Winged Creatures of a Wrathful Nature

I jumped on the bandwagon.  I did.  And my obsession grew quick and runs deep.

I’m addicted to Angry Birds.

I got stuck on the level the other day, so to avoid throwing my iPod across the room, I decided to go back and revisit an old level and try to get three stars in levels I had only gotten one or two.  This requires patience and dedication, but the first time I did it, after several minutes of trying, I literally fist pumped. Alone. In my bedroom.

Then I put it away for a little while because that’s just sad.

I mostly only play it on the subway.  I play it on mornings I don’t feel like reading or in times when I am in between books.

I don’t know what it is about this game that has everyone so INTO it.  I make myself feel better by telling myself it’s exercising my brain in areas of simple physics and strategy.

In reality it’s probably melting all the brain cells I developed in my many years of education.

But I don’t even care. There’s something so satisfying to watching those smug little pigs go poof and being awarded little gold stars for your efforts. There’s something enthralling about sending a yellow triangle bird shattering through layers of wood, or tossing a bird-bomb deep into the midst of a stone structure and send things flying in all directions.

I’ve always loved video games, especially ones that continue to challenge me, so I guess I really shouldn’t be surprised that I, like so many others, got sucked into this world where pigs are green and wear crowns and steal eggs and birds will sacrifice their own lives to destroy these pigs and save these eggs.  Also where pigs with no limbs are clever enough to craft adorable scenery out of stone, wood and ice blocks.

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~ by Valerie Anne on 04/04/2011.

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