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My Generations Timeless Classics: Oregon Trail

posted by B

It must've been really hard to have a little house on the prairie.



The winters were hard, your children would randomly go blind, and a big tree fell on the guy with the Oakland A's hat from "Highway to Heaven" once. Not to mention that your best daughter (at least the one the camera was on most of the time) was always off fishing with the town banker Mr. Sprague in some weird pond/prostitution ring to get him to buy school books for her. Now I know why Michael Landon always had that look on his face, somewhere between Dirty Harry, squinting to see an eye chart, and pooping out a two-footer. And the worst part about living on the prairie is that you can't even have normal dogs. All the dogs on the prairie look like hamsters standing on their hind legs. Thanks a lot, Darwin!

But as hard as it was to live on the prairie, it must've been even more difficult to pack up your bags and head off to a better place out west. I recall the story of the Donner Party, who left their homes in Illinois for the bright lights and hardly talented basketball teams of Sacramento, California. They ended up eating each other. And just recently, Richard Donner directed "Lethal Weapon 4," which showed us that Jet Li's years of dedicated training and natural ability are no match for Mel Gibson's feathery hair and Danny Glover's belly full of twinkies. It is an American tragedy we're still feeling almost 4 years later.

Since roughly 1985, public school children (known as "the ones God hates," as I understand) have been conditioned to fear and respect the journey made by those brave, ass-meat craving Midwesterners with no sense of direction. It was the year the Nintendo Entertainment System hit it big, but games that were actually FUN...like Super Mario Bros. or Duck Hunt...were just hitting the outer shell of importance in our lives. Sure, they were fun...but they weren't being dangled in front of us as the only alternative to middle school typing class like Minnesota Educational Computing Corporation's "Oregon Trail" was. Oregon Trail is neither very fun nor especially challenging, but the quest to GET the game early enough in class to finish it before the period was over became akin to the quest a man lost in the desert undertakes to keep vultures from pecking out his eyeballs. Oregon Trail was our oasis, our relief from the most useless and brain retarding lessons our early 90's computer tech teachers could muster up.

Am I the only one who got fed up with the goofy sentences we were forced to type? Most people really got into the class in sixth or seventh grade so it was a giant Delorian ride back to kindergarten in the grammar and syntax department. Some of the classics include:

a sad lass
she had a green jade
he had a jak sale

What in God's green name is a fucking "jak sale??" I can't remember the name of the rapidly developing and (subsequently) rapidly undressing redhead that sat next to me in class or the color of my teacher's hair, but I can still type "he had a jak sale" thirty-thousand times a minute. If I ever come across a jak sale, or a sale of green jade from some sad lass I'm going to buy them all, and burn them.

I remember the first day we were introduced to the game distinctly. I thought our teacher said "Organ Trail," since we all come from Virginia and can barely even walk upright, much less speak coherently. So I was expecting something completely different from a trailblazing game, something along the lines of Splatterhouse (which was HUGE for about 20 seconds) or possibly a computerized attempt at sex education. I remember playing "Kings Quest" and commanding him to "fuck" everything in sight. He just kept saying "I cannot understand." And you wonder why so many of us are getting pregnant nowadays.

Today's Sexual Education:

"Today, Snowhite was turning 18. The 7 Dwarfs always where very educated and
polite with Snowhite. When they go out work at mornign, they promissed a
*huge* surprise. Snowhite was anxious. Suddlently, the door open, and the Seven
Dwarfs enter..."



Though completely devoid of lesbian fairy tale double entendre or (debatably) action of any kind, Oregon Trail became such a fantastic diversion from school work and jak sales that it instantly turned into a classic, and an electronic cornerstone for many of our lives. Some of the dorkier kids would always choose Math Muncher, or Kings Quest ("What shall I do now?" FUCK the tree), but on any given day the hallway would be filled with the goofy DOS music pumping from our computers like a pimply raver trying to ease his last dollar of gas into a car without spinning glow sticks around and passing out. It was a painful procedure all the way around, but it was worth it, dammit.



Oregon Trail starts off with a 20 minute anime cut scene...no...actually it starts off with a white screen that says "Oregon Trail." The blood boils with excitement! Around this point, the dumber kids in class (the ones who sat in the corner during gym class drawing the Grim Reaper on their Trapper Keepers and the cheerleaders...not that I didn't love the cheerleaders, because I did, but even oncoming puberty can't defend a chick who can't understand that typing "Y" means "yes" and "N" means "no") would give up. The choices come a mile a minute, and before you know it you're choosing your own destiny -- picking whether you want to be a banker, a carpenter, or a farmer.

Picking "banker" means - you start off with so much money that you can buy food for the entire trip, never have any problems, and keep your family from getting typhoid. And trust me...your family is gonna get typhoid a LOT. No matter how well off you are or how well you play the game, the Minnesota Educational Wrecking Crew Corporation has programmed the game to give you outlandish diseases and make you die. It's a lot like your Mom! OOOOOH BUUUUURNN



The new look of Zelda disappoints fans.
Picking "farmer" means - you start off with very little money, but if you win the game as farmer you get the most points. Getting the most points means...absolutely nothing. Games where you earned respect based on how many points you get died long before I can remember, and is only survived by games like "Dance Dance Revolution." Personally I would like all people who get off on Dance Dance Revolution to get typhoid and be buried with a humorously obscene tombstone along the Oregon Trail. This brings up two of the best parts of Oregon Trail:

The diseases - You name it, this game has it. As you progress down the trail, pressing the space bar every two seconds to remove the "bad water" and "insufficient grass" messages that pop up after every step your oxen take, the game plays God and decides to give you, say, "dysentery." So your character takes a dump until they die. You never get shot in the neck by Indians, or punched humorously by John Wayne like all the trail goers I've ever heard about, you get the shits and croak. You also get cholera in the game, so I'm guessing Minnesota's Educational Computing involved a lot of uncomfortable bathroom time.



Pick yourself up and try again. You can reset and try again!
The tombstones - When your party dies off, the leader of the group gets buried where you stopped. That way, when you play next, you can pass by and look at your past failures. As emasculating as this may sound to the bad Oregon Trail player, it's one of the best parts of playing the game at school...the kids (no matter how old they are, they maintain the 2nd grader sexual maturity) give their party leaders names like "CUNTBUTT" and "ASSFUCK" and "COCKEATER," a far cry from names like "Jeb" and "Mary" that the game suggests. The tombstones also come with an epitaph feature, which allows the educated player to leave a fond farewell to the dearly departed...most of these read like "BETSY IS A WHORE SHE EATS THE MOST DICK" or, if there isn't a personal vendetta to attain during the period, "shit shit shit shit shit fuck fuck fuck." Finding an Oregon Trail tombstone without profanity on it is like finding a good episode of "Primetime Glick."



What is the first name of the wagon leader? I'm a name her Bonnie.
Anyway, back on the subject...

Picking "carpenter" means - you get an average amount of money, you're good at fixing any wheels or axles that may break along the way, and you have the satisfaction of pretending that you're Jesus on your way to heal some lepers or smote some Pharisees in Oregon.

Game strategies involve choosing which month to leave in (if you leave too early the Spring weather and cold can be detrimental...if you leave too late you chance getting caught up in December snows), budgeting your cash so you have enough supplies (like clothing to trade the Indians, food to give to the Indians, and bullets to shoot Indians and take your clothes and food back), and, most importantly of all, the BEST part of the game:

HUNTING~!!!1



Have you come here to play Jesus to the lepers in your head?
Don't expect those flashy Commodore 64 graphics you've been hearing so much about, Oregon Trail makes you feel lucky to get a few trees, bushes, or rocks in your hunting grounds. Your naked little albino man travels out into the black wilderness (there's some subtext I'm missing there) to slaughter the wildlife for your own survival. No matter where you stop, the little critters zip around the screen, like squirrels, rabbits, and deer. The real satisfaction comes when the bears and buffalo show up. What's more educational than causing some extinction? Wasting what you kill! Yes, Oregon Trail allows you to slaughter thousands of pounds of meat per stop, but only lets you carry 100 pounds back. Leaving a trail of rotting buffalo guts at least gives you vindication when Oregon Trail gives you Hershey squirts and you die.



Another anal retentive part of the game is crossing the various rivers you come by...they range from a foot deep to 20 feet deep, and the options get better. You can caulk your wagon and float it across, which works 99% of the time. If you've got the urge to lose the game for some reason you can attempt to ford the river, which involves just basically driving your wagon right through the center of it. If there's anything deeper than a thimble full of water you bet Oregon Trail's gonna over-exaggerate two feet of water enough to drown all your oxen and family with. There's nothing sadder than a river full of dead bodies, with little spurts of diarrhea popping up every few seconds to mark the tragedy.



Ike Turner beat his wife for singing about this stuff.
Making it past the Gamecube-quality illustrated towns and monuments allows for ANOTHER River adventure...one of the most exciting moments in the game, when the player is called upon to use motor skills unsurpassed in modern sports and entertainment. As your wagon floats down the river at about a frame every 10 seconds, you see these rocks up ahead...so you have to push the right or left arrow keys on your keyboard to MOVE THE WAGON. OMFG it's so much fun, we would gather around the comp of whoever had made it to this part, because it's like the victory lap. And just like how Oregon Trail looked like Resident Evil next to SHES A SAD LASS SED A JAKED LAD, the river rafting looks like Wipeout XL compared to plodding journey between anal leakage warnings.

What's the big payoff, you ask? Do you get a big celebration, a lengthy tribute to the hardships you had to face, or even a big pack of toilet paper? None of these things.



A mere congrats and instant judgment based on how many points you earned. Is this a macabre message to middle school miscreants that running away from your problems won't get you anywhere, or that overachieving and braving new worlds isn't going to get you anything but a half-assed pat on the back and indifference? The worst part is that Oregon looks like every other landmark you cruised by on your way here. They could've at least put some gold or some payoff in there. This was Oregon to me in 1985, confound it, I wanted a big digitized picture of Clyde Drexler dunking for my efforts. Instead, the bell would ring, and I'd go to art class.

The message learned here is that we are doomed to forget the very men who paved the way for our freedoms and enterprise. If we've gotten anything from the people of Minnesota outside of a football team that can't win the big game and Mr. Perfect Curt Hennig, it's the computer education in social and achievement irrelevance. It's almost as bad as Mike Tyson's Punch-Out!!!, where Mike rewards your efforts with a lame compliment ("I've never seen such finger speed!").

But Oregon Trail has a place in our hearts, regardless. Whenever we're tired of good graphics, interesting gameplay, or anything that involves productively spending ones time, Oregon Trail's bouncing music rings in our ears as a fond remembrance of a time when school wasn't about getting pregnant and shooting the popular kids. It was about she having a green jade for her jak sale and gathering around the computer to celebrate innocence, perseverance, and accomplishment.

And poop.

Lots and lots of poop.

Everything was FINE.

I showed Dawne some stuff I'd written. Chris called and said that he wanted to go out to the bars. Dawne had to study so didn't go out and dropped me off at his house. Had a coupla beers at his and Tony's place, shot the shit, Courtney joined us. She just got back from seeing a show about 'Mr. Show' at UCLA. with Mark. He didn't go with us cuz' he was supposed to take his C-Best test the next morning. "Hi. My name is Mr. Vermillion and I'll be your substitute teacher for today." Mark just graduated and now to make money while living at his parent's house, works for LAWRYS. Yeah, the spice people. Except, get this-he doesn't STOCK spices, he just sets up displays and bugs the busy supermarket managers to reorder. What? No spice hook-ups? What the hell is the point then? He can't get me anything. No California blend, salad herbs, not even a measly can of garlic salt. Help me out a little. Damn.

So. Like I said.

Everything was FINE.

We met up with Tony and his girlfriend Melissa at the Continental. They were hanging out with some guy that I think I've met before who Tony's toured with. Tony and some of my other friends are in a band called Longfellow. His tattoed friend is in Bullets and Octane. It's a rockabilly/punk band, I guess. The bouncer guy told us that we would have to wait, "too many people, blah blah, I look bored sitting on this stool in Fullerton, California." The last place that needs a bouncer who thinks he's really working in L.A. Some guy though, told the bouncer that we were "cool' and that some people just left and to let us in. So the bouncer did. I said thanks to the Fullerton bouncer guy. He didn't answer back, of course. Fucker. Not to excuse his typical rudeness and lack of cordiality but I can understand his lack of social enthusiasm. Because if I was in his position that would piss me off. You just told a group that they can't get in to your work for whatever reason and then some friggin' snot-nose tells you different and then you look like an ass. Hee-haw. Lick It. There were alot of people inside. Really crowded. Annoying? Maybe. Girls who look like they're sixteen and have huge breasts wrapped in tiny, stretchy tops? Yes. Guys who wear T-shirts and baseball caps? Yes. Say BRO alot? Oh yeah. Drank a couple of beers. Socialized. Whatever. Court, while waiting to pay her tab, stuffed bar napkins down her bra. Waste of paper but amusing. Some guys at the end of the bar noticed. Court started to mop her brow and act embarassed. Went to Back Alley Bar. Boring. Met a girl named Mary that Courtney met through a friend. Crazy. This girl cracked me and chris up. I guess she just moved from...shoot...where was it? Wisconsin? NO...DETROIT. I know nothing about it. Cars come from there, Clarence and Alabama Wohrley do too. Eminem and D-12, right. Yo Yo Yo. I'm sorry Momma. BTW. Random. Method man and Redman are the SHITE but after them appearing in that MTV show that only lasted for a little bit and the underarm deodarant commercial. Wow. Loss of points in my cool book for the both of them. So this Mary gal was funny. Stupid funny. Makes fun of stuff that she just said a couple of seconds ago. Thats good. Laughs alot. Chris and I got a kick out of her. We all went to Mulberry Street Restaurant. Karoake again. I only had a couple of minutes to pick a song because they were winding down, so I sang 'Thats Amore' by Dean Martin. I've done that before but I had to find something quick. Climbed up on one of the tables and sang. Eusebio, the main cocktail guy, let us stay after they closed. We walked back to Chris and Tony's. Shot it. Played guitar with Tony on his four-track for a bit. Kept on trying to get Chris to drop me off back home but he said that he needed more time to sober up. I wanted to call a taxi a million times but he just told me to wait. So, as the clock was ticking away, I was getting in more troblksdkasjdjkdssssssssssssss

ssssssssssssssss

IM TIRED

NOBODY IS READING THIS ANYWAY SO IM GONNA CONTINUE TOMORROW

2MORROW IS:

SLEEP.

$2.75 steak breakfast

Library used booksale

Writing stuff with Mr. Spicy Vermillion

Drunk

And then eating Fondue at Rutabagorez'

MO' LATER...

LATER.

After The Girlfriend isn't mad at me anymore.

Hey Babies-I've gotta a little secret to tell ya'...

I'm SO glad it's cold.

Yes.

I am.

So Much To Learn...
So Little Time...

http://kurellian.tripod.com/lostcv1.html

Ed Norton was just on Letterman. His goatee looked like hell-but funny guy-that Edward. My sympathies, though-to him...He once dated Courtney Love. I like her and all but she seems like she would be a handful to date. Baggage. He's always been cool in my book though, since Primal Fear. Fight Club, though? Whew. Good book/movie. One of those rare instances in which the film adaptation of a novel is equally as good-just in a different realm. Remind me to tell you when me and Ian punched each other in the face at Back Alley (bar). It's a funny, stupid story involving his broken nose and my black eye.

Today sucked. Bad. Not too horrible compared to everything you saw on TV tonight. But still a miasmic mess of major mundane shit packed together in the last twelve hours. Hmmmmm...can I do this? I'll try to give you a quick, non-boring version...

Need smoke first...

KNOCK KNOCK

-who's there?

NOT SELF CONTROL.

That was probably the stupidest thing I've ever written. Fuck. A ' knock knock ' joke?

I'm getting old and stupid. Duh. Listen to me. Oldandstupid. I'm slobbering...

God(s). I'm such a fucking distraction. I can't even smoke-which is a distractionary measure in itself-but-I always plan to SMOKE when my sick insides give me the nudge to do so and end up doing a couple of things ON THE WAY to the back or front yard, read while smoking, keep on reading the book, comic or whatever-nibble on something in the fridge, wash my hands or face, maybe brush my teeth, wake up the girlfriend,either accidentally or purposely-whatever. On and on and on. That's my life. Trying to do a bunch of things or really doing nothing at all.

2day? Woke up. Waited tables because I don't have a real job anymore. I am Jack's spoiled corporate brat gone wrong. It was slow. I made shit. Left. Bought my two newspapers. Comic book store. (sigh) I don't know how that happened. I used to collect them years ago and have started to buy them again sporadically. I haven't though in the last three weeks because I shouldn't and can't financially. I don't buy much anyway, cuz' I find most of it boring or a waste of money. I spent twenty bucks. I read too fast, though. Five minutes for every comic book=two or three bucks. Buy A beer, I say. Yet comic books ARE stories AND writing. So, maybe it's good for me. My screenplays are all ripped off from comic books anyway. HOME=Dawne ( My Girlfriend ) and trying to make the filter on the new turtle tank work. Not enough time for a nap. WORK=switching stations with Brandon so that I could stay later to make more money. All of the tables I would have gotten if I didn't decide to be 'Good"-Brandon had. He made a shit-load. All of the tables I had. All Six of them were old people and pissed off rich couples who gave me nothing. His Forty dollar tips compared to my Two dollar ones. I left. Bought a six-pack. Hung out with Dawne. Called back a couple of friends. Fucked around on this computer. Watched Ed Norton on Dave Letterman.

YUP.

Orgazmo's on...never seen it all, much to the astonishment of my friends. Just missed it, that's all.

The soundtrack has a song with SLAYER and ATARI TEENAGE RIOT, though.

And the Trey Parker and Matt Stone song too...

Enough. Goodbye.

I’ve got mechanical legs
And
A will made of silly putty tonight

An 8 yr. Olds yearnings
And
An 800 yr. Old soul

A happy/old soul
Or
That same old happy soul, I don’t know…

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,


You know what, i'm sitting here
and my mind is blanker than this computer screen…

I could tell you about anything.
The possibilities and areas of potential discussion are endless…
But I might cheese out on ya’
My…strength is dwindling…(gasp!)

I could tell you about how tired and fed up with my stupid job I was today,
And then went on my lunch break, read the paper, read a story about Russian fisherman who walk for two hours in the snow, carving small holes in the ice to catch maybe if their lucky five or more of a certain type of small fish.
Thousands of these fishermen need to be rescued each year because the ice sometimes cracks and separates from the mainland and they float out to sea, only for their ice rafts to get progressively smaller and smaller. Some drown. Some are found in the morning dead of hypothermia. All for something to do. All for maybe a couple extra bucks a month. More food for the family.

And we complain?

Well, yeah. It’s our nature; it’s been programmed into us to focus on what we DON’T have as opposed to what we DO. Mongrels of mankind licking out of half-filled water dishes.

But…

A little part of me was envious of those Russian fishermen,
I was jealous of the raw simplicity of their needs and lifestyle.
We were unwillingly born into this social contract and I understand that, and since I don’t know of any other existence, I’ll lick this lollipop life of mine clean…

But…
To have your resources and availabilities determined by the natural order of life, your success determined by the whims of Mother Nature? You can’t fight it. You accept it. So it goes. The grass is never green on the other side of the fence. No fence! No grass! Y’dig?

Ahhhh! Such sweet and utter simplicity. Geez, the way I’m talking I probably herded Muskrats in the Tundra in my past life.

No. I was a monkey.
A lazy monkey lying on my back
On my bed made of leaves atop the tallest tree in the jungle. Staring at the sky.
Making bananas out of the rushing cloud formations. Reaching out a wrinkly hand, trying to touch them, thinking them real. I want to catch them and stuff them in my mouth.

Are they good to eat? I think to myself in monkey thoughts…

In that life I never catch those clouds…but somehow,

I know that they are.

Yum.

MonkeyThomas Malone

This is my first entry and already I have to pee, get another beer and smoke. Get used to it.

My name is Kevynn.

Damn. Now what?