It's Me...Again

CAST: Danny, 37, writes messages to his ex-girlfriend; Alana, 38, ignores messages from her ex-boyfriend.

Setting: In Danny’s living room with a couch, desk, computer, Top Gun poster.

SUMMARY: Danny writes on various devices (phone, computer) in his home to his ex, all while the world around him moves forward.

Danny sits on his couch, phone in hand, as he starts typing, his voiceover plays

DANNY

Hey, Alana! So, it’s been awhile, but I wanted to say hello and see what you’re up to. I know we had some hard times when we were together, but I feel the need to stay friends. If you don’t want me to contact you, let me know and  I won’t. But if you do, I’d love to catch up. Talk to me, Alana. -Danny

Scene fades showing the passage of time, reopens to him with a woman in the background

DANNY

Hello, Alana. So, I randomly decide to see what everyone's fav girl is up to on Facebook and what do I see? A musical reference to the best song from my favorite movie: Top Gun. I know what you’re thinking: Hot Summer Nights and topless volleyball. Well, you’ve been on my mind too. Anywaaaaay, looks like a lot is changing for you, so I just wanted to reach out and say I hope everything is going well. Can you let me know you got this message? TTYL! -Danny

 

Scene fades showing the passage of time, reopens to him with a woman and a dog in the background

DANNY

Hi. So, I can't help but notice you blocked me on Facebook... Does that mean you blocked me on email too? I waited a while to ask to be respectful of your space but hopefully it's been long enough? Can we be friends yet? I ask because I don't want to write a real email only to have it fall on deaf ears. On a lighter note, I got a dog! He’s a real bruiser, and I bet you’d love him. His name: ICEMAN. His influence: you guessed it, Top Gun. You were always so good with animals. Hit me back, please! I want to send you a real note. -Danny

 

Scene fades showing the passage of time, reopens to him with a pregnant woman and dog in the background

DANNY

Alana. I hope you weren’t upset about me getting Iceman. I know you always wanted a dog, and I wasn’t emotionally ready for that kind of responsibility. I’ve changed a lot. I’m a lot more mature. I know what my priorities should be. I can tell you if you let me. I don’t know if you get these emails or not, but I really need to talk to you. Talk to you soon (I hope)! -Danny

Scene fades showing the passage of time, reopens to him typing on his phone with a woman, baby, and dog in the background

DANNY

I wasn’t sure if you got the emails I sent. And I think this is still your phone number… Alana-na~ Remember that nickname? You had one for me too: Danny-boy. Not sure if you called me that because you liked The Shining and felt like you wanted to kill me. Or maybe it’s because I did baby talk too much in bed. Really sorry about that. Talking about your “bweasties” and my “widdle dan-dan noodle” just wasn’t a turn-on for you and I get it. Either way, I was always satisfied. I’m wondering why you never respond to my emails. Respond to my message or lose me forever. -Danny-boy ;D

Scene fades showing the passage of time, reopens to him alone

DANNY

Alana. Soooo, after all those messages, you were getting them. That’s great! But guess what? A response would have been appreciated. It seems you decided to forward our PRIVATE correspondence to my wife. That was low, Alana. A real immature move. I thought you were better than that. That’s not what I meant when I said “get back at me.” Far from it. Well, I hope you’re happy. You ruined my life. You did this. This will be my last message. - Daniel

Scene fades but quickly comes back to prior scene

DANNY

P.S. Let me know you got this. Thanks.

What Was Wrong with Wii Music

Taking an objective—and sometimes subjective—look at why Wii Music failed to resonate with consumers.

In 2006, the Nintendo Wii was released with the now best-selling, single-console game of all time: Wii Sports. Does it count if it was bundled with the Wii system? Apparently, yes. Would 1-2-Switch have "sold" more units if Nintendo bundled it in with the Switch? Absolutely, yes. Following Wii Sports’ success were other iterations in the Wii game series like Wii Fit (43 million units sold) and Wii Play (28 million units sold). There was one game, however, that didn't enjoy the same popularity. Here's a hint:

This wasn't DJ Ravidrums worst gig. He performed at the Make America Great! Welcome Celebration in 2017.

Wii Music sold around 2.5 million units. That number is decent, yes, but when compared to its other Wii series games, Nintendo missed the mark and market on this one. Here are some reasons Wii Music failed to resonate with fans.

Wii Music is not a video game

People see video games as a play activity with clear rules, goals, and feedback. In Wii Music, it is a pretended reality with no clear rules, no goals, nor any feedback; therefore, it is not a video game. Wii Music is a toy. Toys are better suited to young children who simply enjoy the entertainment of something and ignore rules and goals. Perhaps the target audience should have been much different, say to ages 3 - 8, as an alternate to the recorder as an entryway to music.

Wii Music is TOO Casual

Speaking of target audience, Wii Sports was targeted at the casual market ("…even if you have never played a game before") but dumbed down too much. Many casual players pushed the momentum of Rock Band and Guitar Hero’s (hereafter RB/GH) success, and the difficulty options for those games ranged from the complex to mostly simple button combos. The market didn't need a more simple presentation. Part of the joy of learning music is hearing your effort come to life. Wii Music is the equivalent of giving someone a paintbrush, having them shake it around, and getting a Bob Ross landscape without learning how to make the happy trees. Wii Music plays itself for you.

And it's TOO Broad

I think the developers wanted to create an ideal music game that would appeal to everyone. It is not possible to please everyone because everyone does not enjoy the same thing. Games should strive for inclusiveness, not universality. Add one or two unique features to a new game so as to not alienate enthusiasts, with the intent of attracting the interest of people who otherwise wouldn't notice.

Why did we need Wii Music? 

There's a reason kids pick up learning a musical instrument when they're young: it's easy. With the right guidance, most kids can learn how to read music and make a melody on an instrument in a few days if not hours. There's also a reason people played RB/GH games: they entertained people by allowing them to play music to popular songs, and you could play cooperatively for high scores. Wii Music floats in the middle of those two ideas: playing together but with no challenge, and learning to play music, which is already accessible to most people. 

It was released as an inferior product

If it preceded the (at the time) revolutionary RB/GH, it may have had a chance, but the product was the equivalent of Sony and Microsoft's attempts at motion controls after the Wii's release: late to the party, despite better tech. There was no need for consumers to buy this product.

The controls were silly

When people play music games cooperatively with friends, they're emulating a real-life craft. The controllers offered by RB/GH use similar peripherals compared to their real-life counterparts. The Wii Remote and nunchuck don't have that same appeal.

How do I look? 

A lot of people (certainly not me) want to look cool (definitely not me) when performing in front of friends (of which I have MANY), and the Wii Music combo would make Bruno Mars look like a scrub.

Suspension of Disbelief was missing

Wii Music lacked the immersion that RB/GH gave to people: I'm really singing "Since You've Been Gone" into this mic vs. I'm using this plastic remote like a saxophone. Definitely pulling this off... This kind of social immersion was missing in Wii Music.

Where's the Motivation?

Games need to incentivize players to continue playing, and so long as a game keeps offering new things to learn, it remains enjoyable. In Wii Music, what are the goals, what is the feedback? This game provides little of either. The feedback in Wii Music is as complex as pressing a cow button and hearing the cow go moo.

No clear vision

There's an Iwata Asks article about Wii Music, and apparently Mr. Miyamoto tinkered with a musical video game idea in the 64 era. That idea went on for years with no specific goal in mind. A prototype came about with the Wii "conductor's game.” According to the article, the concept seemingly continued to drag. Games that have no clear vision struggle throughout development. The developers did not outright answer the most important question: What is the player going to do? What is their role and what dream is being fulfilled? You're telling people you can become a musical master, but they're not learning those skills. It's like telling potential Mario Kart consumers, "Play this game and it's like driving a car in real life, minus the props.”

If you enjoyed Wii Music, great; but as far as the Wii series library goes, Wii Music is, by far, the “wiikest” link. (Yikes.)

That Dog

I remember Bogey in the laundry room. The cold hardwood floor his bed, no, his world; the dark his constant companion. He couldn't hold his piss like he used to, and that wasn't acceptable to Rob. I turned the light on as I stepped into the room. Either the light or my scent drove him into a frenzy, and he paced around me. I knelt to hold him, to calm him down. Cupping his face, I felt what little fur he had left. His tongue frantically searched the air for a lick of moisture. (Only a few sips of water a day--that ensures fewer messes to clean up for Rob.) How is this moment real? Bogey was a family member for 12 years, both cherished and loved by Rob and the others. But then Bogey grew old. He became an inconvenience. (I think when time's limit starts to noticeably tick, it's louder to those around you.) That dog suffered; Rob watched TV. That dog searched for his pack; Rob knew exactly where he was. I urged Rob to send Bogey away—out of his misery if nothing else. What sort of life is lived trapped in this void? “He’s fine,” Rob said. I wouldn’t relent, though. I reminded Rob every day. Every day. Every day until my persistence was more annoying than that dog that couldn’t contain his bowels. Rob conceded.

The next day, I cradled Bogey, his body tense as I gripped the skeletal ridges of his torso around my arms. Rob would want to say goodbye; after all, he wouldn't come for the farewell. I carried Bogey out to Rob. He looked at the dog with hollow eyes. In this house, Bogey was dead a long time ago. I took him to the veterinarian without Rob. Why am I doing this? He's not even my dog...

My eyes hurt. I couldn't stop the tears. I couldn't hold them in. One by one by one they pushed through--burning my skin--reminding me that Bogey was forever gone.

The hardwood floors...they're clean again.

Sad Times at Outcast High

When I think back to all the cruel words and actions I endured in middle school, many instances come to mind. Here’s a collection of the worst that I remember:

• I was dubbed “Casper the Ugly Ghost.”
• I had a gap in between my teeth, and so boys would do the field goal gesture as they passed me in the hallway.
• I invited all the girls in my class to my birthday party. Only two out of 12 accepted; I overheard the remaining 10 entertain each other with their made-up excuses for not coming.
• I dreaded the dance unit in P.E. class since no boy would dance with me--but someone always got stuck with me. They’d never look at me while we danced, instead looking forward to the moment when it’d be over.
• One girl caused a rumor that I stuffed my bra in sixth grade. (Thanks for that, Katie R.) To this day, I don’t know why she started that false rumor. Puberty hadn’t summoned my chest to rise yet, and I was so flat I wore a sports bra just for kicks--or nips. Whatever. Despite the historically pancake nature of my chest, the whispers didn’t die down for some time. Rumors really suck when they’re not based on the slightest fact. I actually considered stuffing my bra AFTER the rumors since I didn’t realize it was a problem prior. (If I recall correctly, Katie R. never filled out. Hah! Boob karma.)

All of that sucked. I was sad, lonely, and sometimes my thoughts turned...very dark. Desperate to find peace, I entertained the thought of leaving in hopes that a happy life elsewhere awaited. (I credit a specific video game for carrying me out of that Hell and giving me hope and purpose. That’s a different, happy story.)

I eventually gained a few friends in middle school, and those friends transitioned into high school. Around sophomore year, I don’t know what sparked it, but I became brave. I grew confident with my thoughts, my words, my actions, and who I was. I tired of quietly sitting in class, at lunch, in the hallway, on the bus, and every waking moment. I started to crack jokes, make decisions courageously, call out people that were mean or rude, and simply exist outwardly instead of in my head. I know not everyone changes from being the outcast to the accepted. I’m lucky I found a way. That’s not to say I was popular, but no one bullied me any longer.

During my junior year, I learned a different type of hostility. Truly, the crux of this whole piece as it wasn’t a demeaning name or slanderous rumor or lewd gesture. This person f**ked with me. Mental game sh** that I didn’t realize was possible, and to this day astounds me knowing a 16-year-old was capable of such cruelty.

I met Molly on the bus going to and from school. She was a cheerleader that oddly seemed exiled from her teammates. Molly was energetic, enthusiastic, and I enjoyed hanging out with her. We talked about topics most teenage girls chat about including boys we fancied. As she earned my trust, I grew candid with her and mentioned a classmate, Drew, that I found handsome. She told me that they were friends, and she would ask him if he was interested. At this point, I hadn’t so much as kissed or hugged a boy, and so this prospect was exciting!

The next day, Molly told me that Drew liked me. Not only that, he was interested in meeting up after the basketball game on Friday. (Drew played on our high school team.) The school usually held a mixer in the cafeteria after a home game, and we would meet there. I told my other friends about the romantic development as I was over-the-moon thinking we would finally talk. Better yet--he already liked me! It felt like fate, and at the time, I hoped that fate had some place in our world.

I watched the game from the bleachers--and Drew--but couldn’t stop thinking about my night with destiny. Molly left her post cheering on the court to greet me. She told me that all the plans were set and Drew would meet me by the pop machines in the cafeteria at 9:15 p.m. That made sense. He had to shower and get ready after the game. It was our first meeting after all.

I counted down the minutes to the buzzer and excitedly took my place in the cafeteria. Molly swung by to confirm I was in the right spot. She said Drew would be out shortly. At 9:15, I turned away from the door. I decided that I would let him turn me around or tap my shoulder or some other sweet gesture. A few minutes later, I checked the clock and he was late. That’s okay. Probably had to fix his hair or apply extra deodorant. The reasons why he was late grew in number as time continued to pass. I started to ask if anyone around saw Drew. I scanned the room for him, thinking it was possible he got the location wrong. I texted Molly. No answer. I called Molly. No answer. I looked at the clock which reached the tenth hour. He wasn’t coming. He...never was coming. One of his teammates I knew from class verified that he went home with his parents immediately after the game. She fabricated the whole thing. But why? I texted her again when I got home. No response.

On Monday, Molly got on the bus, but she didn’t sit by me like usual. When we arrived at school, I accused her of tricking me for her pleasure. She denied it saying they did talk, but HE probably chickened out last minute. It wasn’t true, though. Certainly I couldn’t confront him; he wasn't aware anything was happening! That’s how foolish the whole scenario was. I believed it was possible that he noticed me like I noticed him, and she would bring us together. I was strung along like a fool.

I cut off Molly completely after that. She tried talking to me a few times as if nothing happened, but I refused to acknowledge her. I didn't understand why she played me. I am now older, wiser and more cynical. I know that humans are capable of cruelty, but why can’t we evolve to be wholly honest and kind to each other? It’s not in our history, and so likely not our fate either.

The Squirrel of Carbs

Many years ago, to compost stale food I would throw the offenders off my balcony into the field behind my apartment. I figured the bugs and animals could do better work than a landfill. One day, I launched a quarter loaf of bread into the yard. I went back inside to check on the laundry, and then grabbed some damp clothes to hang outside. As I’m hanging the shirts, I noticed the loaf is missing in the field. I scanned the space and saw a squirrel grasping the sizable loaf in both his claws. He was hugging it, spooning it, owning it, and just wrapping every ounce of his being into this yeast-infused treasure. I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the scene. I returned to my chores without realizing the impact I made on that squirrel’s diet--nay, life.

Click for full-size squirrel on loaf.

As I was locking up my apartment a few days later, I heard a screech behind me. A squirrel was hissing at me. His body tense, his voice shrill--it was the squirrel from the yard! I wasn’t sure how to process the situation, so I left for school knowing I gave that squirrel a taste for bread that couldn’t be sated any longer by weekly scraps. He was addicted to his newfound wheat belly, and I was the dealer responsible for his unnatural desire. The next day, I explored the balcony and found that the squirrel--let’s call him Carb Squirrel--took up residence in a little hole in a brick pillar. What’s better for a critter than a second-floor loft next to an irresponsible human that recklessly flings biscuits out their window?

A couple months later, Carb Squirrel charmed a lady squirrel into moving in with him. Such a sweet story if you remove the part where this doubled the amount of squirrel screaming. As far as terrible neighbors go, I figure two animals that harass you daily for not serving them food ranks pretty high. Eventually, they stopped berating me since I no longer hurled food into the yard after I saw the effect it had on Carb Squirrel.

I suppose that’s the lesson. I went from someone that didn’t think twice about throwing food away in my backyard, to someone who now makes a conscious effort to reduce waste and to properly compost whenever possible. I live clear across the country now, but I wish nothing but the best for Carb Squirrel and his companion. I’m sure they had squirrel babies and told stories of the giant, unfurred gluten dealer that caused their father’s diabetes. But more likely, rest with pieces of croutons, Carb Squirrel. I hope your legacy of doing a bread shotgun lives on in that backyard.

A Collection of (Rough) Cinquain Poems

My stuff
Where is my crap?
Ugh, you lost the damn thing
Customer service does jack shit
Not pleased.

Frozen
More Lean Cuisines
Spruce it up with rice, cheese
Tastes like a fancy feast to me
Cat food.

Red light
You drove through it
Pay heed to your own life
If not that, the ones around you
You suck.

Three words
Two hearts lay still
Thousand meanings between
One moment arrested by time
Gone... Gone.

Brie cheese
That creamy funk
I eat the rind, of course
Too lazy to put on crackers
Still good.

T Bell
What is this shit?
Tacos shaped like canoes
The beef is like a donkey paste
Let’s go.

Author's note: Five out of the six poems are based on today's events. Food is my muse.

Go Fly Yourself

No. I never enjoyed flying kites. Well, I mean, the only kite I ever flew was a rickety, plastic number from Kmart that broke on its maiden voyage. What’s the joy in watching something else fly—let alone watching it suffer for mere minutes before crippling itself after reaching street light altitude?

As a kid and still today I love riding roller coasters. I feel such a rush going fast, going up high; I want that feeling to last, I always want to fly. (Ahem.) I guess you can say I want to be the one in the sky hovering above the land below. Of course, I have no wings or sails or wind to assist with this desire. Also, I don’t believe a hot air balloon home above Seattle will ever be a possibility. Despite these current limitations, humans are resourceful beings; and where’s there’s profit in recreation, corporations are sure to find a way. So, I have a goal to do at least two of the following three activities to scratch that flighty itch:

• Skydiving - This is the most likely of all three activities. I know plenty of folks that partook with rave reviews. You get the safety of a trained specialist tasked with yanking your (parachute) chain along with a backup sail. Not to mention a video that captures the inevitable screaming and laughing only you will appreciate.

• Bungee jumping - This seems unpleasant. You want to feel like you’re helplessly falling thousands of feet before halting and ricocheting back up like dead weight? Go for it. I get that feeling every time I play a 3D Mario game. I get 10 inches near a ledge and I clench so hard I could suffocate the dust mites in the air.
• Parasailing - Now, this is the ultimate human kite experience. This seems perfect for a tropical beach trip. I have nothing bad to say about parasailing. What a lovely prospect! (“You won’t fly the kite, kid… You’ll BECOME THE KITE!” That's the concept for a terrible Bruce Lee-inspired Netflix movie starring no one notable.)

The year is ending and I would prefer to not dive through the sky accompanied by freezing rain, so I’ll look into skydiving in the spring. I have to do it soon while the heart’s still functioning properly. If my mom is any indication, a spoon falling from the counter to the floor will make my heart skip several beats in about 30 years. As for kites, thanks for inspiring me to fly hopefully better than you.

Wine Bags and Weird Blisters

One weekend in college, my roommates and I cracked open some boxed wine. The bag nearly drained, we decided to bring our drunk selves to some unfortunate bar. But first, I had to get ready.

For whatever stupid reason back then, I was adamant about my hair being pin-straight for all special occasions—most importantly for those occasions I hardly remember. I ran to my bedroom to heat up the straightening iron at my desk/vanity/dinner table, and then returned to nurse my mug of wine. After a few pre-gaming gulps, I returned to iron my hair. The strands scorched to an acceptable crisp, I placed the iron on my chair and grabbed some clothes. I picked a shirt, skirt, and the choice to not adorn my undercarriage with full-coverage briefs. Noticing my eye makeup needed a touch-up, I sat at my desk and felt a lava-like heat down there I’ll never forget. I landed—bare ass, skirt up—on the iron and shot straight back up in surprise. The brilliant part comes after: I was so drunk that my reaction was to sit back down to calm my butt cheek’s fury. I then shot up a second time, outraged that I ironed my ass not once but twice. Luckily for my nerves, I was mentally checked out so it didn’t hurt too badly. I definitely went out dancing and shook my second-degree burned ass.

I woke up the next day with the heat of a thousand brands on my fanny. Sunday was a workday—eight frustrating hours at Home Depot awaited. As I changed, I caught a glimpse of my posterior in the mirror and saw the shame lines. Since I sat twice on the iron dead center, and knowing there are two heated plates, the burns had blistered across both cheeks for a total of eight blister strips (is that the scientific term?). The constant pain wasn’t too terrible; no, the real issue was surface interaction. When I sat down in my car, I catapulted my pelvis into the air feeling the shock down under. I don’t know how common butt blisters are, but they are TENDER BUBBLES. I had to perch on my car seat like a one-legged catcher and used my free leg to accelerate and brake. Since cashiers generally stand at post, the blisters could breathe more freely. Outside of cashiering, however, I learned that you don’t stand for much of anything. I had to perch at home and in class. After two days of living like an owl, I was perched on the carpet writing a paper. I wanted to protect the butt bubbles, but I couldn’t squat another second. I took a deep breath and plopped my ass on the floor. You don’t really know weird feelings until eight ass blisters squish under your weight into carpet. Luckily the apartment was a rental.

You’re probably wondering why I would tell such an embarrassing tale. Well, it’s been over 10 years, so whatever statute of shame limitation exists must have expired by now. What rekindled this memory was the warning on my straightening iron I noticed the other day:

Peculiar warnings like this must be derived from an actual incident, right? In a world where someone has tried to straighten their eye (lashes, brows, balls?), I guess burning ass isn't the craziest thing they need to forewarn.

Poop and Consequence

“Eat the Egg McMuffin,” she said, dropping it on the empty hot cakes and sausage foam plate. “I don't want you complaining within two hours at the park that you're hungry.” I wasn’t hungry though. I just finished three pancakes and some sort of meat patty. I asked her to take it away, but my mom insisted. “We’ll go to Six Flags when you eat this; until it’s gone, we’re not leaving.” I couldn’t let an egg sandwich come between me and roller coaster heaven, so I grinned and ate it. After a grueling take-down, my mom, dad, sister, my swell stomach, and I headed back into the car for our annual trip to Six Flags Great America.

You may wonder why I had to eat more after finishing what one would argue was a hearty meal for a 60-pound 9-year-old. First, my mom insisted we take part in the clean plate club for each meal; I believe that’s a consequence of being raised by Great Depression-era parents. Second, she was an advocate of frugal spending when it came to food. To ensure we wouldn’t indulge in overpriced park grub, my mom’s tactic included eating a whopping meal of fast food on the way. For double insurance, she assembled a cooler filled with juice boxes, granola bars, and slimy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in case of midday hunger pangs. You ate those brown bag champions since Mom would rather you eat dog food than pay six dollars for a hot dog.

With an hour left on our journey, I quietly watched the views from the car window. The calm was interrupted by a tremendous rumble down yonder. And another. And one very loud rumble that resembled what I imagine Ridley Scott tried to emulate during the Alien birthing scenes. Those stomach rumbles were warning calls for an impending disaster--a disaster that surely no humble Accord deserved. I shook my mom’s seat in front and told her I had to go…bad. Also an advocate of not using public restrooms, she shrugged off my request and suggested I wait until we get to the park. Now, as most animals know, when your intestines send tremors throughout your system, they’re not screwing around. And when you’re a kid, it’s imperative to regard that message with high priority. For my second plea, I screeched with an unmistakable sense of urgency. Fortunately, the next exit was a rest stop. My dad pulled the car into an empty spot, and my mom and I ran for the bathroom. I remember situating my cheeks so swiftly onto the porcelain you’d think I reached a breakthrough in magnetic science. I did what needed to be done and the urge was gone. We settled back into the Accord to continue our journey to Six Flags.

Time for some real talk: If your body has ever tried to eliminate something from your system, you may know that one round is rarely the endgame. And, of course, my body was not done with all that McDonald's bullshit. Or just shit—let’s be real. About 15 minutes later, I had that foreboding urge, and that urge turned to desperate need within seconds. I shouted for my parents to stop again, insisting that I couldn’t bear another moment. Unfortunately, the next exit was not for another seven miles, which meant at least another 10 minutes of that feeling. I laid down, closed my eyes, and imagined Ronald McDonald throwing hockey puck-shaped eggs at my mouth while he cackled.

I soon felt the Accord slow its pace; my destination was close! This time, on the other hand, I felt I couldn’t control the surge if I moved even an inch. Not having a penchant for cleaning car upholstery, my mom threw me over her shoulder and rushed me into the gas station bathroom. I don’t remember what happened between toilet and sink contact, and perhaps that’s for the best. What I do remember was feeling exhausted. As a kid, the sort of clenching stamina I exhibited was extraordinary, but it came at a steep cost. We continued our trek up to Six Flags, and I nervously stared out the window dreading another bodily murmur.

As my dad caught sight of the roller coasters on the horizon, the family started to cheer. We finally made it. But I cried. I cried because I didn’t want to be on the road any longer. I cried from the embarrassment of seeing all the strangers during each incident. And I mostly cried because my…you know what was on fire. My mom asked if I needed some medicine and I nodded. We stopped off at the exit before Six Flags to visit the Piggly Wiggly. My dad and I went in; he grabbed me that pink miracle: Pepto Bismol. He gave me a swig and hid the bottle as I insisted on chugging the rest. We got back in the car and just as the enthusiasm for the theme park started to rise again, I silenced it with a resounding “I WANT TO GO HOME!” I was so focused on my discomfort. I don’t remember how upset my parents were—if at all. I’m sure they were OK with not going to the theme park. Although I bet my sister was disappointed. You know, I want to take the blame for that disappointment, but honestly, I think it’s foolish to feed a kid more when they’re already full. You’re on a road trip, and saving a few bucks on theme park food should be a goal not a rule. I mean no disrespect to my mom. We all make mistakes. The repercussions of this mistake would be grand, though.

Because of that day, I developed a fear of traveling in cars. I could handle the 5-minute bus ride to school, but a 10-minute ride to the grocery store or mall? Nope. I refused to travel outside my comfort zone, which included laser precision toilet location awareness. This went on for several months, and I made no effort to free myself from that paranoia.

(To give some background to the next section, I participated in coloring contests—and often won prizes. I recently entered a contest to win a trip to Disney World. That was, of course, prior to D-Day.)

Several months later on an early Saturday morning, I heard the phone ring. My mom answered, and her confused tone hastily turned to excitement. In that moment, I knew exactly why my mom was so ecstatic. She was saying my name, saying the Lord’s name, and thanking whoever Walt was. I was so scared. Mom yelled for me to come downstairs. My heart dropped. I slowly walked down the steps and she met me halfway, shoving the phone against my head.

“Hi. Is this Katie?” the voice asked.

“…Yes.”

“Well, Katie, we here at Piggly Wiggly want to congratulate you on winning the grand prize in our coloring contest for a trip to Disney World!”

 “No. No. No-no-no… NO-NO-NO-NOOOOO!! …Please, nooo-oohoho!” I started to cry, laid down on the stairs, and rolled down them in dramatic 9-year-old fashion. With utmost certainty, I understood my doom awaited me on this 2-hour plane ride if I couldn’t handle a 10-minute car ride. My mom grabbed the phone off the stairs assuring the person on the other end that we accepted the grand prize. Thanks, MOM. I was horrified. I must be the only kid that has heard “you’re going to Disney World” and wept tears of despair. My mom tried to comfort me, but I insisted that the family should go without me and I would never color again. I retired.

With the Disney trip booked, my parents realized they had to break me of my fear or the plane ride would be a nightmare. A month before Disney World, they arranged a road trip to Michigan. Again, I was terrified at the thought of being on the road for 10 minutes let alone five hours. I contemplated running away, feigning illness, calling the police, but settled on hiding in my grandparent’s home. As the family packed up the Accord for Michigan, I slipped out the patio door and ran over to my grandparent’s house (conveniently next door to our home). My grandma answered, and with that, the water works immediately poured as I howled about how scared I was. Being the nurturing caregiver she was (still is), Grandma brought me inside with tender consolation. As I calmed down, I didn’t hear the knock on the door. She went to answer the door, and I suddenly realized it was one of my parents coming to collect me. I sprinted upstairs to the attic, shut the door, and hid in the closet. Muffled voices turned to footsteps that grew louder and louder.

“Kaaaatie!?” my dad yelled at the top of the stairs. “It’s time to go!”

“Nooo, I’m not going! You can’t make me!” Famous last words from a child in hiding. In a matter of seconds, my sanctuary was discovered, and I was slung over my dad’s shoulder. I cried, screamed, kicked, and punched to no avail. My grandma urged him to let me stay seeing my distress. Dad knew better.

“She’ll never get over this fear if we don’t push her. That trip to Disney World is coming up, and hell if I’m gonna deal with this tantrum at an airport.” I was dropped in the backseat next to my sister, and the door slammed shut with a swift click of the locks. I immediately went to grab the handle— “Don’t even think about leaving this car, young lady. You leave, I’ll tie you down next time.” The words put my will into submission and I resigned to my fate. I was going to have to poop on this trip—I just knew it! My mom came around a couple minutes later and placed our dogs, Maggie and Ginger, onto my lap. Their little jumps, sweet kisses, and wagging tails soon had me forgetting all about not wanting to be in the car. So much so, that we were already five minutes away from home. Surely, if two silly pugs can make a five-hour trip, so could I. And if not, I guess I’d go on the side of the road with them.

I don’t remember if I ended up having to go #2 on that road trip. And it didn’t matter. Even though D-Day is the thing I remember most about that one Six Flags trip, I realized the journey to your destination is one small part of the bigger story. You can’t make new memories without taking the risk of getting a bit messy along the way.

My Top 10 Favorite Pokémon Moon Nicknames

I finished Pokemon Moon last month. After completion I reviewed all the Pokemon I would never see again to collect pictures for this list of my favorite nicknames. I think I had a pretty good lineup this game, and there's definitely an unexpected winner at the end.

My naming method is to go with first impression--pretty simple. I'll try to recount where my mind was at the time of selection...

I had to screw with Lillie, one of the protagonist's friends in the game. She kept reiterating how she's definitely not a trainer; as if her stern apathy would make me forget that she was carrying a mystical beast in her purse. Did it seem like our fates were intertwined by this journey? Nope. That was me absolutely stalking a kid. Anyway, Lillie called this bat Nebby, so I was surprised that I had the opportunity to rename it. Well, Nebby became Benny. Just different enough to annoy her.

Obligatory Zelda reference in a non-related game.

This dog looks like a brat. I bet it even gets locked in fridges.

I traded this demon turkey with a fellow trainer, Kate, to get an Eevee. I don't have a screenshot, but I named him Egg Trousers. You can tell this imp chicken abandons bone diapers in the wild with blatant disregard.

Isn't Michael Bolton a bit of a diva? This Magnemite wants nothing to do with that nonsense. This is the cool Mikey B. who has a single screw loose and a 1000-yard stare that confirms it's unhinged.

Obligatory Dave Chappelle reference for Mudbray. I forgot its actual name after watching a video and called it Mudbutt. I called its evolved form Swamp Daddy.

This albino shrub is often found punching slabs of beef in the local meat locker. 

Fearow, be happy I gave you a unique name.

Wow. I didn't know I could be turned off any further than the original Raticate...and then it ate another Raticate.

I thought this was pretty good--7/11 sponsorship with Pokemon Go level good. Then out of curiosity, I went to my old save file for Pokemon Y and learned I was wrong. I thought I was good, but I was better...

Are you messing with me, 2013 Katie? You dropped that nickname so carelessly you couldn't bother to CAPS or space it.

Well, that's the end of this list. Until the next Pokemon game I decide to play!

Unrequited Loves

Lynn,

You asked me the other day if you'll ever find love. Well, I'm here to tell you...I don't know. As I think about love, a few things come to mind: I’ve felt love given, I’ve felt love lost, and I’ve felt love shared. Right now, the only love in my life is the love shared between my family, friends, and you. I…hope that there is one great love waiting for you. I hope that you meet, and you don't have to add that meeting as another loss.

The first time I felt love was in junior high. In young teen fashion, I wanted attention from the boys I had crushes on. It’s worth mentioning that not a single word was exchanged between me and a single one of these boys. Oh, but so many conversations in my head. I remembered the exact time in between certain classes that we would pass each other in the hallway. Always excited to see them, I only hoped they would glance back. If I wasn’t so frightfully shy at the time, I would have said something. I thought they were so cool—surely they had the confidence to approach me if…I…stared at them. Now I know they were probably oblivious to my existence--or knew I was the crazy girl that stared daggers at them as I crossed their paths. Sometimes at night when I went to bed, I would think about my crushes. I would think about us being on an island together or at a dance or at my wedding. My gorgeous self and all these boys starring in various scenarios where they fought over me. I was invisible in real life, but I was the center of attention in my (I promise: innocent in nature) dreams.

Back in those days, the only attention I received from boys and most girls was generally mean. I don't know why. I don't know why the boys in middle school were so disgusted by me. I knew the other girls were prettier, but was I so awful? Granted, I possessed some goofy features. I had a wide gap in my two front teeth--so wide that kids would gesture a field goal at me in reference to the space. I felt so ugly back then that when I received compliments I didn't know they came from a good place. People remarking I had long eye lashes caused me to cut them all off. I received so few compliments from my peers that I didn't know it came from a good place. I thought I had to eliminate the good because that wasn't me.

How depraved, huh? That was junior high for me, feeling invisible among hundreds of my peers. I had a couple friends, not to make you think I was a complete outcast. Outside those select friends and my family, the only thing that kept me company were the characters in video games. I was attached to those games because they were fun, and—I think—because they gave me a meaningful role in the stories.

In high school, I started to garner attention from some boys. I hung out after school with kids that I met through my job at Lifetime Fitness. They went to a neighboring high school and didn’t have the faintest idea of my reputation at my school. These were the cool kids: smoking, drinking, getting into the mischief warned about in teen dramas. I had fun hanging out with them, but they didn’t really know me. I had a few boys express interest in…whatever they had interest in. I won’t play coy and say I didn’t make out with a few of them, but I felt completely out of my element. 

There was one boy, Bill, who had similar interests to mine. He was funny, played sports, and liked video games. I would go over to his house to chat and play our shared hobby. We even double-teamed Zelda II: The Adventure of Link and managed to beat it together. Soon he started to express interest in that thing I didn’t understand: intimacy. Bill and I usually hung out in his parents' basement. One day he brought me up to his bedroom when his parents weren’t home. He wanted to show off his water bed (good lord) and did so by throwing me onto it and landing on top of me. Not only was his action jarring, but a waterbed is the floppiest surface to try and get your bearings on. I remember trying to climb out as he groped my body and wrestled with my flailing limbs. Once I got on stable land, I told him to never do that again, running back to the basement (my safe space?). We had been hanging out for weeks, so this was probably the next step for him. Don't get me wrong: I’m not trying to paint him in bad light. He had previously dropped MANY hints of his interest, his intent. I remember one night as we talked on the phone, he asked me to go outside to look at the moon. It illuminated the sky’s dark veil so brightly. Bill told me that he wished we were looking at it together instead of over the phone. Those sweet words were lost on me. That’s the example I remember, although I’m sure there were other hints. I bet the waterbed fiasco was his last-ditch effort. She doesn’t get the conversational hints, but she won’t be able to ignore the physical hint of my sexy bed! We stopped hanging out soon thereafter. I acted too cold toward him; he finally gave up. I look back and wonder if I wasn’t so closed off to intimacy, maybe we would have ended up together.

I think the one time I truly felt (unrequited) love was during a toxic relationship—my last serious relationship. Merv and I started out much in the way I imagine a great love should. We wanted to spend all our time together; we grew close in a short amount of time. Those whirlwind emotions quickly decayed the first time our expectations differed. I don’t want to focus on those details, but constant fights and disagreements plagued the majority of our relationship. I found myself compromising my feelings, my instincts, to appease him. One night after dinner, Merv walked me to my car. We had been dating about one year at this point. As we stood outside chatting, I felt anxious. I felt anxious to become something that we weren’t and would never be. After one year, I felt that this shit-storm was what I deserved. This was the relationship I chose and I should see it through, no matter how broken I felt as a person. I was no longer myself. I was a shadow that lived to please someone that didn’t accept me. As we stood outside my car, I told Merv “I love you.” I never forced three words out of my lips so reluctantly. He smiled and said, “Oh! That’s nice, Katie,” and laughed...and laughed. I immediately wanted to take the words back. I wanted them back to ease the sick feeling in my gut. Merv told me that he wasn’t ready through chuckles and declarations of how cute and simple I was. He stated that he wouldn’t be ready until he knew he was with the woman he saw himself spending the rest of his life with. OK. That’s fair. You can’t be sure after one year that you’re with "the one." I also didn’t know if I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. But I wanted to feel something after one year. I felt terrible.

When I got home that evening, I wrote him a note. As much as I want to edit this—forget about this shame--I will leave it as is:

…I don't feel anger. Sadness, maybe. I knew you wouldn't be ready. And still, I said it…

You know, there were many times that I knew, and a few times that I doubted. 

I realized it is love after tonight, because I can wait for you. It's worth it to me. I don't need you to reciprocate. If I felt I needed that to justify my feelings, well, they're not strong to begin with, you know? I do hope I earn your love one day, because unrequited love is...well, better than indifference. But it will grow lonely with time.

And yes, notice I say the word love, because it's not "the word that should not be spoken.” It should be told, again and again because there's not enough in the world to hold it back. I know you. I know that you put a lot of value into words. That the word love is worth so much that you've never given it to anyone. And I want that for you. I want you to realize that it's not a word that has power. It’s a word crafted by experiences, feelings, gestures, moments, actions, sacrifices, and many more words than just that one.

Sweet words, huh? Except the earning his love part—that’s sad for me to read. Two weeks later, I broke up with him. My feelings were very confused—to go from a devoted message to completely severing ties. For all the effort I put into the relationship, I hoped for reciprocation. I hoped for all those things that love meant to me. But he couldn’t give them to me. For so long I waited. I convinced myself after so much emotional abuse** that if I gave him the word maybe his actions would change. Things returned to their usual up ‘n’ down state, and I finally decided to leave him.

After a heated conflict over our shared possessions, I went over to Merv’s place to pick up my stuff. He worked on a last-ditch effort to win me back by saying he didn’t know how to love, but he was learning with me. I guess he forgot about the entire last year of our relationship where I tried to progress, and he resisted or shamed me for trying to commit in more meaningful ways to each other. We never spoke again.

I love my family, my friends, and I believe that love is real. I have dated off and on since then, but never seriously. I think I needed to find my place in the world. Find a place where I love myself. So perhaps the greatest love in this story is not the boys in junior high or the jerks too selfish to understand. Perhaps the greatest love in our lives is to ourselves. I’ve gone through many trials over the past several years, but I believe I’m close to loving who I am—no shame, no imagination, no waiting—just me. 

Lynn, find yourself first. Once you find love within yourself, maybe finding love without won't be so hopeless.

With love,
Katie

Mario and the Errpig Trifecta

Unlike time-traveling history games, Mario has been featured in a few different RPG spin-offs over the years. In 1995, Square shepherded in what I consider one of the best video games of all time: Super Mario RPG: Legend of the Seven Stars (hereafter called SMRPG). There was never a true sequel, but two other series emerged from the void left by SMRPG: the Paper Mario and Mario & Luigi series. I kept up with the Paper Mario series as it closely resembled SMRPG, but I neglected the Mario & Luigi series until the past year. What would cause a Mario RPG fan to ignore a string of games for so long? I'm sure being most studious in college was related. Let's dig deeper. Let's start where the Mario RPG affair began.

Back in 1995, I was at the pinnacle of my coloring within the lines ability. I entered a coloring contest for the movie Far From Home: The Adventures of Yellow Dog at Orland Video—a local Blockbuster of sorts. A few weeks later, my entry won the grand prize of either a new dog (Yellow Dog?!) or 100 free rentals at Orland Video. Since my family was already boasting a limit of two with the dogs Maggie and Ginger, my mom sent the new dog to the pound. I'm kidding! What do you think—my mom is a monster? We chose the rentals instead. Initially I was disappointed with the choice, and then I realized Orland Video had a video game section. That coveted section my mom deterred me from during each trip. I had a better chance browsing the back room than the game row. But this newfound power to rent whatever I wanted was mine thanks to sensational crayon-wielding skills. My days outside were numbered, and my family was at the whim of free rentals being held over their head. "Katie, can we please rent While You Were Sleeping?" they asked. I allowed it. Sandra Bullock was a delight—congenially speaking—and I needed rides to the store.

These rentals were a great opportunity to check out games that were outside my library: Doom, Mega Man X, Kirby Super Star, Mario is Missing!, and more. (Postmortem for Mario is Missing!: "Let's cut our losses have Luigi investigate mansions instead.") Through all these trials, there was one game on shelf that I rented over and over again: Super Mario RPG: Legend of the Seven Stars. I...adored that game. I remember playing through it over and over again. I searched every nook, cranny, and monster fanny to ensure I experienced everything the world had to offer. You know what's cool when you're 10? Hanging out at Grate Guy's Casino. You know what's cooler when you're 10? Dreaming of hustling Toads for frog coins.

At the end of my 100 rentals, I rented SMRPG approximately 20 times. My rental total exceeded the cost of purchasing the game, and somehow I didn't know what RPG meant. I pronounced it “errpig” for...some time. I appealed to the clerk to give me Super Mario Errpig based on my feat, and to protect my precious save files. I was sent away and never saw that cartridge again...

(I have since acquired another cartridge of SMRPG, but the game was impossible to find at the end of the Super Nintendo generation.) 

I moved on (no, I didn't) and played whatever game I was given for Christmas or my birthday. A couple years later and convinced I had a game addiction, my mom cut me off. (My mom is a monster!) That decision marked the beginning of a dark era. I needed to independently fuel my habit somehow. Being a 12-year-old with few profitable skills besides coloring within lines, I had no choice but to get out on the streets. I went door to door with my "Babysitter for Hire" signs and procured a few clients. Strategically chosen by the size of their homes, surely these people splurged on the latest and greatest toys for their kids. They all had one thing in common...that one system I wanted so badly: the Nintendo 64. I probably babysat their kids, I absolutely played their video games, and I got closer to my goal of raising $300 for a Nintendo 64. 

About every six months I was able to buy a new game on my babysitting funds. My dad—seeing how motivated I was by my hobby—would surprise me with a new game on my birthday or Christmas. On one occasion, my dad and I were driving home from the grocery store and he says, "Hey, can you look in the glove box and grab something for me?" I popped it open and a mysterious, colorful box dropped onto my lap: Paper Mario. Now remember, at the turn of the millennium, we were at the whim of the AOL overlords, dial-up, and kids had rules about being in front of a screen with internet access for a reasonable amount of time. I did not know what Paper Mario was–the spiritual successor to Mario Paint? Reading the back of the box, I discovered it was an errpig like SMRPG. I ran with the surprise game up to my room and dropped the Paper Mario cartridge in my Nintendo 64 so hard Square felt the money slip through their fingers.  

Much like its predecessor, at its core Paper Mario was a traditional RPG with action, puzzle, stealth (you're a real solid snake, Peach), and platforming elements. I was once again immersed in an expansive and unique game world, filled with interesting characters, an entertaining battle system, beautiful music (Shooting Star Summit!), challenging levels, clever puzzles, and all set to an epic story where Mario collects Star Spirits to save his dearly kidnapped.  

A few years later, a new Mario RPG game entered the scene: Mario and Luigi: Superstar Saga (hereafter called MLSS). I played it over Christmas break during my Freshman year of college. And I finally beat the game 13 years later this past weekend. What's with the delay? What happened to that Mario RPG passion? Well, I'm going back through my game library, finding those games that I started, and ultimately left behind. Sort of like a "no game left behind" act, but one that's wholly and honestly effective. 

Here are my thoughts on MLSS.

Story: Princess Peach greets ambassadors from the Beanbean Kingdom, only to fall victim to their ruse. Her voice stolen and replaced with explosive emoticons—it's up to Mario and Luigi to retrieve her voice. Traversing Beanbean Kingdom leads the Mario Bros. to a cola factory, a spooky school, an airport, even a Mushroom Kingdom immigrant’s community. A very eclectic set of destinations each with its own unique inhabitants. The story was fun, credible, and dramatically meaningful. MLSS is a journey worth completing. 

Characters: One highlight of the Mario RPG family is the quirky characters, and MLSS doesn't stray from this element. The Mario Bros. are a lovable duo. Mario is brave and ready to take on any challenge; Luigi is a bit hesitant, but able to summon courage to confront his fears. Luigi stood out to me this game as a multi-dimensional character. He would interact more with the NPC’s: poking at their bean skin and shaking his butt taunting them. These unique traits gave him a goofy, relatable personality that I looked forward to seeing more of during cut scenes. Those traits were reserved for cut scenes, however, and in battle he was just as capable as his brother. Mario's role aligned with the silent (actually, one with few words) protagonist—a neutral avatar in the game.  

The NPC’s stick to a more one-dimensional definition. The main antagonist, Cackletta, is hell-bent on taking over the world by any means necessary, and is obviously annoyed by the Mario Bros. resistance. Fawful is Cackletta's dedicated minion with a memorable personality. He has fury, he has metaphors, and he has speech patterns I wish I could produce impromptu: "At last, my entrance with drama!" 

Gameplay: I have a love-hate relationship with random encounters, so I'm glad MLSS sticks with enemy patrols in the game world. The enemy design was fantastic with each having multiple move sets that proved challenging to anticipate and counter. The bosses were worthy of their boss status. I qualify that by swallowing my pride, and admitting I did die a couple times (just…a couple). Also, I was very excited to see the Koopalings return in this game—especially Iggy with his fruit loop mop. I know he's a palm tree now, but the glasses and rainbow blast really worked for him. 

The turn-based battle system felt similar to Paper Mario, but added a level of complexity; namely, the individual button inputs for Mario and Luigi took some adjusting. In battle, Mario is A and Luigi is B, and only those buttons work for each brother. If you make an incorrect selection on Mario's turn, you can't back out by pressing B. You must cycle off the "Execute" command onto the "Back" command with A. The most challenging part for me was on defense against enemies that would attack at different paces...at random towards the Mario Bros. I had to remember to dodge with the right button, at the right moment, which proved a challenge when the pace varied. About five hours into the game, I felt acclimated with the controls and was able to take action in battle without too much thought. A minute to learn, a lifetime to master. Thanks Mario, Luigi, and Othello! 

In addition to the battle inputs, familiarizing myself to cycle through each of the unique field skills on the shoulder buttons also hindered me. Many of the challenges in the game require you to go through a sequence of actions unique to each brother. By the end of the game, I still hadn't memorized the action cycle order, and wished I had a controller with twice the inputs.  

One challenge that I think needed more polish was the Peach escort mission in Teehee Valley. Your goal is to guard Peach while navigating the level until you reach the destination. At one point you have to travel across the screen with her on two different land masses while jumping, changing the actions of each bro (high jumps, spiral jumps, and barrel jumps all require different button sequences), and executing quickly so she doesn't walk off the screen. A couple times I cycled through the actions incorrectly, and Peach would go off the main screen, getting instantly captured and placed several screens away. I felt that was too punishing for not executing the sequence correctly. Also, I couldn't interrupt the kidnapping despite being in the enemy's path, which was equally frustrating. Surely if the player was able to assign hot keys (on a Gameboy, yes, I know I'm out of scope here) or disable certain choices, they could better cycle through the actions needed for each challenge. The game designers crammed a lot of different challenges into this game, and it shows when I was still adapting halfway through the game. 

Level Design: There were a couple levels I felt could use improvement. Teehee Valley for the aforementioned reason, and Stardust Fields which is the tutorial level of the game. Your objective is to collect 100 coins. It takes...a decent chunk of time to get through this, and I recall this area as one of the reasons I abandoned the game 13 years ago. (There it is). I felt I was farming money and not in a fun, grass-slashing, rupee-materializing sort of way. Despite that, I think almost every other level entertained. 

Sound: The music was fitting for this game. All the battle themes are catchy, but the boss battle music is the superstar of this soundtrack. Outside the battle grounds, the final level boasted the most interesting background music, and thankfully so since you spend well over an hour playing through it. The level prior to that had a Lavender Town-like sound to it, which gives you the intended eerie vibe. After a couple hours of hearing it, I felt I was going crazy, and likely my neighbors thought I was based on my music selection. Also, the addition of some Mario game melodies helped make the world of Beanbean Kingdom feel familiar. Solid soundtrack, despite nothing striking me as selections I need to add to my game music playlist. 

Final Thoughts: I love SMRPG, and the first two Paper Mario games are extraordinary additions to the Mario RPG family. MLSS too is an excellent addition to this family. That said, if there is one collaboration I yearn for, it's Square (-Enix) and Nintendo. I will not give up on you Super Mario Errpig 2!