Shame on You, Nintendo!

For my last birthday, my girlfriend gave me a Nintendo DS. Which means that, for the first time in about 15 years, I'm ferociously cursing tiny cartoon Italians for not following my controls more accurately. I pretty much assumed that I had outgrown that kind of game-provoked fury. But I'm 27 now and I still want to throw the thing against the wall when a fireball kills Mario and I have to watch him make that infuriating "Oh, I burnt-a my ass-a" face while the patronizing "doot doot doo doot doo doot doot" ditty plays. By the way, when it comes to signaling pathetic failure, that song is this generation's equivalent of the "wah-waaaaah" trombone riff.

What has changed, though, is the way I view the characters. Mario is still Mario, of course - but the Italian-as-plumber stereotype makes less sense than ever. I'm sure they were DYING to make him a pizza man - but felt that they could only get away with the absurd ethnic behavior (It's-a me!") by giving him a less stereotypical and more affluent career to make up for it. Like if Luigi were a staggering Irish drunk, but instead of being a pub owner, he was an orthodontist.

The most terrifying change in perspective, however, how I now view the abduction of the Princess. When I was 12 and would watch the evil, dinosaur-ish Bowser run off with her, I'd think "Man, I've got to rescue her from that villain!" Where as now, when seeing this grotesque, vaguely-human monster kidnapping the screaming bombshell, the first thought that goes through my head is "Holy shit, he's totally going to rape her!"

It makes the whole game so much more stressful and traumatic. Worst of all are the bonus boards where Mario plays a slot machine or something in order to win extra lives. While he's happily playing these games of chance, I know the poor princess is using a candelabra to keep that turtle-shelled dino-beast at bay. The only time I ever feel any peace is in between boards when I see her being carried off by an escaping Bowser to the next level - and at least I can see that she's ok.

It's supposed to be a mindless diversion - but instead it's a white-knuckled, stomach-knotting nightmare. After an hour of gaming, I feel like I've done 40 hours of social work at a battered women's shelter. And worst of all, I'd love to play Dig Dug again - but in light of the recent cave-in deaths of all those miners, I know I'd be hysterically crying before I even got a chance to read the title screen.