Nintendo Started it All!

 

The NES Games That Raised Me (And How Technos Japan Basically Built My Childhood)

There are “favorite games”… and then there are the games that form your DNA.

For me, the Nintendo Entertainment System wasn’t just a console — it was a rite of passage. It was sleepovers. Cartridge blowing rituals. Controllers stretched across the living room. Figuring things out with no internet, no walkthroughs, no safety net.

And if we’re being honest?

Technos Japan basically built my video game childhood.

Let’s get into it.

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🐉 Double Dragon (NES)

This was my first exposure to video games.

I was at my sister’s friend’s apartment. Her younger brother was playing it. I watched for maybe 30 seconds before I was completely hooked.

A gang kidnaps your girlfriend.
You fight your way through the entire city to get her back.

Simple.
Perfect.
Honestly? A love story.

This game didn’t just introduce me to gaming — it made the side-scrolling beat ’em up my favorite genre for life. The pacing. The music. The co-op. The final twist.

Core memory forever.

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🏐 Super Dodge Ball (NES)

An absolute icon that never gets the recognition it deserves.

The soundtrack? Elite.
The super moves? Ridiculous.
The personality? Off the charts.

Technos Japan understood something most developers miss:

Make it fun first.

This game needs a modern remake yesterday.

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🏐 Super Spike V’Ball (NES)

Same energy. Same magic.

Fantastic gameplay.
Addictive tournament mode.
Over-the-top spikes.

And let’s talk about it — Billy & Jimmy from Double Dragon are playable.

Technos built a shared universe before that was even a thing.

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⚽ Nintendo World Cup (NES)

One of the very few soccer games I’ve ever truly enjoyed.

Why?

Because Technos Japan just gets it.

Super shots.
Catchy soundtrack.
Arcade chaos.

It wasn’t trying to simulate soccer.
It was trying to make soccer fun.

Mission accomplished.

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🥊 River City Ransom (NES)

If Double Dragon laid the foundation…

River City Ransom built a mansion on it.

Shop system.
Character upgrades.
Enemies dropping money.
Special move books.
Open-ended progression.

It felt alive. It rewarded grinding. It respected your time.

For fans of the genre like me, this was everything.

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🍄 Super Mario Bros. 3 (NES)

The gold standard.

World map.
Power-ups.
Level design.
Music.

If platformers have a Mount Rushmore, this is the entire mountain.

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🕵️ Dick Tracy (NES)

A true sleeper.

You had to track suspects. Collect clues. Make deductions. Pay attention.

I was doing more complex problem solving in this game than I was in school at the time.

Not many people talk about it.

They should.

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🥊 Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out!! (NES)

Little Mac is a legend.

And Mike Tyson?

Still one of the hardest boss fights in all of gaming history.

You didn’t button mash.
You studied.
You adapted.
You executed.

Patterns and precision.

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🔫 Contra (NES)

If you beat this without using The Konami Code…

I owe you a steak dinner.

But I need video proof.

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🤖 Mega Man 3 (NES)

My favorite entry in the series.

Top-tier soundtrack.
Tight pacing.
Iconic Robot Masters.

And Shadow Man? Coolest enemy in the franchise.

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⚾ Bases Loaded 3 (NES)

The game that made me fall in love with baseball video games.

First time I played it, I was at my Aunt Lauri’s house with my older cousin Nathan. He was destroying me with one particular pitcher.

I said, “That pitcher is pretty good.”

He said, “Actually the pitcher isn’t very good. I just know how to use him.”

That stuck with me for life.

If you highlight strengths and hide weaknesses, anyone can be viable.

In a video game.
In sports.
In life.

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The Legends (Rapid Fire Edition)

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🧩 Tetris (NES)

Proof that simplicity wins.
Pure gameplay.
Timeless tension.

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🚀 Life Force (NES)

Incredible soundtrack.
Co-op chaos.
Konami firing on all cylinders.

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🎈 Balloon Fight (NES)

Deceptively difficult.
Balloon Trip mode is pure zen.

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🐢 TMNT III: The Manhattan Project (NES)

Peak Ninja Turtles on NES.
Tight combat.
Even better co-op memories.

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🌟 Kirby’s Adventure (NES)

Copy abilities changed everything.

Colorful.
Creative.
Way ahead of its time.

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Ninja Gaiden II (NES)

Cinematic storytelling.
Brutal difficulty.
Elite soundtrack.

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🧬 Metroid (NES)

Isolation.
Exploration.
Atmosphere.

No hand-holding. Just discovery.

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🗡️ The Legend of Zelda (NES)

No tutorials.
No map markers.
Just exploration.

You had to figure it out.

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🧛 Castlevania III (NES)

Branching paths.
Multiple characters.
Legendary music.

Ambitious doesn’t even begin to describe it.

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🐉 Double Dragon II (NES)

Sharper combat.
Better flow.
Technos perfecting their formula.

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🦇 Batman (NES)

One of the best soundtracks on the console.

The wall jump mechanic alone makes it legendary.

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🐢 TMNT II: The Arcade Game (NES)

Arcade energy brought home.

Pure co-op chaos.

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 Bubble Bobble (NES)

Secret endings.
Addictive gameplay.
Endless replay value.

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💊 Dr. Mario (NES)

Competitive puzzle perfection.

That music still hits.

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🏁 R.C. Pro-Am (NES)

Upgrades.
Weapons.
Addictive progression.

Rare didn’t miss.

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🏎️ Super Off Road (NES)

Upgrades mattered.
Skill mattered.
Trash talk absolutely mattered.

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🏒 Blades of Steel (NES)

If you heard the intro once, you never forgot it.

And yes — fighting in a hockey game was elite innovation.

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Kid Icarus (NES)

Weird.
Tough.
Totally unique.

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👊 Kung Fu (NES)

One of the originals.

Walk right.
Punch everything.

Blueprint status.

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🐰 Tiny Toon Adventures (NES)

Way better than it had any right to be.

Konami quality.

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⚾ Baseball Stars (NES)

Create-a-team mode was revolutionary.

Build a squad.
Manage money.
Create a dynasty.

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🏒 Ice Hockey (NES)

Skinny.
Medium.
Big.

That’s the strategy.

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🦆 Duck Hunt (NES)

That laugh.

You remember it.

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🏍️ Excitebike (NES)

Track editor.
On the NES.

Let that sink in.

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🤖 Bionic Commando (NES)

No jump button.

Grappling hook traversal.

Different in the best way.

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🌴 StarTropics (NES)

That letter-in-water puzzle?

Legendary.

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🧙 Final Fantasy (NES)

Turn-based strategy.
Class selection.
Epic scale on 8-bit hardware.

An empire started here.

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Final Thoughts

These games stood the test of time because they were built on one thing:

Gameplay first.

No updates.
No patches.
No microtransactions.

Just mechanics.
Music.
Challenge.
Heart.

Technos Japan didn’t just make games.

They helped build my childhood.

And if you grew up on the NES?

You already know.

Thanks for coming along on this video game journey with me folks!

See you next week!

Surprises?!

 

Surprises are unpredictable.

That’s the polite way to say they can either make your week… or make you question your loyalty to existence.

Because here’s the thing about surprises: you don’t get a warning label. You don’t get a calendar invite. You just wake up one day and life decides whether it’s feeling generous or chaotic.

Sometimes a surprise is a random refund hitting your account from a class action lawsuit that you forgot you signed up for a year ago.

Sometimes a surprise is seeing someone you haven’t seen in a long time.

Sometimes it's getting an extra free snack from the vending machine.

Sometimes it’s your favorite product vanishing off the shelf with no explanation, no goodbye, no candlelight vigil.

And yes.

We’re talking about Aldi again.

Specifically, the Honey Sesame Salmon bowls from their Whole & Simple line.

Let me set the stage.

About six months ago, I discovered what I can only describe as the frozen meal equivalent of balance. Salmon that didn’t taste like freezer-burn sadness. A honey sesame glaze that walked the tightrope between sweet and savory like a culinary gymnast. Vegetables that still had texture. Rice that wasn’t clumped together like it had given up on life.

It was reliable. It was convenient. It was the kind of meal that makes you feel like you’re making decent adult decisions without actually cooking.

And then one day… it was gone.

No warning.

No “limited time only” sticker.

Just an empty space in the freezer section where happiness used to live.

That’s a bad surprise.

Bad surprises create trust issues. You start side-eyeing other products like, “Are you stable? Are you committed? Or are you also planning to disappear when I get attached?”

For six months, every trip to Aldi became a ritual.

Walk to the freezer aisle.
Open the door.
Scan the shelf.
Brief flicker of hope.
Close the door.
Pretend I’m fine.

I was not fine.

Because there’s something uniquely cruel about Aldi’s product rotation system. When you love something there, you’re essentially entering into a short-term lease agreement. You enjoy it while it’s around, but deep down you know it could vanish at any moment.

And then.

Out of nowhere.

Good surprise.

I’m casually walking through Aldi, emotionally detached, expectations low, just going to grab a gallon of milk and be on my way.

But out of habit, I swung by the frozen section. Just to check.

Just to see if they would finally come back to me.

And to my utter disbelief… there they were.

Honey Sesame Salmon bowls.

Back.

Just sitting there like they never left. No apology. No explanation. Just… present.

Now let’s talk about positive surprises after prolonged suffering.

They hit different.

They feel earned.

They feel personal.

I did not hesitate.

I did not overthink.

I bought twenty boxes.

Yes. Twenty.

You might call that excessive.

I call that strategic risk management.

I had to play Tetris with my freezer just to make sure they would all fit.

Good thing I’ve been playing Tetris for over 30 years now.

If I had a chest freezer, I would have cleared the Aldi shelves of every single box.

Because when you’ve waited over half a year for something to return, you don’t play games. You secure inventory. You protect your peace. You plan for the next six months like a responsible adult who has been emotionally burned before.

This is the dual nature of surprises.

Bad surprises teach you caution.
Good surprises restore hope.
And the rare surprise that brings back something you genuinely missed? That one makes you act with conviction.

Life is full of unexpected turns. Some are inconvenient. Some are incredible. But every once in a while, Aldi’s supply chain department throws you a bone.

And when it does?

You load the cart.

You fill the freezer.

You reclaim your stability.

Because sometimes a restock isn’t just a restock.
It’s closure.
It’s redemption.
It’s the emotional equivalent of your favorite show getting renewed for another season.

And let’s be honest — frozen meals are not all created equal. There are tiers to this. There are levels. And these bowls sit comfortably at the “I will rearrange my appliance layout for you” level.

So yes, surprises can be both good and bad.

But right now, thanks to Aldi once again carrying their Whole & Simple Honey Sesame Salmon bowls, I am living in the good surprise era.

And if history has taught me anything, it’s this:

Never underestimate the power of a restock.

And never assume I won’t buy 20 boxes again.

Aldi, this is my plea to you…

PLEASE KEEP THE HONEY SESAME SALMON BOWLS IN STOCK ALL YEAR ROUND.

Let us build consistency.
Let us build trust.
Let us build freezers full of honey sesame stability.

That felt good.

If you have an Aldi near you, and you like Salmon, please give these bowls a try before they're gone.

Because once they are........you won't see them again for a very, very long time.

Thanks for reading folks, until next week!

First Impressions!

There’s a very specific social experience I have that repeats itself with the consistency of a software bug no one has patched yet:

I meet someone for the first time.
They look at me like I just told them their dog failed a math test.

And I haven’t said. A. Word.

Apparently, when I’m quiet, reserved, and processing my surroundings like a normal human being, my face broadcasts:

“This man is furious, judgmental, and possibly drafting a formal complaint in his head.”

I am not.

Well, most of the time, I am not.

I am, in fact, running the mental equivalent of Windows Safe Mode.

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The First Impression Problem

When I meet new people, I don’t immediately turn into the witty, sarcastic, animated version of myself that my friends know.

I go into Observer Mode™.

I’m scanning the room.
I’m figuring out personalities.
I’m deciding if this is a “you can be weird here” environment or a “nod politely and survive” environment.

But from the outside?

I look like I’m calculating who to eliminate first if things go south.

People think:

• I’m angry

• I’m annoyed

• I don’t want to be there

• I’m judging them

• I’m plotting

In reality, my brain is just going:

“Okay… who here seems normal… who here laughs too loud… who here is going to make this awkward… got it.”

This is not hostility.
This is social buffering.

I must admit, a lot of that is by design.

It's definitely a defense mechanism.

I need to know that I can fully be myself, BEFORE fully being myself.

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The Moment People Realize They Misread Me

There is always a turning point.

Sometimes it's as soon as 20–40 minutes in.

Other times it can take a few days, or even weeks.

Someone says something slightly unhinged, or sarcastic, or weird enough that my brain goes:

“Ah. We can be ourselves here.”

And suddenly the personality switch flips like someone just turned on the lights in a haunted house.

I start talking more.
I start joking.
The sarcasm comes out.
The commentary starts rolling.

And you can see it happen on their face:

“Oh.
Ohhhhh.
This guy is actually… fun?”

Yes.
I always was.

You just caught me during the tutorial level.

Most of my coworkers are still on that same level.

They don't even know that I speak, let alone that I actually......have friends at work?!

GASP!!!

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The Reputation That Follows Me

What’s funny is when I meet people later who say:

“I thought you hated me when we first met.”

Sir.

Ma'am.

I did not know you existed 45 minutes prior.

I was just running diagnostics.

I promise I don’t have the emotional energy to hate strangers on sight. That’s a premium feature reserved for people who chew loudly.

Although, if I find you that you like pickles BEFORE I get to know you......all bets are off.

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Why This Happens (My Completely Unscientific Theory)

I think some people start social interactions from a place of performance.

They arrive already “on.”

I do not.

I arrive in standby mode.

I don’t perform for new people. I warm up to them.

So while other people are saying:

“Hi! I’m super friendly and outgoing!”

I’m saying (internally):

“Let’s see if this is a situation where that’s worth doing.”

It’s not coldness.
It’s energy conservation.

I don’t invest personality until I know the return is safe.

Sometimes I also don't feel like I have anything meaningful to contribute to the current group conversation.

I'll end up telling myself that if I don't have anything funny, witty, sarcastic, or meaningful (to me) to the current conversation at the moment, then I'll just stay silent, keep observing and listening, and wait for an opening.

It's a pressure that I put on myself pretty much at all times around strangers.

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The Version of Me People Eventually Meet

Once I’m comfortable?

The complete opposite of the first impression.

• I talk!

• I joke!

• I'll figure out your sense of humor, and then you're done for!

• I'll turn minor observations into full bit segments!

And people go:

“This is not the guy I met earlier.”

Correct. THAT guy was running in low-power mode so THIS guy could exist later.

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The Misunderstanding I’ve Made Peace With

At this point, I don’t even try to fix it.

If someone meets me and thinks I’m angry or cold?

That’s fine.

Because the people who stick around long enough to realize they were wrong are the ones I was going to get along with anyway.

It’s almost like an accidental personality filter.

If you can survive 30 minutes of me being quiet without assuming I’m plotting your downfall, we’re probably going to be friends.

Unless you like pickles, then it's on a case-by-case basis.

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Final Thought

I’m not unfriendly.
I’m not mad.
I’m not judging you.

I’m just waiting to make sure this is a room where I can safely be the unhinged, sarcastic, overly-analytical version of myself without scaring everyone.

Give me a little time.

I promise the personality loads in!

As always, thanks for taking the time to read this, I hope you enjoyed it, and we'll do it again next week!

Overthinking Things From My Childhood, Vol. 1

There’s a very specific adult experience where you revisit something you loved as a kid and your brain quietly whispers:

“Hey… this falls apart if you think about it for more than eight seconds.”

So naturally, we’re going to think about it for several minutes!

Welcome to a new series that I'll be revisiting at any given time, Overthinking Things From My Childhood!

The Mighty Ducks Logic Hole

I loved The Mighty Ducks movies as a kid. I still do today!

However, something has always bothered me about one of the main characters, Charlie Conway.

1) The Memory

Charlie Conway is the emotional engine of the Ducks. He’s clutch, he’s passionate, he’s the kid who takes the final shot and wins the whole thing. In childhood memory, he’s basically a hockey prodigy with leadership stats maxed out. He was the heart and soul of the team!

2) The Rewatch

Then you rewatch the trilogy and notice a strange progression. In the first movie, Charlie wins on a shootout that feels more lucky than skilled. In the second, he literally gives up his roster spot so newcomer Russ Tyler can stay on the team (Knucklepuck!!). By the third, the movie treats him like he’s the second-best player on the team behind Adam Banks. No montage. No glow-up. No evidence.

3) The Logical Problem

We are shown ZERO improvement. None. If anything, the on-screen evidence suggests regression. Yet the script promotes him like he’s been grinding offseason camps we never saw.

4) The Adult Explanation

The story needed Charlie to be better, so he was. This is the cinematic equivalent of leveling up off-screen because the sequel required it.

5) The Funny Conclusion

Charlie Conway might be the greatest off-screen athlete in movie history. His training arc happened entirely in our imagination. As a kid, I always questioned it but never really thought about it!

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The Discontinued Snacks Mystery

1) The Memory

That snack was elite. S-tier. Everyone loved it. You can still taste it if you close your eyes. It should still be on store shelves TO THIS DAY.

2) The Adult Realization

If everyone loved it… why is it gone? Shouldn’t this be the easiest comeback in retail history? I can't be the only one who wants this, right?!

3) The Logical Problem

Bringing it back feels like free money. Slap “retro” on the label and watch people panic-buy it. So if that's the case, why don't any of these products come back?!

4) The Adult Explanation

Shelf space is war. Production lines are expensive. Nostalgia is loud on the internet but quiet at the register. The numbers didn’t love it the way we think they did. It's a hard pill to swallow, but unfortunately, it's most likely true.

5) The Funny Conclusion

We remember discontinued snacks like they were platinum albums. In reality, they charted for one week and disappeared.

This, of course, doesn't apply to Keebler Munch ‘Ems (the original version, not the baked ones), the ORIGINAL Dunkaroos (not the imposters that have resurfaced), PB Crisps, Pizzaria’s Chips, Choco Tacos, Sobe drinks, Fruitopia, Pepsi Blue, and a few other absolute GEMS that definitely need to come back!

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Why Video Games Felt Harder (and Better)

1) The Memory

Games used to be brutally hard. You died constantly and accepted it as part of life. Contra for the NES only gave you THREE LIVES. THREE. You wanted to save your progress? You had to keep the game on pause, leave the system on, and hope nobody bumped the system or tripped over the wires.

2) The Replay

No tutorials. No checkpoints. No hints. You either figured it out or stared at a Game Over screen like it owed you money. You got calluses on your thumbs from the hard plastic D-pads on the NES, SNES, and Sega Genesis controllers. They were a badge of honor!

3) The Logical Problem

Why did we enjoy that? Why wasn’t this considered emotional damage? Why did I keep going back to a game that just laughed at me while I struggled to get past the FIRST LEVEL sometimes?!

4) The Adult Explanation

Many of these games were designed to eat quarters or extend playtime. Difficulty wasn’t a bug. It was the business model. And mastery felt incredible because it was earned the hard way. No internet back then either. If you were lucky, the latest issue of Nintendo Power MIGHT have had a cheat code or at least a hint to help you out.

5) The Funny Conclusion

Old games weren’t harder. They were just less polite and far less interested in your feelings. I can go back to those games now and breeze right through them! I mean sure, a lifetime of experience helps, but still!

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The Tennis Ball Color War

1) The Memory

Tennis balls are green. Not “kinda green.” Green. This was never debated on playgrounds, in gyms, or in life. To be honest, I didn't even think this was anything to be debated, but here we are!

2) The Revisit

Then adulthood hits you with the phrase optic yellow. Packaging says yellow. Officials say yellow. Broadcasters say yellow with confidence that feels mildly insulting. That’s because it’s green.

3) The Logical Problem

If it’s yellow, why does literally everyone see green? Are we all colorblind? Is this a shared hallucination? Did I miss the part where green became yellow?

4) The Adult Explanation

Court colors, lighting, TV saturation, and human perception team up to gaslight an entire population. Your brain interprets contrast, not truth. With that being said, it’s still green, and it always will be.

5) The Funny Conclusion

This may be the dumbest argument that has survived for decades. And neither side will ever surrender. I'm also making up for lost time on this one, so I'm all for it!

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Closing Thought

As kids, we experienced things emotionally.
As adults, we revisit them logically.

And sometimes, logic doesn’t ruin the memory — it just makes it way funnier.

Welcome to Overthinking Things From My Childhood, Volume 1.

Thanks for reading. Until next time!