Maybe in Retrospect I Should Have Said "Country"

Among the hardcore, it's been unanimously decided that Donkey Kong Country was not a good game. The fanciful pre-rendered characters and backgrounds made for some of the most delicious eye candy around back in '94, but has since become inedible.

What Rare Ltd achieved with the original DKC was precisely what they set out to do, which was prove that the SNES was capable of major graphical feats, and could still be a viable competitor against 32-bit machines. There was a skeleton of a game there, for sure, but its apparent now that the Brits simply read the platform game Cliffs Notes, threw in a bunch of big words, and got by with an A.

The smoke and mirrors used made it easy for me to forgive the game's lack of depth (the fact that i was 11-year-old helped too.) I remember when that mysterious VHS tape in a leaf-covered box came in the mail. I was totally blown away. The propagandists at Nintendo Power really knew how to put together a promo video. The whole thing was less than 20 minutes long, and showcased only a tiny glimpse of the gameplay. But the graphics--my God, the graphics--aroused me more than the Playboy magazines under my older brother's bed.

Being the income-less 11-year-old that I was, I was forced to beg my mom for the game. It's release was slated for November, which meant I would have to wait until Christmas. Damn Nintendo and their marketing prowess . . .

Needless to say, it was a very happy Christmas, indeed. I played the game backwards and forwards. I made it my goal, my mission, my LIFE to find all the hidden bananas and bonus stage barrels. I remember playing the snow level over and over . . . you know the one, where the snow fell lightly at first and then became thicker and thicket as you progressed through the level? Yeah, that's the one.

The immediate success of DKC warranted a sequel, and Rare had a quick follow-up ready for release just one year later. This time around, they lacked the "holy shit!" factor that the original had. The visuals were simply cleaned up, but the gaming community's reaction barely registered on the Richter scale. Sony had released the Playstation several months earlier, and gamers were already beating off to the jagged polygonal race cars of Ridge Racer and blocky humanoid combatants of Battle Arena Toshinden. Suddenly it seemed hard to care about a monkey jumping on reptiles and collecting bananas--especially considering the game's title character wasn't even playable.

The blokes at Rare must have come down with a case of Mad Cow disease, because the direction they took with DCK 2 made no sense. Removing Donkey Kong, perhaps the most recognizable figure in videogames next to Pac-Man, and replacing him the with the ridiculously designed Dixie Kong is a travesty. Dixie is essentially Diddy Kong in drag, and her long blond ponytail acts as a sort of auxiliary appendage, capable of lifting barrels over her head and tossing them at enemies.

Dixie's hair also gave her the slow-descending ability, which had become a platform game staple in the years following Super Mario Bros. 3. This occurred when Dixie spun while falling, turning the ponytail like the propeller of a helicopter. It all makes perfect sense.

Besides the superfluous Dixie, Rare began what would become its downfall: collecting tons of meaningless bullshit. In addition to bananas, in DKC 2 you collect banana coins, Kremlin coins, balloons, golden letters that spell out the word "KONG," and feathers. It's a cheap way to add longevity and replayability to a game that Rare eventually perfected.

I played DKC 2 quite a bit during its initial release, but never owned a copy. What it lacked the charm and uniqueness, it attempted to make up for with lame characters and frustration. It amazes how that DKC 2 is widely regarded as the best the game of the franchise. Because even now that I am old enough to realize the original game's flaws, it still has that nostalgia factor going for it, which counts for a lot.

Despite its shortcomings, DKC 2 was still wildly popular, and like any entertainment product that returns even a $1 profit, a sequel was made. By now, the whole monkeys grabbing bananas while shooting out of barrels schlock had gotten really old, and I never knew a single person who owned the game. And get a load of the character designs here: the shit-fest Dixie returns, and this time instead of Diddy or Donkey, she's brought along Kiddy Kong. Yes, Kiddy Kong. Words cannot bring justice to the loathsome feelings I have for this character, so I'll just wrap it up here.


It's sad to think that the game that single-handedly saved the SNES from an early grave went down in history as such a dud. If Rare had just managed to squeeze an actual game in between all of those graphical tricks, then the SNES could have went out with a well deserved bang.

T9--The "T" Stands for "Truth"

Being the socially awkward poor conversationalist that I am, I immediately embraced text messaging as my preferred method of communication so many years ago. At first it was a little weird . . . New rules of etiquette had to be established. Is a text impersonal? It's too late to call, but is it too late to text? I just met this girl, would it be weird if I text her before I call her? Etc., etc., etc.

Years later, I still text more than ever. In fact, there are some people that I have never once spoken to on the phone, yet have carried on lengthy full-text conversations with. In fact, texting is so important, that when I left ass raping T-Mobile, text plans were the FIRST thing I took into consideration.

Texting to the degree of intensity that my friends and I do requires the use of T9. You know, predictive text--that magical little function that makes texting fast and easy. According to Wikipedia (also known as the never-wrong fountain of knowledge,) T9 is short for Text on 9 Keys. This program not only makes texting easier, but just so happens to reveal some eerie truths about life. The validity of these truths is proven by the fact that certain combinations of key presses form words that are linked together in ways that defy coincidence. Here are a few examples:

4663=GOOD=HOME
This is an easy one. Home is GOOD. No matter if it's your childhood home, or the new home that you've made for yourself, everybody loves their home. And that is . . . good.

5477=LIPS=KISS
Ah yes . . . the infamous kiss/lips example. Once in a drunken rage of chauvinistic stupidity I sent Bob a text bragging about a makeout conquest that read, "I'll lips anything that moves!" The rest is history.

2665=BOOK=COOL
This one used to ALWAYS infuriate me. I say "cool" hundreds of times a day, but when the fuck do I ever say "book?" Well, that was until I discovered that books are in fact cool. Yes, the genius of J.K Rowling has helped me to become a literate member of society and a regular reader of books . . . that are cool.

5437=KIDS=LIES
Oh children . . . Always LYING. And parents too, always lying to their kids and lying to themselves about being good parents. It's a vicious circle of lies that's existed ever since the first monkey man made sex with the first monkey woman and proof, once again, that T9 knows all.

2625=ANAL=COCK
This one just makes me laugh.

Pac-THIS

Arriving right in between the Space Invaders quarter-shortage-inducing craze and the medium-evolving Donkey Kong was Pac-Man. It's colorful graphics and extremely simple gameplay made it appealing to everyone from overweight children to successful businessmen. I was too young to experience the pop culture phenomenon that ensued firsthand, but its reverberations can still be felt today. To many, the word "videogame" brings to mind a mental image of the little yellow glutton cruising around mazes and avoiding ghosts. It's synonymous relationship with the medium is particularly amazing given the fact the game is almost 30 years old.

A couple of weeks ago, original Pac-Man developer Namco revitalized the series with the release of Pac-Man Championship Edition on Xbox Live Arcade. Arriving just as the Halo 3 Beta was drawing to a close, Pac-Man CE was like a gift from a benevolent God that I'm still not quite sure that I believe in (though the quality of the game sure does make a strong case for the existence of the big guy.)

Pac-Man CE maintains the charm of the original visually, with extremely simple character sprites that would've been right at home on an arcade board in 1979. The mazes were jazzed up a bit with a glowing vector-graphics effect that works extremely well. The entire maze is still contained within one screen, and thanks to the dominance of HD TVs it's a widescreen.

The gameplay has only a few subtle differences that when combined create a fast, frantic experience. For example, in the original, once all of the dots were cleared within a maze the action would stop. The player would be rewarded with a much-needed rest before the screen would black out and a new maze generated. In CE, the maze is divided into left and right sections. When all of the dots on one side are cleared, a piece of fruit appears on the opposite side. Eating the fruit replenishes the dots on the opposite end and in some cases changes the layout of the maze. This is done seemlessly, leaving absolutely no break in the gameplay.

Games can be played in a variety of modes, which vary in five or ten minute intervals. The timer and score chasing make for a perfectly old-school arcade experience. I can't really do the game any justice here, the incredibly addictive gameplay must really be played to be fully understood. But if words are your thing, there's no shortage of enthusiast press on Pac-Man CE. Everyone from 1up.com to Penny-Arcade has covered has covered the game at length.

If you have a 360, buy it. If you don't have a 360, then you should just go ahead and end your life right now.

Grand Theft Autonomy

There's only one thing in the entire world that I hate more than AIDS and cancer. It's all around us and we see it everyday. No one is safe, really. It can happen to your best friend, your brother, your sister, your primo, prima and abuelita . . . . and it can even happen to YOU. I'm of course talking about pandemic of losing yourself completely when in a relationship that's spreading like a proverbial wildfire.

No doctor of medicine or expert of psychological pseudo-sciences can explain it. How does a grown man, with a fully-functioning pair of testicles instantly lose them when he meets a girl? Where do they go!? Jesus Christ . . . you'd have a better chance of finding Amelia Earhart and Jimmy Hoffa on the same day than you would your friend's manhood.

And before the ugly finger of misogyny gets pointed in this direction, it must be said that it goes both ways. All too often smart, fun-loving, and ambitious women are mercilessly molded into boring, reclusive, non-text-message-answering dopplegangers of their former selves.

Is it really worth it to lose yourself? The only thing we are born with, that is ours eternally and unquestionably is our-motherfucking-selves. Why would anyone willingly give that away? Perhaps its a combination of things . . . like loneliness, low self esteem, and the temptation of the all powerful FUCK--dangled over their heads by a string like a carrot leading a donkey.

Whatever the case may be, it saddens me greatly. Every time I witness a case of grand theft autonomy, a little piece of me dies inside. Each and every person can give their friends, loved ones, strangers, and lovers SO MUCH if they could simply be themselves.

I leave you all with lyrics from the ever-wise REO Speedwagon and their 1987 hit That Ain't Love. It's an inspirational "fuck you! i'm better off without you" ballad in the tradition of I Will Survive. Here goes:

You tell me what you think Im feelin', you know why I do what I do
Why should you listen to a word I'm sayin', when it's already so clear to you
You tell me 'bout my bad intentions, you doubt the very things I hold true
I can no longer live with your misconceptions, baby all I can say to you, is

That ain't love, I believe you've got the wrong emotion
That ain't love, at least it doesn't feel like love to me
As long as I say what you wanna hear
Do what you wanna do, be who you want me to be
You think that's love, well baby that ain't love to me

Not to be Confused With That Robin WIlliams Movie

Strolling through Target for no reason is one of my favorite pastimes. There's something about all that red and the curious Target-smell that brings my comfort. I can almost always find a CD, DVD, videogame, or solid-colored Mossimo shirt that I don't need, but end up buying anyway.

During one of my recent Target constitutionals I wandered into the toy section. Now, usually I stay away from there, given my disdain for screaming children, terrible parents, and the general disorganization of the merchandise (due in large part to the screaming children and terrible parents.) So against my better judgment, I cruised into the toy section to see what kids are playing with these days. My findings made me a little sad.

Toys today are terribly boring. First of all, there is a line action figures based on people with regular "manly" jobs. You know, like cops, fireman, construction workers, etc. I don't know about you guys, but the idea of playing with a toy based on an under-paid blue-collar schmo does not sound all that exciting. There was also your standard licensed fair, such as Spider-Man toys, Shrek toys, and other toys based on high-budgeted PG-13-rated films.

It was all just SO boring. It made me think about how awesome toys were when I was little. Toys that were fun, and creative, and worth throwing a fit in public for. So let's reminisce about a time when children's shoes were bereft of wheels, a time when Saturday morning cartoons were a big deal and punctuated by commercials for toys that didn't suck . . .

Every once in a while, toy-designers like to get together and create a toy that reminds fat kids about how much the world hates them. During my youth, that toy was the the PogoBall. This rubber inflated ball and plastic foot-stand was definitely not for the hefty. And even those that were blessed with not-so-big bones got very little "pogo" out of it. Jumping on a PogoBall felt a lot like jumping while weighted down by an inflatable ball and plastic stand.



Boys love action figures--not dolls--action figures. Action figures with big fucking muscles and guns and mean looking scowls on their faces. I was lucky enough to be born in era that saw the release of a line of action figures that not only fulfilled my masculine fantasies of warfare and destruction, but my culinary ones as well. The Food Fighters were surely the result of brilliant focus group testing that managed to tap into kids love of both fried foods and Rambo.




Jealous of Mattel's success with Food Fighters, rival toy manufacturer Playmates applied similar focus group testing and released the Barnyard Commandos. After all, the only thing kids love more than snacks and blowing shit up is petting zoos and, well . . . blowing shit up. The Barnyard Commandos added some much needed drama to the chaotic, pointless fighting of their food counterparts. The Commandos were divided into two factions: the R.A.M.S. and the P.O.R.K.s. This gave many-a-child their first taste of how cute and cuddly a race war could be.




I barely remember these rosy-cheeked pastel rodent abominations known as Popples. I know I had the orange one and that there was a tie-in cartoon show, but I can't recall how or why these things existed and what the significance of their ability to turn into a ball was. But I do know that pulling the fabric flap down to make a Popple into a ball was really fucking hard for a four-year-old.



What were some of you all's favorite toys when you were kids?

The Pied Piper of Pixar

Browsing around my usual entertainment news sites I've been seeing more and more buzz about Disney and Pixar's latest computer-animated concoction Ratatouille. I'm somewhat susceptible to internet hype, but there was something about this movie that was bothering me . . . then I realized it.

Pixar is not perfect.

Pixar is the studio that is single-handedly responsible for the motion picture industry's phasing out of traditionally animated films. Toy Story was absolutely out of this world when it debuted in 1995, but was it as mind-blowingly awesome as Snow White and the Seven Dwarves in 1937? Probably not. And call me old fashioned, but I was a little sad when Disney put thousands of Korean sweatshop workers out of a job and completely stopped producing traditionally animated films. Especially when its last attempt was the abysmal Rosanne Barr-voiced Home on the Range . . . . but the traditional vs. computer-animation debate is one for another time.

Like many of you out there, when I think of Pixar, warm memories of the first time I saw Toy Story on the big screen, the amazing animation techniques used in Finding Nemo, and the decidedly grown-up approach they took with The Incredibles are recalled. These thoughts make it easy to neglect the more forgettable attempts that the uber-successful studio has thrown at us over the years.

A Bug's Life was Pixar's sophomore entry into the world of full-length animated films. The technology had come a long way since Toy Story, but that did nothing to help the film. A Bug's Life ended up being an unimpressive take on the Seven Samurai plot, remembered more for its competition by another computer-bug flick Antz than its own merits. Ask anyone to make a list of their favorite Pixar movies, and unless they're a entomologist or a retard A Bug's Life will most assuredly be at the bottom.

Then along came Monsters Inc., which had the misfortune of following up the near-perfect Toy Story 2. Conceptually it was pretty cool. Taking the "there's a monster in my closet" idea and focusing it on friendly monsters that harvest children's screams to power their city. And they even managed to get Billy Crystal away from Academy Awards hosting gigs and Analyze This sequels long enough to lend his voice to it. But even a cool concept and a washed-up comedian couldn't save this film. The single best part was Boo, the child character that was literally voiced by a child spouting nonsense into the microphone. One viewing was enough--and it's anybody's guess as to how it went on to make $250 million. I'm thinking it was the lack of cg-toon competition back in 2001.

And finally we have Cars. A movie that trailered so poorly that I never even bothered to see it. But I didn't really need to, because I was sure I'd seen these characters before. Oh, that's right . . . they're complete knock-offs of the Chevron Techron cars from an ad campaign that first debuted over 10 years ago. Seriously, what the fuck? After The Incredibles proved to audiences that animation can have a narrative with the sophistication of a live-action film and the heart of a family film, this G-rated fluff piece was an abomination.

This brings us back to Ratatouille. A movie that, from what I gather, is about a rat that dreams of being a chef. The sad thing is, the plot of the movie is SO BAD, that it must immediately be followed by, "it's the new movied from Pixar!" in order to spark any sort of interest in it. Which is what brings me to my original point: Just because a movie is stamped with the Pixar logo, it does not mean that it is an immediate classic worthy of your $8.75.

People need to get away from having a pleasure-induced seizure every time a studio or director with a semi-consistent track record releases a new movie. I was happy as shit when the over-advertised, over-done, overly-long, complete waste of time and talent that was Grindhouse tanked at the box office. It had Quentin Tarantino's name on it, but that didn't mean I couldn't smell a rat . . . or in this case a Ratatouille (sorry, I couldn't resist.)

What They Don't Teach You in Biology Class

I often ask myself--what differentiates human beings from the animals? Is it our ability to reason? Our opposable thumbs? Our advances in art and technology?

Hell no. It's our ability to spice up our lovemaking with more positions than just "doggie style."

Look at all these sad quadrapeds . . . just humping away for millions of years in JUST ONE POSITION. The thought alone makes me want to end my own life.

I mean, it's totally effective right? If your goal is simply to reproduce like our four-legged friends here, then that's fine. But think about the monotony. It's so sad, because even if they wanted to they couldn't do it. For example, if an elephant ever wanted to get a little freaky and get on top, it would literally destroy its partner. Now that's fucked up.

So yes folks, be thankful that you walk on two legs instead of four. And the next time you want to try something new with your partner, say a silent prayer for the animals out there that have been damned to an eternity of boring sex.

Il Grande Finale

Every one seems to be furious about the ending of HBO's The Sopranos.

"What the . . .?!"

"I want closure!"

"After eight years you give us this?!"

"That's a cop-out!"

And to these naysayers, I say nay to you! Wake the fuck up and appreciate the gift that David Chase (in his infinite brilliance) has given us.

The Sopranos was a trail-blazing television drama. It took the mythos of the Italian mafia and modernized it, and gave a more intimate look into the personal lives of its members. It was extremely brutal and unpredictable. Unlike other television dramas, the characters met their end in shockingly bloody ways. It was always a little sad when one of your favorite characters got "whacked," but by that same token, it was EXTREMELY satisfying when one of your LEAST favorite characters got what he deserved. The threat of death was imminent, and helped the show remain true to its source material.

Tony was the heart of the show. A complex anti-hero that over years has proved himself a liar, murderer, adulterer, drug-user, gambler, racist, and misogynist. Seems like he certainly deserves to die, doesn't it?

Yeah, he probably does. Or maybe all the good things he has done, and all the good things he may still do means that he shouldn't die.

There is no right or wrong or answer here, and the ending that Mr. Chase chose let's us make up our minds about the future of Tony Soprano.

As fans, we become extremely attached to fictional characters. We relate to them, empathize and sympathize with them, and enjoy watching their growth over the course of a series. But we are always at the mercy of the invisible Hollywood writers as to what happens to our favorite characters. And why is that? How come a group of creative writing majors that sit in a room all night smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee together get to decide how everything will end?

The ending is a fair one. It's a realistic one. It deftly avoided dramatic cliches as it set them up. The mysterious angry guy in the windbreaker? Meadow out in the street? All the pieces were there for a catastrophe . . . or not.

I was shocked by the abruptness of the finale, and given the medium I thought that perhaps the cable had gone out at the worst possible moment. But after dwelling on it for a while I realized that ending was the smartest possible way for the show to end.

Kudos to you, Mr. Chase. Now it's time to start buying the rest of the DVDs.