Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Lest ye think I’ve been writing
Oh, nay.
I’ve been playing Globs, an insanely addictive game in which you merge with colored spheres by flipping to their color. The goal is to clear the board in 25 moves or less, and — here’s the real hook — your score doubles for the moves you have left over under 25. The piddly 2 points per sphere you get as a base score is nothing; it’s the geometrical growth of your score that drives gameplay. The board starts relatively small, but by level six you have 14 by 14 grid. At 14 by 14, you have to either be lucky or put in some brainpower to clear the board in under 25 moves.
The color of MADNESS!
In my defense, I do come home tired at the end of the day, and it’s tough overcoming the potential energy hill to get into writing mode. It’s much easier to play Globs. Easier to play Globs than to play World of Warcraft. Amazing, eh?
I’ve been trying to crack the top ten on the daily high scores list. To do so, you need a score at least in the quadrillions (which, amazingly, you can reach by level 20 with some skill and luck). And I finally managed to do that just a moment ago, only to discover that the high scores list is disabled. I wonder if that’s enough to kill my addiction?
The game has been permeating my brain. A few days ago I found myself in bed in the middle of the night in a limbo state, half asleep, half awake, and I was flipping my own color to merge with the bed, the floor, the room . . . It might have been interesting to merge with the universe, all very Zen of me, but I was up to merging with the room when I realized what I was doing and kicked myself out of bed and had a good pee. The Buddha peeing beside me was having a good laugh at my expense, so I elbowed him in the ribs and he peed all over his own bare feet. Touché!
D.
i got really into bejeweled sr year in college and had similar brain-permeating issues. i would try and match colors everywhere. i would play it for hours. i finally had to cut myself off…
ah, reminiscing about old computer addictions . . .