Nostalgia-mounting RPGs

Over the last year I have played Final Fantasy VII and VIII on the PSP, having downloaded them from the aether (PlayStation Store) and uploaded them to a memory card inside the device. I am now doing the same for Final Fantasy IX. We are living in the future. WELCOME TO IT.

When these games first appeared they were on a number of discs each, they were the colossal RPGs of the PS1 era, the solid, shimmering jewels in Squaresofts Final Fantasy crown, before multiple spin-offs cut the jewels a few too many times, and the jewelocity became stretched far too thin. That's right, jewelocity. Final Fantasy X is perhaps the last of the worthy Final Fantasy titles, although an unfortunate twist near the end and a frustrating spin-off tarnishes its sheen. I never played XI, for at the time of release playing online felt like an impossible pipedream, and though I enjoyed XII it was for the gameplay rather than the story. I am currently stalled in XIII, having grafted through 20 hours of linear corridors, and finally being allowed out into a world which is numbingly vast, in an unfortunately tedious way.
It is possible that VII through X are as flawed as newer output, and I simply gloss over this using the magical power of nostalgia. Regardless, I am very much enjoying this playthrough of IX, the cartoonish medieval feel of the story is delightful. Having it in a portable medium is probably key, I doubt I'd commit to several hours in front of the TV using a console, but somehow playing it on a handheld device tricks you into believing that it isn't 3o'clock in the morning.

Having seemingly huge PS1 titles re-issued as downloadable releases is an excellent process, its just a pity that it doesn't stretch to releases such as Xenogears, which, as it was never released in the UK, is unlikely to appear in the British store. I had feared, when the newest generation of consoles appeared (PS3/360/Wii) that old-school RPGs (or perhaps JRPGs more specifically) would die out, in favour of family-friendly minigames masquerading as full games, or an endless stream of shiny FPSs. Thankfully, that hasn't really happened, and new RPGs do appear with a fair frequency, and though on the consoles they tend to be trying something a little different (which is a good thing, even if it means a few games mess up), I am glad that classic formats are still being worked in the handhelds. RPGs were, for me at least, never really about the graphics, and the gameplay is also a measured fixture which lends itself well to a handheld format, where button-bashing or fast sequences aren't ideal, whereas the story and tactical nature of the battling is more fitting. Even the relatively basic graphics are more aesthetically pleasing on a smaller screen.

I think my funny has dried up this week, this is another fairly dry examination. Rather than bail out of this I am going to see this entry through to its tedious, unamusing conclusion, if you are looking for laughs I urge you to abandon this entry post haste, lest my position as Visconte de Hilariare be forever compromised in your eyes.

The amount of hours I have spent grinding away on role-playing games is no ones business. Final Fantasy VII and Pokemon Red were the first nails in a coffin which is now shut with so many nails that the coffin itself is more iron than wood. The soundtracks to franchises of Wild ARMs, Final Fantasy, Breath of Fire and Xenogears swirl on a neverending MIDI loop in my mind, and the plinks and plonks of Pokemon, Final Fantasy Tactics and Dragon Warrior Monster vibrate in my forearms.

Playing through the first stages of Final Fantasy IX I was delighted by the presence of the Rufus Welcoming March, a track originally composed for FFVII, which was clearly added to the game in order to delight empty nerds such as myself. "I was delighted".

However, as futile as it may feel to have sunk quite so many weeks into RPGs, I think there are important and valuable life lessons to be learnt from them.

RPGs reward the player for putting the work in, the main format of levelling up means you have to work to get better. Often in the actual games this takes the form of some quite tedious grafting (unless the battling system is done well, as in FFXII (my opinion)), but the overall ideal is quite practical, it essentially boils down to: if you want to do well, work hard. This is at odds with what usually gets touted in anime (and in a number of idealistic/simplistic stories) where an individual will be able to battle through and succeed simply on the basis of him/her being particularly just or good. The disillusionment from these stories is something I'm planning on looking at in more detail, so I will leave it for now. Suffice to say, having been attacked for no reason by two brainless gimps I can conclusively deny the inspiring second-wind that seems to infuse those who are in the right. Either that or I was the baddie in that situation, which is impossible as I am the main character.

So it seems I am regressing of late, I have reacquainted myself with wrestling, started playing late 90s PS1 RPGs again and having shaved this afternoon I realised I had chosen to go shave down to sideburns, which were my original choice from back when bumfluff was first gracing my cheeks. After work today I am going to go slide down the banking on a piece of cardboard. That, of course, is a fabrication for comic effect, but I will do it soon, film it and it will become a sketch. I am not old enough for my puerility to be a starkly comic contrast, I just look childish. To such claims I would retort "I know you are, but what am I?".

I would love nothing more than to waste the entire evening tonight playing through Final Fantasy IX, but there is much editing to be done for the podcast tomorrow, and given that really I should also have edited one of our sketches by now, it will be a shocking betrayal of our hardworking DIY ethics to let the podcast slip aswell.

This will be the 26th week in an unbroken chain of slapdash audio silliness that we have released, our dedication to silly buggery has spanned around half a year, at this point it feels that our efforts are either highly admirable, or utterly delusional. The day they stop being released is the day we stop enjoying them, and there's not even a whisper of that point as of now, so admirable it is.

I am going to play Final Fantasy IX as well though. I can play it on the toilet. The future is indecent.

Barbeque & A 'n' R&R

Yesterday, I found myself at a hastily organised barbeque. While it was organised quickly, years of barbeque organisation on the part of the organiser truly paid off, and fun and a full stomach was had by all. The position of Head Barbequeer was allotted responsibly, which is of crucial importance. The Head was a grizzled veteran of barbequing, and the undercooked mess I had assumed all barbeque to be was disproved magnificently. If either Organiser or Head Barbequeer are reading this, my thanks and compliments, it was a wonderful night.

It was a fairly dynamic affair, I turned up with my ACREstablemate Dafydd, and the rest of the barbeque (apart from the Organiser) consisted of people I had met once or twice before and a number I'd never met. This would usually mean that slight awkwardness and heel-scuffing was to follow, but it turned into a really nice night. The dynamism was added to further as people left early and were replaced by latecomers, meaning that fresh energy was always being added. A few old friends turned up (for me) unexpectedly, and it was excellent to have a catch-up.

As the night wore on, it felt as though Dafydd and I took over the conversation more and more with fairly full on filthy topics. It got to the point of hysteria a number of times, and laughing to the point of not being able to breathe was further intensified by the nearby campfire. I very much enjoyed this inappropriate improvised vulgar double act, and it was a delight to see people we didn't know really enjoying our puerility, only slightly more delightful than seeing the disapproving looks of those who weren't.

Two barbequees in particular did not enjoy these 'japes'.

Two American transfer-students, one male, one female, were also at the barbeque, as acquaintances another of the guests had made whilst travelling. They were amiable and talkative for the most part, although something eventually went awry. My back was first raised when the man, during a discussion on the idiosyncratic differences between the UK and the US, inquired:

"So, this may be a weird question but you haven't got anything strange like having made gay marriage legal over here have you?"

I was slightly taken aback, but Dafydd saved the day magnificently with his instant reply:
"Yeah it's not just legal over here, it's encouraged!".

Having misjudged us quite significantly, he was completely wrong footed and he quickly fell silent with the look of a non-swimmer caught in a mortifyingly realistic recreation of Waterworld plastered over his fundamentalist Christian face. They were full-on you're-all-going-to-hell-and-I-might-be-aswell-for-being-at-this-bbq Christians. They were lovely, apart from their lazy, hateful beliefs.

They didn't much enjoy anything I said.

My favourite discussion I instigated that they definitely wouldn't have enjoyed began with me struggling to get my words out. I don't know if this happens to other people, or whether I occasionally fall into some sort of mania where my own ideas amuse myself to the point where I have trouble getting the idea out. If only people would start to think I am as funny as I find myself (occasionally). When I finally managed to get my sentence out, I began an hour long experiment in vulgar tedium. I asked:

"When Spiderman ejaculates, does it come out as a web?".

At the time, I was bent double laughing. It was probably my enjoyment, rather than the actual idea which made Dafydd join in. It was at that point that the American asked "Is he serious?", which made me laugh all the more. Yes, I was being serious. I wanted to know whether, at the point of climax, the fictional superhero Spiderman's fictional superpowers stretch even to his ejaculate. Of course, he should have known I was being facetious, because Spiderman's webs aren't a part of his powers, they are chemical tools loaded onto Peter Parker's wrist, hence how he can run out of webs. Pedantry would have killed my fun, but he wasn't anywhere near pedantic enough.

What I have learnt about myself is that I am an incredibly single minded individual when I have discovered a new comedic formula, and if I am in the right mood I will relentlessly plough that furrow until it is empty, and I am exhausted. The new formula was superheroes + ejaculation = amusing sperm. I was delighted, the Christians less so.

My favourite picks are these:

Cyclops - Power: Shoots lasers from his single eye = self-explanatory.
Captain America - Power: Not really sure, super strength? = shoots twirling shields out of his peep.
Rogue - Power: stealing other people's powers = steals a man wang and does them with their own bits
Iron Man - Power: iron suit = normal semen
Captain Planet: Power: he is Green (as in looking after the environment) = pure white semen which he shoots over oil-covered seals which washes them clean (also dolphins).

As we ran out of steam, the topic changed and we veered away from such superheroic filth. But as the other chatted about something knew, I came up with a final, delightful example. I patiently, callously waited until the conversation petered out, and in the ensuing silence I flung my final attempt in the direction of the forlorn Americans;

"Does The Thing spunk bricks?".

I am delighted by myself.

As the night wore on everyone left, the christians seemed to harbor no ill-will towards me, and I had enjoyed myself thoroughly. My petty attempts to make the two uncomfortable, and it was incredibly petty, had worked, and they had conducted themselves in a christianly way and turned the other cheek. Luckily for them The Thing wasn't there, or he's have seen their other cheek and come down on them like a ton of bricks.

Though none of us lived in the house the final three contenders in the garden (I am watching way too much Royal Rumble) were me, Daf and the Head Barbequeer. Daf indulged in his favoured past time of tending the fire, which therefore burned beautifully for hours on end, and we sat outside idly philosophising, discussing old video games and appreciating the moon.

We got home irresponsibly late, and I awoke responsibly early, so my exhaustion is all to do with responsibility. Response-silly-ability. I am tired.

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@adamgilder
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