<![CDATA[Nathaniel Hoover | Guy Whose Website You're Viewing - Blog]]>Sat, 08 May 2021 00:34:24 -0400Weebly<![CDATA[Reflections on a Year of Self-Quarantine]]>Wed, 31 Mar 2021 04:00:00 GMThttps://nathanielhoover.weebly.com/blog/reflections-on-a-year-of-self-quarantineWhen I promised my wife that I would grow my hair out to Thor length if I was ever allowed to work from home full-time, I was not expecting it to become a tangible reminder of how long I've been weathering a global pandemic. It's been over a year since my office made all its employees fully remote due to COVID concerns, and therefore over a year since my wife and I entered a state of voluntary lockdown to help keep the virus from spreading.

For the sake of future historians, anyone curious about my personal life, and anyone interested in comparing and contrasting their own personal experiences during this extraordinary time, here are some stories and observations about what it's been like to live as a shut-in this past year.

Incidentally, I look less like Thor and more like Grizzly Adams. Part of the reason I've opted to maintain the mountain man look, despite how much I truly hate its logistical and hygienic consequences, is that it makes me more physically intimidating to strangers in public. Social distancing is easier when people naturally want to stay at least six feet away from me. Grrr.
Grizzly Adams, is that you?
Photo taken January 29, 2021. Please stand 6 feet away from your screen.
I take social distancing seriously because my wife and I got horrifically sick in March 2020. We experienced 10 of the 11 COVID symptoms that are now listed on the CDC website—and given that I've developed a ringing in my ears and that sour cream has started tasting weird to me in the months since then, I have to believe it was COVID.

We were never tested, however. That would have required exposing ourselves to other people for the sake of being told with partial certainty whether we had a virus that nobody actually knew how to treat. Better just to stay home and get the best care we could via telemedicine. And let me tell you, the two doctors I spoke with were fantastic, and I admired their ability to stay energized and attentive when being bombarded with calls like mine.

At the peak of my illness, I couldn't breathe while lying down, so I slept—or at least tried to, between coughing fits—in the reclining chair in the living room. Simply getting in and out of the chair required all the energy I could muster. Yogurt and pudding were about the only foods my throat could handle. I got a headache from looking at screens or basically having my eyes open at all. I'll spare you the gross details about the symptoms that ruined our favorite beach towel. About the only thing I was able to do was exist, and even that was a challenge. I was in pain, I was exhausted...and I was bored.

Fortunately, my mother is a children's librarian. She started reading to me on a regular basis over the phone, and for that I am so very grateful. I could scarcely do anything else, but I could listen to a chapter or two of Mike Rowe's The Way I Heard It every day. I also listened through my first audio book, Break Shot: My First 21 Years by James Taylor, my favorite music artist. Engaging stuff, and tremendously helpful for keeping my mind off being miserable.

It's funny; when I think about being sick, the first thing I remember is the happiness of people reading to me.

My wife and I took care of each other as best we could, but we were both sick, with my wife's symptom progression being about a day or two ahead of mine. The advice I've given to people who have tested positive for COVID or who think they've gotten it is as follows: Let your past self take care of your future self. While you're still feeling healthy, do everything right now that needs to get done—pay bills, write e-mails, whatever. Do all the laundry, dishes, and cooking you can, and try to save some leftovers. Make sure you've got medicine on hand for everything you can think of. Ask someone you know to drop off a care package with any essentials you can't go out and get. Plan to be incapacitated for the next two weeks; be pleasantly surprised if you're not.

Our bout with Pretty Definitely COVID occurred around the same time as the temporary closure of my office and the start of our self-isolation, both of which are still in effect. On the surface, my life hasn't changed dramatically from the Before Times (as my friends like to call it). I was already working from home twice a week, spending most of my free time indoors staring at a screen, and generally not going places or seeing people unless there was a compelling reason to give up my introvert time. Indeed, I've been handling self-isolation a lot better than most other people I know, to the point where I sometimes feel guilty that my worst breakdowns are just a regular day for everyone else.

To be clear, here's exactly what I mean by self-isolation: Staying inside the house at all times except for essential excursions (eg, checking the mailbox every few days, running to the grocery store every 1-3 weeks) or nonessential excursions where the boost to mental health outweighs the physical risk (eg, going for a walk at dusk, visiting a mostly empty park). We frequently order contactless delivery for lunch or dinner, which allows us to support our local businesses, put off the next grocery run for another day or two, and spend time that would be devoted to cooking and dishwashing on self-care instead. Plus, eating out at restaurants is one of life's greatest pleasures for me, so I'm able to reclaim a little slice of happiness by ordering in.

Food is one of my coping mechanisms, too. Want some feelgood fizz to calm the nerves? There's Coca-Cola chilling in the fridge, and there's grenadine and vanilla syrup in the cupboard. Had a rough work week? Treat yourself to some comfort food from the local barbecue joint. Need someone to hold you after an absolutely horrible day? Ben & Jerry are looking forward to some spooning.

Food works as a coping mechanism not just because it tastes good, but because it's reliable. When I order a Son of Baconator from Wendy's, I know exactly how I'm going to feel when I'm done eating. A deli sandwich with lettuce, onion, mustard, and mayo on a good-quality roll, with a side of chips, is guaranteed to cheer me up—even if it ends up being a mediocre sandwich. Living in such uncertain times, I need all the predictability and emotional control I can get. I fully understand that this is an unhealthy coping mechanism with long-term consequences, but after everything that's happened in this country over the last year, I don't have high expectations that my fellow Americans will let me live long enough for my pandemic eating habits to catch up with me. If the possibility of killing anyone you breathe on isn't enough incentive to pull your mask up over your nose, then I can only assume that my life means nothing to you.

I now have a zero-tolerance policy for businesses where the employees don't wear their masks properly. It's been a year; masks are now as much a part of the dress code as any other article of clothing. I've stopped patronizing or walked right out of shops and delis I used to frequent, and I'm not shy about (politely) complaining to the management or calling employees out. Half a dozen of my personal acquaintances have died from COVID, and I know firsthand what it can do to a person—you'll have to forgive me if I expect you to keep your face covered with a mask the same way I expect you to leave a bathroom with all appropriate body parts back inside your pants.

Half of me wants to have absolutely nothing to do with the outside world anymore. I'm content to spend every day at home with my wife—there's plenty to keep us occupied, we support each other, we make each other laugh, and our differing sleep patterns afford us both some time alone on a regular basis. If I can forget that there's a world beyond these four walls, then I won't be depressed about being cut off from all the people, places, and activities I want in my life.

But the other half of me needs the outside world. I'm an entertainer, a critical reviewer, a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on, a helping hand—everything that plays to my strengths and gives me purpose in life requires other people. Being an introvert makes this more difficult, because interacting with and performing for other people is draining, and I need ample time to myself to recharge.

One would think that a year of quarantine would offer plenty of time to recharge, but I've also been worrying about the outside world and trying to fend off all the negative feelings that accompany extended self-isolation. It's taken every coping mechanism I have just to get through certain days, and yet I've pushed myself to be social and keep up with side projects such as writing, recording, and game design. I beat myself up for not doing enough for other people during this time, but my wife is quick to remind me that I'm already doing so much, and that I deserve a break.

So maybe that's my cue to cap this post here and go play video games. I've been gravitating toward construction simulators that let me exercise my creativity, easy shooters and beat-em-ups that let me vent my aggression, low-stress strategy games that offer a blend of construction and destruction, intuitive adventure games that make me feel smart, and visual novels where I decide how the story ends. I can't handle pulse-pounding action unless the stakes are low and my odds of success are high. Life is challenging enough right now; I'm craving things that are calm, predictable, and uplifting—which has also informed my television and movie choices to some degree. Thank you, Japan, for the joy of Laid-Back Camp in this stressful time.

Yeah. I think I'm gonna go play video games.
<![CDATA[Outside Looking In: Improvement Through Introspection]]>Sun, 17 Jan 2021 17:44:24 GMThttps://nathanielhoover.weebly.com/blog/outside-looking-in-improvement-through-introspectionI'm very big on introspection. Thinking critically about who I am and what I'm doing with my life provides an essential reality check every now and again. I do this by asking tough questions that require mulling over. It's the process of working out an answer, rather than the answer itself, that makes self-reflection worthwhile—not unlike taking apart a car to see how it works, or decompiling a computer game to see how it's coded.

I believe that some of our biggest problems, both as individuals and as a society, are due in part to a lack of introspection. We take things for granted, make unfounded assumptions, and turn a blind eye to issues we don't want to deal with, often without the slightest clue that we're doing it. Switching from autopilot to manual every once in a while allows us to confirm that we are, in fact, on the right course—or else it prompts us to make some necessary course corrections.

Here are ten introspective questions I feel we should ask ourselves periodically:

1. Am I happy?
What brings me joy, what drags me down, and what am I doing to tip the balance in favor of being happy?

2. Am I healthy?
Physically, emotionally, intellectually, and (if applicable) spiritually, are my needs being met?

3. What kind of support network do I have?
In times of need, which people and groups can I rely on for help and encouragement?

4. Who are my role models?
Real or fictional, who inspires me or embodies the kind of life I want to live?

5. Am I a role model or part of a support network for anyone else?
At home, among friends, at school, at work, and in my various online and in-person communities, am I setting a good example and being a reliable ally?

6. What are my goals in life, and am I working toward them?
Does the way I spend my time reflect what I want out of life?

7. What are my strengths and weaknesses?
Am I putting the things I'm good at to good use, and am I either working on or willing to accept my shortcomings?

8. What do I believe most strongly, and why?
What are the arguments I won't back down from, the causes I won't turn my back on, and the beliefs that guide my actions—and what makes me so passionate about them?

9. What if I'm wrong?
If—however or unlikely or impossible this may be—it turns out that the people who oppose or disagree with my strongest beliefs are actually right, and I am wrong, then what kind of a person do I look like to them?

10. How do I want to be remembered when I die?
What kind of legacy am I leaving behind with my words and actions?
<![CDATA[My Own Kobayashi Maru; or, Authorization Picard Four Seven Alpha Tango]]>Sun, 02 Aug 2020 04:00:00 GMThttps://nathanielhoover.weebly.com/blog/my-own-kobayashi-maru-or-authorization-picard-four-seven-alpha-tangoI can no longer consider myself a Star Trek fan.

Here's the short-ish version: I'm a diehard fan of The Original Series, The Animated Series, The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, Voyager, Enterprise, and the first ten movies (The Motion Picture through Nemesis). After several years of agonizing over the damage they did to the franchise, I can enjoy 2009's annoyingly titled Star Trek and its sequel Into Darkness as poorly written but well-executed sci-fi popcorn flicks that coincidentally borrow some ideas from The Original Series. By association, I can't accept Beyond as canon, but it's the honorary eleventh Star Trek film of which I'm a diehard fan.

I gave Discovery a generous nine episodes before my outrage and disgust got the better of me. The show was visually, tonally, and narratively incompatible with what I knew as Star Trek; and the gore, infighting, mistrust, incompetence, contrivances, and pessimism in those episodes made the show unpalatable to begin with. Moreover, I felt it was bad form to reboot the franchise in 2009 by returning to Kirk's era, only to re-reboot the franchise in 2017 by returning to Kirk's era in a different timeline. This franchise was boldly going out of its mind.

To wash the taste out of my mouth, I followed every episode of Discovery with an episode of The Orville—which, despite its imperfections, captures everything I love about Star Trek, from the broad strokes (eg, social commentary disguised as sci-fi) to the little details (eg, long, luxurious establishing shots of ships and planets).

I was wary of Picard, because I wanted the franchise to start looking forward rather than backward for inspiration, and because I fully expected to be outraged and disgusted again. The first episode of left me in tears—tears of joy, because for the first time in over a decade, Star Trek actually felt like Star Trek. Different, yes, but unquestionably welcome.

The rest of the season failed to live up to that standard. Despite how much I liked some of the concepts, and despite one truly superb episode ("Nepenthe"), I had so many problems with the planning, pacing, characterizations, gratuitous violence, and wild fluctuations in storytelling quality. I could suspend my disbelief just barely enough to accept it as canon, but I didn't really want to. I also wish I hadn't watched the Short Trek "Children of Mars," which gave me Discovery flashbacks and diminished the impact of Picard's second episode.

I was disheartened by the teaser trailer for Lower Decks, and I was unimpressed and then traumatized by a preview of the first 90 seconds of the first episode. I'm on board with a series featuring a diverse new crew with no apparent ties to any previous series, set sometime after Nemesis, with a unique slant that adds something new to the franchise (in this case, focusing on people other than the bridge crew)—however, this particular brand of humor is a hard sell for me, and I am not on board with sudden, unexpected gore. That makes three series in a row where my squeamishness, which was previously only relevant for a few specific episodes across the entire franchise, is a deterrent to watching Star Trek at all.

What's worse is that there's no end in sight. After Lower Decks, there's Section 31, Strange New Worlds, Prodigy, another season of Discovery, another season of Picard, and at least one yet-to-be-revealed series that I'm aware of, not to mention an R-rated movie originally slated to be directed by Quentin Tarantino. I'm still recovering from the fun but exhausting 11-year journey to Avengers: Endgame; I don't have it in me right now to invest in what is effectively another Marvel Cinematic Universe, let alone one so violent, disorganized, and averse to continuity despite being hung up on nostalgia!

It's reached the point where I physically can't keep up with my favorite franchise, nor do I want to. That is a no-win scenario. My little ship, the USS Fanboy, is in no shape to keep fighting, yet I can't retreat without feeling guilty. So I'm setting the auto-destruct and leaving the battle on my own terms.

Whatever Star Trek is right now, it is not for me. And as difficult as it is for me to admit this, that's okay. I've spent too much of my adult life arguing about what's authentic Star Trek, forcing myself to watch things I knew I wouldn't enjoy, and suffering at the hands of what is supposedly my favorite fandom. I don't need to do that anymore. In fact, I never needed to do that.

There are countless books and comics I haven't read, several games I haven't played, and a few fan-made productions I've been meaning to watch. Even if I ignore everything created from 2009 onward, there is no shortage of new Star Trek for me to experience. I don't have to rely on modern cinematic television, which I often don't enjoy anyhow, to get my fix.

They say all good things come to an end. But perhaps they don't have to. Perhaps what brings you joy is more important than what is canon. Perhaps your vision of a franchise—a vision you believe is in line with that of the person who created it—matters more than the vision of whoever happens to be calling the shots right now. Perhaps, in a universe where absolutely anything can happen, there's still a chance for the undesirable elements to redeem themselves.

I crave optimistic, collaborative, and philosophical stories that are reasonably believable and don't make me want to throw up. I don't mind if stories get dark and serious, as long as those elements serve a greater purpose than just making me depressed. I value the kind of narrative continuity that makes it easy to forgive or explain away the little mistakes and oversights that inevitably occur over the course of several decades. I like cool starships, futuristic gadgets, creative alien civilizations, and relatable characters.

For a good long while, Star Trek was exactly my kind of fiction. Now it isn't. It hasn't been for more than a decade, and I have no reason to believe it ever will be again. That means it's time to move on.

Live fast and prosper, Star Trek.
<![CDATA[MaGMML3 Judge Journal #4: Playing the Entry Levels]]>Wed, 01 Jul 2020 04:00:00 GMThttps://nathanielhoover.weebly.com/blog/magmml3-judge-journal-4-playing-the-entry-levelsStory navigation: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

On November 28, 2018, level submissions for Make a Good Mega Man Level Contest 3 (MaGMML3) came to a close. After a generous seven-day grace period for late entries, we had a total of 186 levels. That's almost twice the number of levels in MaGMML1 and 2 combined.

Our new contest motto was, "The judges are gonna die."

The devteam loaded the entry levels into a standalone executable "game" for the judges to play. This consisted of a small hub with a teleporter used to access the levels, a costume selector in case we didn't want to play as Mega Man (Flash Man was still in the works, so I picked Roll), NPCs of the judges for comic relief, and infinite E-/W-/M-Tank refills. To maintain blind judging, the levels were randomly numbered instead of identified by creator name, and any in-level material that obviously gave away the creator's identity (eg, self-insert NPCs) was temporarily redacted.
The devteam needed several weeks to load all the levels and test them for basic functionality. Two levels were cut before they even reached the judges, one for being irreparably broken in its construction and one for containing a note threatening the judges to give the level a good score. In an effort to get us judges playing and discussing as quickly as possible, the remaining levels were added to the judge EXE in batches of 30 or so, with each judge receiving a randomized playing order for each batch. Although I didn't argue it strongly, I was a proponent of waiting for all the levels to be loaded; I felt the benefits of playing in batches didn't outweigh the potential for bias inherent in all of us playing the levels in more or less the same order.

Still, I had a system in place to minimize bias on my end as much as possible. After playing all the levels in batches and seeing the best and worst the contest had to offer, I would go back and replay everything in a newly randomized order (ignoring batch divisions), scoring and reviewing as I went. Afterward, I'd compare scores to ensure everything felt correct and consistent, replaying individual levels again if necessary.

In terms of specific process, I knew I wanted to:
  • Record my blind playthroughs for future reference and eventual upload to YouTube
  • Approach my blind playthroughs as a regular player and any subsequent playthroughs as a playtester
  • Jot down notes as I went, to supplement the observations captured in my recordings
  • Go for 100% completion without asking for hints, unless I was hopelessly stumped

Playing as often as my schedule (and the batch release schedule) allowed, and taking breaks when I started feeling tired or cranky, it took me 50 hours and 48 minutes spread across 2 months to clear the first round of playthroughs. During that time, I continually fine-tuned my process.

In the beginning, I was recording multiple levels in a single video, being a little lax about revisiting levels right away to search for missed secrets, and playing mainly for my own enjoyment. By the end, I was recording each level separately (which made it MUCH easier to track down footage later), diligently verifying 100% completion before moving on, and playing with more critical intent—in addition to playing for fun, I was checking screen transitions and testing the feasibility of a buster-only run, saving myself the trouble of doing so on a replay.

Aiding my process were a couple quality-of-life improvements along the way. First, the implementation of a map feature in one of the later batches. Second, the realization that the cheat menu had an option to show invisible collision objects, saving me the trouble of leaping into every spike pit to determine whether the creator had pulled a Magnum Man and placed spike tiles but not spike objects. Third, the revelation that noclip mode had been accessible via a hotkey this whole time, which facilitated more efficient playtesting and relieved the burden of redoing sections I'd already played into the ground.

Despite my livestreaming, recording, and playtesting experience, going through these levels was unlike anything I'd ever done. It's one thing to play levels of varying quality and character in the context of a finalized MaGMML game—the level scores, tier placement, creator names, and nearby NPCs give you a sense of what you're in for, and it's fine to let your gut reactions define your opinions. It's another thing entirely to experience the levels completely blind, in a random order, relying solely on what the levels themselves tell you about their length, difficulty, stability, and so forth, all the while maintaining a consistent process to ensure fair and impartial judging.

I encountered plenty of difficulties. On more than one occasion, I set out to play "one more level" before taking a food or sleep break, only to discover 20 minutes later that the level was not going to end anytime soon. I'm not particularly photosensitive or subject to motion sickness, but a few levels made me queasy with their gimmicks and visual effects—not so much that I couldn't finish, but enough to make judging uncomfortable. Due to programming oversights in some of the contestants' custom objects, I triggered a handful of hard crashes and had to make up lost progress (usually before learning about noclip mode).

I had to switch my player avatar when I discovered at a most inopportune time that Roll didn't have any custom sprites created for Rush Bike, so she simply turned invisible. With the devteam making updates to the engine between batches, it wasn't always obvious which glitches were newly introduced and which should've been caught by the level creators, so I started a running list of issues to raise with the devteam so I could judge Functionality fairly. The FIRE button on my controller got progressively stickier as time went on, eventually spreading that stickiness to the JUMP button, effectively rendering the controller unusable.

Oh, and I was sick with an upper respiratory infection for almost the entire duration. I had already decided not to perform for an audience while recording my blind playthroughs—after all, these recordings were personal reference material first and public entertainment second—but I would've preferred not to sound like a plague beast when I talked. This didn't affect my playing ability, but there were a few mishaps early in the recording process where I muted my microphone in order to privately cough up a lung...and then forgot to unmute. I captured all the most important observations in my written notes, but I regret not having those initial audio reactions preserved for the level creators to hear.

Of course, my initial round of playthroughs wasn't all hardships. I actually had fun. Lots of fun. There's a reason why I'm so invested in this contest series, and a reason why I livestream Mega Man fangames: I am fascinated by the things people come up with when they set out to make a good (or deliberately mediocre, terrible, or ridiculous) Mega Man level.

I laughed at the sight gags and comedic dialogue. I marveled at the diversity of level concepts and the sheer amount of cleverness and creativity on display. I relished the sections that meaningfully put my platforming and problem-solving skills to the test. I lost myself in the immersive atmosphere created by the music and graphics. I was bemused by the zany, inexplicable design decisions and mind-bogglingly obvious playtesting oversights. I enjoyed trying to break people's levels—and sometimes, I enjoyed being denied that pleasure because the creators actually anticipated my nonsense.

Compared with any previous MaGMML, the highs were higher and the lows were much, much lower. I was proud of the levels that took to heart all the advice and feedback coming out of these contests, and I writhed in pain at the levels that clearly did not. Through it all, even when a play session wore me out, I remained excited to see what was next.

Of course, I knew what was next, in the "big picture" sense. Next was replaying, scoring, and reviewing these levels. This had been merely a warmup; the real judging was about to begin.
That's it for now! Once the contest results are announced, I'll upload my blind playthrough videos to YouTube and update this post with a link.
<![CDATA[MaGMML3 Judge Journal #3: Reviewing the Rubric]]>Sun, 15 Sep 2019 07:00:00 GMThttps://nathanielhoover.weebly.com/blog/magmml3-judge-journal-3-reviewing-the-rubricStory navigation: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

​One of the first tasks that Mick Galbani, ACESpark (AKA Davwin), Shinryu, Pachy, and I undertook as a judge staff for Make a Good Mega Man Level Contest 3 (MaGMML3) was to test out the rubric we'd be using to rate the entries. This was the same rubric we'd used in the judge application process, but now the goal was to determine whether the categories were weighted properly. For this, a larger pool of levels would be needed.

The hosts (Mick and Davwin) selected two levels from each tier of MaGMML1, a game whose contest rubric is universally recognized as pants. If desired, we were allowed to play the MaGMML1 Remastered versions of those levels (same design; different game engine). Even though Remastered hadn't been released yet, the levels in question were in good enough shape to be loaded into a standalone executable. Five levels from MaGMML2's unrated Tier X (which sounds dirtier than it is) were also selected. To avoid bias, we opted to omit any levels made by one of us judges. We also excluded the entry levels from MaGMML2, given that Davwin was a judge for that contest and used a rubric that wasn't too far off from the new one.

We played and scored these levels according to the new ru
bric—but no reviews; just ratings. I shared my personal rubric breakdown (the one I used for the judge application) with the group, in case they found it useful. Together, we refined the subcategories as follows:

Design - X/35
Introductions - X/5
Challenge design (deliberate, clear, meaningful, fair) - X/5
Challenge progression (↑ complexity/difficulty, challenge arcs, climax) - X/5
Focus (coherent theme, manageable roster, nothing over/underused) - X/5
Architecture (logical, efficient, unobtrusive) - X/5
Player consideration (length, layout, checkpoints, power-ups) - X/5
Ability Balance (abilities shine without destroying the challenge) - X/2
Name (does the level reflect the title) - X/2
Perfectible (no damage w/ buster only, or else with acceptable forced weapon use) - X/1
Fun - X/25
Totally subjective rating - X/10
Recommendable (would you recommend this to someone else) - X/5
Highs (do the best parts boost the level) - X/5
Lows (are the shortcomings forgivable) - X/5
Creativity - X/15
Originality (have I seen anything exactly like this, i.e. sections copied from other levels) - X/5
Novelty (does this offer a new gameplay experience, or does it feel similar to other stages) - X/5
Impressiveness (am I surprised or wowed) - X/5
Aesthetics - X/15
Graphics - X/5
Music/Sound - X/5
Atmosphere/theming - X/5
Functionality - 9/10
Stability (flawless construction; no glitches) - X/5
Feasibility (can the player reliably complete each challenge) - X/5

Armed with this updated rubric breakdown, I came up with some scores that should cause anyone who's played these levels to raise an eyebrow. As before, the numbers in parentheses represent the individual subcategory scores. Feel free to skip ahead; I won't stop you.
Design - 21/35 (4, 2, 1, 3, 3, 4, 2, 1, 1)
Fun - 13/25 (6, 1, 1, 5)
Creativity - 7/15 (5, 1, 1)
Aesthetics - 8/15 (2, 3, 3)
Functionality - 9/10 (4, 5)
TOTAL - 58

Napalm Forest & Caves
Design - 22/35 (3, 3, 2, 3, 4, 2, 2, 2, 1)
Fun - 11/25 (5, 1, 2, 3)
Creativity - 4/15 (1, 2, 1)
Aesthetics - 12/15 (3, 5, 4)
Functionality - 8/10 (3, 5)
TOTAL - 58

Glass Man
Design - 24/35 (3, 4, 3, 3, 3, 3, 2, 2, 1)
Fun - 12/25 (5, 2, 2, 3)
Creativity - 8/15 (4, 3, 1)
Aesthetics - 11/15 (4, 4, 3)
Functionality - 10/10 (5, 5)
TOTAL - 65
Mega Man World
Design - 23/35 (5, 2, 2, 3, 4, 2, 2, 2, 1)
Fun - 8/25 (3, 2, 1, 2)
Creativity - 10/15 (3, 4, 3)
Aesthetics - 13/15 (3, 5, 5)
Functionality - 8/10 (4, 4)
TOTAL - 62

City War
Design - 10/35 (2, 1, 1, 2, 1, 1, 0, 2, 0)
Fun - 4/25 (1, 1, 1, 1)
Creativity - 4/15 (2, 1, 1)
Aesthetics - 12/15 (4, 5, 3)
Functionality - 4/10 (1, 3)
TOTAL - 34

Chroma Key
Design - 23/35 (3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 2, 2, 1)
Fun - 16/25 (7, 3, 3, 3)
Creativity - 11/15 (5, 3, 3)
Aesthetics - 12/15 (4, 4, 4)
Functionality - 10/10 (5, 5)
TOTAL - 72
Wily Combo
Design - 22/35 (3, 3, 2, 2, 3, 5, 2, 2, 0)
Fun - 10/25 (4, 1, 1, 4)
Creativity - 2/15 (0, 2, 0)
Aesthetics - 9/15 (2, 5, 2)
Functionality - 9/10 (5, 4)
TOTAL - 52

Thunderclyffe Plant
Design - 25/35 (4, 4, 3, 2, 4, 4, 2, 1, 1)
Fun - 13/25 (5, 2, 1, 5)
Creativity - 6/15 (4, 1, 1)
Aesthetics - 10/15 (4, 4, 2)
Functionality - 10/10 (5, 5)
TOTAL - 64

Research Facility
Design - 29/35 (3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 2, 1, 1)
Fun - 23/25 (8, 5, 5, 5)
Creativity - 11/15 (3, 3, 5)
Aesthetics - 12/15 (4, 5, 3)
Functionality - 8/10 (3, 5)
TOTAL - 83
Midnight Snow
Design - 22/35 (2, 2, 2, 4, 4, 3, 2, 2, 1)
Creativity - 6/15 (3, 1, 2)
Aesthetics - 12/15 (3, 5, 4)
Functionality - 7/10 (2, 5)
TOTAL - 59

Wily Fortress VR
Design - 20/35 (2, 3, 3, 3, 3, 4, 1, 0, 1)
Fun - 13/25 (6, 3, 3, 1)
Creativity - 10/15 (3, 4, 3)
Aesthetics - 12/15 (5, 4, 3)
Functionality - 9/10 (4, 5)
TOTAL - 64

So Good
Design - 23/35 (3, 3, 2, 4, 4, 3, 2, 1, 1)
Fun - 17/25 (7, 3, 3, 4)
Creativity - 11/15 (4, 4, 3)
Aesthetics - 12/15 (3, 5, 4)
Functionality - 8/10 (3, 5)
TOTAL - 71
Metallic Ocean
Design - 28/35 (4, 3, 4, 5, 4, 3, 2, 2, 1)
Fun - 11/25 (5, 2, 3, 1)
Creativity - 11/15 (4, 4, 3)
Aesthetics - 15/15 (5, 5, 5)
Functionality - 9/10 (5, 4)
TOTAL - 74

Coyote Man
Design - 21/35 (3, 3, 3, 4, 2, 2, 2, 1, 1)
Fun - 9/25 (4, 1, 2, 2)
Creativity - 9/15 (3, 4, 2)
Aesthetics - 12/15 (4, 4, 4)
Functionality - 9/10 (5, 4)
TOTAL - 60

The Quickening 2
Design - 12/35 (0, 1, 1, 4, 2, 1, 1, 2, 0)
Fun - 5/25 (2, 1, 1, 1)
Creativity - 12/15 (4, 5, 3)
Aesthetics - 13/15 (3, 5, 5)
Functionality - 6/10 (5, 1)
TOTAL - 48
(That last one's a picture of the rarely seen MaGMML1 Remastered rubric test hub, in case you were wondering.)

​Organizing the total scores from lowest to highest (giving more priority to the level with the higher Design score, in the case of a tie), here's where everything placed:

(34) City War
(48) The Quickening 2
(52) Wily Combo
(58) Level
(58) Napalm Forest & Caves
(59) Midnight Snow
(60) Coyote Man
(62) Mega Man World
(64) Wily Fortress VR
(64) Thunderclyffe Plant
(65) Glass Man
(71) So Good
(72) Chroma Key
(74) Metallic Ocean
(83) Research Facility

Some questionable scores, to be sure. But I've seen some bad fan-made levels, so the bar is set pretty low for getting at least a couple points in any given category. Also, I tend to focus more on the things that ruin my 
Mega Man experience than the things that go above and beyond to make it superb. There are other factors influencing my scores, but these are the ones that most concisely explain how I came up with these numbers.

I have a vague recollection of us judges comparing notes and averaging all our scores to see where these levels would've placed in MaGMML3. Oddly, I can't find any record of this discussion in the Discord logs, so maybe it happened over voice chat. Whatever the case, we did establish that the main rubric was solid enough to use for the contest. Whether we used the more detailed breakdown was up to us.

When it came time to start rating and reviewing MaGMML3 levels, it quickly became apparent to me that the more detailed breakdown needed more tweaking. I found myself agonizing over categories that were too specific to apply to less conventional levels, so broad that they overlapped unfairly with other categories, or simply no longer of great interest to me.

For one thing, my interpretation of Creativity inherently penalized levels such as Wily Combo and Napalm Forest & Caves, which are centered around callbacks to the official Mega Man games, and unfairly rewarded the likes of So Good and Mega Man World for using non–Mega Man assets. For another thing, the Recommendable subcategory of the Fun score was all too close to MaGMML1's wildly subjective Other Person Fun Factor score (ie, how much do you think other people would enjoy the level).

So, I tinkered with the subcategories until I had something that was (a) comfortably easy to fill out, (b) consistently applicable across all level types, and (c) more accurate to what I was actually looking for in these levels.

Design - X/35
Introductions (clear, appropriate) - X/5
Challenge design (deliberate, meaningful, fair, reasonably perfectible) - X/5
Focus (coherent vision, manageable roster, nothing over/underused) - X/5
Layout (logical/efficient architecture, obvious pits, safe transitions, sense of direction) - X/5
Player consideration (length, checkpoints, items, disability awareness, niceties) - X/5
Weapon consideration (balance of freedom and challenge, limitations inform the design) - X/3
Name (does the title fit the level) - X/2
Fun - X/25
Totally subjective rating - X/10
Lows (are the shortcomings forgivable) - X/5
Contest appropriateness (should other people be expected to play this) - X/5
Creativity - X/15
Novelty (does the level offer new experiences, or present old experiences in new ways) - X/5
Potential (does the level adequately explore the potential of its various elements) - X/5
Impressiveness (am I surprised, charmed, impressed, or wowed) - X/5
Aesthetics - X/15
Audio (appropriate, enjoyable, tolerable, music looped and implemented properly) - X/5
Visuals (clear, legible, appealing, unobtrusive, polished) - X/5
Atmosphere (theming, story, overall feel) - X/5
Functionality - X/10
Construction (appropriate structural object use, polished programming, no surprises) - X/5
Feasibility (is the level beatable without risk of getting stuck or crashing the game) - X/5

This proved to be a much better breakdown. There were still some oddball levels that threw me for a loop, but the total scores I was assigning finally felt right.

I originally had level layout under Player Consideration, but I realized that all the structural elements should be together in the same category. Proceeding safely and confidently through a level is a function of the architecture, layout, screen transitions, and graphics working together to guide the player. Player Consideration should be reserved for questions such as, "Did you remember that players with color blindness, motion sickness, epilepsy, or a hearing impairment may want to enjoy this level?", not, "Did you remember that players prefer not to die instantly when attempting to exit a room?"

Whereas the old Ability Balance category required me to pick apart the individual usefulness of every single weapon in a roster full of redundancy, and Perfectible required me to determine if it was technically possible to do a no-damage buster-only run (ugh), Weapon Consideration allowed me to step back and compare overall experiences with and without special weapons. Is the player allowed to try different strategies without being excessively rewarded or punished? This was also a way to score the appropriateness and intentionality of what weapons were enabled, disabled, unlockable, or infinite.

Recommendable morphed into ​Contest Appropriateness—essentially, a measure of how much the level deserves a skip teleporter. My rationale is that if a level is skippable, it's obviously not fun enough for a general audience to put up with whatever problems warranted the skip. Whereas MaGMML1's Other Person Fun Factor was a haphazard guess at what other people might like, this was a safeguard against my personal preferences allowing a level to reach the top tiers without being fully accessible to the average player.

Originality was unsustainable; I was spending entirely too much time analyzing every screen, testing my memory for any identical setups across hundreds upon hundreds of other levels. What I really cared about for Creativity was the overall experience, what the designer created with elements old and new. I replaced Originality with Potential, something that is hugely important to me—it's one thing to come up with new ideas; it's another thing entirely to go anywhere with them.

I wanted Functionality to pertain solely to the technical aspects of level design. When I initially worked out the category breakdowns, the glitchy spring platforms of Magnum Man were foremost in my mind for Feasibility. Realistically, whether the player can reliably complete each challenge is usually more of a Design question—and a question that can only be answered by more repeat testing than my schedule and sanity would ever allow. Thus, I recalibrated the breakdown to focus on easily quantifiable items in the same vein as glitches and collision object mishaps. Does the architecture line up safely across screen transitions? Are boss projectiles destroyed along with the boss? Is the level free of any and all softlock potential? Etc.

I came to realize that some overlap was inevitable. A low Player Consideration score, for instance, goes hand-in-hand with a low Contest Appropriateness score, because a long level with no checkpoints or power-ups is a prime candidate for a skip teleporter. A high Creativity score is almost guaranteed to secure a good number of Fun points from me. Good screen transitions are highly important to me, and different aspects of their use are covered under both Design and Functionality. And that's okay. The purpose of the rubric is to help the judges translate their complex opinions into a simple, quantifiable, universally applicable format, not to force apart certain elements that are inherently intertwined.

Besides, reorganizing my subcategories was only one part of the scoring process. The plan was always to compare scores at the very end and adjust as necessary, with or without a more detailed breakdown. If there were still problems with my interpretation of the rubric after 170+ levels, I'd have a chance to resolve them.

Fun, right? And this was just the first step in the judge process. Wait until I tell you about playing and writing reviews—after the results are announced, of course.
<![CDATA[Convention Recap: AnimeNEXT 2019]]>Fri, 12 Jul 2019 07:00:00 GMThttps://nathanielhoover.weebly.com/blog/convention-recap-animenext-2019AnimeNEXT 2018 was the first time in years where I was fully able to unwind, relax, and enjoy myself on vacation, and it remains one of my all-time favorite convention experiences. I've seen enough sequels to know that the second time isn't guaranteed to measure up to the first, so I had no illusions that the 2019 convention would be anywhere near as magical. Still, my wife and I secured tickets and spent several months planning and getting psyched for AnimeNEXT 2019.

OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER: If you, the reader, are featured in any of the photos or created any of the artwork included in this post, please contact me if you'd like to be credited or would like to have the relevant image taken down. You can leave a comment or reach out via any of the avenues listed in the sidebar of this site's main page.

Now, then. Convention stories!


My wife and I have been staying at bed & breakfasts since our honeymoon. Usually we select a B&B based on some combination of unique character (eg, a castle built from found materials, Halloween decorations out the wazoo), scrumptious breakfast options (eg, a rotating menu prepared by a legit pastry chef), and fun perks (eg, cats on the premises, homemade shortbread at all hours). When my wife booked the Carisbrooke Inn, only three things mattered: it was close to the convention center, reasonably priced, and still available.

Had we not been conventioning, we would've gotten more out of our stay. But the designated breakfast times of either 8:30 or 9:30 AM didn't mesh well with our optimal timing for getting into costume and getting out the door. The paper-thin walls put a damper on coming back from the convention around midnight and discussing our plans for the next day at normal volume levels. And we certainly weren't around to take advantage of the free wine at 5 PM.

Our particular room met our needs: it had a comfortable bed, a full-length mirror for checking costumes, enough space for us to lay out all our stuff and maneuver around each other, and a place to sit. Parking was offsite in a tiny lot around the corner, but the neighborhood seemed safe enough and the weather was nice. Overall, our stay was fine, just not ideal for the weekend we had planned.

One anecdote worth sharing: We were showed to our room by a summer intern, who had some difficulty demonstrating how to turn on the TV. When it finally came on, there was some infomercial about—I swear I'm not making this up—butt surgery. With color diagrams. And either he didn't notice or was unsure how to turn it back off. My wife and I had to hold in our laughter for a good 2-3 minutes while he finished giving us the tour of our room with the TV on at full volume.


Our meal planning at last year's convention is best described as "winging it." That is not to say we only ate chicken wings; nay, my vegetarian (now vegan) wife would have protested. Rather, we failed to scope out food options in advance—basically the opposite of how we normally plan our trips.

Last year's impromptu dining decisions took us to Tun Tavern (more my kind of place), where I bumped into the host of the fun voice acting Q&A panel we had just attended; to Cavo Crepe Cafe (more my wife's kind of place), where we hurriedly ate outside as the staff started to close up shop and the wind nearly swept us away; and to one of the many food kiosks at the convention center, where I ate a mediocre pizza. Wait, I wasn't going to tell you that last story.

This year, we identified several restaurants within 10 minutes of the convention center, making note of their business hours. Given that my wife only eats during a convention if (a) she's about to pass out, and (b) there's nothing else of interest on her schedule, I knew I'd be fending for myself a lot of the time.

Still, my wife and I joined up for a hearty Saturday dinner at Los Amigos, a Mexican restaurant that appealed equally to both of us. We also had a supremely enjoyable Thursday dinner at The Continental. I had French onion soup dumplings, which were incredible. We loved the decor: our "outdoor" table (technically indoor, because we were in a mall) was next to a fire pit on a little island surrounded by water, and the rest of the restaurant was some combination of the original Star Trek, original Battlestar Galactica, vintage Doctor Who, and a David Lynch film. Very cool.

We also had breakfast together every morning. The B&B had a set menu of a half-dozen options—pancakes, eggs, bacon; all the usual fare. This was fine for me, but my wife was restricted to avocado toast because she's a filthy Millenn—I mean, uh, vegan. Actually, my wife informs me it was avocados and oatmeal. Either way, our hosts were very accommodating, and the orange juice was on point, so that's what really matters.

I ended up having all my other meals at the convention center, but I was smart this year: instead of sodas and greasy grub, I opted for Powerade and vaguely healthy sandwiches (vaguely healthy in that there was a lettuce leaf on top). Physically, I felt 
much better this convention, what with being properly hydrated and not traveling everywhere with a lead stomach.


I think that pretty much covers everything. AnimeNEXT 2019 was—oh, I guess I missed some stuff.


Well in advance of the convention, I had agreed to doing a couple's cosplay with my wife. She reckoned that we'd have more fun and be more recognizable as two characters from the same series. We both had our demands: I required a costume that was relatively easy and unobtrusive; she wanted something that didn't require a wig. We settled on Dr. Mikhail Cossack and Dr. Noelle Lalinde, two scientists from the Mega Man franchise (the latter from the Archie Comics continuity).
The costume components were easy enough to assemble. I had a pair of brown shoes that looked fairly accurate, and a pair of fake glasses left over from the Lowery Cruthers cosplay I did for a Jurassic Park/World movie marathon some months prior. I don't mean to brag, but I own a pair of khaki pants. I found a perfect tie and shirt at Goodwill. I picked up a lab coat from a uniform store—not the cheapest costume piece I've ever bought, but it opens up numerous future cosplay options. My hair and beard were already the appropriate length and easy to style.

I forget what all my wife had to do to pull together her costume, though I suspect there was some sort of Sailor Moon transformation sequence involved (or maybe just lots of sewing).

Now, my wife's intention was to bleach her hair, cut it to the character's specifications, and dye it the appropriate color. She had hassled with transporting, styling, pinning, and enduring the weight of two different wigs at the last convention, and she simply did not have the patience or energy to go through that again. Unfortunately, there was a mishap when she trimmed her own hair. And then another mishap when she attempted to salvage it for a secondary costume that fell through. Instead of looking like a comic book character, she turned herself into Little Lord Fauntleroy.
With tears in her eyes, she drove off into the sunset looking for a place that would sell her a wig.

Of course, costumes alone wouldn't be enough for anyone but the most diehard Mega Man fans to recognize us on sight. We needed props. So my wife went to work on a plushie (well, a round cat toy strung with wire and covered in fabric) of Beat the robotic bird, laminated fold-out "photos" of my fictional daughter (including official art, manga and comic book panels, and a screenshot from OH JOES!), and name badges for the both of us (complete with fake bar codes made of inverted tiles from Pharaoh Man's stage in Mega Man 4). I think everything turned out pretty darn well.
I don't think I've ever gotten so many requests to have my picture taken at a convention. A few times, people called out, "Hey, Dr. Light!" to me—and though I always set the record straight about who I was, I was happy they at least got the right franchise. My wife pointed out that Mega Man 11 was still fresh in people's minds, and young Dr. Light isn't too far off from Dr. Cossack if you're just going off of memory. Maybe that's a costume for another convention.

My wife also went to the effort of drafting an essay written from the perspective of her character, and putting it in a binder with robot schematics on the cover. Although she didn't end up doing so, she toyed with the idea of hamming it up and handing out copies of her essay to random conventiongoers to warn them of the dangers of making robots seem too human.
“Playing God: The Ethical Fallout of Endowing Robotic Tools with Sentient, Emotionally Capable AI”
By Dr. Noele Lalinde
Since the dawn of robotics, humans have been using this technology to create the perfect tools and assistants to enhance our quality of life. From clumsily primitive cleaning bots, to household organizers programmed to tell jokes on command, to live-in companions and caregivers, to disposable proxies for hazardous labor, robots have become subtly infused into every aspect of modern human society. Yet we can’t ignore that our advances in hardware have gone hand-in-hand with equal advances in AI programming.

To say we are far beyond the days of pack-bonding with Roombas and laughing at chatbots of Abraham Lincoln is a gross understatement. Our current technology borders on human-like sentience, fully capable of rational thought and emotional desire, fully capable of personhood. If we insist on utilizing this technology for commercial applications, we will have to also own the ethical consequences of those actions.

The genie cannot be put back in the bottle.

By knowingly and willingly choosing to install this level of AI into disposable workers, we must accept that we are approving the birthing of a new race into chains. Furthermore, creating a workforce that is human in every way except physically defeats the very purpose of having proxies in the first place - what is the point of creating stand-ins for humanity if the psychological and emotional weight of losing them is the same?

Not only are the ethics questionable, but why give tools emotions in the first place? What is gained by making a tool question its purpose? It is merely human whimsy and hubris that is satisfied by artificially inducing a familial coworking environment with robots. Best case scenario, there is a loss of efficiency in the tool by distracting it with unnecessary data, and worst, the tool ceases to function at all due to emotional instability or interpersonal issues. Why introduce such problems to begin with?

Most troubling of all, advanced AI programming and the creation of robotic persons opens the door to manipulation and corruption by the forces of evil. We have already seen this happen over and over again with Wily’s capture and retooling of service bots, turning them against the people they were designed to help and protect. Non-AI tools that require a human operator, such as ride armor, would not be able to cause such lasting and complete devastation as these sentient robots with a desire to do harm and the mental capabilities to act independently.

We are at the tipping point where we must choose what our legacy will be, and it is clear the only morally responsible option is to abandon our childish notions of playing God and instead refocus on the development of non-sentient tool and augmentation robotics.
We took a break from cosplaying on Saturday; my wife needed a respite from the wig, and I thought I'd be happier in street clothes for a day. Although my neato Super Metroid shirt got a few comments, I was surprised to find that I missed the recognition (and extra pockets) of the costume. I was also a little chilly at times; the Atlantic City convention center cranked up the air conditioning the appropriate amount for hordes of people in costume in the middle of summer. Good on you, AC. I reprised my role as Dr. Cossack on Sunday, while my wife changed into her alternate costume, "Woman Who Can't Even With This Wig Anymore."


After standing in line (a comically long line extending the entire length of the convention center, down the stairs, and back up the same stairs) to pick up our badges on Thursday night, we spent some time poring over the program and schedule. I had already downloaded the Guidebook app (a precaution after last year's scheduling problems), but I was pleased to discover that the print schedule completely matched up with the online one, at least for everything I wanted to attend.

Unfortunately, everything I wanted to attend was distributed in the worst way possible. Either there was absolutely nothing of interest, or 2-6 really compelling programs all happening at the same time. I had wanted to see the film Summer Wars, for example, but it would've required me to give up a panel on Lupin III (my favorite anime franchise), dinner at a reasonable time, and two competing events that I was tossed between. And if I gave up on Summer Wars after a few minutes—which would be consistent with the "not really feeling this" and "can't read the subtitles from my seat" reasons I had for abandoning videos the previous year—the Lupin panel would be half over and probably filled to capacity anyhow.

So, here's how my Friday went:

Nadia: The Secret of Blue Water: I wasn't thrilled about starting my day with random video programming, but the dealers' room wasn't open yet, and most of my other options were introductions to things outside my sphere of interests. So, I watched an early '90s adaptation of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. It filled the time just fine, but I wandered off after two episodes to go find my wife.

Anime Car Show: I think it's cool that there were half a dozen cars on display from Initial D or with anime-themed decals all over. But Doc Brown's DeLorean, KITT, and my personal vehicle when it's carrying newly purchased dessert are about the only cars my wife and I get excited about. The fact that we showed up, even briefly, to look at cars that didn't travel through time, talk to the driver, or contain dessert should indicate how our morning was going.

AnimeNEXT Family Feud: Family Feud is my favorite game show and one of my favorite TV shows in general. There was no way I was missing this. Disappointingly, the organizers were running on little sleep due to unforeseen circumstances, hadn't had a chance to test the technical equipment, and kept forgetting how certain elements of the game were supposed to work. The pace was slow, and most of the questions were either too broad ("Of all the Gen 1 Pokemon, which would you want for a starter?") or too narrow ("Name a Devil May Cry character with white hair"), and the majority were gaming questions instead of anime questions. The high point was playing rock-paper-scissors against our fellow audience members to gain a seat on stage, and tying about a dozen times in a row with the person behind me. Ridiculous. Also, I lost.

Dealers' room and artist alley: With nothing else on the schedule until early evening, I strolled through aisle after aisle of manga, plushies, keychains, tiny boxes from Japan containing models of the Fisher-Price Enterprise from Star Trek (2009), and any other merchandise you can think of. As with last year, I didn't want to bring home much more than a book full of sketches (more on that later), but I allowed myself a few purchases over the course of the weekend—mostly video game art prints for myself, but also a Rascal Does Not Dream of Bunny Girl Senpai art print for a friend, and a few varieties of Pocky to share at my workplace.

Lupin the 3rd With Various Guests: This panel was hosted by Richard Epcar, Lex Lang, and Ellyn Stern, who had lent their voices to various Lupin III dubs over the years. Now, I've only ever watched Lupin (and most anime, for that matter) with subtitles, but I was hoping that my passing familiarity with these people (who've played bit parts in such favorites as Heroes of Might and Magic III) and our shared interest in Lupin would be sufficient to enjoy the panel. In retrospect, I really should've gone to Summer Wars; there was a lot of discussion about the Blue Jacket series on Cartoon Network that I haven't seen, and it seemed like Ellyn and Richard weren't in sync about how structured or serious the panel was supposed to be.

Companies That Knew Nothing About "ANIME FAN WANTS": This was a treasure trove of hilarious horror stories and unbelievable anecdotes from now-defunct companies in the anime industry. George from Land of Obscusion regaled us with tales about everything from DVD production ("No, we totally didn't charge money for a DVD set that just sloppily ripped a fan translation from the Internet") to subtitles ("Hey, when you translate this anime, could you avoid using words with the letter 'Y'? The keyboard I'm using to type the subtitles doesn't have a functioning 'Y' key"). Tight presentation of interesting material.

AMV Contest Screening: I missed the first half because of the previous program, but my wife saved me a seat. I arrived in time for the beginning of the Dramatic/Serious category, which hit me right in the feels with the likes of "Parallel" (Violet Evergarden + "Restless Soul" by Flor). In the Artistic category, I was captivated by the psychedelic "Pachyderm Panic" (Puella Magi Madoka Magica + "Pink Elephants on Parade" from Dumbo). "The hero we need" (Astro Boy + "Captain Underpants Theme Song" by "Weird Al" Yankovic) was an amusing surprise in Fun/Upbeat, and funnier (to my tastes, anyhow) than anything under Comedy. Shockingly, last year's trend of everyone using the same two songs from The Greatest Showman continued unabated.

AMV Sing-Along AFTER DARK: Our first choice was the too-popular-to-get-into panel on hilariously bad anime, so we settled in for a less restrained version of the family-friendly AMV sing-along that cheerfully capped off last year's convention. Notably, this was not labeled as an 18+ panel, but it was late enough that the hosts felt comfortable with just giving a warning before any video with questionable content. There were gems such as "Clubbin' with Lupin" (Lupin IIIOne Piece​, and others + "Jack Sparrow" by Lonely Island feat. Michael Bolton), plus a few of the bawdy AMVs you'd expect from an "after dark" panel, but there were also some horrifically gory ones. Like, "how did my child get into this without a wristband" gory. And I am supremely squeamish. I spent what felt like a quarter of the sing-along looking away from the screen.

Richard Epcar's Famous Outtake Panel (18+): I think this is what I wanted out of the Lupin panel earlier in the day. Richard Epcar, accompanied by Lex Lang, showed a multitude of voice acting outtakes (audio paired with the video clips they were trying to dub) from Lupin III and other anime they'd been involved with. I could've done without so much locker room humor; my favorite outtakes were the flat-out silly ones, with actors catastrophically stumbling over their lines, making up random nonsense, or breaking the fourth wall with absurd observations about the show.

Thursday/Friday cosplay photos:

This was hastily taken as my segment of the snaking registration line curved around a corner, briefly matching up with where these cosplayers were. Left to right, we have Rin Hoshizora, Nozomi Tojo, Umi Sonoda, and Maki Nishikino from Love Live!
Serendipitously, our first cosplay encounter of the convention proper was with a character from the same franchise as us. Metal Man from Mega Man 2 is pictured here with two random nerds.
Shizuo Heiwajima and Izaya Orihara from Durarara!! stopped to duke it out.
The crew from Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid was in attendance: Quetzalcoatl, Elma, Fafnir, Tohru, and Kanna.
It's great to see a whole family (or else a bunch of convincingly familial strangers) cosplay together: Ryuko from Kill La Kill; Flynn Rider from Tangled; and Dr. Eggman, Cheese the Chao, and Miles "Tails" Prower from the Sonic games. Eggman's hand gesture summarizes my feelings toward the accuracy of these costumes.
My wife tells me these are Red Blood Cell and Macrophage from Cells at Work. I tell my wife that she can watch shows like this without me because blood is icky.
I was impressed by this superb Brock and Steelix from an obscure series called Pokémon.
I saw more cosplayers from The Seven Deadly Sins than from any other show I recognized, and it was fun scrutinizing the differences in construction and detail between similar costumes. I held out on taking any photos until I found a group, and Meliodas (and Hawk), King, Escanor, and Diane were kind enough to oblige.
Final Fantasy VII's gloriously polygonal Cloud was one of my favorite cosplays of the convention. So clever.
I'm glad to see that good ol' Vash the Stampede remains a convention staple some 20 years after Trigun stopped airing.
Kirby's King DeDeDe would like to ask for your place in line. Best not to argue with that hammer.

By the time we got back to the B&B, it was technically Saturday. Our biggest mistake was staying up past 2 AM trying to reassess our initial program selections now that we'd been conventioning for a whole day.

Even without getting up early to don a costume, I was exhausted when I woke up. In large part because of that exhaustion, Saturday ended up being the least enjoyable day of the convention, though not without its high points.

Experiences as an Anime Singer Songwriter With Shihori Nakane: Although I was unfamiliar with this person's work, hers was the one and only morning program that wasn't an educational workshop of some sort (tough luck if you're not interested in crafting, cosplay, or putting your brain to work before lunchtime!). I'm glad I tagged along with my wife; I got to hear some fun stories, including one about meeting the legendary Yoko Kanno. Nakane idolized Kanno and was giddy and nervous when meeting with her to collaborate on a song. Kanno introduced herself by offering a bag of snacks to Nakane. Awestruck, she thought to herself, "God gave me snacks!"

AMV Contest Screening: As the arts and crafts programming continued into the lunch hour, I got caught up on the AMVs I had missed the previous day. Trailer/Parody is usually my favorite category, but this crop of AMVs relied on being familiar with a bunch of series I've had minimal exposure to. Romance/Sentimental gave my feels no chance to recover from the previous day, assaulting me with "Happy Little Clouds" (various series + "Bob Ross Remixed" by Melodysheep) and "Chihiro in Wonderland" (Spirited Away + "C'mon" by Panic! at the Disco). Action didn't seem as action-y as usual, but I enjoyed "The Deciding Moment" (Haikyu!!, Ace of Diamond, and Kuroko's Basketball + "Seki-ray" by Gackt). I'll refer you to this playlist for all the AMVs I didn't mention; there were a lot of good ones.

The Girl Who Leapt Through Time: "Slice of life with a sci-fi twist" is one of my favorite anime genres, and my wife and I enjoyed this tale of a girl...well, you read the title. Lots of clever surprises and fun character interactions, and the ending gave us plenty of conversation fodder. Probably the best part of the day for me.

The Anime Bubble of 2008: What We've Learned: We apparently learned nothing, because I have no recollection of this panel, aside from showing up late and taking a photo of some cosplayers on the way out.

Why Visual Novels: Tales from a Beta Tester (18+): I'm not into visual novels, but I play one on TV. I mean, uh, I know people who make visual novels, I have actual beta testing experience, and I'm interested in behind-the-scenes stories from the video game industry. Mike (I think his name was Mike) was an engaging presenter, and his stories were funny and insightful. He described the workload (tens of thousands of words to review), the wide variations in how tester-friendly games might be, and how testing games with naughty content isn't as glamorous as it sounds.

AnimeNEXT Match Game: After Dark (18+): We attended this last year, and it was the highlights of the convention: Match Game but with audience members participating as the characters they were cosplaying. At that time, voice actor Bill Timoney was on the panel and brought a sense of humor and professionalism that elevated the whole thing. This time, I arrived late and missed the introductions, so I had no clue who was on stage. If I hadn't read the description, I wouldn't have recognized the program as a game show; participants were rambling about NSFW topics (and after Epcar's outtakes, blunt sex jokes were wearing thin for me). I left after maybe 5 minutes.

New Cutey Honey OVA '94: Either I got the wrong room or they switched what they were showing, because this OVA about a crime-fighting android looked an awful lot like a grossly underage busty girl undressing before a grossly underage boy. I left after maybe 5 seconds.

These Are a Few of My Favorite Scenes: Regrouping with my wife, I resigned myself to random video clips for the rest of the night. At its best, the panel was a parade of share-worthy videos, such as a very cool animated Star Wars short film called "TIE Fighter" and the supremely absurd "Daffy Duck the Wizard." Just as often, however, it was a prolonged introduction from one of the four hosts, or an uncomfortably gory clip that once again had me closing my eyes. I'll add that this was not labeled as an 18+ panel. We left around midnight; there was another hour to go, but my exhaustion had finally reached its limit.

Saturday cosplay photos:

I appreciated the double dose of Samuel L. Jackson, with Nick Fury from The Avengers and Frozone from The Incredibles.
Princess Daisy is ready for some Mario Tennis. I saw a number of good Mario cosplayers, but I was especially excited to see one of my mains from an underappreciated spinoff series that I love.
Compared with last year, the total population of non-anime cosplayers dropped by half. I suspect Nick Fury had Thanos flashbacks and used his cosmic pager to summon Captain Marvel's Captain Marvel to the convention to help.
I DON'T KNOW WHAT THIS IS, BUT IT'S AWESOME apparently it's Garuda from Final Fantasy XIV.
With Hunk and Voltron from Voltron: Legendary Defender on hand, I knew the parking garage would be safe.
I ate lunch with All Might and Katsuki Bakugo (as influenced by Best Jeanist). I don't know what those words mean; my wife told me to say them.
Lastly, two characters I could identify unassisted: Little Witch Academia's Atsuko “Akko” Kagari and Diana Cavendish. I also spy Solid Snake from Metal Gear Solid in the corner trying to sneak into or out of this photo.

I wish we could've started with Sunday's programming; this was the convention I was here to attend. An eclectic assortment of options, timed neatly enough to minimize awkward gaps, gave me the freedom to attend whatever I felt like without agonizing over what I might miss.

How to Panel 101: As a Minor Internet Celebrity™, I've long considered applying to host a panel at a video game convention where people might recognize my work. I've recently been given opportunities to present at small local events, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to brush up on the basics. This presentation was invaluable. A lot of the advice was common sense, but the way the information was organized really helped to emphasize the importance of having someone proofread your application to host a panel, practicing your presentation, and preparing for every worst-case technology scenario.

Creatures in Features with Voice Actors Lex Lang and Sandy Fox: Hands-down the best part of the convention. The first half alone would've been one of the best panels I attended, and accessible even to people with no prior knowledge of these people. The affable hosts discussed how they got into voice acting; some of the roles they've played; and their involvement in loop groups, who fill in all the grunts, gasps, background chatter, and animal noises (you wouldn't believe the training involved for animal noises) needed to flesh out the sound in movies and TV shows. They talked about how Amy Jo Johnson, the original Pink Power Ranger, contributed to getting into that line of work. They played clips from some of the movies they've done and pointed out where you can hear them; Sandy cheered as the candy spectators in Wreck-it-Ralph, and it turns out Lex is my favorite velociraptor in Jurassic World.

The second half is what made this panel truly special: the audience was invited to do the looping for a scene from one of the newer Planet of the Apes movies, with the takes recorded and edited on the spot. A few people were background apes, and Lex coached them on how to grunt and ook convincingly. One person was a more prominent ape who got to shout. I was Breathing Man, as we called him—some poor schmoe who wandered into the jungle for the express purpose of breathing heavily and gasping at apes. I'm plenty comfortable with voiceovers, but I'm definitely not a natural when it comes to nonverbal reactions. Still, between thinking back to my theater days and getting some fantastically supportive coaching from Lex, I eventually produced some usable noises. When everything was spliced together and the music track was added, you could've convinced me that I was watching the actual movie. So, so tremendously cool.

Anime Openings & Endings THE MAN Doesn't Want You to See: I was tossed between this and a workshop on learning to play hanafuda. However, we wanted to wind down with something passive, I recalled how much I enjoyed last year's panel on the best anime openings of the '80s (including one from Kimagure Orange Road that was logistically fascinating), and I saw that George from Land of Obscusion would be hosting. This was an entertaining collection of footage that never made it stateside due to licensing or other issues, such as the Astro Boy opening that doubled as an advertisement for Glico (the Pocky people), or the trio of openings where composer Rui Nagai kept getting in trouble for ripping off other people's songs.

Animation in Anime: After a final run through the dealers' room, where I realized I'd blown my chance at getting a Ridley amiibo, I joined my wife for our final program, already in progress. There were two other panels I was considering attending, but I saw that this was co-hosted by Evan Minto, who ran two of the best-presented panels that we attended last year (one about the evolution of faces in anime, and one about the various appearances of burgers in anime), so that won me over. This was a discussion of the techniques and processes that bring anime to life, and I was especially interested in the part about visual continuity. Apparently, each scene in a show or movie might be done by a completely different animator. My favorite moment was, when discussing the importance of checking for quality and consistency, this image was left up on the screen:
This makes me laugh every time I see it.

Sunday cosplay photos:

We weren't able to get a clear shot of a fantastic Alex Louis Armstrong cosplay from Fullmetal Alchemist, so you get nothing.


...I'm sorry; I glanced up at that goofy screencap and started laughing again. What am I talking about now? Oh yes. Artwork.
Last year I brought a sketchbook to the artist alley and solicited doodles from anyone who was willing. This year, I brought the same sketchbook (plenty of pages left to fill!) and a pocketful of dollar bills. My wife, herself an artist, said that even though these doodles weren't formally commissions, it'd be only fair to thank the artists with a little financial support. So, until the allotted cash ran out, I went around artist alley asking folks, "If I give you a dollar, would you draw me a doodle? Anything you want; wherever there's a blank spot is fine."
There were still many blank spots among the doodles I got in 2018. To save you the effort of comparing these images against the ones in the previous convention recap, my wife has drawn yellow boxes around any new doodles on old pages.
Most people were receptive to the proposal; a couple were busy or just watching the booth until the artist returned. One artist wanted some time to think and had me come back later; another couldn't decide what to draw, which prompted the first suggestion I've ever made (RWBY, specifically, after looking at what was on display) since making sketch collection a habit.
One girl who was a convention attendee saw me soliciting sketches, and she asked if she could draw something. The woman with her (I'm assuming her mother) apologized and tried to dissuade me, but I was more than happy to give the girl a dollar for the boxy little robot she drew.
Instead of drawing his own doodle, one artist thought it would be fun to add to someone else's doodle. Apparently he does this all the time. I'm still not sure whether to be amused or annoyed that I paid a dollar for a breath puff.
I wasn't choosy about the artists I solicited; I started on one end of artist alley and systematically worked my way across, circling back to a booth later if it was too crowded when I got there. I've found that the sketches I receive often bear no resemblance whatsoever to the art on display, so I even asked the people selling jewelry and sculptures to contribute.
I'll stop yammering for a while and let you get on with looking at sketches.
I like how it looks like the ghost is spooking the doodles to the right.
Important note: these are gay bees. The artist said so.
These last two are best viewed in the sketchbook itself; the scanned images don't give the full "flip book" effect of looking at the first one and then turning the page to see the second one appear directly behind it.

Overall, I enjoyed AnimeNEXT 2019, but it ranks just below average among my convention experiences. I'm grateful that the convention staff listened to last year's feedback about the print schedule, and the program booklet was organized much better than before. I was pleased that every video I watched had subtitles where I could see them. Any other improvements from last year were ones my wife and I introduced: costumes that were more recognizable and fun to wear, planning out our meals better, downloading the Guidebook app to supplement the print schedule.

I wasn't a fan of how the programming was distributed; awkwardly staggered start times and too many panels appealing to the same audience at once (especially when they dominated an entire hour block) made it hard to be satisfied with my choices. My wife reports that most of the many concerts she attended didn't do the performers justice—too large a stage for just one person to command. I intend to have a word with the convention organizers about how graphic violence doesn't suddenly become appropriate for all ages after 10 PM.

Perhaps the biggest lesson for me was that the presenter is more important than the material being presented. Shihore Nakane was interesting because she's fun to listen to, not because I had any connection to her work. Previous attendance at panels hosted by George, Evan, and Lex swayed my decision to attend panels they hosted on Saturday and Sunday, which ended up being some of my favorites. Of the four game shows I attended between this year and last year, the only one I genuinely liked was largely because of the special guest.

Despite the low points this year, a lot of things we liked about last year's convention remained unchanged: great location, perfect attendance size, interesting events with interesting guests, good-quality cosplay, a dealers' room and artist alley with plenty to see, friendly convention staff, friendly convention center staff (those folks don't get nearly enough credit), and a very reasonable entrance fee. We're excited to try our luck again next year.

AnimeNEXT has become our convention of choice, just like Otakon was over a decade ago. Even when things don't go as well as they could, it's nice to have a place to call home.
<![CDATA[Sketchy Details and Photographic Memories: AnimeNEXT 2018]]>Sat, 15 Jun 2019 07:00:00 GMThttps://nathanielhoover.weebly.com/blog/sketchy-details-and-photographic-memories-animenext-2018Back in my Exfanding days, I wrote at length about attending Otakon, PAX East, and New York Comic-Con. I've been to other conventions since then—Castle Point Anime Convention and Trekonderoga, off the top of my head—but you'd never know it from this blog. It's been several years since I've posted anything about a convention experience, and my last attempt was essentially a self-reminder to have fun at conventions. I must have internalized my own advice pretty well, because I had a fantastic weekend at AnimeNEXT 2018.

...Wait, didn't I just get back from AnimeNEXT 2019? Apparently I've been sitting on a half-written convention writeup for the past 11-12 months, so I'd better discuss last year before moving on to this year. Here goes.


I scooted out of work a bit early, picked up my wife, and began the trek to Atlantic City, NJ. My wife and I are relics from the era of putting together mix tapes for car trips, so she had burned a CD for the occasion: an assortment of intro and ending songs from anime series we'd watched together in the last few years. There's nothing like tunes from Bleach, Silver Spoon, Restaurant to Another World, Kill la Kill, Yuri on Ice!!, Himouto! Umaru-chan, Arpeggio of Blue Steel, Valerian and Laureline, Magical Girl OreKakuriyo: Bed and Breakfast for Spirits, Bodacious Space Pirates, Free!, Orange, Little Witch Academia, and the original Devilman to get you pumped for sitting around in traffic. And there's nothing like the preceding list of titles to get you to question our taste in anime.

Our first destination was actually just outside Atlantic City—we had a room reserved at the historic Joseph Pitney House in Absecon. Ever since our honeymoon, my wife and I have been staying at bed and breakfasts instead of hotels whenever we have the opportunity; the food, hospitality, and unique charm are often as memorable as whatever we're in town to see or do, plus we tend to get better prices and quieter neighbors than we would at a hotel. We arrived fairly late in the evening, picked up our room key, visited the always-open snack pantry for some homemade shortbread, and settled into our spacious room.

We missed the window to check in early at the convention, so we didn't have our schedules and program booklets to be able to plan out our first day. Instead, my wife doodled around on her tablet while I read a book (specifically, Live From New York, a fascinating and highly entertaining collection of interviews recalling the first few decades of Saturday Night Live). My wife laughed about how we were spending the first night of our vacation doing exactly what we'd be doing at home. "Yeah," I responded, "but we don't have to worry about cleaning, or cooking, or going to work tomorrow; everything's taken care of, and we can relax without feeling like there's something else we should be doing."

I cannot begin to articulate how comfortable the bed was—once my head hit the pillow, the world beyond the bed ceased to exist. It was magnificent.


The world beyond the bed reasserted its existence at 5:30 AM. My wife had a different costume planned for each day of the convention, and today's required over 2 hours to prepare. Taking into account when breakfast would be served, how long it might take to find parking at or near the venue, and how long the registration line was likely to be, we resigned ourselves to an unpleasantly early morning. Fortunately, I was cosplaying as "dude attending an anime convention," so I went back to sleep.

Eventually, I left the bed to pursue the "and breakfast" part of the arrangement, and it was delightful. Vanilla yogurt parfait with granola and berries (I'm not big on berries, but I'll eat them if sprinkled sparingly on yogurt parfait), followed by a two-egg omelet and a glass of orange juice—enough to fuel me through the start of the convention.

I get anxious driving around unfamiliar urban areas, what with their endless traffic lights and surprise one-way streets and claustrophobia-inducing architecture right up against the sidewalks, but the drive to the convention center was downright pleasant. There was plenty of parking onsite at the convention center—and as I would later discover, there were several food vendors and even a train station onsite, making this the most convenient convention venue I think I've ever been to.

I remember PAX East being obnoxious because the layout made no sense and there were waiting lines for everything (my wife refers to it as "Line Con"). I remember it taking forever to get around Comic-Con because of the incredible masses of people everywhere. The last Otakon I attended was uncomfortably over capacity, to the point where even the restaurants outside the convention center were overrun by otaku at all hours. As a midsized convention in a well-organized space, AnimeNEXT had none of these problems. The convention never got in the way of the convention, if that makes sense.

AnimeNEXT had the dealers' room, video game room, and concerts on the second floor; all the panels and screenings on the third floor; and all the niche events and novelty rooms (eg, the Cosplay Repair room, which I think is a brilliant idea) on the fourth floor. Escalators were plentiful and logically placed; and the design of the convention center gave every level a good view of the ground floor, where audience-participation events such as a cosplay wrestling tournament would occasionally occur. I also have to credit the building staff—from the folks in the parking garage to the folks at the front desk—for being friendly the entire weekend, and for being incredibly helpful every time I approached them with a question (mostly pertaining to food).

Of course, the first order of business was getting through the registration line. Ahead of us in the lobby was a group with one person cosplaying as Shrek, and someone in the group periodically used their smartphone to play a selection from the Shrek soundtrack to get us pumped for standing around in line. We struck up conversations with other attendees as the line snaked back and forth, commenting on one person's clever "Shyguys Burgers and Fries" t-shirt, praising an excellent Castle Crashers costume, and asking about a superb Stephen Universe cosplay we didn't recognize because we'd never seen Stephen Universe. I swear this was an anime convention.

Oh, but that was just the line to get into the registration line. Once we made it through the big doors into the registration area (which was the size of a basketball court), we split off into the queue for people who preregistered for tickets. There we encountered new cosplayers, such as Blair from Soul Eater, whom I mistook for I-No from Guilty Gear because my brain still thought we were at a video game convention. The hardest part of appreciating convention cosplay is that, as my wife put it, it's like playing one big trivia game all weekend. "Name that character." Which gets harder and harder with every passing year, thanks to new characters I've never heard of and old characters who've slipped my mind.

Case in point: my wife was cosplaying as Ujibe, the coach from Keijo!!!!!!!! (yes, there really are that many exclamation points in the title), and not a single person made any indication that they recognized her. This was a little heartbreaking to me, knowing the effort she had put into this costume. She had painstakingly reviewed clips and screencaps from the show to ensure every detail of her outfit was accurate. She had hand-dyed her shirt in an involved process using tea and tumeric. She had hand-stitched the clover logo on the shirt (never mind that it was rotated 45 degrees; it was late, she was tired). She had spent the morning styling her wig and beauty mark to precise specifications. I was proud of her for what she pulled off.
Granted, Ujibe is a side character in an anime that a lot of people might not admit to watching, on account of its subject matter. (I swear I watched it for the story, but it's about girls in bathing suits hitting each other with their butts.) However, I think my wife hit the nail on the head: she believes people just aren't accustomed to seeing plus-size women cosplaying as plus-size women. If people assumed my wife was pretending to be one of the bajillion characters as scrawny as Sailor Moon, of course they wouldn't recognize her costume. This would account for why one dude thought she was the 4chan mascot.
Anydigression, as soon as we cleared the registration line, we sat down with our schedules and mapped out the first half of our day. I marked up anything that seemed remotely interesting (I wanted backup plans, in case anything was a dud or too full to get into), but I opted to follow my wife around whenever there was any overlap in our interests. Our last Otakon was marred by the logistical frustrations of trying to meet back up with people after going off to do our own things, and I was more concerned about having a fun convention together than getting to do and see everything I wanted most.

Japanese Feminism 101: In our first dynamic panel of the day, we waited about half an hour for the presenter to show up. Around 11:35, one of the convention staff wandered in to see why we were sitting around in an empty room. Apparently, there had been schedule changes since the agenda was printed.

Look, I understand that plans change. But nobody at registration told us about it. Nobody put up a sign. Although we later discovered that the most current room schedule was displayed in a tiny box beside the door, that didn't help anyone trying to plan their day before they got to the room. I asked the staff at the information desk whether they had a list of corrections to the printed agenda. Not only did they seem surprised about there being schedule changes, but they directed me to view the updated schedule online—which is a poor solution for anyone who doesn't have a smartphone or has to deal with roaming data in a place with no public Wi-Fi. We eventually noticed a widescreen monitor rotating all the events and their locations for the next couple hours—not ideal, but better than nothing.

Game the Gamer: With an unexpected hole in our schedule and the dealers' room not yet open to the public, we wandered over to the only event that wasn't already deeply in progress. The premise of "Cutthroat Kitchen, with Wii games" sounded like a decent use of the next hour, but I started to lose interest when too much time was being spent auctioning off more sabotages than I felt were necessary for the first round. I stuck around long enough to see one of the contestants attempt WarioWare: Smooth Moves while handcuffed to a chair; my wife stayed for the whole thing, but I headed out somewhere around when they were trying to get someone to play Smash Bros. with a Wii bowling ball.

Kaibyo: The Supernatural Cats of Japan: I'm sorry I missed the beginning of this, because I'm interested in Japanese mythology and folklore, the presenter (Zack Davisson) was very engaging, and I'm enough of a cat person that my wife and I meow at each other as a form of communication. At least I got there in time to laugh about cats who gain power from wearing silly things on their head, see the tragic portrait of a cat minstrel playing a shamisen (an instrument that would have been partially constructed of cat leather), and learn about the origin of Japan's fondness for catgirls. The Japanese government at one point prohibited artists from drawing or painting people of a certain social variety (eg, prostitutes)—and the artists cleverly got around the issue by creating the exact same art, but with anthropomorphic cats instead of humans.

Lunch: I think I had a barbecue chicken wrap. I'm not a big wrap guy, but that's what they served at Esquires, the food stand in the train station attached to the convention center. I don't know about you, but I don't think of wraps when I hear "Esquires."

Finding Your Anime Voice: I popped in a bit late for what I hoped would be a panel on doing different voices, which would have been helpful for me on Twitch and YouTube with all the dialogue I read aloud while playing games. Unfortunately, the part for which I was present consisted mostly of random audience members trying to speak in a different register (eg, head voice) with minimal coaching. I left after maybe 5 minutes.

Dealers' Room: With an unexpected hole in my schedule and the dealers' room now open to the public, I meandered down to peruse the treasure trove. Geekery in every format was for sale—posters, wall scrolls, books, clothes, figurines, body pillows, DVDs, video games, and so on. Normally, this is where most of my convention budget goes, but I found myself exercising an unexpected amount of self-control.

Much of the merchandise was from new anime series that I hadn't seen or didn't have a special attachment to, so that helped. But I'm also in a different phase of my life than I was the last time I attended a convention with this much for sale. There's very little I actually want anymore—and I'm subscribed to the Star Trek Official Starships Collection, so shelf space in my home is at a premium like never before. I think about all the other ways I could be using my money—bills, charities, clothes that fit.

To that end, one of the few things I bought for myself was a t-shirt mashing up Mega Man and Iron Man. I also picked up a copy of the NES game Faxanadu, which has been on my radar for a while, as well as a RWBY poster. I'm particularly happy with the poster, because I had a similar image as a desktop wallpaper for a while and I love the multi-panel aesthetic.

Then I saved this post as a draft and didn't come back to it for almost a year.

My original intention was to pick up where I left off, using the online schedule for 2018 (with the numerous updates not reflected on my print schedule) to jog my memory and organize my storytelling. However, at the time of this post, I can only find online schedules for 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017...and 2019. As much as I want to keep going with the blow-by-blow recap, I recognize that this is a good excuse to scale back the verbosity and focus on the highlights. Nobody needs to hear about the mediocre pizza I ate.

I could regale you with tales of the three minutes I spent at an 18+ panel that I thought would be like Mystery Science Theater 3000 for adults only, but ended up being a YouTuber showing us his skeevy hentai game playthrough videos and creepily talking over his own recorded commentary. I could gush about Anime Burger Time, the BYOB (Bring Your Own Burger) panel where the host chowed down on Johnny Rockets while showing us clips of hamburgers appearing in various anime. I could recount what I recall of the Mazinger Z: Infinity movie, or of the Gaijin Girl: Life in Japan presentation. I could describe the hilarious Bad Anime Bad! panel and invoke the infamous names Garzey's Wing and Titanic: The Legend Goes On.

Instead, I'll attempt to work some untold stories into my writeup of AnimeNEXT 2019, where they'll still be relevant due to how often I found myself thinking back to 2018. If I write in a less comprehensive and detail-oriented format, I may even finish before the 2020 convention. In the meantime, please enjoy some photos from 2018, which we'll pretend are the intended conclusion to this post.

NOTE: If you (you, the reader) are in any of the photos below and don't want to be featured here, or if you'd like to be credited, please let me know (see the main page for contact options) and I'll action your request accordingly.

First up, a couple scenes from the convention in general:
A couple characters I don't recognize, but their costumes looked cool:
Some woman I'm married to, cosplaying as Tamako from Silver Spoon and then Ujibe from Keijo!!!!!!!! in an alternate outfit:
Umaru from Himouto! Umaru-chan, Uno and Nico from Nanbaka, Ryuko from Kill La Kill, and Dark Samus from the Metroid Prime series:
Nora, Ruby, and Yang from RWBY:
Buncha characters from the Phoenix Wright series:
Lastly, some group cosplay from Fullmetal Alchemist, Black Lagoon, and Gurren Lagann:
Ah, but that's not all. Carrying on with a tradition my wife started at the 2011 New York Comic-Con, I purchased a sketchbook and went around collecting doodles from the people at the booths in artist alley (regardless of whether they were an artist or just the person looking after the booth). These weren't formal commissions; rather, I asked for whatever they felt like drawing, if they felt like drawing anything in the first place. No pressure, no restrictions. Surprisingly, only one person drew genitalia.

Here are the sketches I collected—and as with the photos above, please contact me if your art is featured here and you'd like it to be removed or credited:
So there you have it. AnimeNEXT 2018. At least, as much of it as is contained in this post.
<![CDATA[MaGMML3 Judge Journal #2: Showcase Development]]>Sun, 24 Feb 2019 08:00:00 GMThttps://nathanielhoover.weebly.com/blog/magmml3-judge-journal-2-showcase-developmentStory navigation: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

The Make a Good Mega Man Level Contest (MaGMML3 judge team was assembled a full year before judging began. We had plenty to keep us busy in that time, but I took on some non-judge work as well.

I spent a good chunk of 2018 helping to expand and test the game engine, making such contributions as assembling new tilesets (eg, the MM10 lab), reorganizing existing tilesets and creating slopes for some of them (eg, Skull Man; Charge Man; MM1 Wily 1, 2, and 4; MM2 Wily 1), and checking engine assets for fidelity to the original games (eg, all the Joes). For a time, I also was in charge of showcase development—that is, planning, building, and delegating the example levels that show off everything available in the engine.

I knew that contestants would be influenced to some degree by how the engine assets were presented to them. Without a showcase, many people would stick with the gimmicks and enemies they were familiar with, and overlook a lot of the engine's customization options. At the same time, any kind of showcase ran the risk of encouraging contestants to crib from the example levels—whether due to a lack of creativity, a false assumption that the example levels demonstrated the "right" way to use these assets, or a genuine inspiration to develop one of the sample challenges into a full level.

Before I took over showcase development, the team was grouping assets together by stage—here's everything from Cut Man, here's everything from Heat Man, and so forth. My main objection to this approach was that it would reinforce that certain assets need to go together, because that's how they appeared in the original games. After a lot of discussion, we agreed to rework everything and break up the assets by theme and/or function. I created a blank room in GameMaker; inserted one instance each of every enemy, gimmick, miniboss, and boss in the engine; and then started organizing these assets into categories (eg, water minibosses, moving platforms). Not unlike dumping out a basket of clothes and sorting them into piles.
With input from the devteam, I finessed the groups until everyone seemed to be happy with the distribution. Once things were finalized, I set up a tracking spreadsheet and requested volunteers to build example levels using the assets in each group. Tapping into my instincts as a judge and design critic, I also provided some guidelines for creating the showcase levels:
  • Showcases should demonstrate as much potential as possible for each asset—things you can do with the creation code (eg, color variations), unique interactions with other assets (eg, lighting oil on fire), any functionality that isn't immediately obvious (eg, totem poles jumping when the player passes over them), etc.
  • In general, try to introduce only 1-2 new assets per screen, so as not to overwhelm and distract the player; more assets can be introduced together if they share very similar functionality (eg, one screen with four variations of Shield Attacker is totally fine).
  • Avoid using enemies and gimmicks that are showcased elsewhere; a little overlap is OK if necessary.
  • Give the player frequent checkpoints and power-ups, and keep instant death to a minimum; the purpose is to give the player inspiration, not a hard time.
  • No split paths or secret areas, please. Players should be able to go through the showcase once, see everything, and move on to the next showcase. If you feel your showcase is getting too long, let me know and we'll look at moving some assets into a new/different showcase.
  • Leave a few screens' worth of open space on all sides of your showcase, in case more assets need to be added later.
  • Use placeholder graphics until your level is finished and has been playtested. Once the design is more or less finalized, THEN decorate your level using the default tilesets included in the devkit. Try to limit yourself to just one tileset if at all possible, and keep the design simple. For the sake of time, consistency, and clarity, the focus should be on the assets; save your artistic skill for the actual contest.
Of course, the showcase levels needed to be labeled to help players remember what they had and hadn't seen. You can blame me for all but one or two of these groan-inducing names:
  • A Slog of Ice and Fire
  • A Torrent of Turrets
  • Airborne Assailants
  • Brawl of the Wild
  • Castle Castoffs
  • Circuit Breaker
  • Demolition Mission
  • Extraordinary Ordinance
  • Factory Fisticuffs
  • Fan the Flame
  • Fluidic Foes
  • Ground Control
  • Industrial Intrigue
  • Invite Your Fiends
  • Landlocked Leftovers
  • Maniacal Manipulators
  • Might As Well Jump
  • Misfit Minibosses
  • Modified Mobility
  • Never Gonna Let You Joe
  • Perilous Patrol
  • Platform Swarm
  • Pleased to Met You
  • Razor-Sharp Rivals
  • Respect the Unexpected
  • Spectacular Spawners
  • Submerged Scuffle
  • Thug Zappers
  • Water You Doing

I called dibs on Maniacal Manipulators (bosses with physics-altering attacks, one of whom is Flash Man, my judge avatar for the contest), Landlocked Leftovers (all the ground-based enemies that didn't fit anywhere else), and Never Gonna Let You Joe. After devoting two years of my life to OH JOES!, a game devoted to using this tired old enemy type in new and different ways, there was no way I wasn't going to claim the all-Joe showcase (Joecase?). Although I wouldn't consider it one of my strongest levels, I relished the self-imposed challenge of making the level beatable without destroying a single Joe (seriously, try it). Plus, I got to put some of my custom slope tiles to use.
I had wanted to take on more levels, but the stress of being a game designer (not just a level designer) finally got to me. For one thing, I was burned out from OH JOES! and needed a break from working on fangames. For another thing, I wasn't prepared for the logistical hurdles of this particular project.

The sheer size of the devkit meant absurd amounts of time spent loading and compiling in GameMaker. With OH JOES!, I could fire up the software, make a change, test it, tweak it, and test it again in a matter of minutes; with the MaGMML3 devkit, the same amount of work could easily take half an hour. Level design was suddenly an arduous, inefficient task that required me to plan my time differently and adjust how I approached playtesting.

Moreover, the showcase was being designed while the engine was still being expanded and tested. From a programming perspective, it's incredibly helpful to see how assets behave in normal gameplay situations. From a level design perspective, it's difficult to plan out challenges when the building blocks are still being finessed. I spent a lot of time logging issues on GitHub or, in rare cases, attempting to make programming changes myself. To push my changes to the rest of the devteam, I had to learn to use a command-based software called Git Bash. Even with a comprehensive guide from devteam member NaOH, I frequently ran into confusing, infuriating issues (read: merge conflicts). All I wanted to do was design some levels.

Recognizing that I needed to step back, I passed the torch to devteam member CWU01P, who did a terrific job of picking up the slack. Really, the whole devteam did some impressive work in pulling together the showcase.

If you'd like to take the showcase for a spin, it's packaged with Megamix Engine, which you can download here.
<![CDATA[MaGMML3 Judge Journal #1: Applying Myself]]>Mon, 28 Jan 2019 08:00:00 GMThttps://nathanielhoover.weebly.com/blog/magmml3-judge-journal-1-applying-myselfStory navigation: 1 | 2 | 3 4

I've been a part of the Make a Good Mega Man Level Contest (MaGMML) community since the beginning, back when it looked like MaGMML1 was the only chance I'd ever have to move my Mega Man level ideas from paper to pixels. What followed was an unexpected explosion of level design opportunities—Mega Man Endless, OH JOES! (A Proto Man Adventure), Mega Maker, and MaGMML2. I shifted my focus away from recording YouTube videos and threw myself into Mega Man fangames, becoming highly active as an archivist, livestreamer, playtester, and wiki contributor on top of being a level/game designer. When MaGMML3 was announced, I got to add another title to the list: judge. But it took some effort to get there.

From my videos and livestreams to the countless reviews I've written across the Web, I've been a game critic for something like 15 years. After participating in the first MaGMML, I expressed an interest in being a judge for the second one. I was briefly considered for the position...but then people remembered that I was the guy who made the love-it-or-more-likely-hate-it "Maze of Death" level for the first contest, so I was back to being a contestant. Recognizing good level design and creating good level design are not the same skill, so I had something to prove going into MaGMML2.

With "Guts Man's Asteroid," I attempted to address every complaint I'd heard about "Maze of Death." By all accounts, I was successful—despite some flaws (read: boulder droppers) that kept the level just barely out of the top ten, my submission was well received by the judges and remains a fan favorite. Hence, this was the level I chose to submit when applications opened to become a judge for MaGMML3.

Nineteen of us applied, but only three of us—Shinryu (creator of MaGMML2's first-place level), Pachy (creator of what might be MaGMML2's best-designed middle-tier level), and yours truly (creator of this blog post)—were offered a judge position. There were two phases to the application process. The first one consisted of playing, rating, and reviewing seven sample levels, which represented a typical spread for this type of contest: the thoroughly mediocre level, the obvious troll level, the level that looks great at first glance but secretly has some issues, and so forth. Eleven of us made it to the second phase, which had us sending the contest hosts an example of our level design ability, be it a new level or one that we'd already made.

During the whole process, I kept telling myself that I'd be happy no matter what the result was. However, the anxiety, excitement, and preemptive disappointment I felt at various points made it clear to my wife, if not to me, that I really would've been crushed if I didn't pass the test. I say "preemptive disappointment" because, for a while, it looked like I hadn't made the initial cut. I was watching for an e-mail or private message with a status update, but I didn't realize a new "Phase 2 Applicant" role (or something to that effect) had been added for me on Discord. Oops.

Because I'd already created the level I wanted to submit as a sample of my work, all I needed to worry about were the reviews. We were given a rubric: 35 points for design, 25 for fun, 15 for creativity, 15 for aesthetics, and 10 for functionality, adding up to 100 possible points. We were also asked to rate the difficulty on a scale of 1-5, indicate whether the level should be skippable (and if so, why), and designate a favorite and least favorite.

I can rate things on a scale of 1-5 or 1-10 just fine, but I had trouble determining what would separate, say, a 23 from a 24. I ended up breaking each category into more manageable subcategories, getting a second opinion from my wife and tinkering with the balance until I ended up with this:

Design - X/35
Learning curve - X/5
Architecture (logical, efficient, unobtrusive) - X/5
Level design (length, layout, pacing, checkpoints) - X/5
Capability consideration (abilities shine without destroying the challenge) - X/2
Perfectible (no damage w/ buster only) - X/1

Fun - X/25
Totally subjective rating - X/10
Worth my time - X/5
Lows (are the shortcomings forgivable) - X/5

Creativity - X/15
Originality (have I seen anything exactly like this) - X/5
Novelty (does this offer new experiences) - X/5
Impressiveness (am I surprised or wowed) - X/5

Aesthetics - X/15
Graphics - X/5
Music - X/5
Atmosphere/theming - X/5

Functionality - X/10
Stability (flawless construction; no glitches) - X/5

Now I was ready to judge some levels. I downloaded an executable file containing the sample levels (which you can download here, if you'd like to try them yourself) and got to work. I played everything once, jotted down some notes, then circled back and played everything again before finalizing my scores and writeups.

Preserved for posterity, and so that you can ask, "Wait, how did this guy get accepted as a judge?", here are the opinions I offered. Note that the numbers in parentheses correspond with the subcategory breakdowns listed above. Also note that this is the last time you'll see level reviews from me in excess of 500 words; no one should spend more time reading my review than I spent playing their level.
Midnight Man

Difficulty Rating: 1
Skippable: No

Design - 21/35 (3, 2, 2, 2, 4, 5, 1, 1, 1)
Fun - 12/25 (5, 2, 1, 4)
Creativity - 3/15 (2, 1, 0)
Aesthetics - 8/15 (3, 2, 3)
Functionality - 10/10 (5, 5)
TOTAL - 54/100

This is—and I think we can all agree on this—a level. The name “Midnight Man” conjures up images of what might be in store for the player—at the very least, a boss at the end named Midnight Man. Will there be werewolves to fight under a full moon at midnight? Some darkness- or shadow-oriented gimmick, given how dark it is at midnight? Perhaps a battle on a clock tower as the clock strikes midnight? The heart of a lion and the wings of a bat, BECAUSE IT’S MIDNITE? Why, the possibilities are...not really fleshed out here at all.
The background of the first half of the stage suggests that it is nighttime, and there are bats. This is a good start. In general, the graphics are pretty good; there’s some nice detail in the foregrounds, and the damage-ridden background for the indoors portion (despite being a bit too close in color to the foreground) suggests there might be an interesting story behind this level—especially on the last screen; I want to know what that cool-looking capsule thing is. Unfortunately, the challenges do nothing to bring that story to life.
I applaud that the enemy roster is a reasonable size and that the enemies aren’t placed all willy-nilly. I like the one screen where the dense starfield in the background makes it harder to see the Haehay’s bullets (I hope that was intentional), and I like that the Battons blend into the background for a similar sneakiness (which I also hope was intentional). But that’s about all that stands out as particularly positive about the challenges.
There’s no sense of theme to the enemies, and their placement is often less than ideal—the first Beak you meet should not be on top of the first ladder you find, nor should you hide Beaks behind the health bar. The Shotman guarding the entrance to the secret room (which is satisfyingly well hidden) is all well and good until you realize you’ll practically walk right into him on the way back out. Many enemies can be avoided or dispatched with no risk to the player whatsoever, like the useless Hot Dog near the halfway point. And I’m not sure it’s even possible to avoid damage while fighting the secret Hot Dog with the buster; that is a looooooong string of fireballs. The lack of gimmicks is a letdown, too. The level needs something to make it stand out, and the enemy challenges aren’t novel or complex enough to compensate.
The music is fine; I found it a bit abrasive at first and I’ve already forgotten what it actually sounds like, but it fills the noise void well enough. I didn’t find any technical issues; there was one screen transition at the top of a ladder that could’ve been a little smoother, but that’s a minor thing. Otherwise, there’s not much to say. This level needs a stronger theme and an actual MIDNIGHT MAN to live up to its name.
Coptar Man

Difficulty Rating: 4
Skippable: Yes (the graphics inconsistently and unreliably convey the actual level architecture)

Design - 3/35 (0, 0, 1, 0, 0, 1, 1, 0, 0)
Fun - 2/25 (1, 0, 0, 1)
Creativity - 3/15 (2, 1, 0)
Aesthetics - 3/15 (0, 2, 1)
Functionality - 1/10
TOTAL - 12/100

What an exquisite level. While other developers waste their time on such outdated concepts as “learning curve” and “solid floors,” you have masterfully eschewed every so-called “good” game design principle in favor of something truly revolutionary. Like the Pirate’s Code, any graphical representations of spikes or solid objects are more like guidelines, really; they’re a cue to the player that spikes and solid blocks are in the vicinity, but not necessarily exactly where they appear to be. This generates a sense of paranoia that, previously, only the likes of Stephen King or, say, Baby Groot holding a detonator have ever achieved.
Amplifying the paranoia is the constant surprise of new enemy types assailing the player when they are least prepared to take them on. A sudden Apache Joe while the player is being launched uncontrollably off the ground by a powerful fan? Genius. Nevermind crafting cohesive challenges or giving the player a chance to understand the nature of each obstacle; tossing handfuls of miscellaneous robots onto each screen is a sure-fire way to create difficulty without expending any effort in the process. Imagine how many more Mega Man games we could have had if Capcom had taken that approach.
I’m glad to finally see a level that recognizes graphics for the scourge they are. All those differently colored pixels everywhere take too much of the focus away from the gameplay. A solid-color background, a few pipe tiles, and a handful of different spikes are really all anyone needs—and honestly, I think you even could’ve gotten away with ditching the pipe tiles.
I wholeheartedly support the music choice. The high-pitched noises of Tornado Man’s theme have captured fans’ attention for years, and the decision to loop the music in an unconventional way is a clever tie-in to the level’s overall theme of never knowing what to expect. Truly, this captures the essence of a “Coptar.”
I was so inspired by your masterful work that I decided to take a page from your book and score your level with numbers that don’t necessarily match up with anything I’ve said here. Hopefully you enjoy that as much as I enjoyed your level.
X Factory

Difficulty Rating: 3
Skippable: No

Design - 32/35 (5, 5, 4, 5, 4, 5, 2, 1, 1)
Fun - 21/25 (8, 5, 4, 4)
Creativity - 12/15 (5, 4, 3)
Aesthetics - 12/15 (4, 4, 4)
Functionality - 10/10 (5, 5)
TOTAL - 87/100

Good, good, good. This is a level that reflects both an understanding of good game design principles and the skill to do them justice. Although this level doesn’t elicit the same “Whoa, cool” reaction that I’ve had to other levels in this contest, I respect the heck out of the craftsmanship here.
From start to finish, there is a clear learning curve and steady difficulty progression, introducing new elements in relatively safe environments and gradually combining them for more and more interesting and challenging scenarios. There’s a perfect balance of focus and variety, with each enemy and gimmick having a chance to shine without overstaying its welcome. Challenges require a combination of observation, planning, and straight-up platforming skill to overcome, giving the level a bit of a puzzle slant that I appreciate. It took me a few tries to reach the end, but every death was entirely my fault—a mark of truly fair difficulty.
Aesthetically, the level is a unique combination of colorful and serious, and the energetic music compliments the visuals well. Highly detailed graphics like these always run the risk of being distractingly detailed and clashing with the simpler 8-bit Mega Man sprites, but for the most part, everything meshes well. The enemy and obstacle selection and coloration go a long way in creating a cohesive look. A couple screens are right on the edge of looking too busy, though; I had some trouble distinguishing between foreground and background on the screen with a Springer in the top and bottom half, for instance. Also, the architecture in one or two places makes the challenge at hand appear a little confusing at first; for example, there’s one screen with four X platforms leading you across spikes to an exit on the right, but the bottom-left corner of the screen has an irrelevant cavern of spikes that appears to be part of the challenge somehow.
The autoscrolling section at the end is a nice culmination to the level, yet not quite as satisfying as it could be. It’s tricky to nail the pacing of an autoscrolling section, and this one errs just a smidge too much on the slow side for my taste. I suspect most players will find it fine, but I got antsy a few times while standing around idly for the next challenge to appear. It’s mostly the very end that’s a bit disappointing—it’s extremely easy to wipe out that whole row of B Bitters before they become a problem, which makes it that much more anticlimactic to discover the Energy Element sitting around unguarded on the next screen. Swapping out one of the B Bitters for a Crystal Joe might’ve been sufficient to spice up the final challenge (and as a side note, the Crystal Joes don’t entirely function like they do in MM5, but they serve the challenges just fine). Adding even a simple gimmick challenge to the Energy Element screen would have been enough to remove that feeling of “Oh, it’s over already.”
These are relatively minor issues, however. This is a thoroughly solid level with very deliberate and well-thought-out design decisions, and I would love to see more levels like this one.
Space Crusade

Difficulty Rating: 3
Skippable: No

Design - 23/35 (2, 3, 3, 2, 3, 5, 2, 2, 1)
Fun - 21/25 (8, 5, 5, 3)
Creativity - 12/15 (4, 4, 4)
Aesthetics - 15/15 (5, 5, 4)
Functionality - 10/10 (5, 5)
TOTAL – 80/100

This was fun! I'm a sucker for outer space, and the stage lives up to its name. Between the groovy music, the eye-catching blend of space-themed tilesets, the reskinned enemies, and the story element provided by the NPCs, everything works together to create the atmosphere of an exciting space crusade. I could tell that the stage was referencing...something...(I looked it up afterward; it's Warhammer 40K) but the whole experience is crafted in such a way that you don't need to get the reference to appreciate the stage.
I like variety in a stage, and this one has plenty of it—too much for its own good, in fact. On the plus side, most enemies and obstacles are used at least twice, in situations where they have at least a partial opportunity to shine. There's a lot of creativity in the challenges, and nothing feels completely wasted. I love the screen where you're sliding into time bombs with the cannon firing at you, and the screen where you've got to slide under spikes on a Splash platform...and the screen where you're sliding past those dreaded Up'n'Downs is surprisingly not awful, further demonstrating that you have the chops to turn the familiar into something pleasantly different. The boss is a clever synthesis of different bosses and minibosses, and a satisfying end to the stage.
On the minus side, the “sampler platter” approach means that none of these challenges have the chance to be fully developed, which is a right shame. Cutting a handful of foes and hazards would allow more room to explore the potential of the remaining ones, bringing more focus to the level without sacrificing the feeling of variety. In particular, the reskinned falling platforms add nothing to the stage; you’ve already got Shadow platforms and indestructible blocks that could serve the exact same purpose.
Unfortunately, many of the rooms are fairly cramped. This isn’t inherently problematic, as claustrophobia-inducing architecture can allow for some tricky challenges and can add to the character of a stage. In this case, however, some rooms feel tight because the entrance and exit aren’t ideally positioned—take the room before the checkpoint, for example, where all the action is jammed into the top left corner of the screen. Moreover, it’s not uncommon to have a few too many objects on the screen at once, or a complex challenge concentrated into a very small space.
The learning curve on these challenges is fast, but standing perfectly still at the entrance to a screen will usually give enough time to figure out what’s going on. The few exceptions are brutal, however. The introduction to the reskinned falling platforms seems specifically designed as a beginner’s trap, with only the most agile players making it out alive on their first try. The following screen with the reskinned Sniper Joes and Shadow platforms over spikes demands even faster reflexes, and the screen after that surprises you with Up’n’Downs in a place where they’re totally unexpected and impossible to dodge if you’re caught off guard. Part of the problem is making every screen a self-contained challenge; occasional use of camera scrolling would go a long way in giving the player and these challenges enough space to breathe.
Nonetheless, I enjoyed this level. The shortcomings aren’t deal-breakers for me, and almost all of the challenges are individually satisfying, even if there are ways to improve them and the level as a whole. I was promised a space crusade, and by the Emperor, I did not leave disappointed.
Gate 303

Difficulty Rating: 2
Skippable: No

Design - 14/35 (2, 1, 1, 1, 3, 3, 1, 1, 1)
Creativity - 4/15 (2, 2, 0)
Aesthetics - 9/15 (4, 4, 1)
Functionality - 10/10 (5, 5)
TOTAL - 46/100*

This could have been a fun romp through a robot-ridden airport, with our hero on a scavenger hunt for the keys that unlock Gate 303, where an airplane or aviation-themed boss lies waiting. Instead, it's a well-meaning collection of rookie mistakes.
The stage starts out well enough: pleasantly backgroundy music, unremarkably but competently used vanilla graphics, and a few simple challenges with a very gentle learning curve. I like the use of the Elec beams as a less punishing alternative to floor spikes (though it looks odd to have the beams overlap with the floor; either give them more space or hide them behind a higher-priority floor tile). Combining them with Guts platforms is a decent idea, and WAIT THAT'S A SOLID WALL NOT A BACKGROUND TILE OH THE ELECTRICITY IT HURTS.
Suddenly, the exceedingly gentle learning curve is gone. It's never demonstrated that Guts platforms can pass through solid walls, so it's an even worse shock (literally and figuratively) when you're dumped off. It's not long before you're thrown into a tricky timing challenge involving sliding, falling a fair distance, and dodging Sniper Joe bullets—none of which has been required previously in the stage—while also avoiding an Elec beam trap. And I should mention that the Elec beams across the stage are inconsistent about whether they fire constantly or are on some kind of timer.
One enemy after another is introduced in a way that assumes the player already knows how to handle these foes. Never seen a Shield Attacker? Too late; you got hit. What's a Pandeeta? It's that thing you almost fell on, which is now shooting you at unnecessarily close range. Worse yet, these enemies are never seen again. I can easily imagine an inexperienced player getting smacked around the entire stage, never truly understanding how to deal with all this pain. Fortunately, the stage is a wholly appropriate length, and checkpoint placement is good.
The last area before the bosses is simultaneously the best and worst part of the level. On the one hand, it's a neat idea to have the player clear out every last bad guy in a large room to collect enough keys to proceed. On the other hand...the whole room is a mess, with enemies all over the place and no real structure to the challenges. Not to mention that the key doors come AFTER you get all the keys (a recurring theme here), which kind of defeats the purpose of having key doors. Although it is easy enough to avoid the enemies and then need to backtrack to get the keys, but that also feels like a waste. Tease the player with a locked door, THEN let them look for the key.
At least there's a boss fight behind all those locked doors...except it's the same Plant Man fight we got in MM6. Devkit bosses are fine, but do SOMETHING to set them apart. Bringing in those Elec beams or Guts platforms might have been good. Cutting the second boss fight also would have been good; Gemini Man is pure padding, and the lack of a checkpoint at the start of his battle is a bit of an oversight. There's no thematic connection between Plant Man, Gemini Man, and the rest of the stage...though the stage doesn't really have much theming to begin with.

*When I received my applicant feedback from the hosts, it was brought to my attention that I missed an exploit where you can grind for infinite keys, so Design and/or Functionality should've been a point or two lower. What I learned from that oversight is to play these levels like a playtester, not just a critic.
Universe City V

Difficulty Rating: 3
Skippable: No

Design - 27/35 (3, 4, 3, 5, 3, 4, 2, 2, 1)
Fun - 19/25 (7, 4, 5, 3)
Creativity - 14/15 (5, 4, 5)
Aesthetics - 13/15 (4, 4, 5)
Functionality - 9/10 (4, 5)
TOTAL - 82/100

It took me a while to warm up to this one, but once I did, it brought a smile to my face. Initially, I was a little bored with the stage. Lots of empty space, music that’s nice but far too sleepy for a Mega Man stage, and pretty basic challenges (except the one with the fork blocks, which is good but too exacting to be an introduction to the gimmick). Then there’s a joke boss (which gave me a chuckle) and the stage is over. OK, fine. Except...it’s not over. It’s only just begun.
I love that the first part of the stage simultaneously sets player expectations for one type of stage while subtly exposing the player to the normal enemies and gimmicks they’ll face once the main gimmick kicks in. When the music ramps up and you start seeing Volt Men everywhere, there’s this wonderful revelation that you’ve been fooled, and the stage can jump right into more complex challenges because all the basic elements have already been introduced. But I think the intro section could have been tighter and more efficient while accomplishing the same goal, leaving me saying “Oh, that was really clever” instead of “Oh, so that’s why the first part was kinda dull.”
The Volt Men challenges are totally worth it, though. I’m a big fan of seeing Robot Masters repurposed as stage enemies, and you got some terrific mileage out of this one—both in terms of gameplay and the fact that the “Volt Man is overused” joke could inspire an entire stage. The challenges are interesting, varied, and continually humorous, and the many flavors of Volt Man mix well with the other enemies and gimmicks in use. I might’ve liked some sort of subtle visual distinction between the different Volt Man types, or at least a shorter timer before the shield-launching ones decide to attack; I frequently sustained damage after (incorrectly) determining that the Volt Man in front of me was just going to hold his shield forever. A little caution is fine, but the stage requires a bit too much idle waiting if you truly want to play it safe.
The challenge progression is solid, with a smart blend of timing and speed as the core focus. Probably my favorite part is the screen where you’re riding Spark platforms past fork blocks while a Volt Man keeps shooting at you. Great stuff. That being said, a few spots could benefit from a bit of finessing; for example, I was a smidge disappointed by how easy it was to use Super Arrow to bypass every challenge in that long hallway toward the end.
I was thrilled to find that Sakugarne can bounce off the boss projectiles, and I laughed at the unexpected deterrent to using Slash Claw on the stationary, shielded Volt Men. The boss fight is a superb culmination to the stage, offering another good chuckle as well as a challenge that’s well in line with everything preceding it. I experienced a little wonkiness during the boss fight when using Flash Stopper, but otherwise the programming seemed pretty solid.
This is a stage that could be improved in places, but it doesn’t need to be. A fun premise coupled with good design instincts makes for a charming addition to the contest, and I’m very happy to have played this.
Magnum Man

Difficulty Rating: 3
Skippable: No

Design - 24/35 (4, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 2, 2, 1)
Fun - 17/25 (6, 4, 5, 2)
Creativity - 14/15 (5, 5, 4)
Aesthetics - 12/15 (4, 5, 3)
Functionality - 7/10 (3, 4)
TOTAL - 74/100

The Good: Custom assets that look professional, evocative music that fits the level well, several fun and clever challenges, generally smooth learning curve
The Bad: Inconsistent theming, lots of clutter, too many enemy types
The Ugly: Problematic level layout, some spikes aren’t even spikes, a deadly and easy-to-trigger glitch
From the very first screen, this looks and sounds like it could be an official Capcom level. I’m a sucker for Westerns, too, so this level started off at an advantage—which gradually slipped away as more and more problems became apparent.
At first glance, everything seems totally fine. All the custom enemies, gimmicks, and tiles look and feel perfectly at home in a Mega Man game, and they work together with the music to develop a strong sense of theme. New types of challenges are introduced fairly, with only a few mild exceptions (eg, the exploding bullet enemies are a bit of a surprise). The oversized revolvers and springboard platforms are really creative and used extremely well, and there’s a satisfying boss fight at the end. Level length feels a mite long but within acceptable parameters, and the frequency of checkpoints and power-ups is just right. If we left it at that, this would be a dynamite level.
Upon closer inspection, however, there’s a disappointing lack of focus in the enemy and gimmick selection. When I remember the Alamo, I certainly don’t remember Electric Gabyoalls. Tanks in the desert I can understand, but tanks in Tombstone? When did John Wayne ever ride into the sunset on a Tondeall? For a few dollars more, would Clint Eastwood have agreed to a shootout on bouncy platforms? This is Mega Man we’re talking about, and tradition dictates that it’s OK to include a few elements that don’t strictly fit the level theme, but Magnum Man takes it a little too far. Not only are these miscellaneous elements disruptive of the otherwise fantastic atmosphere created by the themed assets, but they clutter the enemy roster to the point where several enemies only appear once—or twice, if they don’t scroll themselves off the screen before you get to them.
This overabundance of different enemy types also contributes to a sense of clutter, which is amplified by the busy backgrounds. The graphics look very nice, yes, but there’s so much variety and fine detail that they tend to draw the focus away from the gameplay. There’s not quite enough of a gap between challenges to give the player a chance to properly appreciate the set pieces. The architecture is occasionally a contributing factor in that cluttered feel; for example, one screen toward the beginning has two random spikes underneath an oversized revolver for some reason (wouldn’t a regular wall have been enough of a deterrent to go that way?), and one screen toward the end has a gunman buried inside a wall above the screen entrance, which is pointless when the height advantage is already a deterrent to using any weapon that can’t pass through a wall.
I also got extremely confused about the level layout upon reaching the second Noble Nickel, which is sitting out in the open like it’s a perfunctory health refill. Special items like this are meant to be a reward for accomplishing something out of the ordinary, so I could only conclude that I had accidentally found a secret exit to the previous screen...but then I couldn’t backtrack out of the room, and the only way to progress was to walk through pillars that looked solid. This dropped me awkwardly into the middle of a scrolling section, but there was no indication whether I should go right or left. I arbitrarily went left (which is good, because right takes you to a pointless dead end), but it felt the whole time like I was backtracking through challenges I had inadvertently bypassed by choosing the path that led to the Nickel. As it turns out, the level is completely linear—and it’s a horrible feeling to be lost in a linear level.
That really soured the whole level for me, which is a shame, because there are so many parts that I adore. Individually, the majority of these challenges are well designed and highly memorable. Riding oversized bullets from place to place is a hoot, and combining that with sliding challenges is AWESOME. Likewise, bouncy gunfights (despite making no sense in the context of the level) are satisfyingly tricky, particularly when the gunmen’s bullets track you, and I approve of how the spike challenges take advantage of that momentarily delay between landing on the springboard and being launched into the air. All the Noble Nickels (save for the aforementioned second one) are exactly the right amount of difficult to obtain. The battle against Magnum Man is solid, and it’s neat to see him use a couple of the attacks you’ve been practicing against throughout the level. And like I said, this has the production values of a Capcom level.
Except...Capcom probably wouldn’t have left an entire floor of spikes as background decoration instead of actual spikes that cause you to explode on contact. And I suspect they would have playtested those springboard platforms more thoroughly—firing Super Arrow and especially Wheel Cutter at an extended platform leads to some interesting visual oddities, and it’s all too easy to get Mega Man stuck inside one...and then speedily shunted to the opposite end of the screen, where he explodes.
Other issues with the level may include the following: A few late-game challenges are decidedly easier than their earlier counterparts (eg, going from an unavoidably bouncy gunfight to a gunfight on the ground with a nearby springboard if you feel like using it). The background sometimes utilizes black rectangles (like on the checkpoint screen next to the boss chamber), which look less like holes or windows and more like...black rectangles. The fight with Magnum Man is aesthetically problematic; for one thing, his boss chamber is technically underground and shouldn’t have that desertscape in the background, and for another, his generic looks don’t help the inconsistent theming. Also, Flash Stopper freezes Magnum Man’s projectiles but not the boss himself, and Electric Gabyoalls don’t freeze when hit by a charge shot like they do in MM6, but those oddities may well be intentional. However, I will say that Magnum Man’s animations, especially the gun twirling, are pretty sweet.
There are the makings of a truly great level here, but the biggest shortcomings seriously belie the professionalism this level projects.
<![CDATA[Voluntary Annihilation]]>Fri, 07 Dec 2018 17:48:12 GMThttps://nathanielhoover.weebly.com/blog/voluntary-annihilationThe third Make a Good Mega Man Level Contest is closed, and the grand total of level entries is...185.​ For comparison, that's twice the size of the last contest plus the size of the first contest. Or, to put it another way, that's more levels than there are in Mega Man 1-11 combined.

We judges are gonna die.

I asked for this, though. I saw how popular this contest was and knew what I was getting into. I'm a writer, a game critic, a game developer, a diehard Mega Man fan, an experienced player, and an authority on both the official and unofficial games; this is exactly the kind of thing I do for fun.

Beyond my personal enjoyment and satisfaction, this is a chance to do some good for the community. No doubt there are several aspiring game developers who have submitted to the contest—and speaking from experience, it's important for them to receive feedback that's comprehensive, fair, and encouraging. I intend to keep that in mind as I write my judge reviews. I'm already projected to be the "nice judge," but I can be just as critical and nitpicky as anyone. The key is remembering that this contest is for fun, and that there's a real person with real feelings and a desire to succeed on the receiving end of my criticism.

As the development team readies the first batch of levels to be judged, I'm bracing myself for a long winter of nonstop Mega Man...and really, that's no different from any other winter. For the last decade, most of my major side projects have centered around this franchise; I'm accustomed to the Blue Bomber being a daily part of my life. There was a span of several years where I was blogging every other day, contributing occasional articles to GameFAQs and GameCola, and keeping up with a personal journal; I can handle writing 185 short reviews in a couple months.

I have a colossal task ahead of me, to be sure, but I'm not intimidated by it. I'm looking foward to it. If I can find the right balance between judging and everything else I want and need to do, the next few months should be very rewarding indeed.]]>