Burnout Paradise (Xbox 360)

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This might sound ridiculous, but whenever I load up a new racing game, I always run through the controls and look for the game's horn.

It seems like such a minor thing, I know, but I delight in honking at opponents or tapping out simple tunes on my horn. It's a way for me to express myself, and it works to bring the game world just that much more alive for me -- which is why I am sad to report the following news.

There is no horn in Burnout Paradise.

None.

Of course, the Burnout series has never been about horns. Or speedometers. Or cops. Or people, for that matter. Despite obvious signs of civilization -- other cars populate the road; condos and office buildings dot the skyline -- Burnout Paradise, like the previous games in the series, does not feature a single, solitary human form. Even when I squinted at the other cars, there were no windows rolled down, no elbows hanging out, no air fresheners dangling from rearview mirrors. Despite the terrific new cityscape -- which is full of shortcuts, highways, back alleys, on-ramps, off-ramps, parking garages and bridges that perpetually seem to be out -- Burnout's world continues to be surprisingly sterile.

As usual, any traces of actual personality can only be found in the game's various vehicles. There are 75 vehicles in the game, each exaggerated in some obvious way. There are tiny, bug-like sports cars, elephantine roadsters, and pig-like SUVs. Some cars are evocative of particular eras, like the Steve McQueen-ish Calvary or the 1950s boat-like Manhattan, with its distinctive shark fins, which I instantly dubbed "my 'Happy Days' car." Car fiends will no doubt once again be disappointed that there are no real-world licensed cars in the game and no under-the-hood tinkering, though being the car-free New Yorker that I am, I didn't mind.

The game opens, fittingly enough, in the city's Junk Yard, where you can pick up the game's starter hooptie (the aforementioned Calvary). Of course, since this is a junk yard, your vehicle is in an appropriately hood-crunched, sorry-assed state. Press and hold the right trigger to start the engine, then limp your way to the nearest Auto Repair shop. (They're always conveniently located within a two-, to three-block radius of all the game's Junk Yards.) Since Burnout is about keeping things moving, these Auto Repair shops are drive-through accessible. That means you can rip through one at top speed, and your car will magically come out the other side -- still moving at top speed -- all shiny and showroom-new.

The object of the game is to earn successive licenses, which you do by winning events. Events come in five varieties: Marked Man, Road Rage, Burning Route, Stunt Runs and, of course, traditional Races.

Burning Route events, a holdover from previous Burnouts, require you to get from point A to point B in a certain amount of time while driving a particular car. Another holdover is the Road Rage events -- a personal favorite -- which involve ramming a minimum number of cars off the road in a certain amount of time. Meet your quota, and you complete the event. For my money, nothing -- and I mean nothing -- tops the visceral, "Mad Max"-style thrills of a Road Rage event. When my front bumper swerves spot-on into the gas-tank region of a rival and sends him careening into the far guardrail to disintegrate in gratuitous, glorious slow-motion -- let me tell you, that's poetry to me. It's one of those all too rare this-is-why-I-play-games moments.