A Letter To The Editor, or, Fuck You Ms. Sparkes

someone told me that the journo teacher at ukiahi wanted to put the football game on the front and election coverage on the back so i was like fuck that and wrote a letter here you go

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Dear Ukiahilite Staff,

We’re in the midst of a major crises. A war against terror founded on greed and power-lust, with what very basic scraps of dignity we have left contorted by those in power over the last eight years into constant volleys of fear, doubt, hesitance and an unwillingness to take risks; Our constitution contorted into a fragment of its former glory, exchanging freedom for security in the most brazen way; savages presiding over our entire populace with a chokehold on democracy as it stands today (and has stood for over two hundred and twenty five years), ready to chew its throat out. That’s what the recent economic bailout was, a snack. It was our fucking trachea. We’ve been abandoned by our leaders in exchange for seven billion dollars and a few tankers of gasoline. I guess I don’t blame them, though. With a population of 301,000,000, that’s a pretty good exchange rate.

This recent election was a monumental occurrence in American history. Not only was the very first African-American elected president, but the orchestration of a groundbreaking 21-month campaign, led primarily by local grassroots organizations, was successful in getting its candidate elected. And (finally) the decades-old archetype of ‘rich white guy’ as a necessary classification for holding political office was thrown out the window quicker than Sarah Palin’s credibility as a foreign policy expert.

Of the 120 million registered voters, 62 million of them voted for Barack Obama in 2008. In a country founded on the principles of equality, it’s taken a lot of hurdles to reach a point that should have been viable since Thomas Jefferson set his pen (quill?) to parchment and wrote what would become our declaration of independence from Great Britain. The reasonings for revolution back then (taxation, religious freedom, British imperial policies) were complex issues and yet somehow we’ve been able to overcome any obstacles in reaching responsible, if sometimes flawed, outcomes. Well, except for religious freedom, or rather, freedom from religion (see: California’s Proposition 8 passing). And yet our nation grew into one established on the pillars of slavery, intolerance, and a fear of the unknown. But in one day all of that changed.

Barack Obama’s face adorned the cover of every national magazine in circulation; Esquire, Newsweek, Time, even People for christ’s sake. It wasn’t even a question worth asking, of course he’d get the cover. The front page was his, and only his (except in the case of People, wherein he shared the spotlight with Beniffer), the moment that 62 million voters cast their ballots in his favor. To not realize the historical importance of this election is ignorance, to recognize and ignore is simply unpatriotic. To regard president-elect Barack Obama’s landmark disruption of America’s aged, stagnant political system as anything less than front-page news can only come from a worldview so narrow-sighted that nothing less than a nuclear bomb exploding next door could wake you up from your stupor.

Tanya Sparkes, I accuse you of hating America. Plain and simple words, laid out across the (metaphorical) table, but the implications they suggest are far reaching. As a high school teacher you are in a position that very few will ever have the opportunity to exercise, you’re able to help shape the minds of our next generation in a direct way. It’s up to people like you, teachers and counselors and principals and leaders of any mold, to teach this generation the importance of being involved in important occasions that will affect them for years, chief among them the political process. Even considering a high school football team’s short-term winning streak as, if not more, remarkable than the most unforgettable event since the eruption of the civil rights movement in 1955 is heresy. The reversal of American leadership, from President Richard Nixon committing large-scale coverups or President Bush waging war under false pretenses, to an age with transparent politicians and agendas, a world where distrusting your government is the exception and not the rule, cannot be understated. Where’s the lesson here, Tanya? What, exactly, are you teaching your students? You’re hitting them so hard over the head with meaningless, inconsequential jabber aimed at locking them into a life of uninformed daydreaming that I’m surprised you don’t have students coming to you with claims that they can see Russia from their back yards.

In the most incredible election cycle of American history on record, I’m not ready to be yoked by a single breach of negligence – to pull a plow with my neck through some frozen continent to prove a point. It’s the classic pendulum swing, away from rationale and toward nescience. I have a feeling the country will still be around when people like you get your greedy tonsils away from the voice of the people and things swing the other way.

Respectfully,

Cory Daniel

You’re Gonna Need A Bodybag, Or, How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Trust Those In Charge

Hitler is alive in Burma, the sign says.

Ellen Page, star of Juno, stands alone on a street corner with a piece of cardboard held above her head, the unsettling message scribbled with Sharpie onto her sign. Burma, also known as Myanmar, is a Southeastern Asian country ruled by a tyrannical militant junta who came into power in 1962 through the act of a coup d’état. In 2007 a number of street protests occurred, the first public protests in a decade. Led by a large number of Burmese monks, these protests earned the name “The Saffron Revolution”, christened after the color of the robes that the monks wore. After the first few initial uprisings the public at large began taking an interest in the protests, and while at first the Burmese government begrudgingly allowed the monks to engage in peaceful gatherings, soon the violence escalated into what some considered an all-out war between the monks and the military junta, with the military actively invading and ransacking monasteries around the country. Foreign journalists were rounded up and imprisoned on sight, with a Japanese photojournalist named Kenji Nagai killed on September 27^th, 2007, simply for being present at a street protest. While the official death toll rests at 13 killed, Colonel Hla Win, who defected from the army some days prior to the official report, is quoted as having said, “Many more people have been killed in recent days than you’ve heard about. The bodies can be counted in several thousand.”

This is nothing new. While these are some of the most recent examples of atrocities taking place in our world, a government’s desire to quash dissent and maintain complete rule over its citizenry has been around for as long as civilization itself. Early Roman emperors declared themselves chosen by the gods to have complete executive ruling over every aspect of their society. Japanese emperors are believed to actually be gods, sent to our world to lead their people to prosperity through the invention of Motorola cell phones and hara-kiri, and our current president, George W. Bush, has weekly conference calls with Ted Haggard, the leader of Stupid People Worldwide, a subsidiary group of the Republic Party.

Some of the most well known examples of these actions are such incidents as the 1989 June 4^th protest at Tiananmen Square, where intellectuals, labor activists, and students all gathered to protest the authoritarian rule of the government. The death toll in that particular instance ranges wildly, with official reports from the Chinese government stating 200-300 dead to reports let out by the Chinese Red Cross, declaring between 2,000-3,000 dead.  Another is the Rwandan genocide of the 1990s, where Hutu militia groups, aided by the Rwandan government, began a systematic killing of all Tutsis, as well as political moderates, irrespective of their ethnic backgrounds. Hitler’s ‘Third Reich’, a period spanning several years and several countries where anyone of Jewish background was rounded up and killed, is another extreme example. Since this time it’s been widely accepted worldwide that nothing positive has stemmed from these atrocities, barring a one single exception: the critically acclaimed major motion picture Swing Kids, a charming story of a rebellious group of German teenagers in the 1940s who fight off the pressure to become Hitler Youth by evoking the power and spirit of swing dancing.

When a government terrorizes its own people, who benefits? The government itself does not. In fact, it suffers. With an unhappy citizenry and a climate of control looming over the heads of every man, woman and child within its borders, the only safe refuge becomes their minds. And when this begins, when thought-crime becomes the only crime committable, a revolution is soon to follow. For the government and government organizations in charge of a country, this spells bad news. So, for whom does the advantage lie? The answer is simple: for the people in charge of the government. The people who desire constant and perpetual money, influence, and power are those who benefit from corruption.

A common tactic used to secure themselves as the Never-Ending Leaders of their Frightened Herds of Beaten and Abused People is the nationalization of certain requisite influential and important markets, usually including pharmaceutical companies, oil reserves, real-estate, farmland, and, more recently, internet and telecommunication services. The previous example, the Burmese protests, happened due to backlash from the Burmese people over the government removing fuel subsidies, which caused the price of diesel and petrol to suddenly rise, in some cases as much as 100%.

Why would a government employ such tactics and practices? It’s usually done by a rogue few in order to allow, through the use of bribery, monetary/business influence, resource control, or force, those who are in power to stay in power indefinitely.

These ideals are not exclusive to foreign countries, however. The United States of America has had its share of near-fascism moments, the most famous and far-reaching of which being the Watergate scandal. In 1972, President Nixon and his staff used their influence, power, and resources to cover a massive array of crimes and abuses, which included campaign fraud, political espionage and sabotage, illegal break-ins, improper tax audits, illegal wiretapping on a massive scale, and a secret slush fund laundered in Mexico to pay those who conducted these operations. More recently, the U.S. National Security Agency (NSA) was exposed to be participating in massive illegal warrantless wiretapping practices, for the purposes of detecting and battling international terrorist threats, specifically those of the al-Qaeda regime, as well as allying itself with such powerful private-sector businesses as AT&T to create a large-scale data-mining operation. AT&T provided the NSA with its customers’ phone and internet records, an act of privacy invasion so appalling that it makes what happened next seem absolutely par-for-the-course. After a major exposure by media outlets of these classified operations, the government spearheaded a bill that would allow ‘retroactive immunity’ of any private corporations, specifically Verizon and AT&T in this case, that complied or aided the government in illegal activities. This bill was proposed as necessary for our safety, well-being, and privacy; a move so blockheaded that I’m surprised the writers of the speeches that the telecom PR drones were giving didn’t explode in a giant fireball of Irony.

Obviously though, governments aren’t the only culprits. Those responsible for breaching upon our rights as citizens and manipulating information for their own gain come in more flavors than Baskin Robbins ice cream. Corporate fraud has no better figurehead than Enron Corporation, a former American energy corporation based in Houston, Texas. The corporation used offshore entities, with full anonymity, to hide the extent of their annual monetary losses from investors and create the illusion of profitability. Paperwork was smudged and trades were insided, resulting in the executives, as well as those working closely with them, to come out of the entire fiasco able to use hundred-dollar bills as toilet paper, while the stockholders’ investments and the actual business worth plummeted toward the ground faster than George Bush’s approval ratings (zing!).

If all (or any) of this makes you think, “Hey, what does Enron have to do with me?” or, “If I have nothing to hide, why should I be so concerned with my privacy anyway?”, you’re in for a treat. President George Bush signed the Patriot Act into law as a response to the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center in September of 2001. The U.S.A. Patriot Act, which is actually an acronym that stands for “Uniting and Strengthening America by ProvidingAppropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism Act”, in a nutshell:

“[The Patriot Act] increases the ability of law enforcement agencies to search telephone, e-mail communications, medical, financial and other records; eases restrictions on foreign intelligence gathering within the United States; expands the Secretary of the Treasury’s authority to regulate financial transactions, particularly those involving foreign individuals and entities; and enhances the discretion of law enforcement and immigration authorities in detaining and deporting immigrants suspected of terrorism-related acts. The act also expands the definition of terrorism to include domestic terrorism, thus enlarging the number of activities to which the USA Patriot Act’s expanded law enforcement powers can be applied.” 

What this basically means is that while you’re at work or school (or anywhere, really) the government can allow an official to enter your home, search and confiscate anything you own, access your library or financial records without your consent, sift through your telephone or internet records, and search your personal information. All of this without a court order, all of this without notice, all of this without cause or reason for suspicion, and all of this without explanation afterward. The 4^th amendment of the constitution, a guard against unreasonable searches and seizures, has been rendered obsolete by now.

The Pentagon, within as recently as the past few weeks, was also exposed as manipulating the media in order to brighten its own image over reports of prisoner mistreatment and generally inhuman conditions at its now infamous Guantanamo Bay prison in Cuba. The government enlisted CNN military analysts, former U.S. military officials, and hired journalists to spin a web of positive propaganda for them in order to combat Amnesty International’s scathing report about Gitmo, which called the center “the gulag of our times” and detailed years of extreme abuses that had taken place there. The shadow-journalists hired by the government’s PR department were led on a three-hour staged tour through the premises of three prison camps, including Camp Delta, Camp V, and Camp X-Ray. The result of these guided tours: a bevy of positive spin within the mainstream media outlets, and major television broadcasts that might as well have been written by Donald Rumsfeld.

Now that we’ve shown why government powers would become corrupt, let’s examine several of the hows that they could implement to achieve their goals. With a well of pop-culture trivia knowledge so deep that it would make the Mariana Trench blush, I’ve been able to imagine several possible scenarios, and the tactics that would be used to achieve them.

1. In true V for Vendetta fashion, powerful government officials with ties to pharmaceutical companies could create a disease, and then control the manufacturing and distribution of the antidote. With the entire country- possibly even the world- buying their products, the stockholders in that company would become immensely wealthy almost overnight. We’ll call this concept the ‘Lego Rule’, as its factors are practically interchangeable with a never-ending exchange of different components. All that it takes is to switch the pharmaceutical companies with oil companies, and have the government nationalize the country’s oil refineries. In many ways the idea of nationalization has already snagged its filthy claws into our society’s rug. For example, as a product of the climate of fear that overtook the populous after the September 11^th terrorist attacks, the government has taken advantage of our willingness to sacrifice liberty for safety and instilled the TSA as sole power over our nation’s airplane safety regulations.

This scenario is probably the most likely of all of them to actually happen. In fact, it already has. One only needs to take a quick glance at Vice President Dick Cheney’s ties to Halliburton, and Halliburton’s ties to the Iraq/Afghanistan wars, to realize that something fishy is going on.

2. With the population showing record-high levels of political dissent, the bigwigs in their spacesuits at the White House cut budgetary spending on education and dedicate an overwhelming majority of the national budget on ‘defense contracts’ (see: Halliburton) and military spending. With its citizens showing a decreased level of interest in pursuing higher education and college degrees, those who do are labeled as ‘elitists’ and ostracized in regular society. Being labeled as an intellectual becomes as derogatory a term as ‘racist’ is in today’s current society. The social stigma attached to it affects ones personal standing amongst civilized people as severely as being an atheist affects your chances of being elected president of the United States. As concern over, and attention paid, to the availability of public data fades, the government pushes for a tiered internet model, hoping to limit the availability of information to regular citizens and deterring those who may express concern against their suspicious practices. They continue to become less and less a tool of democracy to govern and appease the people than they develop into a lobbying tool used to pad the pockets of big-business leaders. They also begin to heavily influence media and news outlets, which forces those institutions who wish to stay in business to ignore scandalous stories or those that negatively portray those in power.

3. With the youth in revolt and angry at the elders for being out of touch, inhumane, racist towards minorities, or any other (valid) concern, the younger generation begins boycotting school, the number of teenagers becoming involved in gangs rises and also takes place at younger and younger ages, and Elvis Presley shakes his hips on national television. The government, in response, passes the B.R. Act of 2010, which takes one eight-grade public school class each year and sends them to a deserted island. Each student is randomly assigned a weapon, and let loose to roam the island unsupervised. The students are given three days to kill their classmates or they themselves will be killed. At the end of the three days, the survivor is taken home and allowed to live. This act is passed with the intent of using negative reinforcement on the general child/teenage populous to make them begin acting appropriately. The citizens are promised that, if gang violence lowers significantly and truancy levels lower similarly, the act will be revoked.

The world that we live in today is filled with uncertainty. We don’t know how much food will cost tomorrow; we don’t know how expensive our gas prices will be or how much the cost of crude oil will rise; due to global warming we don’t even know what the temperature will reach; and most importantly, we don’t know whether or not Miley Cyrus will finally issue an apology to the public for her risqué cover photo that she posed for in Vanity Fair. We also don’t know what’s going through the minds of our elected officials. The Clintons campaigned on a platform of healthcare reform, Alberto Gonzales promised us justice, Idaho Republican Senator Larry Craig forgot to mention that in his off time he liked to solicit sex from young boys in public bathroom stalls, and George Bush swore on a bible to maintain sanity. All lies. Since the 1980s we’ve been in a state of manufactured democracy, going back and forth from George Bush to Bill Clinton to George Bush again and nearly back to a Clinton (fingers crossed for an Obama election), with only the illusion of democracy keeping the public complacent. The blueprints are nearly complete, and the pieces set in place for a fascist state to overthrow our country. And us, here, on a local basis? We wouldn’t even take the time to look up from our People Magazine and our American Idol to notice, let alone take a stand.

Wrath of the Lich King, Or, How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love The Teenage Brain

Every so often I look at the condition of the world and I suspect that the most widespread problem we have is the ever-growing sentiment of anti-intellectualism that infiltrates every aspect of our society. This rampant disease is never so prevalent as it has been with the recent generation of teenagers, and having grown up surrounded neck-deep in the filth of Gen-X, I can safely say my belief is that most, if not all, of the issues faced by humans aged 12-20 stem not only from cultural influences, peer pressure, or a desire to be accepted by their friends; they suffer from an incurable BRAIN DISEASE known as “Teenager-ism”.

Teenagers pride themselves on this disease, reveling in their ignorance and glorifying themselves on their uncommonly high levels of Stupidity. They go beyond what the average person would consider a healthy level of moronic stupor. Now, over the years I’ve upheld a single conviction, steadfast through all the doubters and disbelievers I’d encountered, and until today it’s been purely speculation. This conviction is that being a teenager is an inoperable affliction, treatable only by the passing of time or the arrival of death.

Certainly, I am not the first person to ever hold this hypothesis.

It appears we’ve spent countless lifetimes ignoring the warning signs, failing to prepare for war against a foe with the capacity to end our lives simply by ending their own. No, I don’t mean suicide-bombing Al Qaeda terrorists or Japanese kamikaze pilots; I mean Teenagers, an enemy whose primary goal is the degradation of our society into something hardly discernable from the future seen in the film Idiocracy; a world where the finest literature is found scrawled on the inside walls of bathroom stalls.

According to the nation’s top scientists (as seen on PBS’ Pulitzer Prize winning ‘Inside the Teenage Brain’), the teenage state is nothing more than another stage of child development. While a child is in the womb, he or she undergoes substantial changes of brain development at an incredibly rapid pace. This phenomenon is recreated a bit over a decade later during puberty. During this stage of their life, they display several common symptoms:

1. An inability to comprehend causation or consequences for his or her actions,
2. Unhealthy sleeping habits,
3. A sudden interest in wearing backward hats or cargo shorts, and
4. Loss of ability to formulate coherent thoughts. This symptom is often paired with repetitious usage of the words ‘dude’, ‘bro’, and ‘sweet’.

However, with proper treatment, these symptoms can be avoided. I realize this does not seem possible; it did not seem possible to me, either. But this is the crux of my genius. The secret lies in attacking the virus before it infects the brain, before the frontal cortex succumbs to the Evil Will of the Teenage Years. I call my treatment the ‘Use It or Lose It’ technique. Its magic lies in programming the child while in the early stages of brain development into a set routine, forming a schedule consisting of a daily regiment of brainteasers, math problems, hand-eye coordination tests, and a healthy dose of naptime. If we don’t enforce this type of regiment upon them, the behavior exhibited by teenagers today will continue, placing every person alive in extreme, immediate danger, and this is a problem. It is not a problem in the way that global warming is a problem, nor is it a problem in the way throat cancer is a problem. It is a problem in the way that the fact we may eventually one day go to war against the machines (as portrayed in I, Robot or the Terminator trilogy) is a problem. So long as we set the teenagers onto this strict, linear pathway through life, we can let out our held breath and ease back into our seats, comfortable in the fact that our worries are no longer based on whether or not our future generations are going to screw things up worse than we already have.

The largest hurdle faced by the ‘Use It or Lose It’ technique is encountering a child unwilling to follow orders, a ‘free spirited’ pre-teen whose primary concern in life isn’t the Greater Good, but yo-yo tricks and hair gel. And that, I think, is where a simple brain disease ends and Armageddon begins. It begins the moment that complacency takes over and it becomes unreasonable to be emotionally, mentally, or physically invested in the world that exists beyond the mall doors.

I have no idea where you, my loyal reader, happen to stand on the issue of human cloning, and over the course of this paper I’ve avoided the topic in order to (a) help you understand the dilemma at hand, and to (b) present the least complicated treatment before I unveil the only solution that can assuredly end the infestation of Teenagers upon our precious soil.

Step 1: Exterminate every single living teenager in the world (for maximum efficiency, substitute the word ‘world’ with ‘universe’).
Step 2: Put a stop to female fertility, ending the problem of babies (thus in turn also ending the problem of Teenagers).
Step 3: Clone intelligent, healthy adults, thereby continuing the human race ad infinitum at our evolutionary peak and putting an end to the most dangerous threat in mankind’s history.

Granted, I am not (technically) a doctor, so my understanding of the cloning process is limited to what I’ve read on imascientist.com. But in layman’s terms, in order to clone someone all that you need is a Genetic Replicator, a Willing Test Subject, and a little dash of Imagination.

At some point in the immediate-to-near future, someone will lash together a machine of blood and bone, and fueled by my hatred for you all, this fear engine will bore a hole between this world and the next. Breaking through the wall of silence you will hear the sound of children screaming – as though from a great distance. From my black throne I will open one of my six mouths, and I will sing the song that ends the Earth.

Once in a while, everything in the world changes at once. This is one of those times.

Two Short, Poorly Written Posts, Or, How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Start Writing Before The Deadline Is An Hour Away

(Written October 24, 2007 as contributed posts for a tech/video game-oriented website. The website has since disappeared under mysterious circumstances, so I’m posting them here for purely historical sake. If you read them, take into consideration that when I began to write them I had two posts due, and the deadline was in one hour. So they’re a little bit rushed, to put it lightly.)

HALF-LIFE 2: THE ORANGE BOX by Cory Daniel

Let’s face it, video games are expensive. Surely I’m not the only one who finds myself hard-pressed to shell out $59.99 (plus applicable sales tax) when I want to play something new, and I’m pretty positive that anybody reading this would be offended to the point of physically manifested anger (i.e., controller throwing) if the game was passably mediocre, or worse, bad. Valve, apparently, is staffed by people like us.

The recently released collection Half-Life 2: The Orange Box marks an evolution in the delivery of quality video games at an affordable (some would even go so far as to call this package ‘cheap’) price. The set includes full versions of Half-Life 2, Half-Life 2: Episode One, and Half-Life 2: Episode Two. The Half-Life series consists of unequivocally the best sci-fi games to date, and the Half-Life universe possesses one of the most involving and interesting storylines in video game history. If you’ve been interested in Half-Life before and haven’t yet played the games, you’d be doing yourself a great disservice if, especially now with the barrier to entry lowered so far, you fail to experience this breathtaking landmark series. And with the entirety of Half-Life 2’s progression available to you as an up-to-date product on a single disc, playing it through from the beginning is comparable to reading a book series from start to finish; you see the evolution of character development, the proper story-arc delivery, and, above all, you also get something not presented in other mediums: gameplay. Simply put, when Valve puts out a product, it’s polished to the point of perfection.

However, if you’ve played through Half-Life 2 and the first episode already, paying full price for what amounts to only the second episode would be a difficult investment to rationalize (especially when it’s available through Steam at a discounted price as a standalone product). Thankfully Valve has addressed this issue by including two separate games, the masterfully brilliant single-player 3D puzzle game Portal (which also loosely ties into the Half-Life universe), and the long-awaited sequel to one of the most original multi-player games of the past ten years, Team Fortress 2. Either of these games would be worthy standalone products, but when they’re combined with the brilliant Half-Life series it becomes a bargain unmatched in today’s video game market. Portal delivers one of the most entertaining and poignant experiences in the video game medium’s history, with spot-on controls, brain-bending puzzles to conquer, several heart-wrenching moments and more than a few hilarious ones. I wouldn’t be cautious to say that Portal, even during a year like 2007 with such high-profile releases as Halo 3, Call of Duty 4, or Mass Effect, constitutes some of the best gaming-related memories of the year.

But, admittedly, Portal is short. And we all know that when we purchase a game at 60 dollars we have certain expectations for it to meet, and one of those is longevity. And if it’s longevity you’re looking for, it’s longevity that Valve has delivered in the form of Team Fortress 2. With nine unique character classes, six maps (and more promised for download later on), a standout, distinguished graphical style (think cartoon-come-to-life), and free online play after purchase, Team Fortress 2 stands posed to overthrow Team Fortress Classic as the best multiplayer shooter available today.

What I’m trying to say is, if you enjoy fun then you should buy Half-Life 2: The Orange Box.

It’s silly to use terms like “civic duty” in relation to video games, but this is about as close as it comes.

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MAC OS X 10.5, LEOPARD by Cory Daniel

(This post was written as a preview to a product that had come out the day before. This post, therefore (at least according to the laws of Science), should not exist.)

Ever since Apple computers made the switch to Intel chipsets, Mac OS X has slowly but surely continued to gain market share. With the advent of Leopard looming closely on the horizon, it’s positively assured to become more popular than ever. With over 300+ new features announced (though admittedly, some of those are only upgrades to already existing features), Leopard promises to outshine every other OS on the market. In fact, most people would go as far as to say that Leopard’s biggest rival isn’t Microsoft’s newest, buggiest, slowest, least-reliable effort Vista, but the six-year old Windows XP, easily the most established OS on the market.

Even so, Apple’s effort surpasses all of its competitors in nearly every aspect, from price ($129.99 for a single user license, $199.99 for a five-user family license), to eye-candy, to user functionality. Some of Leopard’s notable features include Time Machine, Spaces, a redesigned Finder, a new desktop design with a dock-grouping feature called Stacks, Safari 3, and the long-awaited Boot Camp 1.0, which has been available as a beta release until Leopard’s long overdue arrival. Time Machine is an automated data back-up software that keeps an up to date copy of everything on your computer, assuming you’ve got the requisite external hard drive. It backs up your system files, applications, accounts, preferences, music, photos, movies, and documents, everything. It even remembers exactly how your system looked on any certain day. Back-ups are available as follows:

”Time Machine saves the Time Machine hourly backups for the past 24 hours, daily backups for the past month, and weekly backups for everything older than a month.”

Spaces, the feature that I’m personally most excited about, is your basic multi-desktop environment, which I consider to be one of Linux’s most wonderful qualities. As comfortable as I am with my dock, I understand that it is much more complicated than the plebeian task bar, especially to non-native OS X users.

The new Finder is one of the unexpected surprises, but it’s also the one that makes you think, “why haven’t they done that before?” The new Finder makes huge leaps forward towards integrating the entire operating system under a single, unified look. You can now browse files using the Cover Flow feature previously available only in iTunes, and the new sidebar also resembles its iTunes brethren. While browsing folders in icon mode, each file is now able to be previewed in the Finder window, and that includes documents as well as pictures. As an added bonus, Spotlight now features boolean compatible searches, which will be an inexorable aid to anyone who uses it often, and pushes the already powerful Spotlight search eons ahead of it’s competitors.

Leopard is scheduled to be released on October 26th, 2007 at 6 P.M., and retails for $129.99 or $199.99. It’s available for pre-order now in Apple’s online store, and if you own a Macintosh this will be one of the most valuable tech-related purchases that you make all year. And if you don’t own one? Well, October 26th will definitely be the time to reconsider your current computing lifestyle.

Spider-Man 3, Or, How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Loathe Midnight Showings

It’s unfortunate when a good series loses its magic. It happened to Star Wars, it happened to X-Men, and now it’s happened to our friendly neighborhood web-slinger. Spiderman 3 is a convulted mess, jumping erratically back and forth between shallow dramatics involving Mary Jane and her love triangle with Peter and Harry, a mishandled introduction (and subsequent redemption) of the Sandman (Uncle Ben’s real killer), and the hollow and exceptionally mishandled symbiote plotline. With an estimated budget of 350 million dollars, Spiderman 3 is destined to be remembered as an underdeveloped, rush-written faux-film dependent on style over substance. It’s simply an exercise in error, choosing to abandon the magic that made the first two movies so wonderful, instead opting to lean on CGI fight scenes to lead the way. If it’s true that the movie suffered unintended production delays, had gone massively over-budget, and was beset by the principle actors despising their roles and wanting to move onto other things, judging by Spiderman 3, it all makes sense.

Let’s just say that when Kirsten Dunst has the most convincing, well-acted role in a film, her peers aren’t at the top of their game. Or the middle. Actually, they’re pretty close to the grimy floor. Instead of evoking genuine emotion, Raimi relies on contrived weep-sessions to fill the dramatic gap. Add that onto the wooden Tobey Mcguire, and it makes for bad times indeed. Willam Dafoe reprises his role as the enigmatic father figure/complete lunatic Green Goblin for only a split second cameo during one of Harry’s “moments”, which is a travesty. Bruce Campbell’s single-scene appearance as an excitable and overenthusiastic waiter outshines everyone else’s parts in the film, especially compared to That 70′s Show-alumni Topher Grace as a wimpy (what the hell?) Eddie Brock. Thomas Haden Church is decent as The Sandman character, but isn’t given enough screentime for actual character development. Sure, there’s the oh-so-sentimental “he’s just a good guy doing bad things” setup wherein he visits his cancer-ridden daughter and promises to pay her medical bills “no matter what”, but besides that all we see is his emotionless face in the background and stiff line-delivery when he says things like “I don’t want to hurt you.” Even (90 year old) Stan Lee’s obligatory appearance feels so forced it made me actually cringe, as he stands next to Peter and spouts off one of his cliché catchphrases that have become so overdone by now that it’s all become a joke to everyone but himself. Even fan-favorite J. Jonah Jameson is less enjoyable this time, thanks to some hideous “comedic interludes” that quickly overstay their welcome.

The love-triangle/interpersonal relationships are brought up again in Spiderman 3. After a brief mid-air bout, Harry goes all totally rad 1080 Snowboarding on Spidey’s ass, with a fist full of dad’s flying, double-edged boomerangs and goblin grenades. The end result of all this tumult is Harry getting bonked on the head and losing his short-term memory.

Unsurprisingly, Harry’s memory returns soon thereafter, while he’s looking in a mirror (which is apparently a big deal for him). His oddly biblical love for his father (there’s actually a shrine) pours out and Harry chooses to play some awesome cards. He kidnaps Mary Jane and forces her to break up with Peter in one of the most dull scenes during the duration of the movie.

The symbiote responsible for creating Spiderman’s arguably most fascinating villain falls from the sky on a meteor, which coincidentally lands within a short distance of Peter Parker and Mary Jane, who are too busy making out to hear the deafening crash-landing less than 50 feet away. The way the symbiote is handled is a severe misstep, but what’s worse is what the symbiote is ignored in favor of: “Emo-Spidey”. When overtaken by the strange black goo from outer space, Peter becomes a strange mixture of My Chemical Romance’s fashion sense and Mike Tyson’s blatant sexual harassment. Peter does more double-barrelled finger blasting than Andrew Dice Clay in an all-night Fonzie competition. It gets worse when the movie turns into a 1970′s blaxpoitation flick as Peter transforms into a huge asshole using Gwen Stacey and some awkward dance-moves to belittle Mary Jane at her new, humble job as a singing waitress. The only rewarding part of the entire scene is when Peter, in a fit of rage, punches Mary Jane in the face.

It’s not surprising that, after throwing a grenade behind Harry’s head (rocking that motherfucker’s world), Peter comes to ask for his aid in saving Mary Jane –the woman they both love– from an impending death facing her at the hands of Venom and the Sandman. It’s also not surprising that Harry refuses. What is surprising is that after a scene of Brokeback-enabled male bonding between Harry and his butler, Harry comes to the realization that, hey, you know, maybe Peter wasn’t lying after all.

Naturally, comeuppance is had, the bad guys get together, and the mother of all comic book superfights is a gargantuan, gorilla-sized mess.

Did I have fun watching the movie? I had a lot of fun. I also had a lot of fun watching Plan 9 From Outer Space, but honestly, that doesn’t make it any good. It’s clear that the actors’ disinterest in the series and the film’s dazzling, astronomical budget must have boggled Sam Raimi’s mind. This is not regular-Raimi. This film is Raimi trying to make a summer blockbuster movie, but he’s not that type of director. What Spiderman 3 should have been is a tight, taut, compact reprise of 1 and 2′s combination of action, humor, poignance and lovingly-crafted storytelling. This movie staggers along plot-point to plot-point, hoping that excess equals exceptional, and falters every step of the way.

The Problem With Writing, or, How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love Non-Formulaic Creativity

I hate writing. I don’t mean writing as in the verb form of ‘to write,’ or the specific act of putting words to paper (or to screen, as it is these days). I mean the science that it’s become, the colour-by-numbers formula that we’re told, both by teachers and critics, is necessary to create a worthwhile composition. Well, I’m not buying it. I consistently hear, day in and day out, that structure is necessary; that there’s a specific framework to follow in order to have an acceptably paced story; that I need to follow these rules and take these steps in order to succeed; and that disobeying the guidelines can (and will) only result in catastrophe.

1. Your main character must be sympathetic. If they’re not “nice”, pile on some undeserved misfortune.

2. The character’s desire must be clear, compelling, and urgent.

Not to seem rude, and I realize that someone actually paid a ‘professional writer’ a truckload of money for this advice, but I find these utterly stupid, invalid suggestions.

In the stories that I enjoy most, the characters’ motivations are rarely, if ever at all, explained in perfect, pristine detail throughout. I find it leagues more interesting and engaging when the characters’ actions or motivations are morally ambiguous, and while it might (might being the operative word, since it isn’t a requirement even) seem like there’s a quintessential cookie-cutter Good Guy and Evil Guy, their agendas are both shrouded in shades of grey. This sort of mindset goes against everything that the writer of these storybook-protocols stands for.

While we’re reading and critiquing other peoples’ manuscripts in the Creative Writing class that I’m taking (taught by author Jody Gehrman), a recurring theme that I notice being brought up by class members is ‘explanation’. The theory that I’ve established is this: simple-minded people need every aspect of a story interpreted for them, each nook and cranny explored and dissected and given clear reason. I have been able to scientifically establish that they are so shallow and ignorant that they honestly cannot handle the responsibility of taking any meaning out of a story that isn’t neatly handed to them on a silver platter. Ambiguity, obscurity, irony, innuendo; these are devices used by clever and intelligent writers in acute, imaginative ways, and I strongly feel that they shouldn’t be understated by some shmuck with a pencil and notebook who thinks he’s Hemmingway. We don’t need each side-character mentioned in the story to have an unseen influence on the nerdy kid getting picked on by a bully; we don’t need each individual that enters the bathroom to personally know and be familiar with the woman hiding her well-meaning boyfriend in the stall; we don’t need hidden motivations for the consoling gentleman at a funeral (though I stand by the fact that my idea of a Quantum Leap-esque twist at the end where it turns out that he’s her father from an alternate timeline coming back to redeem himself (in his own eyes, that is) would at least be entertaining); and we don’t need to know how the dead man arguing with Saint Peter over what constitutes Good-Enough-For-Heaven behavior became injured. These are not the points of the story!

3. Antagonist’s commitment and ability to stop our hero must be equal to protagonist’s commitment and ability to get what they want.

4. Stakes must be life or death – or so high that they might as well be.

Obviously the writer of these Essential Guidelines for Proper Storytelling has never watched an episode of Seinfeld.

What I take away from these story-construction schematics isn’t that this direction is the correct one. In fact, what I extract from it constitutes the polar opposite: that no matter what I write, no matter what the subject or topic or story it is that I’m penning, I am obligated by the Gods of Language to avoid these pillars of cliché storytelling like a balloon avoids a needle. What do you get when you follow an already established, standard textbook formula? Everybody Loves Raymond. What do you get when you tread new ground, when you grasp unwaveringly and hold securely onto the essence of your individuality, the style that defines who you are, what you represent, and what makes you you? The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy, A Tale Of Two Sisters, The Catcher In The Rye. Three wildly different examples of narrative with one simple trait binding them all together: the creators of each embraced their unique personality, they each held steadfast to their vision regardless of what was considered “essential” to clever storytelling, and every single one was a successful and groundbreaking work of art.

I admit it; I’m a selfish writer, and I write selfish stories. The pace is dictated by me, and if I want an irrelevant tangent here, I’ll put an irrelevant tangent here. If I want an italicized word here, I’ll put an italicized word here. If I want a page-long soliloquy on the nightmarish shape of spirals, there it is. I’m not concerned about the upside-down checkmark Law of Popular Writing. I’m concerned with other things, and they’re very valid.

Bioshock, Or, How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love Underwater Objectivism-Based Utopias

As cliche as it might be, I’m inclined to write at least a small bit about the single best game that I played released this year. I realize that these year-end retrospectives are a dime a dozen, and there usually isn’t much ground to actually cover, but as trite and overstated as it may be: I really don’t mind. There were many quality games released this year, and more than several of them could be considered serious contenders for the top spot. However, not a single one of them can rival the sheer unnerving atmosphere, story, and gameplay experiences of my final choice. Because from the from the start of your life to the end, your beginning breaths to your final few moments, all you’ve really got are your choices. And I chose…

RAPTURE.

Released in 1999 to outstanding critical acclaim, System Shock 2 was a one of it’s kind experience. Fast forward to 2007 and Ken Levine is back at the helm of a AAA game title, the spiritual successor to his last release, Bioshock. Many similarities can be drawn between these two games from the outset. Both are set in environments where water plays a vital role in creating atmospheric effect, you start out a nameless shell and are given choices that shape exactly the sort of player you become, you have the choice of life or death; to take the lives of others or to act passively and not resort to violence. You can hack security systems, or you can break down doors. You become exactly the avatar that you want to, in a much more organic way than Mass Effect, or really, any Bioware game does (and that’s even their pedigree). Bioshock is the natural evolution of Levin’s signature decision-making gameplay element.

Bioshock is the story of a man named Andrew Ryan’s attempt at creating an underwater utopia based on the ideals of objectivism and humanism (he’s basically a gender-swapped Ann Raynd). His creation was dubbed Rapture, and was designed to be “A city where the artist would not fear the censor. Where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality. Where the great would not be constrained by the small. ” However, somewhere along the line things went sour for him and his followers; Greed, drug addiction, and general insanity began to overtake the hearts and minds of many of the citizens, going against their logic and forcing them into a primal, violent state. But the outline doesn’t end there; What the scientists in Rapture were able to do while allowed the freedom of Rapture and not being bound by the ‘petty morality’ of the overwater world, was to find ways to scientifically alter human genetic code (the implementation of which became an activity known as ‘splicing’), making it possible for people to decide exactly what sort of being they’d like to be. Of course, the addictiveness of this prospect was too much for many to handle. What happened to those overcome by addiction to genetic modification? Well, they lost their humanity, becoming what are known as ‘splicers’. You’re a man who’s plane crash-lands over the entrance to Rapture, and you find yourself quickly involved in the affairs of a man named Atlas and his ongoing feud with Ryan. Without spoiling any plot points, you’ll delve deeper into Rapture and unravel the mystery behind the strange circumstances of your arrival to Rapture and the events you happened to stumble upon.

The story of Bioshock isn’t told to you through arbitrary cutscenes and dialog boxes, as it is with most other first person shooter games. Instead, the designers took a leaf from the Half-Life series – presenting the story to you in a much more organic way by encouraging you to interact with the environment. Picking up and listening to audio-diaries lends to the story a natural feel, allowing it to unfold to you innately through the course of the game, each puzzle piece falling into place along your adventure through Rapture, finally culminating in a brilliant story arc that satisfyingly closes every plot-based question presented to you (and even answering some questions that you didn’t realize were being asked).

The element of choice in this game is astounding. Exactly how you play through this game will be different each time you pick up a controller (or mouse and keyboard, depending on your preference), and not only in the combat situations presented but the moral dilemmas that arise as well. In order to upgrade your character you spend a substance called ‘Adam’ at Gatherer’s Garden machines, purchasing upgrades for your plasmids (offensive genetic modifications), or tonics (defensive and character-building modifications). However, acquiring Adam isn’t quite as simple as you may assume. Adam can only be found on Little Sisters; small, gaunt 8 year old girls whose empty eyes haunt you, reminiscent of what you might see in a bad nightmare. Each of these Little Sisters are protected by a Big Daddy, an incredibly powerful superhuman monstrosity with the strength to kill a man with only a single hit. When you kill a Big Daddy (which is no easy task) you are given the choice to either rescue the Little Sister, which amounts to basically saving her life, or harvesting her. By rescuing you can gain a small amount of Adam but there will be other advantages presented to you throughout the game. By harvesting her you will gain a large amount of Adam but won’t recieve certain rewards you may had gotten otherwise. It’s a risk-reward system much more refined than what Bioware produces with it’s games, because the good/evil aspect isn’t a binary choice, displayed to the character as nothing but a stat. It’s not a simple implementation where, if you decide to harvest the Little Sister, your character starts to glow red or you grow horns, it’s a more mature approach, where the moral dilemma is within your own conscience and bound only by your own morality, creating uncomfortable feelings within yourself as the outcome. And while the plotline you follow is linear (you follow the story point-to-point, and yet it’s presented in such a clever way that you never really notice that it’s a mission based structure), the flexibility available to you in gameplay options is wondrous. Personally, I followed a more careful, deliberate approach to tackling the puzzles and enemies in my way; I found myself hacking each and every vending machine, gun turret, security camera, health station, etc., and setting traps with my crossbow and proximity mines to great effect. However, a more gung-ho approach is certainly a viable option to those who prefer that sort of experience. Bioshock was obviously designed as a high-quality shooter first and foremost, which, when combined with the atmosphere designed by 2k Boston and led by the genius and vision of Ken Levine, has created inarguably one of the most affecting games of this console generation.

There simply aren’t enough positive superlatives to describe what a wonderful experience Bioshock is. Because it truly isn’t just a game, it’s a magnificent experience. The depth of the story, along with the frightening qualities of the characters, begs many questions of us and raises uncomfortable moral dilemmas to the player, an element not found in any games besides masterpieces. It brings us to a place we’ve never been before in a medium like this and locks the exit hatch, with only a Big Daddy in the way of our escape. Only.

“The Winter’s End” Concert, Or, How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Learn Nothing

This past Monday evening I attended what was labeled by most people as a ‘show’ or ‘concert’, but which would be more accurately described as ‘a restaurant with the tables moved away from the front room and a band playing bad music while you regret paying five dollars for this’. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, a congregation of punk-rock listeners clad head to steel-toe boots in black, expressionless duds, the bands each playing their own personal brand of ‘screamy’ music (I don’t know what the technical term for it is, and to be honest, my guess probably isn’t very far off), and the attendees standing around in small circles, actively avoiding the other circles and all the while being intently aware of their image and whether or not people are noticing their screen-printed t-shirts and the patches that cover their clothes even though there are no holes in them. Totally normal.

Immediately upon my arrival, one thing struck me as uncommonly odd; a large amount of the attendees were constantly photographing themselves! At first I didn’t understand it. It wasn’t some kind of fluke, either, some kind of one-time thing. It happened over and over and over, for at least 30 minutes before the music even began. There they were, camera phones flashing, stupid poses galore. I stepped closer to overhear what they were saying, and they were all huddled together in a large group, complimenting themselves on how cool and popular they were.

As soon as the incomprehensible trash passed on as music (to paying customers none the less, which struck me as inconsiderate) began to explode from the oversized speakers, every moron in the room (and it was packed full-to-bursting with unbridled idiocy) began shoving eachother. Of all the plebians in attendance, however, one of them was much more adamant about confrontation than the rest. As the first guitar screech wailed, he shed his grime-covered leather jacket (the way a caterpillar sheds its cocoon and becomes a beautiful butterfly, but instead of a butterfly emerging from it, spewed forth came a filthy, six foot tall meatbag with a bull-ring in his nose who smelled like a mixture vomit and ham) and strolled out into the fray, wobbling his head back and forth, snarling like a rabid dog and slobbering drool on anyone unfortunate enough to be within two yards of his mouth.

It was all fun-and-games from then on, with a gale of overzealous pig-brains punching eachother and giggling like monkeys until the songs ended. Yet, for some reason incomprehensible to me, after each round of musical Fight-Club the commotion would lower to a whisper and the crowd would politely stand still and clap. Clap. It blew my bloody mind.

What might be worse though, even than the apocalyptic visions clouding my thoughts as I realized that these people would one day be adults with responsibilities and possibly even children, were the signs of things to come. All of the people that were legitimately enjoying being here are inarguably hinderances towards the advancement of our culture, true, but on the bright side: they were probably going to die of liver failure or lung cancer soon. What takes that hope and trashes it were the crowds of younger kids in attendance admiring these morons and hoping to imitate them in every way possible, attempting to impress the veteran-cretins with an exorbitant array of studs, piercings, mismatched flannel clothing and asymmetrical haircuts in place of a personality, originality, or interesting and engaging conversation.

I brought my attention back to the music when a crowd of people suddenly screamed “fuck” for apparently no reason. I began to pay attention, hoping to possibly understand a hint of why these people worship these rubbish bands so much. Maybe it was the long hair, maybe it was the lingering scent of cigarette smoke on each article of clothing they’d inhabited in the past six months, or maybe, just maybe, it was the intensely thematic music they could perform. With such profound, poignant lyrics as: “one, two, three, your end will come, will come, will die, fuck off and die, ahhhh, ahhhh, ahhhh, it’s the end, you’re dead”, I finally realized.

Fucking brilliant.

A question continued to linger in my mind, though, for the rest of the night. Why can’t these people enjoy music if, during it, they aren’t punching eachother in the noses? Is it perhaps a deeply ingrained psychological defect that links pleasure with pain, so that they can only experience one while simultaneously experiencing the other? (Somebody should write a masters thesis on this subject.) I actually witnessed regularly sane people exhibit immediate irrational behavior patterns as soon as a cover of a song that they enjoyed came on, suddenly becoming over-enthusiastically violent towards the rest of the crowd.

By the end of the night, I can’t at all say that I wasn’t ready to go home, drink hot cocoa, listen to a podcast, and punch myself in the face with joy.

Mega Man 2, Or, How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Metal Blade

The original NES release of Mega Man wasn’t necessarily a failure, but it was unable to become as popular as Capcom had hoped (possibly due in part to the game’s unbearable box art, which likely drove customers away in droves). Thus, all plans for a sequel were scrapped. But the creator and lead designer, Keiji Inafune, knew that the Mega Man formula had the potential to be great, and confronted the executives at Capcom with a plea to let them make a Mega Man 2. They agreed, but on one condition: they had to work on a crappy baseball murder mystery game as their main 9-5 job, but after work, if they chose to work without pay or recognition, they could design Mega Man 2. And thus the Blue Bomber’s most amazing journey was born.

And it’s a good thing too, because without Keiji and his team of dedicated programmers and designers, the world would be a bit more empty.

The story of Mega Man 2 is nothing to write home about; Dr. Wily created an army of robots to take over the world and he gave each one their own stage catered specifically to the type of robot they were. This plan didn’t serve him very well in the first Mega Man, so why he chose it again for Mega Man 2 baffles me, but whatever. To each his own, I suppose.

When Mega Man defeats an enemy boss he absorbs their power, and each of the powers in this game are very unique and well-developed. Especially the metal gun and the quick beam, two wonderfully useful guns that experienced players know to acquire immediately when starting the game. With these, the game becomes a bit easier to get through.

Don’t get me wrong, though. Mega Man 2 is hard. Ridiculously hard, in fact. (Unless you’re playing on the ‘normal’ difficulty level, a mode which wasn’t even available in the original Japanese release and was only put in because Capcom America assumed that American gamers were somehow stupider than their Rising Sun counterparts, a mode which has since been removed from all subsequent re-releases of the game.) But it’s the good kind of hard, the Ninja Gaiden Black type of hard. The sort of difficulty level that humbles you but is possible to overcome with enough patience, skill, memorization, and a little dash of luck. So definitely don’t let the difficulty dissuade you from experiencing one of gaming’s most refined, spirited releases ever.

Super Mario Bros. 3, Or, How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Tanuki Suit

People commonly play video games for one of two reasons: to be challenged, and overcome an obstacle through practice, trial and error, and skill; or for escapism, to lose touch with one reality and join another, leaving yourself behind and becoming an involved party in whichever sort of situation the game calls for. Personally, I tend to lean more towards the escapism side of things (with games like Dr. Mario or Planet Puzzle League, among others, obviously being exceptions to the rule), and no game encapsulates this train of thought better than Super Mario Bros. 3. Combining breathtakingly gorgeous and inspired levels that are a marvel of the 8-bit era (and still hold up especially well today), perfect controls, and a design that flows so elegantly from one stage to the next with a difficulty curve that scales wonderfully.

We all know by now the story of Mario’s creation. Our portly plumber’s conception was due to hardware limitations on old 8-bit machines; his mustache exists so we know where his face is, he wears a hat so the programmers didn’t have to animate flowing hair, his suspenders show us where his arms are moving, etc. However, no matter how utilitarian his style was, what it’s become is something magical. We’re talking about a character who’s become more recognizable to children today than marketing and consumerism incarnate, Mickey Mouse.

I don’t know if it’s partly nostalgia or if it’s all founded, but there is a pure feeling of joy that one gets when playing through what is widely considered Miyamoto’s apex of game design. Mario 3 was one of the pioneering games to introduce an overworld map, a hub for all of the levels available to the player. And boy, what levels there are! Each stage is unique, from the beginning World 1-1 which showcases the colorful, pastel backgrounds that Mario has become known for (and has largely perfected), to the intimidating World 8-8, which leads the player though a frightening and dangerous ship filled to bursting with Bullet Bills and death traps (playing World 8-8 as a child was one of the first times I was ever scared by a video game). And if there was ever a level that you just didn’t enjoy, there were the whistles. Generously scattered throughout the game, using a whistle allowed the player to fly to further worlds, usually only available by advancing through each stage and finishing the world’s castle. If a played was so inclined, he could technically beat the game playing less than ten total stages. But who would want to do that, and who could honestly say they weren’t blown away the first time they played the Big World?

Unequivocably ranked as one of the most masterful works of art of our time, Super Mario Bros. 3 is genius. Perfect at its inception and even more so when revisited decades later.