Ircle is the worst shit ever

After discovering there was a PAX IRC channel, I wanted to join the conversation, so I went looking for an IRC client that would run on Mac OS X. I had used and enjoyed mIRC on Windows, but quickly discovered that it only ran on Windows. Instead, I stumbled upon Ircle.

I don’t generally swear much, to the extent that people often recoil in shock when I do, but sometimes it is called for. In this case, my response came after just a few minutes of using this utterly worthless client to try and connect to the server on which the PAX channel resides.

The user interface of Ircle looks like something from the Windows 3.1 days.
The user interface of Ircle looks like something from the Windows 3.1 days.

Ircle looks like something I might have designed in 1992. Keeping in mind that I was seven years old in 1992, and our computer screen only had two colours at the time (black and green), that gives you an idea of how Ircle looks and functions. It wasn’t just a pain to use, with regular disconnections, errors, and a confusing and poorly labeled/designed interface, it was ugly.

I haven’t yet turned into the sort of person who demands everything be beautiful just because my operating system is, but “in this day and age,” there is little excuse for such poor design. If they’d even just used the most absolute of stock templates for OS X applications, it would have looked better. It’s like the designers of Ircle went out of their way to make this product look like crap.

And you know what really sets me off? A bad design in and of itself isn’t enough to earn my ire, but the coder’s hubris was annoying in the extreme:

Really? The most popular? This steaming pile of bantha poodoo? That seems unlikely.

So I set out once again for a good IRC client for Mac. Introducing Colloquy.

An IRC client that doesn't suck.
Colloquy: An IRC client that doesn't suck.

Colloquy has a much nicer interface with all of the features we’ve come to know, love, and expect in this day and age. For instance, if I start to type someone’s name, I can hit Tab for it to auto-finish so I can continue with my sentence (something that has been available in mIRC for a decade). It has colours, alerts if your name is typed by someone else, and an easy scripting interface for auto connection and authentication. (Ircle also has this scripting, but it’s a bit more of a pain).

What’s more, Colloquy has a mobile client that I know runs on the iPhone (not sure if it does on other platforms), and I’ll probably happily pay the $2-3 for it from the App Store once I get an iPhone. For running on OS X, it’s free.

If you’re looking for a good IRC client on OS X, look no further: Colloquy comes highly recommended, and everyone I know has settled on it eventually due to its pleasant interface and great user experience. As for Ircle, it should have dawned on me the moment I saw their banner. Anything claiming to be the best probably isn’t. Put up or shut up, as they say.

My Love Affair With IRC

You may not know this about me, but I was quite a shut-in as a young lad. It began when I was about eight years old and we first moved to Springfield.

Our home had been ironically named Trouble’s End by my parents, a hopeful epitaph following my father’s retirement from the military and marking the reunion of my parents after a separation filled with lies, poor financial decisions, adultery, and culminating in my father’s assignment to Korea for two years (unrelated to the separation, of course–he was required to go to Korea prior to retirement). It was out in the country, as my father desired, and also closer to his family (also his call), which put me in the unfortunate situation of being out of the suburbs for the first time ever. I had no friends, and the few people I met on the school bus lived too far away to visit.

Between my parents’ troubles, the bullies at school, and my burgeoning interest in girls coupled with their complete rejection of me, I elected to escape my circumstances rather than confronting them. I dove into books, escaping into fantastic worlds where good and evil were clearly defined, chivalry and honour were always rewarded, and the main characters were close friends who stuck up for one another.

My obsession with fantasy fiction resulted unsurprisingly in an attraction to roleplaying, and I subsequently became involved with Dungeons & Dragons in eighth grade. My father hosted the games at his house (my parents were divorced by this point) after I cajoled him into DMing for my friends and I, which lasted for a wonderful few months where we made character after character, fought countless orcs and even a few dragons, and generally had a lot of laughs and pizza. We played for the time we spent together rather than the game itself, and I loved every minute of it.

I was never fully one-way-or-the-other with roleplaying: I loved both the social aspects and the appeal to imagination. The immersion in a fantastic world where I was the hero with a company of comrades who watched my back and took care of one another. It appealed to my intellect and ingenuity, challenging me to find solutions and giving me a chance at glory when I came up with the right ones. I was a star.

And then I discovered Carcassonne Haven.

Carcassonne was a roleplaying game run over IRC (Internet Relay Chat) with a website for character sheets, inventories, maps, and everything else needed. A dedicated group of GMs (definition: Game Master, a title similar to Dungeon Master (DM) and generally used with every game not-D&D) coordinated the storyline and kept everything going, with adventures run every couple of nights in two hour blocks. Because all of this was over IRC, it required all actions and roleplaying to be typed as quickly and descriptively as one could. Extra points were given for creativity, but you had to keep up with  everyone else so you had to write fast.

It was challenging, fun, and a great community, and it sparked my love of IRC.

I had already been extremely active on talkers for years, so the transition to IRC (which predated talkers and was significantly simpler) was an easy one. The difference seemed to be that IRC was far less dramatic because there was a great deal less investment in an IRC channel than there was in a talker. Talkers were like BBSs on steroids, hosted by someone on a server and often painstakenly coded to have all sorts of neat things like unique rooms with descriptions, games, fun commands to display different text items, etc. When you connected to a channel on IRC, you just hit an IRC server and typed /join #room and bam, you’d joined #room (or created it if it didn’t already exist) and were done. There were hundreds of IRC servers with thousands of rooms, so you could always go elsewhere if you wanted to find other people. The emotional investment wasn’t in building the space or coding the rooms, but in simply chatting with people and getting to know them.

And I had found an IRC server with nothing but roleplaying games, with Carcasonne as the crown jewel.

RPing on Carcasonne taught me a great deal about how to interact with people who didn’t like you. It was obviously a game and we all understood that any negativity was in-character, not out-of-character, but I was playing a good guy and that naturally made the bad guys dislike me. Similar to my real life, the bad guys tried to kill me, to stab me in the back, and to generally hurt me every chance they got.

But unlike my real life, I had friends who protected and defended me, and with whom I could commiserate and share my tribulations. I even had an in-game romance that went my way for once, unlike so many of my bungled attempts in real life. I learned how to deal with challenges in a mature and healthy way, and in particular the game planted the seeds that helped me learn how to cope with loss, death, and destruction.

The stories we spawned in Carcasonne Haven would make for a wonderful and epic novel, but unfortunately the woman who ran the game claimed copyright on everything and the stories are so tied to the characters that I have trouble changing the names and writing it. It’s unfortunate, but though I’d love to share those stories, I don’t feel like they’re mine to share. They were ours, built collectively and wonderfully, and even if I were to put them into the public domain, I would feel like I was stealing something from each of the players.

But at least I have the memories, coupled with the lessons and the typing skills I learned from RPing on IRC. Though such games seem to have gone the way of the DoDo, I remember them with fondness and hope that someday they will rise again. The sense of community and the fun of the game surpasses any MMORPG I’ve played.

I hadn’t been on IRC since high school, when Carcasonne Haven slowly dissolved and I moved on to college and Star Wars Galaxies (followed by World of Warcraft, Dungeons & Dragons Online, Eve-Online, and then back to WoW). But with my recent registration for the Penny-Arcade Expo, I saw that they had an IRC channel and decided to join.

Unlike most of the tech IRC channels I’ve hopped into over the last couple of years for answers to Linux questions, this one actually had people chatting. Friends who knew each other, and who were part of a community, were sharing their lives and jokes one scrolling line at a time. Laughing out loud at their inane chatter, I realized with amazement how long it had been since I had joined a good Internet Relay Chat. And as they asked me questions and we talked about where we worked, the games we played, and how best to escape zombies, I sat back and sighed.

I was home again.