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The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask: Why I Let Termina Go Squish

I don't finish a lot of the games I buy, and I can't even say that I've played every single Zelda game. ("Release the hounds.") I can say that I've finished every Zelda game I've ever owned--with the exception of one.

I'll wait until you get the inevitable CD-i jokes out of your system.

Okay. The one Zelda title I've never finished is Majora's Mask for the N64. I let the apocalyptic alter-world of Termina die under the weight of a nightmarish moon because playing through the game made me feel like I was rolling Sisyphus' rock while watching Groundhog Day. It was an emotionally taxing experience and I didn't even get to laugh at Billy Murray driving over a cliff with a large burrowing mammal in his lap.

I suck for not finishing Majora's Mask, I know. It's arguably the most original of the 3D Zeldas, which is an interesting thing to say about a game that purposefully reuses the battle system and character models from Ocarina of Time. The difference is the care Majora's Mask takes with its recycling program. Nintendo could have gotten away with saying, "Oops, Link has to go back to Hyrule!" and we would have been happy enough to explore Ocarina of Time's characters and locales over again. Instead, the residents of the vaguely dreamlike world of Termina adopt new names, new problems and new personalities--changing them considerably from the carefree NPCs we were already familiar with.

Instead of feeling cheap, it's actually very unsettling. Nameless NPCs from Ocarina of Time, like the empty-headed woman in Kakariko who lost her chickens, suddenly inherit emotions and even take on extensive backstories.

about the blogger

John Constantine, our superhero, was raised by birds and then attended Penn State University. He is currently working on a novel about a fictional city that exists only in his mind. John has an astonishingly extensive knowledge of Scientology. Ultimately he would like to learn how to effectively use his brain. He continues to keep Wu-Tang's secret to himself.

Derrick Sanskrit is a self-professed geek in a variety of fields including typography, graphic design, comic books, music and cartoons. As a professional hipster graphic designer, his recent clients have included Nerve, Pitchfork and MoCCA, among others.

Amber Ahlborn - artist, writer, gamer and DigiPen survivor, she maintains a day job as a graphic artist. By night Amber moonlights as a professional Metroid Fanatic and keeps a metal suit in the closet just in case. Has lived in the state of Washington and insists that it really doesn't rain as much as everyone says it does.

Nadia Oxford is a housekeeping robot who was refurbished into a warrior when the world's need for justice was great. Now that the galaxy is at peace (give or take a conflict here or there), she works as a freelance writer for various sites and magazines. Based in Toronto, Nadia prizes the certificate from the Ministry of Health declaring her tick and rabies-free.

Bob Mackey is a grad student, writer, and cyborg, who uses the powerful girl-repelling nanomachines mad science grafted onto his body to allocate time towards interests of the nerd persuasion. He believes that complaining about things on the Internet is akin to the fine art of wine tasting, but with more spitting into buckets.

Joe Keiser has a programming degree from Johns Hopkins University, a tiny apartment in Brooklyn, and a fake toy guitar built in the hollowed-out shell of a real guitar. He writes about games and technology for a variety of outlets. One day he will stop doing this. The day after that, police will find his body under a collapsed pile of (formerly neatly alphabetized) collector's edition tchotchkes.

Cole Stryker is an American freelance writer living in York, England, where he resides with his archeologist wife. He writes for a travel company by day and argues about pop culture on the internet by night. Find him writing regularly here and here.

Peter Smith is like the lead character of Irwin Shaw's The 80-Yard Run, except less athletic. He considers himself very lucky to have this job. But it's a little premature to take "jack-off of all trades" off his resume. Besides writing, travelling, and painting houses, Pete plays guitar in a rock trio called The Aye-Ayes. He calls them a 'power pop' band, but they generally sound more like Motorhead on a drinking binge.