How I Learned to Stop Worrying, and Love the Moon.
Fuck. Fucking goddamn moon. Fuck….. Closer… And closer.
Jesus, just end it already you goddamn moon. I hate you. All I have is 72 minutes… Over and over and over…. Oh? What’s that? An interesting side quest? Not happening. I’m the moon and I’m here to stress you out while you try to relax. Think you can beat a dungeon in time? No you can’t, because I’m the moon. I’m a dick and I’m made of cheese. Dick Cheese.
This summed up my initial impressions of Majora’s Mask, a game I attempted to complete as a Nintendo-obsessed teen, but was unable to finish for one reason alone: it was fucking stressful. I doubt I’ll live see my 90’s because of this game. In all of my twenty something years of playing video games, every game I’ve played to thorough enjoyment had the same thing in common. I durdle. I durdle hard. And there’s no room for any sort of durdling in Majora’s Mask.
Let me explain: I durdle to the point of inventing sub-mini games that I play repeatedly until I realize there’s a game to finish. Mario 64’s red turtle shell lava-surf level might as well have been Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater. Triple Triad in Final Fantasy VIII was a full blown hobby. I was the guy jumping around in the fires in Orgrimmar, forever stuck at level 38.
Then life took over.
No longer could I appreciate gaming the way I had wanted to, an endless quest of nothing and time to zone out. A combination of a heavy course load and my night time obligation as an Arthur Fonzarelli stand-in at various bars across my college town took up all my time. Maybe I was drinking too much, or maybe it was my ego and the amount of money I spent at juke joints and on leather jackets, but one thing was certain, video games were no longer my outlet to durdle. I had replaced red turtle shells with taxi cabs, Triple Triad with Triple-Sec, and Orgrimmar with an Irish Pub. I had shitty time management skills, and I had no time for video games.
Years flew by in this fashion until I finally jumped the shark and moved on with my life. I took a real job and adopted some tamer hobbies. One of which was getting back into gaming, and the first thing I noticed was that I no longer had the time to durdle and play video games as I had in the halcyon days of my youth.
And I tried, man, I really tried.
I started by getting back into shooters, with Battlefield 4, but the unpredictability of game times, and my constant urge to win lead to large smears of time where I was in World War III and obliviously cutting into my delicate and cherished sleep schedule. Then I tried the NHL series. Same problem; my overall desire to be competitive ate into all of my other hobbies. I began to dream about my Hockey Ultimate Team, and that’s where I draw the line.
Me and gaming saw each other from time to time, exchanging awkward text messages here and there, hearing about each other from mutual friends, and wishing the best, but it was clear we were no longer the ideal match that we were a decade ago.
Until I bought a 3DS this year and picked up a copy of The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask to go along with it. All of a sudden the cause of my stress when I was a kid, was now a boon to me as an adult. I had roughly 2 hours to get through each “day” in the game’s cycle. All of a sudden, I didn’t need the time management skills I required when I was a carefree youth. Now I just picked up Majora’s Mask and played as if choosing an episode of a TV show on Netflix.
And that’s how I learned to stop worrying.
And love the goddamn moon.