Nick - Sonic Adventure 2: Battle

Some of you might think that the best thing is friends or free alcohol or love, but really the best thing is Sonic Adventure 2: Battle.

SA2:B is a poorly-received Gamecube re-release of a sequel of a poorly-received Dreamcast launch title which also eventually received a poorly-received Gamecube re-release.

It is also the greatest game of all time.

SA2:B really went all out on its tragically misguided but inexplicably flawless soundtrack. The game's main themes consist of 80's reminiscent power chord heavy tracks accompanied by some hilariously overacted vocals. However, the series took a different turn on the levels featuring Knuckles (Who was apparently at some point designated Sonic's black friend) and opted to go with some sick Knuckles rap.

Also worth mentioning are the shamelessly uninspired characters, which further contribute to the perfect experience that is SA2:B. Sega takes Sonic, our beloved decade-old standby of video gaming fame, and guts his character, turning him into an arrogant, cocky douchebag, never far from throwing out a "cool" one-liner. Dr Robotnik has been renamed Eggman. Zing! Take that, Dr Robotnik and video game fans everywhere! Lucky, though, this controversial decision only further enhances what is essentially the perfect use of my time.

The game also includes a couple of new characters. Rogue the Bat is introduced. She is the world's greatest gem collector, only she's also an evil henchman of Dr Eggman, or maybe she's a secret agent? Okay, maybe I don't actually know who she is. More important is Shadow the Hedgehog, Sonic's angsty teenage twin with a dark, mysterious past. Also he dies but then inexplicably isn't dead and receives his own poorly-received spin-off.

You had better be listening to these, dammit.

Now we need to discuss the gameplay! The game is divided into three types of stages: Sonic and Shadow stages, which involve running really fast in classic Sonic style. These are sometimes really fun, and they get less fun as you advance in the game. Then there are Tail and Eggman levels, which involve moving slowly in a burly machine while shooting everything in sight, running contrary to everything involved in the classic Sonic style. These are not fun, and they get less fun as you advance in the game. Lastly there are Knuckles and Rogue levels, which involve searching tediously for items on large stages. These suck. They also get less fun as you advance in the game.

Far more important than the actual game is a side quest which allows you to raise and train your Chao, which are tiny, cute creatures that can be trained into destructive monsters to do your bidding. This aspect of the game will be the subject of a subsequent post. 

SA2:B is remarkable for its ability to not only be the greatest game ever made, but to do so while sending everything that classic Sonic fans know and love hurtling out the window at the same time. Good thing I wasn't a classic Sonic fan!

I have sunk hours and hours into this game, and so has Conor O'Brien. I will sink more hours into this game in the future. I would say more about why it's the best game ever bestowed to mortal man, but, well, I'm pretty sure I've convinced you. 

-Nick.

Wind

I have a lot of thoughts. Some of them hold value. Others are utterly worthless. I think that's actually how most people are, so I don't feel too weird about it. But, I often imagine how my life would be different if I were born 10, 20, 50, 100 years before that fateful day in 1992. I also frequently think of myself as better fit for those time periods, and those who lament my terribly inconsistent communication habits would probably agree. Or, see it as an excuse I make for myself for not being a reliable communicator. Yeah, screw you guys.

I don't think everything clever has been said, but wouldn't it be reasonable to think that a grand majority of clever thoughts have been thought? We have 7 billion people on earth, all of whom have their entire lives to think of things. You would think we'd cover all our bases. But, there's still plenty of gold left to be mined, so whenever I think of a unique thought or joke, I feel the need to throw it out there.

Into the wind, you see.

Social media has spread from platform to platform, covering standard human thought process like a gaseous cloud, expanding and filling the entire void. For instance, try to think of a website that should exist, or a different form of social media that should exist. Such cognitive construction is difficult with so much already out there ("that has to exist already").  If you have an idea, there's a proper medium to express it. How many more mediums can there be?

All of this contributes to the wind, the white noise and assumed progress of social media. When you use Facebook, do you feel like you're advancing your life? Socially, perhaps you are, but is it important change, or is it just dust in the wind? It's probably just dust in the wind. I mean, yeah, I'm quoting Kansas here, but it's valid, right?

Biz Stone, in a commercial for some off-brand vodka, said he thinks Twitter (which he co-founded) is like a river, that if you want access to it, you dive right in. Otherwise, no big deal. And while that's an amicable, poetic way of defining Twitter, I could see it more like wind. It picks up, dies down, sometimes it's nice and pleasant, other times it blusters too hard and is obnoxiously noisy. Rivers come from somewhere and go somewhere. Wind just passes by. We can shout into the wind, but more than likely our measly contribution isn't going to change anything. We just want to be part of the wind, because people feel the wind, and we want to be felt.

Facebook is similar. Another medium where you can shout into the wind, except your friends are there to give you a reaction and shout back. None of it will get you heard, none of it will get you published, none of it will make you famous. All of it will give you the opportunity to be felt. And being felt is a nice reminder that you exist. If you put something on the Internet, they say, anyone can see it. Well, anyone can not see it, also. It can be completely ignored, or just not cared about. This blog is wind, also.

It's fun to play in the wind. You can act out, be as bold as you want, showcase your pearly morals, express dissatisfaction, pretend no one will hear you, pretend everyone will hear you, pretend that that one special person will hear you and understand you better, pretend anything you want. Freedom of speech was devised without social media in mind, but what a perfect forum to practice free speech. The almighty Internet, wherein all your opinions matter and are as visible as any other opinion. Someone tells you your wrong and you know you're alive.

Rarely will the wind move you. Sometimes the wind can be terribly destructive. But one thing remains true: when the wind stops blowing, there is stillness, tranquility, calm. Some people, those better fit for the past, enjoy it when the breeze dies down and the world can be observed with the eyes, and instead of hurtling your thoughts into the wind to be felt, you hold them to yourself, and that's enough to know you're alive.

And then the wind picks up again.

--Eliot Sill

Robert - Amorphous Bulbous Bodies

It is a cold event, being born. Slowly my elements swim around each other and then finally condense into my tiny wet form. And there I stay, frozen in space for a few moments, as the cold air and pressure begins to mold me already. My extremities begin to form, sprouting out from my bulbous ends, and new extremities form from those, and so on. My shape is crafting itself; the sky is ushering in my utterly new existence. I am a snowflake in the air.

It is inevitable that I will fall. I am afraid of that. I have known no such thing in my momentary life, only the comfort of stagnancy, calm quietness. I'm okay here. My mother said that we all fall eventually. She said I have to. That my father and his father and his father, and so on, all fell. She said I have nothing to be afraid of, nothing to be ashamed of, that change is a part of life. I asked her what would happen after I fell. She said she did not know.

I like it here in the clouds. My sky is huge, but I can only see so far because it is crowded with others. They are all like me. I want to reach out to them, to ask them if they are afraid, but I do not; I hang still in the air. I love them, though, all of them. They are my friends.

One day I gather my courage and ask my friend Graup if he is afraid. He says no. I say why. He says he pretends falling is a race, and he cannot wait to get started right away right now right now. He says he will go as fast as he can, and he will love it. Okay, I say. He is not afraid.

I know about my fathers, and I know about gravity, but I begin to wonder how it would be like to stay in the air forever, to be different from the others. My mother said look at me, all my many extremities from my bulbous bodies. She said to be proud of them. That no one else in the whole sky would have extremities just like mine, not ever before and not ever after. She said I was totally unique, and that I shouldn't worry about being different from the others and so I shouldn't worry about falling. I asked her how she knew I was unique exactly. She said well she didn't know but it was pretty likely I was.

I am very proud of my uniqueness, anyway. I look around at others now, at all their extremities, to find out how I am different from them. I do not think it will make me any less afraid to fall.

I grow every day, and I have gotten big, as big as anyone in the sky, and I start to fall. It is a scary thing at first, but it is also a relieving thing at first, because you have waited so long for it. My god it is fast. The wind hurtles at me from below and pounds at my bulbous body, and it feels as though the air is trying to keep me afloat, but I know it is not—I am falling.

The fall is not too long. At least it is quick, and all my friends around me are falling too. As I get lower, my body begins to heat up. I have never known this earth heat before, and it is like the sky is on fire. My body begins to boil on the outside, and it is the worst pain in the entire sky, and I scream. It is not like my mother told me. I wonder if this is how it was for her, when she fell. My body contorts in excruciating agony, and the only thing I wish for more than death is to be in the clouds again covered with my friends. I look around; they are all in pain too. They are all screaming. It is horrible. Everyone is suffering. They can all feel it.

My body is mangled, different from before. My extremities have withered and disappeared in the heat, changed into hot liquid. My vision is blurry now, and I don't feel very much alive, but it is the same way with the others, I can see. Their extremities are all melted away, and they are only amorphous bulbous bodies now, and I am too. This heat has taken away my uniqueness even. I am just like the others, but it is not important to me now, not now.

It has been 30 minutes. I am ready for death. The earth is still distant but it feels so close now. I cannot think anymore, there is only me and the ground. My last elements begin to change at last, and as the heat begins to finally envelop me, I am filled with a sudden surge of unexplainable glee, a charge that moves through me and back out again. I can feel my bulbous body, every remaining part of me, melt away into water, just as my father and his father and his father, and so on. I know this was how it was for them. I think I knew it would be for me. In becoming water, I start to feel so close to them. I await my death in moments, and I do not know what will become of me, but for now I feel so connected.