While watching Tron the other night I was surprised to see a familiar shape:
I wonder if Namco is receiving residuals with every copy of this movie sold? Regardless, this was a nice touch, and is just one of many reasons why Tron is such an amazing flick.
During the Christmas holiday, not only was I busy with last minute shopping, helping Karin with food preparations, and visiting friends and family, I also found myself strangely engrossed in an arcade game produced in 1994 entitled Elevator Action 2 (or Elevation Action Returns, depending with whom you talk to).
This game takes place in an alternative reality where, apparently, stairs and escalators have yet to be invented (either people in this plane of existence are ultimately lazy or extremely out of shape. I’m unsure which). You play the hero determined to destroy a man who not only enjoys wearing obnoxiously red three-piece suits, but is also hellbent on destroying this vertically-driven society in which you reside.
You, being the anime-inspired, elevator-loving, do-gooder hero that you are, will be having none of that. And with this intro, you’re thrust into a world ruled by cable driven transportation devices and men who apparently hold a grudge against them.
Welcome to the world of Elevator Action 2 (insert foreboding music here).
Not content with incalculable wealth and terrible fashion sense, our villain and his Chinook helicopter are out for a night on the town. But when he begins destroying the projects (starting with your crappy apartment), you and your elite strike force are called into action..
Taking the fight to a local highrise which seems to be in a perpetual state of construction, save for the obligatory nuclear waste containers inexplicably scattered about, and elevators which, apparently, are more important to the good people of elevator city than say, oh…drywall and windows, evil Prada man sends in his jetpack-wearing goon squad to take care of our intrepid hero. Of course, given enough quarters, you’ll prevail to move on to round two.
Who the hell is the architect that designed this building? What fiend thought to construct a hollow building which surrounds a bridge of elevators that move independently of one another? The inherent danger of such a system deserves an immediate review by the local safety commission. Also, in case of fire, there are no emergency stairs, nor any other means of escape. Hell, if the power goes out you’re boned, forever trapped on whatever floor you happened to be on until the power is restored. I’d like to know who on the city council approved such an alarmingly dangerous design? I’m assuming a kickback was involved here…
Lighting peeps on fire. That’s the way we do. Oddly enough with all of the high explosives randomly stored about these buildings, and the vast amount of bad buy personnel consistently milling about the premises doing bad guy stuff, there’s not one fire extinguisher or first aid kit to be found anywhere. Is there no such thing as a safety code around here? Call me crazy, but I’m willing to bet that they’re not ISO compliant either.
Great. Not only does cashmere-boy have a nuclear weapon, but it is apparently in dire need some sort of “treatment”, whatever that means. But at least it’s good to know that this elevator world believes in some sort of higher wisdom. ”May the power be with you,” indeed… Ok?
Even though the world is about to be destroyed via nuclear annihilation, we can still find time to rest. How reassuring.
During the climatic battle, where good eventually triumphs over Armani-clad evil, the missile of doom still manages to launch. There is no way to stop it. Even though you just spent five dollars worth of quarters, defeated the evil mastermind, and managed to save the good citizens of wherever, the damned bomb still manages to ignite. What. The. Hell.
But…all is not lost. Through suspension of belief and a gaping hole in the plot, the high score screen appears. Shocker! Go ahead, put in your initials. You’re high score king. Revel in sweet, sweet victory and the ability to stick it to the man with the three letter initials of your choice. With a final condescending “thanks a lot”, Elevator Action 2 admits bitter defeat. Pat yourself on the back. You’re among the elite “best players”. Job well done, elevator king.
Taking a break from making Budinos for our small party on Sunday, I bellied on up to the arcade machine, intent on finally beating Smash TV. It takes roughly 45 minutes to run through the entire game, but I was determined to not only beat the game, but to finally see the hidden “Pleasure Dome” sequence that I had heard so much about.
After nearly an hour of laying waste to everything in sight, I had finally obtained enough keys to gain entrance into this forbidden den of Earthly delights. My reward? A screen full of miniscule pixilated bikini babes fervently multiplying on a flashing sea of seizure-inducing red and yellow. Yay.
Of course I wasn’t expecting anything shocking or ethereal. It’s just the completist in me wanting to finally see what all the fuss was about, to power past the theme of greed and elitism, to get beyond the Running Man motif, and get down to the true emphasis of this game…watching thousands of 8-bit baddies explode.
1999: The year we were promised colonies on the moon, hoverboards, and flying cars.
My avatar, scared silly at the sight of this baddie, decides that the best course of action is to shoot the wall. Genius.
There's nothing that a rocket launcher won't cure...
19 Million: Proving yet again that VCRs were high-ticket items in the early 80's
So, instead of doing some much needed housework, prepping the guest room to make way for baby, or doing any number of constructive tasks around the house this weekend, I shirked my responsibilities and opted to back up anew my music collection to five external hard drives. I’ve made so many changes to my master library as of late that simply copying over the changes to my various backup hard drives was not an option. Turns out that pushing 196+ GB over a USB 2.0 line takes six hours. Due to my lack of SATA / FireWire cables I couldn’t daisy chain the lot of them together and make just one big rapid push.
After a few failures, stops and starts, and a Blackberry falling from the heavens and hitting a unique series of keys that killed one backup job (Heh…I swear it wasn’t me!) I finally got all of my backups completed. In the end, I felt stretched and spent, just like Peter Griffin after he watched The Ring:
I’m now in the process of making duplicates of my MAME games for a co-worker. I’ve completed copying five of the 14 DVDs. It’s a hard core collection of games to be sure, and the duplications will continue throughout tomorrow.
Whilst in the midst of this Herculean, marathon backup undertaking, I’m reminded of what Tyler Durden once said. ”The things you own end up owning you.” I feel as if my data is pimping me out, slapping me across the face with the back of its hand while screaming, “Where’s my money?!”
Ahh, but there I go again, anthropomorphizing my computer. Next thing you know I’ll be dressing up as a vintage Macintosh, attending furry conventions, and looking for the nearest yiff pile to dive into (God, why do I know such things?).
Today we traversed the wilds of Wisconsin, barreling through the invisible border into Minnesota at 85 per, eventually skidding to a stop in the parking lot of the jewel of the midwest…the Mall Of America.
Anxious to see what this side of the country considers their Disneyland, their Taj Majal, their very Mecca itself, we braced ourselves for close contact with NASCAR aficionados, recent Favre converts, and rugged ranch hand farmers. Oddly enough, contrary to our misguided preconceived big-city notions, we had a great time.
I’ve heard a lot about the Mall Of America, and wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to travel a scant five hours via car to take bask in its capitalistic glory.
Upon first entering this uniquely American mosque, we found ourselves swimming in a sea of rabid scrap bookers queued up by the hundreds, each hoping to secure a spot in a seminar being hosted by the Home Shopping Channel. While the women were standing in various lines waiting to take part in either scrap booking classes or partake in scrap booking business transactions, the husbands were busy doing this:
Poor guys. I sympathize. Soldier on, brothers…
But, after making our way past this madness, rounding a few corners, and valiantly avoiding the Orange Julius stand (mmmm….Orange Julius!), we were greeted with the main attraction of this particular mall (click to embiggen):
The central amusement park! Like a overactive child fresh off his meds and flying high on a can of Coke and two bowls of Lucky Charms, I broke free and headed straight for the ride that had the most screaming:
The Rock Bottom Plunge offers a 90º free-fall drop, speeding into a tight loop, over various twists and turns, and straight into my palpitating heart. This, the Avatar Airbender ride, and the Fairly Odd Coaster were the big “E” ticket rides, and the wait for each was mere minutes.
The Flying Dutchman, guarding his towering wall climbing attraction.
After taking in the rides, if you’re feeling the romantic urge to get married, there’s a chapel on the grounds that provides just such a service:
And so, with the power of 20/20 hindsight, if I had to give the Mall Of America a rating of 1-10, I’d have to give it a solid ‘B’. I feel sorry for the families who make this hive of activity their vacation destination. But for the curious and the bored, the Mall Of America offers enough distractions to fill an afternoon.
