[It’s day 75 of my grand “Man Vs. Donkey Kong” experiment. Only 26 more days to go. Why am I playing a level of Donkey Kong (Game Boy, 1994) each day for 101 days? Find out by starting back at the beginning.]

One afternoon while watching television with my father, a nature show came on describing the plight of baby sea turtles. The mother turtle, the show explained, buried her eggs in the sand on a beach. Cue footage of a mother turtle, looking slow and mopey, burying her eggs with her fat flippers. When the babies hatched, they emerged from the sand, blinked a few times with their tiny, black eyes, then instinctively began to head for the nearby surf, where they would be safe. Unfortunately, their path to the sea quickly turned into a gory gauntlet of death. Predators were practically elbowing one another out of the way in the name of getting to the apparently very tasty sea turtle hatchlings. These predators arrived in waves. First came the foxes. Then the lizards. Then the raccoons. Then the crabs. Then the foxes (yes, again). Then the birds. Then the dingos (of course, the dingos had to get in on this). Then the birds again.

It was impossible to not be moved by the sight of these waddling creatures, who’d only spent a scant few minutes on the planet and wanted nothing more than to survive, being snatched up and consumed like pretzels at a Super Bowl party. Worst of all: watching the scavenger crabs pull the hatchlings down into the sand with them. (See it for yourself at the very end of this clip.)

As I witnessed the horror of these hatchlings being carried off by the talons of vultures or being hauled away in the toothy mouths of hungry raccoons, a sense of futility came over me. There was absolutely nothing I could do on the sea turtles’ behalf. All I could do was slouch on the living room couch and feel helpless. Then it occurred to me that I didn’t need to feel futile, if I didn’t want to. What I could do, and was suddenly certain I would do, was make a videogame based on the plight of the hatchlings. I could use videogames to do what videogames have always done better than any other medium: I could take control of a situation that I otherwise had no real-world control of, and in doing so, banish some of the futile feelings I was experiencing.

All I had to do now was figure out how to make a videogame.

Moving on to stage 7-11. We are 75 days into 2012, and 75 stages deep into Donkey Kong. Hard to believe, right? According to my suspect math skills, we have just 26 more days to go. Let’s make them count out there, people.

Today’s stage is what I’ve come to call an “open concept” stage. The tools to succeed are laid out before you. But what you do with those tools, Master of Donkey Kong–and that’s exactly what you are at this point, and what you’ll need to be if you hope to survive what lies ahead–is entirely up to you.

At the start of the stage, take note of where Pauline’s pleas for help are coming from. That’s right: she’s apparently locked up behind a wall of ice here, high above the stage floor. You’re probably wondering, How will I reach her way up there behind that mysterious ice block? Don’t fret about such things just yet. We’ll address that in due time.

The stage opens with you boxed into the righthand corner of a horizontal level that stretches across two pan-and-scan gameplay screens. The key and a bipedal fireball are locked behind a shuttered barrier together, wondering if the love between the two of them is a natural love. Forget about those two for now. Instead, focus on avoiding the rising-falling monolith. Once it falls, hop onto its back, and voila, you’ve got a makeshift elevator. Use your elevator to exit the upper boxed-in area. See the object with the arrow up/arrow down symbols drawn on it? This is a portable ladder power-up. Of course, being a Master of Donkey Kong, you knew that already. Trigger it, then position the ladder directly below your feet. Climb down into an area that I like to call “The Improv Pit.”

Down here in The Improv Pit, you will find the following items: a portable spring, a portable bridge, a portable ladder, and a portable block. What you need to do is use these items to reach the small enclosed area high above you where the switch is located. This is how I personally used these items: position the portable block one tick above the ground; position the portable spring another tick up on a diagonal within jumping distance of the portable block; then deploy the portable bridge two ticks above the portable spring; finally, attach the portable ladder between the bridge and the enclosed area.

So it’s block, spring, bridge, ladder. Got that?

Remember, when you deploy a new portable power-up, all previously deployed power-ups will always last as long as the newest power-up. Make haste as you scale this impromptu structure, because once “The Portable Power-Up Song” runs its course, you’ll have to start all over again. And no one wants that.

Once you’re inside the enclosed area at the very top of the level, pull the switch. This opens the shuttered barrier down below, giving you access to the key. Unfortunately, it also unleashes that aforementioned bipedal flame creature.

This thing is fast, I tell you. It streaks across the bottom of the level, from right to left. Once it reaches the lefthand wall, it climbs up the damn wall. When it reaches the ceiling, it streaks across the damn ceiling, straight for the enclosed area you are currently standing in.

What the bipedal flame does is this: as it circumnavigates you, it also melts the ice blocks on each side of the enclosed area, freeing you. Use the nearby portable ladder to once again climb back down into The Improv Pit. Remember block, spring, bridge, ladder? Well, you’re going to have to do it all over again, this time in the name of reaching the mysterious ice block where Pauline is being held.

I know. I wasn’t happy about it, either.

Grab the key from the un-shuttered area. Then trigger the block, then the spring, then the bridge. Forget the ladder this time around; you don’t need it.The most important part here is making sure that the bridge is on the level with Pauline’s secret door. And no, that’s not a euphemism for anything, people. Sometimes Pauline’s secret door is just Pauline’s secret door.

Also: while you are doing all of this, keep a close eye on that speedy bipedal flame. That thing is still on the loose and will burn you to a crisp, should you come into contact with it. Pro Tip Confession: The three or four times I died in today’s level were all caused by the bipedal flame. It comes at you like a bat out of hell sometimes. Also: I love using the phrase “bat out of hell” to describe something that moves fast. Because I can totally picture a bat beating its leathery wings as it makes its escape from Satan’s fire-y home. Also: why would a bat want to leave hell? Aren’t bats generally thought of as evil creatures? Wouldn’t a bat be right at home in hell?

Once you’ve finished improving in The Improv Pit, grab the key and make your ascent. If “The Portable Power-Up Song” should run its course before you reach the exit, don’t get all jacked out of shape. Stay calm and rebuild. Trust me, you can do this. Oh, and congratulations, Master of Donkey Kong: day 75 is now in the books.