I’ve recently returned from a beautiful wedding (August 16th), and a beautiful late honeymoon (three days ago), although maybe the term “elopement” would be more apt for the wedding part. The whole wedding planning thing was far too stressful for the both of us, pushing the fun parts of the whole event to some steep edge where they were likely to fall off.
Come to think of it, the word ‘honeymoon’ could use some work as well—often inferring temporary bliss, giving the scenery beyond a view similar to hibernation, one that’s static yet dull and draining. (Add to Wikipedia: Unlike other animals, the human species experiences post-marital hibernation, save for anniversaries, birthdays maybe, and the holiday season.)
Being fully in love with, married to, and integrated with Noelle and her life has seemingly transported me into a large infinite ocean, unaware that I was once carried here from a murky rocky stream. It feels great. Have you ever had this feeling? It’s remarkable. It’s freeing. My life has been dramatically changing in a beautiful way this past year, like I’d been lying belly-down on soft shag carpeting for 27 years and finally decided to turn around and look up at the ceiling and what might be above it, beyond it, inside of it. Being with someone I love and trust has helped to tone down my neurotic proclivities, as well. I feel independent and eye-sparkle happy and full of love and my old worrying self can bite me.
But then you ask, patiently, So life is great and yes, yes, but what was the wedding like?
And then I say yeah. I say that’s a pretty good question.
The wedding was one of the least stressful events of my life. And that’s saying a lot. Even going to work (or to the park even) surely involves some level of stress, and this wedding was far less taxing on the mind than even those activities. It was also one of the happiest, gently affirming, quietly beautiful times of my life. It took place in my friend Janne’s garden of a backyard in the bright, bright sun. (As in, I-hope-you-like-sweat-sun, but the heat wasn’t a detractor from bliss.)
Due to the private nature of the thing there were no family or friends (aside from the two witnesses and Janne) to be seen, but Janne gave a wonderful blessing to us, which extended to those people with us, those we know, and outward and outward until everyone was blessed. It felt good.
And the honeymoon? You ask. Yeah, I’m getting to that.
We went to Loews Hotel in Coronado Bay, for reasons that made sense: Discount at Loews; other hotels of theirs already booked. And let me tell you: it was quite lovely on many fronts. For example, the man at the front desk didn’t have our room ready, or our discount card, so he upgraded us to a suite overlooking the bay:
The whole extended hotel stay was a robust montage of rich life, rich folk. We lounged by pools, drank delicious drinks, and everything was almost perfect. But then, you see, there was one strange occurrence that I can honestly say frightened me. Shocked me to the core.
One night we came into our room and heard loud music. The back patio door, which we’d locked, was wide open.
“All the leaves are brown/and the sky is grey…” What. The hell.
We looked on the dresser and found a new item: a random cup with a spoon in it. Who’s here.
And then: A bottle of champagne, two glasses, and a cheese plate. Oh. Wait. What? Did they get the wrong room?
Then the pieces fell together.
Apparently it was a special gift from Loews to us (“complimentary”, of course, never say “free” in their world). Maybe it’s just me, but seeing the hotel back door wide open, items we didn’t know we’d be getting (without an explanatory note), and worst of all, California Dreamin’ on repeat, makes me think horror, death, murder. The Hotel Serial Killer, waiting for us. The Hotel Patrick Bateman, if you will: slicing up victims over champagne and California Girl.
But I digress. The honeymoon was simply awesome.
WTF?! What about games, you dick? You haven’t written in ages and now you’re not even writing about games and I’m feeling neglected, hurt: like you’ve never really been there for me.
So very true! And I apologize. I didn’t do much gaming this past week, although I found a rather peculiar oddity in the hotel “game room.” I’ll write about it in full tomorrow. Check back soon! It may change the face of gaming forever. “May” being the operative word, of course.
Anyway.
I’ve realized that being with someone awesome can help me be more me, more independent. At least, that’s my case with Noelle. It’s weird, I never would’ve expected it, but being with someone you love and trust gives you more space in the end. And best of all, love is continuously surrounding me, emitting from me, and making me very, very happy.
That’s right, folks — I’ve been gone for 10 days. And it gets worse as I’m leaving for a week-long honeymoon on Wednesday.
But then, it’ll get much much better. Please keep your tears at home as I have plans for this website which may very well blow your mind. If all goes well, of course. Meanwhile, play some games and enjoy this thing called life, be it trying, painfully beautiful or saccharine-sweet. While I’m astray, I’ll continue to act as if this game has a large, loyal reader base.
And no, I haven’t been bitten by nostalgia. But a nibble or a peck would be quite apt, as the game in mention is absolutely adorable. Charming, timeless, and beautiful. The game is Chrono Trigger — a true labor of plentifully lavished love. It’s being ported to the DS, for a ridiculous $39.99, with not a change to be seen aside from a “new” dungeon that was originally meant to be included.
Have you heard the game’s music? It’s charming, quaint, and simultaneously experimental. It’s hard not to love, especially with a nice pair of headphones in tow. And like the rest of the game’s development, the music didn’t happen spontaneously — composer Yasunori Mitsuda ended up with a stomach ulcer from pouring his talent into its score. Oh, and you pirates out there? Take note: music is often cruelly butchered in the process of emulation, and Chrono Trigger is no exception. And likely you don’t have an original copy in hand. Keeping that in mind, it’s important to note that Square Enix does (often) wonderful work in the audio department when it comes to the DS.
There is a chance, yes yes, that I have been tainted by nostalgia’s sweet love bites. In that case, I’ll be willing to reconsider the validity of this RPG’s high acclaim. But I’m pretty sure it’s still dreamy.
Anyone still playing the WiiWare version of XGen Studios’ Defend Your Castle?
Most likely not.
The game is ironically meditative in the constant destruction required on the player’s part. You constantly are tossing foes up into the air, allowing them to plummet to their doom; and within this gimmick lies the bounce.
That’s right, the bounce. The tossing mechanic involves rhythmically “bouncing” the controller up and down (while holding onto it, of course). It’s a bit soothing, really. When things get more chaotic, they also get more Zen.
Three friends and I huddled in my apartment today, “bouncing” with the bright, tender sun patiently waiting outside. It was nice. I suggested the game because, well, I’d only played it once. And that’s the thing about the game: it’s meant for one or two looonnng stretches. Otherwise the tedium would surely get to you.
Not that this is bad; there’s a thrill in playing that’s reminiscent of old-timey arcade romps like Galaga and Space Invaders. Yes, it’s another endless game that demands you play until you get the high score with your eyes, hands, and brain straining after the first hour stretch. I love all of it.
But there’s a difference here. Those other games (as well as the browser-based iteration of Defend Your Castle) did not include a rhythmic bouncing of a Wiimote. The time we all spent playing the game today totaled in at 2 hours and 37 minutes. That’s insane. We rotated playing, yet our hands still felt pained, cramped, and ridden with carpel tunnel. Ouchie.
But the game is a blast! It really is. And get this version of it, too; the homespun look (buttons for faces, tongue edit: depressors for battering rams) is an original delight. Just have ice ready for the pain. In the meantime (erm, you are on a computer, right?), click here and enjoy the prequel, Pillage the Village. It’s actually more complex, allowing for more upgrades and strategy. And! You get to drop houses on people. I bet you haven’t done that in a while.
Trophies? Achievements? Meh? A challenge in a game that doesn’t unlock anything? Un-fucking-precedented! UNFAIR! UNREAL!
But wait… you recieve a thingy. And this is good.
That’s right: I’m referring to the perks of purchasing either an XBox 360 (featuring Achievements) or a PS3 (featuring Trophies). Really, it’s all the same. Both systems have the same shtick. The thrill behind these doodads depends on your intentions. And there are likely at least one of them. But here are three of them (Read on, dear reader, these are insights into life itself, albeit obvious ones):
Some of us humans are competitive. I, for one, wasn’t born with such a proclivity. But if you are, then trophies/achievements allow continuous bragging rights. And if the arbitrariness of it all seems absurd, keep in mind that this is nothing new. This is really just an advanced version of the high scores people would shoot for in arcades (remember those?). Except now, you have a picture to associate with your number, and a gamercard to post on your self-indulgent blog or your favorite social network.
The second main intention is possibly the most overlooked by most gamers. That of challenging yourself. This is always how I’ve operated. All that matters to me (in any goal I pursue) is raising the bar (or score, hee) continually. Stretching myself.
Third, exploring every nook and cranny of the (game) world in which you’ve been placed. Immersing yourself in it, pushing the world itself to see all that it can do. It’s funny. There’s a curious thing happening in gaming these days, in which gamers feel the need to play everything before them. And it’s understandable, yet somewhat shocking. There’s a great gaming podcast you may have heard of, 1up Yours, in which there’s a section called “Whatcha’ Been Playin’”. It’s a weekly podcast, and every week the people on the show are playing something new. And not only that, but they’re playing multiple new games. And, sure, they’re game journalists, but isn’t there still a heart piece hidden in their copy of Zelda? A hard mode on Bionic Commando: Rearmed that hasn’t been played? Again, trophies and achievements remind us that there are still ways to push the limits of our games.
Maybe, after reading this, you are unconvinced: thinking awards are arbitrary in nature. But I’ll be damned if I can’t get you to admit (possibly in the comments) that you’ve never smiled when receiving one.
We all know it’s true: T&A can only be a good thing. Hurrrr…
Not that you’d ever notice it. My teeth are all steadily in my jaw, corrected by braces and relatively white. But the condition they’re in is remarkably poor. Say what you will about fluoride, but at this point I’m slightly jealous that I grew up without it in my water. Aside from lack of fluoride, though, dentists have regaled me with commentary on how, oddly, I have “naturally weak teeth.” Great. But the most damaging aspect of my filthy, rotten teeth was probably the gallons upon gallons of Pepsi I drank as a child. In fact, it was a house standard to keep 24-packs of the poison-water on hand. And when immersed in the latest action figure, movie, or game, I’d be chugging the stuff as if it were a life supply.
Here I am now.
Or rather, yesterday. I had a dentist visit, going in for a deep cleaning. It set me back a few hundred dollars, which I wanted to use for my upcoming wedding. I also have two root canals to go, along with some crowns. Maybe I’ll afford it all someday. Maybe not.
But my appointment was OK. At least, OK in the sense that I like my hygienist — a real, caring professional man.
I was properly numbed for a cleaning on one side of my mouth. The kind hygienist made me feel relaxed. I liked him. The best thing about the horror of dentistry is that you don’t have to look at your tormentor; in fact I believe it’s an industry standard of sorts that you’re not supposed to: you have gunk in your mouth.
But with eyes shut, I was soothed by his mint-cool tone and demeanor.
He started cleaning, and OK OK because I’m used to the dental sounds and bad tastes and awful who-knows-what slipping to the back of my throat and suctioney things and water mixed with spit: all of it. I’m fine.
But then he starts working in fine detail around a tooth that needed a root canal, and at that moment I believe I wanted to cry.
I clasped one of my hands with the other, pretending it was my wife-to-be.
I explained, with a sick panicky desperation, how much pain I was in.
“Hey…” he reasoned, “I’m sorry. I’ll go easy around that part, ok?”
He got to work, and I opened my eyes looking at the bright light because light is the happy thing that people see when they die.
Bllarrrrppp… phhhhuuu….
Then out of nowhere came a deep groan from this man’s lower belly. Or was it something else?
Phhuuu… EEIIIrrrrpppp.
Oh God. Not now.
Brrrrrrrr…. Brip!
That’s right: This man needed to go poo.
I wanted him to say something. To excuse himself. But he didn’t. He just kept working, making these strange uncomfortable noises. I kept trying to console myself and think it’s his stomach, he’s only hungry, but no.
GRRRIImmmmmmph!
Dear LORD! Suddenly he rose, saying that he was done with half my mouth. He recommended I take a break. You know, let the jaw relax. So I did. I grabbed a magazine and saw this:
A Dental Nightmare.
Not my particular dental nightmare, but it was still close-to-the-last thing I wanted to see right then, other than a constipated man heeling over.
He came back. He hadn’t taken care of himself! I understand though. It would’ve been a long break. In the end, he cared about his patients.
Italo Calvino is the true, bona fide intellectual author of 4th-wall-breaking mindfuckery. I’ve been rereading If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler — an intellectual variation of The Neverending Story for grown-ups, if you will.
“If it be your will…”
A historical look at the classic novel, maybe? Sure. A look at love and literature, spinning and dancing around one another? Yup. Ten narratives with infinite connections and an author that constantly keeps an eye on the reader, page after page, checking in with you but never making you feel too safe.
“From this broken hill/All your praises they shall ring…”
Can a reader make another author’s novel her own? Do we have that kind of power? I can’t explain quite yet how I’m growing from this novel, but the growth is likely to be exponential at this rate, and I plan to read all of his work in the years to come. Next, I’m planning on reading The Baron in the Trees, as it has sold me already on its charming, whimsical title.
Calvino, thank you for taking me under your arm. Or rather, thanks for promoting my own journey, if you will. If it be your will.
“If there is a choice/Let the rivers fill/Let the hills rejoice…”
(Lyrics taken from If it Be Your Will by one, Leonard Cohen.)
Yeah, that’s right. More on Zombies. Remember that Google Maps-based zombie game I mentioned a few posts back? The Last Guy?
In what could’ve been the ultimate real, frightening experience, we are instead assaulted with an avalanche of cheese. Seriously, enemies haven’t looked this bad since Smash T.V. hit consoles over a decade ago. And that music? Not a fan.
Great concept, crap aesthetic.
This designer is learning Photoshop for the first time. Good for him!
In other news, I believe I’ve reached some sort of pinnacle of my stress threshold. Writing a grant, and preparing for a wedding all in two weeks. Even simple tasks like answering my phone appear to be a daunting task this past day or so. I believe a beer is in order.
I’ve finally started toying with the lush, polished and beautiful game Pixeljunk Eden as of late on PSN (Playstation Network). And I say ‘toying’ because my only access to the game is a generously long demo.
The first thing you’ll notice about the game is its arresting art style, with curls and swirls reminiscent of art nouveau, along with the thumping bass of pulsating ethereal techno rhythms — all likely to put you in a chilled out trance, a relaxing game-meditation where the usual stress associated with games will quickly fade away.
The artist responsible for most of the art direction and the music? Tomohisa Kuramitsu, A.K.A. Baiyon.
I’d describe the gameplay, but I’m not so sure it’s relevant. I mean, it involves collecting spectra and building a garden… but any further description will just sound strange until you play it. I suppose what you really need to know is this:
It’s beautiful
You swing from one thing to another thing
You collect stuff
Your friends can pick up a controller and play with you
