Because Why Not?

History through Video Games: Metroid

A young boy sitting crooked leg in the middle of the room, facing the television. There’s a controller in his hand and a pen resting in his ear; next to him a navy-blue Bugs Bunny three-ring binder holding over one hundred crisp, loose-leaf pieces of notebook paper. The binder open to the first page containing neat little rows of letters and numbers meticulously written down. The boy diligently presses on, doing his best to make progress. Each time he gets a game over a new set of letters and numbers appear, and each time a new set of letters and numbers is recorded into the binder. He never was the brightest boy, but he was a clever one: clever enough to map his progress in the game, yet not bright enough to consider drawing an actual map.

At least his heart was in the right place.

History through Video Games: Contra

I’ve been jotting these down in my notebook while sitting out on a lake, basking in the beauty and enjoying the wonderful sensation of being out in nature (gag) with a good friend as he fishes. That being said, I’ve already written a few entries out that I will put up throughout the next few days. Unfortunately, a few of the beginning entries are a little lacking and still feel empty; I want to revisit them when I have a more concrete understanding of how I’m tackling this running piece. Since they are so short and I’m just getting started, I decided to post another one right away for people to get a taste. Consider this a bonus round.

Contra

Locked away in the guest bedroom in our basement, there’s a television in the far corner and two occupants parked right in front. Two bad dude’s locked and loaded are ready to save the world from…bad guys? Okay, so the two bad dudes could never make it past the third level so they’re not exactly sure what they’re up against, and…that actually does a lot to explain why my dad hated playing with six-year old me, always jumping too far ahead on the mountain stage, killing him and stealing his lives when I ran out of my own.

Actually, that’s exactly why he hated playing Contra with me.

History through Video Games: The Legend of Zelda

I find it fascinating how anything can trigger a memory: a song, a particular food dish, even smells. For me (and I’m sure others), video games conjure very specific memories regarding a past that I sometimes have trouble recalling. In fact, I’ve used games as a form of time travel, putting myself back in the times and memories connected to the games I revisit when the mood calls for it. Sometimes they are vague memories, the overall mood and tempo of that period; other games are specific memories, an exact time and an exact happening. I thought it would make for an interesting piece to explore these games and perhaps discover a little something about myself that I’ve lost along the way. Some entries may be a little raw, potentially emotional and sprinkled with some comedy along the way. And I’m even inviting everyone who’s interested to join me for the ride!

So, uh, buckle up(?) and enjoy! This blog isn’t dedicated solely to my History through Video Games and you will still see other entries from time to time, but if for some reason this ever picks up I may make separate Tumblr blog for these. And now, enjoy the first entry!:

The Legend of Zelda

The opening screen. There’s only four options: left, right, up and a cave in the upper-left hand corner. Walk into that cave and an elder gent presents you with a sword; your journey awaits you. Despite not playing a single Zelda game for the next thirteen years these images are engrained in my mind. As a young, stay-at-home mother taking care of her newborn, my mom would play this game as a means to escape the mundane. A competition between two lovers, the day she defeated the wretched pig Ganon and saved the princess Zelda was met with ubiquitous celebration - a prideful call to my dad that she had saved the princess before he did.

The Boathouse

The once-gray boathouse now stood with a ghastly-pale complexion, the paint slowly chipping from the constant barrage of weathering. While still sturdy, there was an illusion of lopsidedness, almost as if one side was slowly sinking into the Earth. Damp leaves clogged the gutter clinging to its life on the roof by a few rusty nails. The door was open, splintered wood hanging off one hinge half swallowed by the darkness within. A stagnant smell of rotten fish that trapped themselves in the boathouse hung in the air, repugnant in its thickness. Covered in cobwebs and discarded cicada skins hung an American flag on a stick unashamedly bearing the words “Made in China.” A façade to be sure, but that’s life; and just like life, there’s always beauty to be found in the most unexpected places. At the entrance of the boathouse a small portion of the land was reserved for a flower garden; and despite being uncared for years four yellow tulips stood strong and healthy, harboring unusual beauty in an otherwise unmemorable place.

My Contribution to the English Language

A list of all of my entries for possible inclusion to the OED. I swear, one day I will have a word to call my own. I’ll keep coming up with stupid things with the hope I strike a chord with all the other rubes out there.

The Billy Kerr Dictionary:

Aus – To do something naïve, foolish, or just plain ignorant, many times being inconsiderate to others without realizing it.

Childs – More than one child; plural form of child.

Documentarian – The title of the host/narrator of a documentary.

English Engineering – To arrange, manage, or carry the English language by skillful or artful contrivance.

Inanimification - the attribution of an inanimate object or abstract notion to a personal nature, especially as a rhetorical figure.

Literaturist – One who literatures; an author whose work(s) has had an impact on the literary world for at least three consecutive generations, if not longer.

Baby Nessie

I just came across my Creative Nonfiction notebook from last semester the other day and while flipping through it, I found this piece. This particular one came from the day we  had to bring an object to class and unknowingly trade with everyone else.  I ended up with someone’s Baby Loch Ness Monster, and it wasn’t until much later that I realized the someone was Libby, a girl I ended up befriending with a cynical sense of humor. If I knew her better at the time I would have shared this with the class, but you’ll soon see why I was hesitant.

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Well, I want to steal it, so there’s that.  A baby Loch Ness monster? Oh yeah, that is something I could get behind.  I would open it, but I don’t know if that’ll upset whoever owns it. I also know whatever it actually is will only end in disappointment.

 

I notice a price sticker on the front of the box for 2.99 Euros.  I can picture somebody wandering around Scotland on a school trip, stopping at some little tourist trinket shop near Loch Ness.  The novelty of the whole thing amuses me until I turn the box over.  “This is not a toy.”  The message isn’t in a bold font, just the same normal text as the rest of the packaging.  “Well, shit,” I thought to myself, “then what the Hell am I holding?”  Like many trinkets, this untoy was made in China; so even if it was some unholy abomination, it would be poorly made and break easy.  For the first time in my life, I felt safe.

 

Oh yeah, and it just happened that this was the day I wore my Loch Ness Monster Adventure Club shirt.  I contemplate for several moments if that means I technically own this Baby Nessie and by all rights am not giving it back to the owner.  I wonder if Loch Ness Monsters get along with gerbils?  I also can’t help but wonder if Loch Ness Monster would go well with a side of gerbil, but that tends to happen when thinking on an empty stomach.

When it comes time to hand back the objects, I’m going to pay careful attention to who gets the Baby Nessie back. After class, hopefully without being noticed, I am going to follow that person home. Waiting for nightfall, I’ll break in and, with my chloroform, render the person unconscious and jack that shit.

Or I would do that, if it wasn’t unnecessarily dangerous. No, there has to be another way.

I could take this thing, I realize.  I could get up all nonchalantly and waltz right out of the room and no one will think anything of it.  I could leave my backpack, I have nothing of value in there.  Everyone will just think I’m going to the bathroom, and that is when I’ll make my escape.  I’ll just go back to my apartment and grab some spare cash, and then I’ll get into my car.  I’ll drive away, never looking back.  By the time anyone notices I fled, I’ll be in Mexico doing tequila shooters with classy escorts.