacia aneura F.Muell. ex Benth.), silver cassia (Senna artemisioides subsp. petiolaris Randell) and sandhill wattle (Acacia ligulata A.Cunn. ex Benth.) was significantly greater in the two browsing regimes inside the Reserve than in the two pastoral regimes. The number of recruits of these three species declined at ‘pastoral-destocked’ and ‘pastoral-stocked’ sites but increased at ‘reserve-reintroductions’ and ‘reserve-no browsers’ sites from 2001 to 2006. Narrow-leaf hopbush (Dodonaea viscose (L.) Jacq.) showed a trend towards increased recruitment at sites in both browsing regimes inside the Reserve, but decreased recruitment at sites in both pastoral regimes. Native plum (Santalum lanceolatum R.Br.), native apricot (Pittosporum phylliraeoides orth. var. DC.) and bullock bush (Alectryon oleifolius (Desf.) S.T.Reynolds) exhibited no significant difference in recruitment between the four browsing regimes within the study timeframe. These results suggest that excluding rabbits and stock may benefit the germination and survival of mulga, silver cassia and sandhill wattle. To date, re-introduced native herbivores at low numbers have not been found to negatively affect the recruitment or growth rate of the seven perennial plant species studied.

Abstract Large Douglas-fir (Pseudotsuga menziesii) transplants were exposed to heavy browsing pressure under various weeding regimes in two experiments continued 4 and 5 yr, respectively. Browsing had relatively little effect on seedlings that did not receive weed control because potential growth was modest. With increasing degrees of weed control, seedlings that escaped browsing grew more rapidly. Weeding facilitated escapement from reach of browsing and increased net growth significantly because of both escapement and increased rates of recovery after herbivory. When subjected to repeated browsing, seedlings were similar in size in plots weeded both the first year and for 2 yr. Seedlings in plots weeded at both levels were larger than those in unweeded plots. Intensive weeding after planting appears to be a useful and integrative method of protecting seedlings from browsing losses. West. J. Appl. For. 15(3):163-168.

Field exclosure studies have shown that mammalian browsers such as white-tailed deer (Odocoileusvirginianus) can have pervasive effects on forest dynamics in eastern North America. Direct experimental tests of the effects of browsing on growth and survival of a wide range of tree species, however, have yielded conflicting results. This study was designed to assess the effects of variation in the frequency, seasonal timing, and intensity of browsing (simulated by mechanical clipping) on the growth and mortality of three of the major tree species of the Hudson Valley, New York. The clipping treatments were applied to seedlings grown under two different light regimes (full sun and 8% of full sun) to examine seedling responses under different levels of shade-induced carbon stress. Our results demonstrate that even 2 successive years of heavy winter clipping (75% of new shoot growth removed) has little immediate effect on growth or survival of any of the three species. It is possible that winter browsing only has significant negative effects when seedlings are browsed repeatedly over long periods of time. However, comparable levels of summer browsing for only 2 years significantly reduced both growth and survival of all three species. While most natural browsing occurs in the dormant season, our results suggest that it is the less frequent browsing during late spring and early summer that has the greatest immediate effect on tree seedlings. Shading reduced growth and increased mortality in all three species; however, there was only a limited interaction between light level and the simulated browsing treatments. The effects of browsing on survival were similar in all three species; however, the effects of browsing on cumulative height and annual growth varied enough among the species to suggest that browsing could cause significant variation among these species in their rate of invasion in old fields and rights of way, and their rate of regeneration following logging or disturbance of forests.

AbstractHimalaya blackberry is a nonnative shrub that has invaded sites throughout the Pacific Northwest. Its persistent canopy and large underground crowns create a competitive environment that prevents desirable species from germinating, establishing, or both. Cutleaf blackberry grows in association with Himalaya blackberry, and control efforts frequently target these two species. Control of Himalaya blackberry is complicated by vigorous vegetative regrowth after mechanical control, including mowing, and variable response to chemical methods. Recent interest in the use of goat browsing for invasive plant control has led land managers to use a variety of browsing regimes to control unwanted species through disturbance by herbivory. This study examined changes in functional group percent cover in a perennial grass pasture invaded by Himalaya blackberry and cutleaf blackberry in the southern Willamette Valley of Oregon. The appearance of species and their functional group membership after three treatment protocols are evaluated. Changes in the percentage of cover by Himalaya and cutleaf blackberries, annual grasses, perennial grasses, annual forbs, and perennial forbs were examined after two annual treatments with (1) high-intensity–short-duration goat browsing, (2) mowing, and (3) high-intensity–short-duration goat browsing followed by mowing. These data were then compiled by functional group to assess trends in the plants' revegetating the pasture after treatment. All treatments caused a significant decline in the percent cover of the invasive blackberries (P < 0.0001), but differences among treatments were not significant. The increase in the percent cover of perennial forbs for plots treated with goat browsing followed by mowing was significantly greater (P = 0.008) than it was in plots browsed only and those mowed only. Changes in percent cover of other functional groups were not significantly different with browsing or mowing treatments. Individual species within the perennial grass and perennial forb groups are discussed.

This paper reports the fate of both pre-existing ('lignotuberous') and newly-emerged eucalypt seedlings in an anthropogenic Themeda australis grassland on the Central Tablelands of NSW under varying grazing regimes. Compared to reported growth rates on farms elsewhere, the rate of height increase was low for both unbrowsed pre-existing and new seedlings: 16.7 (� 2.5) and 16.6 (� 0.3) cm/a respectively. Heights remained unchanged or declined during the cooler months. Most of the new seedlings were not above sheep grazing height 4.5 years after their presumed time of emergence. Portions of the seedling population were exposed to a short period of high intensity sheep grazing in spring 1996 and/or autumn 1997. The effect of crash-grazing was more pronounced in spring, when over 90% of available seedlings were browsed, than in autumn when only about half of the available population was browsed. Mortality of new seedlings was higher following grazing in spring than in autumn. The finding that seedlings were not selectively browsed in autumn offers a means of conserving eucalypt regeneration while at the same time deriving some production from pastures. Reasons for different grazing effects in autumn and spring are unknown but could be related to differences between the pastures and/or between eucalypt seedlings on the two occasions.

We investigated the consequences of simulated grazing and browsing on net primary production and chemical composition (nutrients, fiber, and total nonstructural carbohydrates) of some plant types available to caribou on Southampton Island, Northwest Territories, Canada. Clipping experiments were conducted in three large exclosures (22 × 22 m) on one deciduous (Salix lanata), one evergreen (Cassiope tetragona), and one semi-evergreen (Dryas integrifolia) shrub species and two types of sedges (Carex scirpoidea and wet-meadow sedges). The impact of various clipping regimes was analyzed in the growing season during which the treatments were applied and at the end of the following growing season. Clipping, for the most part, reduced plant net production. Responses differed among and within plant types according to the timing and intensity of clipping. In some cases maximum net production of plants was not restored during the recovery year, although grazing and browsing pressure was lifted. Clipping modified the chemical composition of S. lanata, D. integrifolia, and the two types of sedges investigated. In clipped sedges, nitrogen, magnesium, potassium, and phosphorus levels in regrowth were above the maximum obtained from controls at any point during the growing season. These chemical changes possibly enhanced the quality of these plants as food for herbivores. Because plant types that showed a high degree of compensatory growth also showed an increase in quality following clipping, herbivores might benefit if they reselect these plants over the course of the growing season. Growth of S. lanata is negatively affected by clipping and represents an important component of the caribou's summer diet, therefore willows are expected to decrease in abundance as the caribou population increases. The decrease in abundance of deciduous shrubs may have important consequences for the caribou's range use and population dynamics.

Current theory on plant–animal interactions predicts that the outcome of herbivory on plant performance will be dependent on plant productivity. Thus, slow-growing plants should be less able to compensate for biomass losses than fast-growing plants, and therefore be more susceptible to herbivory if attacked. We simulated winter browsing by moose (Alcesalces (L.)) on Scots pine (Pinussylvestris L.) along a gradient of plant productivity and addressed the following questions: (1) Does herbivory affect growth independently of plant productivity? (2) Is herbivory a more important mortality factor for slow-growing than for fast-growing plants? (3) Is there any effect of herbivory on fecundity, and is it related to plant productivity? Two clipping regimes simulated different intensities of moose winter browsing. Mortality was followed annually, and after 4 years we measured tree growth and fecundity on control as well as on treatment pines. The effect of clipping on growth was related with both clipping intensity and plant productivity. In the light-clipping treatment mortality was restricted to the slow-growing pines, in contrast with the severe treatment, where it occurred across the whole range of plant growth. Moreover, in the light-clipping treatment most mortality occurred within 1 year after treatment, whereas tree death occurred over 2 or more years in the severe treatment. We found no effect of age on mortality within growth-rate classes. The proportion of trees with cones increased with growth rate for control trees but not for treated trees, indicating that herbivory more strongly affects fecundity on fast-growing than on slow-growing trees. Our results confirm the hypothesis that herbivory affects plant performance differently across a gradient of plant productivity. We suggest that mammalian herbivores can increase mortality of plant genets after the seedling stage primarily in stands on low-productivity sites, especially in combination with a high density of the herbivore.

Black cherry (Prunus serotina Ehrh.) is considered one of the most invasive tree species in central Europe and causes problems for both nature conservation and silviculture. Besides mechanical control treatments, a suggested control method to prevent its ongoing spread is to underplant shade-tolerant native tree species. Therefore, we combined two mechanical treatments, with underplanting of European beech (Fagus sylvatica L.) or small-leaved lime (Tilia cordata Mill.) on fenced and unfenced plots. After the first growing season, survival rates were evaluated, and selected seedlings were destructively harvested to analyze their growth performance and leaf morphology in association with the different light regimes resulting from mechanical treatments Survival rates for both seedlings were very high (>95%). Survival rates were higher on fenced plots than on unfenced plots, most likely as result of browsing. The mortality of F. sylvatica decreased with increasing light availability on fenced plots. The mortality of T. cordata did not change along the light gradient. After one vegetation period no differences with respect to biomass allocation could be detected along the light gradient. However, the specific leaf areas of both species responded similarly, decreasing with increasing light availability. In summary, both species were able to establish and survive in the dense P. serotina understory and might have the potential to outcompete the invasive alien species in the long run.

Altered fire regimes play a key role in shrub expansion in grasslands worldwide. We assessed how season and type or intensity of fire affected the growth and demography of Rhus glabra, a common woody invader in North American mesic grasslands. Fire during any season killed 99% of ramets but stimulated new ramet recruitment from belowground buds, resulting in a near-complete turnover of ramet populations. During the first 2 years following fire, populations on spring-burned sites had the greatest post-fire ramet densities and population growth rates, and winter- and spring-burned populations showed the highest resprouting rates. However, after 10 years, R. glabra cover on summer-burned sites was 3.5 times greater than on autumn- or winter-burned treatments. Thus, short-term post-fire responses may not be good predictors of long-term changes in abundance. Low-intensity spring backfires resulted in the highest ramet population growth rates, whereas high-intensity headfires in any season resulted in slower growth, and populations burned with low-intensity winter fires declined. In addition, season of fire influenced browsing pressure, suggesting that plant responses may be partially a result of indirect effects of fire on rates of herbivory. Overall, our results demonstrate that the application of frequent autumn or winter backfires is an effective management tool for limiting R. glabra expansion in grasslands, and that long-term data are critical for management decision-making, particularly in systems characterised by high interannual climate variability.

Abstract Before European settlement, vast areas of the eastern US deciduous forest were dominated by oak species. Evidence indicates that periodic understory fire was an important ecological factor in the historical development of oak forests. During European settlement of the late 19th and early 20th century, much of the eastern United States was impacted by land-clearing, extensive timber harvesting, severe fires, the chestnut blight, and then fire suppression and intensive deer browsing. These activities had the greatest negative impact on the once-dominant white oak, while temporarily promoting the expansion of other oaks such as red oak and chestnut oak. More recently, however, recruitment of all the dominant upland oaks waned on all but the most xeric sites. Mixed-mesophytic and later successional hardwood species, such as red maple, sugar maple, black birch, beech, black gum and black cherry, are aggressively replacing oak. The leaf litter of these replacement species is less flammable and more rapidly mineralized than that of the upland oaks, reinforcing the lack of fire. The trend toward increases in nonoak tree species will continue in fire-suppressed forests, rendering them less combustible for forest managers who wish to restore natural fires regimes. This situation greatly differs from the western United States, where fire suppression during the 20th century has made a variety of conifer-dominated forests more prone to stand-replacing fire.North. J. Appl. For. 22(3):190 –196.

The present study investigates the importance of harvesting regimes and natural disturbances on the diversity, the population structure and the regeneration trends of the woody plant species of Sahelian rangelands and their implication for sustainable browsing management. Woody plants data was collected in 42 plots established in the interval of 500 m, along transects distant of 500 m, in the direction South-west and North-east of the study area. In each plot, height and diameter at breast height of each individual mature tree and shrub (diameter < 4 cm), and the number of seedlings (diameter > 4 cm) were recorded. A total number of 21 plants species were recorded, with low values of the Shannon-Weaver (H’) index and the evenness of Piélou (E) indicating very low diversity of rangelands. Analysis of size classes distribution of diameters and heights of the whole vegetation and the three dominants species revealed high density of juveniles, relating to stable populations. The juvenile plants represented more than 80 of the vegetation with diameters and heights respectively lower than 6 cm and 2.5 m, indicating shrubby vegetation. Combretum micranthum, Guiera senegalensis and Combretum nigricans which have the highest values of IVI, have also the greatest rates of seedling and vegetative propagation densities. Stable populations with strong capacity of regeneration under harsh area and high human pression such as logging and grazing can be related ecological success. Management practices that promote plantations or managing natural regeneration of such species can facilitate fast secondary succession towards desirable condition.

In Isle Royale National Park, heavy moose browsing over the past 100 years has suppressed the regeneration of many tree species, gradually resulting in a shift towards more open forests and savannas. By 1996, 16% of the forests at the southwestern end of Isle Royale had become savanna and another 20% of forests were starting to have canopy breakup. The changes in understory vegetation brought about by savanna formation have received little attention, even though the future of moose and wolf populations on Isle Royale is tied to these vegetation changes. This study examined the vegetation of savannas ranging in age (date since formation) from <10 years to 80 years to examine how the ground flora changes over time from initial forest canopy breakup, to extensive grassland, and finally to a zootic subclimax dubbed “moose-spruce savanna.” Ordination techniques were used to describe plant communities and to identify environmental variables that influence vegetation development. Nonparametric multiplicative regression was used to predict how these variables influenced individual plants and structure within the communities. Plant communities had a notable shift from forest herbs to ruderal species, especially non-native plants. This succession was influenced strongly by the underlying bedrock and hydrology-altering moisture regimes and plant communities. Picea glauca (Moench) Voss. and Poa pratensis L. competed in a dynamic inhibitory relationship. The former facilitated forest plants while the latter out-competed other plants and promoted open swards. These interactions are dramatically changing the character of Isle Royale’s upland plant communities and will have important trophic consequences for the island.

Sustainable aspen ecosystems hold great promise for global biodiversity conservation. These forests harbor relatively high species diversity, yet are threatened by fire suppression, land development, timber-focused management, extended droughts, and chronic herbivory. “Pando” is a high-profile quaking aspen (Populus tremuloides) forest in Utah, USA which is putatively the ‘largest living organism on earth.’ Pando comprises an estimated 47,000 genetically identical stems, but is threatened by human impacts. Our interest in the present study is whether changes to the giant organism were affecting understorey vegetation and whether discrete zones are displaying divergent community compositions. For instance, recent research has demonstrated strong herbivory impacts that are affecting portions of Pando differentially. This study consists of 20 randomly distributed vegetation survey plots within three de facto management regimes (hereafter, management group or type) along an herbivory protection gradient: No Fence, 2013 Fence (total protection), and 2014 Fence (imperfect protection). The plant survey was supplemented by previously-established forest and herbivore measurements to test for community assemblage explanatory agents. Sixty-eight species were found across the entire study. Analyses indicated strong links between management group orientation, species assemblages, and tree density/canopy openings. We found distinct evidence that within management group species composition was more similar than across groups for two of the three pairings. However, the other pairing, the most successfully protected area and the completely unprotected area, was not statistically distinct; likely a result a deteriorating overstorey in these two areas, whereas the third management type (2014 Fence) exhibited higher canopy cover. Indicator species analysis found that a small group of plant species had statistical allegiances to specific management groups, suggesting resource preference selection within Pando. Ordination analysis searching for causal factors reached two broad conclusions: (1) aspen regeneration, and therefore long-term resilience, is being negatively affected by chronic animal browsing and (2) current understorey species diversity is highest where forest canopy gaps are abundant. Future research at the massive Pando clone will continue informing linkages between understorey communities and overstorey-driven ecological pathways.

The World Health Organisation defines in 1972 an Adverse Drug Reactions (ADRs) as a response to a drug which is noxious and unintended, and which occurs at doses normally used in humans for the prophylaxis, diagnosis, or therapy of disease, or for the modification of physiological function. Edwards and Aronson in 2000 recommend the subsequent definition an appreciably harmful or unpleasant reaction, resulting from an intervention related to the use of a medicinal product, which predicts hazard from future administration and warrants prevention or specific treatment, or alteration of the dosage regimen, or withdrawal of the product. Very restricted number (500-3000) of people or patient with cautiously, judiciously, and carefully chosen during medicine development stage for testing efficacy and safety of every medicine. There are no pharmacological agents or medicines that are effective to cure or prevent or control any disease is free of adverse effects. The thalidomide tragedy becomes visible in the late 1950s and early 1960s highlighted the inevitability generate the necessity and idea of a national and international program for post-marketing surveillance schemes to monitor the safety of medicines. The countries selected from Asia and conveniently. The articles were selected on basis of browsing in google and google scholar. This review has identified that these developing countries have achieved somewhat improvement but long way to go attain a high standard like of developed countries. Almost all studies reported that diverse educational interventions among varied health care professionals were the sole remedy for reporting ADRs.

Management of Scots pine, the most widely distributed conifer in the world, was often based on clearfelling and replanting regimes, resulting in a rather poor biodiversity value. However, there is nowadays a general expectation to increase biodiversity by applying a more complex silviculture. Although present knowledge of genetic factors is insufficient to draw firm conclusions on the desirable level of genetic diversity, it seems unlikely that current silvicultural practices will limit genetic diversity in Scots pine Native pinewoods are rare in Europe, but have a flora and fauna of high conservation value. Therefore they must be recognized as a priority habitat under the European Commission's Habitat Directive. The high conservation value of native stands is a function of their old-growth structure that provides a rare habitat. A number of measures should be taken in all types of Scots pine forests to enhance biodiversity. Firstly, old growth habitats should be promoted. Foresters have to accept that a small percentage of the pine resource should be managed upon much longer rotations. Secondly, retention of deadwood should be encouraged. Dead and dying wood are key components of stand structure and act as key substrates for many associated species, such as microbes, invertebrates, small mammals and birds. Furthermore, a complex stand structure should be promoted at both the horizontal and the vertical scale. A small scale forestry, group regeneration systems, natural regeneration, introduction of broadleaves and stronger thinnings are strongly recommended. Availability of quite precise niches significantly increases biodiversity value. Conservation of isolated populations, found under extreme environmental conditions, is an absolute need. Populations endangered either by their small size or by environmental stresses, hybridization with other species or human interference should be primarily conserved. Forest edges support a range of taxa, and open habitats can comprise many different plant community types. A large number of organisms are directly or indirectly dependent on or favoured by fire. However, enhancing biodiversity provokes also some risks. Generally, browsing is considered as a moderate risk. Introduced species, such as aspen, act as an alternate host to the rust. Open species can present a threat to the European pine marten, dying and deadwood can provide breeding habitats for pest species (Tomicus piniperda), burning increases the risk of seedlings being attacked pine fire fungus (Rhizina undulata) and forest edges may be an attractive habitat for pest insects. An extension of existing growth models is needed to incorporate biodiversity issues in forest management planning. Distance dependent individual tree growth models should be developed. Sets of indicators for biodiversity must integrate compositional, structural and functional attributes. Attributes such as species richness, species abundance, species diversity, horizontal and vertical distribution, tree age, tree size, stand diversity, architectural complexity, genetic variants and deadwood are needed for the establishment of biodiversity indices. Assessment of functional phenomena needs the knowledge of the driving biotic environmental factors.

In this paper we explore the rise of anti-gambling apps in the context of the massive expansion of gambling in new spheres of life (online and offline) and an acceleration in strategies of anticipatory and individualised management of harm caused by gambling. These apps, and the techniques and forms of labour they demand, are examples of and a mechanism through which a mode of governance premised on ‘self-care’ and ‘self-control’ is articulated and put into practice. To support this argument, we explore two government initiatives in the Australian context. Quit Pokies, a mobile app project between the Moreland City Council, North East Primary Care Partnership and the Victorian Local Governance Association, is an example of an emerging service paradigm of ‘self-care’ that uses online and mobile platforms with geo-location to deliver real time health and support interventions. A similar mobile app, Gambling Terminator, was launched by the NSW government in late 2012. Both apps work on the premise that interrupting a gaming session through a trigger, described by Quit Pokies’ creator as a “tap on the shoulder” provides gamblers the opportunity to take a reflexive stance and cut short their gambling practice in the course of play. We critically examine these apps as self-disciplining techniques of contemporary neo-liberalism directed towards anticipating and reducing the personal harm and social risk associated with gambling. We analyse the material and discursive elements, and new forms of user labour, through which this consumable media is framed and assembled. We argue that understanding the role of these apps, and mobile media more generally, in generating new techniques and technologies of the self, is important for identifying emerging modes of governance and their implications at a time when gambling is going through an immense period of cultural normalisation in online and offline environments. The Australian context is particularly germane for the way gambling permeates everyday spaces of sociality and leisure, and the potential of gambling interventions to interrupt and re-configure these spaces and institute a new kind of subject-state relation. Gambling in Australia Though a global phenomenon, the growth and expansion of gambling manifests distinctly in Australia because of its long cultural and historical attachment to games of chance. Australians are among the biggest betters and losers in the world (Ziolkowski), mainly on Electronic Gaming Machines (EGM) or pokies. As of 2013, according to The World Count of Gaming Machine (Ziolkowski), there were 198,150 EGMs in the country, of which 197,274 were slot machines, with the rest being electronic table games of roulette, blackjack and poker. There are 118 persons per machine in Australia. New South Wales is the jurisdiction with most EGMs (95,799), followed by Queensland (46,680) and Victoria (28,758) (Ziolkowski). Gambling is significant in Australian cultural history and average Australian households spend at least some money on different forms of gambling, from pokies to scratch cards, every year (Worthington et al.). In 1985, long-time gambling researcher Geoffrey Caldwell stated thatAustralians seem to take a pride in the belief that we are a nation of gamblers. Thus we do not appear to be ashamed of our gambling instincts, habits and practices. Gambling is regarded by most Australians as a normal, everyday practice in contrast to the view that gambling is a sinful activity which weakens the moral fibre of the individual and the community. (Caldwell 18) The omnipresence of gambling opportunities in most Australian states has been further facilitated by the availability of online and mobile gambling and gambling-like spaces. Social casino apps, for instance, are widely popular in Australia. The slots social casino app Slotomania was the most downloaded product in the iTunes store in 2012 (Metherell). In response to the high rate of different forms of gambling in Australia, a range of disparate interest groups have identified the expansion of gambling as a concerning trend. Health researchers have pointed out that online gamblers have a higher risk of experiencing problems with gambling (at 30%) compared to 15% in offline bettors (Hastings). The incidence of gambling problems is also disproportionately high in specific vulnerable demographics, including university students (Cervini), young adults prone to substance abuse problems (Hayatbakhsh et al.), migrants (Tanasornnarong et al.; Scull & Woolcock; Ohtsuka & Ohtsuka), pensioners (Hing & Breen), female players (Lee), Aboriginal communities (Young et al.; McMillen & Donnelly) and individuals experiencing homelessness (Holsworth et al.). While there is general recognition of the personal and public health impacts of gambling in Australia, there is a contradiction in the approach to gambling at a governance level. On one hand, its expansion is promoted and even encouraged by the federal and state governments, as gambling is an enormous source of revenue, as evidenced, for example, by the construction of the new Crown casino in Barangaroo in Sydney (Markham & Young). Campaigns trying to limit the use of poker machines, which are associated with concerns over problem gambling and addiction, are deemed by the gambling lobby as un-Australian. Paradoxically, efforts to restrict gambling or control gambling winnings have also been described as un-Australian, such as in the Australian Taxation Office’s campaign against MONA’s founder, David Walsh, whose immense art collection was acquired with the funds from a gambling scheme (Global Mail). On the other hand, people experiencing problems with gambling are often categorised as addicts and the ultimate blame (and responsibility) is attributed to the individual. In Australia, attitudes towards people who are arguably addicted to gambling are different than those towards individuals afflicted by alcohol or drug abuse (Jean). While “Australians tend to be sympathetic towards people with alcohol and other drug addictions who seek help,” unless it is seen as one of the more socially acceptable forms of occasional, controlled gambling (such as sports betting, gambling on the Melbourne Cup or celebrating ANZAC Day with Two-Up), gambling is framed as an individual “problem” and “moral failing” (Jean). The expansion of gambling is the backdrop to another development in health care and public health discourse, which have for some time now been devoted to the ideal of what Lupton has called the “digitally engaged patient” (Lupton). Technologies are central to the delivery of this model of health service provision that puts the patient at the centre of, and responsible for, their own health and medical care. Lupton has pointed out how this discourse, while appearing new, is in fact the latest version of the 1970s emphasis on the ‘patient as consumer’, an idea given an extra injection by the massive development and availability of digital and interactive web-based and mobile platforms, many of these directed towards the provision of health and health-related information and services. What this means for patients is that, rather than relying solely on professional medical expertise and care, the patient is encouraged to take on some of this medical/health work to conduct practices of ‘self-care’ (Lupton). The Discourse of ‘Self-Management’ and ‘Self-Care’ The model of ‘self-care’ and ‘self-management’ by ‘empowering’ digital technology has now become a dominant discourse within health and medicine, and is increasingly deployed across a range of related sectors such as welfare services. In recent research conducted on homelessness and mobile media, for example, government department staff involved in the reform of welfare services referred to ‘self-management’ as the new service paradigm that underpins their digital reform strategy. Echoing ideas and language similar to the “digitally engaged patient”, customers of Centrelink, Medicare and other ‘human services’ are being encouraged (through planned strategic initiatives aimed at shifting targeted customer groups online) to transact with government services digitally and manage their own personal profiles and health information. One departmental staff member described this in terms of an “opportunity cost”, the savings in time otherwise spent standing in long queues in service centres (Humphry). Rather than view these examples as isolated incidents taking place within or across sectors or disciplines, these are better understood as features of an emerging ‘discursive formation’ , a term Foucault used to describe the way in which particular institutions and/or the state establish a regime of truth, or an accepted social reality and which gives definition to a new historical episteme and subject: in this case that of the self-disciplined and “digitally engaged medical/health patient”. As Foucault explained, once this subject has become fully integrated into and across the social field, it is no longer easy to excavate, since it lies below the surface of articulation and is held together through everyday actions, habits and institutional routines and techniques that appear to be universal, necessary and/normal. The way in which this citizen subject becomes a universal model and norm, however, is not a straightforward or linear story and since we are in the midst of its rise, is not a story with a foretold conclusion. Nevertheless, across a range of different fields of governance: medicine; health and welfare, we can see signs of this emerging figure of the self-caring “digitally engaged patient” constituted from a range of different techniques and practices of self-governance. In Australia, this figure is at the centre of a concerted strategy of service digitisation involving a number of cross sector initiatives such as Australia’s National EHealth Strategy (2008), the National Digital Economy Strategy (2011) and the Australian Public Service Mobile Roadmap (2013). This figure of the self-caring “digitally engaged” patient, aligns well and is entirely compatible with neo-liberal formulations of the individual and the reduced role of the state as a provider of welfare and care. Berry refers to Foucault’s definition of neoliberalism as outlined in his lectures to the College de France as a “particular form of post-welfare state politics in which the state essentially outsources the responsibility of the ‘well-being' of the population” (65). In the case of gambling, the neoliberal defined state enables the wedding of two seemingly contradictory stances: promoting gambling as a major source of revenue and capitalisation on the one hand, and identifying and treating gambling addiction as an individual pursuit and potential risk on the other. Risk avoidance strategies are focused on particular groups of people who are targeted for self-treatment to avoid the harm of gambling addiction, which is similarly framed as individual rather than socially and systematically produced. What unites and makes possible this alignment of neoliberalism and the new “digitally engaged subject/patient” is first and foremost, the construction of a subject in a chronic state of ill health. This figure is positioned as terminal from the start. They are ‘sick’, a ‘patient’, an ‘addict’: in need of immediate and continuous treatment. Secondly, this neoliberal patient/addict is enabled (we could even go so far as to say ‘empowered’) by digital technology, especially smartphones and the apps available through these devices in the form of a myriad of applications for intervening and treating ones afflictions. These apps range fromself-tracking programs such as mood regulators through to social media interventions. Anti-Pokie Apps and the Neoliberal Gambler We now turn to two examples which illustrate this alignment between neoliberalism and the new “digitally engaged subject/patient” in relation to gambling. Anti-gambling apps function to both replace or ‘take the place’ of institutions and individuals actively involved in the treatment of problem gambling and re-engineer this service through the logics of ‘self-care’ and ‘self-management’. Here, we depart somewhat from Foucault’s model of disciplinary power summed up in the institution (with the prison exemplifying this disciplinary logic) and move towards Deleuze’s understanding of power as exerted by the State not through enclosures but through diffuse and rhizomatic information flows and technologies (Deleuze). At the same time, we retain Foucault’s attention to the role and agency of the user in this power-dynamic, identifiable in the technics of self-regulation and in his ideas on governmentality. We now turn to analyse these apps more closely, and explore the way in which these articulate and perform these disciplinary logics. The app Quit Pokies was a joint venture of the North East Primary Care Partnership, the Victorian Local Governance Association and the Moreland City Council, launched in early 2014. The idea of the rational, self-reflexive and agentic user is evident in the description of the app by app developer Susan Rennie who described it this way: What they need is for someone to tap them on the shoulder and tell them to get out of there… I thought the phone could be that tap on the shoulder. The “tap on the shoulder” feature uses geolocation and works by emitting a sound alert when the user enters a gaming venue. It also provides information about each user’s losses at that venue. This “tap on the shoulder” is both an alert and a reprimand from past gambling sessions. Through the Responsible Gambling Fund, the NSW government also launched an anti-pokie app in 2013, Gambling Terminator, including a similar feature. The app runs on Apple and Android smartphone platforms, and when a person is inside a gambling venue in New South Wales it: sends reminder messages that interrupt gaming-machine play and gives you a chance to re-think your choices. It also provides instant access to live phone and online counselling services which operate 24 hours a day, seven days a week. (Google Play Store) Yet an approach that tries to prevent harm by anticipating the harm that will come from gambling at the point of entering a venue, also eliminates the chance of potential negotiations and encounters a user might have during a visit to the pub and how this experience will unfold. It reduces the “tap on the shoulder”, which may involve a far wider set of interactions and affects, to a software operation and it frames the pub or the club (which under some conditions functions as hubs for socialization and community building) as dangerous places that should be avoided. This has the potential to lead to further stigmatisation of gamblers, their isolation and their exclusion from everyday spaces. Moreland Mayor, Councillor Tapinos captures the implicit framing of self-care as a private act in his explanation of the app as a method for problem gamblers to avoid being stigmatised by, for example, publicly attending group meetings. Yet, curiously, the app has the potential to create a new kind of public stigmatisation through potentially drawing other peoples’ attention to users’ gambling play (as the alarm is triggered) generating embarrassment and humiliation at being “caught out” in an act framed as aberrant and literally, “alarming”. Both Quit Pokies and Gambling Terminator require their users to perform ‘acts’ of physical and affective labour aimed at behaviour change and developing the skills of self-control. After downloading Quit Pokies on the iPhone and launching the app, the user is presented an initial request: “Before you set up this app. please write a list of the pokies venues that you regularly use because the app will ask you to identify these venues so it can send you alerts if you spend time in these locations. It will also use your set up location to identify other venues you might use so we recommend that you set up the App in the location where you spend most time. Congratulation on choosing Quit Pokies.”Self-performed processes include installation, setting up, updating the app software, programming in gambling venues to be detected by the smartphone’s inbuilt GPS, monitoring and responding to the program’s alerts and engaging in alternate “legitimate” forms of leisure such as going to the movies or the library, having coffee with a friend or browsing Facebook. These self-performed labours can be understood as ‘technologies of the self’, a term used by Foucault to describe the way in which social members are obliged to regulate and police their ‘selves’ through a range of different techniques. While Foucault traces the origins of ‘technologies of the self’ to the Greco-Roman texts with their emphasis on “care of oneself” as one of the duties of citizenry, he notes the shift to “self-knowledge” under Christianity around the 8th century, where it became bound up in ideals of self-renunciation and truth. Quit Pokies and Gambling Terminator may signal a recuperation of the ideal of self-care, over confession and disclosure. These apps institute a set of bodily activities and obligations directed to the user’s health and wellbeing, aided through activities of self-examination such as charting your recovery through a Recovery Diary and implementing a number of suggested “Strategies for Change” such as “writing a list” and “learning about ways to manage your money better”. Writing is central to the acts of self-examination. As Jeremy Prangnell, gambling counsellor from Mission Australia for Wollongong and Shellharbour regions explained the app is “like an electronic diary, which is a really common tool for people who are trying to change their behaviour” (Thompson). The labours required by users are also implicated in the functionality and performance of the platform itself suggesting the way in which ‘technologies of the self’ simultaneously function as a form of platform work: user labour that supports and sustains the operation of digital systems and is central to the performance and continuation of digital capitalism in general (Humphry, Demanding Media). In addition to the acts of labour performed on the self and platform, bodies are themselves potentially mobilised (and put into new circuits of consumption and production), as a result of triggers to nudge users away from gambling venues, towards a range of other cultural practices in alternative social spaces considered to be more legitimate.Conclusion Whether or not these technological interventions are effective or successful is yet to be tested. Indeed, the lack of recent activity in the community forums and preponderance of issues reported on installation and use suggests otherwise, pointing to a need for more empirical research into these developments. Regardless, what we’ve tried to identify is the way in which apps such as these embody a new kind of subject-state relation that emphasises self-control of gambling harm and hastens the divestment of institutional and social responsibility at a time when gambling is going through an immense period of expansion in many respects backed by and sanctioned by the state. Patterns of smartphone take up in the mainstream population and the rise of the so called ‘mobile only population’ (ACMA) provide support for this new subject and service paradigm and are often cited as the rationale for digital service reform (APSMR). Media convergence feeds into these dynamics: service delivery becomes the new frontier for the merging of previously separate media distribution systems (Dwyer). Letters, customer service centres, face-to-face meetings and web sites, are combined and in some instances replaced, with online and mobile media platforms, accessible from multiple and mobile devices. These changes are not, however, simply the migration of services to a digital medium with little effective change to the service itself. Health and medical services are re-invented through their technological re-assemblage, bringing into play new meanings, practices and negotiations among the state, industry and neoliberal subjects (in the case of problem gambling apps, a new subjectivity, the ‘neoliberal addict’). These new assemblages are as much about bringing forth a new kind of subject and mode of governance, as they are a solution to problem gambling. This figure of the self-treating “gambler addict” can be seen to be a template for, and prototype of, a more generalised and universalised self-governing citizen: one that no longer needs or makes demands on the state but who can help themselves and manage their own harm. Paradoxically, there is the potential for new risks and harms to the very same users that accompanies this shift: their outright exclusion as a result of deprivation from basic and assumed digital access and literacy, the further stigmatisation of gamblers, the elimination of opportunities for proximal support and their exclusion from everyday spaces. References Albarrán-Torres, César. “Gambling-Machines and the Automation of Desire.” Platform: Journal of Media and Communication 5.1 (2013). Australian Communications and Media Authority. “Australians Cut the Cord.” Research Snapshots. Sydney: ACMA (2013) Berry, David. Critical Theory and the Digital. Broadway, New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2014 Berry, David. 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"Young Adults' Gambling and Its Association with Mental Health and Substance Use Problems." Australian and New Zealand Journal of Public Health 36.2 (2012): 160-166. Hing, Nerilee, and Helen Breen. "A Profile of Gaming Machine Players in Clubs in Sydney, Australia." Journal of Gambling Studies 18.2 (2002): 185-205. Holdsworth, Louise, Margaret Tiyce, and Nerilee Hing. "Exploring the Relationship between Problem Gambling and Homelessness: Becoming and Being Homeless." Gambling Research 23.2 (2012): 39. Humphry, Justine. “Demanding Media: Platform Work and the Shaping of Work and Play.” Scan: Journal of Media Arts Culture, 10.2 (2013): 1-13. Humphry, Justine. “Homeless and Connected: Mobile Phones and the Internet in the Lives of Homeless Australians.” Australian Communications Consumer Action Network. Sep. 2014. ‹https://www.accan.org.au/grants/completed-grants/619-homeless-and-connected›.Lee, Timothy Jeonglyeol. "Distinctive Features of the Australian Gambling Industry and Problems Faced by Australian Women Gamblers." Tourism Analysis 14.6 (2009): 867-876. Lupton, D. “The Digitally Engaged Patient: Self-Monitoring and Self-Care in the Digital Health Era.” Social Theory & Health 11.3 (2013): 256-70. Markham, Francis, and Martin Young. “Packer’s Barangaroo Casino and the Inevitability of Pokies.” The Conversation 9 July 2013. ‹http://theconversation.com/packers-barangaroo-casino-and-the-inevitability-of-pokies-15892›. Markham, Francis, and Martin Young. “Who Wins from ‘Big Gambling’ in Australia?” The Conversation 6 Mar. 2014. ‹http://theconversation.com/who-wins-from-big-gambling-in-australia-22930›.McMillen, Jan, and Katie Donnelly. "Gambling in Australian Indigenous Communities: The State of Play." The Australian Journal of Social Issues 43.3 (2008): 397. 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There are three stages in internet dating: first, the emailing back and forth; second, the phone conversation; and third, the meeting for 'coffee'. But before we discuss the three stages, here are some hints about the preliminary work you have to do. At the outset, you have to trawl through the thousands of people who have placed their profiles on the site. This is aided by limiting your search to a certain age spread, and your city or region. Then you can narrow it down further by checking educational background, whether they have kids, whether they write in New Age jargon, etc You have to try to assess, from their self-descriptions, which ones are likely to be compatible. You also scrutinise their photos, of course, as they will yours — but don't trust these images entirely — more on that later. Self-description. Almost without exception, women and men who describe their main interests as 'romantic walks on the beach and candle-lit dinners' have no real interests and as much personality as a lettuce. Those who say what matters to them is "good food and wine with a classy guy/lady" have a personality, but it's a repugnant one. Here is a useful binary opposition that could provide a useful key to gauging compatibility: people vary in terms of their degree of interiority and exteriority. People with interiority have the ability to think a little abstractly, can discuss emotions, probably read books as well as watch films. They analyse life rather than just describing it. People mainly given to exteriority find their pleasure in doing things — like boating or nightclubs or golf. They see themselves in the world in a different way. Of course, we are all a mixture of the two — and perhaps the best bet is someone who isn't at one extreme end of the spectrum or the other. Useful tip 1. The 'spiritual woman': for reasons unclear, and despite the fact that Australia is one of the most pagan nations on Earth, a disproportionate number of women, rather than men, claim to be religious. Perhaps because in general, women are still more inclined to interiority than men. But most religious women don't expect a partner to be. Instead, the people to be very careful about are the New Agers — they are a large and growing sub-group and apparently spend much of their time devouring books on spirituality, personal growth and self-love. If you have any sort of intellect, or are just a middling humanist who occasionally ponders "Is this all there is? " these people will drive you nuts with their vague platitudes about knowing their inner child. On the other hand, if they seem terrific in all other respects, you can probably gain their respect by saying in a reflective manner, "Is this all there is?" If you can arrange to be gazing at the star-stained night sky while saying this, all the better. This may seem calculating, but we are all putting on a performance when courting. A lot of single people have self-esteem and loneliness issues, and a personal God, the universe, and astrology make them feel less lonely. Useful tip 2: say that although you don't subscribe to mainstream religion, you feel close to some kind of spirituality when gardening — and add how you love to plant herbs. Some okay herbs to mention are: Rosemary, Thyme, Sage. Chuck a couple of these weed-like green things in your garden just in case. Useful tip 3: no matter what else you do, at all costs avoid anyone who smacks of fundamentalism. This cohort takes the Bible literally, think dinosaurs roamed the planet only a few years before Shakespeare, want gay people to admit they are an abomination - and above all, fundos cannot be reasoned with — not in your lifetime. They are deeply insecure and frightened people — which is sad, so be sympathetic to their plight - but don't get drawn into the vortex. Besides, talking about the approach of Armageddon every date gets a bit tedious. Education: It is usually best to pick someone who has an approximately similar level of education to yourself. Having a tertiary education often gives a person a different way of seeing themselves, and of perceiving others. On the other hand, it is possible to do a five year degree in a narrow professional area and know nothing at all useful about human beings and how they operate. (Ref: engineers, dentists, gynaecologists). There are high school graduates who are better-read and more intelligent than most products of a university. So it is up to the individual case. It is a plus to be interested in your partner's work, but not essential. It can be a minus to be in the same field. Ask yourself this: if you were living with this person and you asked them at night how their day had been, would the answer send you to sleep in less than a minute? A lovely man or woman who is an accountant will likely wax lyrical about having just discovered a $245 error in a billing data base. Their face will be flushed with pride. Can your respond appropriately? How often? Or the love of your life may work in an oncology ward, and regale you with the daily triumph of removing sputum from the chests of the moribund. Are you strong enough for that? And worst of all, you may go out with a writer or poet, who regularly drones on about how their rival always gets friendly reviews from his/her newspaper mates, even though they write books full of derivative, precious crap. Sense of humour (SOH): Most men and women will claim in their profile to have a sense of humour — to love to laugh — and, surprisingly often, to have a 'wicked sense of humour'. This is a difficult personal quality to get a bearing on. You may yourself be the kind of person who tricks themselves into thinking their date has a great sense of humour simply because they laughed at your jokes. That is not having a SOH. Having a SOH is possessing the ability to make others laugh — it is active as well as passive. Do they make you laugh? Are their emails touched with wit and whimsy — or just shades of cute? Is one of their close friends, the one who actually possesses a SOH, helping write their emails? It has been known to happen. You will gain a better sense of the SOH situation during the phone call, and definitely during the coffee. Interests: Most internet websites give people the chance to describe themselves by jotting down their favourite music, books, movies, sport. Often this is pretty much all you will know about what interests them, and it is an imperfect instrument. Many internet dating women say they like all music except heavy metal. Why there is this pervasive, gut-wrenching female fear of the E, A and B chords played loudly is a mystery. Anyway, some of those bands even throw in a G or C#m. But who cares. If you are a bloke, hide your Acca Dacca CDs and buy some world music CDs. New Agers of either sex will have collections full of warbling pan pipes, waterfalls and bird calls. If they are a great person in other respects, then you'll just have to get used to the flock of magpies and whip birds in the dining or bedroom. Photographs: Now, the photo on the profile is only a vague guide. It is useful for confirming the person belongs to homo sapiens, but not a lot else. Some people get a professional pic taken, but most include happy snaps, and that is a blow struck for candidness. The more the photo looks like a "glamour" shot, the softer the focus, the less reliable it is. You can get some idea of whether someone is attractive, handsome, cute or weird from the photo. But — and this is really important — they will always look different in the flesh. They will have grown a beard, cut or streaked their hair, and you will for the first time notice they have a nose the size of the AMP building. Fortunately for men, though women are not oblivious to the looks factor, they tend to be more tolerant and less shallow about it. There is a recent trend for women and men with children to put he most attractive and least manic one in the profile photo with them. This signifies: a) love me, love my kid, because I'm proud of James/Jessica/Jade; b) family values; c) at least my kid only has one head. Stage One. The first stage is in some ways the most enjoyable. It is low risk, low stress, you have the pleasurable experience of a comfortable adventure. There is anticipation, getting to know someone, being complimented on your fascinating emails and witty humour (if it's going well), and all the while wearing an old t-shirt and dirty, checked shorts or fluffy slippers. There is the extreme luxury of re-inventing yourself, of telling your favourite story (your own life-story) again and again to a new audience, the little joys of self-disclosures, the discoveries of like-interests, the occasion when they add at the bottom of their letter "looking forward to hearing from you soon". The writing stage is where you try to establish whether you have intellectual, emotional and cultural compatibility — and whether the person is sincere and relatively well-balanced (I stress 'relatively' — no one is perfect). The discovery process is one of exchanging increasingly personal information — work history, enthusiasms and dislikes, family background. She will want to know whether you are 'over' your last girlfriend/partner/wife. Not surprisingly. A lot of internet men are still bitter about their ex — either that, or they rave on about the saintliness of their ex. If encouraged, women will also tell you about the bastard who refused to pay maintenance. There are clearly a lot of those bastards out there. Both of these practices are unwise on the first coffee if you don't want to scare your potential partner off. In reality, you probably are still seething with hurt and injustice as a result of your last dumping, and maybe even the one before that. You may lie in bed at night thinking nostalgically of your ex's face — but this is a dark secret which you must never reveal. People will ask you to be open, but they don't want that open. Involve your friends: without exception, your close friends will enjoy being part of the process when you are deciding which men or women to contact on the internet. You first make a long short list by browsing through the hundreds of profiles. Print off those profiles, then get your friends to sort through them with you. If you have experience in being on selection panels for jobs, this will help. It is a quite complex matter of weighing up a whole range of variables. For example, candidate A will be gorgeous and sexy, have compatible interests, bearable taste in music, be the right age, but have two small children and live on the other side of town. Candidate B will be less attractive, but still look pretty good, have no children, and a very interesting job. Candidate C will be attractive, have two teenage children with whom he/she shares custody, a worthy but dull job, but seems to have an especially self-aware and witty personality. It's tough work rating these profiles, and the best you can do is whittle them down to a top three, and write to all of them. In the emailing stage, you will get more data to either enhance or diminish their desirability. And remember, no one is perfect: if you find someone with a beautiful brain and body who loves Celine Dion — just put up with it. As Buddhists point out, suffering cannot be avoided if you are to live a full life. But let your friends help you with that selection process — they will remind you of important issues that somehow escape your attention; such as: you really don't like other people's children in reality, just in theory. The last time you went out with someone who was newly broken up or divorced he/she hadn't got over his/her girlfriend/husband. Anyone who describes themselves as a 'passionate playmate' is probably unbalanced and tries to find male/female acceptance through over-sexualising or infantalising themselves. It means nothing that someone describes their children as "beautiful" — all mothers/fathers think that, even of the most ghastly, moronic offspring. You really don't like nightclubs any more and you are an awkward dancer. The last time you fell in love with, and tried to rescue, someone with serious emotional 'issues', it led to unimaginable misery, and you swore in future to leave such rescues to the professionals. And so on. Listen to your friends — they know you. And your bad choices impinge on their lives too. Writing is a powerful means of constructing a 'self' to project to others. There is a Thomas Hardy story about a young man who meets a beautiful girl at a fair — but he must return to London. They agree to write to each other. Only the beautiful girl is illiterate, so she asks her employer, an older woman, to ghost-write her love letters to the young man, and the employer kindly agrees. The young man falls in love with the soul and mind of the sensitive and intelligent writer of the letters and assumes the beautiful young girl has authored them. The employer also falls in love with him through his letters. Only on the day he marries the girl does he discover that he has married the wrong woman. This tale tells us about the richness of the written word, but it omits an important point — you can be intrigued and drawn to someone through his or her e-mails, but find on meeting him or her that there is no chemistry at all. Works Cited This creative non-fiction article was based on primary research. The largest Australian internet dating service is RSVP (www.rsvp.com.au). I mainly used that for my research and ensuing coffees/participant observation. There are other sites I checked out, including: www.datenet.com.au www.AussieMatchMaker.com.au www.findsomeone.com.au www.VitalPartners.com.au www.personals.yahoo.com.au There are also internet dating site guides such as: www.shoptheweb.com.au/dating.shtml www.theinternetdatingguide.com www.moonlitwalks.com www.singlesites.com/Australian_Dating.htm Citation reference for this article Substitute your date of access for Dn Month Year etc... MLA Style Neilsen, Philip. "An extract from 'The Internet of Love'" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.6 (2002). Dn Month Year < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0211/internet.php>. APA Style Neilsen, P., (2002, Nov 20). An extract from "The Internet of Love". M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture, 5,(6). Retrieved Month Dn, Year, from http://www.media-culture.org.au/0211/internet.html

Introduction In October 2008, the UK’s National Videogame Archive became a reality and after years of negotiation, preparation and planning, this partnership between Nottingham Trent University’s Centre for Contemporary Play research group and The National Media Museum, accepted its first public donations to the collection. These first donations came from Sony’s Computer Entertainment Europe’s London Studios who presented the original, pre-production PlayStation 2 EyeToy camera (complete with its hand-written #1 sticker) and Harmonix who crossed the Atlantic to deliver prototypes of the Rock Band drum kit and guitar controllers along with a slew of games. Since then, we have been inundated with donations, enquiries and volunteers offering their services and it is clear that we have exciting and challenging times ahead of us at the NVA as we seek to continue our collecting programme and preserve, conserve, display and interpret these vital parts of popular culture. This essay, however, is not so much a document of these possible futures for our research or the challenges we face in moving forward as it is a discussion of some of the issues that make game preservation a vital and timely undertaking. In briefly telling the story of the genesis of the NVA, I hope to draw attention to some of the peculiarities (in both senses) of the situation in which videogames currently exist. While considerable attention has been paid to the preservation and curation of new media arts (e.g. Cook et al.), comparatively little work has been undertaken in relation to games. Surprisingly, the games industry has been similarly neglectful of the histories of gameplay and gamemaking. Throughout our research, it has became abundantly clear that even those individuals and companies most intimately associated with the development of this form, do not hold their corporate and personal histories in the high esteem we expected (see also Lowood et al.). And so, despite the well-worn bluster of an industry that proclaims itself as culturally significant as Hollywood, it is surprisingly difficult to find a definitive copy of the boxart of the final release of a Triple-A title let alone any of the pre-production materials. Through our journeys in the past couple of years, we have encountered shoeboxes under CEOs’ desks and proud parents’ collections of tapes and press cuttings. These are the closest things to a formalised archive that we currently have for many of the biggest British game development and publishing companies. Not only is this problematic in and of itself as we run the risk of losing titles and documents forever as well as the stories locked up in the memories of key individuals who grow ever older, but also it is symptomatic of an industry that, despite its public proclamations, neither places a high value on its products as popular culture nor truly recognises their impact on that culture. While a few valorised, still-ongoing, franchises like the Super Mario and Legend of Zelda series are repackaged and (digitally) re-released so as to provide continuity with current releases, a huge number of games simply disappear from view once their short period of retail limelight passes. Indeed, my argument in this essay rests to some extent on the admittedly polemical, and maybe even antagonistic, assertion that the past business and marketing practices of the videogames industry are partly to blame for the comparatively underdeveloped state of game preservation and the seemingly low cultural value placed on old games within the mainstream marketplace. Small wonder, then, that archives and formalised collections are not widespread. However antagonistic this point may seem, this essay does not set out merely to criticise the games industry. Indeed, it is important to recognise that the success and viability of projects such as the NVA is derived partly from close collaboration with industry partners. As such, it is my hope that in addition to contributing to the conversation about the importance and need for formalised strategies of game preservation, this essay goes some way to demonstrating the necessity of universities, museums, developers, publishers, advertisers and retailers tackling these issues in partnership. The Best Game Is the Next Game As will be clear from these opening paragraphs, this essay is primarily concerned with ‘old’ games. Perhaps surprisingly, however, we shall see that ‘old’ games are frequently not that old at all as even the shiniest, and newest of interactive experiences soon slip from view under the pressure of a relentless industrial and institutional push towards the forthcoming release and the ‘next generation’. More surprising still is that ‘old’ games are often difficult to come by as they occupy, at best, a marginalised position in the contemporary marketplace, assuming they are even visible at all. This is an odd situation. Videogames are, as any introductory primer on game studies will surely reveal, big business (see Kerr, for instance, as well as trade bodies such as ELSPA and The ESA for up-to-date sales figures). Given the videogame industry seems dedicated to growing its business and broadening its audiences (see Radd on Sony’s ‘Game 3.0’ strategy, for instance), it seems strange, from a commercial perspective if no other, that publishers’ and developers’ back catalogues are not being mercilessly plundered to wring the last pennies of profit from their IPs. Despite being cherished by players and fans, some of whom are actively engaged in their own private collecting and curation regimes (sometimes to apparently obsessive excess as Jones, among others, has noted), videogames have, nonetheless, been undervalued as part of our national popular cultural heritage by institutions of memory such as museums and archives which, I would suggest, have largely ignored and sometimes misunderstood or misrepresented them. Most of all, however, I wish to draw attention to the harm caused by the videogames industry itself. Consumers’ attentions are focused on ‘products’, on audiovisual (but mainly visual) technicalities and high-definition video specs rather than on the experiences of play and performance, or on games as artworks or artefact. Most damagingly, however, by constructing and contributing to an advertising, marketing and popular critical discourse that trades almost exclusively in the language of instant obsolescence, videogames have been robbed of their historical value and old platforms and titles are reduced to redundant, legacy systems and easily-marginalised ‘retro’ curiosities. The vision of inevitable technological progress that the videogames industry trades in reminds us of Paul Duguid’s concept of ‘supersession’ (see also Giddings and Kennedy, on the ‘technological imaginary’). Duguid identifies supersession as one of the key tropes in discussions of new media. The reductive idea that each new form subsumes and replaces its predecessor means that videogames are, to some extent, bound up in the same set of tensions that undermine the longevity of all new media. Chun rightly notes that, in contrast with more open terms like multimedia, ‘new media’ has always been somewhat problematic. Unaccommodating, ‘it portrayed other media as old or dead; it converged rather than multiplied; it did not efface itself in favor of a happy if redundant plurality’ (1). The very newness of new media and of videogames as the apotheosis of the interactivity and multimodality they promise (Newman, "In Search"), their gleam and shine, is quickly tarnished as they are replaced by ever-newer, ever more exciting, capable and ‘revolutionary’ technologies whose promise and moment in the limelight is, in turn, equally fleeting. As Franzen has noted, obsolescence and the trail of abandoned, superseded systems is a natural, even planned-for, product of an infatuation with the newness of new media. For Kline et al., the obsession with obsolescence leads to the characterisation of the videogames industry as a ‘perpetual innovation economy’ whose institutions ‘devote a growing share of their resources to the continual alteration and upgrading of their products. However, it is my contention here that the supersessionary tendency exerts a more serious impact on videogames than some other media partly because the apparently natural logic of obsolescence and technological progress goes largely unchecked and partly because there remain few institutions dedicated to considering and acting upon game preservation. The simple fact, as Lowood et al. have noted, is that material damage is being done as a result of this manufactured sense of continual progress and immediate, irrefutable obsolescence. By focusing on the upcoming new release and the preview of what is yet to come; by exciting gamers about what is in development and demonstrating the manifest ways in which the sheen of the new inevitably tarnishes the old. That which is replaced is fit only for the bargain bin or the budget-priced collection download, and as such, it is my position that we are systematically undermining and perhaps even eradicating the possibility of a thorough and well-documented history for videogames. This is a situation that we at the National Videogame Archive, along with colleagues in the emerging field of game preservation (e.g. the International Game Developers Association Game Preservation Special Interest Group, and the Keeping Emulation Environments Portable project) are, naturally, keen to address. Chief amongst our concerns is better understanding how it has come to be that, in 2009, game studies scholars and colleagues from across the memory and heritage sectors are still only at the beginning of the process of considering game preservation. The IGDA Game Preservation SIG was founded only five years ago and its ‘White Paper’ (Lowood et al.) is just published. Surprisingly, despite the importance of videogames within popular culture and the emergence and consolidation of the industry as a potent creative force, there remains comparatively little academic commentary or investigation into the specific situation and life-cycles of games or the demands that they place upon archivists and scholars of digital histories and cultural heritage. As I hope to demonstrate in this essay, one of the key tasks of the project of game preservation is to draw attention to the consequences of the concentration, even fetishisation, of the next generation, the new and the forthcoming. The focus on what I have termed ‘the lure of the imminent’ (e.g. Newman, Playing), the fixation on not only the present but also the as-yet-unreleased next generation, has contributed to the normalisation of the discourses of technological advancement and the inevitability and finality of obsolescence. The conflation of gameplay pleasure and cultural import with technological – and indeed, usually visual – sophistication gives rise to a context of endless newness, within which there appears to be little space for the ‘outdated’, the ‘superseded’ or the ‘old’. In a commercial and cultural space in which so little value is placed upon anything but the next game, we risk losing touch with the continuities of development and the practices of play while simultaneously robbing players and scholars of the critical tools and resources necessary for contextualised appreciation and analysis of game form and aesthetics, for instance (see Monnens, "Why", for more on the value of preserving ‘old’ games for analysis and scholarship). Moreover, we risk losing specific games, platforms, artefacts and products as they disappear into the bargain bucket or crumble to dust as media decay, deterioration and ‘bit rot’ (Monnens, "Losing") set in. Space does not here permit a discussion of the scope and extent of the preservation work required (for instance, the NVA sets its sights on preserving, documenting, interpreting and exhibiting ‘videogame culture’ in its broadest sense and recognises the importance of videogames as more than just code and as enmeshed within complex networks of productive, consumptive and performative practices). Neither is it my intention to discuss here the specific challenges and numerous issues associated with archival and exhibition tools such as emulation which seek to rebirth code on up-to-date, manageable, well-supported hardware platforms but which are frequently insensitive to the specificities and nuances of the played experience (see Newman, "On Emulation", for some further notes on videogame emulation, archiving and exhibition and Takeshita’s comments in Nutt on the technologies and aesthetics of glitches, for instance). Each of these issues is vitally important and will, doubtless become a part of the forthcoming research agenda for game preservation scholars. My focus here, however, is rather more straightforward and foundational and though it is deliberately controversial, it is my hope that its casts some light over some ingrained assumptions about videogames and the magnitude and urgency of the game preservation project. Videogames Are Disappearing? At a time when retailers’ shelves struggle under the weight of newly-released titles and digital distribution systems such as Steam, the PlayStation Network, Xbox Live Marketplace, WiiWare, DSiWare et al bring new ways to purchase and consume playable content, it might seem strange to suggest that videogames are disappearing. In addition to what we have perhaps come to think of as the ‘usual suspects’ in the hardware and software publishing marketplace, over the past year or so Apple have, unexpectedly and perhaps even surprising themselves, carved out a new gaming platform with the iPhone/iPod Touch and have dramatically simplified the notoriously difficult process of distributing mobile content with the iTunes App Store. In the face of this apparent glut of games and the emergence and (re)discovery of new markets with the iPhone, Wii and Nintendo DS, videogames seem an ever more a vital and visible part of popular culture. Yet, for all their commercial success and seemingly penetration the simple fact is that they are disappearing. And at an alarming rate. Addressing the IGDA community of game developers and producers, Henry Lowood makes the point with admirable clarity (see also Ruggill and McAllister): If we fail to address the problems of game preservation, the games you are making will disappear, perhaps within a few decades. You will lose access to your own intellectual property, you will be unable to show new developers the games you designed or that inspired you, and you may even find it necessary to re-invent a bunch of wheels. (Lowood et al. 1) For me, this point hit home most persuasively a few years ago when, along with Iain Simons, I was invited by the British Film Institute to contribute a book to their ‘Screen Guides’ series. 100 Videogames (Newman and Simons) was an intriguing prospect that provided us with the challenge and opportunity to explore some of the key moments in videogaming’s forty year history. However, although the research and writing processes proved to be an immensely pleasurable and rewarding experience that we hope culminated in an accessible, informative volume offering insight into some well-known (and some less-well known) games, the project was ultimately tinged with a more than a little disappointment and frustration. Assuming our book had successfully piqued the interest of our readers into rediscovering games previously played or perhaps investigating games for the first time, what could they then do? Where could they go to find these games in order to experience their delights (or their flaws and problems) at first hand? Had our volume been concerned with television or film, as most of the Screen Guides are, then online and offline retailers, libraries, and even archives for less widely-available materials, would have been obvious ports of call. For the student of videogames, however, the choices are not so much limited as practically non-existant. It is only comparatively recently that videogame retailers have shifted away from an almost exclusive focus on new releases and the zeitgeist platforms towards a recognition of old games and systems through the creation of the ‘pre-owned’ marketplace. The ‘pre-owned’ transaction is one in which old titles may be traded in for cash or against the purchase of new releases of hardware or software. Surely, then, this represents the commercial viability of classic games and is a recognition on the part of retail that the new release is not the only game in town. Yet, if we consider more carefully the ‘pre-owned’ model, we find a few telling points. First, there is cold economic sense to the pre-owned business model. In their financial statements for FY08, ‘GAME revealed that the service isn’t just a key part of its offer to consumers, but its also represents an ‘attractive’ gross margin 39 per cent.’ (French). Second, and most important, the premise of the pre-owned business as it is communicated to consumers still offers nothing but primacy to the new release. That one would trade-in one’s old games in order to consume these putatively better new ones speaks eloquently in the language of obsolesce and what Dovey and Kennedy have called the ‘technological imaginary’. The wire mesh buckets of old, pre-owned games are not displayed or coded as treasure troves for the discerning or completist collector but rather are nothing more than bargain bins. These are not classic games. These are cheap games. Cheap because they are old. Cheap because they have had their day. This is a curious situation that affects videogames most unfairly. Of course, my caricature of the videogame retailer is still incomplete as a good deal of the instantly visible shopfloor space is dedicated neither to pre-owned nor new releases but rather to displays of empty boxes often sporting unfinalised, sometimes mocked-up, boxart flaunting titles available for pre-order. Titles you cannot even buy yet. In the videogames marketplace, even the present is not exciting enough. The best game is always the next game. Importantly, retail is not alone in manufacturing this sense of dissatisfaction with the past and even the present. The specialist videogames press plays at least as important a role in reinforcing and normalising the supersessionary discourse of instant obsolescence by fixing readers’ attentions and expectations on the just-visible horizon. Examining the pages of specialist gaming publications reveals them to be something akin to Futurist paeans dedicating anything from 70 to 90% of their non-advertising pages to previews, interviews with developers about still-in-development titles (see Newman, Playing, for more on the specialist gaming press’ love affair with the next generation and the NDA scoop). Though a small number of publications specifically address retro titles (e.g. Imagine Publishing’s Retro Gamer), most titles are essentially vehicles to promote current and future product lines with many magazines essentially operating as delivery devices for cover-mounted CDs/DVDs offering teaser videos or playable demos of forthcoming titles to further whet the appetite. Manufacturing a sense of excitement might seem wholly natural and perhaps even desirable in helping to maintain a keen interest in gaming culture but the effect of the imbalance of popular coverage has a potentially deleterious effect on the status of superseded titles. Xbox World 360’s magnificently-titled ‘Anticip–O–Meter’ ™ does more than simply build anticipation. Like regular features that run under headings such as ‘The Next Best Game in The World Ever is…’, it seeks to author not so much excitement about the imminent release but a dissatisfaction with the present with which unfavourable comparisons are inevitably drawn. The current or previous crop of (once new, let us not forget) titles are not simply superseded but rather are reinvented as yardsticks to judge the prowess of the even newer and unarguably ‘better’. As Ashton has noted, the continual promotion of the impressiveness of the next generation requires a delicate balancing act and a selective, institutionalised system of recall and forgetting that recovers the past as a suite of (often technical) benchmarks (twice as many polygons, higher resolution etc.) In the absence of formalised and systematic collecting, these obsoleted titles run the risk of being forgotten forever once they no longer serve the purpose of demonstrating the comparative advancement of the successors. The Future of Videogaming’s Past Even if we accept the myriad claims of game studies scholars that videogames are worthy of serious interrogation in and of themselves and as part of a multifaceted, transmedial supersystem, we might be tempted to think that the lack of formalised collections, archival resources and readily available ‘old/classic’ titles at retail is of no great significance. After all, as Jones has observed, the videogame player is almost primed to undertake this kind of activity as gaming can, at least partly, be understood as the act and art of collecting. Games such as Animal Crossing make this tendency most manifest by challenging their players to collect objects and artefacts – from natural history through to works of visual art – so as to fill the initially-empty in-game Museum’s cases. While almost all videogames from The Sims to Katamari Damacy can be considered to engage their players in collecting and collection management work to some extent, Animal Crossing is perhaps the most pertinent example of the indivisibility of the gamer/archivist. Moreover, the permeability of the boundary between the fan’s collection of toys, dolls, posters and the other treasured objects of merchandising and the manipulation of inventories, acquisitions and equipment lists that we see in the menus and gameplay imperatives of videogames ensures an extensiveness and scope of fan collecting and archival work. Similarly, the sociality of fan collecting and the value placed on private hoarding, public sharing and the processes of research ‘…bridges to new levels of the game’ (Jones 48). Perhaps we should be as unsurprised that their focus on collecting makes videogames similar to eBay as we are to the realisation that eBay with its competitiveness, its winning and losing states, and its inexorable countdown timer, is nothing if not a game? We should be mindful, however, of overstating the positive effects of fandom on the fate of old games. Alongside eBay’s veneration of the original object, p2p and bittorrent sites reduce the videogame to its barest. Quite apart from the (il)legality of emulation and videogame ripping and sharing (see Conley et al.), the existence of ‘ROMs’ and the technicalities of their distribution reveals much about the peculiar tension between the interest in old games and their putative cultural and economic value. (St)ripped down to the barest of code, ROMs deny the gamer the paratextuality of the instruction manual or boxart. In fact, divorced from its context and robbed of its materiality, ROMs perhaps serve to make the original game even more distant. More tellingly, ROMs are typically distributed by the thousand in zipped files. And so, in just a few minutes, entire console back-catalogues – every game released in every territory – are available for browsing and playing on a PC or Mac. The completism of the collections allows detailed scrutiny of differences in Japanese versus European releases, for instance, and can be seen as a vital investigative resource. However, that these ROMs are packaged into collections of many thousands speaks implicitly of these games’ perceived value. In a similar vein, the budget-priced retro re-release collection helps to diminish the value of each constituent game and serves to simultaneously manufacture and highlight the manifestly unfair comparison between these intriguingly retro curios and the legitimately full-priced games of now and next. Customer comments at Amazon.co.uk demonstrate the way in which historical and technological comparisons are now solidly embedded within the popular discourse (see also Newman 2009b). Leaving feedback on Sega’s PS3/Xbox 360 Sega MegaDrive Ultimate Collection customers berate the publisher for the apparently meagre selection of titles on offer. Interestingly, this charge seems based less around the quality, variety or range of the collection but rather centres on jarring technological schisms and a clear sense of these titles being of necessarily and inevitably diminished monetary value. Comments range from outraged consternation, ‘Wtf, only 40 games?’, ‘I wont be getting this as one disc could hold the entire arsenal of consoles and games from commodore to sega saturn(Maybe even Dreamcast’ through to more detailed analyses that draw attention to the number of bits and bytes but that notably neglect any consideration of gameplay, experientiality, cultural significance or, heaven forbid, fun. “Ultimate” Collection? 32Mb of games on a Blu-ray disc?…here are 40 Megadrive games at a total of 31 Megabytes of data. This was taking the Michael on a DVD release for the PS2 (or even on a UMD for the PSP), but for a format that can store 50 Gigabytes of data, it’s an insult. Sega’s entire back catalogue of Megadrive games only comes to around 800 Megabytes - they could fit that several times over on a DVD. The ultimate consequence of these different but complementary attitudes to games that fix attentions on the future and package up decontextualised ROMs by the thousand or even collections of 40 titles on a single disc (selling for less than half the price of one of the original cartridges) is a disregard – perhaps even a disrespect – for ‘old’ games. Indeed, it is this tendency, this dominant discourse of inevitable, natural and unimpeachable obsolescence and supersession, that provided one of the prime motivators for establishing the NVA. As Lowood et al. note in the title of the IGDA Game Preservation SIG’s White Paper, we need to act to preserve and conserve videogames ‘before it’s too late’.ReferencesAshton, D. ‘Digital Gaming Upgrade and Recovery: Enrolling Memories and Technologies as a Strategy for the Future.’ M/C Journal 11.6 (2008). 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/viewArticle/86›.Buffa, C. ‘How to Fix Videogame Journalism.’ GameDaily 20 July 2006. 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://www.gamedaily.com/articles/features/how-to-fix-videogame-journalism/69202/?biz=1›. ———. ‘Opinion: How to Become a Better Videogame Journalist.’ GameDaily 28 July 2006. 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://www.gamedaily.com/articles/features/opinion-how-to-become-a-better-videogame-journalist/69236/?biz=1. ———. ‘Opinion: The Videogame Review – Problems and Solutions.’ GameDaily 2 Aug. 2006. 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://www.gamedaily.com/articles/features/opinion-the-videogame-review-problems-and-solutions/69257/?biz=1›. ———. ‘Opinion: Why Videogame Journalism Sucks.’ GameDaily 14 July 2006. 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://www.gamedaily.com/articles/features/opinion-why-videogame-journalism-sucks/69180/?biz=1›. 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