A Traumatic Victory

I finished Trauma Center last night, and my right hand is presently a withered, contorted, functionless claw as a result. Holy shit that game is hard. I had mentioned that I thought it was hard when I spoke at length about it a few posts below, but I had no idea just how hard it was going to get. At that point, I was still probably only half-way along what proved to be a steady increase in difficulty over the game's length. By the time I failed miserably on the game's final surgery for the third time (during the first part of a three-part procedure), I was starting to think I might have to give up and move on to the next game in my depressingly large queue.

Finally, on what was likely my fifth or sixth try, I entered "the zone". It was as if the stylus was an extension of my hand, and it was constantly in motion, switching from one task to the next like lightning, beyond my brain's ability to consciously follow. I just kind of blanked my mind and let my hand do the thinking. I can count on one hand the number of times that I have successfully entered this zen-like state in my gaming history (I can still recall how freaked out I was after experiencing it for the first time), but it is a known phenomenon, and I have read lots of accounts from other gamers that describe identical experiences. Anyone who plays fast-paced games of high difficulty (like, for instance, Ikaruga) regularly can attest to the necessity of achieving this state in order to find success.

So, I was in the zone, and I was unstoppable. That is, until I got to the final step and ran into some last-minute complications that I didn't know how to properly address, which jarred me back to conscious play and prompted my almost immediate loss. After screaming various threats and epithets at my DS, I pried the cursed thing from the death grip my right hand had on it and took a breather to review what had just happened. The first thing I belatedly realized is that I had unconsciously re-adjusted to a stylus grip that I'd never tried before that offered superior speed and precision at the expense of finger discomfort and screen visibility. I also noted that this new higher-pressure grip, coupled with all of the frantic movement, may have been stressful for more than just my fingers.

You see, I've heard many accounts of DS touch screens becoming less sensitive or deadened entirely over time, but I'd always assumed that the people who encountered this problem simply weren't handling their DS with proper care. I am as anal in hardware care as I am in all other things, so it hadn't occurred to me that it was a problem that I'd ever have to deal with. And, just to clarify, I haven't had to deal with it as of yet. However, after seeing the kind of abuse that Trauma Center required of me, I'm no longer so certain that I won't have to contend with it eventually. I may simply be over-reacting, as I wasn't pressing down all that hard, but I was certainly much less gentle than I usually am, and it seems plausible to me that repeated and prolonged pressure of that kind could be harmful. It's certainly something that I intend to be more mindful of in the future, at any rate, although I can't fathom that many other situations will be as demanding as Trauma Center's end game.

After restoring feeling to my hand, I tried the procedure again, emboldened by my near-success. However, the zone proved to be predictably elusive, and I failed miserably, losing in the first third of the procedure again. Getting desperate, I tried switching to the new stylus grip I'd adopted earlier, but I couldn't find anything that felt right. Several more losses later, however, during one particularly frantic session, I found myself using that same grip again. Apparently, I can't reproduce the grip at will, but rather only on demand, as it feels very uncomfortable and unnatural, and I'm only able to tell that I've found by noting the corresponding improvement in my play. It was with this grip that I finally did successfully finish the curs-ed final procedure, after over a dozen tries.

I then settled back and watched the ending, clutching my writhing right claw to my chest and feeling an exhilaration that I've not felt in gaming since I beat Final Fantasy V's optional super-boss, Omega (now there was a boss that could fuck you UP). My hand hurt, my throat hurt, and maybe even my touch screen hurt, but it was all worth it. It reminded me of a time before games were made easier in the interests of accessibility, when a person could actually take pride in winning. Trauma Center was HARD, so much so that I almost gave up entirely, and damn was that refreshing.

Get off my Bridge!

[Note: The following post contains a major Star Trek: Nemesis spoiler, but let's be honest here-- either you've already seen Star Trek: Nemesis, or you don't give a rat's ass. Still, you have been warned. Also, I guess that it contains a major Star Trek V spoiler as well, but absolutely noone should care about that, because that movie was AWFUL. Finally, bonus points to anyone who recognizes this post's title, which is easily my favorite Star Trek line ever.]

Well, I'm at a bit of a loss as to what to write about this week, so I'll content myself with a short post bitching about how disappointed I am by this, which Aiden brought to my attention earlier this week. As befits my social caste (read: nerd), I am a big Star Trek fan, and I'd been worried that there were not going to be any more Star Trek films. As it turns out, I was wrong, but I almost wish I hadn't been. It's as if someone asked me several months ago what the worst Star Trek movie I could think of would be like, and carefully took notes:

"Well, how about if you let Bill Shatner direct a masturbatory salute to Captain Kirk as he goes on a nonsensical quest to talk to God, who happens to be a giant stupid-looking alien? Oh, right, they already made that. Second-worst, you say? Hrmm. It would have to still be based on the original series, because fans are clamouring for a new Next Generation film. Also, it would have to prominently feature Captain Kirk, the most self-contradictory, least qualified starship captain ever. William Shatner is actually kind of enjoyable to watch these days, since he knows what a stupid character Kirk is and enjoys poking fun at him, so watching him and his gut get into fist-fights might be fun, which removes that as an option. How about if we keep the iconic character, but have him played by a different actor, which will be jarring and unpleasant? Maybe that smarmy guy from Good Will Hunting? He's a little young, though... *snaps fingers* I know! Let's make everyone teenagers, and make it a high school drama! Noone will like that! Oh, and let's put the guys who made the TV series Lost in charge of it, because I hate that show and JJ Abrams doesn't even like Star Trek."

*sigh*

So, yeah, that's exactly what's happened, although it's early enough along that none of it is set in stone just yet. Still, it's very unlikely that it will transform in the intervening time into the Next Generation film that I so desperately want. You can't just kill Data and then never follow it up. I need closure! CLOSURE! Paramount, PLEASE stop running this franchise into the ground! I BEG you!

Hadouken!

For those of you unaware (probably most of you), an online version of Street Fighter II hit XBox Live a couple of weeks ago. I downloaded the demo to give it a try, because, well, it's Street Fighter II, and was confronted with a disheartening truth: I suck at fighting games. Now, this shouldn't necessarily come as a surprise, given that I've always sucked at fighting games. However, it's been years since I played a real one (Super Smash Bros. definitely does NOT count), since I find 3D fighting games ugly and boring, and I had used that time to convince myself that I simply wasn't skilled enough to fully appreciate them as a child. But, no, I just suck, period.

Before I continue, I should probably back up and explain just what Street Fighter II is, for those poor unfortunate few of you that aren't familiar with one of the most successful franchises in video game history. The Street Fighter legacy began with a whimper, as the original 1987 Street Fighter was a forgettable bare-bones arcade fighting game (for anyone furthermore not familiar with that term, a "fighting game" is a game in which two players battle each other using punches, kicks, and special moves that require complex button combinations) with poor controls, in which you competed in a world-wide fighting tournament as a young Japanese martial artist named Ryu. The only reason that anyone even remembers it is because of the sequel that followed it in 1991: Street Fighter II.

Street Fighter II re-visited that same tournament, but featured a roster of eight ethnically diverse (although comically stereotypical) playable characters, plus four unplayable (in the original Street Fighter II, at least) bosses. From the beefy close-quarters Russian wrestler, Zangief, to the wiry fire-breather from India with the extendable limbs, Dhalsim, each fighter had a unique move-set and style of play (well, except Ryu and Ken, the original game's protagonist and his functionally identical American counter-part) that gave them distinct strengths and weaknesses against each other. It essentially defined the modern fighting game, refining existing combat mechanics like attacking, blocking, and using special moves, and introducing entirely new mechanics like combos (a un-interruptible attack sequence) and canceling (interrupting an attack in order to flow seamlessly into another one). And it didn't hurt that it looked pretty and sounded great.

Between its many sequels and spin-offs, and the many platforms they have been ported to, Street Fighter II has literally spawned almost 100 video games, making it almost certainly the most famous and successful fighting game ever created. Its specific history made for some unique naming conventions for all of those games, which can be quite confusing to the uninitiated. As mentioned above, the first game in the series was called Street Fighter, but the next 40 or so games that followed it were all called Street Fighter II, with different subtitles. You see, Capcom very much wanted to cash in on Street Fighter II's success, making all kinds of games with only token differences, and furthermore wanted to make sure that future games were not associated with the original Street Fighter, so they steadfastly refused to call any of the sequels Street Fighter III (until they finally broke down and did just that in 1997), as any normal person would do, which resulted in asinine names like "Street Fighter II' Turbo - Hyper Fighting" (the apostrophe is supposed to be read as "Dash", despite the fact that it is clearly an apostrophe and that there is a real dash elsewhere in the title), which is, incidentally, generally agreed to be the best version of Street Fighter II, and thus the specific version now available over Xbox Live.

Which brings me back to my current problem: my complete inability to reproduce the complex button combinations required to execute the game's special moves. The button combination for Ken and Ryu's Hadouken (a blue fireball created by projecting "ki" energy from their palms) is almost required knowledge to consider yourself a gamer at this point-- it's part of the collective gamer consciousness. Even though I hadn't played a Street Fighter game in well over a decade, I was still able to recall it instantly when I played the demo: roll the directional pad (or, in this case, analog stick) from down to forward and end it with a punch. That button combination's representation is iconic, as seen at the bottom-right of the shirt design seen below. However, the same problem that I had all of those years ago still remains-- I can't perform it consistently despite knowing exactly how to do it.

The demo has only two playable characters: Guile (an ass-kicking American GI) and Ryu. I spent over an hour playing before I was able to win a single match against the PC with either one of them, and even that one felt kind of flukey, since I made liberal use of Ryu's arguably cheap low weak kicks, and the PC-controlled Guile simply chose not to use the proper counter several times in a row. I take some solace in the fact that apparently the default difficulty setting is agreed to be rather punishing (just as it was in the original). In fact, no matter what it's set at, the computer player reads your buttons inputs and reacts accordingly before the animation even begins, giving it super-human reflexes. It can also use special moves instantly without the delay that human players need to input the button combinations (charge moves like Guile's Sonic Boom or complex moves like Zangief's Spinning Piledriver can't be done without some delay). So, I was pleased to win, and if I never hear "Sonic Boom!" (Guile's signature move) again it'll be too soon.

Given that I suck, I feel like it would be a huge waste of money to buy the full version (~$10 in proprietary Microsoft credits, BTW), and yet... it's Street Fighter II. I have to pay for it. Even though I was never very good at it, I still remember it quite fondly, like most every other gamer my age. I need it. I mean, it's only $10 to unlock a classic. And I might have an easier time of it once I have access to the broken characters (I love Chun-Li's low fierce kick-- once she sweeps you off your feet you aren't ever getting back up). Also, I'll have something to play with a second person on my 360 besides Gauntlet when I have company over. And besides-- even though I may only be able to execute it properly one out of every ten tries, every time that I hear Ryu yell "Hadouken!" it instantly transports me back to when I was 10 years old, hearing that same sound while hammering randomly at buttons and loving every minute of it.


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I wrote the post above two weeks ago (aside from a bit of editing today), and decided to keep it in reserve for when I didn't have anything else to write about. I didn't feel like re-writing it, so I'm adding this bit at the bottom. In the two weeks since I wrote it, I've purchased the full version of the game, and I don't regret my purchase one bit. I've killed a couple of evenings with it (it took me a whole night to beat the single-player game on the lowest of 7 difficulty settings, and that's with infinite continues), and played a few matches with friends, and even if I don't ever touch it again (which won't be the case if I ever choose to renew my XBox Live Gold membership, which would allow me to play it online), I'd call that ten dollars well spent. Still, it does raise a concern or two about how well I'll be able to financially handle the next generation of gaming.

The free demos frequently available on the XBox Live Marketplace (a place that I find myself liking more and more with each passing week) are insidious, as they prompt me to seriously consider purchases that I'd not give a moment's thought to otherwise. Every time I see a new demo available, I grab it and give it a try. And, invariably, I love it, and convince myself that I should buy it. Fortunately, this is the dry season, so I haven't actually set foot in an EB in months, and each time the urge to buy usually fades in a week's time. The most recent culprit is Dead Rising-- it has a very fun demo in which you're able to kill hordes of zombies in various humourous and satisfying ways (you've not really lived until you've cut off a zombie's arm, shoved it in his mouth, taken a picture, and then run him over with a shopping cart), and as little as a few days ago I was convinced that, this time, I was going to buy the full version and not change my mind. Now, I'm not so sure.

So, provided that this trend continues, I should be alright, but if full modern games are ever digitally distributed via the service, I'm doomed. Not that it matters, since, between the XBox Live Arcade and the upcoming Wii Virtual Console service, I'll be destitute in short order anyway as I re-buy all of the games that I played in my youth, buy any more that I wish that I had played, and buy pretty much anything else that looks interesting. Forget the prohibitively expensive Sony Playstation 3-- Microsoft and Nintendo are going to nickel and dime me to death, and I'll be smiling the whole time.

Nurse, I Need 30cc of... Magic Stabilizer? Objection!

One year after launch, the Nintendo DS had a small but select stable of A-list titles. If you had a DS, these were the games that, by all accounts, you should have been playing. Very high on that list were two quirky Japanese titles that were notable for making good use of the hardware and for being very fun: Phoenix Wright and Trauma Center, otherwise known as "the lawyer game" and "the surgery game", respectively. Unfortunately, they were both also released in very limited quantities, and almost impossible to find by the time word got out about their quality. Thankfully, the demand was such that they have since both been given several more large manufacturing runs, and I am now, almost a year later, finally able to see what all of the fuss is about.

Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney is a re-make of a popular Japanese GBA game from 2001 that was never released domestically called Gyakuten Saiban, in which you play as the titular rookie defense attorney learning the ropes of his profession. And you're right there learning those ropes with him, because law in the world of Phoenix Wright is definitely a bit out of the ordinary. There's a disclaimer in the instruction manual that states that the game is not necessarily reflective of real court proceedings, and that's dramatically understating matters. From the dry differences like putting the burden of proof on the defense or only allowing the prosecution to choose witnesses to the decidedly wacky differences like having a psychic medium channeling her dead sister as co-defense or allowing a parrot to testify, practicing the law that you see in this game would quickly get you disbarred in real life.

It might be worth it though, because being a defense attorney in Phoenix Wright's world would be every real defense lawyer's dream. Almost every witness called by the prosecution lies, leaving you not to wonder if they are lying, but rather to worry about how you can use the evidence at hand to prove it. And you are guaranteed to be able to do so, since the game will not allow you to proceed to trial (or, at the very least, a specific trial session, as these trials are often comprised of several separate sessions taking place over three full game days) until you collect all of the evidence that you'll need. Also, all of your defendants are wrongfully accused, so rather than worrying about the ethics of possibly helping a guilty person go free, your only problem is proving their innocence. Unfortunately, that can be a little difficult at times, since the investigators are in the prosecutor's pockets more often than not. So, like everything else, it's all up to poor Phoenix.

For any given case, you'll spend at least as much time playing detective as appearing in court, which might seem odd initially for a game about a lawyer. You're given a kind of simplified adventure game interface, allowing your to examine crime scenes for clues and talk to the various people involved in the case, and try and get to the bottom of what really happened. This process of finding out exactly what went down is half of the fun, really, as some of these crimes take some very odd turns as you begin to dig deeper. Even the first couple of cases, where you're shown a cutscene of the real criminal committing the crime, can present some fun in answering the other questions, like "when?" and "why?". These investigation sequences might turn off players looking for a fast-paced game experience, though, as they are generally far less exciting than your time in court, and they can also stretch on artificially if you've missed some specific piece of evidence that you need before proceeding to court, although I rarely ran into this problem.

It's understandable that Phoenix would want to take care not to miss anything, though, as he has a large personal stake in all but one of these trials. From defending his best friend to defending another friend's supposed murderer, and even defending himself once or twice, Phoenix always has a vested interest in doing his job well. And he's so loveably inept at it that you can't help but cheer him on and do your best to help him succeed. Even though the player has no presence in the game, it often feels as if you're working directly with Phoenix. In fact, I had several experiences where it seemed as if we were mutually supporting each other-- I might save Phoenix while he's floundering in court, but he might come right back and save me when I drop the ball and can't make a pivotal mental connection. There were even a couple of times when Phoenix and I both figured out what had really happened at the same time, and it's difficult to describe what a unique feeling that is.

This is all made much more vibrant by how expressive Phoenix is. You can always tell exactly what he's thinking, whether he's smiling sheepishly and rubbing his neck after doing something stupid or slapping at a document with an air of superiority as he pokes a hole in the prosecution's case. In fact, it's become a bit of a pop-culture phenomenon in Japan to copy or parody his various mannerisms. It's not just Phoenix that comes alive in this way though-- there's an entire cast of colourful anime-style characters. The witnesses begin a trial cool and composed, but as Phoenix starts to put the pressure on, they'll begin to sweat or wring their hands, until they finally break down entirely with an over-the-top scream. The attorneys are also always very animated in court, and the excitement is artificially inflated to sometimes humourous effect as they act more like they're physically squaring off than intellectually. A "match" begins with stylized headshots of the two attorneys facing each other, such as you might see in a fighting game, and every action is exaggerated and accompanied by music and sound effects. When Phoenix presents a particularly devastating piece of evidence, he'll thrust him arm forward and yell "Take that!" as the music swells and his opponent recoils as if physically struck by his pointing finger, complete with sound effects further implying the physical blow.

Phoenix isn't the only one who gets to yell, though. Along with several other features added during the game's transition to the DS, limited voice control has been implemented. During specific times, you are able to hold in a button and speak specific phrases into the DS's built-in microphone. Although you can of course play the game without using the voice control at all, there's something very satisfying about yelling "Objection!" during a trial. Because of little touches like this, the game feels very much at home on the DS, despite its roots as a GBA game. It makes very good use of the two screens, and has a few fun extra features that show up late in the game (such as dusting for prints by tapping the screen and then blowing into the microphone). The game can be controlled exclusively by the stylus, and I couldn't imagine playing it without it (although I guess a mouse might suffice, if that were an option).

Then again, it's not as if the controls are incredibly complex. Even at its most frantic, Phoenix Wright never requires much in the way of dexterity, so you could easily blunder your way through with the D-pad and face buttons if you were so inclined. In fact, most of your input will be simply tapping the screen to advance dialogue anyway, as Phoenix Wright is a very text-heavy game. As a result, it is also a game of very satisfying length, and I think that most players will require at least twenty hours to complete the game's five cases. That won't be a surprise to anyone with any adventure game experience, but if you're one of those people who prefer to play their games rather than read them (Corry, I'm looking at you, you KOTOR-hating deviant), you'd be well advised to stay far away.

For the rest of us, though, there's a lot of fun to be had here. Phoenix Wright is as enjoyable as it is unique, and is a great game for someone who doesn't normally play games, which has really been Nintendo's mission in recent years, what with their brain training games, Nintendogs, and the Wii. It starts with a short introductory case against an aging prosecutor, which serves as a kind of extended and more or less seamlessly integrated tutorial, and the game slowly eases you into things, introducing and explaining different aspects of play as you progress. Proceedings will slowly ramp up in difficulty, but they never get overly difficult, so as long as you have a good eye for detail (Yay!) and a good memory (Eep!), you should be an Ace Attorney in no time.

If you're more interested in cutting someone open than you are in legal drama, though, Trauma Center: Under the Knife has your back. It's often mentioned in the same breath as Phoenix Wright (for instance, at the beginning of this post), and for good reason, but for every superficial similarity there's a deeper difference. Like Phoenix Wright, Trauma Center is a quirky Japanese game where you play a rookie professional learning the ropes of his profession-- in this case, surgery. It too features a colourful anime-style cast with exaggerated gestures and sound effects. Every operation begins with a montage of the main character, Derek Stiles, dramatically thrusting on his gloves and gown and then fanning out his arm and yelling "Let's begin the operation!". It also launched on the same day as Phoenix Wright, and even has a similar disclaimer inside the instruction manual that cautions that the game is not a substitute for real medical training.

Just in case any of you were thinking of ignoring that disclaimer and dropping out of medical school, let me confirm for you that surgery in Trauma Center is very different from surgery in real life (although there's still an argument to be made that it could be an effective supplement to medical training). The game takes place in 2018, which is their rationalization for some of the game's more fantastical elements, of which there are several. Along with standard tools like a scalpel and forceps, and even a camera for laparoscopic procedures (which, given that you're playing a game, is what these all functionally are in the first place), you also have access to some more futuristic tools, like an antibiotic gel that heals small wounds, or an injection that stabilizes dying patients. In fact, the main focus of the game's plot is a genetically engineered illness called GUILT (which is a vaguely legitimate-sounding acronym composed of medical terms) used by "medical terrorists", as the game calls them, that involves macroscopic living organisms wreaking varying kinds of havoc in the victims' bodies. These are just small blips on the ultrasound, though, when compared with the game's silliest element: The Healing Touch.

The Healing Touch is a bullet-time-like power possessed by the main character that can be used once per operation (although you receive bonus points if you manage to save the patient without it), activated by drawing a star on the screen. Once activated, everything temporarily turns a muted grey and slows down considerably, simulating super-human reflexes that allow you to perform complicated procedures in a short amount of time, like sewing up a half dozen lacerations in the space of a couple of seconds. Needless to say, it's a little jarring when this element is first introduced, and I think that the game may have been better off without it, but it's pretty integral to the plot, and I'm not above using it when an operation goes south. The patients certainly don't seem to complain.

Not everything is magic powers and medical terrorism, though. In fact, there are several procedures that are at least grounded in reality, like removing glass from a guy's arm or replacing a heart valve, and I find these generally to be the most fun. Part of me wonders if the game could have been made better by taking it in a more grounded direction. That being said, a couple of the craziest scenarios are also counted among my favorites, like excising a laceration-causing strain of GUILT or defusing a bomb using my surgical equipment. Yes, you read that right-- a bomb. This casual disregard for the realities of the profession on which it is based is where the similarities between Phoenix Wright and Trauma Center end, however, so let me get to the differences.

First off, the two games aren't even in the same genre. Phoenix Wright is a leisurely-paced adventure game, while Trauma Center is a fast-paced game that really doesn't fit well into any existing genre, although it feels more like a puzzle game than anything else. It certainly requires the same skill-set of fast decision-making and dexterity. And it is because of this that, unlike Phoenix Wright, I cannot recommend Trauma Center as a good introductory game. You see, Phoenix Wright eases you into its undemanding gameplay, explaining every step as it goes and never getting too hard, while Trauma Center holds your hand through the first couple of operations and then rips off the training wheels, if you'll excuse my mixed metaphors.

The surgical procedures in Trauma Center are frantic and stressful, requiring a good memory, quick decision-making, and a fast stylus hand (in fact, I've read that some people advocate playing it with two styluses, so that you can switch tools with one hand and use them with the other without delay). It's left me floundering on more than one occasion, as I try to decide/remember what to do next while the nurse is yelling at me and the patient is bleeding out in front of me. The game is quite difficult, even for someone of my experience-- if you were to hand it to me at age twelve, before I came to appreciate a good challenge, I suspect I'd play it for an hour or two and then just give up. Which is a shame, because it looks like the kind of game that might catch a kid's eye, and I suspect that there may have been a lot of unhappy children this past Christmas morning.

Another problem that results from this fast pacing is that Trauma Center as a whole is a bit on the short side, which is something that I rarely complain about, what with my huge backlog of games. I'm not actually finished yet, but just basing an estimate upon procedure numbers, I'd say that the main storyline could probably be finished in about eight to twelve hours, and that includes several re-tries on the more difficult operations. It does allow you to replay all of the procedures afterward as many times as you'd like in an attempt to better your score, so that might pad the play time a bit, but I suspect that would get old pretty quick-- once I've finally managed to successfully complete a difficult procedure (which most of them are), I am usually glad to be done with it.

On the other hand, the fast play does give Trauma Center one big advantage over Phoenix Wright: portability. While I liked Phoenix Wright quite a bit (as you may have inferred), its style of play is not really all that well-suited to a portable environment, where a game can ideally be picked up and played in short bursts. While it technically can be quick-saved and shut off at any time, Phoenix Wright can practically be neither picked up quickly nor put down quickly, since success requires you to take the time to re-familiarize yourself with the details of the current case, and those cases can take days of regular play to complete. Trauma Center, however, lends itself much better to short play sessions, with the narrative coming in short bursts and the majority of procedures having a time limit of five minutes, unlike Phoenix Wright's epic multi-hour trials.

What I find most compelling about Trauma Center, though, is that it finally feels like a game that could not exist on any platform other than the Nintendo DS. I don't even think that a mouse would enable me to make the small, quick, precise movements that this game demands of me-- I have speed-suturing down to a science. This being the case, I'm more than a little nervous about the planned Wii sequel-- I've yet to hold a Wii-mote in my hands, so I can't speak as to how accurate or inaccurate it may be, but Nathan assures me that that kind of technology has a current not-so-generous upper limit on precision, and, even if it turns out to be surprisingly accurate, I doubt the precision would approach what the DS allows, and what Trauma Center in turn demands.

However, I'll not worry about the sequel just yet. For the moment, I'm still enjoying the original, which is very fun, rather addictive, and refreshingly challenging in this age of simplified games for the masses. Both Trauma Center and Phoenix Wright serve as great examples of what the DS can do when developers take advantage of all it has to offer, and give me hope for the future of both the DS and the Wii. Above all, though, they're both very fun games, and no DS owner should be without them.

License, Registration, and Dignity, Please

And here I thought that I wouldn't have anything to write about this week. As you might infer from this post's title, I was pulled over for speeding this morning. I was running late for work, and was going roughly 100kph in an 80kph zone. I can't even remember the last time that I saw a cop car in my neck of the woods. *grumble* I didn't even think the Fredericton Police Department was supposed to range out that far, as I believe it's the RCMP's jurisdiction. Also, he evidently missed the fellow who passed me not two minutes before going ~120, or else he would have been busy. *grumble* *grumble*

Regardless, he was there, and I was speeding, and as the approaching white car that I was already braking for as a precaution began to resolve itself into a police vehicle, my heart sank. He passed me, and then, a few moments later, he performed a long, slow, leisurely turn, and then began following me. He continued simply following me like that for about a minute-- almost long enough for me to start wondering if the timing of his turn was just coincidental and I wasn't going as fast as I thought I may have been. I don't know if he was just going through some established procedures, such as maybe radioing in what he was doing, but it felt very much like a cat playing with a mouse before eating it.

Just as my steadily increasing dread had begun to subside thanks to my aforementioned doubts, he finally turned on his lights and pulled me over. I scrambled for my license and registration, and then proceeded to wait for at least another full minute, with nothing to alleviate my dread this time. It was at this point that I started to notice all of the traffic driving by, and began to get very uncomfortable as I considered the public spectacle that I was now a part of. I guarantee you that this would finally be the time that people started noticing my license plate. That was all forgotten, though, as the officer finally disembarked and began to approach my vehicle.

He informed that I had been pulled over for speeding, and then asked for my license and registration. He then asked me how long it had been since I had last been pulled over, to which I responded: "Never, that I can recall". I then instantly began kicking myself (figuratively). "That I can recall"!? What in hell is that supposed to mean? The only reasons I can think of that a person might be pulled over and not recall it are ones that present a decidedly undesirable image, which is the last thing that I wanted to do at that moment. Fortunately, he didn't seem to bat an eyelash at my choice of phrase. He paused for a moment, then told me that he was going to let me off with a warning, at which point I instantly deflated with relief. I said something appropriately appreciative, although I can't recall what, and then he returned to his car with my papers.

That kind of threw me for a loop initially, as I wasn't aware that warnings were actually formally written (and, presumably, formally logged and processed). I sat there waiting for him for several more minutes, doing my best to ignore all of the traffic passing by, and failing miserably. I've always questioned the efficacy of warnings as a deterrent, but I'm not sure that I had a proper appreciation for everything that a warning entails. I felt dread before he pulled me over, and humiliation once he did. I sat there feeling utterly bereft of dignity, convinced that every single vehicle that passed was someone who knew me and who was having a laugh at my expense.

For me, that's a more severe punishment than any fine. As most people who know me well could attest to, nothing is more of a deterrent for me than public embarrassment. I've eaten a $15 plate of food that I didn't like instead of the $5 plate of food that I ordered simply to avoid the embarrassment of informing the server of a mistake. Even just attracting undue notice in public for anything, good or bad, is terrifying to me. I still feel a little sick to my stomach hours after this morning's incident-- looks like I'll have to cancel any plans that I may have had of becoming a career criminal.

Finally, he finished his paperwork, got back out of his car, and gave me my warning. I then lamely wished him a nice day, and prepared to leave. However, just as I was about to do this, I noticed that his lights were still on, and realized that I had no idea whether or not I was allowed to leave. I thought he said that I could, but I may have just read that into his actions and tone. I sat there waffling, doing things like putting the car in gear, hesitating, and then putting it back in park, or taking off my seat belt with the intention of getting out of the car and asking him (via pointing to my chest and then pointing down the road with a inquisitive look on my face), and then putting it back on. When I looked in my mirror, it looked as if he was waiting for me to pull away, but I was far from sure. This went on for a couple of minutes, until he finally backed up, shut off his lights, and pulled out around me, but I don't know if he just lost patience with me or if that's how things are supposed to work.

Anyway, the long and short of this all is that a young police officer did his duty by putting the fear of god into me this morning, and I'll likely be driving a little slower than I might have otherwise on my way to Halifax tomorrow afternoon.