paradise lost
So I was home visiting the parents today in honor of Mother's Day. During the usual Sunday morning post-Mass fry (you Brits and Irish will know of which I speak), we were chit-chatting about various things: recent headlines, marriages and deaths of people we know, etc. Somehow Nintendo managed to sneak into the conversation (but doesn't it always?!) Before long, I was engaged in a good 15 to 20-minute long Duck Hunt and Double Dribble-inspired reverie. Ask me what I ate for dinner last night and I'm stumped. Hand me a Nintendo control and I can unearth every hidden coin bank and secret passageway in each level of Super Mario Bros. I'm terrible with names but to this day, I can remember and capitalize on the weaknesses of most of the opponents in Mike Tyson's Punchout! I actually dusted off the Nintendo a couple of years ago and played a few games with a friend. I fully recognized the absurdity of the moment as I assumed the role of ring-side trainer and barked orders:
I'm totally fiending Nintendo now. I looked for it in my mom's basement today but couldn't find it. You see, my father has a bad habit of "organizing" things in such a way that no one can ever find them again without tearing the house asunder. He has been known to put things in the rafters and behind drop-ceiling panels. Now, normally I would applaud such space-saving ingenuity if only he could remember his secret hiding places. So, while my craving goes unsatisfied, Nintendo is no doubt buried in the backyard or propping up a support beam in the attic never to be found again. If by some miracle my father has a brain fart and remembers the location, I'm taking that bad boy back to Brooklyn with me where I will host a party in its honor. Come to mama, Rad Racer.
Give him a quick jab in the stomach first! When his trunks fall down and he goes to hitch them up, unleash a series of left and right hooks to his unprotected mouth!Sure enough, King Hippo staggered backwards and was down for the count. As my friend savored her victory (and dramatically yelled, "Adriaaaaaaaaannnne!") I felt just like Mickey... except not all grizzled and decrepit.
I'm totally fiending Nintendo now. I looked for it in my mom's basement today but couldn't find it. You see, my father has a bad habit of "organizing" things in such a way that no one can ever find them again without tearing the house asunder. He has been known to put things in the rafters and behind drop-ceiling panels. Now, normally I would applaud such space-saving ingenuity if only he could remember his secret hiding places. So, while my craving goes unsatisfied, Nintendo is no doubt buried in the backyard or propping up a support beam in the attic never to be found again. If by some miracle my father has a brain fart and remembers the location, I'm taking that bad boy back to Brooklyn with me where I will host a party in its honor. Come to mama, Rad Racer.
posted by curly mcdimple @ 9:17 PM :: permalink :: ::
