While cleaning my bathroom floor one recent Sunday afternoon, I was mildly shocked to discover that my toilet-reading material consists almost exclusively of back issues of Nintendo Power, a magazine that is designed to appeal to the sensibilities of A. readers between the ages of six and 12 and B. potato-headed morons. Once or twice a year, I’ll go to the newsstand and purchase the latest issues of publications that society would deem more suitable for a man of my age and stature. I’ll buy a copy of Wired, Architectural Digest, The Atlantic, maybe a Maclean’s Weekly. It never works. Two or three mornings later, I’m back to reading–or, in some cases, re-reading–six-page, photo-heavy previews of Kirby’s Return to Dream Land (issue 271) and insider-y deconstructions of Mario in the “Star Power” section (issue 274) where I learned that Mario wears a hat only because programmers could not properly render human hair in pixels.

A single juicy fact like that can really make my morning, if you catch my drift.

To its credit, Nintendo Power does occasionally feature bits of mature humor or references to older games that no doubt sail clear of the heads of younger readers and/or potato heads. For example, a recent out-of-the-blue reference to “the Konami Code”–Up, Up, Down Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A–provided me with another productive morning.

But sometimes, it’s too much, even for me. The full-page ocarina ad? It always makes me wince. (The “Sweet Potato Ocarina” can be purchased for $44.95, plus shipping and handling.) And those photos at the very back of the magazine of people who’ve spent months building a matchstick version of Bowser’s castle or sewn their own wearable tanooki suits always seem more like cries for help than the grand personal achievements the magazine would have me believe they are.

I sometimes tell myself that I read Nintendo Power because I am doing research. I tell myself that I read Nintendo Power because it is my job to do so. But those things are not true. I read Nintendo Power because there is no finer, more consistent publication in all the land when it comes to providing me with approximately five to seven minutes of bright, colorful page-turning distraction.

Bravo, Nintendo Power. Brah-vo.

And now, stage 7-1. Welcome to the very first of the ICEBERG stages, folks. AIRPLANE introduced us to wind. Thank you for that, AIRPLANE. (Also: R.I.P., AIRPLANE.) Today we are introduced to an entirely new natural element: the ice block. Ice blocks, from what I have gathered about them thus far from preliminary investigations, basically obstruct your way until they are melted by their opposing element: fire. Today’s stage opens with Mario basically sealed inside an ice-block tomb at the start of the level. No, this isn’t the end of Mario, not by a longshot. Notice the bipedal flame with eyes padding around nearby? Soon his path will take him over the ice blocks that are sealing in Mario, and when he touches them–ssssst–they melt beneath his feet, one by one.

There are two bipedal flames roaming this stage, both of which are located in the top left quadrant. (The first flame mysteriously vanishes once he’s performed his duty of unsealing Mario from the tomb.) Take the elevator on the right to the top of the level. See the switch up there? Give it a pull. That retracts a shutter in the left quadrant, where the bipedal flames had been sealed in. Say the words, “Unleash hell,” once the pair of walking flames is on the loose, if you’re feeling dramatic. Now that they are on the loose, allow them a few minutes to roam about the stage, doing their ice-melting thing. Make sure they are thorough and have melted all the ice blocks before you move onto the next step.

Once they are finished, wait until they both return to the left quadrant/prison cell, then re-seal them inside. Now you won’t have to worry about these two jerks roaming around and threatening to set you on fire as you move onto the next, somewhat trickier portion of today’s stage.

Head back down the elevator–use skillful falling here, as it will be moving up, not down–and make a beeline for the switch in the center of the level, which is now mostly ice block-free. Pulling the switch unseals the barrier below separating you and the exit door, but it also has the unfortunate side effect of also triggering a pair of bridge-type barriers on the left and right side of you, which, of course, you can’t pass through with the key.

This is no time to panic, people. At this point in our Donkey Kong-playing career, we have dealt with far worse. This is what you need to do: make sure that the bridge-type barriers are retracted. Grab the nearby key. Now, standing next to the switch–and I know this sounds crazy, but trust me–hurl the key to the left so that it falls all the way to the bottom of the level. Quickly pull the switch you are standing next to. This re-triggers the bridge-type barriers. No matter. Mario can climb down through the barrier via the ladder on the left. Hustle here, because the key will no doubt already be flashing. Halfway down the ladder, move to the right and allow yourself to fall–which is faster than climbing–the rest of the way down. If your key-toss was spot-on, you should land near–or better still, on top of–the key. Grab it (B button). Then, with the key on your person, head toward the exit door. See that, ICEBERG stage? Not so bad now, are you? And tomorrow, there’s more where that came from.