Book Review: The Official Nintendo Player’s Guide (1987)

I bought this book last week at a yard sale for a quarter as the annual search for old gaming systems and small televisions reaches its crescendo immediately before the Atari Party. I also got a third Sega Genesis almost as cheaply, but that’s beside the point.

Back in 1987, the Nintendo Entertainment System was under two years old, and Nintendo was still driving the PR bandwagon pretty hard, so they published this tome. Part strategy guide and part catalog, this book was designed to get you excited about your Nintendo Entertainment System and excited about spending more money on more cartridges.

Still, it offers a quick overview of the cartridges that addicted users to the NES, including Super Mario Brothers, Metroid, Kid Icarus, and There’s Something about Zelda. It provides tips, maps, and pointers to help you get hooked, and once you’re done with the basic cartidges, surely you’re going to want to buy more.

The individual chapters on each game were written by different writers, all Japanese, and all probably marketing flacks. This led to several interesting turns of phrase that are too formally casual to be native and an excess of exclamation points, as well as declarations that anything that ran on an NES was a “realistic simulation” of anything other than the height of mid-1980s computer game console technology.

Still, it was an interesting flashback and pre-Atari Party 5: The Fellowship of the Joystick preparation. The book was also unintentionally a read-n-sniff experience; the person from whom I bought the book obviously had stored it with a Nintendo or the Sega for some time, for this book carried the scent of obsolete electronics, which was worth the quarter itself for an aging Gen Xer like me.

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Add More Cameras

Another law enforcement official proves that technology is only as good as the user:

A San Francisco police officer faces internal charges that he abandoned his traffic control duties at the airport so he could fiddle with surveillance cameras and ogle women as they walked through the terminal.

Officer William Rossi, a 25-year veteran assigned to the traffic company at San Francisco International Airport, is accused in departmental charges of using the closed-circuit surveillance system at Terminal One substation three different times Feb. 29 to “focus on women’s breasts and buttocks.”

Yessir, for every argument that cameras will prevent crime or keep us safer (as opposed to merely documenting our demises for posterity), there’s an argument that, given human nature, cameras merely allow security officials to engage their inner Porky’s.

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When Headline Writers Are Paid By The Word

Here’s the front page of today’s St. Louis Post-Dispatch:



Danton Headline

Click for larger

In a surprise move, Danton pleads guilty.

That headline is twice as long as it needs to be; as a matter of fact, the headline contains a fact and a response to the fact, that the writer of the headline is surprised.

This, my friends, is a cry for help. Whoever felt the need to include his or her reaction into the headline of a marginally-relevant story wants us to look at him or her, the surprised innocent or the surprised cynic who would assume that Danton would plead not guilty and appeal as far as he could before trying an insanity defense. But no, Danton plead guilty. And that’s the story, not the author or editor’s reaction.

Unfortunately, all journalism nowadays seems to require the professional journalists insert their own voices into the facts.

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The One I Turn To For Sociopolitical Insight

Sir Reginald Dwight:

“There’s an atmosphere of fear in America right now that is deadly. Everyone is too career-conscious,” he told New York magazine, Interview.

“There was a moment about a year ago when you couldn’t say a word about anything in this country for fear of your career being shot down by people saying you are un-American,” he told the magazine.

The singer said things were different in the 1960s.

“People like Bob Dylan, Nina Simone, The Beatles and Pete Seeger were constantly writing and talking about what was going on.

“That’s not happening now. As of this spring, there have been virtually no anti-war concerts – or anti-war songs that catch on, for that matter,” he said.

“On the one hand, you have someone like Toby Keith, who has come out and been very supportive of the Bush administration and the war in Iraq – which is OK because America is a democracy and Toby Keith is entitled to say what he thinks and feels.

“But, on the other hand, the Dixie Chicks got shot down in flames last year for criticising the president. They were treated like they were being un-American, when in fact they have every right to say whatever they want about him because he’s freely elected, and therefore accountable.”

Elton John seems a little confused about the difference between the right to free speech, which exists, and the right to be loved, lauded, and underwritten by government grants when speaking in ways that people don’t approve, which exists only in his fevered flashbacks of 1960s utopian dreams.

Unintentionally ironically, undoubtedly, he voiced these concerns in New York City and was not immediately shot by government speech code enforcement officials.

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One of These Things Is Not Like The Others

The article in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch begins with a litany of unbulleted things it must want its readers to see as equivalent:

A stolen SUV.

Five unsupervised kids inside.

Police in pursuit.

An innocent in the way.

Did you spot how they are different? The Post-Dispatch wants you to know how they are the same. That’s why you bullet point things like that. To show their similarity. And here’s how the Post-Dispatch thinks there the same:

The elements of St. Louis’ ever-unfolding tragedy came together once again in a fierce collision on Kingshighway early Friday.

See? They’re all elements in the ever-unfolding tragedy that is the city of St. Louis. Want to know what happened?

Killed was Gary “Chip” Alter, 24, a recent St. Louis University graduate, a world traveler and a “handsome devil” with unlimited potential, in his mother’s words.

Alter was driving north on Kingshighway from a friend’s home in the Hill neighborhood. He took a left to go west on Interstate 44 and home to Manchester.

About 3:30 a.m., a Dodge Durango was 90 mph northbound in Kingshighway’s southbound lanes. It broadsided Alter.

“My son’s life was taken much too soon,” a broken Joan Alter said later.

Schnuck it, the Post-Dispatch isn’t going to tell you; the whole article is an exercise in passive-voice journalism, where unfortunate things occur. This pyramid structure has all of the important facts at the bottom of the article, building a sleepy storyline that casts no blame except to the abstract iniquity. Here’s what happened:

Five kids, between the ages 12 and 16, stole a Dodge Durango in the afternoon and spent the night breaking into cars while leaving the Durango running; when someone called the cops at 3:30 am, the St. Louis Tin pursued until a cop supervisor told them to back off. After the pursuit ended, the Durango, still fleeing, broadsided another car and killed its driver.

Cripes, if only the driver had been drinking, he’d have a future with the Rams when he got out of juvenile camp and if he finished high school.

Of the four things mentioned in the first lines of the article, one is responsible for the tragedy, but the Post-Dispatch really wants to blur that distinction and reduce all to just equally-weighted “elements,” probably because the actual responsible line item isn’t the SUV, the police, or the innocent. It’s the known juvenile delinquents.

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Taking One for the Team

All the cool bloggers are, about an account in Women’s Wall Street that apparently details a dry-run of some sort of terror attack in a flight from Detroit to LA:

When I returned to my seat I was unable to assure my husband that all was well. My husband immediately walked to the first class section to talk with the flight attendant. I might be overreacting, but I’ve been watching some really suspicious things… Before he could finish his statement, the flight attendant pulled him into the galley. In a quiet voice she explained that they were all concerned about what was going on. The captain was aware. The flight attendants were passing notes to each other. She said that there were people on board higher up than you and me watching the men. My husband returned to his seat and relayed this information to me. He was feeling slightly better. I was feeling much worse. We were now two hours into a four-in-a-half hour flight.

Approximately 10 minutes later, that same flight attendant came by with the drinks cart. She leaned over and quietly told my husband there were federal air marshals sitting all around us. She asked him not to tell anyone and explained that she could be in trouble for giving out that information. She then continued serving drinks.

About 20 minutes later the same flight attendant returned. Leaning over and whispering, she asked my husband to write a description of the yellow-shirted man sitting across from us. She explained it would look too suspicious if she wrote the information. She asked my husband to slip the note to her when he was done.

After seeing 14 Middle Eastern men board separately (six together, eight individually) and then act as a group, watching their unusual glances, observing their bizarre bathroom activities, watching them congregate in small groups, knowing that the flight attendants and the pilots were seriously concerned, and now knowing that federal air marshals were on board, I was officially terrified..

The author of the piece followed up with the proper authorities and the airlines:

Through a series of events, The Washington Post heard about my story. I talked briefly about my experience with a representative from the newspaper. Within a few hours I received a call from Dave Adams, the Federal Air Marshal Services (FAM) Head of Public Affairs. Adams told me what he knew:

There were 14 Syrians on NWA flight #327. They were questioned at length by FAM, the FBI and the TSA upon landing in Los Angeles. The 14 Syrians had been hired as musicians to play at a casino in the desert. Adams said they were scrubbed. None had arrest records (in America, I presume), none showed up on the FBI’s no fly list or the FBI’s Most Wanted Terrorists List. The men checked out and they were let go. According to Adams, the 14 men traveled on Northwest Airlines flight #327 using one-way tickets. Two days later they were scheduled to fly back on jetBlue from Long Beach, California to New York — also using one-way tickets.

I asked Adams why, based on the FBI’s credible information that terrorists may try to assemble bombs on planes, the air marshals or the flight attendants didn’t do anything about the bizarre behavior and frequent trips to the lavatory. Our FAM agents have to have an event to arrest somebody. Our agents aren’t going to deploy until there is an actual event, Adams explained. He said he could not speak for the policies of Northwest Airlines.

Here’s what Hugh Hewitt had to say:

If this account is true, the plane should have been obliged to land upon the first indication of concern among the flight attendants and passengers. Calling the Homeland Security Department: Is this a true account, and if so, are you happy with the actions of the pilot/marshalls etc?

How easily the simple solution eludes us, Hugh.

Ladies and gentlemen, if you are on a plane, witness suspicious activity, communicate with the authorities in the air, and although they’re afraid and suspect something might be amiss but cannot act because protocol indicates they cannot until an event occurs, make an event.

Stand up in your seat and say, “There is a bomb on board this plane.

They will land the plane, my friends, and they will take you into custody. You’ll face a felony charge or more if they actually find a bomb or bomb-making components on the plane, but if the people around you are crying into their husbands’ shoulders and you’re facing death, you are not impotent.

You just have to work the impotent system to survive and achieve your goals. Why shouldn’t you? They will.

Bear in mind this tactic is something to use only if you are honestly afraid for your life and the lives of those around you. It carries a high penalty, regardless of if you’re crying wolf when there’s a wolf around or not.

UPDATE: More good ideas here.

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High Tech Red Neck

According to Slate’s Red or Blue–Which Are You? quiz, I am:

It’s time to get out of the sun. You’re looking a little red.

As if a little red, in this case, is bad.

I think the quiz was targeted to people who have lived in Wisconsin and Missouri and attended a Jesuit university. Jeez.

Some other commentators brag that they’re purple. That’s like saying your proud of your grey morals. As El Guapo indicated last night in a feeble blue defense of Farenheit 9/11, “There are two sides to every store.”

“Yeah,” our hero responded. “Right and wrong.”

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Brian Digs Up The Dirt on Michael Moore

So there I was at the happy hour, enjoying a refreshing Sierra Mist with some former coworkers because the bloody establishment stopped carrying Guinness on draught. I had purchased a copy of Michael Moore Is A Big Fat Stupid White Man as part of an intervention program for El Guapo, who apparently saw some value in something in Farenheit 9/11 besides the previews beforehand. So the book was lying on the table, which is quite unlike any of Michael Moore’s books, which lie anywhere they are, when a former x2 coworker (with whom I had worked at two different companies–hey, it’s a not what you know but who you know) joined us. She sat at the table, spotted the picture of the Macy’s parade-sized director, and made the noise and shudder with which we conservatives are familiar.

“I hate him,” she said.

The group at the table made agreeing noises, except for El Guapo, whose intervention is still in early stages.

No, she insisted, she hated him. Although we knew she was from Michigan, we did not know she was from Davison, Michigan, and that she graduated in 1973 from Davison High School–a year after Michael Moore was lifted by his parents’ bootstraps into graduation in that suburban school.

He had anger management problems even then, she informed us. She mentioned he played clarinet, although was third or fourth chair, and that he didn’t have a girlfriend in high school. There you have it: the MfBJN exclusive revelation. Michael Moore is an outcast band geek with no girlfriend gone bad.

I know, you’re thinking the same thing we all are: If only my former x2 coworker had made the ultimate sacrifice in 1971 and had gone out with that creepy Mikey guy, and maybe even, you know, kissed him, perhaps the world would have been spared his slothful wrath.

But friends, some sacrifices are too horrible to contemplate, much less ask.

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Another One That Previously Eluded My Attention

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the latest felony that has come to my attention courtesy of a news spot on the radio and confirmed by the St. Louis Post-Dispatch:

The suspect, Dennis A. Hobson, 43, was charged with first-degree murder and armed criminal action in the death of Maxine Cheeks, 55. Police say Hobson led them to her badly beaten body on a vacant lot off South 14th Street near Soulard Street.

Hobson’s son, Antoine M. Ward, 26, of the 3000 block of Walton Place, was arrested Wednesday. He was charged with abandonment of a corpse, a felony.

Abandoning a corpse is apparently a felony. Because sometimes accessory after the fact just won’t do it. My goodness, why aren’t all murderers charged with this secondary crime that often succeeds the first?

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No Irony to See Here

The St. Louis Post-Dispatch, in a story about government-mandated nonsmoking restaurants, cites a number of restaurant figures who say that the whole industry will be non-smoking in the near future because patrons want it.

The restauranteurs interviewed have restaurants with both smoking and non-smoking sections, so they’re not in a hurry to do what their patrons want, are they?

Instead, they wait for government to strip them of their property rights, and then they do what they say the public wanted all along.

If I had to guess, I would say that these quotables are mouthing the story line to get the name of their establishments listed in the paper. But I’m just cynical.

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LeMond….Le Monde….Coincidence?

Poor form, old boy, criticizing a countryman in a foreign paper:

The French newspaper Le Monde, which has previously leveled doping accusations at Armstrong, on Thursday ran an interview with three-time Tour winner Greg LeMond, who suggested he doubts his fellow American is drug free.

“Lance is ready to do anything to keep his secret,” LeMond was quoted as saying. “I don’t know how he can continue to convince everybody of his innocence.”

I don’t know if Lance is mainlining schucking Cheetah urine, but I can smell some amount of pungent envy trickling down someone’s leg, Greg.

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It Wasn’t Me

As previous co-workers can attest, I have always been, well, let’s just say “open to the [negative] possibilities” about the fiscal and marketplace health of my employers.

This reputation means I must firmly refute that this internal MCI memo refers to me at all:

It has come to my attention, that there is a small group of employees who are extremely negative in the work environment (and vocally so), about the future of a) MCI; and b) their current job status in Ashburn. I’m not sure what’s driving the doubt or the negative commentary, but I can tell you that it is unprofessional and I ask that you direct your concerns to me, directly, versus continuing the disruptive commentary with other colleagues.

Let me say unequivocally that I have never been to Ashburn.

And in case you’re wondering, my current employer’s position in the marketplace is non-existent and his fiscal position is tenuous, at best.

It’s less satisfying when you’re self-employed, though. Also, I have no coworkers with which to kvetch.

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Please Let Me Break This To Heather, Privately

Friends, I ask you to let me break this news to my beautiful wife when she returns from Buffalo tomorrow. I don’t want her to hear it on the news, and I don’t want someone else to mention it in an offhand e-mail or phone conversation. I know what it will mean to her, and I want to tell her in a safe place for her, where she’s surrounded by cats.

When we saw Spiderman 2 last week, I got out all of my comic books, four boxes’ worth, and showed them to her, and she showed me her smaller collection, which included a bunch of DC stuff and one fairly complete set of a single Marvel title. Dazzler. That mutant chick must have served as some role model for my wife as she grew up, and undoubtedly Heather will feel some deep connection to Dazzler, perhaps even a sense of protectiveness to Dazzler and what Dazzler meant to her.

So I just want to be there to comfort my beautiful wife, to hold her if she needs it, and to have some Puffs with lotion nearby, when I tell her that Jessica Simpson will play Dazzler in the next X-Men movie.

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The Former Television Critic Weighs In

The St. Louis Post-Dispatch, which by the way does not include me as a columnist, has former television critic Eric Mink dissing the Bush Administration in a serious column. I guess Mink grew up and turned off the television and started reading the Post-Dispatch for news insights:

Late last week, yet another august body – this time the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence – issued yet another massive report again confirming that the U.S. intelligence establishment got just about everything wrong when it came to Saddam Hussein’s nonexistent biological, chemical and nuclear weapons.

But buried deep in the Senate report – little noticed and even less remarked upon – is something important that the committee credits the intelligence community for getting right. And it puts the torch to whatever flimsy tissue of credibility the Bush administration had left:

With respect to contacts between Iraq and al-Qaida during the 1990s, the committee found that the CIA “reasonably assessed . . . that these contacts did not add up to an established formal relationship.”

Got that? Without a mutual protection pact treaty, it didn’t exist, and Eric Mink is there to analyze it.

Wait a minute, Eric Mink, former television critic, is now the commentary editor for the Post-Dispatch editorial page? Muhahhahahaha! You cannot make this stuff up.

Of course, my chances of being a paid columnist for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch will greatly diminish the next time Mink googles himself. To a slightly lower nil than they were before the search.

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Weird Cinematic Musing

Intermittent Pseudo-Bachelorhood, Day 2, wherein our hero watches Beat the Devil (1953) because it’s got Humphrey Bogart in it and he got it as a Christmas gift from his wonderful mother-in-law (hi, ML!). Upon reviewing this black and white piece filmed in Italy, which modern DVD technicians have not spent any time at all restoring, our hero muses that only 11 years passed between John Huston blowing a lot of budget in Europe on froo froo drinks for Truman Capote, the screenwriter, and another seminal film shot in Italia: A Fistful of Dollars.

I mean, jeez, man, the shift from black and white to color was huge, man, but that’s not all that changed. I mean, look at story pacing and film making conventions and see how they change in that decade and a tenth.

By way of comparison, look at how slowly things evolve after that. For example, the differences between Dirty Harry (1971) and The Dead Pool (1988). Minor. Between Dirty Harry and any of the others in its ilk. Sure, more stuff explodes now, and studios spend more money on fake-looking CGI, but you know, you could watch something from the 1960s and something from 2003 and not feel too out of place.

Crap, I think I had a point when I started this post. I forget it now. Perhaps it was merely to confirm to our hero’s wonderful mother-in-law that her Christmas gifts are going to good use–filling those awful, empty hours until her daughter returns.

Oh, yeah, and memo to Hollywood. Explain this to me: Beat the Devil is available on DVD, and The African Queen is not. What are you people doing out there? Hello?

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Venting the Venom

Hey, check out Thomas Sowell’s latest column, wherein he takes on the notorious extraneous bells and whistles software industry:

One of the maddening things about some computer programs and computerized products is their making you fight your way through a maze of complications to do simple things. Whether you want to play chess, take a picture, or do some other obvious and straightforward thing, you must first deal with a zillion options to do things you have no interest in doing.

The fact that there are innumerable features built into any product — whether computerized or not — does not automatically mean that you have to deal with the features you don’t want.

That’s because too much software is designed by developers, many of whom think vi was a pretty good interface.

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Best Columnist in St. Louis

The best columnist in St. Louis is David Nicklaus, business columnist for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. Check out the wisdom from his latest column taking on light rail groupies:

With what’s spent on the trains, Castelazo and Garrett figure that taxpayers could buy a Toyota Prius for each needy MetroLink rider and have $49 million a year left over.

It’s good to see someone in the Post-Dispatch examining the actual return on the copious public wealth redistribution the paper favors as a matter-of-course.

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