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I Appreciate You, Game Boy

It's the Game Boy's 20th anniversary, and I feel like I ought to honour the little white brick. Problem is, I have no idea what I can say that hasn't already been said. Writing all my good feelings towards the ancient Nintendo handheld that served as a springboard for the portable consoles I love today feels awkward, like writing a letter to a friend who's bailed you out of jail. Game Boy, I want to say “thanks” to you...but the thought of doing it makes me blush and squirm. There just aren't any suitable words for how much I care about you. I'll take you out for beers.

The Game Boy vaulted me into “real” gaming; it was my first console after the Colecovision/Atari 2600 Frankenstein that introduced me to gaming, but didn't necessarily make me fall in love with the pastime. Sure, I had previously been mystified by Super Mario Bros, but I wouldn't own an NES until late in the system's life. It was games like Super Mario Land, Double Dragon and Final Fantasy Legend taught me that video games could have form and structure; they could be more than a score-counter. They could have goals, and tell stories.

When I managed to separate my mother from Tetris, of course.

The Day Ocarina of Time Got Me Kicked Out of History Class

The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time hit ten years of age last month, and I am so proud of it. The day I got the game, I skipped half a day of school, brought it home and forgot school even existed until my mother made me go back there the next morning. Once in class, I couldn't stop talking about Link's first 3D adventure. I bounced off the walls so hard that the teacher sent me out.

Why this story is magical: I was eighteen at the time and attending grade 13, a "preparation" year for college. And I had been exiled to the hallway for disturbing the class like an eight-year-old with a pocket full of fart bombs.

Ocarina of Time hasn't aged well in ten years. If I encountered a hermit scratching moss from behind his ears and blinking at the sunglight for the first time in two decades, I'd direct him in his video game education thusly: skip Ocarina of Time and go straight for Twilight Princess or even Majora's Mask. Link's first N64 outing was lacking in swordplay, no thanks to a barren overworld bristling with a few fences and peahats, maybe a leever or two.

But if this hermit told me some manner of centipede god had told him to emerge into the world strictly to study game history, I'd tell him, "Oh shit dude, Ocarina of Time all the way." Ocarina of Time is a pioneer. Bare fields were a small tradeoff for playing the Zelda series' classic puzzles in 3D for the first time. Light a torch with a lantern? Yeah, if you're a sissy. Light a torch by shooting an arrow through a living flame and sparking the cold sconce on the other side of a pit? Awesome.

Harvest Moon Anniversary: Ten Years of Potatoes and Sex

This snuck up on me, but it looks like Natsume is getting ready to celebrate ten years of Harvest Moon. The farming sim series has picked up an impressive fanbase over the years despite its quiet 1998 debut on the near-dead Super Nintendo.

Harvest Moon's success in Japan was guaranteed from the start; many children in the crowded country grow up in cramped cities and never so much as see a cow. Its cult status in America was a bit of a surprise, at least for me. North America is not lacking for big open spaces, farms and fields. Some kids still grow up on farms and greet each day with the rooster crowing at the sun and possibly the sight of a deranged uncle throwing it to said rooster at the same time.

When you give it some thought, there are a few reasons for Harvest Moon's American success. Farms are admittedly becoming more scarce as the country is urbanised. As we increasingly work at jobs that yield no immediate reward, it becomes apparent that there's a calming simplicity about waking up every morning and harvesting your own cabbages, even if they're digital. Moreover, Harvest Moon is super-cute and a lot of fun. You can pet horses, dogs and cows and name them "Artax," "Rush" and "Moo" respectively. It's been enough to sell me title after title.

about the blogger

John Constantine, our superhero, was raised by birds and then attended Penn State University. He is currently working on a novel about a fictional city that exists only in his mind. John has an astonishingly extensive knowledge of Scientology. Ultimately he would like to learn how to effectively use his brain. He continues to keep Wu-Tang's secret to himself.

Derrick Sanskrit is a self-professed geek in a variety of fields including typography, graphic design, comic books, music and cartoons. As a professional hipster graphic designer, his recent clients have included Nerve, Pitchfork and MoCCA, among others.

Amber Ahlborn - artist, writer, gamer and DigiPen survivor, she maintains a day job as a graphic artist. By night Amber moonlights as a professional Metroid Fanatic and keeps a metal suit in the closet just in case. Has lived in the state of Washington and insists that it really doesn't rain as much as everyone says it does.

Nadia Oxford is a housekeeping robot who was refurbished into a warrior when the world's need for justice was great. Now that the galaxy is at peace (give or take a conflict here or there), she works as a freelance writer for various sites and magazines. Based in Toronto, Nadia prizes the certificate from the Ministry of Health declaring her tick and rabies-free.

Bob Mackey is a grad student, writer, and cyborg, who uses the powerful girl-repelling nanomachines mad science grafted onto his body to allocate time towards interests of the nerd persuasion. He believes that complaining about things on the Internet is akin to the fine art of wine tasting, but with more spitting into buckets.

Joe Keiser has a programming degree from Johns Hopkins University, a tiny apartment in Brooklyn, and a fake toy guitar built in the hollowed-out shell of a real guitar. He writes about games and technology for a variety of outlets. One day he will stop doing this. The day after that, police will find his body under a collapsed pile of (formerly neatly alphabetized) collector's edition tchotchkes.

Cole Stryker is an American freelance writer living in York, England, where he resides with his archeologist wife. He writes for a travel company by day and argues about pop culture on the internet by night. Find him writing regularly here and here.

Peter Smith is like the lead character of Irwin Shaw's The 80-Yard Run, except less athletic. He considers himself very lucky to have this job. But it's a little premature to take "jack-off of all trades" off his resume. Besides writing, travelling, and painting houses, Pete plays guitar in a rock trio called The Aye-Ayes. He calls them a 'power pop' band, but they generally sound more like Motorhead on a drinking binge.