Preface
No, don't worry--this isn't going to be a "back in my day" rant. I just want to talk about this picture, and how it got me thinking.
This is the kind of thing we'd do as kids: DIY, self-constructed fun. The kind that's the polar opposite of--and perhaps complementary pair to--the efficiency-obsessed backlog-busting that normally drives me in my gaming habits nowadays and what I've written about a couple of times over the past few months.
So to maybe balance out that side, I want to talk about what I used to do, back when I didn't feel like I had too many games, or too little time. Let's talk about how we made our own fun.
"My Home"
Claiming a little section of a video game as "home" was something my friends and I did all the time. In Smash Bros we would each claim a corner of a stage as our own turf, defending it from intruders (i.e. each other) and occasionally launching invasions ourselves. The bigger stages, like Hyrule Temple, gave us plenty of room even when sharing with three other friends, while the smaller ones would push us towards near-constant border disputes. A Time battle set to no time limit meant games lasting over a half-hour as our territories evolved, merging and splitting with alliances, betrayals, and daring reversals.
We were playing Melee like a territory-based 4X game, and it was always entertaining.
If this gets you thinking about Kirby Air Ride and its legendary City Trial, then your head's in the right place. My friends and I have collectively spent countless hours in the free roam mode alone, claiming our personal corners of the city, growing restless, venturing out, then inevitably getting into collision fights. The underground parking garage was particularly memorable for how expansive it was, with secret tunnels and connections to the city's various regions. And if you had a machine (Air Ride's version of cars) that could get enough airtime, you could claim the midair platform the WiKirby Kirby Wiki calls the "Garden in the Sky" as your own.
Even today, I'll sometimes find myself doing this in singleplayer games. For example, JRPGs will usually have a canonical town where the main characters originally lived before setting off on their adventure, or a moving base of operations that serves more practical function throughout the game. But sometimes there are certain regions that just resonate with me--places that make me develop a habit of starting and ending each play session there, because it feels like home.
If you've ever played an MMORPG you've likely done something similar. Most MMORPG worlds are made up of hubs or towns that feature the key amenities you'd need on a regular basis. Generally you'd just pick whatever location is the most convenient in the moment, but occasionally you might feel an urge to return to a hub that's a little more out of the way. Maybe it's practical concerns: there are a couple shops or NPCs that only appear there, or you own property in that area. Maybe it's the layout of the space, or the aesthetic style of the region. Whatever the reason, I think there's beauty in the emotional, personal attachment you develop when these spaces gradually become special to you.
And I'm sure it's not just me who has spent time pretending to clean and rearrange furniture, keep up with the neighbors (NPCs), and overall treats these spaces like your character's personal home through simple, mundane rituals of daily life. Is it wasted time? Yes, but only if you define the value of time purely to "progressing content." Otherwise, it's simply a way to relax at home.
Changing the Rules of the Game
The way you get more time out of a game you've already beaten is to beat it again. And again. And maybe try it differently. Very differently.
There are challenge runs, speedruns, Nuzlocke, and all assortment of alternative ways to play. Sometimes this involves self-imposed restrictions that force you to think and act differently. But in the spirit of "funny gaming things we did as kids" I want to focus on the off-the-wall, silly ways we got creative.
I used to play Half-Life in what I called "tank mode." This meant always crouching, rotating my view in slow, strict horizontal and vertical movements (like a gun turret), and using the revolver loaded up with infinite ammo. Any platforming meant I'd have to temporarily abandon my crouch, but otherwise I committed to treating my character not as Gordon Freeman, but as Unnamed Human-Sized Tank Using a Revolver as Its Gun.
A key aspect of Half-Life Tank Mode was that I didn't think of it as a challenge or self-imposed difficulty. I played this way because I thought it'd be fun to be a tank. I'd have to regularly use cheats to refill my revolver ammo, and constantly savescum or cheat heals just to keep going. It wasn't about playing efficiently... or even effectively. I would slow down my rate of fire or turning speed, just because it felt authentic. Because I wanted to feel like I was tank.
To this day, I have never finished Half-Life Tank Mode, and I probably never will. But I still clearly remember it because of how much fun I had coming up with this weird idea all by myself, and then playing it out.
Later, I'd do something similar in JRPGs, roleplaying as a "shopkeep helper." My goal wasn't to progress the story or even to get stronger--it was to support a specific in-game shop by buying as many of their items, and selling them as many of mine, as possible. Unlocking new dungeons and leveling up were just incidental consequences of my journey to earn money and items for the sake of being that shop's number-one helper.
That's probably the reason I haven't finished Vanillaware's excellent action-JRPG Odin Sphere. I'd spend hours as "chemist" mixing potions and trying to memorize the game's alchemy recipes through trial and error, then hoarding my favorite mixes. As "gourmand," I was on a mission to eat as much food from the Pooka Kitchen and Pooka Cafe as I could, ignoring the in-game perks in favor of how appetizing the food artwork looked.
I probably have 40-60 hours in Odin Sphere and am nowhere close to finishing.
Today?
I won't say something pessimistic like "this magic will never be recaptured" because I firmly believe that I can feel this way about games again. I think we all can.
Sometimes I catch myself playing a game a little whimsically, self-indulgently. In Forza Horizon 4, I have the habit of slowly upgrading a particular car, savoring the process, and then sticking with that vehicle until my character has paid off an imaginary "upgrade debt" to cover the charges of the parts and labor.
When I played Phantasy Star Online 2 more heavily (the original, not New Genesis), I would clear out the hostiles in the free field areas and then, while the enemies were despawned, imagine what it would be like to build a home in the various planets and environs of the game. What would it be like to live in the forests of Naverius, maybe building a small cottage next to one of those rivers over there?
There are designer-intended ways to experience games. That much is undeniably true. But playing weird, playing odd, playing silly, and "wasting" time doing so? That is flash of magic fun I think many of had as kids. And it's still available to us if we just get a little creative again.