The Deafening Silence

Many have asked about the unannounced two-week hiatus Mistopia has just experienced. I understand your concerns – it took me by surprise too!

Here’s the situation: At the end of June this year, I moved from DC to Los Angeles to pursue a career in game design. This quest was much more difficult than anticipated, and as a side-effect of this process Mistopia suffered a drop in the quantity and regularity (but not the quality!) of its updates.

I have now taken a new job which merges writing, editing, and game design, but it requires me to move back to DC. Ah, life and its sense of humor. Predictably, this has resulted in an even more sparse series of updates as I’ve scrambled to slap my life back together.

There’s plenty of stories on the way, and things will get back to their constant, steady rate soon. Thanks for your patience!

TL;DR? No, I’m not dead.

Press Start To Play

Whether you admit it or not, chances are you’re a gamer.

In this day and age, everyone counts. Look at the crowds around you while riding the Metro, waiting in line at the theater, stuck in traffic, sitting down at a restaurant, or playing soccer in the park – every person you see is at least a casual gamer thanks to their nearby phone, which boasts a number of games to ensure they’ll never be left alone with their own thoughts.

While I’m guilty of using my phone and tablet in the same way, I also enjoy the classic conception of video games which require a console or computer to run properly. Specially, I’m what you might call a Nintendo guy. I haven’t owned every system they’ve ever made, but my collection does include the NES (’85), Gameboy (’89), SNES (’90), N64 (’96), Wii (’06), and DSi (’08) – entertainment technology encompassing more than 25 years of innovation.

Now, I’ve played the Genesis, PlayStation , Xbox , and their successors, and I have no specific complaints beyond saying I’ve never found them as appealing. The kind of experiences the PlayStation and Xbox provide are, to me, served better on a computer where I can use a keyboard and mouse and enjoy far superior graphics and accuracy. There’s no way to emulate the Nintendo experience in a satisfying way using a computer, though hundreds of programs claim to be able to do so. Each time I’ve tried them, I’ve longed for a controller to make it feel right.

Whether you’re a Nintendo fan like me or not, there’s no denying this universal truth: Everyone knows and loves Mario. There’s something iconic about the plumber with a red hat and perpetually clean overalls, though nobody can explain why.

Mario’s been the most accessible member of the video game pantheon for years; even people who never touched a controller knew him and loved him. It’s truly remarkable, especially when you consider that the average American would be hard-pressed to name a real hero in their own country, much less name one recognized by the British, French, or Japanese; in fact, I wager the average American would be unable to correctly identify their associated countries on a globe, but that’s a discussion for another time.

Why is that, and what does it say about us? What makes us latch so universally onto a digital puppet bound to obey the commands of others, even if they lead to his untimely demise? If you count up the hours you’ve spent together with Mario – killing Koopas, racing karts, riding your faithful steed through 8 (and always 8) strange and magical worlds at a time – you’d be amazed how that figure compares to the time you’ve spent with, say, your roommate.

“Impossible!” you might exclaim. But you’d be wrong, because while your roommate has been part of your life for a year or three, Mario’s been there for more than two decades, and you’ve spent countless hours with him whether you distinctly remember them or not.

My question is this: Now that gaming has become far more universal, with grandparents jamming out blistering guitar solos and high-powered business executives hurling birds at pigs in the elevator, who is heir to the throne? What face will rise above all others to become the icon of a generation and an industry?

What if they’re already here?

The Hollywood Chick-fil-A

Crowded lines overflowing into the streets during a promotional event or other media blitz are a common sight in Los Angeles, and today found Aaron and Ivan caught up in the rush. Each wore a huge smile and were overjoyed to be part of the madness associated with Opening Day at Hollywood’s first Chick-fil-A.

Aaron, who grew up in eastern North Carolina, had always known the wonder of a Chick-fil-A sandwich. The beauty lies in its simplicity, and while he generally preferred the fare of his local Bojangles there were times when all he wanted was the basic, delicious chicken with waffle fries that Chick-fil-A never failed to deliver.

Communities lacking a Chick-fil-A are stuck with the second-rate clone known as McDonald’s Southern Style Chicken Sandwich, which only avoided being called the McChick-fil-A due to the insistence of lawyers. But I digress.

Judging by their reaction, Los Angeles locals consider Chick-fil-A to be a rare and beautiful thing, and to make things more exciting the day’s festivities happened to occur on September 22. This meant two very important things: first, that Aaron could consider the entire restaurant an elaborate birthday present, and second, that his birthday dinner was going to be extremely inexpensive.

The two were not so foolish as to be among the early morning crowd, where people had camped out in the parking lot for a shot at being one of the first hundred customers and thus earning a year of free food. Instead, they waited until late in the evening, after the sun had set but before the bars and clubs let out, for a shot at long-awaited chickeny goodness.

This strategy did little to mitigate the crowds, as people of all ages were already lined up at the bustling business when they arrived. Since it lacked an indoor dining space, three distinct lines had formed which snaked through the outdoor picnic area to weave a tangled mass of people between the adjoining sidewalk and the parking lot.

Everyone was talking, laughing, and smiling as employees scurried around handing out coupons, shaking hands, and greeting customers. Two of the Eat Mor Chikin cows were also in attendance, taking pictures with elated patrons, dancing maniacally, and gently hugging nearby children.

“I wonder if that’s a guy or a girl in those costumes,” Ivan said, idly scratching his elbow while waiting in line.

Aaron shrugged. “Girls, I’d guess. The job is to hug people and be nice to kids. Guys are less likely to want to do those things.”

“Yeah,” Ivan nodded. “Probably. Hey, cow?!”

The nearest cow turned its comically-large head toward the pair and waved.

“You know your friend over there?” Ivan asked, pointing toward another mascot.

The cow nodded.

“Do you like them very much?”

The cow glanced at their partner, then back at Ivan, and shrugged.

“Well, I’ll give you $10 to go fight them.”

The cow put its hands on its hips and shook its head firmly.

“$20?”

The cow paused, pondering the offer, before heaving a deep breath and shaking its head.

“Well, thanks anyway,” Ivan grinned. He turned to Aaron with a shrug. “I just wanted dinner and a show! Plus, if it was a guy, he would have totally taken me up on that.”

“There’s plenty of spectacle already without resorting to battle cows,” Aaron said. “Besides…”

He was cut off by an abrupt crackle of static, which was followed by a loud, cheerful voice booming, “JULIE, step up to the window and claim your prize! JULIE! Step right up!”

The announcement had come from the pick-up window, and an excited woman bounded over to it before walking away with an armload of food, squealing.

“There’s a raffle?!” a girl standing behind them asked. “How can we sign up for that?!”

“I think it’s just their way of telling you to pick up your food,” Aaron said, craning his neck to get a better look. “I mean, he’s announced thousands of names today. That’s got to get old quick.”

They waited in silence as the line crept forward, and soon they were standing off to the side listening for the announcer to beckon them forth. An eternity later, the magical phrase was finally uttered: “Aaron, you’ve won a delicious bag of food! That’s right, Aaron, step right up!”

Ivan’s order followed, and as they walked toward the picnic area Ivan tore into his first sandwich and took a bite. He had never eaten at a Chick-fil-A before, and this was a big moment for him. He closed his eyes as he chewed, his mouth twisting into a slow, satisfied smile. Looking up, he turned to Aaron and laughed.

“Now that,” he said, “is what a chicken sandwich is supposed to taste like.”

Aaron merely nodded. “That’s why they’re allowed to say that,” he said, pointing at a nearby sign.

“We didn’t invent the chicken. Just the chicken sandwich,” Ivan read aloud, laughing and taking another bite of his food. “You know what? I believe it.”