As a regular reader of Computer Land magazine, I was aware of the fact that I would need to learn a special programming language called “machine language” in order to make/program my videogame about baby sea turtles being attacked by dingoes and vultures. The idea of learning this cryptic, new language–a language that purportedly could make computers do anything you wanted them to do; a language that only the most elite readers of Computer Land magazine could speak–was, of course, very enticing to me.
The manufacturer of the VIC-20–Commodore Computers–had recently released a special cartridge called a “Machine Code Monitor.” This cartridge, I realized, was the key to teaching myself machine language, and the key to getting my videogame off the ground. I had to have it, no matter what the cost was.
Unfortunately, the Machine Code Monitor cartridge, according to the Sears catalogue, was in the $60 to $70 range. I could have lobbied my parents for one for Christmas, but December 25 was still more than a month away. And lobbying my parents was never a guarantee of anything. Production on my game, which I’d tentatively titled Baby Sea Turtle Escape!, would have to be put on hiatus for now.
Then I looked more closely at the entry form for the Zayre Department Store holiday coloring contest. Third prize was two passes to the Fort Rickey Game Farm, a dilapidated petting zoo which featured an overheated “reptile house” that smelled intensely of pee. Second prize was dinner for four in the Department Store’s cafeteria. First prize was a one-minute shopping spree in the store.
The Zayre Department Store had a dedicated electronics department, which sold videogames, Walkmans, and, of course, a full line of Commodore products. The Machine Code Monitor cartridge would be mine. Now, all I had to do was win this thing.
Stage 8-2. The centerpiece of today’s stage: the five very deadly porcupine-shaped enemies trapped inside a horizontal row of boxes. On the far side of this row: the key and a switch. Crossing the row is tricky, because the tops of the porcupine boxes (and the bottoms, for your information) consist of vanishing blocks, or, as I like to call them, “vanishers.” Touching a vanisher causes it to vanish. In between each box is a solid row of blocks. What you need to do is this: using only those in-between solid blocks, you must carefully jump your way across the tops of the porcupine boxes. Even grazing one of the vanishers will result in a porcupine getting loose. Trust me, no one wants that. (See: the final paragraph.)
Complicating matters further is the seed-spitting plant located on the far right. Its seeds travel from right to left across the stage, just above Mario’s head. Pro Tip: Wait until a seed has passed before attempting to jump to the next solid block. Jumping at the wrong moment can result in Mario getting a seed in the face, and a quick game-over.
Once you’re on the far side, pull the switch then grab the key. Guess what? Time to hop across the porcupine box gauntlet a second time. With key in hand, head back the way you came, using only the solid blocks again, and avoiding the spitting plant’s seeds (again).
When you’re safely back on the lefthand side of the level, take the elevator up to the series of conveyer belts on the tier above. Some conveyer belts move left; others right. Be patient, keep moving, and eventually you’ll reach the door on the far side of the conveyer belts, and which happens to be embedded in the trunk of a tree. Do the Keebler elves live here? Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Sigh. Guess what? You’re done.
Suffice to say things did not go this smoothly for me on my first three or four attempts at this stage. My first inclination was to run across the tops of the vanishers, releasing all the porcupines in my wake. Then I grabbed the key, and dropped down to the long conveyer belt that runs directly underneath the porcupine cages, and which is likely used to carry away the porcupines’ feces. The conveyer-belt passageway was too narrow for me to squeeze through, so I tossed the key and crouched. When the key and I reached the far lefthand side of the screen, I quickly reclaimed the key (which was blink-blink blinking at this point) and rode the elevator up, all the way to the string of conveyer belts at the top of the screen. Despite the fact that porcupines were roaming the entire level, and that whatever plan I’d had in mind had gone out the window several minutes earlier, I still nearly made it to the exit regardless. What I’m trying to say to you is this: Even if things go wrong for you today, and you screw up a jump or two, keep pressing on, keep moving forward. Because you still just might make it out alive.
Oh, and one more thing before I go: there is one porcupine–the one in the fourth cage, if you’re counting from left to right–that you do not want to free under any circumstances. He is an incredibly quick-footed porcupine. He travels the stage like an Angel Dust-user on an episode of Cops. Once he’s free, it’s almost always curtains for you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
