My Lovely Mario

This beautiful man, this small plush bloke trapped in a t-pose for eternity (except for when you squeeze his tummy and his arms come down to his sides as if he really is startled by the squeeze) is my own Mario, obtained last year through a dog-themed racing game at Coney Island, and I love him very much.

He's very soft and huggable (of course), but one thing I like about him is that he has a loop on the back of his head, so you can hang him anywhere easily, like so:

Because of his eternal t-pose, hanging him on the wall like this evokes the wall-mounted crucifix. Mario looks ridiculous like this. He is no Jesus, and yet his pose is impossible not to associate with Christ through the sheer power of positioning. It's kind of remarkable how strong that iconography is. All you have to do is be up somewhere, arms outstretched, and you yourself become a sort of Jesus.

I've been thinking a little bit about Christian iconography in Japanese media after Skittybitty's mention of the early Zelda series's explicit Christian references in her video on the Gerudo and colonialism. In Japan, the first game had Link wielding a bible (renamed the 'book of magic' for its US release), and in the second game, Link obtained a cross. By the third instalment, the series took on its own new mythology, but some concept art survives of Link praying in front of a crucifix.

Amazing.

I love the way that Christian themes and iconography are often incorporated into the mythos of JRPGs in particular - religious theming can be such a great shorthand for various sorts of mysticism or tradition or worldly history. But one thing I appreciate is the flippancy of its inclusion. Link's bible is inextricable from his broad European fantasy influence in an interesting way - the crunchy background to the forest-y world of the elves contains, as we well know, Jesus Christ our lord and saviour. He gives Legolas a thumbs up. It's awesome.

It's like Vampire Survivors. A game in which my favourite weapon is indeed the bible. That thing kills.

Now, none of this has much to do with Mario. They're not including a lot of religious stuff in Mario games despite his Italian nature. But one iconic t-pose nevertheless evokes a Jesus. And so, my little man becomes an anachronistic clash of popcorn modern media, and the exalted background of our world's esteemed and ancient religious culture. Good for him. I'm going to hug him.

Irritable & Sleepy

I hate travelling. It's not so much the actual journey (although that can be its own special hell), but what I call the "settling-in" period - the first day or two that I'm in a new place. During that time, I hit peak irritability. Everything is annoying, and I'm literally sleepy.

Me and my donkey, on a boat.

There are always, it seems, hiccups to a new place. When I stayed in Cambridge recently, they had relegated the washing machine to a strange outside shed, like it was being punished. I felt bad for the washing machine. It deserved to be in the house. It was over the course of my time there that I realised it was oddly challenging to keep my washing and drying to the daylight hours so that I didn't have to awkwardly peel clothes out of the machine by torchlight, praying I wouldn't drop any socks on the mildewy floor, or the wet ground. It was not a joyful experience.

My drawing of the tragic situation.

Mostly, though, the house was nice. I liked its desk, I liked its small dishwasher (not having to do my own dishes is a treat that is always appreciated), and I liked its TV with Netflix left logged in. Very nice. It did have a horribly uncomfortable couch, but I simply sat elsewhere whenever possible.

Beautiful Cambridge.

Perhaps I have lost my carefree spirit or something, but I really have to take a day or two to just be annoyed whenever I arrive somewhere. I accept that I am, on these first days, a hater. And nothing can prevent it. I just have to let that evil ghost within me loose into the world. And then I'm fine. I accept the foibles of a location, the glistening downsides, and I get over it.

It says a lot about the enduring comfort of familiarity. If something sucks at home, I might just be used to it. On the other hand, perhaps every inch of the world just needs to be more perfect. 

Isn't that right, Mr. Super Mario?

 
At times like this, the only thing left to do is to enjoy some Japanese punk music.

The Weird AI of Cambridge University Botanic Garden

This week I went to Cambridge's Botanic Garden with some friends, and while the outdoor flowers were very much not in bloom, the greenhouse was bustling.

It's March and the air is brisk, although starting to get sunnier, so entering the warm, dewy inside of a greenhouse feels not dissimilar to stepping into a nice warm bath. Mmm. I know how these tropical plants must feel.

A strange thing, however, was happening in this greenhouse: you could "talk" to the plants. That's right boys, it's what you've all been asking for: custom AI chatbots for the plants, so you can ask each plant if it knows about racism, or something.

I have to be honest with you, I don't have anything to say to these plants. I don't want to talk to plants. I have nothing to ask them, and I'm not interested in what they "have to say". I just want to look at them and then go home. So I didn't bother to scan any of their QR codes to talk to their AI personalities. I can't imagine what the point would be.

With famous artists in a museum, at least you can imagine an idea behind the illusion of talking to that person - you could imagine wanting to ask Van Gogh what it felt like to slice off his ear, or what his favourite animal was, or something - but what are you going to ask a plant? Hey Randy the Rhododendron, what do you think about Keir Starmer's public response to the bombing of Iran? Does it feel bad when your petals fall off? Which is better - bath or shower?

Perhaps I should have asked these questions and seen for myself what the various plants had to offer as responses, but the tediousness of the idea was simply too strong for me. I can just come up with the conversation myself.

"Hey girl, I love my crazy leaves". Yeah. Okay.

When you put this distraction behind you, though, the garden is lovely. I like the spherical cacti, and the winding branches, and the various little pink flowers poking out of pots. That's what it's all about. And if a flower ever talks to me, I will not reply. I'll just silently walk on.

The Crunchy Music Video for Onew's 'Tough Love'

One thing that draws me to kpop as a genre is the slickness and spectacle of artistic vision that often comes through in the meticulous design of its performances and music videos and promotional materials more broadly. The teams of creative people - graphic designers, choreographers, stylists, photographers, etc - are right on the pulse of very flashy, experimental, and tightly coordinated style to a sort of mechanised degree that tends to go far beyond Western artist expectations, at least on average. The industry is markedly exacting, and while there is much to be said about the rigorous and exploitative industry and its disastrous effects on its talent, there is also, when it comes to its wider employees, an expansive and interesting focus on the art direction of it all.

Take the music video for Onew's 'Tough Love', released on the 9th of March. The style of it shifts in some really fun, tactile ways throughout. We see shots of Onew in staccato, playful stop motion. He's in a cave. Then we see a shot of him dragging his big rock up the slope of the cave, embellished with hand-drawn creepy crawly animations - Tim Burton style.

Later, as the journey continues, Onew runs through collages of photos that bloom like stars in spacey blue tones. There's a humour to this. Star Trek-esque landscapes go by.

And finally, he's outside, gripping a ball. The big rock he was dragging along has worn away into this perfect white ball, and he may finally rest. He drops his ball and it falls off a cliff. Such as balls do. The cycle begins again. The ball cycle.

There's a joyous energy to the song - it's very much a "you can do it" upbeat anthem, and so the hardship of this rock-dragging concept is a bit tongue-in-cheek, a bit cartoony. Onew smiles with mad cheerfulness. He has his ball, and you could have your ball too.

I love the rapid, changing visuals and how they fit together overall. The entire video feels collage-y. We get a change in aspect ratio, and we see Onew leap through split-screens and fireworks. Life is okay, the song tells us. Stuff just happens, says the video.

So true. 

The Nintendo DS Build-A-Bear Game

Today I played 'Build-A-Bear Workshop: Welcome to Hugsville' for the Nintendo DS, just to feel something. This is a game for toddlers, mainly, and so it can easily put an adult into a trance as the slow, peaceful music plays, and the overly long waits between dialogue stretch out before you like a highway.

The first thing you do, obviously, is choose your stuffed animal. I chose the pink cat, because I can sense her crazy personality. You then have to "rub the heart" to imbue your creature with a soul.

After this act of witchcraft, you're plopped down into Hugsville, the place where all the other stuffed animals live. There, you can play mini-games presented to you by each animal, that are, as suspected, uninspiring.

The elephant offers you a maze game. You can win a gold trophy for doing well. And it's delightfully easy to do well.

I named my character 'GLUMP', as you can see, and I think she is shortly going to be the champion of every mini-game in the village. I like that she wears a little denim skirt. A very simple outfit, but I like it. I enjoy the super boring style of the animals here.

At one point you're introduced to a rabbit who knows about fashion, and then you're asked to dig a hole. This is society. This is real. This is Build-A-Bear.

A Strange, Impenetrable Final Fantasy VIII Bootleg

Some time ago, I came upon a gamer's curiosity of particular interest to me as the number one fan of Final Fantasy VIII in the whole world, and a freak about old and obscure games in general: a demake of Final Fantasy VIII for the Game Boy Color.

Hell yes.

This oddity is by Waixing, a producer of many Chinese bootlegs of games, and it's called 特种部队 A计划 (tèzhong bùduì a jìhuà), which translates to something like 'special forces plan A'. Given that it is in Chinese, a language I cannot read, I can't comment on the dialogue, but there is an unstoppable delight in seeing Squall and Quistis right away as little Game Boy sprites.

There they are!

Most of its music consists of chiptuned versions of songs from the Final Fantasy IX soundtrack, but on getting my first game over I was delighted to hear a rousing Game Boy rendition of Eyes On Me. The game over comes quick, because as soon as you encounter your first enemy it becomes clear how unbalanced and dangerous this game is. Squall got killed after stepping one foot into the fire cavern. It's over. Ifrit's waiting in there, but my man is dead.

The second attempt (I had to start from the beginning) had me dead after finding this game's version of the training centre. Squall and Quistis were mercilessly murdered by what looked like a bite bug. I'm beginning to think this game is unplayable. At least Selphie is here though!

She is very cute.

I like a lot of little design elements, like Quistis's portrait, and some of the monster designs, which are quite faithfully translated to GBC style pixel art, and clearly a lot of work has gone into constructing some of these environments - but I do wish I could progress beyond a single battle.

I suppose such a massive deterrent adds to the mystery of a project like this. I've read that it takes you up to Esthar, which means there surely must be a lot crammed into this game, but how can I see it? For now, the enemies elude me, and I am still.

The Beauty of Wren Library

This week I visited Wren Library, the historic library of Trinity College in Cambridge, and it's a fascinating little space. A while ago I read R.F. Kuang's Katabasis, and she describes one of the segments of hell that loose souls float through as similar, with booths that they park themselves in to write essays that may, eventually, allow them to progress to hell's next zone. Kuang luxuriates in Cambridge in a very fun way - the novel is set at Cambridge University, and hell mirrors it. The whole world and underworld are Cambridge. So true.

The space does have a wonderful, almost arcane beauty - the tall wooden shelves, the presence of many busts, etc - but what I really love are the desks.

You can really imagine the joy of being a researcher, sitting down at one of these desks, draping your cardigan across the chair, and touching some really old books. It must be immensely distracting to have visitors mulling about and looking at you in your beautiful booth, at your organised and delicious desk, but it must be satisfying to be there - to be the person not just there to look at the spectacle.

There is also the lovely view of the river just outside, with its cascading willows and steady stream of punting boats. The college itself was closed to visitors when I visited, which lead to some confusion, but the Wren Library was open (for only two hours in the middle of the day), and so it felt almost sneaky to be there. They don't want you to be there. You could touch a Shakespeare manuscript, potentially. And that wouldn't be right.

It's an odd sort of space that I felt I should leave quickly. It's too special, and people are doing work there, and one researcher in particular was dressed in the perfect houndstooth blazer outfit befitting a Cambridge student.

It's truly beautiful. I'd like to be the sort of person who is permitted to touch the medieval manuscripts. 
Let me at 'em.