In which the internet mines my memories.
I remember an extended period of time in my childhood when my favorite solitary game required only a bag of marbles, several plastic figurines from a "fantasy realm" playset (knights, goblins, wizards, etc.) and the dozens of incomplete decks of cards we had lying around the house.
I would build massive--we're talking approximately five-foot square--castles of cards on the family room carpet, inelegant labyrinths of upright aces leaning against each other and topped with more cards to form a makeshift ceiling. It was often sturdier than you might expect of a house of cards, that go-to symbol of fragility. As the structure was built I would carefully place within individual chambers a plastic figurine or two.
After it was built, I would move back several paces, as far away as I could get from it, and I would then lob marbles at it, getting whatever childish endorphin rush I could out of watching sections crumble and fall, seeing the ogre I'd placed in a targeted area toppled and buried in the debris. Eventually I'd manage to hit that one perfect spot, and the whole thing would collapse at once. I'd collect the remnants and start the game again.
Now I could be talking about this as a prelude to some sort of self-examination. I could be trying to figure something out about myself based on my youthful predilection to create something grand and then tear it apart, bit by bit; that within this little apocalypse I needed there to be characters whose stories ended under my hand. I could be musing on my determination to fill the occasional loneliness with destruction.
I'm not doing any of that right now. I mentioned all this because a couple of nights ago Phil Ridarelli linked, from his Facebook page, to this Flash game...which, to my surprise and delight, emulated and in fact improved upon my game.
One might often joke that you can find "anything" on the Internet without really believing the universal scope of that description, but just now the system of tubes has just managed to cough up a deeply personal childhood invention without any prior connection or input from me. I say this often and it's not a phrase I first coined, but goddamn, it's nice to live in the future.
(Now to return to my games of ancient siege weaponry and feudal barbarism.)
I would build massive--we're talking approximately five-foot square--castles of cards on the family room carpet, inelegant labyrinths of upright aces leaning against each other and topped with more cards to form a makeshift ceiling. It was often sturdier than you might expect of a house of cards, that go-to symbol of fragility. As the structure was built I would carefully place within individual chambers a plastic figurine or two.
After it was built, I would move back several paces, as far away as I could get from it, and I would then lob marbles at it, getting whatever childish endorphin rush I could out of watching sections crumble and fall, seeing the ogre I'd placed in a targeted area toppled and buried in the debris. Eventually I'd manage to hit that one perfect spot, and the whole thing would collapse at once. I'd collect the remnants and start the game again.
Now I could be talking about this as a prelude to some sort of self-examination. I could be trying to figure something out about myself based on my youthful predilection to create something grand and then tear it apart, bit by bit; that within this little apocalypse I needed there to be characters whose stories ended under my hand. I could be musing on my determination to fill the occasional loneliness with destruction.
I'm not doing any of that right now. I mentioned all this because a couple of nights ago Phil Ridarelli linked, from his Facebook page, to this Flash game...which, to my surprise and delight, emulated and in fact improved upon my game.
One might often joke that you can find "anything" on the Internet without really believing the universal scope of that description, but just now the system of tubes has just managed to cough up a deeply personal childhood invention without any prior connection or input from me. I say this often and it's not a phrase I first coined, but goddamn, it's nice to live in the future.
(Now to return to my games of ancient siege weaponry and feudal barbarism.)